He had said: ‘I do not wish our child to be born at Windsor.’

‘Windsor is a beautiful castle,’ she had replied.

‘Ah, you love it well and that pleases me. I too have a fondness for the place.’

‘It should be the birthplace of kings,’ she had said.

Then he had taken her hands and looked very serious. ‘Not for our child, Kate. Not Windsor.’

No more had been said and they had revelled in the beauties of the forest and returned to the castle and partaken of the fine buck which they had proudly brought back with them. And they had laughed and frolicked together while briefly he forgot to think of war.

And when her time was near she had been at Windsor. I must leave here, she had told herself. It is the King’s wish. But she delayed leaving and the snow came. There were high snowdrifts everywhere and ice on the road. ‘It is no time for travelling, my lady,’ said her women.

And she was only too ready to agree. Henry would not wish her to take to the roads now. Who knew what would happen to a pregnant woman on a journey fraught with the dangers of winter travel?

It had been just a whim; she had always been one to shrug aside that which was unpleasant. It had been the only way to live through a childhood such as hers had been.

So in Windsor Castle her little Henry had been born.

With what joy she had sent messengers to France. How delighted Henry would be to learn that he had a son. And when the messenger returned to her she had sent for him and eagerly had asked: ‘How was the King? What said he to the news that he has a son?’

‘My lady,’ was the answer, ‘first he shouted his delight. He said it was the happiest moment of his life. And then …’

‘And then?’ she had asked. ‘What then?’

‘He wished to know where the child had been born, my lady.’

‘Oh!’ Her hand had flown to her throat and she had said quietly: ‘And what said he when you told him?’

The messenger had hesitated and she had gone on quickly: ‘Tell me.’

‘He turned pale. Then he said a strange thing, my lady.’

‘Yes, yes?’

‘’Twas something like this:

‘“I Henry born at Monmouth

Shall small time reign and much get

But Henry of Windsor shall long reign and lose all.”

‘Then my lady, he added with great melancholy, “But as God will, so be it.”’

For a while she had been uneasy but she refused to be depressed. It was only now and then that she remembered; but as she rode towards Windsor it came into her mind again more forcibly than ever, because the first part of the prophecy had come true. Henry had gained much and reigned such a short time. Henry the Sixth would reign long. Yes, he should; she would cherish him and love him, and see that no harm came to him.

Her brother-in-law Humphrey of Gloucester was riding out to meet her. With him was Henry of Winchester, the baby’s great-uncle, who was one of the child’s godparents. They were accompanied by a retinue of knights and squires.

The two parties drew up and faced each other. Humphrey of Gloucester rode up to the Queen and taking her hand leaned forward to kiss her cheek. Then she was greeted by Henry of Winchester in like manner.

‘Welcome to Windsor, dear sister,’ said Humphrey. ‘This is a sorry occasion.’

He was handsome like his brothers but already the signs of the profligate life he lived were apparent on his face. He was a man of overwhelming ambition and even at this moment when he genuinely mourned a brother whom he had loved and admired he could not help wondering what advantage to himself could come out of the circumstances.

The Bishop – son of John of Gaunt and Catherine Swynford, beginning life as a bastard and later being legitimised – had always served the crown with loyalty. He was deeply disturbed by the death of the King, for he knew that with a child heir there was certain to be jostling for power and strife between various factions which was no good for any country.

‘Bless you, my lady,’ he said to the Queen. ‘May God guard you.’

Then they rode to Windsor.

First she must go to the royal nurseries.

‘You will find him in good health,’ Humphrey told her.

The nurses were with him. One held him in her arms and she was crooning a ditty to him while he played with coloured rings.

So unceremoniously had she entered that at first they did not recognise her.

Then someone said: ‘The Queen!’

They curtseyed deeply – all but the woman who held the child. Katherine went to her and took the baby.

He stared at her with wondering eyes and suddenly seized the gold chain about her neck and tried to put it into his mouth.

‘He seizes everything, my lady. He is so quick and bright …’

‘Henry, Henry,’ she said. ‘Don’t you know me? I am your mother.’

Then she kissed him tenderly and she took him to a window seat and sat down holding him tightly.

‘Yes indeed,’ she told herself, ‘I have much to live for.’


* * *

In the apartments of the Duke of Gloucester, he and the Bishop of Winchester faced each other. Humphrey had been trying to avoid the interview for he knew what its nature would be and he had no intention of listening to the advice of the old man.

Who in God’s name are these Beauforts? he asked himself. Bastards all of them. They should be grateful that their father thought enough of them to legitimise them and leave it at that. Instead they think they are as royal as I and my brothers are, and have a right to dictate to us what we should do.

Henry Beaufort had always had great influence with King Henry. He had been his tutor at one time and Henry had set great store by the views of his uncle. Before he had died he had named him as one of his son’s guardians.

And he wants to dictate to us all, thought Humphrey. Well, he shall find his mistake there.

Humphrey knew that the interview was to concern Jacqueline and he was certainly not going to be told what to do about her, because he had already made up his mind that he was going to marry her.

Humphrey was a man of conflicting characteristics. Dissolute in the extreme, given to frequenting low taverns and consorting with prostitutes, he was yet a lover of the fine arts. He had been most carefully educated at Balliol College and had quickly acquired a love of books which he had never lost. He collected them; and he honoured the men who produced them. When he was twenty he had made a gift of books to Oxford at the time when the library there was being enlarged. A patron of the arts, he was respected by those who performed in them and in their circle he became known as the Good Duke Humphrey. It seemed incongruous that one of selfish ambition who indulged in riotous living should earn such a title; but his was a nature of contrasts.

On his accession Henry had made him Chamberlain of England, and he had accompanied his brother to France and had taken part in the battle of Harfleur as well as that of Agincourt. In fact at Agincourt he had come near to losing his life when he had been wounded and thrown to the ground by the Duc D’Alençon. It was Henry the King who with characteristic courage and energy had found time to rescue his brother and save his life.

One must admire and revere Henry, Humphrey had believed; but when Henry was dead, what then? Humphrey was ambitious. A man must look to his own advantage. He had always believed that.

And who would have guessed that Henry would die so young? He was only thirty-five and strong, hale and hearty so it had seemed. And to be carried off by a fever and dysentery! It had happened to others. Soldiering was a profession which took a high toll of those who followed it. But who would have believed at the glory of Agincourt that Agincourt’s hero could so soon become a lifeless corpse.

Well, it happened and we must forsooth go on from there, Humphrey told himself.

His elder brother John had had the King’s confidence. He had the people’s confidence too. There was a quality of honesty in John which appealed to the people. But worthy as he was he had just missed that aura of greatness which Henry had had and which had enabled him to charm all those with whom he came into contact and inspire loyalty and belief in his invincibility. That was true leadership. It is found rarely and Henry undoubtedly had had it. And he, Humphrey? He was no Henry, he knew that. But he was a man who knew how to fight for what he wanted.

While John was in France Humphrey was in control in England. When John returned he would take a step backwards of course. But in the meantime he was in charge and he was not going to be dictated to by Beaufort, Bishop and royal bastard though he might be.

When the Lord Bishop had arrived, the squires had heralded him in with a show of reverence which irritated Humphrey, yet he had to admit that Henry Beaufort had an air of royalty about him. He could never forget he was the son of John of Gaunt and grandson of a King, and was not going to allow anyone else to do so either; and now behind him he had the authority of the Church.

Ambitious – was he not a Beaufort? Handsome – he took after his mother – and dignified. He was reputed to be impetuous and it was true he now and then acted without due thought; and he loved worldly possessions of which it was also said he had amassed a good deal. Whatever his faults he was consistently loyal to the crown. He had lent money to the King for his campaigns in France and none rejoiced more wholeheartedly than he at the success of those campaigns.

It was for this reason that he was now determined to turn Humphrey from a course of which he disapproved.

‘The Queen, God help her, will find comfort with her babe,’ said the Bishop. ‘Poor lady, I doubt she understands the difficulties ahead.’

‘’Tis a pity he is of such tender years,’ said Humphrey.

‘A matter which time will remedy.’

Humphrey was a little impatient. The Bishop had not come to him to talk of such an undisputed fact as the King’s youth.

Humphrey dismissed the squires and when they were alone and comfortably seated the Bishop put the palms of his hands together as though he were about to pray and looking steadily at Humphrey said: ‘I have heard disturbing rumours.’

‘My lord Bishop, who has not? Disturbing rumours are as commonplace as the air we breathe.’

‘Some are more disturbing than others. My lord, I would ask you this. Is it true that you are contemplating marriage with the Lady Jacqueline?’

‘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.