‘I will confess to a liking for the lady.’
‘My lord Duke, I must have a straight answer.’
‘You must, Bishop? Why so? Is not this a matter between myself and the lady concerned?’
‘No, my lord, it is not. It is a matter of deep concern to France and England.’
‘You are dramatic.’
‘It is a dramatic situation. Have you considered that such a marriage could bring about a breach between England and Burgundy?’
‘So?’
‘We rely on our allies in France. The late King would have been the first to admit that. So would the Duke of Bedford. I ask you, my lord, have you discussed this matter with the Duke?’
‘My lord Bishop, let me tell you this. I will marry where I will, and neither my brother nor the Church shall dictate to me on that matter. I go where my fancy lies.’
‘It is to be hoped that your fancy is not to undermine our conquests in France.’
There was a brief silence. Both men were thinking of Jacqueline. Who would have believed, pondered the Bishop, that when Jacqueline of Bavaria had sought refuge at the English Court this would have been the result? She must be now about twenty-one years old. She was personable, though not outstandingly so, and an heiress, if she could regain what she had lost. The Bishop had no doubt that Gloucester’s eyes were as firmly fixed on her possessions as on the lady herself. Henry had welcomed her to England and had so favoured her that she had acted as godmother at the christening of young Henry.
Jacqueline was the only daughter of William IV, Count of Hainault, Holland and Zealand as well as being Lord of Friesland.
Jacqueline had been married to John of France, Katherine’s brother, who had briefly been Dauphin on the death of his elder brother Louis. Almost immediately John had died and when her father died also Jacqueline became the sovereign of Hainault, Holland and Zealand. With such possessions she was not allowed to remain a widow for long and a second husband was soon found for her. This was John, Duke of Brabant, her own cousin and also cousin to Philip of Burgundy.
Her father’s brother, at one time Bishop of Liège, took her possessions from her and made a treaty with her husband, the weak Duke of Brabant.
It was at this stage that she fled to England and threw herself on the mercy of the English King. Henry not only gave her asylum but treated her with the dignity due to her rank and the Spanish anti-Pope Benedict XIII was persuaded to grant her a divorce from the Duke of Brabant.
So here was Jacqueline in England, a member of the Court and a lady who was heiress to great possessions, if they could be won back, and in view of English successes on the continent, Humphrey did not see why they should not. Then he could be not only husband of Jacqueline but the Count of Hainault, Holland and Zealand. A pleasant prospect for a man who could never hope to rule England. His baby nephew and his brother John came before him. He was a man who would seize every opportunity and this had seemed one of them.
The Bishop saw the matter in a different light and that was why he was so uneasy.
‘My dear Bishop,’ said Humphrey at length, ‘you distress yourself unnecessarily.’
‘Then you see what the implications of this marriage would be?’
‘I see, my lord, that through it I could bring further honour to England.’
‘By marrying this lady you would put yourself in conflict with the Duke of Burgundy.’
‘I have not the same fear of the noble Duke as you have, Bishop.’
‘I fear what it could mean to England if he withdrew his support and ceased to be our ally.’
‘An uneasy ally,’ murmured Humphrey.
‘I agree and therefore to be treated with caution.’
‘One can be too cautious in life,’ commented Humphrey.
‘I know this,’ replied the Bishop. ‘My Lord Bedford will be as anxious to avoid this marriage as I am and as are all those who wish our country well.’
‘I like not your tone. None serves his country better than I.’
‘We are not concerned with what you have done in the past. This is one act which could bring disaster. By such a marriage you would put yourself in competition with Philip of Burgundy for the control of the Netherlands.’
‘They are in the hands of the one-time Bishop of Liège at this time.’
‘They will not remain there long. Burgundy will see to that. He will press his rights through his cousin of Brabant and, my lord, should this marriage take place I doubt not that you also will turn your thoughts to the lady’s lands. Burgundy will not see them pass to you … any more than you will wish to see them go to him. England cannot afford your quarrel with Burgundy, my lord Duke. That is why I ask you to consider this matter very carefully.’
‘Then you have done what you regard as your duty by asking me. Shall we let it rest there, Bishop?’
Arrogant coxcomb, thought the Bishop. Henry would never have allowed this had he lived. Each day one realised more and more what a tragedy it was that Henry had died.
The Bishop rose to his feet rather slowly; his limbs were a little stiff nowadays.
Pompous old fool, thought Humphrey. What right has he to tell me what to do? To hell with him. To hell with Burgundy. Why shouldn’t I have Jacqueline … and Hainault, Holland and Zealand.
Although Katherine found great comfort in the royal nursery she realised that this was a short respite. Soon people would want to see the baby and when the Parliament met she would have to take him to London. She would have to travel through the City holding the baby. Poor child, he would have to get used to being on show. But in the meantime she could be quiet. She could stay in her beloved Windsor; she could be with her baby like any other humble mother; she could ride in the forest although she could never get the solitude she longed for because always she would be accompanied by her attendants. They kept their distance, it was true; they understood her desire to be alone. Once or twice she had caught a glimpse of the Welsh squire. She remembered him with pleasure and she was glad that she had commanded that he be a member of her household. He stood out among the rest. He was not especially handsome but there was an air of innocence about him which she found refreshing. Perhaps, she told herself, it is because as a Welshman he seems different from these English; as I must seem.
She knew little about the Welsh. She vaguely remembered Henry’s saying that at one time they had given trouble … as the Scots had in the past and as the Irish did always.
It was late October when the messengers came from France. She received them immediately in her private apartments and she saw at once that the news they brought was of a melancholy nature.
‘My lady,’ she was told, ‘the King your father has died in Paris.’
She was silent. She could not judge her feelings at that moment. The father whom she had loved and for whom she had so often feared was no more. Poor sad King of France, whose life had been such a burden to him and to others. For a moment she was back in the Hôtel de St Pol, a frightened child listening for strange noises which might come from that part of the mansion which had been set aside for the King. She could remember turning to her elder sister Michelle and burying her face against her to shut out the sounds, and Michelle’s stroking her hair and whispering: ‘It is all right, Katherine, he can’t hurt you. He can’t get out. His keepers are with him.’
Then there was another memory, her father emerging from the Hôtel de St Pol, coming to the Louvre, himself again after one of those strange periods, caring for them all, caring for his country and his people.
‘His end was … peaceful?’ she asked.
‘My lady, when he came back to Paris he was well. He came through the streets and the people cheered him. He was deeply loved.’