The Agincourt Bride (39 page)

We had left Pontoise almost a week ago, on the now-familiar route around the north of Paris, and every time we had passed through habitation we had taken care to hide away from prying eyes. Royal convoys were not authorised to carry passengers. When we reached our destination, we took care only to view the scene through peepholes in the cart’s canvas cover.

Corbeil was another walled town on the banks of the Seine bustling with activity centred on the castle. As we passed through the narrow thoroughfares, fights and scuffles seemed to break out every few minutes, as if no one had told the participants that peace had been declared between the two warring factions. Prudently, most of the citizens had retreated behind closed doors and the shopkeepers had put up their shutters. But the bells still rang out relentlessly.

‘What does this mean?’ breathed Alys in my ear, almost unrecognisable as the boy who was my travelling companion. ‘Will Prince Charles really put himself in Burgundy’s hands?’

‘Only God knows,’ I whispered back. ‘We must wait and see.’

In the interests of her safety, I had persuaded my daughter to disguise herself as my son, wilfully ignoring the Church’s diktat against women wearing male clothing. Even accompanied by her mother, a young girl was vulnerable on the road in a way that a boy was not. Wearing the jacket and hose which Luc had abandoned when he received his huntsman’s livery, Alys made a convincing lad and had even managed to perfect the loose-limbed walk of a youth never hampered by skirts.

It had taken two days for the Baroness Hochfeld to obey the queen’s orders and arrange Catherine’s internment. We had wished her and Agnes a tearful farewell and they had departed for Poissy in a heavily guarded barge. Then we had begun the familiar task of packing the contents of her wardrobe and household, ready to go wherever the court went next. I had ensured that the small chest containing our own belongings was tucked away anonymously with the rest and had carefully sewn my small treasure of gold crowns into a pocket in my chemise and put the remaining deniers and sous into a purse, which I tied around my neck with a leather thong and kept hidden inside my bodice. But I hoped our greatest protection would be our insignificance. Why should any sneak thief or cutpurse imagine that a woman in drab working garb, in the company of her adolescent son, might be in possession of gold or silver?

We had reached Corbeil without incident, and Yves hauled on the reins to bring his team of oxen to a halt in the busy courtyard of the castle. ‘I am going to report to the Intendant’s office,’ he told us. ‘If you jump out now, no one will notice you. Mind the ox teams. They are clumsy at manoeuvering. I think the kennels are at the far corner of the main bailey.’

I grabbed the bundle containing the few belongings I had brought with me and eased myself over the driver’s seat. Indeed, the big cobbled courtyard was so jammed with wagons that the queen herself might not have been noticed emerging from one of them. The noise was deafening, magnified by echoes off the surrounding walls. Castle servants shouted orders, drivers yelled at their teams and tired beasts bellowed for food and water and, above it all, the bells continued pealing. I threw my bundle down to Yves and negotiated the awkward descent from the wagon. Behind me, Alys made easy work of it in her hose and boots, grinning at me cheekily from under her hood as she swung down.

‘May God bless you for your kindness, Yves,’ I said to the charettier, pressing a silver denier into his hand. ‘Drink a toast with your companions tonight.’

Yves looked a little sheepish to be taking money off a woman, but only a little. As we meandered off between the carts and oxen, I glanced in wonder at the boy beside me. Male dress seemed to have brought out a new side of Alys’ character, but she confessed she was still frightened of being found out.

Her fear was justified. The penalty for defying the Church’s dress code was, at best, a day in the stocks and, at worst, a public whipping, but as long as I remembered to call her ‘Alain’, the disguise seemed to me to be fairly foolproof. Under her russet hood we had even taken the precaution of cutting her long chestnut hair into a boyish bob.

Halfway across the huge bailey we passed an encampment of people whose colourful garb was in stark contrast to the drably dressed servants, soldiers and carters who made up the majority of people crowding the space. Judging by the paraphernalia of balls, stilts, costumes and instruments they were unloading from their carts, I took them to be entertainers who would not spurn an approach from strangers. I spoke to the man who was directing proceedings. He wore a bright-yellow tunic and parti-coloured green and red hose and carried a viol-bag carefully slung over his shoulder.

‘We have just arrived, Sir, and wonder why the bells are ringing. Is there a celebration of some sort?’ I asked him.

‘Indeed there is, Madame,’ he replied, favouring me with a grave nod of acknowledgement. ‘There is to be a feast tonight to celebrate the new peace treaty between the dauphin and the Duke of Burgundy. They say it was negotiated in the saddle.’

‘So are they both here then?’ I could not believe my luck in having arrived at the very place where Prince Charles was staying, if it were true.

The entertainer smiled at me patiently. ‘It would hardly be a feast without the principal guests, would it, Madame? We hope to entertain both the prince and the duke tonight. We take our chances where we can.’ He made a flourishing bow. ‘Ivo Player at your service, Madame – and yours too, young man.’ This last was directed at Alys who grinned and attempted to copy his bow, which caused a surprised smile and a raised eyebrow in return.

‘Thank you for your kindness, sir,’ I responded, making him a polite bob and pulling Alys’ sleeve to take her away. ‘Be careful,’ I hissed. ‘Boys do not smile at men! Now, let us find the kennels.’ Instinct had made me avoid giving him my name.

We eventually located the hunt quarters by following a pack of hounds returning from the day’s sport. When Luc ran out to the cistern to fill a pail, I gasped with dismay, for there was a dark bruise on the side of his face. Of course it was possible that he had received it during the course of his work – a hunt was fraught with all kinds of danger – but his doleful expression led me to suspect he had been in a fight. He was astounded when we approached.

‘Holy saints – Ma! What on earth are you doing here? And, Alys!’ he exclaimed, suddenly penetrating his sister’s disguise. ‘I would not have known you.’

‘Shh!’ we both hissed at once, glancing round nervously. I pulled him into the shadowy cover of a buttress. ‘Speak softly, Luc, and greet your brother Alain.’ I laid stress on the name, then raised my hand to touch Luc’s cheek where the skin was swollen and blue. ‘And you are hurt. What happened?’

‘It is nothing. A disagreement, that is all. Why have you come here?’ His tone was sharp with anger and concern. ‘Is something wrong?’

‘Nothing serious,’ I reassured him. ‘Was this disagreement over the dauphin by any chance?’

A flush rose to meet the blue bruise on Luc’s cheek. ‘How did you know? One of the other lads was bad-mouthing him and we got into a fight. Since the reconciliation, at least we are now allowed to speak of the dauphin, but Burgundy’s men still call him “the bastard” and it angers me.’

‘You should try to bottle your anger, Luc,’ I scolded. But I was heartened by his loyalty to the dauphin, which confirmed the wisdom of part of my intention. I drew him further into the shade of the buttress and asked Luc if he knew the Seigneur du Chastel by sight.

‘Of course I do,’ he said scornfully. ‘The dauphin has been hunting all week with the Duke and du Chastel never leaves his side. He is like a black leech!’

‘Good,’ I said. ‘He needs to be! I have a letter I want delivered into Seigneur du Chastel’s hands and no one else’s. It is for his eyes only and it must be done tonight. Can you do this?’

My solemn tone of voice wiped the grin off his face. ‘I can try. What does it say?’

‘Part of it asks the seigneur to find a position for you in the dauphin’s hunt,’ I told him, watching closely for his reaction.

He looked amazed and excited all at once, as I had hoped. I hurried on, ‘But the rest of the letter concerns the princess and it must be placed into his hands, no one else’s. It must be given directly to Tanneguy du Chastel or the dauphin himself. Is that clear, Luc? It is very important. And it must be delivered tonight; the sooner the better.’

I could tell that he was becoming quite enthralled by the intrigue of the letter.

‘Well, I could try and catch him now if you like,’ he suggested. ‘I know where he is. One of the dauphin’s falcons was injured and he took it to the mews on returning from the hunt. He was very concerned about it. Shall I run now and see if he is still there?’

This was better than I could have hoped for. ‘Yes, yes. Go now. Here is the letter.’ I took a folded and sealed packet from the front of my bodice where it had been hidden away since we left Pontoise. It was a bit crumpled but still presentable. I thrust it into his hands. ‘Tuck it in your jacket immediately. Do not let anyone see it. Tell Tanneguy it is from Madame Lanière. I think he will accept it. If you cannot deliver it, bring it straight back. Come straight back anyway. Go!’

Luc stuffed the letter away and sped off across the bailey, soon becoming lost among the crowd. I gave Alys a reassuring look and put my finger to my lips. ‘I’ll tell you later,’ I said. She did not know I had been planning to contact Tanneguy du Chastel, nor did she know the content of the letter. Only I knew that. It was better that way.

I had penned the letter on the night before we left Pontoise, using some writing materials Catherine had left behind. She had taken few of her possessions to Poissy, but she had personally packed up her travelling altar with its secret compartment and she still wore the key hidden around her neck. It had taken me hours to compose my epistle to Tanneguy and as I paced about waiting impatiently for Luc to return, I went over its contents in my mind.

To the Seigneur du Chastel, Secretary and Counsellor to the Dauphin Charles,

Greetings, Most Honoured Seigneur,

I hope you will remember me as the Princess Catherine’s faithful nurse.

As you will be aware, owing to the malady of her father the king, the princess has lately been living under the protection of the Duke of Burgundy and I feel it imperative to inform you that he has subjected her to appalling and dishonourable treatment. In recent months, by coercion and terror, he has forced her into acts of unspeakable depravity. To speak plainly, he has robbed her of her innocence and wickedly destroyed her honour and the honour of the Crown of France

I beg you to reveal this situation to the dauphin alone and I am confident that when you acquaint him with it, His Royal Highness will be moved to redress the dreadful wrongs done to his sister. I also know that, in view of the abuse she has suffered at Burgundy’s hands, Princess Catherine would urge her royal brother to spurn all the duke’s spurious offers of friendship and to reject any treaty of reconciliation into which he might be tempted to enter. The dauphin is the one remaining kinsman she feels she can trust, but only as long as he remains free of the terrible power of Burgundy.

This letter is carried by my son, Luc, who is a servant of the king’s hunt. He was honoured to care for the dauphin’s favourite deerhounds in the years before you and he were forced to flee the Hôtel de St Pol, and if I could beg it as a favour, my lord, he would be honoured to serve him again.

I remain always a loyal and humble servant of the King and earnestly pray for my lord Dauphin’s health and success.

Signed: Guillaumette Lanière

Woman of the Bedchamber to the princess royal

We waited near the cistern and it seemed an age before Luc returned, but when he did he was jubilant.

‘I did it, Ma!’ he exclaimed. ‘The Seigneur du Chastel took the letter from me but he did not read it. I said who it was from and he tucked it in the purse on his belt and told me to tell you to come to the dauphin’s apartments after the feast. He will tell the guards to admit you.’

I stared at him aghast. ‘But, Luc, where are the royal apartments? How will I even get into the keep?’

‘You and Alys could come to the feast,’ suggested Luc. ‘There are so many extra servants drafted in from the town that you would not be noticed. And you might even get something to eat.’

Alys piped up eagerly. ‘That is a good idea, little brother. I am hungry!’

Luc tweaked the sleeve of her grubby jacket. ‘It serves you right for wearing my côte! Come on. People are gathering already. We will have to fight for a place.’

The great hall at Corbeil castle was crowded to bursting point, resounding with the clamour of merriment. Those lucky enough to rate a seat at the trestles were busy supping from wine jugs and grabbing portions of meat from heaped platters placed at intervals on the boards by perspiring varlets, who had to fight their way through the throng to perform the service. Those without places piled trenchers of bread with roasted meats and wolfed it where they could, leaning against the walls, propped back to back on the benches or even tucked away under the trestles with the dogs

By dint of some skilful pushing and shoving, Luc acquired three thick trenchers of bread from a service table and we scrambled to lift dripping slices of roast boar from a fresh platter carried past us by a staggering porter. The trenchers absorbed the meat juices and spicy sauce and the smell was mouth-watering. Luc managed to purloin a jug of wine from some fellow-huntsmen and we all drank deeply from it. Before long, he handed it back empty, grinning cheekily at the loud protests, which diminished when a passing server bent to re-charge it from the large wine-skin he carried on his back.

Reeling a little from the strong drink on our empty stomachs, and struggling to prevent our trenchers from tumbling into the rushes, we pushed our way to a position by the wall from where we could view the tumblers and jugglers over the heads of the seated diners. I saw Ivo, the viol-player, bowing away in the centre of the hall, accompanying his fellow entertainers with dramatic flourishes as they displayed their various skills and acknowledged ribald comments and sporadic bursts of applause. Having satisfied my gnawing hunger, I flung the crust of my trencher to the dogs which roamed under the trestles, wiped my fingers surreptitiously on my underskirt and lifted my eyes to the row of figures seated behind the garlanded table on the dais.