The Star of Lancaster (46 page)

The battle waged for three hours. A wild fury had seized the English. The manner in which the archers had repulsed the cavalry even after they had shot all their arrows seemed a miracle. They were certain that God was on their side and they knew that with His help they could not fail.

It was victory for the English archers. As at Crécy and Poitiers they were invincible.

The French losses were enormous, those of the English minimal. This resounding and miraculous success was due to the archers, but it owed a great deal to the military genius of the King.

He it was who had chosen that the battle should be fought on that spot where the French could not use all their forces but were obliged to attack in one space which considerably reduced the advantage of numbers.

So the field was won, and men were saying that never had there been a battle so glorious, never one won against such desperate odds.

The French were defeated, the English gloriously victorious and the name of Harry of England would live for ever as the greatest warrior of them all.

Coeur de Lion, two great Edwards, the Black Prince himself – Henry towered above them.

So it was back to Calais and across to England.

There his loyal subjects awaited their hero. All over the
country there was rejoicing. Bonfires were lighted. Pageants were enacted; and when the King arrived in his capital city he was going to be given such a welcome as no king had ever enjoyed before.

Profligate Prince Hal had become great Harry of England.

Chapter XII

T
here was one, however, who could not rejoice wholeheartedly in the great victory, for she greatly feared what the consequences might be.

Ever since Henry had visited Joanna and implied that he expected her to influence her son to fight for the English, she had been very uneasy.

Until this time she had been content with her life in England. At first she had been very happy with Henry but when that fearful disease had grown worse and he had been so horribly disfigured her feelings towards him had begun to change. When he had died it had been a kind of release and had enabled her to settle down to a new life.

She had taken up her quarters at Havering and there had started to enjoy a life of peaceful seclusion. She had amassed great wealth and her thrifty nature, which had fitted in well with that of her husband, had delighted in the growth of her possessions. She wanted nothing changed; she was content enough to live in the shadows. The last thing she wanted was to be drawn away from her quiet luxurious life to join in any controversy and especially one with her stepson, the King.

And now Agincourt! An unprecedented and unexpected victory for Henry.

She knew that her eldest son, the Duke of Brittany, had remained uncomfortably neutral. It was the only action he could have taken, for since his wife was the daughter of the King of France his allegiance must lie with that King. It was different with Arthur. He had been created Earl of Richmond by Joanna’s husband and owed his allegiance to England. Yet he had fought with France.

That would have been a wise action . . . if the French had won; and everyone had expected the French to win.

So at Havering Joanna waited in trepidation for the outcome. That Henry’s attitude towards her would change, she felt certain. He would blame her for not using enough force in persuading her sons. But what could she do? It was years since she had seen them and even if she had, she would never have been able to influence them to that extent. To have supported the English would have seemed to them like suicide. It was all very well to be wise after the event. She was in a state of great nervousness and she sent for two men whom she kept in her household to advise her and predict the future. Petronel Brocart had come to England with her and she had found Roger Colles in Salisbury. She regarded them as her two wise men; they foretold the future and read the stars and before taking any action she always consulted them.

The household was considerably in awe of them; they lived in complete comfort for there was no one who would dare offend them for fear of bringing down their wrath and being ill wished.

She sent for them and told them that she wanted to consult them; she was fearful of the future, she told them. They had not foreseen the outcome of the battle of Agincourt.

Petronel Brocart replied that he had foreseen it but had not trusted what he saw and put it down to being a dream and not true foresight. The odds were so overwhelmingly against the English that it could only have been a last minute miracle, decided on in one moment by the powers either of good or evil – it remained to be seen which.

Joanna accepted the explanation and told them that she felt herself to be . . . if not in danger, in an uneasy position because of her family in France.

Brocart made sure that he was kept up to date with the latest events which often meant he was able to prophesy a certainty; he kept messengers, whom he paid handsomely, and their duty was to give him the latest information as to what was happening at the Court of Brittany.

Therefore he had news for the Queen; and it was not pleasant news.

‘It does not surprise me,’ said Brocart, ‘that you feel this lack of ease. There is ill news coming to you, my lady.’

Joanna glanced pleadingly from Colles to Brocart.

‘Pray tell me the worst. My son . . .’

‘The Duke is well,’ replied Colles. ‘He did not take part in the fighting but wisely remained neutral.’

‘Your daughter’s husband, the Duc d’Alençon, has been killed,’ said Brocart.

Joanna put her hand to her fast-beating heart; she could tell from the expression of these two men that there was more to come.

‘Your brother Charles of Navarre was wounded in the battle.’

‘He has since died of his wounds,’ added Colles.

‘And my son . . . Arthur?’ asked Joanna faintly.

‘He is Henry’s prisoner.’

‘Oh my God, what will become of him?’

‘He will remain in England at the King’s pleasure, my lady.’

‘And shall I see my son?’

‘Ere long, my lady.’

‘It grieves us to give you such news, dear lady.’

‘I know it,’ replied Joanna, ‘but I must also know the truth. Do not hesitate. Is there anything more I should know?’

‘We have told you all, my lady.’

Joanna wanted nothing so much as to shut herself away with her grief.

She had pleaded with the King. He must allow her to see her son. She knew that he had broken the allegiance which as Earl of Richmond he owed to England. But she was his mother and she had not seen him for eleven years when as a boy he had come to England. Perhaps she had been wrong to remind the King of that occasion for it was when he had received the investiture of Earl of Richmond.

The King replied that her son was a traitor. He had been found with England’s enemy and had been taken in battle. He could not expect to be received in honour in England; he was a prisoner, a danger to England, and Henry could see no reason why he should be treated otherwise even though his mother had been a Queen of England.

Joanna longed to see him. She greatly feared that he might be sentenced to death. Henry was severe but he was not wantonly cruel. He would understand Arthur’s difficulties living as he was in Brittany at his brother’s Court with his brother’s wife the daughter of the King of France. True, he had sworn allegiance to England, but he was young and Henry
would not wish to be too harsh. Moreover Joanna was a clever woman; he had always liked her and did not want to inflict undue suffering upon her. It was unthinkable that he should release Arthur of course, but he saw no reason why there might not be a meeting between mother and son.

Arthur was to come, under guard, to Havering after which he would be taken back to the Tower of London. When she heard that he would soon be with her Joanna was overcome by emotion and she sent for her confessor, a Franciscan friar named John Randolf, and asked him to pray with her that she might prepare herself for the meeting.

‘I must try not to weep,’ she said. ‘Oh, it is a sad state of affairs when children are lost to their mothers at an early age.’

‘Compose yourself, my lady,’ advised John Randolf. ‘Prayer will be a solace to you. I would suggest, Madam, that it is unwise to rely so much on those charlatans, Brocart and Colles. They can bring no good to you.’

‘They foresaw that my son would be a prisoner. They warned me in advance.’

‘It is dabbling in evil powers, my lady, and will do you no good with God and his saints.’

Joanna was silent. She knew that John Randolf disliked the sorcerers, as they did him. They were suspicious of each other and jealous of the influence every one of them held with her.

But this was no time to consider rivalries.

Arthur was coming and she must be prepared for him, so she knelt with Randolf and together they asked for God’s blessing and that the King’s heart might be softened towards Arthur.

He was on his way. Soon he would be with her. She was trembling with excitement.

She said to one of her ladies, ‘Do sit in my chair so that when
he comes in he will think you are his mother. I will watch him for a while before I reveal myself.’

‘He will know you for the Queen, my lady, by your very bearing.’

‘Nay,’ said Joanna, ‘we shall do it this way.’

And so she was seated on a footstool at the feet of her lady attendant when her son entered. He was handsome, young, all that she could have wished him to be . . . except that he was a prisoner. The guards were standing at the door to remind her of that sad fact.

He approached her lady-in-waiting and knelt at her feet. Joanna watched sadly.

‘My mother,’ said Arthur, ‘this is a sad meeting. But I rejoice to see you.’

They embraced.

‘I will present you to my ladies,’ said the substitute Queen, but at that moment Joanna could sustain her rôle no longer.

‘My son, my son,’ she cried, ‘do you not know me?’

Arthur looked in astonishment from the lady-in-waiting to the Queen.

‘Yes,’ said Joanna, ‘I am your mother.’

‘I see it now,’ cried Arthur.

‘I had to wait awhile,’ said Joanna. ‘My heart was too full.’

They embraced warmly, then looked at each other searchingly. ‘You were but a boy when you went away,’ said Joanna.

‘Oh, Mother, so much has happened since then.’

‘I was so proud of you, my Earl of Richmond.’

‘Alas, Mother.’

‘Henry will treat you well. I would I could keep you here with me.’

‘I come as a prisoner, my lady.’

Joanna nodded.

‘Come, tell me of home. Tell me of your brother and your sister . . . She has lost her husband.’

‘Agincourt was disastrous for us.’

‘And such a victory here. They are still having their pageants and their revelries, their thanksgiving services. The bells are ringing all over the country.’

‘One King’s victory must be another’s defeat, Mother.’

‘And you were on the wrong side.’

‘It seemed so impossible that the English could triumph.’

‘Nothing is certain in war,’ said Joanna. ‘Now we must make the best of what is left to us. It will not be long, I feel sure.’