The Secret Diary of Eleanor Cobham (11 page)

More than a week passed before Margery was able to visit me. Laughing at the sight of my advanced condition, she placed a gentle hand over where my baby rested and confidently announced it would be the boy I longed for. She gave me a special potion of linden and chamomile flowers, mixed with honey, to ease the pain of childbirth and predicted it would not be a complicated delivery, knowledge for which I was extremely grateful.

The baby came late one night when the duke was away on business. I remember feeling a strange fear and excitement, then immense relief when I heard the newborn child cry out loud and strong.
Duke Humphrey named our son Arthur and our lives changed again, now I had a baby to care for. He wished to keep news of his son secret until we were able to marry, so I had to stay at the old Greenwich manor house while he returned to his duties in Westminster.

The new servants became my constant companions, the wet nurse and nursery maid taking the place of my ladies, as I did everything in my power to ensure our son had the best care and attention. The waiting was made more bearable by regular visits from Margery
Jourdemayne
with the latest news and gossip from London. I was truly interested in her stories from people she knew in some of the poorer districts. Before I met Humphrey I lived and worked in the city and missed the excitement of the market-places and taverns. She was remarkably well informed and became my good friend and confidante, as well as my teacher.

As the weather improved Margery suggested we should restore the herb garden at the old manor. Much to the surprise of the gardeners, we set them to work with spades and hoes, rooting up the overgrown weeds, despite the cold. When spring finally arrived I also enjoyed long walks foraging for wild herbs and rare mushrooms in the woods with Margery. The fresh air and exercise was good for me and I learned a great deal about how to recognise and use special plants.

Arthur was barely a month old when he caught a fever. At first I thought he would soon recover, but then he began to cause me much distress with his sweating and shivering. I sent for Margery
Jourdemayne
and she came right away, despite torrential rain on a stormy night, to watch over him until he was well again. She told me he would have recovered well enough, yet I am sure she saved his young life with her special potions of willow and meadowsweet. It was a great comfort to me and sealed the bond of our friendship.

As I remembered her kindly face, a distant flash lights up the Welsh hills, followed soon after by a crack of violent thunder and I move away from the window to sit closer to the fire, my bones feeling the chill. I stare into the flames and the awful death of Margery Jourdemayne rests heavily on my conscience. I slept fitfully that night, my head full of memories I would rather forget.

Humphrey remained at his London mansion while there were meetings of parliament, returning to the Greenwich manor as much as he could through the summer. I noticed a change in him, as he was less ready to talk about his work or his progress in winning more support. Aware from Margery of speculation and gossip about my absence, I decided Arthur was old enough to be left in the care of his nursemaid and returned with Humphrey to be seen at his side.

I rode proudly through the streets of Westminster on a fine white mare, surrounded by my ladies in all their finery, with an escort of the duke’s personal guard. The clatter of the iron-shod hooves of our horses on the cobblestones brought crowds of onlookers. If the people were going to talk, at least I would not give them the satisfaction of thinking I was in any way ashamed of my circumstances. We attended a banquet at Westminster Hall where I could feel all eyes were upon me and I knew this was how it would be from now on.

As the summer came and passed into autumn, Arthur grew quickly into a boisterous toddler, thriving in the fresh country air, and I realised I was again carrying a child. This time I prayed it would be a girl. Once again, the duke insisted I must return to my sanctuary at Greenwich, away from questioning eyes. I waited out a long winter, virtually a prisoner in the old manor house, although I was happy there and Humphrey visited me as often as he was able to.

This time it was not to be an easy birth. I remember the dreadful sense of foreboding at concern in the eyes of my midwife. She sent one of the young serving girls at once for Margery
Jourdemayne while she stayed at my side day and night. Sleeping on a thin straw mattress on the floor next to my bed and her intentions were good, yet her snores kept me awake until the small hours of the morning. I knew she feared the worst for my unborn child.

The servant girl was unable to find
Margery
Jourdemayne. I remember thinking this was a bad omen for the birth of my child. My pains came more frequently while we waited for her reply and I had to make my potions as best as I could to ease my suffering. The child was in the wrong position. It was as bad as it could be. At one time I overheard the midwife muttering to one of the girls that she might be able to save me or the child but not both. She boiled white willow with mandrake to ease my pain yet I still suffered greatly. A whole day passed before the child was born, by God’s grace a healthy girl. My prayers had been answered, although the midwife cautioned that I should not expect to bear more children in the future.

It took many weeks before I felt well enough to leave my bed. Even then I could only walk with the aid of a stick and still felt weak. Duke Humphrey was delighted with our beautiful baby and named her Antigone, from the Greek ‘against birth’, after her tumultuous entry into the world. Although she lacked the strength of her brother, she was bright-eyed and perfect in every respect, with my dark hair, her mother’s daughter.

My writing was interrupted by the nervous young scullery maid bringing me my food, a bowl of luke-warm stew and stale rye bread. They don’t allow me to have wine often now, so I must be content with the watery beer. I worried this would make me ill until I saw my guards drinking the same. As I ate alone I recalled the excess of the celebratory banquet when the message arrived from the duke’s brother in Normandy.

The messenger had ridden hard from Dover to tell us Countess Jacqueline had agreed a peace treaty with the Duke of Burgundy and that Humphrey’s marriage had been annulled by papal decree, on the grounds it was illegitimate. He carried the letter of annulment, bearing the seal of the pope. It was the news we had been longing to hear, for at last we were free to be married. I remember the excitement as the hasty arrangements were made for us to be wed in the chapel at Westminster.

I was to become a duchess, and knew how important it was for me to look like one. Seamstresses began work right away on my wedding dress while Humphrey busied himself with the details of the guest list. He saw this as his chance to set the past behind him and begin our new public life together. With our children discreetly hidden away at Greenwich Manor, we once more became the centre of attention. The ceremony itself was a simple affair, presided over by a stern-looking bishop, although the reception at the duke’s London mansion afterwards was marked by excess.

I contrived to make a grand entrance, keeping all the high-ranking guests waiting for as long as I dared before giving the signal for a fanfare of trumpets for the new Duke and Duchess of Gloucester. The wine flowed and every type of meat and fruit was served in so many courses it would have been impossible to eat them all. Humphrey gave an impressive speech, talking of a future of peace and prosperity for England, which was rewarded by a rousing cheer from the assembled guests.

Sine cura

The onset of spring in Beaumaris is heralded by a visit from Sir William Bulkeley, wearing a rich velvet cape with a polished silver breastplate over his tunic and carrying a fine new sword at his belt. My jailor seemed in good spirits and was unusually talkative, so I took the opportunity to ask if Lady Ellen would be able to visit, as she has not been to see me since before Christmas. I also asked him again if his wife could be so kind as to bring me a new dress to replace the now ragged
gown
I have to wear each day, as well as some fruit to vary my poor diet.

Sir William promised to see what he could do.
I resent his condescending attitude towards me, yet I know from what Ellen has told me that he is a decent, honest man, trying to do his job as well as he can. He was as good as his word, for the next day I had a message from one of the guards that Lady Ellen was waiting to meet me in the courtyard. She was accompanied by a servant carrying a wicker basket laden with gifts for me.

Although she tried to hide her concern, I could see Ellen was troubled by how I looked after the hardships of the long winter. It was a bright sunny morning but a chill wind came straight from the sea, so we sought shelter in the porch of the chapel while she showed me what she had brought. My ever-present guards waited outside in the wind, watching with open curiosity on their faces in place of their normally bored expressions.

She took from the wicker basket a dark red dress with black lace, sparkling with small black beads at the neck and cuffs. It had a finely woven pattern of flowers and was the work of a skilled seamstress, like those I had worn so long ago at Bella Court. As well as the beautiful red dress, there were two cotton shifts and a pair of fine black boots with leather laces. I tried the boots on and fortunately they are a comfortable enough fit, much needed replacements for the badly worn pair I have been wearing for as long as I can remember. As I put them on I wonder if Sir William noticed my old shoes and mentioned it to her.

Ellen also gave me a sweet apple, a real treat at this time of year, which I suspect came from her personal supplies. I thanked her for her kindness to me and, as I held one of the apples, realised my body craves fresh fruit. I have lived on dry bread and the salty, barely palatable Welsh stew called ‘cawl’ for most of the long winter. Although the cooks sometimes added pork or mutton, more rarely even scraps of beef, my mouth watered at the sight of the apples. Lady Ellen nodded in approval and I ate the delicious apple while we talked, savouring every bite.

She told me how she worries that the lawlessness and unrest in London will soon spread to the rest of the country and eventually reach across the water to Beaumaris. I learned from her that Sir William has ordered the castle guard to be ready at short notice if required and has a man permanently posted at the door to their house, such is his concern for the safety of his family.

I understand why the people are angry at the king and government’s failure to prevent further losses of English territory in France and dare to tell her Humphrey was right. The hard-won victories of his father are being squandered by King Henry VI and his French queen. I feel the first glimmer of hope for a long time that others will draw the same conclusion and petition for my release.

Ellen sought my advice about herbal remedies for her youngest son William, who suffers with a persistent cough which keeps him awake at night. I recommended a drink infused with rosemary and thyme, if she can find any this early in the spring. This is the first time Lady Ellen has made any reference to my reputation. I can only see it as a positive thing that she trusts me to advise on the care of her young son.

Encouraged, I requested a favour, which as a mother I was sure she would understand. I asked her to make enquiries on my behalf to find my daughter Antigone. Even if Sir William could not allow her to visit me, it would put my mind at rest to know she is safe and well. I explained she is married to Sir Henry Grey, Lord of Powys, and may be living at his castle near the Welsh border. Lady Ellen said she could make no promises but would raise the question with her father when she saw him next. He is well connected and, being on the Welsh mainland, any enquiries he makes will not compromise her husband’s position.

I think on her words back in my room as I put on my beautiful new red dress. It needs altering to fit me well, yet it lifts my spirits to wear something so well made after so many years of cast-offs. To my regret, I realise that in my delight at seeing so many gifts, I forgot to ask Lady Ellen for more parchment and writing ink. My last supply from the priest is running low and I have no idea when he will next come to see me or if he will be able to help me again. I try to conserve what little I have left by diluting it with a little rainwater and keeping my coded writing as small as I can, as there is so much to tell of the years after I became a duchess.

Standing at the high window of my prison, I remember the feeling of excitement when we were granted permission to build our new home in Greenwich. Humphrey didn’t waste a moment, recruiting master builders from Italy, stonemasons from France and an army of labourers to clear acres of bracken. Giant old oak trees were felled to provide wood for the supporting beams and the scent of sap from freshly sawn timber carried on the wind.

So many workmen camped on the fields that the green hillside above the site turned into a temporary village of makeshift shacks and tents to house the labourers who toiled from first light until dusk. At night, their flickering fires looked to me like the light of hundreds of stars. The sound of their gruff voices, talking in several languages and sometimes singing drunkenly carried all the way to the dark-flowing river.

Each day tan-sailed barges, laden with heavy blocks of stone, jostled for places at the newly rebuilt wharf, where men were busily unloading the daily deliveries from Portland. Carrara blue-grey marble was transported all the way from Tuscany and expert builders travelled from Florence and Milan to translate our vision of a palace into detailed plans. The air of the formerly peaceful fields of Greenwich filled with the musical ringing of stonemasons’ chisels and the shouts of the labourers as they worked.

Duke Humphrey, restored to his former self, took personal pride in the ambitious scale of the new palace. He rode around the site on a beautiful white horse, followed by his retinue of Italian advisors, checking on the progress of every detail. In no time at all the outline of the buildings emerged from the ground. His tower high on the hill, which he called Greenwich Castle, was finished first and provided the perfect vantage-point from which we could view the work on the house and grounds.

I was kept busy deciding and arranging the decoration of the house. In the centre was a great hall, where we could have banquets for over a hundred guests. The hall was lit by high chandeliers which could be raised and lowered by chains to light the huge candles, as well as oil lamps set on brackets along each wall. Before the building work had even started, the duke commissioned master tapestry makers from Flanders to weave colourful tapestries, each having some moral aspect for those with the learning to appreciate it.

The significance of one of the tapestries escaped me at first until Humphrey explained it depicted the struggle between two brothers, Cane and Abel, who became mortal enemies through jealousy, a clever reference to his brother John. Following the death of his wife Anne from the plague in Paris, Duke John had caused something of a scandal by marrying
Jacquetta of Luxembourg, who at nineteen years old could easily have been his daughter. Worse still, he proceeded to bring her to London and proved surprisingly popular with the people and parliament, who perhaps saw him as a calming influence and begged him to remain.

Humphrey had been grateful and surprised at his brother’s support in gaining the annulment that enabled us to be married, yet there was no questioning the rivalry between them. Duke John had been openly critical of Humphrey’s conduct in almost every regard. He always seemed to have the upper hand, greater experience and more influence, despite the fact he spent so much time in Normandy and visited London so rarely.

My favourite tapestry of all those in our new home was on the wall of our sleeping quarters. Life sized and brightly coloured, it showed the temptation of a noble-looking Adam by a salacious and naked Eve in the Garden of Eden. It was well that only our servants would ever see the tapestry, for the figures depicted bore a striking resemblance to Duke Humphrey and myself.

The most important room in the whole house for Humphrey was his library, an oak panelled room with shelves filled with the greatest collection of precious books in England. Humphrey retained into our household Roger Bolingbroke
,
a respected and well-educated scholar, who spent much of his time reading in the duke’s library, although I was almost certain he was there to watch over the duke’s priceless books.

Ruggedly handsome with a bushy beard, an infectious laugh and a deep, booming voice, Roger Bolingbroke was about the same age as the duke and had been at Oxford with him as a student.
I remember he liked to wear a black cappa clausa over his tunic, which gave him an air of authority.
The first of many poets, philosophers and writers to reside in our guest wing at Greenwich, he had an incredible memory and seemed to know every detail of all the books in the duke’s collection. He soon became a favourite friend and companion of mine, with his ready wit and charming ways. I would seek his company when the duke was away on business and sometimes wondered if he was in love with me, although he was always a perfect gentleman and his behaviour most correct.

I also took it upon myself to oversee the creation of the formal gardens, the design of which was the subject of as much discussion and debate as the palace itself. Most of the two hundred acres at Greenwich were open, uncultivated grounds. They were mostly given over to become the duke’s deer park, where he would ride and hunt the stags with his friends and guests he wished to impress. We regularly dined on venison, rubbed with bacon fat and marinated with spices, yet to live so close to so many deer was a mixed blessing. They would find their way into the gardens, damaging the tender young plants and jumping easily over the stone walls we built to keep them out.

Inspired by the gardens of
the archery guild in Mons, my new gardens were
rectangular, with straight paths and flower beds leading to an Italian marble fountain which formed the centrepiece. First drawn on a huge parchment, the planned layout was marked out with wooden stakes and lengths of twine before the workmen started digging into the hard ground. Fruit trees, shrubs and flowers of every variety were brought to Greenwich from all over the country for my garden.

My true purpose was to ensure that the grounds were well-stocked with all the herbs I would need, particularly those which were rare or exotic and had proven so hard to obtain. I sent for Margery Jourdemayne to advise me on the choice of herbs and plants, only to discover the king’s sergeant-at-arms had taken her under arrest to Windsor Castle, to be examined before the Council on charges of witchcraft and sorcery. I at once pleaded with Humphrey to intervene on her behalf, which he did with some reluctance.

He returned some time later with the news that he had achieved her release following her promise to never again use witchcraft, and payment of a surety. Although he told me he used two gentlemen intermediaries, I am sure his involvement was at some personal risk to his reputation. In the circumstances, we agreed that Margery would not be seen again in Greenwich until the whole incident had been forgotten, something which we would later have good cause to reflect on.

It had taken nearly two years to complete our grand palace, which Humphrey allowed me to name Bella Court. I chose the name as the Italian foremen would refer to me as the ‘Bella Donna’ when they thought I was out of earshot, which I found was a great compliment. Humphrey pointed out that ‘bella’ was also the Latin word for ‘wars,’ so as the champion of the war party at parliament he liked the pun, however accidental. We celebrated the completion of the work with one of the grandest banquets London, or even England, had seen for many years.

The guest of honour was no less than the young king, accompanied by a retinue of his royal court followers, the great and the good of England. The only person of note not attending was our old enemy Cardinal Beaufort. Looking back, I realise that was the happiest time of my life. I was the Duchess of Gloucester, married to one of the most influential men in the land, with two beautiful children and a palace which was the talk of London.

One thing that still saddened me was how my husband’s enemies repeated the lie that he had ‘married a commoner’. It was well known that on his deathbed, King Henry V urged his commanders to fight to the end in defence of his claims to the kingdom of France that would now pass to his son. He had commanded them to keep the Duke of Orleans prisoner in England until the future king was of age. It pleased me greatly therefore, when the Duke of Orleans was transferred from the custody of the Earl of Suffolk, who had been ordered to France, to the care of my father. I knew Humphrey had contrived this to happen, yet word spread quickly, reminding everyone I was the daughter of a respected and worthy knight from a noble family.