“I know. You were the one…I always trusted. John…now it will be for you. You must hold what I have gained. There is my son…a baby. There is Kate…my wife. Comfort Kate, John. She will be the most afflicted creature living…so young…and the child, John …”

“I will do all you wish. I will do as you would.”

Henry nodded and closed his eyes. He looked as though he were at peace.

We stood at his bedside in silence, and into my mind came the strange prophecy I had heard. “Henry of Monmouth would reign a short time and gain much.” The first part had come true.

I was filled with a sense of awe and deep loss. I had one thought: I must get back to my son. He had lost his father. He was not yet a year old and he was King of England.

I tried to look ahead, but the future seemed dark, mysterious and foreboding.

Looking back now on those days at Vincennes, I realize that for most of the time I thought I was living through some evil dream. It was hard to accept the fact that Henry was dead. He had been so vital. If he had been killed in battle, it would not have been so unexpected. But to die like this…in such a short time…seemed impossible.

There was a great deal to be done. He must be given a worthy funeral. The people of France must be made to understand that the death of the great conqueror did not mean that the English grip on the country would be lessened. He had brothers to carry on with his great schemes of conquest.

I wondered what effect this was having on my parents at the Hôtel de St.-Paul. I could imagine that my mother was busily scheming. As for my poor father, he had long given up hope of regaining the crown and I was not sure that he would want it if he could. His only pleasure nowadays was keeping away from conflict.

John of Bedford was a great help. Deeply grieving as he was, he took over the arrangements for the funeral and, oddly enough, it was the tall squire who had helped bear the litter to Vincennes who gave me the greatest comfort.

I singled him out among the others. It might have been because he had a kindly face which showed at the same time a strength of character. I liked the lilting way he spoke English. My own was less than perfect and I had often found it difficult to follow those who did not speak the language in the way Henry and the people around me did. He was from Wales, and the Welsh accent was musical and pleasant to listen to. I was glad of Bedford’s efficiency, but he was not a man to whom one could talk easily, and this man had a soothing manner which might have been due to his voice.

I was able to ask him how the King had been at Senlis before he had allowed them to remove him from the army.

“It must have been a difficult decision for him to make,” I said. “I am sure he did it with the utmost reluctance.”

“With the utmost, my lady,” replied the Welshman. “He had been fighting against the disease for some time.”

“You were close to him, I believe.”

“Yes, my lady. I was with him at Agincourt and ever since he has kept me near him.”

“He thought highly of you, I expect.”

“I was honored to serve him.”

“Tell me about him. He was much loved by his men, was he not?”

“It is my belief, my lady, that he was loved more than any king before him, and I doubt that any who follows him will be loved more.”

“You cared for him very much.”

“All his men cared for him. There was no one like him. He was the greatest soldier who ever lived, in my opinion, my lady. All who have been privileged to know him should be proud.”

“He was friendly with his men, was he not?”

“He was always kind and generous. His men knew what was expected of them—which was absolute devotion to duty…as he always gave himself. His decisions were quick. He always knew what should be done. ‘It is impossible,’ he would say. Or ‘It shall be done!’ We all knew exactly what to expect, and it never varied.”

“You make him sound almost impossibly perfect.”

“He was as near perfection as a man can be. He was just. Some would say he was stern. He was, it was true. He made his laws and expected absolute obedience to them. That is the way of great rulers.”

“Sometimes I wonder …” I began. “Sometimes I think…of the cries of women and children who have lost their men and their homes in battle. Such cries haunt me.”

“I know,” he said. “I understand.”

“And I cannot help thinking…why should there have to be war?”

“The King believed firmly that France belonged to him. He planned to bring better rule to that land.” He paused, remembering, I supposed, that he was speaking against my family.

I smiled at him and then began to ask myself why I was talking thus to this man. I could not understand myself. I was, of course, in a highly emotional state, and he had such a kind face, such a sympathetic manner.

I wanted to hear a vindication of Henry. I wanted to forget those terrible doubts which had come to me. I thought of him on his deathbed, when it had not occurred to him to ask forgiveness for the sufferings he had caused to so many innocent people.

“My lady, the King considered his men as he did himself. He was never vengeful to an enemy, never vindictive. He was always merciful. He forbade pilfering and disrespect to women. He shared the hardships of his soldiers, he gave them example after example of his own bravery.”

“You make a hero of him.”

“He was a hero, Madam.”

I smiled, I had been greatly comforted by my conversation with this man.

I said to him: “I do not know your name.”

And he answered: “It is Owen Tudor.”

They made an effigy of Henry. It was life-size, constructed from boiled leather and painted to make it resemble his living self. On the head was set a crown, in the right hand a scepter and in the left an orb. The effigy was put upon a carriage and we set out.

It was an impressive cavalcade, with noblemen such as the Duke of Exeter and the Earl of March carrying the banners of the saints, and 400 men-at-arms in black armor riding with the bier. I followed at some distance.

Our first stop was St.-Ivian in Abbeville, where we rested for a day and night, and all through that day Masses were sung for the saving of his soul.

At length we came to Calais.

It seemed long since his death, for it was at this time October 12 and he had died on the last day of August.

There followed the journey across the Channel, and how relieved I was when I saw the white cliffs looming ahead. I thought of my child. It was nearly five months since I had seen him. Would he know me? I wondered. How foolish! Of course he would not. He had been too young to know me when I had left. But he would have been safe in Guillemote’s care. But what would happen now that he was King?

Never had I wished so much that I had been born in humbler circumstances. If I were but a humble noblewoman coming home to her child, I could find some contentment. Why did people crave for crowns? As far as I could see, they brought nothing but unhappiness.

As soon as I stepped on English soil, the ceremonies began again.

Waiting on the shore were fifteen bishops and numerous abbots in their miters and vestments; and the solemn procession set out for Blackheath.

The funeral took place on a dark November day when Henry was buried in the Chapel of the Confessor in Westminster Abbey. It was more than three months since his death and I still could not get accustomed to the fact that I would not see him again.

I had ordered that a statue should be made in silver plate with a head of pure silver gilt and set on his tomb with an inscription to say it came from me.

And when it was over, I did what I had been longing to do for some time. I went down to Windsor to see the new King of England, who was not quite one year old.

TRUE LOVE

It was more than three months since Henry had died when I arrived in Windsor. Guillemote and my ladies were overcome with emotion. We embraced each other joyfully. Guillemote said: “He is well. He is waiting for you.”

I ran up the stairs with the ladies behind me. I threw open the door and beheld my son. He was seated on the floor playing with a silver whistle, and in that moment the loss of my husband and my concern for the future were forgotten. I ran to him and knelt beside him. He regarded me solemnly, and my happiness was tinged with sadness because he did not recognize me. I was a stranger to him, and he was not sure what I was doing in his nursery.

I seized him in my arms. “Henry,” I cried, “little Henry…this is your mother come to you.”

He drew himself away, frowning; then he looked around him and, seeing Guillemote standing there, he gave a little crow of triumph and held out his arms to her.

She picked him up. “There, my precious. ’Tis your mother who loves you and is waiting to tell you so.”

He turned his head slightly and regarded me with suspicion.

Guillemote sat down and beckoned me to sit beside her.

“There,” she crooned and placed him on my lap. She knelt down beside us and I noticed how he clung to her hand.

“Poor little mite,” she went on. “He does not know his mother. It is so long, my lady, and he is very little. It will come. He learns quickly, our little one.”

Henry did learn quickly. In less than ten minutes he had accepted me. He had made up his mind that I meant no harm. I was a friend of his dear Guillemote, and if she accepted me, so would he.

I wondered if I should ever equal her in his affections, and I was filled with resentment against a fate which separated a mother from her baby.

I was greatly relieved to be at Windsor again with my ladies around me. How relaxing it was to be able to talk without considering one’s words first.

“It is so good to be with you again,” I told them. “I hope we shall be left in peace for a while.”

“My lady,” said Agnes, “you will make your own decisions. You are the Queen Mother now. It will be different from being Queen. There will not be so many duties.”

Joanna Troutbeck took my hand and kissed it. “We felt for you so much,” she said. “When we heard the news, we wished that we were with you.”

“It was so sudden…such a shock,” I told them. “Who would have thought that Henry could…just die like that?”

“He seemed different from other men…immortal,” said Agnes.

“And now he is proved to be as all men are. They must go when they are called.”

“We will do anything …” said Joanna Belknap.

“We want to help all we can,” they told me.

“I thank God I have my baby. Do you think they will take him from me?”

“If they try to, you must protest.”

“He is the King…and kings are the property of the State, they say. Oh, how I wish he were not a king! When I think of that little head weighed down by a crown …”

“Doubtless,” said Agnes, “he will hold it dear. Most men do.”

“It was a crown which killed his father…or the determination to hunt for it.”

They looked at me in amazement; and I went on, “Oh yes, he was killed in war as much as any man. Had he not wasted his youth and strength on the battlefield, he would be alive today.”

There was a brief silence and I thought: I must not talk thus. I have come here to forget…to be with my child…to make a new life.

I went on: “You must tell me what has been happening while I have been away.”

“The biggest news is the marriage of the Duke of Gloucester,” said Joanna Troutbeck.

“Is that so?”

“To the Lady Jacqueline of Bavaria.”

“But I thought she was married to the Duke of Brabant. How can she therefore marry the Duke of Gloucester?”

“The marriage was annulled. Or so she claims. The anti-Pope obliged and she was free. So she has married Duke Humphrey.”

“There will be trouble surely?”

“It would seem that neither of them cares very much for that.”

“But Brabant is the cousin of the Duke of Burgundy. They are connections of mine. As for Jacqueline, she was once my sister-in-law.”

“They are snapping their fingers at all those who object,” said Agnes. “The Duke of Bedford, we have heard, is furiously angry. Burgundy is not the man to brook interference and he naturally had his eyes on Jacqueline’s possessions. The Duke of Bedford fears he may lose Burgundy as an ally through this. There is a great deal of gossip about it at Court.”

“They have been very rash,” I said. “Are they very much in love?”