The Agincourt Bride (14 page)

I nodded sympathetically. ‘I can only say that wherever you do land, Mademoiselle, if you call me I will come to you.’

I felt her arms go around my neck and her soft kiss on my cheek. ‘Oh, Mette, you are more to me than mother, father and brother! I will always want you with me no matter where I go. I wonder what England is like. To be honest, I am beginning to believe that any marriage, even to “an apology of a king”, would be better than having to live in the perfidious House of Valois!’

B
onne’s marriage to Charles of Orleans was the social event of the spring season, taking place immediately after Easter. Lacking the charisma of his dead father, the young bridegroom was said to be sensitive and serious, much taken with poetry and music. On the other hand, the Count of Armagnac was ambitious, dynamic, politically able and willing to lead the Orleanist faction. So when the Duke of Orleans installed his new duchess in the Hôtel de St Antoine, her parents came too and the four of them proceeded to set up a showy and magnificent court, which swiftly began to draw aspiring nobles away from the Hôtel de St Pol.

Meanwhile, Catherine began to discover the frustration of being powerless. ‘If the queen and the dauphin would only stop arguing with each other, they might be able to exert their royal prerogative,’ she exclaimed one afternoon, returning from a fruitless visit to her brother’s apartment. ‘They’ve had yet another row and Louis has stormed off to Melun, calling on all the other princes of the blood to meet him there. This pointedly excludes the queen, so of course she is furious and to get back at him she is bringing Marguerite back to court and expects me to be nice to her. But if I am nice to her, Louis will accuse me of treachery, so there’s only one thing for it, Mette – get out the physic bottles; it’s time to feign illness again.’

I think if Catherine had been able to leave court, she would have followed Louis to Melun but, without the Queen’s permission, she could not so much as commandeer a horse. So, as good as her word, she retired to her bedchamber, refusing admission even to her confessor and insisting that only I attend her.

Word obviously reached the queen because the next day a black-robed doctor arrived and announced himself as Maître Herselly, an appointed royal physician. Catherine was half-minded to refuse him entry, but she was eventually persuaded to accept a liberal dusting of white-lead face-powder and to lie back looking ashen and weak in her curtained bed while the doctor attended. Fortunately, having assiduously tasted and sniffed a sample of the patient’s urine and questioned her briefly from a safe distance, he went away declaring that she had a bad attack of the flux, probably brought about by eating green fruit. For such an august man of science he seemed woefully ignorant of the fact that it would be some weeks before the spring blossom yielded any sort of fruit, but at least his report won Catherine a few days’ absence from court.

Suddenly the queen announced her intention of joining the dauphin at Melun and insisted that the dauphiness go with her. Queen Isabeau may have hoped to bring about a reconciliation, but Louis was having none of it. Minutes after his mother’s barge was sighted approaching the river gate at Melun, he and his knights galloped out of the main gatehouse riding headlong towards Paris. Catherine, having made a surprise ‘recovery’ in her mother’s absence, was startled by her brother’s precipitous arrival, spattered with mud and in a towering rage.

‘Give me wine!’ the dauphin exclaimed, striding into the salon, scattering us all into corners and making the room seem suddenly small. Picking up a silver flagon from a side table, he took a huge gulp from it before spitting it out in a great shower. ‘Ugh! That is horse piss! Bring me good Rennish wine, and something to eat. I have been riding for hours.’

Catherine signalled me to obey the order for refreshment and I left as Louis was flinging off his riding heuque and gauntlets and bawling at her flustered ladies, ‘Leave us! I want to be alone with my sister.’

By the time I had collected a flagon of the requested Rennish wine from the queen’s cellar and a heaped platter of spiced cakes from the kitchen, I returned to find Catherine standing patiently by the fire, while the dauphin held forth at full volume, pacing the floor. When I entered, as unobtrusively as I could, he came to an abrupt halt, glaring at me.

‘Do not worry about Mette,’ Catherine told him hurriedly. ‘She is my oldest and most trusted friend – and yours too. Perhaps you recognise her, Louis.’

Snatching the flagon from my hand, the dauphin endeavoured to take a deep draught of the wine while keeping his porcine gaze fixed on my face. Remembering the correct deference, I sank to my knees, glad to avert my eyes as the ruby liquid dribbled down his numerous chins. At length he smacked his lips and flicked the wine carelessly off his jowls with the back of his hand. ‘We had a nursemaid once called Mette,’ he remarked, lowering the flagon.

‘Yes,’ nodded Catherine. ‘This is she.’

But Louis’ attention was distracted by the platter I held before me. ‘Ah, food! I am famished!’ Grabbing the dish, he flung himself down in Catherine’s canopied chair and I winced inwardly as he splashed wine carelessly over the delicate silk cushions. His great thighs in their tautly stretched hose were heavily mired from his hectic ride, further sullying the brocade. I smothered a rueful sigh and rose to move a table within his reach. As he put the platter of cakes down on it and selected one, I inadvertently caught his eye and ducked my head again, my colour rising.

‘I remember you, Mette!’ he cried, spitting crumbs. ‘You used to bring us pies and pastries from your father’s bake house. They were the only things that kept us from starving. So now you are my sister’s trusted maidservant. Good. Even so, I would rather you were not here. Leave us.’

Behind the dauphin’s back Catherine jerked her head in the direction of the guarderobe arch, which was covered with a heavy curtain. She made a downward motion with her hand and her eyes rolled upwards and I understood from this dumb show that she wanted me to stay close by, wary perhaps of her brother’s unpredictable temper. Behind the curtain I hugged the inner wall inside the arch and strained to listen, trying not to think what the dauphin might do to me should I be caught eavesdropping.

‘I cannot stay long, Louis,’ I heard Catherine say. ‘I am due to attend Mass with the king.’

‘Why have you not gone with the queen to Melun?’ he asked.

‘I have not been well. She took your wife with her for company.’

‘Bah!’ I heard Louis spit loudly and hoped he was not expelling food but expressing an opinion. ‘They deserve each other, my wife and my mother, for both serve the same cause.’

‘What cause is that?’ asked Catherine.

‘Why Burgundy’s of course,’ growled Louis. ‘Surely you have been at court long enough now to realise that our mother is a two-faced Janus who is diverting royal funds to Burgundy’s agents in the city. I have sent men to seize treasure and coin she has hidden in various houses around Paris, waiting for Burgundy’s arrival. She plots to bring him back because she thinks he will share power with her and block me out. She is wrong, of course, because he is even more treacherous than she is. Anyway, she will find it is all to no avail because I have decided to pre-empt them both – and all the scheming princes of the blood. While they are at Melun, I intend to disband the Council and declare my sole regency. Edicts will go out in the king’s name ordering all the princes to retire to their estates. The queen I shall order to remain at Melun and I shall escort my wife back to her nunnery at St Germain-en-Laye. If I split them all up it will bring an end to their tiresome conspiracies and let me get on with ruling the country.’

After these momentous announcements there was a prolonged silence. My heart skipped a beat as the dauphin’s heavy tread creaked on the wooden boards close to my hiding place, then faded away as he prowled back across the room.

‘Why do you say nothing, Catherine?’ he demanded. ‘Do you doubt my motives or my powers?’

‘Neither,’ she assured him. ‘But will the princes do as you say? Why should Anjou and Berry and Bourbon not join forces and advance on Paris?’

‘Because they know I have the right!’ Louis’ voice grew strident. ‘I am the dauphin. Besides, those posturing princes cannot agree with each other long enough to raise a flag, let alone an army. Constable D’Albrêt commands the royal guard and he is loyal to the throne and therefore to me. From now on, none of our vassals will enter Paris or approach the king without his or my permission. Let them go to their neglected estates and order their affairs there. Come – do you not agree with me, Catherine?’

‘You know you have my total support,’ responded Catherine faintly.

As if she had any other choice, I thought, cowering behind my curtain. Did her brother forget that at her age he was still in the schoolroom?

‘That gives me great satisfaction,’ declared Louis approvingly. ‘And you are to remain here with me in Paris, not go to the queen, even if she asks for you.’

In the guarderobe I put my hands to my head in despair. Poor Catherine! Less than three months out of the convent she had become a hapless pawn in the power-struggle between her brother, her mother, her uncles and her cousins. It would not have surprised me if she had fled back to Poissy in despair but then, thinking about it, how could she even do that?

For once, the squabbling princes did as they were told. Perhaps they were tired of all the arguments; I know I would have been. Burgundy, of course, was already in Flanders, but the Duke of Orleans took his new duchess and her parents to his castle at Blois, the Duke of Berry went to Bourges, the Duke of Bourbon to Bourbon and the Duke of Anjou to Angers. Many lesser nobles followed their overlords’ example and with them went their families, baggage, servants and retainers. Jean-Michel reported that driving the regular supply-train back from the royal estates had been a nightmare because all the roads out of Paris were jammed with long columns of horsemen, carts and litters going in the opposite direction.

In the absence of the queen, Catherine relaxed noticeably. Most of her ladies-in-waiting had retreated with their families, leaving only Agnes and a couple of low-ranked baronet’s daughters to attend her. So since she was no longer obliged to spend long, tedious hours attending court, she could occupy herself however she chose. For the first time in years, the countryside was relatively peaceful and, with the dauphin’s authority, Catherine was able to command horses and escorts to make excursions beyond the walls of Paris. She liked the exercise of riding, but on the first day of May she insisted that Alys, Luc and I should join her on a trip to the Bois de Vincennes and that Jean-Michel should drive us there in one of the royal supply wagons.

‘It will be a May Day holiday, Mette,’ she said excitedly. ‘You can organise a picnic for us.’

The castle of Vincennes was a royal hunting lodge surrounded by forest outside the east wall of Paris where the king often went to pursue deer and boar when he was well enough. Hunting was one adult activity he could still enjoy; although Jean-Michel said the Master of Horse only mounted him on a pony these days, rather than one of the spirited coursers on which he had galloped after prey as a young and healthy man. For me it was like a taste of paradise to wander through groves of great oaks where bluebells carpeted the clearings and to do it in the company of all the people that I loved most in the world. It was perfect spring weather and when the sun had climbed to its highest, we gathered in the dappled shade on the bank of a stream and ate cold capon and May Day sweetmeats and afterwards Catherine and her young ladies took off their shoes and hose and ran barefoot through the lush green grass, hitching up their silken skirts like harvest-maids. When she grew breathless, Catherine ran to sit beside me on a fallen log where I was watching Alys and Luc laughing and splashing in the gravel shallows.

‘How did you celebrate May Day as a girl, Mette?’ she puffed.

‘You will stain your gown,’ I protested, seeing the folds of daffodil-coloured silk already sullied by the fresh green moss that grew on the log.

‘Oh never mind,’ she shrugged carelessly. ‘Tell me!’

I relented of course. ‘We used to climb the hill of Montmartre at dawn and wash our faces in the dew. They say that if you kiss a boy with the May Day dew on your lips he will be yours for ever.’

‘What a shame that the sun has dried the dew or else we could have tried it!’ Catherine teased, twinkling at gawky Luc whose cheeks blushed bright scarlet. Dumbstruck by such close proximity to a flesh-and-blood princess, I do not think he managed to utter a word in her presence all day.

Even so, that excursion marked the start of a new and dangerous closeness between Catherine and my family. Dangerous, not because in itself it was daunting or threatening – it was a joyous thing – but because of how others might have viewed such a friendship, forged across the yawning social gulf that divided us. Simply sitting beside Catherine and sharing her food was breaking strict protocol and I knew there were plenty at court whose jealous natures would seek to punish such presumption. I just hoped they were all too far away for it to come to their attention.

A few days later, having dressed Catherine in full court finery to dine with the dauphin, I went up to tend my own fire and sent Alys to see if Jean-Michel and Luc were free for a family meal. We sometimes managed to snatch an hour or two together in this fashion and earlier I had wheedled a mess of pease and bacon from the king’s kitchen and set it to warm over the fire. The four of us were settling down to eat it, exchanging companionable banter, when the door creaked gently open and there to our intense surprise stood Catherine, her ornate robes clashing incongruously with the homespun simplicity of our tower-top chamber.

She hovered in the doorway, a wistful look in her eye. ‘I heard your talk and laughter and I wondered if I might share your fire for a while.’

Suppressing an oath, Jean-Michel sprang to his feet, pulled off his hood and began to shuffle awkwardly from one foot to the other, uncertain how to receive such an august visitor. I hastened to offer Catherine his vacated chair. ‘Oh no,’ she said shaking her head and smiling at Alys and Luc who had risen shyly from their bench beside the hearth, ‘I will not steal your father’s seat. I would rather sit with you, Alys, if there is room. Can you squeeze me in?’