Wife to Henry V: A Novel (30 page)

“Nor my lord Bishop of Coutances,” Isabeau said catching the wandering glance. “Nor their lordships the Chancellors of Normandy and France.” She sat for a moment, eyes screwed beneath plucked brows. “Nor Madam the Queen of France.” She rose abruptly and was gone.

Catherine stayed to the end of the masque; it was the best masque she had ever seen.

“I knew it!” Isabeau told her later. “A joint council—France and Normandy together. Such a thing has never happened before. Things are going to move—fighting on a grand scale! Smile, girl. Have you no spirit?”

Catherine found it hard to smile at this sudden end to gaiety. For the first time her light thoughts went further. What could it be like to live a whole lifetime—and no war? No thunder of gunstones, no groans of the dying? But quiet day by quiet day to live with one's husband and learn to know him; to take one's time over love-making; to bring up children in the knowledge of both father and mother.

Watching that tell-tale face Isabeau threw out her hands.

“My children are all alike—Valois through and through! Not one with my spirit, my family fighting spirit. Would you lose your son's crown for want of fighting? Are you so squeamish that you sicken at the thought of a little blood? Listen, girl! South of the Loire the treaty that we made at Troyes—your treaty—is laughed at. As for the north, as long as traitor Harcourt is alive, there no peace for any of us.”

She did not see Henry these days, even in bed. He snatched a few hours on a mattress where he could. He sent no excuses, not so much as to pretend desire for her company; nor any word of regret. She did not expect it. How could she expect it when he was for Picardy to crush Harcourt and his rebellion once and for all? Yet she was hurt. A word, a little word would cost him nothing.

To send that word never occurred to him. Men, arms, provisions—and the towns to supply them; those were his concerns. Vermandois, yes; he could count upon Vermandois. But Amiens he was not sure about. Amiens might need a flick of the whip!

A good week. Food, arms, men, everything promised; the flick of the whip had been enough for Amiens. And success in the field had been spectacular. Gamaches had been taken both town and castle; and Warwick had driven the Dauphin's troops from Vimey. But the burnt and plundered countryside the enemy had left behind them was, Warwick wrote, God's Own Pity.

And then, to crown all, the most unexpected thing. Compiègne offered its surrender. Now why was that? The town could have held out for at least a year—and no lover of England, neither! The thing smacked of trickery, Henry said. He would go himself and see!

A lovely June day when the great procession rode out—two Kings, two Queens, bishops and princes, knights and ladies. And, finest of all, in Henry's eyes, his own command marching behind him. He had no eyes for Catherine riding beside him; hardly knew she was there. He had forgotten everything but war; forgotten his own deadly fatigue, even. His every thought pressed forward to the fight.

At St. Denys where they halted for the night she began to wish herself back in England—Jacque was amusing; the Welshman would wait upon her with new gowns; and there was her baby. She had come to France to learn to love her husband and to get herself with child. The second seemed as likely as the first! And Michelle had not come. She found herself remembering Michelle's many kindnesses in their childhood; she wished she herself had been kinder.

The next day saw them at Henry's headquarters. Senlis was cooler than Paris and, for the moment, quieter. Her father, at least, would benefit by the change. Here, if she must complain of her lack of bedfellow, she could not complain of her bed. Henry, with his usual thoroughness, had sent the household well in advance.

At Senlis it was almost as though she had never been married at all; as though she was still the young, insignificant Catherine. Her father, fatigued with the journey, had been taken weeping away. Henry might just as well not exist for all she saw of him. Her mother, huddled over the brazier in her chamber for all it was summer, pored over despatches and hardly bothered to wash, much less to beautify herself. Catherine walked lonely in the garden and longed for Jacque's merry tongue.

Once she came face to face with her husband. And though she knew she could never love him again—the time for loving was long past—she saw that he looked old in the summer sunshine; old and grey.

She thought with sudden anger that she had not bargained to marry an old man. And then she saw that he looked thin and restless...sick. She was frightened at that, and sorry. Why would he not rest? she asked him timidly, humbly almost.

“Soon, soon,” he promised impatient as with an importunate child, “when I have my crowns secure.”

“But...crowns?” she asked Isabeau later. And surely he had spoken, unthinking! “Why
crowns
?'

“He knows what he says,” Isabeau told her. “His one crown, even, is not so secure, neither. He may be England's darling with all his glories thick about him—but what are the Lancasters but usurpers after all?”

* * *

Henry was in Paris hot on the rumour of a plot.

'The dust of his going had barely settled before he was back again. He came striding in at dinner all flushed with triumph. Catherine found his high colour reassuring; Isabeau's shrewder eyes mistrusted the flush, noticed that he ate little.

“Scotched!” he said. “But only just in time. Part of a widespread plot. Compiègne's in it, too—there's the answer to that queer offer of theirs to surrender. Paris and Compiègne to throw open their gates to our little Dauphin at one and the same time.”

He watered his wine liberally, took a deep draught and then another; thirst seemed to worry him. “The dust sticks in my throat,” he said. “A good plot—and a near thing. But you can't trust a woman! A woman, God be praised, will always be talking! And a woman was at the bottom of this. And where must Madam choose to confide her little secrets but just under the city walls. Incredible but true. Imagine it! Outside Madam at her chattering; inside, ears pressed back like horses—my guards. She was still chattering when they took her.”

“And—the end of Madam Blabtongue?” Isabeau asked grim, amused.

“The Seine cooled her; her and her friends together.”

Isabeau, approving, caught the sudden pallor in Catherine's face. “Are you with child again that you've grown so dainty?” she asked contemptuous.

Henry looked at her with sour amusement. “Why did you not give this girl of yours some of your own good sense?” he asked.

“Her father had some say in her making,” Isabeau said, idly, and saw him wince.
I am not of the King's making
. Catherine bit her tongue upon the words. How would his pride welcome a bastard to wife? Besides, she no longer believed it was true.

Had she longed for France? It was home no longer but an alien land whose soil sucked both blood and courage. It was England she longed for now, quiet England, green England where she had borne her child. It was as much as she could do not to ask Henry to let her return. But she had her pride; besides, these days she never knew how he would take a thing. He might be proud that his England had won her. Or he might wave her irritably aside—a child who did not know its own mind. He was unwell; it was clear, even to her eyes. But he would never admit it.

Isabeau would not admit it, either.

“Be careful how you talk, my girl. Henry is well enough; but sickness—even the rumour—would be the strongest weapon in the hand of our enemies. My son Charles, God knows, is a fool; but even he would know how to use such a weapon.”

* * *

Michelle was dead.

Catherine did not understand that. Michelle? Michelle was but twenty three. How could she die?

It was as though Death put his hand on Catherine's own shoulder, grinned through empty sockets into her eyes.

How should Michelle be dead?

A fever; a flux. Duke Philip did not know. How should he? Michelle had died in Ghent. A soldier had no time to indulge in speculation. Or in grief. A wife lost hardly mattered; but a town...a town lost was another thing.

“Poison,” Isabeau said; and she said it as though it was not a guess.

Catherine's eyes went dark in her head. “Poison? What harm did Michelle ever do?”

“The harm of being alive. Men and women die; some because God wills it, others because man wills it. In Michelle's case—a woman. I'd stake my hope of heaven it was the de Viefville woman.”

“No...no.” Catherine's voice came out in a whisper. “Michelle loved her dearer than a sister.”

“And how dear do sisters love? What a ninny it is! When will you learn to look deeper than the surface? The creature had her reasons—Philip's latest mistress! Everyone knew it.”

“Michelle?”

“Michelle!”

“And she kept- the creature as her friend?”

“What else? Nothing to do—short of poisoning; and that wasn't Michelle's way. And if it had been—” Isabeau shrugged, “plenty to take de Viefville's place.”

“But...” Catherine was battling with a new horror. Michelle not only dead, but murdered; murdered by her own familiar friend. Her hands went out as though to thrust the horror from her. “No...no.” She tried to reassure herself. “The creature wouldn't dare.”

“She's fool enough to dare anything for a chance to step into the shoes of Madam the Duchess.”

“She's married already.”

“A husband's easily accounted for—the same little dose that finished Michelle. But my good son-in-law will never marry her; he'll fly for higher game. Besides, he'd have to reckon with his own people. They're disgusted enough already. They arrested the creature on suspicion and Philip sent orders to set her free. No evidence, he said. In Ghent they're bitter; they loved my poor girl.”

A good thing, Catherine thought, pitiful, someone had loved Michelle. Her father was so frail now, his envelope of flesh hardly hid his sick soul; and in his mind there was little memory. He did not seem to grasp what had happened; it was as though he had forgotten Michelle altogether. Her mother was sorry enough—when she had time; like Michelle's husband, Michelle's mother was too full of affairs to grieve overmuch. As for Philip, he paid his wife the compliment of a black sash upon his arm; he had paid his father the tribute of the complete suit. No doubt, Catherine thought, his mind was already turning to a new wife. Well, no woman need fear
his
chastity. As for herself she could not forget that she had once taunted Michelle with growing into an ugly old woman...Michelle would never be an old woman now. Odd how that childish prick turned backwards wounding her own heart. Yet, it was strange, she thought. Grief and regret brought her sharpened delight in the summer sunshine; in the light wind upon her cheeks and in the heavy scent of beans in flower.

Like Michelle's mother, like Michelle's husband, Michelle's sister had not time to think overmuch of the dead girl. That was the pity of Michelle, Catherine thought, guilty, one had no time for her.

She was disturbed about Henry. Day by day weariness carved an uglier pattern on his face; etched more deeply lines about his mouth, drove the eyes further within their sockets. Master John Swanforth, Bachelor of Medicine, had come from England and was now in attendance. “Nothing to disturb Madam the Queen,” he told Catherine more than once. “A slight disorder of the stomach...”

She was ashamed to go on asking; his physician should know! But all the same she believed he would never get strong again in France. The voice of England, the will of England would make him whole again.

But Henry had no time to listen to the voice of England. He had dealt with Paris. Now he was for Compiègne to take the surrender; and then north to deal with Harcourt, the archtraitor.

* * *

From her high window Catherine saw him riding back.

Why had he changed his careful plans? What had happened? Could it be ill news from the south?

When she saw him she thought the ill news must be within himself. He looked wretchedly ill. Surely he had come to rest!

He laughed in her face when she asked him that. The little Dauphin thought so, too. Henry of England tied by the leg! The enemy had taken advantage of the rumour to march against Nevers.

Let them march, Catherine said. They had to march somewhere—why not to Nevers?

With a careful patience he told her why. If Nevers fell, communication would be cut off between Paris and Dijon—Burgundy's capital.

“But of course, of course!” Isabeau interrupted with impatience. She could not see him go fast enough.

“Then let Philip deal with it—it's his business,” Catherine said stubborn, worried.

She saw how her husband and her mother exchanged looks at her foolishness; Henry went on explaining with the same dreary patience. “Burgundy lacks infantry. You cannot lay siege without infantry.” She thought this unnatural patience of his more revealing, more frightening than honest anger.

The Dauphin kept them all guessing.

They had expected him at Nevers; instead his armies lay before Cosne.

Is this a master-stroke or a clumsy stumbling upon luck?
Burgundy wrote, irritable, worried. Had he the men he would deal faithfully with Monsieur the Dauphin. The infantry—when would Henry send the infantry?

No master-stroke but a clumsy stumbling upon good luck
, Henry wrote in reply. As for the infantry, he would do more than send. He would lead it in person.

* * *

He was not well, Catherine thought watching him ride out. He was for Bois de Vincennes to gather his forces; he could not endure, he said, the heat, the smells of Paris. How long would he sit his horse? she wondered sadly. Why did he not, at least, travel by litter?
The King of England rides where all may see, the Heir of France gives the lie to his sickness.
She knew her answer. But...suppose the King of England could not ride where all might see him, could not give the lie?

She thrust down her fear. Who was she to set her opinion against that of the physicians?

These days at Senlis there was little for her to do; she prayed but without much conviction; she walked in the garden but without much pleasure; she plucked upon the lute—but never the song of the lusty lover. Fate had cheated there!