“Oh,” I replied. “What of his duel with the Duke of Burgundy?”
“People say that he has come back to prepare for it. They are also saying that he is heartily sick of the whole affair. He thought he could take Jacqueline’s possessions easily…and it seemed that he might but for Burgundy. But Burgundy will take them from him. It looks as though the Duke of Gloucester is getting away from it all and leaving Jacqueline to face Burgundy alone.”
“How can he do that? It is so dishonorable.”
“I don’t think the Duke would give much thought to that. The rumor is that he is tired of Jacqueline and greatly enamored of one of the ladies who went out with Jacqueline from England…if lady she can be called.”
“You have been listening to gossip, Guillemote.”
“How can one learn what is going on if one does not listen to gossip? We learn more from that than from what they call news. From that one hears of victories which turn out to be defeats…winning today…losing tomorrow. No, it is the gossip in which the real news is wrapped up. Believe me.”
“I do believe you, Guillemote, and what is this news about the Duke’s new friend?”
“A voluptuous piece, by all accounts. Irresistible…saucy…luscious…everything that would appeal to His Grace’s jaded tastes…which poor Jacqueline failed to do.”
“Who is this charmer?”
“Lady Eleanor Cobham…daughter of Lord Cobham.”
“I have heard of her.”
“And doubtless you will hear more now. They say the Duke is so enamored of her that he has lost his love for Hainault, Zealand and the rest.”
“And poor Jacqueline I am sorry for her.”
“In any case she will be rid of the Duke.”
“What will happen to her?”
“Burgundy will overrun the place in a very short time, I am sure. Doubtless she will be his prisoner. He might send her back to Brabant.”
“And what of this duel?”
Guillemote shrugged her shoulders. “I have heard nothing of that,” she said.
“It will be rather pointless when Burgundy is in possession. Oh, how I wish that he had stayed in Hainault.”
She looked at me sagely and nodded.
I had heard from Michelle. She had been pleased to get a letter from me.
It brought back so many memories, she wrote. “How different our lives are now. Who would have thought when we were living as we did in the Hôtel de St.-Paul that we should come to this? I have been happy since my marriage. I believe you were happy in yours. It was so tragic when it ended. I have spoken to the Duke, my husband. I have pleaded with him. He always listens to me. He is very tender. I am hoping he will not fight this duel. I am praying for it …”
I could not believe that Gloucester would want to fight. Of course, he had had to accept the challenge. It would have been against his nature not to. People might have thought he was afraid. He must always present that image of the dashing, reckless, devil-may-care charmer. Strangely enough, people accepted it. They closed their eyes to his follies. They thought it was noble and chivalrous to go to fight for his wife’s possessions, to win back for her all that she had lost. They did not see that he was winning back those lands—not for her—but for himself.
The people were deceived. They loved him. They would cheer him in the streets, they would welcome him back. They preferred him to the Bishop of Winchester who, in spite of his arrogance and avarice, had the good of the country at heart. No, the people liked the swashbuckling, licentious Duke far better than the serious-minded priest.
The Bishop did have the courtesy to call on me again.
“I am pleased to tell you,” he said, “that our efforts were successful. I am sure that the letter you wrote to your sister helped; and your mother, too, played her part. The duel would have been a disaster. In the end, the Pope forbade it. But the Duke of Burgundy has been moved by the entreaties of his wife. So we can be grateful for this mercy.”
I said: “But the friendship between England and Burgundy?”
“It has been considerably impaired, but the Duke of Bedford is very clever. His wife is the Duke’s sister, which makes a bond. We must hope to repair the damage.”
“And the Duke of Gloucester is now in England …”
“I very much doubt he will want to venture to Hainault again.”
“But his wife will need help.”
The Bishop shrugged his shoulders and smiled.
I felt very uneasy. If the Duke of Gloucester had abandoned hope of ruling Hainault, then he would seek power in England. That alarmed me not a little.
They were uneasy days. Gloucester’s health had suffered. How he had thought he could stand up to a duel with the Duke of Burgundy, I cannot imagine. I think a great deal of his defiance was bluster.
I should have been grateful, I supposed, that he seemed to become immediately absorbed in his quarrel with Henry Beaufort, for it would turn his attention from my son. How he and Henry Beaufort hated each other! I suppose it was largely because their temperaments were so different, and Beaufort, with his strong sense of duty to the State, was appalled by Gloucester’s self-interest.
The people of London took up the quarrel—some siding with Gloucester, others with Beaufort. There were even riots in the capital between the two factions. The feud became so fierce that widespread civil unrest was feared. This became so alarming that emissaries were sent to the Duke of Bedford, begging him to return to England, where his rule was needed as urgently as it could possibly be in France.
I daresay the Duke of Bedford was a disillusioned man. Gloucester’s reckless acts were costing him the friendship of Burgundy. It could not have happened if Henry had lived. Henry would never have allowed it. Bedford would know that, but it must have been hard to realize where he had failed.
I was greatly relieved when he arrived in England; and from that time peace returned. Gloucester and Beaufort were obliged to make a public show of reconciliation, and if it might not have been entirely genuine, it calmed the general unrest which had broken out among the supporters of both sides.
Gloucester swore not to aggravate Burgundy further, but when the Duke of Bedford returned to France, where his presence was urgently needed, Gloucester sent Jacqueline the help she asked for.
Meanwhile there were many rumors about his torrid affair with Eleanor Cobham, a very flamboyant and decidedly handsome woman who attracted attention wherever she went—especially when it was whispered that she dabbled in witchcraft. The Duke was said to be completely enthralled by her.
Oddly enough, his profligate ways seemed to enhance his popularity; the more sullied his reputation became, the more the people cheered him. His once-handsome face was becoming bloated and he was beginning to look like the dissolute rake he was; but they continued to love him.
Then came the day when I heard that the Pope had—very likely at the instigation of Burgundy—annulled Gloucester’s marriage to Jacqueline. I am sure that he breathed a sigh of relief. He could now forget his commitment to her—of which he had long grown weary—and devote himself entirely to the wiles of his fascinating mistress.
Unfortunately Bedford had returned to France, taking Beaufort with him, and Gloucester slipped into his old role of Protecter of the Realm, which caused me qualms of uneasiness.
While all this was happening, life had become very agreeable to me. I had my secret love which filled me with excitement and pleasure. The more I knew Owen, the more I realized how very much he meant to me. I could be deliriously happy, and the trials of England and Burgundy seemed very remote. In my happiness, I wondered how people could be so foolish as to involve themselves in making war.
Love absorbed me. I had Owen and, with the help of my faithful ladies, who were delighted to see my contentment, I managed to live my secret life.