Dover Castle, Summer 1421
Dover Castle, Summer
WHATEVER THE WISE woman says, some women are rewarded far beyond their deserts.
In June, when the court travels to Dover to watch the king and his army set sail for France, the queen rests in her litter as the rest of us ride down Watling Street.
When we get to Dover Castle, after the bishop says Grace at dinner, the king raises his glass in a silent toast, and she blushes and looks down in a compelling performance of maidenly modesty.
At Vespers that evening, there is a special prayer of safety for the king as he goes to war and then a thanksgiving for his beloved wife Catherine.
Everyone knows by this, that she has the luck of the devil and has conceived a child in four months flat.
Married without lifting a finger, crowned without effort, she will be mother to the next King of England and France for doing nothing but lying down on her expensive bed when the king could finally spare the time for her.
If I were Duke Humphrey, I would be sick with envy at my brother getting an heir; but when the men rise from their prayers, I see Humphrey clap his brother on the back, his handsome face alight with joy, and Duke John hugs them both.
The king is so confident of his brothers’ love and loyalty that when the fleet sails for France, he leaves Duke John in England as regent, to guard the queen, and takes Duke Humphrey as second-in-command, acknowledged as the greatest soldier in England after his brother the king.