Eltham Palace, Autumn 1425
Eltham Palace, Autumn
THERE IS NO announcement of Jacqueline’s release, and when the court moves to Eltham Palace in the autumn, I go with them.
In London, the rivalry between Duke Humphrey and his uncle Bishop Beaufort gets worse.
When the king opens parliament, perched high on a steady old warhorse led by Duke Humphrey, men in Beaufort’s livery bar the way, and demand the right of escorting the boy king.
By the time they bring the king back to the privy chamber at Eltham, we have heard there was a riot, and the queen is raging.
‘What if the horse had been frightened? What if he had been thrown?’ she demands of us all.
Owen ap Maredudd, following her as she strides from window to window, passes her a beautiful napkin from his sleeve to dry her eyes.
I had not thought he had money to waste on fine linen.
‘That horse has been through cannon fire; he has been through burning pitch. He is my old warhorse – nothing frightens him,’ he assures her.
‘But the Beauforts were very wrong to bar the way and I will demand assurances in your name that it doesn’t happen again. ’
‘It shouldn’t have happened once!’ she wails. She turns and grips his arm. ‘You must go with him in future,’ she says. ‘Go everywhere! I don’t trust anyone but you.’
His hand covers hers. ‘I’ll keep him safe. Be calm.’
The groom of the door announces Duke Humphrey, and he comes in and drops gracefully to one knee.
‘I apologise for my men,’ he says. ‘They did not expect the Beauforts to approach them so rudely. Another time, they will give way rather than confront the Beauforts in front of the king. I hope His Grace was not upset.’
‘Of course he was upset!’ she exclaims. ‘To see your men and the bishop’s men brawling in the streets . . .’
‘It was very wrong,’ the duke says, ‘but there was no brawling. It will not happen again. Whatever the bishop says cannot be trusted, but my men will fall back rather than confront them. To me, the safety of the king is paramount, even if his great-uncle the bishop puts himself first.’
Owen helps her take her seat, and she gestures that the duke can sit beside her.
‘May I tell you something very different that will bring you much joy?’ he asks, smiling. ‘Something so wonderful that I came to see you as soon as I heard?’ She nods, but she keeps an eye on Owen, as if he is her only safety.
‘My wife, Jacqueline the Countess of Hainault, has escaped from her cousin’s prison!’ The duke speaks to the queen, but he shoots a beaming glance at me.
‘Never!’ Catherine claps her hands.
I cannot stop myself laughing out loud. ‘I knew she would!’
‘You did,’ Duke Humphrey agrees. ‘You have such faith in her.’ He turns back to the queen. ‘She wouldn’t wait for the court of arbitration. She tricked her guards at Posteerne Castle, disguised herself as a man, stole a horse, and rode away. She writes to me now from Gouda.’
The queen laughs in delight. ‘Is she coming home? Shall we send a ship for her?’
‘Not her!’ he says exultantly. ‘She writes—’
‘May I see her letter?’ the queen interrupts him.
He hands her the letter, and he turns to me, smiling.
‘Dressed in breeches and rode her horse through the night,’ he says.
‘She was far away before they went to wake her and found her empty bed.You said she would escape, Mistress Cobham, and you were right. My lady is such a hero! She could make me believe in fairy tales.’
‘Will you join her, my lord?’
He nods, his face bright. ‘I’ll muster an army and go to her.
She’s already raising an army. Even the men of Mons are turning out for her.
It’s all changed for them. They would’ve allowed her husband to rule in her place – they didn’t deny John of Brabant – but when Philip of Burgundy claimed her lands as his own, that was a step too far for them.
The Netherlands noblemen too. I’ll ride into Mons again. Will you come?’
Owen ap Maredudd gives a little choking laugh and turns it into a cough.
His bright-brown eyes meet mine. I am suddenly impatient with his scepticism; Jacqueline proves that wild courage is in the real world, not just in stories.
I am caught up in the excitement and the certainty of victory; I am a woman like her: daring, decisive, at the heart of great events.
‘Of course I’ll come! Only a coward would stay at home! ’
WE CELEbrATE JACQUELINE’S escape with a night of drinking and dancing.
It starts with the little king whirling around the room in a circle dance, a grand chain, taking the hand of one lady after another, everyone laughing as they change partners.
I dance with him, bending down so that we can hold hands for the pirouettes, timing my steps to his.
He beams up at me, his dark eyes sparkling.
‘Let’s dance again!’ he says, as soon as the music is finished.
Edmund Beaufort applauds. ‘The most beautiful couple in the room,’ he says, and I curtsey to him, pinning back a stray curl of blonde hair.
‘Not again!’ his mother rules, scooping him up and kissing him. ‘You cannot stay up all night, my son. It’s time for your prayers.’
He’s a devout child; he does not protest. ‘But may we dance tomorrow night?’ he bargains, looking towards me.
I sweep him a curtsey and kiss my hand to him.
‘Every night!’ Edmund Beaufort promises him. To the queen, he says: ‘It is as good exercise for him as running, and all good swordsmen must be quick on their feet.’
He steps close to her to kiss the little boy’s hand as she holds him in her arms, and for a moment the three of them – the beautiful widow, her little son, and the handsome young Beaufort man – are so close that he could put his arms around them both.
She glows rosy, and I think: yes, but when your son danced with me, Edmund said that we were the most beautiful couple in the room.
He may be ordered to charm you, but his first look is always for me.
You are queen: someone will be arranging a great marriage for you.
You need do nothing but smile on your admirers, you have no need to poach mine.
The queen hands her boy to his nurse and Edmund Beaufort follows them all to the royal nursery.
I take another glass of wine from a servant. Owen comes to me and clinks his glass against mine. ‘Here’s to your lady,’ he says. ‘Will you really go back to the Netherlands?’
‘I will! I’ll brave the high seas and the storms and the fat burghers and their cross wives, and go to her. I am not the timid girl I was, I’ll surprise you.’
‘You don’t play fair,’ he complains. ‘You are always surprising. You always rise up when I think you are defeated.’
I laugh at the joy his flattery gives me. ‘What does chi harddwch bach mean?’
He smiles. ‘It means “you little beauty”. Have you been flirting with a Welshman?’
‘No,’ I say. ‘I think he was flirting with me.’ I look at him directly, bold as a man. ‘But he’d better be serious, if he wants me.’