The Secret Diary of Eleanor Cobham (12 page)

My title of duchess was formally recognised when I was accepted at the royal
court on the feast of St George at Windsor Castle. A fanfare
of trumpets marked our arrival and Duke Humphrey took my hand and led me into the great hall, where we were welcomed by the king wearing his gold crown. I was presented with
the robes of the Order of the Garter before
all the important lords and ladies of England. At last, the troubles of my past seemed to have been forgotten and I had now established my position as the first lady of the kingdom.

Everything changed when a messenger arrived with the news that the duke’s brother had died suddenly in France. Instead of mourning his death on receiving the news we raised a glass to his memory and began contemplating the consequences. First and foremost, his brother’s demise put Humphrey in direct line for the throne. As the only surviving brother of Henry V he was heir apparent and only the weak young Henry VI now stood in the way of him becoming King of England and France, with me at his side as his queen.

John had been able to accumulate great personal wealth in addition to the lands and fortune he had inherited on the death of his father and older brother Henry. There had been no legitimate children from two marriages and it was to be expected that many of his titles and estates in England and France would naturally pass to Humphrey. As well as succeeding his brother as Lieutenant of the King in Calais, he was also granted extensive lands in Picardy, Flanders and Artois, all regions under the ambitions of the Duke of Burgundy.

The death of his brother made Humphrey one of the richest men in the country, so we did not doubt that this widow, Duchess Jacquetta and her family would contest his inheritance where she could. Instructions were given for the work at Greenwich to continue and our children were left in the care of their nursemaids, as they were too young to make the long and potentially dangerous journey to attend Duke John’s funeral at the old cathedral of Rouen in Normandy.

The sea crossing to Calais was uncomfortable and our ship was crowded with Humphrey’s guards, as well as our servants and my ladies in waiting. I was glad we had provided for our personal security when we arrived in Normandy, as it was evident there was much ill feeling towards the English. We travelled in fear of our safety, despite our armed escort.

The funeral service was long and dull, being conducted in both French and English, with too many speeches. At one point I looked across at his widow, young and attractive in her mourning clothes. Although I knew she had little say in the marriage, I believed her grief at the loss of her husband after two short years of marriage was genuine. In different circumstances we could have been friends, yet I suspected her husband had turned Jacquetta’s mind against Humphrey and myself. It saddened me that she treated us with thinly-veiled disdain, despite Humphrey’s reassurance she would be well provided for.

I was innocently pleased, therefore, to receive an invitation to meet with Jacquetta in her rooms that evening. Duke John’s presence still loomed heavily over their house and I could sense I was being watched as I was led through grand corridors to his young wife’s personal chambers. I was surprised to find her there alone, without servants, and she welcomed me with a cool detachment I should have recognised as a warning of the shocking accusation to come.

Pouring two goblets of wine she handed one to me and, looking directly at me, asked how I thought a man with such energy and life as her husband could have died so unexpectedly. Taken aback, I hesitated to answer and she seemed to read my mind. I recalled the angry glint in Humphrey’s eyes when he had reminded me of the story of Kane and Abel.

‘Did your husband have his brother poisoned?’ Her question was an allegation.

I saw a strength and determination in her I had not noticed before and froze in the act of sipping my wine, although my throat felt so dry I wondered if I would be able to speak. Jacquetta had not even raised her goblet to her lips and I realised she was perfectly capable of poisoning me as an act of revenge.

Noting my silence, she told me her husband had taken the precaution of retaining a loyal servant in our household, to keep him informed of our actions. It was through this servant they had learned of my regular visits from Margery Jourdemayne, who she called ‘that witch of Westminster.’

‘Did you wish my husband’s death?’ This time there was anger in her voice.

I had never discussed this with anyone, even Humphrey and certainly not with Margery, although the chilling truth was that although I knew I could not confess it, I had many times wished that John, Duke of Bedford, was dead. I also realised why Margery had been arrested for witchcraft. Humphrey’s brother had acted on the information he received, regardless of the terrible consequences for my friend.

It was with relief that we returned home to Greenwich, sailing on the earliest tide despite the imminent threat of a storm. As I looked back at the dark shape of France disappearing into the distance it appeared strangely threatening. The allegations of John’s widow Jacquetta deeply disturbed me. She was a vengeful woman and I was troubled by the knowledge she might yet seek revenge through threatening those closest to me. I had missed the children greatly and resolved never to leave them again, even though I knew Duke Humphrey would have to return to carry out his duties in Calais.

Erubescant conturbentur omnes inimici mei

Writing this journal in a shaft of warm early morning sunshine that comes through my window, my thoughts turn once more to freedom and how I could escape from Beaumaris. My only real advantage would be surprise, as I know my guards have become complacent as I am careful never to give any indication I would even consider trying to escape. Superstitious and simple men, they think I have powers of witchcraft, and fear I will curse them, something I encourage to keep them at their distance. I think that is how I still have my mother’s gold ring and the last of my precious jewellery, sewn into a secret pocket of my old blue dress.

My difficulty is that this old fortress, which Lady Ellen told me was the last and largest of the castles built by the first King Edward in Wales to keep attackers out, is proving just as effective at keeping me in. When I have been allowed to climb the stone steps up to the high parapet, I have seen how cleverly it is built. With its sixteen towers and double rows of walls, Beaumaris castle is easy to defend and also easy to use as a prison.

My window is wide enough for my slim body and has no iron bars fixed into the stone that would stop me climbing out. There is no prospect of this, for my room is on the second floor. Even if I were able to plait some rope which could take my weight, I would then have to cross the wide open space of the outer ward, overlooked by the guards who patrol the top of the curtain wall which surrounds the castle on all sides. Outside the wall is the wide and deep moat, which I would not relish crossing even if I could.

I have learned to find privacy when I need it by standing to the right of the door of my room, out of the field of view of the guards who check on me through the small grill. I am also alert to the metal scrape of the bolt being drawn, as it is loud enough to wake me even when I am sleeping. The door is not always guarded, as I can hear when there is anyone in the narrow corridor outside, yet there is no way of escaping through it without it being unbolted.

This means I will have to choose my moment with care and wait until the door is opened by the cook with my food or the servants who come to clean my room and change my bedding. I would need to somehow distract their attention. I notice my small store of precious tallow candles, logs and sticks for my fire. It would be an easy enough matter to set a fire which gave off a lot of smoke. It would be best to do this at night, when I expect my guards would be at their least vigilant. A fire would easily be explained away as an accident and I could douse any flames with my jug of water if I am unable to escape.

I would also need to disguise my appearance in some way. I could blacken my face with the soot from my hearth and fashion a hooded cape from my old dress. It would be even better if I could somehow steal some men’s clothing and cut my long dark hair. I have a sudden memory of when my hair was cut short for my penance. I am certain people would be less able to recognise me without it.

Once out of my room I still need to find a way through the gatehouse, the only way in and out of the castle. I have lived in this south-east tower since January, so there has been plenty of opportunity to observe the activity through the south gate. Sailing boats are often moored at the castle quay, noisily unloading as they bring supplies. Once a week the merchants of Beaumaris also set up their stalls and the space in front of the castle becomes a small marketplace. At nights I hear the men shouting and the rumble of chains as the heavy wrought iron portcullis is lowered into place. Without fail it remains until morning, sealing us off from the outside world, presumably on the orders of Sir William Bulkeley.

Although never used while I have been here, the gatehouse has two more portcullises and several sets of heavy wooden doors, all guarded by armed sentries. It seems impossible that I could ever pass unnoticed through the main entrance to the castle, and even then my island prison is separated from the tantalisingly close mountains of mainland Wales by the fast flowing Menai Strait. I doubt I would be able to stow away unnoticed on one of the boats in the quay. I expect I could find a small fishing boat left unattended on the shore at night, although I am certain I would not be able to make the crossing without assistance from an accomplice with knowledge of the currents.

There is another entrance to the castle which seems to be disused and therefore not well guarded. On my walks in the inner ward I have observed that the north gatehouse looks unfinished, without any barbican or portcullis, yet from my vantage-point on the parapet I saw behind it an old wooden bridge leading north-west across the moat, with a winding track running inland across open fields. The island of Anglesey is green and fertile, so I imagine it would be possible to hide somewhere inland and find food and water until any search for me is abandoned. Perhaps I could make my way to the far west of the island and then trade the last of my jewellery for a passage across the sea to Ireland, where no one would know or care who I was.

Later I will look more closely at the narrow passageways which connect my room to the chapel tower. There are tall window openings to the inner ward along one side and at the chapel there are stone galleries that once allowed people to observe those praying. The galleries have fine carving to the stonework and I wonder if these were built for
King Edward’s use or even for his young wife, my namesake, Eleanor of Castile, once the Queen of England.
If I could somehow evade my captors, these corridors and galleries may offer some temporary hiding place, as they would not expect me to lie low so close to my room.

The risks would be much less if I had an accomplice, although I have no idea who, if anyone, could be taken into my confidence without bringing danger upon us both. The only people I have spoken to since I arrived are Sir William and his wife Ellen, the old priest, the cook who brings my food and the maids who sometimes clean my rooms and wash my clothes. I know Ellen would never do anything disloyal to her husband. The old priest seems a little disaffected with his work, although he has not visited me for three months now and I wonder if something has become of him. This leaves the servants, so I decide to discreetly speak to each when I have the opportunity to learn what I can of them.

I read my
Book of Hours
and find some comfort in Psalm 6 of the Penitential Psalms:
Let all my enemies be ashamed, and very sore troubled: let them be converted, and ashamed very speedily
. Memories of life at Bella Court return to my thoughts. Humphrey wasted no time on our return from Normandy and was soon able to identify the spy within our household. He refused to discuss how the man had been punished but I suspect it was most severe and he was never seen or heard of again. From that day on we were always more careful about what we said in front of our servants and there was always an element of distrust. We had learned the lesson that even the most loyal servants would have their price.

We had hardly settled into a routine when word arrived in London that an old enemy, Duke Philip of Burgundy, had invaded the English stronghold of Oye castle and hanged the men of the garrison when they surrendered. He was now advancing with an army and a fleet of warships against Calais and would hold the town to siege. As well as its strategic significance, the town of Calais had a special place in the hearts and minds of the people. It was thought vital to safeguard English trade that our last stronghold in France must be held for the crown, whatever the cost.

Humphrey, now the king’s Captain and Lieutenant of Calais, was ordered to raise an army without delay and defend the town against the Burgundians. An experienced soldier from the king’s household, Lord Welles, was appointed as his commander in the field and sent ahead in advance to reinforce the garrison of Calais. The king ordered every county in England to contribute men and money towards the protection of our interests and even our arch rival Cardinal Beaufort was persuaded by parliament to finance the expedition with a thousand marks.

I remember saying a tearful goodbye to my husband, wondering if he would ever return. He was wearing his best sword with a new breastplate of shining silver and appeared confident about the prospects of delivering a swift lesson to the Duke of Burgundy, although I knew him too well to be fooled by his bravado. He told me his army was to sail to Calais in five hundred ships, the largest fleet assembled in many years, with over four hundred men-at-arms and more than four thousand archers. His retinue included the Duke of Norfolk and the Earls of Devon, Stafford, and Warwick, followed by many of the most experienced knights of the realm.

A worrying wait for news followed. We were well aware the Duke of Burgundy had plenty of time to prepare his forces and rumours circulated in London of a Burgundian army numbering over thirty thousand fighting men. It was reassuring to know the Calais garrison, the only English standing army, included experienced soldiers who had served in the French wars. The enemy army was thought to mainly consist of conscripted Flemish farmers, who could be expected to have little appetite for laying down their lives for the Duke of Burgundy.

I also knew that Humphrey was no military leader. He could hold the respect of his men, yet tended to react to the enemy rather than plan to have the advantage. We had only escaped our adventure in Hainault because of the experience of
Sir John de Mobray, Earl-Marshall of England
and I feared for my husband’s safety. Worse still, the thousands of archers with him were no battle hardened army. Most of the men had been hastily recruited from towns and villages all over England on the promise it would all be over within one month and many had probably never fired a single arrow in anger.

Fortunately, the harbour at Calais was easily defended with cannons from the castle and the Rysbank Tower. Supply ships sailed every day from Sandwich and Dover, returning with reports that soon reached London. We learned that the Burgundian fleet had attempted to block the harbour entrance by sinking ships full of stone but the garrison managed to pull them clear—and salvaged the stone for good measure.

At last a letter arrived for me, bearing Duke Humphrey’s personal seal. The news was good, as he wrote that when he finally arrived in Calais he found the siege already raised. The garrison had held the town and opened sluices to flood the open fields outside the city walls, making it impossible for their attackers to maintain their encampment. There was no sign of Duke Philip and many of the enemy forces had deserted on hearing the news of the arrival of his army, abandoning their guns, which were promptly captured, along with most of their supplies.

My husband should have returned right away to a hero’s welcome, having never had to fight, yet the whole incident turned unexpectedly to our disadvantage, as rumours quickly spread through the city that he had failed to arrive in time. Calais was safe, yet the siege had been lifted and the battle with the Burgundian army won by none other than Sir Edmund Beaufort, Cardinal Beaufort's nephew and Humphrey’s cousin. Once again, it seemed the cardinal had the upper hand.

Two long weeks passed with no further news, and then a second letter arrived for me from Humphrey. He had decided to take his forces inland through Flanders, capturing much booty. I knew there were risks in such an expedition, as the Duke of Burgundy would be expected to find the English an easy target once they were out in the open fields of his own country. The letter confirmed that Humphrey had already returned to Calais and would be sailing home with rich prizes as soon as he was able to.

Now he was able to parade through London at the head of a victorious army, followed by his knights on their war horses and oxen dragging captured Burgundian cannons, wagons laden high with booty and grim-faced Flemish nobles, who would be held for ransom. The celebrations continued for days, with people cheering whenever he appeared in public and calling him ‘Good Duke Humphrey’. We attended a magnificent banquet at Westminster, where it gave me great pleasure to see the look on Cardinal Beaufort’s face.

When we were finally alone in Greenwich he told me the true story. A Burgundian prisoner revealed to them that Duke Philip had escaped to the city of Lille, where he was forced to wait while he rebuilt his army after so many desertions. This meant the towns and villages of Flanders would offer easy pickings. Humphrey ordered his fleet to follow by sea and chose a route close to the coast, yet although he was confident in the knowledge he could always escape in his ships, they had little sleep after they left the safety of Calais. They lived with the constant threat of being surprised or ambushed by Burgundian forces. Then he realised his captains had disobeyed orders and returned to Calais, leaving him stranded deep in enemy territory.