The Agincourt Bride (54 page)

The Duchess of Clarence coughed into her hand. ‘Your sister is very loyal to her husband’s family,’ she observed neutrally, ‘which can be an admirable quality in a wife.’

Catherine sighed. ‘She and I view Burgundy from opposite sides,’ she said. ‘We will never agree.’

‘You are not obliged to venerate your sister’s family or your brother’s,’ pronounced the duchess. ‘In fact, to do either would be unwise – now that you are, as she so forcefully reminded you, England’s queen.’

Despite the victory procession there was still much business left to do in Montereau. The town straddled the confluence of the rivers Seine and Yonne and the castle stood in the middle of the long bridge which spanned them both, blocking access from one bank to the other. The men who were responsible for the duke’s murder on that very bridge remained at large, probably in the castle but possibly in disguise on the north bank. The siege was not yet over and to reduce their chance of escape, Henry wanted to end it quickly.

He and Catherine were honoured guests at the Abbey of St Nicholas, which provided a victory dinner of sorts in the great refectory. We all sat at the polished wood tables where the monks usually sat and I could see King Henry and Catherine discussing something at length as they ate. I learned what it was when she came to prepare for bed in the abbot’s chamber, which the abbot had obligingly vacated in their honour.

‘Several prominent burghers have been taken prisoner, whose families took refuge in the castle,’ Catherine explained. ‘The king says that the constable of the garrison will surrender tomorrow when these prisoners are sent to beg him to do so. He wants me to be there to witness the arrest of the murderers when they emerge.’

‘Must you do this, Mademoiselle?’ I asked earnestly. This was a duty about which she was bound to have mixed feelings because the men her husband called murderers were those who had rid her of the evil threat of Jean the Fearless.

‘Yes, I must,’ she told me solemnly. ‘But Henry says they are knights whom Philippe will treat according to the rules of chivalry. They will have a fair trial and he believes they will be proved innocent because there is only one man who is responsible for the devil duke’s death and that is Tanneguy du Chastel.’

‘Does he
know
that?’ I asked, thinking that surely Tanneguy had not admitted as much to anyone.

‘He says he has read the witness statements and come to that conclusion. And really, knowing what I know, it would not surprise me if it were true, Mette.’

However, King Henry had not revealed precisely how he planned to use the burghers to get the castle gates opened. After hearing Mass the next morning he and Catherine stood on the river bank, out of range of the archers on the castle battlements, as one by one the guns and arbalests of the siege army fell silent all around the emplacements. Then, at his signal, the prisoners were sent out onto the bridge under a white flag of parly, ten burghers in chains and with nooses hung about their necks.

‘What are they wearing those for?’ Agnes whispered to me, appalled. ‘That is what condemned prisoners wear.’

I shook my head, my heart heavy with foreboding. We were there as Catherine’s female support, which as a queen she was entitled to wherever she went. Above us the sky mirrored my dark thoughts; black clouds were piling up on the eastern horizon, heralding the end of an unbroken month of dry weather. King Henry’s Windsor Herald, resplendent in his leopard tabard, cried out the king’s demands to the castle garrison, but the wind carried his words to them and not to us, so we could not hear them.

The rain held off as we all stood in fraught silence, listening as the mournful wails of women and children drifted faintly down from the battlements, where we could see the veils of the burghers’ wives blowing in the wind. The white flag flapped over the heads of their men-folk, huddled together on the bridge, waiting for the constable of the garrison to order the surrender.

‘He will surrender,’ King Henry assured Catherine loudly as the noon deadline drew near. ‘Even the pretender will not expect his constable to hold out against such impossible odds. There is no reason to do so.’

Minutes went by and the sun disappeared behind the bank of gathering cloud but everyone knew that it had reached its zenith. Then the bell began to ring from the abbey for the Hour of Sext, the monks’ noonday office. We all listened intently for the sound of surrender; a trumpet blast or a shout from the battlements or simply the noise of the portcullis being raised in the gatehouse of the castle. But as the bell stopped ringing not a sound broke the silence.

King Henry turned and gave a signal to men in the mass of troops behind him and slowly but surely they began to push a high-wheeled platform forward, such as might be used to scale a wall or protect an attack; except that on the top of this particular platform there was erected a ten-man gibbet.

‘What is that for, my liege?’ Catherine almost shouted at King Henry in alarm. ‘You are not going to hang them?’

‘I am showing the constable that I am a man of my word,’ replied the king, his face set like stone. ‘He will open the gates when he sees that I mean what I say.’

Then the wailing from the battlements began again, piteously loud as the gibbet was anchored in full view of the prisoners’ families and the men themselves were hauled back by their chains, desperately protesting, and pushed one by one up the ladder. The rope tails of their nooses were thrown over the gibbet and fastened to the platform. It was then that I saw there was a lever at the end of the platform which would release the hatch on which the men stood. The gibbet was purpose-built.

‘Your grace, my lord, my husband! You cannot mean to do this!’ cried Catherine in great distress.

‘The constable knows I am a man of my word,’ King Henry said again. ‘Calm yourself, Madame, the gates will open.’

But they did not. The wailing increased to a dreadful crescendo and the prisoners called to their families and to heaven again and again.

Catherine fell to her knees before Henry and clasped her hands together in supplication. ‘I am your queen and I am begging you for these men’s lives. They are not soldiers, my liege, they are family men, merchants and tradesmen who do not deserve to die. For your conscience and your soul do not do this.’

King Henry took her hands and gazed at her long and hard. ‘I understand your feelings, Catherine, and if I could I would grant your plea, for the laws of chivalry allow a king to accede to the supplication of his queen. But this is a matter of honour. The constable harbours known felons. He is the one to blame, he and his commander, the Pretender. They both know that unless a relief army is sent, the castle will have to surrender. There is no sign of a relief army. The garrison should surrender now. The lives of these men will be on the conscience of the constable, not mine.’

His face was a stern mask as he raised his arm and gave the signal to the hangman. With one fatal pull on the lever, the hatch dropped and the ten men fell through the gallows’ floor. Catherine buried her face in her hands and I rushed to comfort her. From the battlements the heart-breaking screams of the wives and children froze my blood. King Henry watched the ten bodies sway and jerk in a slow grisly dance then he turned and walked away as the rain began to fall in great oily drops. Within seconds the guns began to roar one after another.

‘Jesu, Mette, I am married to a monster!’ Catherine sobbed in my arms.

A
fter the Montereau hangings relations between the newlyweds were frosty, to put it mildly. Nor was the ice any more likely to melt after the castle opened its gates only eight days later, proving what a waste of human life the whole sorry episode had been. The only thing the cold-blooded execution of ten men had achieved was a delay, time enough to allow the men held responsible for the devil duke’s death to somehow spirit themselves away to Melun, another of the royal castles now held by the dauphin’s supporters. Having achieved little except a serious dent in his reputation, the situation had left King Henry furious and frustrated. He was still bound by his vow to Philippe of Burgundy and so found himself unable to pursue his own primary aim, which was to confront the dauphin in his southern strongholds of Berry, Orleans and Touraine. Perhaps by way of distraction, he instead relentlessly pursued his other current endeavour – to father an heir.

Still haunted by the hangings, Catherine suffered Henry’s regular connubial visits in sullen silence and he apparently made no effort to placate her. The siege honeymoon had become just that, with Henry firing frequent salvos but making no apparent breach in Catherine’s defences. It seemed that she was almost back in the dark days of the devil duke, except that this time the violation was legal and sanctioned by the Church.

After a fortnight of this marital stand-off I received a summons from the Duchess of Clarence. She and her husband had a suite of rooms in a separate tower of the castle at Bray and I was escorted there by a page wearing the Clarence lions. I found the duchess alone and, cutting short my dutiful bend of the knee, she beckoned me forward to sit beside her in a low-backed chair. ‘Thank you for responding so promptly to my call, Madame,’ she began graciously. ‘I know that you often visit your daughter and little granddaughter at this time of day. It must be a great comfort to you to have them here close by.’

I was faintly alarmed at the thought that my movements had been so carefully observed and reported on, but hoped that I hid my consternation. ‘Yes indeed, your grace,’ I agreed politely, wondering what was coming.

When Margaret of Clarence smiled, as she did then, it was easy to see why she had been considered one of the court beauties of her day. ‘I know very well the joy that children bring for I bore my first husband six. Sadly however, that was not a happy marriage, whereas my present marriage was made for love but has produced no children. So I know the vicissitudes of the marriage bed.’

The duchess paused as if to gather her thoughts, smoothing the magnificent figured silk of her skirt with her ring-laden fingers. I thought it best to remain silent, waiting for her to continue.

‘Also, as a result, I am both aunt and sister-by-marriage to the king and therefore one of the few women who know him well, all of which explains why it is to me that he has turned for help in a very private matter. Before I continue however, I must impress on you, Madame Lanière, that what passes between us from now on is to remain absolutely confidential. I know you have always had Queen Catherine’s best interests at heart and therefore I can trust you not to repeat a word of this conversation.’

‘If it concerns her grace then of course you have the promise of my complete discretion, Madame,’ I declared. ‘I will swear it on the bible if you wish.’

‘That will not be necessary.’ The gleam of a smile sprang once more to the duchess’s thick-lashed grey eyes. ‘Queen Catherine tells me you are her most trusted confidante and that is enough for me.’

‘I am fortunate to remain high in the queen’s regard, Madame. I owe her everything.’

She nodded, satisfied. ‘Very well – let us get down to business. My task is this – to ask for your help on behalf of King Henry.’ She shifted a little in her chair, as if settling herself to the job in hand. ‘It must be obvious to anyone with sensitivity that the king is a complex character – a driven man with huge ambition for himself and his country. He also has great faith in God and a hungry intellect.

‘However, it must be admitted that he lacks emotional depth. His mother died when he was eight and he was reared in a completely male environment to be a soldier and a king. If he has a soft side it has never had a chance to develop. However, he is sensitive enough to realise that something has gone badly wrong in his relationship with Catherine. The bright and beautiful girl he thought he was marrying seems to have vanished. Oh, she does not defy him or refuse him, but she is cold and silent. While she gives him her body, she has closed her mind to him. I thought that you might have some idea why this should be so. Apparently the first days of the marriage were quite satisfactory from his point of view. It is only in recent weeks that things have changed. He simply does not know what to do.’

I did not respond immediately, but sat pensively rubbing my palms together, thoughts tumbling in my head. Should I be tactful and vague, or should I be honest? I glanced up into the duchess’s clear, searching gaze and opted for the latter, though nervously.

‘Might I suggest more precisely that it has been since the unfortunate hanging of hostages in full view of their wives and children under the walls of Montereau castle, Madame, that her highness has changed towards her husband?’ I offered.

Margaret of Clarence raised her eyebrows. ‘Ah. Do you think that might have something to do with it?’

‘More than that, I would suggest that it is the chief cause of the coolness between them,’ I persisted. ‘To speak plainly, it was unwise of the king to ask Queen Catherine to witness that event. She is young and has been protected from much of the violence of war. Any girl of her age and upbringing would be dreadfully shocked by such a gruesome, and might I suggest regrettable, sight?’

The duchess frowned angrily. ‘I was not aware that she was there. I can easily imagine that she was very shocked. Is there any way you can suggest that he might redress this error, Madame?’

‘Short of bringing the ten men back to life, no, Madame,’ I said with a grim smile. ‘However, I did indicate that was the main cause of the queen’s withdrawal – not the only one. There is also the matter of the way King Henry treats her.’

The Duchess cleared her throat. ‘Ahem. I hope she is not coy about her duty in the marriage bed. She is his wife and she is not a child. She cannot deny him his marital rights.’

I shook my head. ‘No, no. She understands that and I note that King Henry has not implied that she does. But before the unfortunate incident at Montereau, she had expressed concern to me that the king was very formal in his manner at all times, even in bed. She said that he was polite and kind and did not frighten her, but nor did he offer any tenderness or intimacy.’ I spread my hands. ‘She may not be a child but she is still a young girl and all young girls hanker after a little romance, do they not? Even in a marriage that has been arranged by lawyers and fixed by treaty.’