To my eyes it looked daunting. Monumental towers of grey stone gathered us into their long black shadows as we neared the outer drawbridge and Alys and I exchanged doubtful glances. This was vastly different from the wide courtyards and elegant cloisters of the Hôtel de St Pol and there was little sign of a welcome in the bristling ranks of bowmen on the battlements. However, apprehension gave way to anger when I saw the accommodation allocated to Catherine. It was in a two-story stone building adjacent to the great hall and the rooms were small, damp and cheerless with unadorned walls and meagre windows, but the chief fault was a crucial one. In this fortress full of rough soldiers, Catherine would need her entourage of young ladies around her to act as chaperones, but there was no room for them. Furious at this glaring omission, I set out immediately to seek redress.
After asking directions I found the grand master’s office on the first floor of the main gatehouse. In a room scattered with ledgers and piles of scrolls and papers, several clerks were perched at high desks, busy with ink and quill, and two apprentices were stacking parchment rolls in a heavy ironbound chest. Judging by the richness of his garb, the only other occupant of the room was of a higher social rank. He looked no more than twenty, but he had a definite air of command, aided by a handsome, square-jawed face and bright-blue eyes. Approaching him purposefully, I made a polite bob and waited for him to speak.
‘Is there something you want?’ he asked curiously, his manner brisk but not unfriendly.
‘Yes, if you please, sir,’ I nodded. ‘I am woman of the bedchamber to the princess royal and I have just been shown the apartment allocated to her. I regret to say that it will not do.’
The young man lowered the letter he had been reading and raised one of his arched eyebrows. ‘Indeed? Why not, may I ask?’
‘Before I explain, may I know whether I am speaking to someone in authority?’ I persisted, irritated by the suppressed amusement I detected behind his outward courtesy.
To my surprise he swept me a bow, waving the hand holding the letter in an exaggerated flourish. ‘Guy de Mussy at your service, Madame, loyal squire to the Duke of Burgundy and presently seconded to the grand master of the royal household.’
I had never seen or heard of him before, but there were many in Burgundy’s retinue who were new to their tasks and most were a good deal less personable than this young man. I decided that reason rather than protest would be the wisest approach. ‘Well, Monsieur de Mussy, the lodgings allocated to the Princess Catherine simply are not big enough. There are only two chambers and one guarderobe, which, I am sure you will agree, is an insult to offer to the king’s daughter.’
‘Why, how many guarderobes does she need?’ the squire asked, his eyes twinkling. ‘No, I am sorry, let me explain. There is a shortage of accommodation within the inner defences of the castle, where his grace has ordered that the royal family should be lodged for their protection. The king and queen have no more rooms than the princess. Chambers have been allocated elsewhere for their companions and retainers, so I assure you, Madame, that you will not be obliged to sleep in the great hall with the men-at-arms.’
I drew myself up indignantly. ‘It is not my own security I am concerned about, Monsieur, it is that of the princess royal. I am sure you will agree that in a fortress such as this, where many knights and soldiers live cheek by jowl with those they serve, a lady of her beauty and nobility should be well protected from any – er – nuisance.’
The young man inclined his head and his piercing blue gaze told me he understood my meaning. All hint of mirth had vanished. ‘I have been instructed by the duke himself to make it my personal duty to ensure her highness’ comfort and safety. I shall be in constant attendance and if you will come with me now, Madame, I will show you the additional accommodation set aside for the other ladies. You will see that it is not very far from the princess’ and that it, too, is well protected.’
Pontoise Castle was built on old-fashioned defensive lines, with a great hall and donjon within an inner wall and other houses and outbuildings ranged within a sprawling outer curtain. After murmuring instructions to one of the clerks, the squire ushered me across the outer bailey to a substantial stone house situated beside the tunnel gateway, which was the only access to the inner defences. When royalty was in residence in the donjon, this lodging accommodated the constable of the castle and his lady and also contained several upper rooms which Guy de Mussy said would suitably house Catherine’s companions.
‘And the constable’s servants will attend to their needs and protection,’ he added.
One thing still gave me cause for concern however. ‘What happens when the inner gate is shut and the portcullis lowered?’ I asked. ‘The ladies would be on the wrong side of it.’
De Mussy smiled reassuringly, showing a complete set of enviably straight, white teeth. ‘The inner gate is only shut if the castle comes under attack and in that unlikely event you can be sure that there would be alarms and warnings and plenty of time for all the ladies to take shelter in the keep. Now, shall I escort you back to the princess’ tower, or can you remember the way?’
I took the hint, thanking him for his help and assuring him that I could find my own way back. As he strode away across the cluttered bailey, I watched the youthful swagger of his gait and the proud set of his shoulders and wondered what Catherine would make of him. It was not long before I found out, for when she arrived at her new lodgings it was Guy de Mussy who escorted her there.
He had obviously explained the restrictions on accommodation, for Catherine did not show any surprise when she crossed the threshold. In fact, she made no comment at all but sat down and languidly began to wave her fan in front of her face. ‘Monsieur de Mussy, is there a garth or pleasure garden anywhere in which we might escape the heat a little while we are here? That would be a great boon.’
The young man looked doubtful. ‘There is a small garden, Princesse, but I believe it has been earmarked for the queen. Would you like me to enquire whether …’
Catherine cut him off with a smile and a snap of the fan. ‘Oh no, please do not put yourself in an awkward position with the queen. I will ask any favours of her myself. Perhaps it might be possible to ride out into the countryside for some fresh air, if you were to be kind enough to arrange an escort for me.’
Guy de Mussy bowed. ‘With your permission I will accompany you myself, Madame. There are some shady places to ride along the river but it is necessary to check first with the constable of the castle that there have been no reports of trouble in the vicinity. Things have been peaceful lately, but there is always the possibility of incursions.’
‘Is that so?’ Catherine looked quite animated. ‘Would these be incursions by the English or supporters of my brother? Or is it more peaceful now because it would have been more likely to be Burgundians?’
A flush spread over the young man’s face. ‘Madame is pleased to tease,’ he remarked. ‘Is it permitted to return the compliment should the occasion arise?’
Catherine tapped her lips with her fan, as if pondering her reply. ‘Monsieur would have to make that decision for himself I think,’ she responded sweetly. ‘I imagine that a man of action is not afraid of taking a few risks.’
I was quietly amused by this exchange. I had never heard Catherine flirt in this way before, but then I did not very often observe her conversing with courtiers, let alone one so close to her own age.
Her ladies arrived to report that the accommodation in the constable’s house was acceptable and I left them in a fluster of fan-fluttering brought about by a male presence, although I thought it unlikely that the Flanders mares would stand any chance with Monsieur de Mussy while Catherine was about.
That night, as she was preparing for bed in her new chamber, she gave me a detailed description of her sister’s installation as Abbess of Poissy.
‘It was a simple service of dedication but very moving,’ she concluded. ‘I am so impressed by Marie’s achievements, Mette. She made me realise that intellect and learning are not a strictly male prerogative; that women fulfill God’s purpose by using their brains as much as men do. And yet, when I try to discuss any literature other than romances or legends, men tend to give me the strangest looks. Why do they assume that no one in a skirt has ever read Aristotle?’
‘I wonder how many men have done so,’ I remarked, wondering myself who Aristotle was. ‘Perhaps educated women make less educated men feel inadequate.’
Catherine considered this as she applied the frayed rosemary twig I had handed her for teeth-cleaning. As she returned the twig she frowned and asked, ‘Do you think Guy de Mussy has read Aristotle, Mette?’
‘Now I wonder why you mention
him
?’ I responded, mirroring her look of innocent inquiry.
‘Well he is quite attractive, you know he is!’ she exclaimed, turning a little pink.
‘He certainly seems to think so,’ I agreed. ‘Would you like him more if he had read Aristotle, or less?’
She laughed at that. ‘I am not sure. More I think, as long as he was prepared to discuss it rather than explain it. Why do you smile?’
‘Because I am pleased to see you happier than for some time and because I do not believe you really want to discuss Aristotle with Monsieur Guy,’ I said, moving to discard the used twig in the waste pail which stood inside the guarderobe arch. ‘I think you would rather flirt with him.’
‘I would not! How dare you! I think he is rather big-headed actually and he is almost certainly a spy for the duke.’ She stood up and wandered towards the bed. ‘Anyway, what of it?’
I began to turn down the sheets. ‘Nothing,’ I shrugged.
‘And what would you know about flirting, you wrinkled old hag?’ She shot me a wicked look, threw off her robe and climbed naked into bed.
With a poker face I bent to arrange the pillows comfortably. After a moment she reached up and touched my cheek. It was a small gesture of contrition and I allowed myself a sly smile. ‘Good night, Mademoiselle,’ I said, drawing the curtains around the bed, ‘May God grant you sweet dreams.’
‘Good night, Mette, God bless your dimpled cheeks.’
I was walking away still smiling when her head suddenly popped through the curtains. ‘By the way, what is that palliasse doing propped up behind the big linen chest?’
‘Ah.’ I hesitated, not wishing to start a dispute at bed time. ‘Now that your ladies are not within call, Alys and I will be sleeping outside your chamber door. The mattress is for us.’
She gazed at me thoughtfully for a second and then shook her head. ‘No, Mette. Outside is not safe for you. Bring it in here. There is room at the foot of the bed.’ She disappeared briefly, then opened the curtains again to push two pillows through the opening. ‘And take these. You will be more comfortable.’
C
atherine’s leisurely morning rides along the river with Guy de Mussy were taken in the company of her ladies and a sizeable escort of men-at-arms, but nevertheless the two of them quickly established a flirtatious friendship which spilled over into other social activities. A group of Burgundian squires and one or two young knights joined picnics organised in the river meadow below the castle cliff or, when occasional summer storms swept in from the Vexin, lively dancing sessions in the great hall, with court musicians inveigled into playing foot-tapping jigs, instead of the queen’s preferred stately
salterellos
. Being frequently involved in lengthy meetings of the council, Queen Isabeau held court only two or three times a week, so on other days Catherine invited selected gentlemen to her salon, where poetry was read or songs sung to a lute or harp. Since she had not started to play until she left the convent, her skill on these instruments was rather rudimentary, but Guy de Mussy was quite a talented musician and proved a willing accompanist to Catherine’s sweet renderings of popular songs and lays.
Obviously I did not take part in these entertainments, but I eavesdropped shamelessly. The chamber was small and lent itself well to intimate conversations and much shared laughter and artless teasing, particularly between Catherine and Guy. If he was only doing it on Burgundy’s orders, then Guy was playing his role to perfection, but then Catherine was hardly keeping him at arm’s length. I knew there was more to their friendship than just teasing and flirting when I caught them returning from a ride ahead of the others and snatching a kiss on the stairs. I did not let them see me, nor did they show any sign of being aware of anything other than their own ardent embrace, but I had the distinct impression that it was not their first.
I confess I was slightly shocked. For some reason I had liked the idea of Catherine enjoying some harmless flirtation, but had not considered the inevitability of it turning into something more meaningful. Protocol at the Hôtel de St Pol had always been so strict that there had been little opportunity for covert kisses, especially for a princess who was always surrounded by her ladies and who had seemed to find more satisfaction in the company of her brother than any of the young gentlemen of his affinity. But Catherine was nearly seventeen. Had she been married to King Henry when it had first been mooted, she would have been bedded two years ago and might even have produced an heir by now. I should not have been surprised that she was answering the natural call of youth. The question was should I do anything about it and if so, what?
Catherine’s waking and retiring ritual was still private between us and she had made it clear to the Flanders mares that their presence was not required in the bedchamber, so there were opportunities to broach sensitive subjects. However, I kept putting it off, thinking that a romance which had flared so quickly would probably falter just as soon. It occurred to me that if Guy de Mussy had been placed as a spy in close proximity to the princess, then a manipulative character like the duke might well have reckoned on the possibility of a romance developing and even have encouraged it. And if that were the case, the young squire would be under strict orders not to take advantage of the royal virgin, not that there would be much opportunity to do so. And then, if Catherine became aware of being manipulated in this respect she would probably bring it to an end herself, so there would be no need for any interference on my part. Meanwhile, displaying a no doubt morally lax attitude, I could see no harm in Catherine enjoying a
petit amour
.