Sir John Fastolf was a hero and when the wagons were unloaded and their contents seen to consist largely of herrings, this encounter was known from henceforth as the Battle of the Herrings.
The Orléannese were dismayed. God had not been on their side this time. He had allowed that silly young Comte de Clermont to deprive them of victory.
The little miracles of the cannon balls were losing their power to comfort.
The Comte de Clermont might be the King’s cousin but when he entered Orléans he was received with contempt. Even the Bastard recovering from his wounds was disconsolate and Maréchal de Boussac who had returned with him was hinting that his presence was needed elsewhere.
The Orléannese were losing that buoyant hope. They sadly needed a miracle.
The citizens talked together. They were being abandoned by those who had come to help them and that could mean only one thing. These men believed that the case was hopeless.
Some of the forces of the Duke of Burgundy were outside the walls with the English. Suppose they offered to surrender to Burgundy? That would prevent their town falling into the hands of the English.
It seemed to them that there was nothing else to be done. They could not go on starving and holding out against desperate odds. They would offer then to surrender themselves to Burgundy.
Philip of Burgundy was by no means displeased. He would be happy to take Orléans, he declared, and the town should be surrendered to him.
But it was hardly to be expected that the Duke of Bedford would stand quietly by and see Burgundy walk into Orléans. Why should he agree to this when it was clear that the Orléannese were on the point of surrender? He and Burgundy were allies it was true, but uneasy ones. Burgundy was already too powerful. Why should he, Bedford, make him more so? When he thought of all the men, time and money he had wasted on this siege he was incensed.
‘Indeed this shall not be,’ he said. ‘I do not care to beat the bushes so that another may get the birds.’
Burgundy, all prepared to march into Orléans, was furious. He immediately withdrew his troops and there was a rift between the allies.
‘We will continue with the siege,’ said Bedford grimly, and the Orléannese were as stubborn as ever. They would go on enduring hardship rather than give way to the English.
Then even he became aware of the rumours in the air. He paid little heed to them. He had learned from his ancestors that leaders only believed in superstitions when they worked in their favour.
This one was set about by the French. And a lot of nonsense it was. He laughed to think of it for it showed how desperate they were to fabricate and circulate such stories in the vain hope of bringing comfort to a people who had had their fill of suffering.
There was a young maid, said these rumours. She had heard voices telling her that God had chosen her to save France.
John laughed aloud. Let them indulge in their fantasies. Poor things, perhaps it could bring a little comfort to their hungry bodies; their good sense must tell them that defeat was in sight.
A peasant girl indeed. A virgin. They stressed that. She was going to ride into battle and drive the English out of France.
He was surprised that the French allowed themselves to indulge in such superstition.
The weary siege continued but as the weeks passed the name of Joan of Arc was heard more and more frequently and even John, Duke of Bedford could not ignore it.
Katherine was at Hadham in Hertfordshire. It was quiet there and she could rest in peace and make plans.
She had sent for Dame Alice Butler and Joan Astley. They knew why before she told them. Dame Alice said she could see it in her face.
‘As you know,’ said Katherine, ‘I have taken a husband.’
They bowed their heads and waited.
‘Our union must of course remain secret … for the time. But now I find I am to have a child.’
‘We shall look after you, my lady.’
‘I knew you would,’ replied Katherine. ‘You loved my son so much. It is a pity these men see fit to take children from those who have nurtured and loved them.’
‘They will make a King of him before he is a child,’ said Dame Alice.
Joan nodded.
‘We must perforce keep quiet about this matter,’ went on the Queen, ‘until I know what the Council will do about it. I would not wish ill to befall my husband.’
The women understood well. Owen could be taken from her. He could be imprisoned for what he had done and being of humble birth his actions might be construed as treason. He might be sentenced to the traitor’s horrible death.
These women understood very well the delicacy of the situation; but their chief concern would be to bring the baby safely into the world.
Joan was handy with her needle and she was able to arrange Katherine’s garments so that her pregnancy was not as obvious as it would otherwise have been.
Katherine sent for her priest. She told him that she was going to take Owen Tudor for her husband and that she wished him to perform the ceremony without delay.
He was astounded and reluctant. Katherine was a Queen, and he could place himself in danger if he performed this ceremony.
He shook his head. ‘My lady, methinks you should inform the Duke of Gloucester of your intentions. If he is agreeable we can perform the ceremony without delay.’
‘I am with child,’ she said. ‘The ceremony must take place at once.’
The priest was horrified. He wanted none of this matter.
‘Are you a man of God?’ demanded the Queen. ‘Will you deny me marriage to the father of my child?’
The priest had no answer. She cajoled; she persuaded; she threatened; and when she pointed out that he was going against the laws of the Church by denying her marriage, at last he promised to perform the ceremony the next day.
Later that day one of her women came to her in a state of great agitation. It was a rumour she had heard.
It was said that the Duke of Gloucester had induced the Parliament to make a law prohibiting any person marrying the Queen Dowager or any lady of high degree without the consent of the King and his Council.
‘This cannot be true,’ she cried. ‘Why … after all this time? Why does he do it now?’
She did not need an answer to that question. It was because he knew.
But Gloucester could only have heard rumours of her liaison with Owen Tudor.
‘What will become of us?’ she cried in terror. But she was not one to give way to despair. Perhaps the horrors of her childhood had prepared her to fend for herself.
Gloucester or no Gloucester she was going to marry Owen Tudor. She was determined that her child would be born in wedlock.
Perhaps, she thought, it was better not to mention to the priest that there was this rumour about her marriage. If he married them in innocence he could not be held to blame. She would tell him that it should be a very secret affair. Only her immediate circle should know it had taken place. They would go on just as before. She would have her baby to care for and she would hope that Gloucester and his Council would lose interest in the mother of the little King.
The ceremony took place in an attic at Hadham and everyone present was sworn to secrecy. The priest asked permission to leave as soon as the marriage had been completed, which Katherine readily gave.
So she was married.
A few days later Gloucester’s new law forbidding her to marry without consent was passed and she was officially informed of it. What could she do? It was too late now.
‘Say nothing,’ she said. ‘These matters pass.’