The Agincourt Bride (52 page)

A band of merry minstrels had jostled into the chamber at the tail of the procession and struck up a tune on their lutes and tabors that had some of the younger lords and ladies twirling merrily together at the foot of the bed. I began to understand why the queen had insisted on using the spacious great solar for the bedding ceremony. She clearly had foreknowledge of the extent of the high-jinks to be expected on such an occasion. Catherine and Henry, on the other hand, evidently had not.

I hovered as close as I could to Catherine’s side of the bed and observed her become more and more dismayed by the volleys of innuendo. In the capacious bag-sleeve of my best gown lay the flask containing the calming potion I had dosed her with that morning and I berated myself for not giving her another nip of it as we were helping her to disrobe, but there had been too many of her ladies about and I had felt the moment too public. As the level of noise and distractions increased however, I managed to slip the rest of the potion into the jug of wine that had been provided to sustain the young couple during their overnight endeavours, considering it likely that after being the butt of so much coarse banter they would be more than likely to partake of it.

At length the honeymoon cup was administered and, with the tactful encouragement of John of Bedford, the rowdy party slowly and reluctantly vacated the chamber and returned along the passage to the great hall, leaving a fuming bridegroom and an agitated bride propped side by side on the bed in fraught silence. Whispering to Catherine that I would be just outside the door, I pulled the heavy curtain along her side of the bed and watched as Henry’s body squire did the same on his. Then we both bowed at the end of the bed, drew the final curtains and backed away, closing the door behind us and leaving King Henry and his new queen alone together for the very first time. The squire and I rolled our eyes expressively at each other before settling ourselves on stools in the ante-chamber. Outside in the passage we could hear the guards on the exterior door stamping their feet to keep themselves alert.

Less than an hour had elapsed when I was startled out of a doze by Catherine calling through the door in a small voice. ‘Mette! Mette, are you there?’

Responding to the squire’s raised eyebrow with a shrug, I carefully opened the door and slipped into the chamber. It was in darkness save for a glimmer of light from the dying embers of the fire. Catherine crouched naked and shivering in its glow, hugging herself with her thin arms and sobbing silently. I ran to fetch her chamber-robe and wrapped it around her.

‘Mademoiselle, Mademoiselle, ssh,’ I soothed, rocking her gently from side to side. Quietly I led her towards a curtained archway which led to a small oratory off the solar, glancing towards the great bed as we passed. The curtains were closed but I could hear the sound of heavy breathing from within. Evidently her new husband was fast asleep.

In the meagre light of a sacred lamp, the agonised figure of Christ gazed down on us from the crucifix and we sank onto the prie-dieu before the small altar. I passed Catherine a kerchief from my sleeve and lit a votive candle from the lamp as she wiped her eyes and nose.

‘What has happened, Mademoiselle?’ I asked gently. ‘Did he hurt you?’

She shook her head earnestly. ‘No, no, Mette, nothing like that but I badly need your advice. In truth I do not know what to do.’

‘About what?’ I probed, relieved to hear that despite her maulings by Burgundy, apparently she had not taken fright at King Henry’s advances, as I had feared she might.

Catherine did not answer immediately. ‘I do not know how to tell you,’ she whispered at length. Although his breathing had not sounded like that of a man on the brink of consciousness, we were both speaking in undertones, fearful of waking the sleeping king.

‘Start at the beginning,’ I suggested. ‘What happened after we left? Did you talk?’

‘A little,’ she nodded. ‘But he was angry. Very angry. Oh, not with me but with his brother and my mother. I think he is not a man who likes to be made fun of.’

‘Ah yes, I can imagine. So what did he do?’

‘He got up and prowled about, declaiming against the whole tradition of bedding the bride and groom, calling it a barbaric procedure. Then he poured some wine for us both. I took a small sip but he drank his in one big gulp and then took another cup and drank that. I think he was trying to calm himself down.’

What she said made my heart skip a few beats. If King Henry had drunk half the jug of the spiked wine in such a short time it was no wonder he was sleeping so soundly now!

‘And did it calm him?’ I asked, although I already knew the answer.

Catherine smiled briefly through her woebegone expression. ‘Oh yes. In fact he got quite drowsy. Eventually he lay down beside me and I am sure he wanted – intended – to consummate our marriage, but instead he started snoring!’ Despite her anxiety she giggled. ‘He just fell asleep.’

I shared her mirth with a smile but also felt compelled to make a swift check on King Henry, so I pressed a finger to my lips and crept away to the next chamber. Cautiously I opened the bed curtains and by the light of the fire I scanned the sleeping figure lying amongst the rumpled bedclothes. The king’s usually stern expression was softened by deep sleep and he lay on his side so that the livid scar on his left cheek was hidden in the dip of the pillow. He was breathing through his mouth which was slightly open and one naked shoulder protruded from the white sheet. He looked almost boyish in the peace of his slumber. I breathed a sigh of relief. Fortunately the potion had not been too strong for such a fit man, but I reckoned he would sleep soundly until morning.

I returned to the oratory to find Catherine in earnest prayer before the altar but she crossed herself immediately and turned to me when I entered. ‘I was praying to the Virgin, but I think perhaps she is not the one to help me. What shall I do, Mette? He has not consummated the marriage, but I do not know whether he knows that. So should I use the blood to stain the sheet or not?’

I saw her problem. If Henry had taken her virginity, then there should be blood, except of course that we knew better. But if there was no sign to show the world then he would appear impotent, which I doubted his pride could stand. There was risk involved but, after some consideration, I made my decision.

‘I think you should use it,’ I said positively. ‘I am not an expert on mankind, but I think if you assure him that he consummated the marriage before he fell asleep, he will believe you. But you will have to do it sweetly and demurely, Mademoiselle, so that he is completely convinced. No tears or tantrums, just shyly but confidently. Can you do that?’

Catherine had recovered enough to twinkle at me. ‘Oh yes, Mette. I can be really sweet and demure when I try, do you not think?’

‘Yes, Mademoiselle, I do.’ I gave her a lop-sided smile and a little hug. ‘Have you found the phial?’

She nodded eagerly. ‘It is safe. I will do it now and give the phial to you and then there is no risk of it being found. Wait here.’

‘Use only a little, Mademoiselle, and just streak it on the bottom sheet, as if you have started your menses as you slept.’

In the light of the candle I saw the whites of her eyes. ‘I do not think I shall sleep at all, Mette,’ she sighed. ‘I shall worry about Henry’s reaction when he wakes.’

‘But you need rest, Mademoiselle,’ I told her. ‘Take a little more of the wine. That will help you sleep.’

She glanced at me sharply then. ‘Will it, Mette? Will it indeed? Then, after I have drunk some, I think you should take the jug and wash it.’

I wondered if she could see the blush that spread over my own face. ‘Very well. I will wash it out before I leave and bring some more wine.’

‘Be very quiet when you do,’ she warned. ‘I should not care to see you suffer the wrath of King Henry if you wake him!’

As I poured the contents of the wine jug down the latrine sluice in the guarderobe and swilled it out with water, it occurred to me rather too late that what I had done was a treasonable action. I remembered how the poppy juice had eased my mother’s passing into the next world and put my hand to my throat. I could almost feel the tightening of the hangman’s rope. It had been one thing to calm the nerves of a jittery bride and quite another to poison the King of England. I was lucky to have got away with it, if indeed I had.

I carried the now-empty jug past the curtained bed and listened intently to the steady breathing of its occupants. Unable to resist a quick peek, I opened a small gap in the curtains. Catherine’s hair was spread across the pillow in a golden wave that gleamed in the dying firelight and several tresses trailed over Henry’s outstretched arm. Should I ever have been asked to bear witness, I would not have hesitated in saying that they looked like a couple who had fallen asleep, sated after prolonged and successful love-making.

When I left the solar I handed the empty jug to the squire with a wink. ‘They may require more wine when they wake,’ I said meaningfully. ‘It has been thirsty work.’

Knowing that there was unlikely to be another call from either of the newlyweds until morning, I felt able to pull the cushions from a window embrasure in the ante-room and lay them on the floor as a makeshift bed for myself. I was woken when King Henry’s commanding voice summoned his body squire and told him to ‘Send in the queen’s woman!’ I noticed that the original squire whom I had sent for the wine had now been replaced by several new arrivals plus a pair of clerks, armed with letters for their master’s attention. King Henry obviously started work immediately on waking.

Catherine looked cheerful and refreshed when I brought her chamber-robe to the great bed. ‘Have you slept well, your grace?’ I asked, careful to use the correct form of address in the hearing of the king.

‘Like a baby,’ replied Catherine, stretching luxuriously. ‘What is the hour, Mette? Has the Prime bell rung yet?’

‘It has indeed, your grace, some time ago. Will you bathe before you dress?’

The curtains were still drawn around the bed, but with the room full of men she slid her arms into the robe before climbing out from under the covers. I caught a glimpse of the bloodstained sheet as she emerged and concealed a satisfied smile. A menial had brought warm water and placed it ready for washing.

Catherine glanced across at her new husband who was busy studying the correspondence his clerks had brought. ‘I cannot very well wash while all these men are in the room,’ she remarked loudly.

King Henry looked up at the sound of her raised voice. ‘Indeed not,’ he agreed, giving her what I could only describe as a complaisant look. ‘I will withdraw and let you make your toilette, Madame. It would please me if you would attend Mass with me as soon as you are dressed.’

Catherine made a small bow in his direction. ‘As my lord wishes,’ she said agreeably.

Agnes arrived when King Henry had left the chamber and we set about arranging bowls of water, wash-cloths and towels. For a time I speculated about the cause of the rather secretive expression on Catherine’s face, but it was not long before she revealed it.

‘I suppose I should tell you that you were right, Mette,’ she began. ‘He did believe me.’

Agnes raised an enquiring eyebrow in my direction but said nothing and I passed a damp cloth to Catherine before commenting. ‘I am very glad to hear it, your grace,’ I said, mentally willing her to say more but not daring to ask.

‘But he decided that in order to satisfy himself he should repeat the process. So you can rest easy now for the marriage is well and truly consummated. No doubt the queen will be asking for the sheets.’

Catherine wielded the cloth with vigorous thoroughness and handed it back, while Agnes set about her with a soft linen towel.

‘Madame will be sending one of her ladies to collect it as soon as she rises,’ I told her.

‘That may not be for hours yet, judging by her enjoyment of the wedding mead,’ remarked Catherine a little sourly. ‘I will be surprised if she ventures forth early enough to bid us farewell.’

But she misjudged her mother on this occasion. Both King Charles and Queen Isabeau were present in the Church of St Etienne when Catherine and Henry arrived for Mass. In a rush of circumspection the queen even waited until they were gathered for breakfast in the great hall to broach the subject that was uppermost in her mind.

‘I hope we may conclude from your grace’s cheerful countenance that all has been done according to God’s holy ordinance,’ she probed as King Henry washed his hands in the bowl of warm water offered by a kneeling squire.

‘You may so conclude, Madame, as long as it is the last mention made of what should henceforth remain confidential between my wife and me,’ responded Henry, drying his hands on a napkin. ‘Suffice it to say that the terms of our marriage contract are fulfilled and the Treaty of Troyes is not only signed but sealed.’

‘We shall need the evidence,’ persisted the queen, who seemed miraculously to be suffering no ill effects from the previous night’s festivities.

‘And then I told her that you were at that moment delivering the nuptial sheet to the Baroness Hochfeld, Mette,’ Catherine revealed later in private, as she described this exchange in gleeful detail. ‘So you see, all your schemes and machinations have come to a satisfactory conclusion.’

‘Excellent, Mademoiselle,’ I responded with a conspiratorial smile. ‘And were your other fears unfounded as well?’

‘If you mean, did I shrink from my husband’s touch, no I did not,’ Catherine admitted. ‘So at least I denied the devil duke his legacy. However, I can only conclude that what the nuns told me was correct. The marriage bed is a duty, not a pleasure.’

‘Ah, Mademoiselle!’ I sighed, struck by a sudden memory of those thrilling tumbles in the fragrant hayloft with my handsome Jean-Michel. ‘I truly hope that one day you will discover that those purse-lipped nuns were wrong.’

F
rom a military point of view, King Henry had been right to waste no time in laying siege to Sens since defence preparations by the dauphin’s constable had been far from adequate and it was an easy victory. Consternation had grown among the townsfolk as Henry’s formidable ranks of guns and bombards gradually assembled to blast their missiles at the city’s walls, and after only twelve days these angry citizens managed to overcome the small garrison of knights and men-at-arms and throw the gates open to the attackers.