Виктория Холт - Epitaph for Three Women

‘Say nothing,’ she said. ‘These matters pass.’

She was now completely absorbed by her love for Owen and the imminent arrival of their child.

* * *

The Duke of Gloucester was a source of great irritation to the Council and it occurred to them that his power could be considerably diminished if the King were crowned. He would then no longer need a Protectorate. The King, though a boy, would rule in his own right. Thus the power of Gloucester could be curbed at one blow.

The Council were in unanimous agreement and on a clear and bright November day young Henry was brought to Westminster.

The Earl of Warwick led him to the high scaffold which had been set up in the Abbey and there he sat looking before him very solemnly, a little sad but conducting himself, as all agreed, with humility and devotion.

The crown was placed on his little head and he knew better now than to complain of its heaviness. He had already learned that although it was sometimes gratifying to be a King it had its drawbacks.

After he had been crowned he must go in procession to Westminster. There three Dukes walked before him carrying three swords which were symbolic of mercy, estate and empire, and Henry himself was led by two Bishops and six Earls with the Barons of the Cinque Ports carrying his pall and the Earl of Warwick his train. Judges, barons, knights and all the dignitaries of the city of London must attend.

The Bishop of Winchester – now a Cardinal – sat on his right hand at the feast and the new Chancellor, John Kemp, was on his other side. It was very formal and Henry was sorry for the Earls of Huntingdon and Stafford because they had to kneel beside him during the feast, one holding the sceptre and the other the sword of state – although he was uncomfortable enough himself in his heavy robes and crown.

And when he was seated and the hereditary champion rode in to challenge anyone who did not agree that Henry was the rightful King, the boy held his breath and looked about him anxiously wondering what would happen if anyone disputed that fact.

No one did and the feast began. Henry wished that he were back in Windsor talking to his mother while Dame Alice and Joan Astley served him with his simple food.

So he was crowned and he was most forcibly reminded that he was King of England.

His uncle Bedford sent messages from France.

He approved of the crowning of the King; he now wished him to be crowned King of France. That was very important. So no sooner had Henry come through one coronation than he was to prepare himself for another.

* * *

It was in an atmosphere of mystery that the little Tudor came into the world. It was impossible, of course, to keep his existence completely secret but only those in the household need know.

If visitors came they would not want to see the nurseries. The servants were loyal. They had to be if they would keep their positions and most of them were fond of the Queen.

Katherine had determined that it should all be achieved as comfortably as she could make it. And she did very well. Owen now continued with his duties as squire but he lived in the Queen’s apartments.

They were two happy parents with a baby son.

They discussed what he should be called; Owen suggested Edmund and as Katherine wished all the time to please Owen she agreed to it.

So little Edmund flourished and it was not long before Katherine was once more pregnant.

By that time the strange stories of a peasant girl were reaching England.

She was said to be a virgin endowed with commands from Heaven.

Katherine talked of her a little. She was mildly interested because the girl was French and said to come from Domrémy, a part she knew slightly.

But there was too much to interest her in her own household for her to give much thought to a strange story about a certain girl they were calling Joan of Arc.

SOME sixteen years before the siege of Orléans began Jacques d’Arc and his wife were waiting with mingled excitement and apprehension for the birth of their fourth child. It was not that the newcomer would not be welcome. Far from it. Jacques and his wife Isabelle – known affectionately as Zabillet – loved their children dearly. But times were hard – when had they been otherwise? – and the arrival of a new baby would mean that there was one more mouth to feed.

Jacques originally came from Arc-en-Barrois and having no legal name was called after his birthplace. He had in time found employment about the castle of Vaucouleurs and while there he had met Isabelle Romée. They had fallen in love and married. Isabelle – or Zabillet – though far from rich was not entirely penniless and on her marriage inherited the house in Domrémy where she settled with Jacques, and there the children were born. It was by no means a mansion but it served as a home for them and there was a small piece of land attached which enabled them to grow a few crops and with this and the permission which was given to all the villagers to graze their cattle in the nearby fields they managed to feed and clothe their young family.

Domrémy was situated on the River Meuse about twelve and a half miles from the town of Vaucouleurs and a little nearer to Neufchâteau. Adjoining it was the village of Greux and on the other side of the river was Maxey; a few miles away were Burey-le-Grand and Burey-le-Petit, and away on the heights lay the Château Bourlémont.

Until the wars had flared up again it had been a peaceful spot in which to live. News came slowly; the villagers were like one family, in and out of each other’s houses, sitting at their doors in summer, gathering round the fires in winter, very often in one or other of their dwellings that one fire might serve several, fuel being not always easy to come by. The villagers lived carefully, making the most of everything they could wring from the land and now and then saving a little money to put by for emergencies. There was some excitement when travellers came, which they did now and then, for close by was the great road which had been there since it had been built by the Romans and along this came the messengers to and from the Court; merchants travelled along it too, so Domrémy was not as cut off from the world as some villages might be. Sometimes these travellers stayed at the village and begged a bed for the night and in exchange for that hospitality would give accounts of what was happening in the outside world. Moreover because the house of Jacques d’Arc was more commodious than others in the village he was usually the one to receive the guests.

It was a long low house with a heavy slate roof held up by great beams. In the front there were put two small windows so high that the interior was very dark indeed. The floor was of earth and the house was very sparsely furnished with only the barest necessities – a rough table on trestles, a few stools and spinning wheel and kneading trough; rough partitions divided the rooms. There were window seats in the fireplace and the walls were blackened by years of smoke. But on those walls in each room hung a crucifix, for Jacques and Zabillet were fervently religious and determined to bring up their children to be the same.

So close to the house was the church that its dismal graveyard was the first thing the family saw when they emerged into daylight. The days were punctuated by the sound of bells. They seemed to be ringing all the time, not only for mass and vespers, matins and complines but for all the ceremonies of the village, christenings, marriages and burials. The church dominated the village.

So it was at that time when the fourth member of the d’Arc family was about to make an appearance. Young Jacques – named after his father and given the name Jacquemin partly out of affection and the custom in the family of bestowing nicknames and partly to distinguish him from his father – was already working in the field with his father. So was his younger brother Jean; and even little Catherine was helping in the house and learning to spin. Like all the children in the village they worked as soon as they were able. In time the new baby would join them – if it survived – and Zabillet was constantly telling Jacques that although the more children they had the more food had to be found, they all earned their daily bread. Jacques agreed and so in the little village of Domrémy they awaited the birth of their child.

There was no lack of helpers when Zabillet’s pains started. The wives crowded into the dark interior where she lay on her pallet. The men were still working in the fields but Jacques knew that as soon as the baby arrived he would be called.

Birth was easy in Domrémy – but then so was death. Zabillet was serene enough. It was the fourth time she had been in this condition; and already she loved the baby.

And so the child was born. A little girl.

Well, they had two boys and girls were useful. They could spin and cook and look after the men; they could also do their stint in the fields.

She was a perfect child and it was decided to name her after one of her godmothers. Jeannette was a name well loved in France. It was the female of Jean and Jean had been Jesus Christ’s best loved disciple. It was a good name.

Moreover it was a compliment to one of her godmothers – Jeannette de Vittel who had come to Domrémy from Neufchâteau for the ceremony and was very highly thought of because her husband Thiesselin de Vittel was a scholar and could read.

There were many godparents, as was the custom, and little Jeannette was baptised by the Curé Jean Minet in that church which was dedicated to Saint Rémy.

* * *

Jeannette was little more than three when she first noticed talk of war. It came into her parents’ conversation a great deal and her brothers often talked of it. Now other riders galloped along the great road and sometimes stayed the night. She was well aware of the excitement when the neighbours crowded into the house, if it were winter to sit around the fire and listen to the news the traveller brought, or if it were summer gather outside the house on the green.

There was a new baby now – Pierre known as Pierrelot – and it was Jeannette’s task to mind him, which in spite of her tender years she did tolerably well. She was a very serious little girl and tried hard to understand what the grown-ups were talking about and why news sometimes made them very sad and at other times pleased them.

It was at this time she first heard the word Agincourt. She did not know what it meant except that it was something bad and shameful. People grew angry when they talked of the Godons who, she guessed, were some sort of wicked devils.

As she grew a little older she began to learn more of these matters. There was a wicked and cruel enemy of France. These people were the Godons. They did not believe in God and used wicked oaths. God Damn was the one which was constantly on their lips – spoken in their barbaric tongue – and from this came their name. They had won the battle of Agincourt and so humbled France and made the King very unhappy. Another name for the Godons was the English.

Because he had a bigger house than most of the villagers but chiefly because he was a man of strong character Jacques d’Arc had become a sort of headman of the village. People came to the house to talk of their problems; if action was to be taken they listened to his advice. Jeannette liked to sit quietly in the shadows and listen and so when she was very young she came to have a fairly clear understanding of what was going on.

It was War. That was a hateful word and she wanted to shut her ears to it. People forgot it for long spells at a time and were happy, and then she would hear the word War again and they would be miserable – more than that, afraid.

‘Why do we have to have war?’ she asked Jacquemin. ‘What good does it bring? Why don’t they stop it? It only hurts people.’

Jacquemin gave her a scornful look. She did not understand, he told her. She should get on with learning to spin.

She did that, she reminded him, but she could think at the same time.

In time she learned that there was trouble between the Armagnacs and the Burgundians and that had been going on since the Duke of Burgundy had murdered the Duke of Orléans and now it seemed the Armagnacs had murdered the Duke of Burgundy in retaliation.