Epitaph for Three Women (16 page)

There were great festivities at Christmas. He very much enjoyed the giving and receiving of presents. Joan Astley helped him to choose a pair of gloves for his mother and hide them so that they would be a surprise for her. He had great difficulty in keeping the secret and on more than one occasion nearly let it out. His mother had caught Joan putting her fingers to her lips and had looked very bewildered. He had enjoyed it all very much. He loved the smell of pies baking and meat roasting and his mother had told him that there would be mummers and dancing and Jack Travail would be invading the castle with his merry companions.

Eltham, that palace which had been built by Edward the First, was some eight miles south of London on the road to Maidstone. Henry was used to living in palaces but it was exciting to come to this one at Christmas time and to pass over the ivy-covered bridge with its four groined arches. As they entered the great hall he held his mother’s hand and the retainers came forward to kneel before him. He extended his hand for them to kiss with a natural grace. It was all part of being the King.

He could scarcely wait for Christmas morning when he would give the gloves to his mother and see what he was to be given.

Among his presents were some coral beads which delighted him more than anything else for they had once belonged to his great ancestor Edward the First. Joan Astley told him stories of the great Kings of England and the glorious lives they had led. Edward the Third interested him particularly because he had been a boy when he had come to the throne – a little older than Henry it was true. Quite old, Henry thought him. But everyone said he was just a boy.

There were a few other children who had been brought to the palace to share his games – the sons and daughters of noblemen – and they played bob apple and blind man’s buff in which the elders joined. Then there were the players who performed a miracle play. Henry found this a little dull but when Jack Travail and his companions came into the hall and entertained them all with his games and plays Henry was enchanted. He clapped his hands with the rest and cried: ‘More! More!’ much to Jack Travail’s delight. Henry wished it was always Christmas.

Dame Alice came all too soon and declared that it was well past bedtime. The other children were seized on too and Henry was taken, protesting a little, to his bed where he was soon fast asleep.

In the hall the Christmas merriments continued.

Katherine seated on a low stool surrounded by a few of her attendants watched the dancing. It was four years since she had become a widow. A long time. She should marry again, all said it. She was surprised that they did not try to persuade her to do so and perhaps persuade forcibly. She supposed her father’s death and the preoccupation of her brother who was trying to regain his throne and the fact that she was a French princess who had her home in England were all reasons why she was given some respite.

Besides, when a woman has married once for State reasons she should be allowed to make her own choice of a second marriage. That had always been a kind of unwritten law, not always adhered to, of course, especially when a woman was a specially good bargaining counter which she would have been but for the upheaval in France.

Because of that she was allowed to live her quiet life at Windsor whenever the fancy took her.

The ladies and the squires were dancing together. She declined to join in. She wanted to sit quietly and watch. Christmas had made her thoughtful. Lately the question of what her future would be had been constantly in her mind. She was twenty-five years of age. No longer a girl.

Her eyes went to Owen Tudor who was partnering one of the ladies in the dance. He was scarcely graceful. Dancing was not one of Owen’s attributes. Dear Owen! He was often quiet and thoughtful nowadays. She wondered if the same thoughts occupied him as did her.

The dancers were pirouetting which some of them performed very gracefully. She clapped her hands. ‘See who can turn the longest,’ she cried. ‘Come closer that I may see.’

So they approached and she called on one at a time to perform before her. The ladies applauded and some of the men were laying stakes on who should be able to do the most turns on tiptoe.

‘Come, Owen Tudor,’ she called. ‘It is your turn. I wish to see you perform this pirouette.’

‘My lady,’ he said, flushing a little, ‘I am no good at it.’

‘Nevertheless you must try,’ she said.

He lifted his shoulders in a gesture of despair which amused everyone, then he came close to her and began to turn on his toes. In a second or so he had toppled forward. The Queen put out her arms and he fell into them.

It was the first time they had made such close contact and both were aware of a tremendous excitement. It could only have been a few seconds that they remained so, looking at each other, but the true nature of their feelings was revealed to them … and perhaps a hint of them was given to others.

Owen recovered himself first. ‘My lady …’ he stammered. ‘A thousand pardons …’ He scrambled to his feet, his face now scarlet.

The Queen laughed on rather a high note. ‘’Twas no fault of yours, Owen,’ she said. ‘Methinks, alas, you are not going to be the champion.’

Everyone was laughing now. Owen Tudor was happier on a horse than pirouetting in the ballroom, they said.

‘Happier still,’ whispered one of the men, ‘in the company of Queen Katherine … alone.’

When the Queen retired for the night she was very thoughtful. She had known for some time, of course. When she went out riding and he was a member of the party the day brightened. If they could contrive to be alone then it was indeed a happy day.

She faced the truth. She was in love with Owen Tudor.

One of the women who was combing her hair said to her: ‘My lady, have I your permission to speak openly to you?’

This was a faithful friend, one who believed because of the favour Queen Katherine had shown her she was especially privileged.

‘What is it?’ asked Katherine.

‘It is being noticed, my lady, that you show much favour to Owen Tudor.’

‘Owen Tudor. The Welsh squire? He is a very good squire. The King is greatly attached to him.’

‘My lady, people talk.’

‘Of course they talk. They have tongues have they not?’

‘At times mischievous people talk slanderously.’

‘Against me, you mean?’

‘Yes, my lady. Against you and … Owen Tudor.’

‘What say they? Tell me that.’

‘That he would be your lover … and that he is low-born and you are a Queen of England and a daughter of a King of France. Also, he is Welsh.’

‘Welsh? What of that?’

‘They say the Welsh are barbarous savages.’

‘Then they speak nonsense, do they not? Owen Tudor has shown he is as gallant and cultivated a gentleman as any we have at Court.’

Her vehemence frightened the woman who had thought only to offer a gentle word of warning. She did not believe for one moment that the Queen could possibly take a lowborn Welsh squire for a lover.

‘Ah,’ said Katherine, ‘I am not English either. Do they say that I also am a barbarous savage?’

‘You are a French Princess, my lady. The Welsh are not as the French. The Welsh live in the mountain valleys like peasants.’

‘Oh,’ cried Katherine angrily, ‘they are advancing a little as we talk. The savages have become peasants. I did not know that there was the difference in the races on this British island.’

‘Forgive me, my lady. I did but tell you what I had heard because I thought you ought to know.’

Katherine stood up and laid a hand on the lady’s arm.

‘You are my very good friend,’ she said. ‘Do not fret. I shall do nothing to disgrace you.’

Then she leaned forward and kissed the woman’s cheek.

The woman shook her head. The manners of the French were unaccountable, she thought.

Never mind. She had done her duty.

Katherine rode beside Owen Tudor. They had missed the rest of the party on purpose.

‘I have to speak to you,’ she said.

‘I know,’ he answered. ‘They are talking about us. It was at the ball.’

‘You fell into my arms,’ she said.

‘It was not my intention. I was no good at their dancing.’

She burst out laughing. ‘You looked so … funny, Owen, and I liked you for it. I liked it very much and then when you fell I held out my arms to catch you.’

‘It was unpardonable of me to fall upon you.’

‘Then the unpardonable is pardoned,’ she said.

‘You are so good to me,’ he murmured.

‘Owen,’ she answered, ‘is it not time that we faced the truth?’

He did not answer for a moment. Then he said staring ahead of him: ‘You must send me away. I could go to France. Men are constantly being sent to France. The Duke of Bedford is raising a new force to take back with him when he returns.’

‘I forbid it,’ she said firmly. ‘Are you not
my
squire?’

‘Aye, and one whose mission is to do you good service. It is why I know I must go to France.’

‘No,’ she said. ‘You shall do as I say … that is if you want to. Dismount, Owen.’

‘Dismount, my lady?’

‘That is what I said.’ He obeyed. ‘Now help me to dismount.’ When he came to her she put her arms about his neck. She kissed his lips. He was hesitant but only for a moment.

She slid to the ground and they still stood together, their arms about each other.

‘It has slowly come upon us,’ she said, ‘but now there is no denying it. Do you love your Queen, Owen?’

‘With all my heart,’ he said. ‘I would die in her service.’

‘And live in it?’

‘I will do whatever she commands me now and forever.’

‘That is a true lover’s vow. I will make mine now. I love you, Owen Tudor, and here solemnly in this green sward I take you as my husband, my true husband that needs no mumbling of priests … no grand fine vestments, no signing of contracts … nothing but love.’

Owen said: ‘How I have longed to hold you thus.’

‘And I to be held. Shall we walk awhile and talk? Let us tether the horses.’

‘What if we are discovered?’

She laughed. ‘I am the Queen, Owen. I shall do as I please.’

‘We will have to take care. If this were discovered …’

She was silent suddenly. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘you are right. You could be in danger. Oh, Owen, that frightens me. I will be careful but, Owen, we are not going to be denied each other. That I insist on … but only if you will take the risk. Will you?’

‘I would risk my life for you.’

‘My fear is for you. For myself I care not. But we cannot be denied, can we? We have faced the truth. Owen, we love each other. We are going to be together for I could not endure my life without you.’

‘Nor I mine.’

‘Then we shall meet … we shall be as husband and wife together. I am so happy. For so long I have been lonely. I was fond of Henry but this, Owen … this is wonderful. This makes everything worth while for me. Does it for you, Owen?’

‘My love,’ he whispered, ‘we shall forget everything but each other.’

‘Shall we plight our troth here … in the greenwood?’

He closed his eyes and held her close to him.

‘Let us find a spot,’ she said, ‘away from the world where no one can find us.’

Gloucester was as enamoured of Eleanor Cobham as he had ever been. Not only was she voluptuous and skilled in erotic arts so that she continued to surprise even his jaded palate, but she was ambitious too. She kept a close grip on affairs. She had been immensely amused by his conflict with the Bishop of Winchester and when he was inclined to be depressed by the dismal nature of his prospects she would point out his successes. It had been a complete victory over his old uncle, hadn’t it? Beaufort had had to give up the Chancellorship and being a Cardinal got him out of the way.

That, said Eleanor, was subtle politics, for which, with her help, he had a decided talent.

He did occasionally have a twinge of conscience about Jacqueline. She had relied on him and had really believed he would get her estates back for them both to share. And it might have worked, of course, if they had been able to hold onto the estates and if Eleanor had not come along.