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He trembled with rage. “What will happen now?” he shrieked. “What will happen to us all now?” He went into a sort of frenzy. I think those about him must have feared he was going to have an attack similar to those suffered by my father. Blood frothed at his lips. He was a terrifying sight and had to be hurried to bed.

He was very ill for some days. I went to see him.

“I shall soon be well,” he said. “It is just a fever.”

“You must rest,” I told him.

“So says the physician. Then I shall be well. It is the war. I should have been there, Katherine. I should not have allowed them to be so…ignobly beaten by those barbarians.”

I looked at him sadly. Did he really believe that he could have turned the defeat at Agincourt into a victory? He seemed very like my little brother then…vulnerable…like the rest of us…constantly having to remind himself that he was the Dauphin when he was really a frightened boy.

I was present when my mother came to him.

“My dear, dear son,” she cried. “You are sick. Oh…but I am going to look after you.”

“I am well looked after,” protested Louis.

“But at such a time, my love, you need your mother. You have had a shock. Have not all of us? This terrible tragedy which has befallen our country…I know exactly what is good for you. I am going to nurse you back to health.”

The idea of our mother in a sickroom was rather startling. Louis stared at her disbelievingly; then suddenly I saw a look of horror creep over his face. He turned to me and there was a tragic appeal in his eyes. “Katherine,” he said, “don’t go…you will stay.”

“There is no need for Katherine to be here,” said our mother firmly. “She knows nothing of nursing.”

Did she? I wondered.

I said boldly: “I will stay with you, Louis, if you wish.”

“Katherine …” He reached for my hand, and I was again reminded vividly of that little boy.

“Now, now,” said my mother. “My poor boy. Katherine should go now. We do not want too many people in the sickroom. Poor, poor Louis. You have suffered a great shock. It is best for you to be with your mother.”

I stood still looking at Louis.

“Go now,” she said to me with a show of irritation. She turned to look at Louis. “We shall soon have you well. You shall have the very best attention. I shall send for my physician. He is the cleverest doctor in France.”

She gave me a little push away from the bed. I wanted to refuse to go because I thought Louis was trying to say something to me, but we had been in awe of her too long, and I knew those purring kittenish moods could suddenly break into violent rage.

I bowed my head and turned away. I could not bear to look at Louis.

I heard that his health did not improve even though she had sent for her physician.

I cannot say whether the rumors were true, but inevitably there were rumors, for everyone knew there was conflict between the Dauphin and his mother.

When the physician came, he gave Louis what he said he thought would be an immediate cure. Louis was very ill and by the following day he was dead.

Rumor persisted. Some said Louis had been in moderately good health. Why should he die so suddenly? Was it the shame of Agincourt which had hastened his death? He had been certain that the French could not fail to win. He had boasted of inevitable victory; and the shock of defeat had killed him.

Others said he had been spitting blood for some months. Innumerable royal children had died from that complaint.

But the whispers were there. It was poison. Everyone knew that the Dauphin hated and feared his mother; and everyone knew that that was something she would not endure.

Whatever the truth was, the Dauphin Louis was dead, and my brother Jean had now stepped into his shoes.

Jean had never been like Louis. He had always comfortably assured himself that he would never have to face that great responsibility. Now he had been proved wrong.

Our mother lavished care on Jean, which he had never known before. He was timid; he was no braggart like his brother; all he wanted was a peaceful life.

Like all of us children, he was afraid of our mother, and now that her attention was turned on him, he was terrified.

The Armagnacs were always at his side. He could not escape to the peace he so desired.

He was only just eighteen years old. I remember well the last conversation I had with him.

“I’d rather be anywhere than here, Katherine,” he said. “I’d rather be cold and hungry at the Hôtel de St.-Paul.”

I tried to comfort him. “Most people in your position would feel like that at first,” I said. “This has been thrust upon you. You weren’t expecting it.”

He nodded. “And our mother…she is always there now.”

“You must remember that you are the Dauphin,” I said. “It is you who will be the King.”

“I know. That is what terrifies me.”

It was April of that year 1417…a momentous one. Jean was coughing blood. He was almost pleased when the doctors said he must rest. Gratefully he kept to his bed, and a few days later he quietly died. Poor Jean. I think he was rather relieved to leave a life which had become so frightening to him.

My younger brother, Charles, now fourteen years old, had become the Dauphin of France.

Poor Charles, I do not think he wanted the honor any more than Jean had. He was of a melancholy nature and wept when he heard the news. His two brothers—who he had believed would protect him from high rank—had gone…and now there he was, the new Dauphin of France.

“I shouldn’t have the title, Katherine,” he told me. “It is not mine by right.”

“What do you mean, Charles?” I said. “You are the next in line.”

“Ah, but I do not believe I am the King’s son.”

“What?”

“When I was born, our mother was having numerous lovers. One of them could be my father.”

“You must not think like that, Charles. After all, it could apply to us all.”

“Our mother is a wicked woman, Katherine.”

I was silent.

“Do you think she poisoned Louis?” he asked.

“No…no …” I cried, although it was not strictly true.

“And what if she decided to poison me?”

“She will not. She would not dare.”

“But if I am a bastard I have no right to the throne.”

“Charles, do not think of such things. You will be all right. You must be. You are the last son. You are safe.”

He hugged me suddenly. I was very sorry for my little brother who was so afraid of being Dauphin, and even more so when he looked to the future and saw himself King of France.

Henry did not stay in France after Agincourt. Some less clever, less astute victors might have attempted to continue with the campaign. But his army needed rest and replenishment. Several of his men were sick, so he fortified his gains and with his sick and wounded and much depleted army he returned to England. But we all knew full well that that was not the end. He would return.

The strife between Armagnac and Burgundy continued while each blamed the other for the defeat at Agincourt. If only my countrymen had stood together, everything might have turned out differently.

We were in Vincennes. My mother kept me with her. She was certain that soon Henry would be demanding our union, so I was an important bargaining counter.

“A daughter’s place is with her mother,” she said, glibly ignoring any reference to the years of my infancy when I might have needed a mother and had been neglected with my brothers and sisters. But that was her way. Truth was bent to suit her purposes of the moment.

I think she was more indiscreet than ever in Vincennes. There were numerous lovers and she made little secret of her tendency to select presentable young men and invite them to her apartments for a cozy session.