I was watchful of Winchester during the banquet. I had heard a great deal about his quarrel with the Duke of Gloucester, and I knew that the two were declared enemies and that, if Henry had been living, he would have taken sides with the Bishop against his own brother.
Gloucester wanted power. His lifelong regret was that he had not been born the eldest son. For a man such as he, to be the youngest was a tragedy…for him, but not indeed for the country.
I did not know a great deal about politics, but I was aware that Gloucester’s schemes were all for self-aggrandizement and that Winchester, in spite of his reputation for being haughty, arrogant and in his opinion as royal as the King, was a man of intellectual brilliance; and he did realize the importance of putting the country first.
I remembered Henry’s once saying: “A man may be what he wishes if he does but remember that he is an Englishman and owes his first allegiance to England.”
I felt sure Winchester did that.
I watched him at that time, presiding at the feast. All those things which had been said of him I felt to be true; and I firmly believed that Humphrey, with his wildly ambitious schemes, would be no match for him.
Margaret, Duchess of Clarence, was beside me. It was with great emotion that she had watched her daughter married to the King of Scotland.
I took her hand and pressed it.
I whispered to her: “I never saw two people so radiantly happy as those two.”
She smiled and nodded.
I returned to Hertford. They were already preparing to move the King’s household to Eltham.
I went into the nursery to look at him. He was asleep. I watched him in silence, and Guillemote came to stand beside me.
“Soon he will be gone away,” I said.
“Yes,” she answered.
“How can they do this to us?” I demanded.
“It is the custom and we knew it had to come.”
I did not answer.
“They will be kind to him,” she went on. “I have spoken to Mrs. Astley. She seems a good woman, overawed by her task. I think he will like her.”
“He will cry for us, Guillemote.”
“I hope not too much. He is interested in everything around him. There will be his new surroundings…new people.”
“You do not think he will forget us, Guillemote?”
“Oh no, no, no. But I hope he will not think of us too often…just at first …”
I stooped and kissed him. There would not be many more times when I could steal into his bedroom and see him thus informally…yet it was a blessing any peasant woman might have enjoyed with her son…day or night.
Who would be born royal?
Poor Margaret had her moods of sadness, too.
She said: “It was a beautiful ceremony; and Jane looked so happy, did she not?”
“Jane looked wonderful.”
“She was always first with me. I loved her more than I ever loved anyone else…from the moment she was born.”
“I know,” I said.
“And now…she has gone. I may never see her again.”
“You will travel to Scotland. It is not so very far. And they will visit the Court here.”
She shook her head.
“You must not be sad, Margaret,” I said. “Think of Jane. She is happy. I never saw two people so happy in the whole of my life. Remember her as she was at her wedding, Margaret.”
“I do. We both know that one of the tragedies of a noblewoman’s life is that she must lose her children. Why do they envy us…those tillers of the soil…those peasants? I know they must work hard for their livings, but they have their families about them. Ours are taken from us to be brought up in other houses …”
I put my hand over my eyes and she cried: “Oh, forgive me, Katherine. I am selfish. Jane is happy. It is what she wanted.”
“Yes, Margaret,” I said. “And they are going to take my baby from me. They are going to bring him up as a king…which they say a mother cannot do. They are setting up others to take care of him…those who can make of him a king.”
She put her arms about me and we wept together.
It was no use telling myself that what I suffered had been endured by every queen before me. I was going to lose my baby.
Guillemote had tried to comfort me. I should not lose him entirely. I could see him often. I was his mother, was I not? He would want to see me. He would demand it.
We smiled together and I was remembering the storms when he had refused to leave Staines in the litter. He would want to see his mother and he would demand to.
I thought of Dame Alice Butler, who had “the power to chastise.” Oh, no, I could not bear that.
I sent for Owen. I had to see him. I wanted to talk to him. I thought that he alone at this time could give me comfort.
He came and stood respectfully before me.
I said: “As you know, we shall be leaving here soon. The King is going to have his own household which…is what I have been expecting for some time. It will be soon. They are making plans now. I shall need…some new gowns.”
I faltered. It was useless to pretend I had sent for him to discuss purchases of material. I was horrified to find that my eyes were filled with tears. I said: “They are taking him away from me, Owen. My baby…he will be without his mother…without Guillemote …”
“They say that Mrs. Astley understands children well. The King has already seen her. He seems to like her …”
“He will want his mother…and his mother…she will want him.”
He knelt before me and, suddenly taking my hand, kissed it.
“I should be brave,” I said. “I knew it had to come. For months I have been dreading it. They left us alone together longer than I expected. But now it has come. Very soon they will take him away. He will be as a stranger to me.”
“He will never be that.”
“Others will be around him. They will teach him to forget his mother. There will be others to take my place.”
“I think a child never forgets his mother, my lady.”
“But I shall not see him, Owen. I shall be alone.”
He put my hand to his lips and kept it there.
I went on: “The King of Scotland has left now…taking Lady Jane with him. They are so happy. They did not mind leaving us in the least, though they were kind enough to say they would miss us. But they want nothing more than each other. Oh, how I envy them! To love like that and to be loved. It seems to them that all the world is smiling at them. Her mother wept because she had lost her, but she was proud, I think. The Bishop was there…the Bishop of Winchester. He is very grand, handsome, dignified…and so royal …”
“Well, is he not, my lady, the son of the great John of Gaunt?”
“Legitimized by his loving half-brother…my husband’s father.”
“He was a wise king. He knew that it is better to have certain people with him than against him.”
“The Bishop indeed looked worthy of his royalty. He was pleased by the marriage. Everyone was pleased. What perfection…to love like that and to have everyone smiling approval.”
“Methinks they would have been happy without the approval.”
I looked at him earnestly. I felt there was something he wished to say and dared not. I knew that I should have to be the one to put away pretense, stop hiding behind conventions and speak the truth.
“Do you really think they would have been, Owen?” I asked.
“I am sure of it. With them it was true love. Who could doubt that?”