Baynard’s Castle, London, Spring 1425
Baynard’s Castle, London, Spring
AS SOON AS we arrive in London, I realise that the real world has not stood still while we were far away.
Duke Humphrey’s uncle, Bishop Beaufort, has seized power and has the parliament in his deep pocket.
His eighteen-year-old kinsman, Edmund, is acting as handsome squire to the old man, going with him everywhere, sucking up power as the nephew of the greatest man in England.
When he first sees me, he gives a little start, as men do, and then a slow, dark smile.
What a Romance it would be if a young man in his position and wealth fell in love with a woman like me!
I would change sides in a moment and be all for the Beauforts and care nothing at all for Duke Humphrey.
I smile at him, a slow smile that lingers in my eyes after my lips soften to a little pout.
I do my lady’s work, managing the household accounts in the beautiful London castle – Baynard’s Castle – and I realise how much I have learned in my service to her.
I command the castle as she would have done.
This is Duke Humphrey’s grand London home, a castle on the river with its own pier and river stairs with gardens that run down to the water.
The great hall is big enough for the household to sit down to dinner at trestle tables on benches, and the family rooms behind the hall, where the duke sits with his guests after dinner, are luxurious with tapestries and wall hangings.
He has a library here and when he is in residence, his scholars bring books from his other houses, and read and study with him before the huge roaring fires.
It is an old castle, built by the Norman lords to defend the river, and it can still be fortified.
But the great wooden gates at the south, facing the river, and the north, to the street, stand open all day.
Duke Humphrey has a reputation for generous alms at the kitchen door and a welcome into his presence chamber for any Londoners with petitions.
The servants have got slack while we have been away and I order the castle to be sweetened, all the strewing rushes swept up and replaced with new, the privies cleaned and the cesspits drained.
The cowman and the pigman have been stabling the beasts in the yard in the cold weather, and I order that the animals must go out to graze in the fields.
There is some pleasure to be had from running a great household as if I were its lady; but it is ordinary life and ordinary women’s work: Sterborough Castle on a bigger scale.
Now I have watched Jacqueline rule a kingdom, I know that I want more: I want to manage land and tenants; I want to command.
I am proud to send for an armourer for the duke’s new jousting armour and to go myself to the royal wardrobe to choose gowns for Jacqueline to wear in Paris.
She has not collected her allowance for the last six months and I write to the exchequer and say that I will take it mostly in cash.
Payment in kind is of no use to me; we are leaving for Paris immediately.
I have to write again and again as the exchequer tries to fob me off with empty promises and tally sticks.
When we finally get the money, the treasurer explains why they are so unwilling to pay. They have taken it from Queen Catherine’s dowry and even from the dowry of her old mother-in-law Dowager Queen Joan – as if all royal women are one and the same: a burden and cost to the country.
Duke Humphrey is away from home every day, mostly at Westminster, struggling to regain his influence with the lords of the privy council.
He is successful – they lend him a huge sum of money against the cost of the Hainault expedition and give him the valuable young Richard of York as his ward.
Now that he is in funds, I don’t hesitate to commission the silk women to sew a new banner, standards, and barding in red, blue, and cloth of gold for his jousting horses: he must enter the arena at Paris looking like the champion.
I pay the women extra in the hurry to get everything ready for St George’s Day at the end of April.
But although they deliver on time, there is no summons from France.
Philip of Burgundy is said to be training a new horse for the tilt and has commissioned a new sword and shield for the fight; but Duke John is not building a new great stand at the tiltyard in Paris, and no invitations have gone out yet.
I am supervising the maids packing Jacqueline’s gowns with dried fleabane and lavender heads in a sandalwood chest to take to Paris, when I hear a noise from the stable-yard and Duke Humphrey shouts up the stair to the ladies’ rooms: ‘Eleanor? Are you there? Come down – I have a letter from Hainault.’
I run down the spiral staircase to the yard.
Duke Humphrey, dismounted from his horse, has the reins looped over his shoulder as he opens a packet with Jacqueline’s familiar strong handwriting on the front.
He reads the first few words to himself, and I can tell at once, from the expression on his face, that something terrible has happened.
‘Your Grace, is she safe?’ I whisper. ‘Not . . . dead?’
‘John of Brabant has captured her!’ He swears an oath. ‘Her false husband has broken the truce, marched on Mons, and the townsmen – the traitors – opened their gates to him and let him in.’
‘No!’
‘He’s captured her, like a prize of war!’ he spits. ‘Though Philip of Burgundy and I have sworn a truce and agreed it would be settled by our joust. Damn him for a liar and a false knight!’
‘He’s holding her now?’ I whisper. I cannot believe he dares. Surely, she will kill him with his own dagger.
He scans the page, shakes his head. ‘No. Worse than that. He’s handed her over to her cousin’s keeping. Philip has her at his castle of Posteerne in Ghent, as if she was some petty prisoner of war, fit for ransom!’
‘Not imprisoned? She’s never jailed?’ I am appalled.
‘Guarded but held in honour, with ladies-in-waiting.’ He reads rapidly.
‘That’s not the point. John of Brabant can’t just attack as if we had no truce, as if Philip and I are not both preparing for a joust to decide everything.
By God, this is intolerable! I will go now!
I will go at once! I will call up my army again and invade.
If he wants this, it will not be a joust but a chevauchée.
I will not stop till I get to the castle gates and free her! ’
‘No, wait! Wait! Are you certain she is unharmed?’
He hesitates. ‘She says so. She says she is free to walk in the garden and ride in the forest. Guarded with honour. She says for me to think carefully, to use all my scholarship against Philip, all my studies in law and my knowledge in foreseeing. She says to cast a horoscope and not act in haste. She says to consult philosophers and use their arts, that her false husband John of Brabant hardly matters; he is a nonentity. It is the power behind him, Philip of Burgundy, that we have to defeat. She says consult the scholars, even magicians. We have to use all the power we can command to win.’
‘She’s right,’ I say rapidly. ‘Think, my lord! You don’t want to invade like you did before; remember how you were bogged down and disregarded.
John of Brabant has acted in haste, like a fool.
He has made your case against Duke Philip even stronger.
He has made you into a noble rescuer! If you defeat the duke in the joust, your victory is even sweeter.
Hold the duke to the challenge, and he’ll have to bring my lady Jacqueline to Paris for the joust won’t he?
If he brings her as her false husband’s prisoner, everyone will side with her and you.
If you defeat him, then you free her before everyone. It’s even better then. Isn’t it?’
His face suddenly clears as he imagines the triumph at Paris, of Jacqueline on the duke’s balcony, of him carrying her glove on his lance, of his victory, and him freeing her before the crowned heads of Europe.
He snatches my hands, crushing the letter between us.
‘Brilliant, Eleanor! It’s perfect. You’re right!
I shall write at once to him and to my brother John, and to the pope.
I shall demand that Philip brings Jacqueline to Paris for our joust to the death – or be named as an oath-breaker, a truce-breaker, and a man without honour.
This is the greatest triumph we could have over him.
He has stepped into our trap. She will be so proud! ’