Виктория Холт - Epitaph for Three Women

Dear God, I had to do it. She was a menace to my armies. With what power had You endowed this girl that she could affect us so. We burned her; but it was her own people who betrayed her. And the King of France for whom she had done so much deserted her and allowed her to die … miserably … horribly. And yet they had said that when she cried out in her final agony they saw her soul in the form of a white dove ascend to Heaven.

I did it … I did … but what else could I have done? Forget her. She is dead. What of the future? Burgundy … Burgundy … will you break with us? Anne … Anne won’t let it happen. But Anne was gone and he was trying now to reach her.

‘We should send for the priests,’ said Jacquetta.

The end was very near, they all knew it.

The Cardinal felt a sudden despair. What would happen now … not only to him but to England? It seemed that the future of both was very bleak.

Gloucester would now be next to the throne. If only Henry were older; if only he had a wife and an heir. But he was but a boy yet. It would be necessary to keep an eye on Gloucester.

The death of the Duke was received with a shocked silence throughout Rouen. People began to talk about the Maid. Was it not strange that the Duke had died here in the very town close to the very square where Joan the Maid had been burned at the stake?

Was it a curse on Bedford? Was it a curse on the English?

They buried the great Duke in the Cathedral at Notre Dame and they wondered gloomily what would happen now that he was dead.

* * *

‘Dead!’ mused Burgundy. His old friend and enemy!

Who would have believed it possible? Bedford with those ruddy healthy looks had seemed far from death.

And now he was gone and that, of course, made all the difference to Burgundy. His alliance had been with Henry the Fifth, a man whom he had admired as much as any other he had ever known; Bedford had followed his brother and he had admired him also. It had seemed good to ally himself with such men. But now they were dead and surely that could be an end to an alliance which had always seemed an incongruous one.

He understood Bedford well. An astute man, a far-seeing man. He would have realised at once that if he, Burgundy, signed the treaty of Arras and his old friend became his enemy that would be the end of English dominance in France.

The French were wooing him with sweet promises. Charles disowned the murder of the old Duke of Burgundy. It had been no wish of his, he declared. He would deliver up the murderers to the Duke; he would pay fifty thousand crowns of gold for the property which had been taken from Burgundy at the time of the assassination; he would place certain towns in the Duke’s hands. This would compensate him for what he had lost in the war.

Yes, thought Burgundy, I will sign the treaty of Arras. The English have left the conference and now the only one to whom I owed allegiance is dead. Why should I not join my own kinsman?

This unholy alliance should be brought to an end.

* * *

There were scenes of joy throughout France. In the streets of every town Armagnacs were embracing Burguandians. The King of France called together the States General at Tours and there, kneeling before the Archbishop of Crete, after Mass had been celebrated, he swore on the Bible to keep the peace with Burgundy.

All the nobles in the land from both sides of the dispute swore with him.

‘For long,’ said the King, ‘I have prayed for this happy day. Let us thank God for it.’

The streets were ringing with the cries: ‘Long live the King. Long live the Duke of Burgundy.’

The Cardinal returned sadly to England.

There could not be a greater blow for England, he thought.

There could also not be a greater blow for the Cardinal himself.

Thus the power of his old enemy Gloucester was increased.

God help England, thought the Cardinal. And God help me.

ELEANOR, Duchess of Gloucester, was on her way to Eye-next-Westminster to visit Margery Jourdemayne.

Margery’s efforts to make her pregnant had come to nothing, but she had not lost her faith in the witch for all that. There were other elements to be considered, Margery had always pointed out, and Eleanor accepted that.

She had been in close contact with Margery for some time now and she had been in extremely good spirits ever since she had heard of the death of Bedford. She could feel almost dizzy with delight when she contemplated the future. Her husband was next in the line of succession to the young King and until Henry married and acquired an heir he would remain so.

The worst fate which could befall Humphrey and, through him, her, would be if the young King produced an heir.

She had a feeling that Margery was going to be very useful to her in the future.

It was very gratifying. Who would have thought that sober old Bedford would take to his bed and so obligingly die! Margery could not have arranged it better although no witches had had a hand in that happy demise … unless it was that one they were always talking about … the peasant witch of Arc.

Never mind how. She must just accept the good fortune. Bedford dead and Humphrey one jump from the throne.

Margery had guessed why she had come. Margery would know of Bedford’s death. There was very little Margery missed. And she would already be considering possibilities, for Eleanor had always been a valued client even when she was nothing more than a higher servant in the employ of the first Duchess of Gloucester. But how quickly she had climbed out of that! And when she became the Duchess it was Margery’s triumph as well as Eleanor’s. Margery always hoped she would not forget that. She liked her clients to be grateful – and not only materially so, although of course that was of the utmost importance.

She could not complain. Eleanor was generous and Margery was becoming quite rich because of the connection.

Eleanor was taken down to the quiet of Margery’s kitchen where the cauldron boiled and the black cat with the malevolent green eyes opened one of them to study Eleanor for a moment and then closed it again.

A seat for Eleanor and one for Margery – hers a sort of throne with cabalistic signs on it to remind high-born clients that Margery was the Queen of her own domain.

‘My lady,’ said Margery tentatively, ‘I trust you are in good health.’

‘Could be better,’ said Eleanor shortly which was a reference to her inability to announce her pregnancy.

No more of that, thought Margery. The child is stubborn. He won’t get himself born.

‘You must be happy with the way things are, my lady,’ she went on. ‘Your lord has risen in the world since I saw you last, eh?’

‘Bedford is dead …’ said Eleanor. ‘That makes my husband one step from the throne.’

‘Close,’ agreed Margery. ‘But one step is as far as a mile if it’s never taken.’

Eleanor sighed. Then she looked full at Margery. ‘He must take it, Margery,’ she said firmly.

Margery looked stubborn. She shut her mouth tightly and nodded her head.

‘It could never be done, my lady …’

The best way to send the price up was to declare first the impossibility, reasoned Margery. And, by my spells and potions, I should need to be well paid to meddle in the ways of royalty.

‘It could be done,’ said Eleanor. ‘There are surely ways.’

‘My lady, you could bring us all to ruin. The stake for me and what for you, my lady? Not that perhaps … but a terrible fate I wouldn’t be surprised.’

‘Oh stop talking such nonsense, Margery. If Humphrey were King I should be Queen. I would see that you were protected, and who would dare touch a Queen?’

Margery was silent. Madame’s ambitions surprised even her sometimes. She had become the Duchess of Gloucester. Wasn’t that enough for her? No, it seemed my lady had her eyes on the crown.

‘Everything will be different now,’ went on Eleanor eagerly. ‘Already it has changed. Can you feel it, Margery? It’s in the air.’

‘Oh yes, I feel it,’ said Margery. ‘I can also feel the flames creeping round my legs. They say they put oil on it to make it burn the faster.’

‘What ideas you get. There shall be no question of trouble, I promise you that.’

‘With all respect, my lady, I can’t see how you could help it. You know … as well as I do … what would happen if you were found, say, with aught that might mean you were working against the King. The King, my lady. Our very own King.’

‘He is a foolish child … nothing more.’

‘He’s a boy who will grow up. We were all children once.’

‘Yes and some of us knew what we wanted right from the start.’

‘Mayhap he does, my lady, just as you do.’

‘What matters that? I know what I want now. And I want Humphrey …’

‘You want your lord to be the King of this country.’

‘Don’t look so shocked, Margery. He is next in line. He is the son of Henry the Fourth.’

Margery was silent, looking down at her large-boned hands which were lying in her lap.

Then she sighed and went to the wax. She placed it near the fire and began to mould it.

Eleanor watched her avidly.

When Margery had finished the figure bore a fair likeness to the King.

* * *

She would tell no one – not even Humphrey – of her visit to Margery. He did not know of her connection with the witch so there was no need to tell him now. Humphrey was unpredictable. Who knew what he would say if he discovered that he had married Eleanor partly because a witch had helped him fall into the trap laid for him.

He was delighted now, of course. He would no longer be overshadowed by an elder brother whom everyone thought was such a virtuous and noble fellow. He was free. He would not have to answer to Bedford for anything again.

People were more subservient to him even than before. He had taken a step up the ladder. It was not an impossibility that he might one day be the King of this country. People had to step warily. They might be talking to the future King.

His vindictive nature set him looking round to see if he had any slights to avenge. The greatest of his enemies was his Uncle Cardinal Beaufort. He wondered how Beaufort was feeling about the death of Bedford. A little uneasy, he was sure. Let him remain so. The Duke of Gloucester was a very powerful man now.

The Cardinal had come back weeping and wailing because of the breaking of the alliance with Burgundy. Gloucester raged against the Duke, calling him traitor. But never mind, they would show him that the desertion of the Duke of Burgundy meant nothing to the English.

‘We shall go in and win back all we have lost,’ he declared.

His Council was uncertain. Beaufort, on whose judgement many of them relied, was of the opinion that they should seek peace. ‘Think of our position there,’ said Beaufort. ‘We have lost a great deal since the siege of Orléans,’ he said. ‘The tide has turned against us and this has ended in the major calamity of the loss of Burgundy’s friendship.’

‘It was not worth much,’ said Gloucester.

‘Your late brothers were of the opinion that it was worth a great deal,’ answered Beaufort.

‘Well, it has proved worthless. Burgundy has deceived us.’

‘He never deceived us. He made the treaty with your brothers, not with England. They are both dead – God help us – and therefore Burgundy can honourably release himself – which he has done. Because of this it is time to think of making peace in France.’

The Cardinal was a traitor, Gloucester declared to the Council. He was working with France. Perhaps he was taking bribes from the French since he was so eager to bring about a peace.

The councillors shrugged their shoulders. There would never be an end to this feud between the Cardinal and his nephew until one of them died.

Gloucester himself wanted to go to France. He would take an army with him, and he promised them that in a short time he would win back all they had lost.

Did any of them believe him? Perhaps not. But it was decided that he should go.

Eleanor was secretly angry. To go out of England was scarcely the way to secure a throne. Moreover she was sure he would not shine as a military hero. He always thought he would, she knew, but there was a world of difference between dreams and reality.