I began to ask myself, what did I know of Henry? He loved me, I was sure. I was good-looking…for a princess. I was attracted by him. I was about to bear his child. I had been all that a conqueror could have asked for.
I knew the King, but what did I know of the man?
Those were uncomfortable days at Pontefract for within those evil walls I was prone to introspection. Henry should never have left me there.
I had a compulsion to wander around the castle. I liked to talk to the men-at-arms. I found them courteous and respectful. Surely they would not dare be otherwise to Henry’s Queen; but I found them friendly, too.
I thought I detected in one of them a certain sadness. He was older than the others. I approached him once when he was alone and I boldly asked him how long he had been in the castle.
“All my life, my lady. I was born here. My father was a guard before me. It’s a tradition in the family, you might say.”
“Were you here when…King Richard …?”
He looked wary, but he nodded.
“That was a long time ago, my lady. I was a young man then.”
“Could you show me where he was lodged?”
He hesitated for a moment. I said: “I should like to see it. My sister was his wife.”
“Yes, my lady, the Little Queen. I hear she was a very beautiful young lady.”
“She was. She is dead now.”
He crossed himself and murmured something like “God rest her soul.”
“Could you then …?”
“People don’t go there much now.”
“I should like to.”
He hesitated for one more moment. I wondered whether it was against orders. But I was the Queen. I could not be refused.
I stepped into the small room. It looked dark and eerie.
“So this is where he lived…and died. Did you see him?”
“I was young then. It wasn’t talked of in the castle. You see this pillar here…from the floor to the roof? You see these notches in it? I heard it said that these were made by the axes of his murderers as he fled around it. But who’s to say whether that be true?”
“Did you believe it?”
He was cautious. He was doubtless remembering that I was the King’s wife and that the King was the son of that man who had taken the crown from Richard.
“There’s some said that he starved himself to death,” he said. “Who’s to know? Others said he was starved by them. Some say he escaped from Pomfret.”
Pomfret? I was puzzled for the moment; then I remembered that Pomfret was another name for Pontefract. I had heard that the man who had built it had named it after Pomfret, a town in Normandy which the place resembled.
“Escaped?” I said.
“Some said he reached Scotland and was befriended by the Scots King and lived in Scotland for many years.”
“Do you believe that?” I asked.
“No, my lady. He died in this room.”
“Murdered?”
“Hacked or starved to death. “Tis murder, every way you look at it.”
“You feel it here…do you?” I asked, and then wished that I had not expressed such a fanciful thought.
But the man nodded.
I had another experience while I was at Pontefract. I talked with the Duke of Orléans.
I said that he was my brother-in-law and I wished to see him. Our hosts were unsure whether my wish should be granted. But they remembered that I was Queen of England, and if Henry had not wished me to see Orléans, either he would not have brought me to Pontefract or he would have given orders that I was not to see him.
So here was another sad reminder of Isabelle.
Charles of Orléans looked older than when I had last seen him. Captivity was not as irksome to him as it might have been to some people. He was a poet rather than a warrior and I had always fancied that he would rather have lived in peaceful obscurity than in the blaze of one near the throne.
I was taken to his apartments in the castle. They were very comfortable, and it was obvious that he was treated in accordance with his rank. He was a prisoner only in the fact that he was not able to leave the castle without guards.
He embraced me warmly.
“I hear what goes on now and then,” he said. “Our poor country is in a sorry state. We have been ignobly defeated, and because of that…I am here, and you also.”
“Yes. The war has had a great effect on our lives. Tell me, Charles, are you treated well?”
“I do not complain.”
“What do you do here?”
“I am allowed to walk. Sometimes I ride, if there are enough guards available to accompany me. I write …”
“Your poetry, of course.”
“It satisfies me. You understand, Katherine?”
“Yes, I do.”
“I brood a great deal. I pray for forgiveness.”
“For the death of Burgundy?”
“I never wanted that, Katherine.”
“I know.”
“All this strife within. It was certain to lead to ruin. I remember those days with Isabelle. They were the happiest of my life.”
“She was happy with you, Charles.”
“I know. That makes it all the more sad. If only she had lived …”
“Then you would not have married again.”
“I did not want to. Armagnac decided…and it had to be. My life ever after has been like something out of a nightmare…until I was captured at Agincourt. Sometimes I wished I had gone the way of so many others.”
“No, Charles, you must not say that.”
“And then…Isabelle is dead…if only she had lived!”
“She would be mourning now…separated from you as she would be. At least she did not have to suffer that.”
We talked of Isabelle. He read some of his poetry to me and when he did so his face was transfigured with a certain contentment; and I believed that he was happier in his prison than he had been as the tool of the ambitious Armagnacs.
It was long since Isabelle had died, but I felt her close to me during those days in tragic Pontefract.
I was relieved and delighted when Henry came riding into the castle.
He kissed me fondly. I was now sure that I was pregnant and I told him this, to his great delight.
“Did the people respond as you wished to your plans for taxes?” I asked.
“To a man…and woman,” he replied jubilantly.
“Does that mean you will soon be leaving England again?”
“Nay,” he cried. “I would not want you to travel. I shall stay in England until my son is born.”
I was happy. I was going to forget all my misgivings. Henry loved me and I loved him. I would not ask myself so many questions. I would stop wondering how deep his affection for me went. I must learn one of the great lessons of life which was that people were as they were, and to attempt to change them could prove fatal to any relationship.
So a few weeks passed. We were in June, and June is a beautiful month. My baby was due in December. It was a long time to wait, but I looked forward to the waiting months because Henry would be with me.
He was looking forward with great excitement to the birth. What if the child should prove to be a girl? But even if it were, we should love it, and the fact that I had become pregnant so quickly augured well. I knew that Henry was looking to a happy future when his family would be as numerous as that in which he had grown up…or perhaps he visualized more children, as everything Henry did must be better than others.
I might have known that such happiness could not last.
I remember the day well—a hot June day. I had awakened to a feeling of intense happiness. I was feeling very well, no longer experiencing those early inconveniences which sometimes are the lot of pregnant women. The days were full of contentment. I was growing fonder of Henry, and our love for each other was a great joy; we played our harps together as we lived, in harmony.