Westminster Palace, Spring 1425
Westminster Palace, Spring
THE ENGLISH REGENT ruling France, John Duke of Bedford, safe in the H?tel de Bourbon in Paris, desperate to keep English lands in English ownership, is not going to risk the death of either his most important ally – Philip of Burgundy – or his younger brother – Humphrey Duke of Gloucester.
Duke John announces that there will be no joust; both knights are too precious to England for either to face certain death.
Instead, he promises something even better.
He will summon that most fabulous of all arbitrations: a Court of Ladies.
It is a matter of such delicacy, of such honour, that a Court of Ladies will be set up to give full and final judgement.
The two finest ladies in Christendom: Isabeau the Dowager Queen of France, and her daughter, Catherine the Dowager Queen of England, will judge the case in Paris at Christmas.
The dukes will each present their case, supported by philosophers and churchmen, and the queens will hand down judgement.
The word of the Court of Ladies will be the final ruling.
There will be a mass of forgiveness, a loveday, and a feast.
I am utterly dazzled by this turn of events.
I had no idea that a Court of Ladies could exist outside the pages of the Romances.
That one should be called – and Jacqueline be the complainant and I a witness – is beyond any dream of grandeur that I could have had.
Such a stage to show her honour and my beauty!
Even better than a joust, for it will take days and days of argument and counter-argument and arbitration – far safer for Duke Humphrey, and Jacqueline is almost certain to win.
The two queens are bound to favour another lady, their own kinswoman.
Jacqueline was daughter-in-law to Queen Isabeau of France in her first marriage, and she is sister-in-law to Catherine through her marriage to Duke Humphrey.
Honour demands that she is freed, and justice demands that she is restored to her lands and to her true husband, Duke Humphrey.
Chivalry demands that it is done gracefully and beautifully: a court hearing, a loveday, a mass, and a grand feast with dancing.
There has never been anything like it; people will talk of it and write ballads about it, and I shall be centre stage.
No competent commander would risk the court ruling against him; I imagine Philip of Burgundy is already sending bribes, but I am determined to prepare Queen Catherine to ensure she is on our side and understands her part.
The queen has brought the three-year-old king to Westminster to open parliament.
His days of being carried on a cushion are over; he will have to totter on his own chubby little legs.
Of course, his mother can think of nothing but his performance.
I will have to work hard to make sure that she understands how important the Court of Ladies is for Jacqueline and Duke Humphrey.
I walk into the queen’s privy chamber at Westminster Palace, cast a demure smile at Edmund Beaufort who announces me, and make my curtsey to the queen.
She is in her usual radiant looks, ridiculously overdressed in silks in darkening shades of green, a dark-green shift that shows through the slashing of her paler-green robe, and grey-green surcoat.
She gives me her usual, inattentive welcome but asks warmly after her friend Jacqueline.
I try to explain the importance of hearing the evidence and deciding in her friend’s favour, but the queen is mainly concerned that the baby king is not overtired by the men in parliament.
To my surprise, it is Edmund Beaufort who listens to my careful argument.
He joins us as the queen gives me permission to sit beside her.
‘This could be the most important moment of her life for your friend the countess,’ he prompts the queen. ‘Your decision will give her freedom, her own lands, and her fortune. If you rule in her favour, she will be able to come home to join her husband and to see you again.’
‘Oh yes,’ says Queen Catherine. ‘But will they let me take the baby king to Paris?’
‘For sure they will,’ Edmund says reassuringly. ‘But nothing should distract you from the duty of friendship to the countess. Isn’t she his godmother? Won’t he want to know in later life that he was there when you ruled for her?’
This is so helpful that I turn my most melting look on him. ‘You’re very kind,’ I say softly. ‘The countess needs her friends now, more than ever.’
He gives a little bow. ‘No man of honour could bear to see a lady so wronged,’ he says. ‘And who could deny a petitioner like you?’
The queen looks at me, as if she is noticing me for the first time. ‘Mistress Cobham is very lovely,’ she agrees, ‘if you like fair women?’
This is such a vulgar bid for his attention that I cannot even pretend to smile as Edmund spreads his hands like a man completely baffled, and laughs at his own consternation.
‘What a thing to ask me as I stand before two such beautiful women!’ he exclaims. ‘Yes, Your Grace – I like fair women . . . and soft grey eyes and also blue ones and lips that are the colour of roses, especially when they smile on me.’
She laughs delightedly, and I think yes, Queen Catherine you win; but there’s little credit in wringing a compliment out of a handsome young man who is under orders to charm you.
His uncle the bishop is hoping to seduce you into a second marriage with the bastard line of Beauforts.
But who would the young man prefer if he was free to choose?
He was looking at me, not at you; and the compliment was for me, not for you.You are the king’s widow, and your next husband should be a prince.
You don’t have to try for a great marriage; one will be made for you.
Owen ap Maredudd comes into the room and shoots me a quick, bright smile.
The queen puts out her hand to him without saying a word, and he leads her to her seat at the loom, where she resumes the unending tapestry.
Edmund Beaufort picks up a lute and, at her request, sings a poem he has written, which frees Owen to make his way across the room and sit beside me.
‘Welcome back to court, chi harddwch bach,’ he says, as if I had just gone home for a brief visit. ‘We missed you.’
‘Apparently,’ I say, with a nod to the queen. ‘Her Grace’s welcome was ecstatic.’
‘Well, I missed you!’ He laughs. ‘I truly did. Truly. And what adventures you must have had! Tell me, was it terrifying? Was the sea and the horses as bad as you feared? Were you as brave as an English lion?’
I cannot stop myself smiling at him; he makes me feel that it was a great adventure and I a smiling heroine. ‘I do feel quite different, like someone who’s been far away and come back knowing wonders.’
‘Wonders?’ he asks.
‘I’ve certainly seen a real fairy-tale palace,’ I say. ‘My lady’s home at Le Quesnoy is like a fairy-tale palace built by a magician.’
‘Why did you leave her?’ he asks.
‘I came home to prepare for the joust, and now I’ll go to Paris to meet her for the Court of Ladies.
It couldn’t be more important that the queen understands this is win or lose for Jacqueline.
The stakes are even higher than they were for the joust. It is not just her lands now but her freedom too.
And she is not depending on the courage of her husband Duke Humphrey, but on the judgement of two queens.
Can you make sure the queen remembers her friend and judges in her favour?
She’s so distracted about the baby king.
Can you explain it all to her, make her think not like a woman about her baby, but strategically – like a commander? ’
He glances at me as if he would say something; he checks himself.
He rises to his feet, beckons me to the window as if he would show me something in the town and river below the castle.
We look out at the view together. From this height, it is a little town of cobbled irregular passageways and dark thatched roofs, with the wide grey river winding through.
As we are, away from the room, he can speak to me without anyone overhearing.
‘Eleanor, it’s you who are distracted,’ he says very quietly.
I toss my head. ‘I don’t think I’ve given you permission to use my name.’
‘No, listen,’ he urges. ‘You can’t really believe that such a court – a Court of Ladies – will ever be convened?
You can’t seriously have come to prepare the queen to be a judge?
You can’t really think that anyone is going to let Her Grace go to Paris to sit in judgement on a case that decides the ownership of huge lands and great wealth?
A case that frees the Countess Jacqueline to be wife to another man, just when her former husband has captured her?
When the most powerful man in Europe connives at her arrest and holds her against her will? ’
I touch my coiled plait of hair under my headdress. ‘Duke Humphrey asked me to come – he says this is Countess Jacqueline’s great chance . . .’.
His brown eyes rest on my face. ‘You know it’s all a pretence,’ he says, as gentle as a man telling a child that fairies do not make rings of mushrooms by dancing in wet grass.
‘What d’you mean? What is a pretence?’
‘This chivalry game that they play among themselves. It’s not real. It’s all poetry and masquing. It’s no more than the choreog-raphy of a dance. There’s nothing underneath. None of them mean it; it’s all playacting to save face. There was never going to be a joust—’
‘There was!’ I exclaim. ‘To spare the deaths of innocents—’
‘Duke Humphrey of Gloucester would never put his life at risk to save innocents,’ he says bluntly. ‘He doesn’t even lead his own army from the front in battle! Was he ever in the vanguard in Hainault when there was any real danger? Did you ever see him take a risk?’
‘No,’ I say unwillingly. ‘He led the march with Jacqueline out of Calais . . .’