Root of the Tudor Rose (19 page)

John crossed the corridor to sit on a windowsill in the embrasure opposite Jacqueline's room. He didn't have long to wait. Catherine emerged, alone, and gave him a watery smile.

‘John,' she said, ‘Guillemote says you are anxious to see me. I hope you haven't been waiting long.'

‘No, not at all.' John smiled warmly at her and got to his feet. He had become very fond of his young sister-in-law since they had been forced to spend so much time together during the last few dreadful months. Looking at her, he could see that strain and grief had etched tiny new lines in her face. And he could see she had been crying.

‘Catherine, my dear! You look upset. Is there anything I can do for you?'

‘No, John, thank you. It's just that the baby has completely forgotten me. I should have realised that he wouldn't know me after I'd been away from him for such a long time. It was stupid of me to think that he'd be exactly the same as he was before I went to France.'

‘They change very quickly at that age. Not that I have much experience of babies, of course.'

‘No,' said Catherine with a ghost of a smile, ‘and, in truth, neither have I. Perhaps I should have insisted on taking him to France with me. Then he wouldn't have forgotten me and at least his father would have had the chance to see him before … before …' She bit her lip.

‘Catherine, please, don't upset yourself any further. How were you to know that Henry would die? Now, come, let me tell you why I wanted to see you.'

He took her hand and tucked it companionably under his elbow as they walked together back down the corridor. When they reached the library, John opened the door and ushered her inside, then settled her comfortably in a chair near the fire.

‘I wanted to talk to you about the decisions which Parliament has been making on your behalf,' he said, smiling at her, ‘and you'll be pleased to know that you are to receive the sum of six thousand pounds a year.'

‘That seems quite generous.'

‘Of course,' John went on, ‘deductions of seven pounds a day will be made for your keep here in the King's household at Windsor for as long as you reside with him. The remainder will be for your personal needs, clothes, shoes, your servants' salaries, and so on and you will still have more than three thousand pounds for that purpose.'

Catherine didn't react. It was something she hadn't thought about, assuming that things would just return to normal, that she would have a roof over her head and that food would appear on the table as it always had.

‘You will, in due course, inherit several of the dower palaces which are, by right, the property of the dowager queens of England.'

‘But I'll be living in Windsor, won't I? With the baby?'

‘Yes, of course you will. The other properties are yours to visit whenever you choose. But you must realise, Catherine, that crucial decisions have to be made about the King's welfare and his physical well-being, his education, and so on. So a Royal Council has been established, with Humphrey in charge, to look after his interests.'

‘But I'll be looking after him!'

John nodded. ‘You are his mother, of course, but you can't possibly do everything for him, Catherine. That's where the Council comes in. But don't worry,' he added, seeing the concern on her face, ‘the decisions they make concerning the King will require the agreement of all the council members. So, in theory, no one will have any undue influence over him.'

He knew that now he had to sound a note of caution. ‘Catherine,' he said, ‘you have been very brave in the last few months but perhaps not nearly so brave as you're going to need to be in the years to come.'

She frowned. ‘Why do you say that?'

‘Because your position in the royal household has changed. You're still the Queen but you are not the King's wife. You're now the King's mother and it's not quite the same thing. He is too young to champion you and protect you as a husband would. So if you are to serve him well you must be aware of every possible danger.'

‘Are you suggesting that his guards and nurses are untrustworthy?'

He shook his head. ‘No. Not at all. Just let's say that I know enough about human nature to realise that there are those who would try to gain power for themselves by having power over him. He's only a small child. One day he will learn wisdom, I'm sure of it, but it will be several years before he can make his own decisions and even then he will need guidance. I'm anxious that you're aware of the situation from the beginning.'

Catherine was becoming only
too
aware of the situation. ‘Yes, but who do you think would want to harm him? Apart from my brother, of course. He won't bend the knee to a baby.'

‘Not just the Dauphin, my dear, the threats could come from much nearer home. I'm thinking about anyone who seeks self-advancement. And I'm not talking about doing the King any physical harm. I think we have more to fear from those who might try to influence him, to manipulate him, seek to change his attitudes. He is young and very, very vulnerable. You are his main ally so you must make sure you're with him as much as possible.'

‘That won't be difficult, John. He is my son. And I love him.'

‘Of course you do, and in a few days he will have learned to recognise you and will have come to love you again, as he used to when he was younger.'

‘Oh,
Mon Dieu
, I do hope so!'

‘Yes, of course he will, Catherine. And you must work hard to make him.' He smiled at her. ‘You must enjoy being with him. Play with him, feed him, get him used to having you back in his life again. Don't let Elizabeth Ryman have sole charge of him, nor any one of his nurses. You the King's mother, after all, so you will have to accompany him to Parliament very soon and he must feel comfortable with you before that.'

‘Parliament?' Catherine looked surprised.

‘He is the King.'

‘But he isn't one year old until next month! Why does he need to attend Parliament? What if he cries?'

John shrugged. ‘Then he cries. Catherine, the fact remains that, young as he is, he is still the sovereign. His presence in Parliament is needed to ratify, to sanction, to approve, to disapprove … well, almost anything, really. There is little or nothing that Parliament will do without the King's permission. Or, in this case, his presence. So, I'm afraid you will have to take him to Parliament from time to time. But make sure that you are the one who is with him … and no one else.'

Catherine shook her head in disbelief as John went on. ‘Catherine, the truth of it is that the Members of Parliament will decide themselves what they want to do. But they do need to be able to claim that certain things were done in the presence of the King … and that he did not disapprove of their decisions.'

‘But this is insane! He can't even talk yet, let alone ratify or sanction anything. And his head is certainly not big enough to wear the crown!'

‘No, of course not, nor will he be able to carry the orb and the sceptre,' John agreed, smiling again. ‘But there are scaled-down versions of all three being made especially for him.'

Ten days later, on the way to attend the State Opening of Parliament, Catherine found herself riding in a curious vehicle. It was a lofty two-wheeled cart fashioned to look like a throne, painted white and gold and drawn by four ornamentally caparisoned white horses, two either side of the central shaft and each with a knight of the realm walking at its head. Little Henry was sitting on her lap, wrapped up warmly and wearing a coronet of finely worked filigree gold, light as thistledown and lined with soft wool. To her great relief, he had become quite used to her again and sat quietly now, staring, fascinated, at the cheering crowds of people thronging the streets, his chubby hand curled around a small sceptre of solid gold which was perfect in every detail. Balanced in the palm of her hand, Catherine held a miniature orb for him, much as she might have held a toy ball in the nursery. Together, she and Henry travelled through the streets of London towards Parliament, accompanied by members of the aristocracy from all over England.

That night, in the moments before sleep, she recalled the faintly ridiculous way in which those scions of England's noblest families had crowded around to greet the young King, first bowing to him then fawning over him with silly expressions on their faces, like apprentice nursemaids. Even the Chancellor had looked on fondly as the infant King babbled and dribbled, then said that His Highness had spoken his mind quite clearly on several subjects, though by means of another tongue. There was applause at that, and much avuncular laughter.

Catherine remembered what John of Bedford had said about those who would want to influence the child in order to achieve their own ends. She wondered which of them it would be.

The Bishop of Winchester was hurrying to a meeting, one at which he hoped to influence the thinking of the other sixteen members of the ruling Council of England. Beaufort wished heartily that his late nephew had not been quite so adamant on his death bed. Henry could always be remarkably obdurate if he chose to. There was all that nonsense about the Cardinal's hat, for instance. When Pope Martin V had offered Beaufort a cardinalate nearly five years ago, Henry had absolutely forbidden him to accept it, stubbornly convinced that his uncle and the pontiff were plotting to take over the English church. Uncle and nephew had a serious disagreement over that and it wasn't until after Henry's wedding to Catherine that they'd patched up their differences.

What was on Beaufort's mind now was that, in his will, Henry had made it quite clear that after his death, John of Bedford must be made Regent of France. Since John was expected to be abroad more often than not, Humphrey therefore became Chief of the Council which meant that – by default – he was Regent of England: king in all but name.

To Beaufort's way of thinking, it would have been far better to send Humphrey off to France where he would have stood a fairly reasonable chance of getting himself killed. Bishop Beaufort was no great admirer of the Duke of Gloucester. And what in Heaven's name, Beaufort fumed as he quickened his step, did the headstrong idiot think he was doing with the Countess of Holland? He was inviting disaster! Surely, surely, he couldn't be thinking of marrying the woman? That would be certain to incur Philip of Burgundy's wrath and risk ruining everything Henry had worked for, fought for, and indeed died for, in France. It was imperative that the Philip should continue to be an ally of the English and that was far more likely to be the case if the Countess Jacqueline remained married to the Duke of Brabant, however unsavoury a character he was.

He really must bring up the subject at today's Council meeting, though it would be devilishly awkward to do so with his arrogant nephew sitting at the head of the table. Perhaps it would be better to take a low-key approach and suggest other good reasons for keeping Burgundy in a sweet temper, rather than say anything about Jacqueline.

The meeting went on all day and Henry Beaufort felt exhausted by the end of it. He had spoken eloquently and convincingly about the need to keep the Duke of Burgundy kindly disposed towards England but it had taken all his debating skills, his guile, and his subtlety to get his way.

During the course of the afternoon, the Council voted for small changes to its own constitutional structure. After much debate, the members deemed it wise that, for what they saw as the best of reasons, the Duke of Gloucester's headship of the Council should be nominal rather than absolute. As the afternoon shadows lengthened, lighted candles were placed down the centre of the long table and the meeting eventually drew to a close. Entirely democratically, it had been agreed that henceforward the Duke's title would be ‘Protector' rather than ‘Regent'.

Gloucester was furious. It was quite clear in his mind that loss of authority on the Council also meant loss of his entitlement to rule the country He tried his best to recall exactly how he had come to be demoted and detected the cunning intelligence of his uncle but couldn't remember a single thing Bishop Beaufort had said which might have influenced the other members of the Council.

Humphrey of Gloucester had never particularly liked Henry Beaufort. That day, he began to hate him.

Chapter Eleven

Windsor Castle, December 1422

Jacqueline went in search of her cousin and, guided by the sound of a song being sung by a singer with a pretty voice and a pronounced French accent, found Catherine, dressed in a mourning gown of stark white, kneeling on the floor of the nursery, building a bridge of brightly coloured wooden blocks for baby Henry.

London Bridge is broken down,

Dance over my Lady lee;

London Bridge is broken down

With a gay lady …

How shall we build it up again?

Dance over my Lady lee …

How shall we build …

‘Oh, Henry, I'd nearly finished it!'

The King was taking great delight in knocking down the blocks, squealing delightedly as he did so. Jacqueline hesitated before trusting herself to speak.

‘Catherine,' she said after a moment. ‘Do you know what day it is?'

‘Saturday, isn't it? All day. Sunday tomorrow.'

‘And what had you planned for tomorrow?'

‘Mass, of course, in the morning, but nothing special after that.'

‘Ah, I thought as much. You realise, don't you, that it's my godson's first birthday tomorrow? I think we should celebrate the fact.'

‘Yes,' said Catherine, sitting back on her heels as the King, with a wooden block in one hand, began banging all the other blocks with it. Catherine had to raise her voice to make herself heard. ‘I know. It's the sixth of December: I hadn't forgotten. But, Jacq, it's the Sabbath. Besides, we daren't play party games with the baby while the court is in mourning.'