“Bedford is a ruler first, a husband second,” said Owen. “Some men are like that.”

Owen would not be. Nor would I. Love would come first with me. If I lost Owen, I should never marry again. I had loved Henry, I had thought; but now I had learned the difference between my feelings for him and those I had for Owen. Owen was the man for me, and I prayed fervently that we should never be parted.

There was a reason why Bedford had married so promptly. Owen was fully aware of the situation.

“The alliance with Burgundy is waning,” he explained, “and Bedford needs to make a new one. The war in France is going badly. Bedford has tried to revive the old feeling of invincibility, but The Maid has destroyed that. The only reason why the French are not victorious is because, without The Maid to urge him, Charles has sunk once more into his habitual lethargy…and his army with him.”

Yet here and there still the spirit of The Maid lived on, and there were occasional French victories.

Owen said: “The house of Luxembourg is rich and powerful. An alliance with it might not make up for the loss of Burgundy, but it would be of some use. The Duke of Bedford is an anxious man and he cannot allow any opportunity to slip past.”

“Another marriage of convenience, then! And six months after the death of Anne, whom he professed to love so dearly!”

Owen smiled tenderly at me. “You must be kinder to him, my dearest,” he said. “He is beleaguered at the moment. Burgundy is slipping away, and how much the English owed to the quarrel between the two most powerful houses in France everyone must know. The Duke is a man with a mission. His brother left him a sacred trust, and he is the kind of man who will sacrifice everything, including himself, in order to keep faith with his brother. Do not blame him.”

“I do not, I suppose. I just cannot stop thinking of Anne.”

Nor could I. I wondered if she could look down from Heaven and see the husband whom she had thought had loved her so devotedly, now the husband of Jacqueline, daughter of the Count of St.-Pol of the house of Luxembourg…so important to Bedford now that he was in danger of losing the support of the house of Burgundy to which Anne had belonged and she who had been so instrumental in maintaining the weakening friendship between her husband and her brother, was now gone.

I could not help feeling a little cynical. How much, I wondered, had Bedford’s love been for Anne, how much for Burgundy?

How different it was with Owen and me! We loved for love’s sake only. And that was the only way to love.

I reminded myself that we must preserve secrecy at all costs. Our love was too precious to be harmed. We must never forget. We must perforce endure this perpetual fear of discovery that we might never, by the smallest action, betray ourselves.

In June of that year Bedford returned to England with his new duchess.

There were no victory parades for him. The news of his marriage, as had been anticipated, had been coldly received by the Duke of Burgundy. The link was slackened still more. Bedford was missing that powerful ally. Affairs in France were in a sorry state. It seemed that neither side had a great enthusiasm for the war.

I wondered if I should have an opportunity of seeing the Duke and meeting his new wife. I could hardly offer condolences for the death of Anne now.

I was sure he was not a happy man.

It soon became clear that Gloucester was about to make trouble. When had he ever not been? And now it seemed he had a good opportunity. The brother toward whom he had always harbored some resentment, for the reason that he had been born his senior, if for nothing else, was no longer the conquering hero. He had come home in defeat rather than victory. Now was the time for Gloucester to move in against him.

He did it in typical Gloucester fashion. Rumor began to circulate throughout the country that Bedford had been careless. He had neglected his duty. He had spent too much time courting his new wife when his old one was scarcely cold. What sort of man was this who had taken on the sacred mantle of the great and noble King Henry V?

These rumors were clearly set in motion by none other than Bedford’s brother.

Bedford made an announcement. He wanted all accusations against him to be made in the proper place, which was before the King and the Parliament.

Gloucester, of course, would not come forward and openly state his criticisms. He always liked to work in the dark. The result was that, when Bedford announced in Parliament that he wanted a clear statement of the attitude toward him, he received nothing but praise for his activities in France.

“It seems,” said Owen, “that the little storm has blown over.”

But Gloucester had no intention of abandoning his battle for self-aggrandizement. This quarrel with his brother kept him busy and was no doubt the reason why we were enjoying a period of comparative peace.

Gloucester was full of ideas, and the reason more mischief was not done was that he did not think them out clearly enough. He was impatient for action and so eager to promote himself, so furiously angry with the fate which had made him a younger son. He was determined—by fair means or foul—that that which would be due to him had he been born a little earlier, and because of his superior gifts, should be his.

Frustrated and restless, he could not see that he was making himself ridiculous. In a fit of rage and pique, he announced to the Council that he had plans for changing the fast-deteriorating situation in France. He would bring it back to what it had been in his brother’s glorious reign.

He declared that Henry had often confided in him, discussed plans of action with him, consulted him and on several occasions asked his advice and followed it with the utmost success. He, therefore, felt he was in a position to take an army to France, and then they would begin to see results.

He had gone too far. It was known that on his deathbed Henry had asked Bedford to keep a curb on Gloucester’s impulsiveness and not to allow him too much power. Gloucester’s blustering conceit had served only to expose his weakness.

The Council most definitely refused to supply him with the arms and men he demanded; and Bedford announced that he himself would soon be returning to France.

I saw Bedford before he left. I had gone to Westminster for a week or so, which gave me an opportunity of seeing Henry. Owen and I had decided that this was advisable and that it would be a good idea if I appeared at Court now and then. We must always be on the alert, and Owen thought that, if I appeared occasionally, Gloucester was less likely to be suspicious of what I might be doing, hidden out of sight in the country.

Bedford looked old and careworn. I did not mention Anne. His new wife seemed very pleasant and fond of him. But I realized that he was an extremely anxious man. There was a certain desperation about him.

He was as courteous and friendly as he had ever been, and I wished that I could have told him how sorry I was for his misfortunes.

I returned to my family. We had moved back to Hadham now. It was quieter than Hatfield, and we were really fond of the place.

And I was once more pregnant.

During these periods, that happy indifference to all else but my family would descend upon me. I led the life of a simple country woman far away from the intrigues of Court life, and scarcely gave them a thought, except when some piece of gossip reached me.

Henry was growing up and since his coronation had assumed a new dignity. I supposed all the deference and homage he received must necessarily have an effect on him. He was serious enough to realize his great responsibilities, and he was of a nature not to permit himself to shirk them.

I did feel a twinge of uneasiness when I heard that Gloucester had instituted himself as a tutor to Henry. None disputed the fact that Gloucester was a very learned man. He was, in fact, one of the most complex characters I had ever encountered. A schemer, a voluptuary, reckless, impulsive, ambitious, and in complete contrast he was a scholar, a lover of literature, extremely widely read, an authority on the Latin poets and orators, well acquainted with Aristotle, Plato, Dante and Petrarch. When he talked to scholars of his own kind, a different man emerged, and it was difficult to reconcile him with the brash adventurer who seemed so completely lacking in judgment.

Henry himself had always been more interested in books than the warlike arts, and this made a bond between them, I supposed. However, I heard that Gloucester’s tuition was very well received by the King and that the friendship between him and his uncle was growing because of this.

I was sure I was not the only one who was made uneasy by this disclosure.

I was heavy with child; in fact, I was expecting my confinement to begin very shortly, when a message came that Cardinal Beaufort and the Earl of Warwick were on their way to Hadham.

There was panic.

We had faced such a dilemma before, but then I had not been so far gone in pregnancy. Now it would be impossible to hide it. What could we do? Could we say I was ill? They would want to see me. If I were too ill to see them, that would mean that I was very ill indeed and that doctors would most certainly be sent.

There was only one thing to do. I must receive them. They must be told I was ill. I hoped to be able to conceal my condition and get rid of them as soon as possible.

“You must be in bed, of course,” said Guillemote. “You could be propped up with pillows…and we will tell them that they must not exhaust you.”

“What if they talk of sending doctors?”

“We will tell them that you have your own physician and that all you need is rest.”

It was a difficult ordeal. I was afraid my pains would start before they arrived or, even worse, when they were here.

They sat by my bed—the Earl of Warwick and the Cardinal—and they expressed great concern for my indisposition. I told them that all I needed was rest. I had had these bouts before and knew how to deal with them—which was true enough.

The reason they had come was that they were anxious about the King, who was becoming more and more influenced by the Duke of Gloucester.

“The King is serious for his years,” said the Cardinal. “He has made a good impression whenever he has appeared in Parliament. He listens gravely to the speeches and—amazing in one so young—can add his contribution with remarkable intelligence. Had it not been for the Duke of Gloucester’s prompting, it would not have occurred to him that he wanted to govern…alone.”

“Govern alone! Surely not!”

“Surely not indeed, my lady,” said Warwick. “The King has always been a modest boy…aware of his youth and the drawbacks it presents, but under the tutelage of the Duke, alas, he has changed.”

I felt the child move within me. Not yet, little one, I begged. Wait just awhile…not yet.

“It must be impressed upon him,” said the Cardinal, “that he is not yet of an age to govern, that he must pay attention to all his advisers and not listen exclusively to one.”

“That one being the Duke of Gloucester,” I added.

“A man’s knowledge of Latin literature does not give him understanding of the skills of government nor the arts of war. What we have to do is impress on the King that he is too young as yet to take his place as ruler.”

“I think he must understand that well.”

“It is difficult for us, my lady, to tell him this…particularly when the Duke of Gloucester is telling him otherwise.”

“Could not the Parliament explain to him?” I asked.

“They must indeed do so. But he is the King, and they are reluctant to tell him he is unprepared for this great task. He would listen to you. You are his mother, and you can talk to him…mother to son…not as subject to king.”

“I see,” I said.

“So we have come to lay the situation before you. We believe Your Grace could do much good by having a word with the King. He will listen to you…his mother.”

“I will speak to him,” I said.

“Thank you, my lady, and it would be well if there was as little delay as possible.”

“I will see him as soon as I am well,” I promised him.

“I doubt not that, if the King knew you were unwell, he would be happy to visit you here at Hadham.”

“I would rather wait until I feel better. I assure you that, as soon as I am, I will visit him …”

I thought they would never go. The Cardinal must always stand on ceremony, and I supposed he thought it would be impolite to depart the moment he had secured what he had come for.