“How could he get such a fancy, Guillemote? Henry…the practical soldier…to have such a whim. I love this place. I don’t feel so happy anywhere else. It is pleasant not to have Jacqueline always with me. It is so delightful here. I feel safe and secure. Just a few more days, Guillemote.”
“A few more days,” echoed Guillemote. “But no more.”
But when those days had passed I still felt reluctant to leave.
“They say a pregnant woman’s whims should be satisfied,” I reminded Guillemote.
“How shall we move later on? You will not be fit for it.”
“No, Guillemote. I shall not be.”
I do not know why I did what I did. It was like some compulsion. Each day I put off the departure. I thought he could not really have meant it. It was such a fanciful notion and Henry was not a man of fancies. It was just said on the spur of the moment. And I did not want to leave Windsor, where I was so happy.
I was still at Windsor when December came. The weather had turned cold. Bleak winds swept through the park and the forest and there were flurries of snow in the air.
“You could not leave in this,” said Guillemote. “The King would not wish it and I would not allow it.”
“No,” I said. “It is too late now, Guillemote.”
Then came that wonderful day when my child was born.
I lay on my bed and they brought him to me and put him in my arms. Happiness surged over me. My child had been safely born and he was perfect in every way.
“A beautiful boy,” they said.
I thought of Henry’s joy when the news reached him. But I had disobeyed him and my son had been born at Windsor.
What did that matter? It was a slight matter when he was here, alive…healthy.
I looked at his little red face, the tiny nose, the little hands, perfectly fitted with miniature nails…and on his head I pictured a crown.
Henry VI was born, and I was happy as I had never been before.
Each morning I awoke to a sense of excitement. I would go to the cradle and gloat over my son. Because Henry was absent there had as yet been no arrangements as to the setting up of a royal nursery. I could keep him with me as any lowborn mother might. That was wonderful.
Guillemote and I would talk of him endlessly. When he whimpered, there was a race between us to reach him first.
Those wonderful days were only overshadowed by the thought that they could not last.
Immediately little Henry had been born, news had been sent across the Channel to his father. I was very proud because I had given him not only a child but a son.
When the messengers returned, I sent for them and I asked what the King had said when the news was imparted to him. I wanted to know each detail.
“His joy was great, my lady. He first asked news of the boy. He was a little sad because he had been out of England at the time of his birth. Then he asked where he had been born.”
I felt a twinge of alarm. He had been so insistent. I could hear his voice echoing in my mind: “The child must not be born at Windsor.”
“And,” I prompted, “you told him …?”
“We told him that the Prince had been born at Windsor.”
“And what said he then?”
The messengers looked at each other and were silent for a moment.
“Yes,” I repeated. “And what said he?”
“He said nothing for a moment, but he seemed uneasy. Then he said slowly: ‘Are you sure that the Prince was born at Windsor?’ ‘Without a doubt,’ we told him.”
“And then?” I asked.
“It seemed, my lady, that a cloud came over his joy. He murmured something. Then he turned to us and said: ‘I, Henry born at Monmouth, shall small time reign and much get; but Henry of Windsor shall long reign and lose all.’ It was strange, my lady, and as though someone spoke through him. It was so clear…we remembered the exact words he spoke. Then he closed his eyes and murmured: ‘But if it is God’s will, so be it.’”
I was overcome with awe, and my conscience was greatly troubled. After the messengers had gone, I kept asking myself what he could have meant.
Then I demanded of myself why I had allowed it to happen.
It was the weather, I excused myself. But I could have got away earlier. Why had I so blatantly flouted Henry’s wishes? I had never done so before.
It was nothing, I assured myself. It was just a fancy of Henry’s.
It was no use. I could not console myself, and the terrible feeling of guilt remained. I was not able to dismiss the matter from my mind, and it cast a slight gloom over the happiness of those days.
Live in the moment, I admonished myself. Little Henry is yours now. For how long? I wondered. They would give him the grand household which they would say was the right of a prince, especially one who was heir to the throne. They would give him all that when what he wanted most was a mother’s love and care. It was foolish to let this fleeting happiness be marred by a sense of guilt over a very trivial matter.
One of my dearest friends was Johan Boyers. He was a doctor of philosophy who had been assigned to me as my confessor. I was attracted to him because he was a man to whom I could talk freely and he had helped me over one or two trifling matters.
At our next meeting I said to him: “There is something on my mind. It is of small account really, but it is worrying me.”
“Then let me hear it,” he said.
“Before he went to France, the King talked to me earnestly about the child we were to have.”
Johan nodded. “It was his great concern. He spoke to me of it. Above all things he wanted a son. I rejoice that God has seen fit to grant his wish.”
“Before the King went he asked me not to allow the child to be born at Windsor.”
“And you disobeyed his wishes?”
“I cannot understand it. I did not want to. But I love Windsor. It is the place where I am most content. I went there when the King left. I missed him very much, but my ladies are my good friends and I became deeply content thinking of little else but the child.”
“It is natural, my lady.”
“But…I did not leave Windsor. I meant to…but something held me there.”
“Because you wanted so much to stay?”
“Yes. Yes, I did. But I did not forget that Henry did not want the child to be born there. I kept telling myself that I would go…in time.”
“Did you have a compulsion to stay?”
“Yes,” I said eagerly, “I think I did.”
“And the King knows?”
“One of the first things he asked was where was the baby born.”
“And when he was told?”
“He made a strange remark. He said that Henry of Monmouth would gain a good deal and not reign long and Henry of Windsor would reign for a long time and lose a great deal. It seemed such an odd thing to say.”
“He may have been quoting some old prophecy. He must have had a premonition before he left, as he said he did not want the child to be born at Windsor.”
“It is baffling.”
“And what did he mean about reigning a short time? He is a great king. The people love him. He must reign for many years…and then…in due course…there will be another Henry to follow him.”
“But why did I stay? If I had known of this prophecy…or whatever it is…before, I should have done everything possible to get away from Windsor. And yet I had this compulsion to stay.”
Johan was thoughtful for awhile, then he said: “If we are going to take any account of this prophecy, we must say that it is God’s will that it should have happened as it did. There was nothing you could have done to change it.”
“I could have left Windsor. I could have made sure that my child was not born there, then he would not have been Henry of Windsor.”
“What is to be will be. If you had known of this you could have acted differently, it is true. But it was clearly not meant that you should know. You will forget this matter. It is a fancy which came into the mind of the King.”