The Agincourt Bride (51 page)

In shape the gown was a classic houppelande, but the difference was that Jacques had tailored it in two layers. The outer robe was made of royal fleur-de-lis blue gauze scattered with gold and this delicate filmy fabric flowed in one seamless sweep from a tiny form-fitting bodice over the cloth of silver under-skirt. From afar the combination gave the impression of stars glinting against a moonlit sky and when Catherine lifted her skirt to walk, there were glimpses of the thick gold lace on the hem of the under-skirt, which caught the light like sunrise streaking in the eastern sky. It was a gown both demure and sensuous, and neither was it overshadowed by the massive jewelled clasp and grand sweep of her mother’s royal mantle, which swung from Catherine’s shoulders in majestic folds and spilled down the church steps in a river of vibrant scarlet.

I watched Agnes de Blagny and the rest of the young ladies move forward to pick up the heavy train and King Henry turned about and took Catherine’s hand to lead her into the church for the nuptial Mass, but the crowd was not content. For them the marriage rites were not complete.

‘The kiss!’ they chanted. ‘Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!’

With a brief smile and a wave of acknowledgement, King Henry complied with their demand and bent to plant the nuptial kiss on his new wife’s lips. It was a gentle salute but a boldly possessive one and even from twenty yards away I could see the hot colour flood Catherine’s cheeks. As they moved towards the door, the groom turned his head to flash another smile at the increasingly frenzied crowd. Manifestly King Henry understood the value of public approbation and knew exactly how to get it.

While the nobles and officials celebrated Mass with the newly married couple and Alys and Jacques went back to their baby, I slipped down a lane off the Rue Nôtre Dame and collected a phial of fresh chicken blood from a butcher’s shop I knew. Then I hurried back to the palace, concealing my purchase in the pocket of my sleeve. I had told the butcher I wanted it for a poultice for my injured grand-daughter and felt that God would forgive me the lie.

The wedding feast lasted from noon until dusk and was conducted according to high court ceremonial, where royal bride and groom were served by their noble kinsmen. Therefore the opening presentation of the wedding cup of spiced mead was performed by Thomas of Clarence, acting as butler. King Charles had not been present at the church but he came to the feast and was corralled between the trestle and the arm-rests of his high-backed throne, placed between Queen Isabeau and the archbishop. I spotted two of the king’s ‘minders’ hovering in the shadows at the back of the dais, but there was no call for their attention because the child-like monarch was enraptured by one of the gifts presented at the start of the meal.

King Henry had given King Charles a gold and silver chess set but his gift to Queen Isabeau was an exotic red and blue popinjay in a gilded cage and it looked as if the chess set might lie untouched and tarnishing through the years but the popinjay would entertain the French king for many a beguiling hour. He insisted it should be placed beside him during the rest of the feast where it squawked and preened, vying for his attention with the tumblers and the jugglers.

Catherine had been in urgent discussion with the master of the king’s household about the gift she had in mind for her new husband, but she had told no one elsewhat she intended until the previous evening, when she had shown it privately to Agnes and confided that the idea had been inspired by my birthday present to her. The gift lay, wrapped in cloth of gold, on the high table, where Agnes had placed it just before the meal began.

The ceremonial High Steward for the evening was the English Earl of Warwick, who had so intrigued Catherine during the build-up to her first meeting with Henry at the Pré du Chat. Now he came to the front of the dais to thump his gilded staff loudly on the wooden floor. ‘Your royal graces, my noble Lords, Ladies and honoured Guests, pray silence for the Bride, our most gracious Queen Catherine!’

Catherine had confessed to me her utter terror at the thought of making her first public speech, but she was determined to mark her personal and precious gift to Henry. An attendant pulled back the heavy bridal throne to give her room to stand and a tremor in her voice betrayed her nerves as she began.

‘My royal parents pray forgive me if I address my remarks to my new husband and sovereign lord, King Henry.’ She made a little bow to him and he nodded his head solemnly in return, curiousity creasing his brow. ‘I believe it is not customary in England for the bride to make a gift to her groom on their wedding day, but in France we do so and I wish to acknowledge and express my gratitude for the great honour my lord has done me today in making me his wife.’

There was a burst of applause from the rest of the guests as Catherine picked up the gold-wrapped parcel with two hands and placed it carefully in front of King Henry who rose to acknowledge it. Catherine continued, her voice growing stronger as the words began to flow more freely.

‘God the Father has greatly favoured your endeavours, my lord, and I pray that from this day forward the passion of God the Son will protect you from all bodily harm and that the grace of God the Holy Spirit will bless us throughout our marriage. This gift symbolises and invokes the power of the Holy Trinity, which I believe you hold in great reverence. It brings with it my vow of love, loyalty and fealty, until death shall part us.’

Sinking to her knees, Catherine clasped Henry’s right hand and pressed her lips to his coronation ring in the tradition of oath-making and, in return, Henry raised her from her knees and kissed her cheek. Then he crossed himself reverently before opening her gift. He drew back the folds of gold cloth to expose a polished wooden box inlaid with gold and jewels. Inside this was a crimson velvet purse, and inside the purse lay what I knew was a small, brightly enamelled gold reliquary on a cunningly wrought chain. Lifting it out, Henry took several seconds to locate the hinge mechanism, but at last he found the trick of it and with surprising delicacy freed its interlocking halves. No one had dared breathe while this was achieved and now an awe-struck intake of air spread like a wave from where he stood, the reliquary held open to reveal a transparent crystal phial in which a vicious-looking thorn marked with a dark stain was encased.

‘It is from the true crown of thorns that was brought to France by St Louis on his return from the Crusades. Allow me to put it on for you, my lord.’ Catherine reached across to take the reliquary from him and he bent his head to let her fasten the chain around his neck. ‘May it protect you from the devil and all his agents – injury, disease and treachery.’

‘A prayer we all echo a hundredfold!’ cried the archbishop, raising his hand in benediction.

Henry kissed the reliquary reverently before tucking it into the neck of his doublet. ‘I thank you, my queen,’ he said, clearly much moved. ‘Your gift will never leave me; that I swear on the name of Him whose blood is on it.’

There was applause from the guests and then Warwick’s staff thumped once more as the earl announced the first course. Catherine and Henry subsided back into their seats to begin the feasting. A surfeit of food and drink followed through course after course, when the bride and groom were served skilfully and gracefully by Thomas of Clarence and Philippe of Burgundy and shared a cup and trencher together with the traditional intimacy of newlyweds. So many were the toasts and so elaborate the speeches that accompanied them, that it took me by surprise when, shortly before darkness fell, the music suddenly stopped and Warwick’s staff thumped loudly yet again. ‘The bride and groom will now retire,’ he announced.

There was a ragged cheer from the more circumspect guests and a chorus of cat-calls and suggestive remarks from the better-lubricated. A flush spread over Catherine’s cheeks, but King Henry smiled indulgently at the lewd taunts and raised his hand for quiet.

‘My good friends, you may carouse until the small hours if you choose, but we all depart early tomorrow morning for Sens. Therefore I and my bride salute your stamina, crave your indulgence and bid you good night.’ With that he turned to take his bride’s hand and lead her from the hall.

I had to scramble for the door but fortunately, even though she had removed the cumbersome mantle for the meal, Catherine’s skirts were so voluminous and heavy that she could not walk far without her maids of honour to manoeuvre them for her. Consequently I managed to reach the grand solar before the bridal procession arrived.

I was setting a taper to the fire when the great double doors of the chamber flew back and King Henry led Catherine through, followed by his squires and her ladies. I sank to my knees, head bowed.

‘And who is this?’ asked the king. ‘I think I have seen her before, carrying your train, Catherine?’

‘You have, my lord,’ replied Catherine. ‘And I am happy to present her to you first and foremost, for this is Madame Lanière, my beloved nurse Guillaumette, who has been with me for most of my life. She is now keeper of my robes and has been like a mother to me.’

‘Indeed?’ King Henry made a flapping gesture with his hand. ‘Rise, Madame Lanière if you please.’

I tried to rise smoothly, but nerves made me clumsy so I fear that I shook my veiled headdress slightly askew.

‘My own old nurse still tries to treat me like a child when we meet. Are you guilty of that, Madame?’

I gulped, unable to think of an instant response. ‘I – I hope not, your grace,’ I stuttered. ‘I am Queen Catherine’s loyal servant.’

‘My
most
loyal servant,’ interposed Catherine with a smile. ‘Who loves me well – as an adult, not as a child.’

‘Good.’ When he chose to aim it at one person, King Henry’s smile was a knee-weakening weapon and I felt mine begin to shake under its aim. But his next remark was businesslike in the extreme. ‘Then you will have prepared her well for her wedding night no doubt.’

I shot a glance at Catherine and saw her cheeks flare. It inspired a reckless anger in me for I could not bear her fragile confidence to suffer any dent.

‘My dearest lady was born to be the wife of a great king, your grace,’ I answered defiantly. ‘There is no princess to match her in the world.’

‘Ha!’ King Henry’s laugh was a surprise. ‘I think your nurse is trying to tell me I do not deserve you, Catherine!’ he exclaimed. ‘She is indeed loyal and I prize loyalty above all things. I will leave you to her tender ministrations. We must make haste. The archbishop will be here before long to give us his blessing!’

An adjoining room had been prepared for King Henry to disrobe and he departed with his group of body squires. The ladies-in-waiting began to bustle about their various duties, chattering in low voices while Agnes issued them with instructions. For a brief few moments Catherine and I were able to embrace.

‘I am so frightened, Mette,’ she murmured. ‘I wish you could sleep by my bed as you used to do!’

‘Every bride feels like that but you have nothing to fear,’ I tried to reassure her. ‘The phial is hidden where I showed you and I will be right outside the door. If you call, I will come.’

Catherine drew back from our embrace, gazed at me soulfully and said, shaking her head, ‘I do not have a good feeling about this.’

D
ue to the influence of alcohol and excessive prurience on the part of the principal guests, the ceremony of bedding the bride and groom proved to be exactly the awkward and embarrassing episode Catherine had predicted.

When the archbishop arrived at the head of a procession of priests and family members, Catherine and Henry were waiting solemnly in their fur-trimmed chamber-robes on either side of the great bed. Each was ceremonially placed between the sheets by their closest relatives; Catherine by her mother and sister and Henry by his two brothers. Holy water was sprinkled over them by the queen’s confessor, the Bishop of Beauvais, and then the worldly Archbishop Savoisy began his prayers, which were progressively salacious and seemed to go on forever. He prayed for the success of the union, for the gift of children, for the approval of Heaven, for the blessing of the Virgin, for the sanction of their individual patron saints, for the fertility of the bride, for the virility of the bridegroom, for the fecundity of their bodies, for the mutuality of their desires … on and on and on went the prayers, straying into such arcane realms of secular and canonical fancy that many in the room began to titter and smirk. It became very obvious that drink had been taken as freely by the priesthood as by the laity.

‘We thank you, your grace, for your prayers and intercessions.’ Eventually King Henry could take no more and interrupted, his tetchy tone commanding attention even when delivered from between the sheets. ‘Now, since the night grows ever shorter, perhaps we may be left to our own prayers.’

‘I trust it will not only be
prayers
you’ll be about, brother!’ exclaimed Thomas of Clarence, whose uncharacteristically boorish leer was a side effect of the bridal mead. ‘You’ll get no heir by wish and prayer. Ha, ha! I am a poet in faith!’

‘And a very bad one, Tom!’ cried Henry in exasperation. ‘Get back to your wine and take the rest of this rabble with you. Can you not see that my wife is tired?’

‘Not so quick to use the word “wife”, brother! That has still to be consumed,’ retorted his inebriated sibling.

‘I think you’ll find the word is consummated,’ Henry told his brother flatly and turned to the archbishop. ‘Can you not bring some order into these proceedings, your grace? Or you, Madame?’ He aimed this at the queen, who wore a smug smile and did not appear to be standing too steadily on her feet.

‘Ah, you are an eager bridegroom, my lord!’ she exclaimed archly. ‘Take care that you do not test my little daughter too severely. Remember her delicate virgin state!’

Seeing that he would receive no help from this source, King Henry turned to his younger brother John of Bedford, a quieter and soberer presence at his side. ‘John, will you come to our aid? We appreciate all your kind wishes and advice, but enough is enough! And please, take those musicians with you when you go!’