The Agincourt Bride (49 page)

She swung round to glare accusingly at us as we stood dumbstruck by this uncharacteristic and violent explosion of wrath. ‘Well? What do you think? Am I not right? Henry is a Janus. He is showing a completely different character from the one he showed before. How am I to handle this? Tell me please, for I am completely confused.’

Agnes spoke first, daringly taking Henry’s part. ‘Perhaps the king is tired, or even unwell. There have been reports that the ague is rife among the English troops.’

Catherine stamped her foot, although in her soft calfskin slippers she did not achieve the percussive thump she intended. ‘No, he is not ill. Look at him! He is the image of a sleek, fat cat who has just made a kill. He is smug and self-satisfied and thinks he can do no wrong. I hate him!’ She turned away as if to fling herself upon her prie-dieu, then changed her mind and strode to a table where stood a jug of wine and some cups. Her hand shook as she poured herself a drink.

Personally, I completely agreed with her. Even seen from my distant viewpoint, King Henry had displayed all the unpleasant qualities she had described and more. He had been haughty and rude but, worst of all, he had been unkind. Catherine was eighteen and inexperienced, but surely that was exactly what he wanted, a bride unstained and compliant. He was thirty-two and had the world at his feet. A man of honour and integrity would have held out a hand to help her, not crushed her eager attempts to please. He had shown every sign of being a monster and my heart bled for her, but I felt that at this moment Catherine did not need sympathy and comfort for that would make her weak. She needed all that Valois pride and anger bolstered, in order to keep her head high and her courage intact. So I played the devil’s advocate.

‘What did you expect, Mademoiselle?’ I enquired with a shrug. ‘This is a king who has persuaded his subjects to leave their lands and families and follow him over the sea, to risk their lives in a tenuous cause. He did not do that with charm and soft words, he did it with a steely will and vaunting ambition. He is not a fat cat but a sleek lion, like those on his banners. He is proud and fierce and cunning and utterly ruthless and the only thing that frightens him is something he does not understand – such as a beautiful, intelligent, courageous young woman like you.’

Catherine’s frown deepened, but her expression changed from anger to intrigue. ‘What do you mean, Mette? Are you saying
he
is frightened of
me
? No! That is impossible.’

I had been doing my homework on his English royal highness and I spread my hands to demonstrate my point. ‘Consider for a moment. He has never been married. His mother died when he was very young. He has spent his life among soldiers and the only women he may have known are not the sort you have ever met or may ever wish to. He knows nothing of clever, educated, beautiful noblewomen. In fact, he has probably encountered precious few. You should not hate him. Perhaps you should feel sorry for him.’

I heard Agnes’ sharp intake of breath and saw Catherine glare at me under beetled brows. Her head was moving slowly from side to side as if what she had heard was incomprehensible. ‘No, he is a king,’ she protested. ‘Women of high birth throw themselves at him. I have seen the ladies at my mother’s court, the way they flock around the men of power. Men like King Henry can take their pick. No, no, Mette, I cannot feel sorry for him; not at all.’

‘Very well,’ I agreed. ‘But do not be frightened of him either. Because, believe me, although he is a lion, when you are his wife you will be able to get close to him, get inside his regal shell and discover the real man, who is not a lion, but more like a pussy cat. For a king, someone who has perfected the role of ruler and soldier and conqueror, that vulnerability is terrifying and enticing all at the same time. He wants it, but at the same time he fears it because he fears that, like Samson, he will lose all his strength.’

Now Catherine’s mouth had dropped open in amazement. ‘Holy Marie, Mette – you are right! I do not know how you know this, but I instinctively feel that you are right. How
do
you know this?’

I had been concentrating so hard in trying to get my point across that I did not realise how tense I had become. My whole body was taut as a harp string and I had almost forgotten to breathe. Taking in a huge gulp of air, I let it out in a long, slow sigh, which ended in an apologetic little laugh. ‘I do not know,’ I confessed in bewilderment. ‘I have never met a king and I have never been a princess, so you would be perfectly justified in ignoring every word I have just said. In truth, Mademoiselle, I do not know where it came from!’

It was Catherine’s turn to laugh. ‘Well, I wish I could have bottled it, but instead I will remember it. And I will not be frightened of the king. Every time he is rude or domineering, I will smile and imagine I am stroking his soft fur – and sooner or later, maybe one day I actually will!’

I clapped my hands in delight. ‘Bravo, Mademoiselle!’ I cried. ‘When he first saw you at the Pré du Chat he did not know you, but he realised that you were a prize worth fighting for. Now that he has won you, he worries that although Henry the king is more than worthy of you, Henry the man may not be.’

Catherine sat down on her dressing stool again and handed me the hair brush. ‘All right, Mette, on the basis of your argument, Thomas of Clarence is nice to me because he is married and used to the close companionship of a lady.’ She paused to consider this statement and seemed to find it satisfactory. ‘I think that may be so. His wife’s name is Margaret and he clearly holds her in high regard, even though sadly they have no children together. She is the one who is to teach me how to be a queen.’

I began to pull the brush firmly through her hair as I had done so many times. Agnes brought rosewater and sponged her face and throat with dampened linen.

‘I think you may have misread that situation, Madame,’ Agnes ventured gently. ‘Might it not be a kindness to help you adjust to your new life? There must be many differences between the French and the English courts and it would be a shame for a new queen to make mistakes out of ignorance.’

‘I expect you are right,’ agreed Catherine, closing her eyes to allow Agnes to wield the facecloth freely. ‘Perhaps I should have started to learn English earlier. Henry conducts all his court business in English so unless I learn quickly I will not know what is going on. Yes, I can see that I may have been too hasty in rejecting Margaret of Clarence’s help. Maybe I will ask King Henry to also provide me with an English tutor.’

So her mood of anger and indignation diminished and in the end we left Catherine kneeling calmly before her triptych and took ourselves off to the small adjoining chamber where Agnes and I shared a tester bed. Gone were the days of sharing a pallet with Alys. But finding sleep evasive, I lay considering the alarming possibility that history may be repeating itself; that I had engineered the death of one devil’s spawn only to see Catherine shackled to another.

From Catherine, Princess Royal of France to Charles, Dauphin of Viennois,

A final greeting to my beloved brother,

This will be the last letter in which I address my confidences to you, Charles. After my wedding to King Henry, it would be an act of disloyalty, perhaps even treachery, to continue sharing my thoughts with my brother, even though this correspondence is unseen and unsent and will, I suspect, remain so for ever. Perhaps in the future I will find some other recipient.

In the past I have indicated to you that I was struggling to accept that the treaty which brings about my marriage to King Henry also declares him to be the Heir of France and revokes your position as dauphin. While I will never believe that you are not the legitimate son of our father, I have come to believe that the Salic law which brought our grandfather to the throne is not divinely sanctioned and that the claim brought by King Henry’s grandfather to be the rightful king of France was therefore legitimate. On that basis I will not be marrying a usurper, but the rightful heir to the throne of France.

Perversly, my intuition that King Henry pursued the marriage out of an emotional spark that ignited between us on first meeting has proved false. Even before we are bedded, I feel now that this will be a dynastic union and not one based on a mutual attraction. And so, while you and I must of necessity become enemies, it does not follow that Henry and I will become friends. This may be of some satisfaction to you, but I confess that it is none to me. Truthfully, I wish it were otherwise.

My wedding is in four days. I would like to believe that, should you have been here, you would have wished me well, but the first being impossible, I suppose the second is unlikely! However I do wish you well and hope to hear news of your continued health and the establishment of a brood of sturdy children with Marie.

Be happy, Charles, as I will try to be, and may God bless us both.

Your loving sister,

Catherine

Written at the Palace of the Counts, Troyes, this day Friday, May 30
^th
1420.

I popped my head around the door of the oratory and saw Catherine placing another letter in the secret compartment of her triptych. She shot me a sly glance as she turned the lock and placed the key back in the reliquary around her neck.

‘What is it, Mette?’ she asked, tucking the reliquary away in her bodice. ‘It must be important for you to interrupt me in here.’

‘There is a message from the queen, Mademoiselle. She summons you immediately to the great hall. King Henry is on his way to pay his respects.’

Catherine wrinkled her brow, unimpressed. ‘I do not think that an
immediate
appearance is necessary, Mette. Is not a bride permitted, no – expected – to keep her groom waiting? I believe I will change my gown. Please fetch the first one that Jacques made for me.’

‘You mean the one the queen wished never to see again, Mademoiselle?’ I enquired with a smile.

She returned the smile with interest. ‘Exactly, Mette,’ she nodded. ‘And please prepare yourself to come as my train-bearer.’

I was intrigued. With one appearance Catherine intended to challenge two of her mother’s expressed dislikes, her taste in gowns and her choice of companions, and she intended to do it in front of King Henry, when the queen would be most annoyed and could make no direct comment. For once I was agog to be her train-bearer!

Personally, I thought Catherine looked wonderful in the aquamarine and cream gown with its unusual styling and beautifully embroidered front panel and as we entered the great hall I could see that King Henry thought so too. He cut short his remarks to the queen and took several long strides to meet the princess as she crossed the hall.

‘Catherine!’ he said, taking her hand as she curtsied low and, raising her immediately, kissed the hand he held and murmured, ‘It lifts my heart to see you.’

‘Your grace,’ she said as softly as he, but not so soft that my service-trained ears could not hear.

From my position behind her I could not see her face either, but she must have looked up at him through her eyelashes in her inimitably dazzling fashion for I saw the blood rise in the king’s good cheek.

‘Where have you been, Catherine?’ her mother called irritably from her canopied chair. ‘His grace has been waiting.’

‘But it has been worth the wait,’ he said, smiling and leading her to another chair set beside Queen Isabeau’s.

I arranged Catherine’s train, fielded an angry glare from the queen and retreated to the stone bench on the wall beside the hooded, empty fireplace, close but unobtrusive. I noticed Queen Isabeau’s ire increase as she recognised the gown Catherine was wearing and I debated how she might attempt to bring her daughter to heel. Did she know yet, I wondered, that she had already lost control of this last remaining member of her family, just as she had all the others?

‘I have come to ask for your help, Catherine,’ King Henry said, taking the third seat.

‘Help, your grace? What help could I offer such a potent prince?’ she responded, unable to hide her surprise.