Thoughts of the coming child absorbed us both. We talked of the event continuously.
It was in the early afternoon when messengers came riding to Westminster. I knew from their demeanor that something terrible had happened. I was with Henry when he received them. There were two of them and they both knelt before the King; I could see that they were desperately afraid to give him the news.
“It was at Beaugé,” they said.
“Yes, yes,” cried Henry impatiently. “Tell me the worst. Our forces have been defeated?”
The men were silent for a few seconds. Henry roared out: “Speak! For the love of God, tell me!”
“It is the Duke, my lord…the Duke of Clarence.”
“They have taken him …”
That terrible silence again and then: “He was slain, Sire.”
I watched the emotion in Henry’s face. This was his brother…his best-loved brother. Slain! I thought of Margaret…a widow once more. Oh, the tragedy of war! Why did men have to make it? How much happier we should all be without it!
Henry began questioning the men. They stammered out what had happened.
I could not bear to see the misery on Henry’s face. He loved all his brothers, but Clarence was the one closest to him. It was more than that. I knew that he was thinking that the line of victories had been broken. This was defeat. The French had beaten the English. And the reason? Because he was not there.
I knew him well enough to read his thoughts. He had indulged himself; he had given way to a desire for family life. He had been spending time with his wife, contemplating the birth of his child, and consequently the French had beaten the English, and his beloved brother had been killed.
The messengers feared the wrath which was sometimes the reward of bringing bad news; but Henry was too sensible for that. His grief was intense but it was under control.
He fired questions at them. He wanted to know all that had happened.
It was something like this: when we had come to England, Bedford accompanying us, Henry had left Clarence behind as Captain of Normandy and Lieutenant of France. Clarence had carried on with Henry’s advance and had reached Beaufort-en-Vallée. My brother Charles, the Dauphin, had signed no contracts with Henry. I could imagine his wrath when he heard that our mother and father had given away his birthright and I had become Henry’s queen. Naturally there would be many who would deplore the surrender of France and would rally around him. Moreover, the Scots were the perennial enemies of the English, and there were many in France who had gone there to support the French.
I understood the attitude of Henry’s brothers toward him. They recognized his brilliance and all regarded him with a certain awe and sought to emulate him. Bedford was the only one who realized that, efficient as he might be, he did not, nor ever could, compare his skills with the military genius of Henry. Clarence believed that he could equal it; Gloucester, I was to discover, was deluded enough to think he could excel it.
I guessed that what Clarence wanted was to present Henry with as great a victory as Agincourt—with himself, Clarence, as the hero of the day.
When he heard that the Dauphin was marching on Beaugé with a strong force, he was impatient to go into battle. His main army was not at hand and could not join up with him for a day or so; but he was eager for glory, and with a very small force he rode in to the attack. It was brave but it was folly.
I watched Henry half close his eyes and grind his teeth as he listened.
Clarence’s little band of knights were quickly overcome and in the fighting which ensued Clarence was slain.
Henry stood numb. I guessed what emotion he was suffering. Grief at the loss of a beloved brother and there would be the realization that the aura of invincibility, which he had built up and which he believed was one of the elements of victory, had been tarnished.
Oh, foolish Clarence! Henry would never have acted so. He would have waited. He would have taken no risks. Great planners only took risks when it was necessary to do so. Henry would never have been so foolish as to attack without the means to win. But others were not Henry.
“My lord,” went on the messengers. “The Earl of Salisbury recovered the bodies of those who were slain. They are sending the Duke’s body back to England.”
Henry nodded. He stood silent for a few moments; then he dismissed the men. They needed refreshment and rest; they had ridden far and fast.
They were relieved to go.
I looked at Henry and I knew that the peaceful days were over. He was shedding the role of lover, husband and prospective father. These were forgotten in that of the conquering king.
“I must leave for France,” he said, “as quickly as possible.”
I had known it would happen. The next days were spent in feverish preparation. I scarcely saw him and wondered when I should again.
The day came for his departure. He expressed regret at leaving me, but I knew that his heart was in France.
On the last night we spent together he spoke about the child.
“Perhaps you will be back by December,” I said. “You should be here when he is born.”
“I shall do my utmost to be here, but who can say? I did not plan to leave England until after he was born.” Then he became very solemn. “The boy must not be born at Windsor,” he said.
Not at Windsor! Indeed, I had thought that my confinement should take place there. It was the place I loved best of all the castles and palaces of England. I had promised myself that I would go there and await the birth of my child. And now he was saying it must not be Windsor.
“No,” he repeated, “I do not want him to be born in Windsor.”
“I cannot think why you should say that. It is the most beautiful place I know. I felt happy there…at peace with myself and the world.”
“Windsor is a fine castle…yes. The park and the forest are indeed majestic. But there are other places. And remember this, Kate: I do not wish my son to be born at Windsor. Do you understand?”
“I understand.”
“Then, sweetheart, that is settled.”
That night, as I lay beside him, I was thinking, when shall I see him again? By that time I shall surely have my son…or perhaps a daughter. That was the one thing of which I felt certain.
And the next day he was gone.
After he left I went to Windsor. A mood of serenity had settled upon me. There was a certain relief in not having to ask myself when the summons would come to take him away. He was gone and there was no point in thinking about it any more. I knew some months would pass before he returned. Moreover, there was the baby to think of.
In six months’ time the child would be born, and as the days passed I could forget everything but that wondrous fact.
Guillemote was in her element. She loved babies and was looking forward to mine with as much excitement as I was myself.
Since I had come to England I had grown very fond of four of my English attendants. They were Agnes and the three Joannas. We often laughed about their having the same name. They were Joanna Courcy, Joanna Belknap and Joanna Troutbeck. With these friends around me, I could not feel that I was in an alien land.
I knew we should all be happy at Windsor. Each day when I awoke I would remind myself that I was a day nearer to the great occasion which was to take place in December. My own child! That was what I wanted more than anything on earth.
We talked about the child continually. Guillemote was making tiny garments. She remembered me, she said, when I was little more than a baby.
“I watched you grow,” she said, shaking her head and thinking back, I knew, to those days in the Hôtel de St.-Paul. We should never cast off the memory of those days—any of us who had lived through them. Guillemote could only have been a young girl when she came, but they would live in her memory forever.