Crown in Candlelight (33 page)

‘My dear Katherine,’ he said in English. ‘My dear wife.’

His face was red. She smiled gently, her dark eyes, like those of an Eastern woman, grew moist and rich. Her small white teeth glistened. Through the coloured windows the sun strengthened, painting with blue and green and gold all those who stood lost beneath its power.

Inside the Cathedral Church of St Peter all was dim and sombre, and cool despite the multitude gathered to watch the signing of the Treaty. Massive pillars fanned upwards into vaulting, delicate traceries starred with saints and monsters. In every aisle there were tombs, stone witnesses to the rustle of robes, the prayers, the silences, and then the sounds of feet approaching the High Altar. Philip escorted Isabeau and Katherine, while Henry led the way to the place of signing. At the rear of the procession came the knight whom Henry had chosen for Katherine’s especial protection after the betrothal—Sire Louis de Robsart. He was under orders not to let the Princess out of his sight. Henry, inherently wary, was still prepared for treachery; an abduction of Katherine was a contingency he had not overlooked.

The carved tombs sat in shadow, then blazed with chips of colour as the sun came through the windows overhead. The Treaty, carried along its great length by six clerks directed by the Archbishop of Sens, was read and signed by Henry and Philip, and the great seals of France and England appended. Philip acted as the King’s deputy, as Charles had withdrawn to his apartments, and, listening to the new Welsh minstrel, was refusing to stir. The Treaty was rolled again while the sun passed behind cloud and the tombs sank into fuller gloom even at the moment’s consummation.

Jean sans Peur’s murder was the hole through which I entered France, thought Henry, moved. I am lord and regent of France and England. Philip and the other nobles were swearing their eternal devotion to the terms of the Treaty.

I am King of France, when Charles dies. When will the Dauphin, at his hunting lodge at Bourges, learn of these matters? It matters not, for he, like Katherine’s sisters, are disinherited, and I am on the track of his spoor. And whatever I shall capture from him shall revert to France, my new heritage.

There were clauses concerning the lords whose Normandy estates had fallen to Henry; he promised to recompense them with lands which he should take from the Dauphin.

He was to be styled, by King Charles: ‘Our very dear son Henry King of England and heir of France.’ Charles in mercy was to be left to maunder out his days in whichever palace he chose to dwell, kindly tended by Frenchmen of his choice.

The two kingdoms, although united, were to be separate, neither enforcing its laws upon the other.

Charles, Henry and Philip were bound to keep faith, never to make separate treaties with the Armagnac party. And Katherine, whose finger he now crowned with the great betrothal ring which had been worn by Mary, his mother, was to receive 40,000 crowns a year as Queen of England. The dowry had been satisfactorily agreed.

I, Henry, promise I shall not call myself King of France while the King of France shall live. The country shall be governed by a French council with me, Henry, at its head. The Treaty must be ratified by a personal meeting with King Charles. Well, that meeting had come about, like a meeting with a child or an animal … I hope, thought Henry, that Owen ap Tydier sings well for that poor creature this day. Oh, holy God! How the great Edward III would have rejoiced! Great dead ones, have I not redeemed myself?

Katherine’s hand in his was sweet, pearly as a wild orchid. It was a capable, long hand, built to make music or mould about the head of a swaddled child. My wife, my bride. He bent to her, although she was almost as tall as he, and felt the last tension sliding from his bones. She raised her face, and for the third time returned his kiss. He became glad and pliant. The stern tombs folded themselves in deeper shadow.

‘Home?’ said Humphrey of Gloucester. He stared at his brother. ‘To England?
Now
?’

Unlaced, he had been lounging, eating fruit from a gold dish in his apartments at the Hôtel de Ville, and had only hastily put himself to rights before Henry strode in after a cursory announcement from a frightened page.

‘I shall miss your wedding feast.’

‘You think too much of revelry.’ Henry paced to the window. Above the moated palace garden house-martins played, diving and sweeping, expending, he thought, needless energy in sport. He controlled some of his anger and walked back to where Humphrey stood, belching from too many ripe peaches.

‘You are to be my regent in England, replacing our brother of Bedford. It’s time that John was relieved. And I need him here for the new campaign with Philip. Clarence has more than enough to do. The garrison will benefit from a fresh commander.’

‘But, my lord, why now?’

‘You know why.’ And Humphrey looked away, guilty as an orchard-raiding schoolboy.

‘I could hardly believe it,’ Henry said, ‘had my servants not told me—what you did and said to the lady. Were you drunk?’

Humphrey was crimson with resentment and humiliation. Harry, your new grandeur makes you a tyrant. You string up my desires as unthinkingly as you hanged those who rifled the Church. Yes, you’ve achieved all, but by God! luck played its part…I could have done just as well.

He burst out: ‘You are to marry in three days’ time, and get heirs for yourself, while I and my brother of Bedford remain bachelor. Your Grace, I crave permission to marry.’ Almost pityingly Henry looked at him.

‘Sweet Christ! How do you intend to marry someone else’s wife?’

‘Harry, all’s not well with that marriage. Jacqueline is truly unhappy with Brabant.’

‘Who ever equated happiness with marriage? In God’s name, how could you risk offending Brabant? and his cousin of Burgundy … Humphrey—’ he sat down—’what did you promise her? I mistrust servants’ tattle.’

‘Only that some day I would take her to England—’ his eyelids fluttered mischievously—’ to live with me under the greatest ruler since Alexander.’

The ruler blew an exasperated breath.

‘You are mad. What works in you that you should jeopardize all we have gained?’

‘Her marriage,’ said Humphrey, ‘may not last for ever.’

‘Pah! Brabant is young and strong. God willing, he will live long and help me take the remainder of France from the Armagnacs.’

‘There is divorce,’ said Humphrey carefully.

‘So you would alienate his Holiness too! By the Mass! Was the wound you took on Artois plain in your head, not your belly? Have you forgotten my holy quest? To build Jerusalem …’

Gloucester allowed him to expound on this for some time. Then he repeated meekly: ‘I must marry. John of Bedford must marry.’

‘Have you a bride for him, too?’ Henry said coldly.

‘That I have. Philip’s sister Anne. A useful coupling. She’s not married. She’s young and rich and doubtless fruitful.’

‘Ay!’ Rage diverted, as was Humphrey’s intent, Henry stared thoughtfully ahead. He said:

‘Before we march on Montereau—where Philip wishes to settle the debt of his father’s murder—I’ll propose the match. I doubt he will gainsay me.’ He smiled suddenly, the quarrel dead in his mind and, he imagined, in Humphrey’s.

‘I must prepare for my wedding.’

Humphrey thought: I am glad to be taking ship for England, after all. For
he
will be the nucleus of attention, and Dame Jacqueline well guarded by her husband. Also it’s time I set my eye on what machinations presently occupy that conniving Bishop, that upstart Beaufort, back at home … yet before I go I must establish my claim.

When Henry had left he came abruptly to his feet. Swiftly he passed through long marble hallways and came to the door of Katherine’s solar. A page opened. Ladies were sitting at their tapestry, one played a lute and another caressed a small red squirrel on a chain. Pray God the harridan isn’t there! He was relieved after a glance. Isabeau, the all-seeing martinet, the reformed courtesan and constant schemer, was absent on God knew what mission.

He was admitted, and Louis de Robsart, portly and suffering in the heat, gave him greeting. Jacqueline sat near Henry’s bride. His mind burned, seeing about the Hainault woman a glittering sea of prosperity and influence. Her bright braids were pure gold, her lips hard rubies. Principalities framed her in his imagination. But she was also lovely, and it was not in his nature to woo a crone as some did, deformed or with one eye looking eastward. She was desirable and have her he would, husband or no husband.

‘I have a wedding gift for the Princess,’ he told de Robsart. He saw Jacqueline’s body stiffen at his words. ‘A little jewel—possibly unworthy. It would aid me if one of her ladies might give her opinion before her Highness sees my poor offering. I hear that Dame Jake has superb taste. If she could view the bauble?’

Louis de Robsart was anxious only for his royal charge. Whatever her handmaidens did was outside his province. Jacqueline got up hurriedly, spilling her tapestry silks in a bright river. The little squirrel began to play with them like a cat.

Humphrey hastened down the stairs, Jacqueline almost treading on his heels. She wore a gown of cream sendal laced to the throat with a crosswork of gold. Her horned headdress was nearly as wide as the staircase, and was swathed in pale blue veiling. Outside the palace the sun was bright on a lawn edged with orange lilies and on the lake and moat. At the far end of the garden a sentry sweated out his duty. Otherwise they were invisible, save for one tiny window in the turret room they had just left. Clear of the outer door, Humphrey threw himself on his knees.

‘There is no jewel,’ he said hoarsely. ‘I have already submitted my wedding gifts.’

‘For a moment I was jealous,’ she said artlessly.

‘You thought I came worshipping Katherine? She is only a dear sister-to-be.’ He reached for her hands, taking them to his heart. ‘There is a jewel
here
, though … sharp, it pains me beyond life. Lady, I am in Hell.’ He raised his face and stared obliquely at the sun until his eyes watered and ran.

‘See how I weep! All my days are a mockery. Farewell is a word for a wicked tongue. I bleed and burn and die. Sweet Jacqueline, never did man love before, never will he love again. Let love be slain, let lovers kiss no more. Let fortune itself be ill-fated, for parting us thus!’

Her face drained white. ‘Parting? Us?’

‘Yes.’ More tears fell. ‘It’s my punishment for daring to worship you. My beauty, my goddess. Pray for me when I am gone back to England. I shall not live long away from your presence. I can say no more.’

He bowed his head. There was a pebble under his left knee, and he wriggled in real pain. Chaucer slid conveniently into his mind. He murmured:

‘The grete joye that was betwix hem two

Whan they be met, ther may no tunge telle,

Ther is no more, but unto bed they go,

And thus in joye and blisse I lete hem dwelle

This worthy Mars, that is of knighthod welle,

The flour of fairness lappeth in his armes,

And Venus kisseth Mars, the god of armes …

‘How fortunate he was!’ he said softly, ‘but this poor unworthy Mars is bound for England, cheated of bliss …’

She was blushing. He thought: I’ve gone too far. The verse is daring for one used to the dispassionate couplets of the Hainault poets. But she said: ‘My lord. Am I sinful?’

He got up. The pebble had lodged in his kneecap through his hose, and he longed to jump about and swear. He said tenderly: ‘You, Venus? Why, sin fled in shame at the sight of your birth. Sinful?’

‘To love,’ she whispered, ‘and to hate … Brabant. I wish he had died in battle, like his kinsman.’

Trying to remember whether Brabant was old enough to have been in the battle, Humphrey said: ‘Lady. You are a saint.’

‘But I love you!’ she cried suddenly and so loud he was startled. Then she began to bawl as lustily as a child. Her pink mouth turned down, her small pink nose began to run as if her eyes alone could not cope with the cascade. Great hiccuping sobs escaped her. Gratified and astonished, he thought: they will hear us across the river. Harry will be after me again. I must stem this row. He seized her in his arms. He had never found chance to kiss her, but now he tasted the salt on her cheeks and the inside of her eager mouth, while she, tears finished, writhed in tiny meaningless protest. He became tumultuously aroused, and ripped at the little gold laces of her bodice, baring her breasts to be kissed. He drew away once, demanding: ‘Do you still love me?’ and she sighed, yes, yes, as he pushed her into the alcove where the turret jutted from the building. He was ready to claim in that moment all the lands, castles and splendours that were hers, not to mention her wonderfully unresisting body.

The sentry turned and began to walk towards them. Humphrey stepped back, breathing heavily.

‘I am coming with you to England,’ she said, quickly knotting her broken laces.

‘No!’ he said, with anguish. ‘The King forbids it. I dare not go against him.’

She was starting to cry again and he said angrily: ‘Would you have your kinsmen follow me and. slay me in combat?’

‘No, my lord! But what are we to do?’ She flung her arms about him, tipping her great headdress sideways.

‘Persuade King Henry,’ she begged. ‘He loves you … I cannot live without my dear lord: I will take poison.’

‘The King loves me. But he loves policies and conquest more. He is Burgundy’s man and you are their chattel, instead of my dear wife.’

Sobbing, she said: ‘Then I shall speak to him!’

‘No, better than that, sweeting.’ Inspiration had come to him. ‘Speak to Katherine. Harry is, I believe, passing pleased with her; she may have influence. Test her soft heart; plead. Aren’t you her favoured gentlewoman?’

She nodded, smiling again.

‘You shall be with me in England. When Katherine’s ship comes into Dover, I will be on the quay. And we shall be married, and damn the Pope’s displeasure! I shall love my Venus’ (with little kisses). ‘Be of good heart.’

They stood embraced, he silently self-congratulating. Dame Jake should handle all negotiations, while he remained in London. The sentry had walked back to the end of the garden. Humphrey renewed his caresses. Temporary bliss warmed her fretful heart. Love flowed in her like warm honey. While in him, avarice and lust joined in a demon dance.