Hertford Castle, Summer 1428 #4
‘He’s not betrothed to marry,’ I insist. ‘It’s a lie.
Of course he’s not! How could he be? He never leaves the baby king; he is always working for the queen.
He never goes from court, and there are no young women at the court.
That is what caused me so much distress: not his refusal – because I care nothing for him – but his reason. ’
I wait. I take a swift look at his face. He is listening intently.
‘He’s a liar,’ I go on. ‘He invented the story of a betrothal so that he didn’t have to defy you and refuse me outright.
But he refused me, because he believes what the women of London said against me.
He believes me to be unchaste’ – my voice quavers – ‘unchaste with you. And he will not offer me his name . . . not even his Welsh name.’
Duke Humphrey takes a few strides across the room. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Completely sure,’ I tell him. ‘I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t completely sure.
If a Welshman, a commoner like Owen ap Maredudd – a man so far beneath me that only your recommendation could make him worthy – won’t marry me, then no one will marry me.
I can’t stay at court. I’ve come to say goodbye.
I don’t know where I can go. Of course, I can’t go home; I can’t tell my father what’s said about me, and that not even you can repair the damage. My life is over.’
I take another quick look at his face. He looks completely stunned.
‘I will take my vows and become a nun at Sterborough Abbey,’ I say.
‘You can’t!’ he interrupts. ‘Not a young woman like you! Not a beautiful young woman like you. You would’ve been thrown away on Owen ap Maredudd – that would’ve been bad enough!
But to go into a nunnery when you’ve been the chatelaine of a castle!
My castle! When you’ve been halfway across Europe on campaign!
And never faltered! And never failed! And never for a moment sought to lead or order . . . never for a moment unwomanly . . .’
‘I’m lost,’ I say simply. ‘We both know that I’m fit to be the wife of the greatest man in England. I am pure and honourable, well-born and high in courage. But loyalty to Jacqueline and to you has ruined me! I am innocent – but I am destroyed.’
‘I forbid you to go to a nunnery!’ he says hastily. ‘I forbid it, Eleanor! It would be a sin against your beauty and your grace – your God-given beauty and grace.’
‘Truly, my lord, I don’t wish it! But I’m like a princess locked in a tower in one of the old stories. It’s not my fault, but I’m doomed. If a man of chivalry could rescue me, he’d be like a knight in the old Romances. He’d be a St George to seize me from the snaky coils of gossip.’
I wait. He says nothing.
‘But where are such heroes today?’ I say softly.
‘You can’t be a nun,’ he rules.
‘My lord, I don’t take this lightly. I’m a woman of honour, and I have great pride.
I can’t live with this shame. If you prevent me from taking my vows, then I’ll take my own life.
I won’t sin – I’d never offend God. I will be as Saint Catherine of Siena and eat nothing; not one thing shall pass my lips, until God is merciful and takes me to Himself.
I have started my fast already – ask my maid.
I have had nothing to eat for three days, and yet I feel no hunger . . .’
‘I forbid you to even think of this!’ He crosses the room in two quick strides and takes me by the shoulders, as if he would shake sense into me. ‘Never even say such a thing!You are in my service; and I demand that you live!’
I lean back against his arm, as if I am yielding to a lover. I raise my grey eyes to his face, and I part my lips in a little sigh. ‘If you claim my life, you must tell me how to live,’ I whisper. ‘Tell me how to bear this unhappiness.’
Still, he says nothing.
‘I cannot bear it alone . . .’
‘You shall marry me!’ he says wildly, tightening his grip.
‘I shall be the man to give you my name – a great name. All those who speak against you now will kneel to do you honour. All those women who said you were my lover will know that you are my wife, and nothing can be said against you. I will have their tongues slit if they speak against you. I will be known forever as a royal duke so honourable that he married to give honour to his bride, without profit to himself.’
‘It would wipe out that terrible time in Hainault,’ I remind him, sliding my thigh between his. ‘We have both been slandered.’
‘Nobody will speak of failure – nobody will speak of disloyalty,’ he rules.
I raise my face to his, and he kisses me.
This is the only moment when I really cannot do this.
His mouth is cold; he tastes of the slippery elm drench.
I remember for a brief vivid moment the taste of Owen ap Maredudd’s hot mouth, and in that moment, I really do wish that I could die.
Something warns the duke that I am revolted, and he lets me go, crosses the room and opens the door and calls for his chaplain Canon Southwell.
For a terrible moment, I think he has changed his mind.
‘My lord!’ I cry anxiously. ‘I accept! I accept! I will be your wife.’
The canon comes in.
‘Take my oath and that of Mistress Cobham.’ The duke is exalted by his own heroism. He takes my hand and smiles at his confessor. ‘We are handfasted,’ he says. ‘We are precontracted. We are going to marry.’
‘Are you, my lord?’ the chaplain says. ‘I thought . . .’
‘You thought I was a man, like other men, to marry for worldly advantage,’ the duke says grandly.
‘You are wrong. I raise Mistress Cobham to be a duchess because I see her merits. I take an English wife – not like my brother the king, who married an enemy and a foreigner, a woman not worthy; not like my brother Duke John, who married the sister of our unreliable ally and my enemy. Not I! I choose a true-born Englishwoman who cares more for her honour than any of the loose woman of court, one who loves me for my merits and does not listen to slander against me. I save her from shame. I raise her: as Jesus raised the Magdalene.’
‘Except I am completely without sin,’ I specify.
The chaplain makes the sign of the cross over our heads and over our clasped hands. ‘I, Humphrey Duke of Gloucester, promise thee Eleanor, I shall take thee to my wife and thereto I plight my troth,’ the duke says.
‘Kneel,’ Canon Southwell prompts me. ‘May Almighty God, who joined our first parents Adam and Eve, bless this promise and keep these souls in faithfulness. In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti. Amen.’
‘I don’t want anyone to know yet,’ I say, getting to my feet and still thinking of Owen ap Maredudd and his sharp gaze. ‘This is binding, isn’t it?’
‘It is,’ Canon Southwell says. ‘Exchange of vows before a witness. You are bound and betrothed.’
‘I don’t want it announced,’ I say. ‘I don’t want anyone to think that we married because of the gossip.’
‘Agreed,’ the duke says. ‘There’s been enough gossip. We will confirm our marriage at the St Albans Priory where I am beloved and where they will love you, Eleanor, my bride, and we will bed there, under that sacred roof.’
He kisses me again on both cheeks, and I put my hands between his in the gesture of fealty.
‘My lord,’ I say fervently. ‘My hero.’