The Agincourt Bride. Joanna Hickson

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СКАЧАТЬ want you to take a message to him, Mette, asking him to come here secretly. He could come via the wall-walk and we could meet in your chamber, while we put it about that a sudden fever confines me to my room. You would have to keep my ladies at bay, for they all report to the queen in one way or another.’

      ‘Especially Mademoiselle Bonne,’ I murmured. ‘And it won’t be easy to fend her off. She already hates my guts.’

      Catherine looked apologetic. ‘I know. She is liable to complain against you, but do not worry. If anyone threatens your removal, I will just throw a real fever and show no sign of recovery until they bring you back to me.’ I was far from convinced that this ploy would succeed, but she grasped both my hands excitedly, forestalling any objection. ‘I need to see Louis, Mette. He is so isolated, caught between our mother who wishes him ill and Armagnac who professes loyalty, but serves only his own interests and is shackled to a wife who is the daughter of his sworn enemy. I must let him know where my loyalties lie.’

      I was all at sea, floundering in affairs that were way above my head. ‘What about your own interests?’ I felt bound to ask. ‘The dauphin has already ruined your chances of being Queen of England.’

      She shook her head. ‘Actually, I thank him for that. The marriage would have put me in an impossible position. As I said at the start, it is a matter of trust. I must marry whoever is chosen for me, I know that. But who will do the choosing? My father is too feeble and I do not trust my mother. I would rather put myself in the hands of my brother.’

      I had said I would die for her and if this scheme went wrong it looked as though I very well might, but I had to help her – how could I not?

      Having barred the door against Bonne, I waited in Catherine’s bedchamber for what seemed like hours, trying to busy myself with small tasks; tidying her toilet chest, pounding Fuller’s Earth for robe cleaning and replenishing the sweet-smelling herbs on the guarderobe floor. As I worked, I pictured Louis and Catherine conversing earnestly in the chamber above, where I had placed the largest chair available by a good fire, and below me I imagined Bonne of Armagnac pacing the floor of the salon, waiting for the physician who would not arrive, for the simple reason that he had never been sent for. I constantly expected to hear a hammering on the door as Bonne grew impatient, but to my surprise none came.

      Eventually Catherine descended, her forehead knitted in a frown. I was aching to know how the meeting with Louis had gone but was forced to wait.

      ‘I must pray, Mette,’ was all she said, going straight to her prie-dieu. ‘Please keep the door a little longer.’

      I promised I would, but now that Catherine was back in her chamber I thought it safe to slip down the stair to check on Bonne, whose silence I considered more ominous than her anger. As I descended, I encountered a page wearing the Armagnac cross of Lorraine climbing the stair towards me. ‘I have a message for the Princess Catherine,’ he announced.

      I held out my hand, my heart racing, certain this was the first sign of Bonne’s backlash. ‘Her highness is indisposed,’ I said. ‘I will take it to her.’

      He removed a sealed letter from the purse on his belt and gave it to me before retreating down the stair. I was sorely tempted to destroy the letter there and then, but prudence prevailed for I reasoned that if Bonne was working against me the sooner Catherine knew of it the better. When I re-entered her bedchamber, she made the sign of the cross and rose from the prie-dieu. The Virgin gazed benignly down from the candlelit triptych revealing nothing, but I noticed that whatever intercession had been asked of Her, the creases had not been smoothed from Catherine’s brow.

      Silently I handed her the letter and, when she broke the seal and opened it, I saw that it contained several lines of script. I waited while she read it, imagining I could already hear the stamp of the guards’ heavy boots advancing up the stair to arrest me.

      When she raised her head, Catherine’s eyes were wide with surprise. ‘It is not from Bonne, it is from her father the count,’ she said, re-folding the parchment. ‘In view of the failure of the English treaty, Armagnac and Orleans have decided that the marriage between Bonne and the duke should take place immediately. The count deeply regrets that his daughter’s duty in this matter takes her away from my service, but he hopes I will understand and wish her well.’ Catherine laid a gentle hand on my arm. ‘So you can stop twitching, Mette. Mademoiselle of Armagnac is no longer a member of my household.’

      My sense of relief was short-lived as I realised the news was bad as well as good. ‘But very soon she will be Duchess of Orleans,’ I pointed out, ‘more powerful and even more alarming.’

      ‘And much too busy and important to concern herself with us,’ Catherine reasoned. ‘Meanwhile, she is not here so let us sit together, while I tell you about my meeting with Louis.’

      I stirred up the fire and we sat by the hearth, this time with her enthroned under the canopy and myself on a stool. Outside the wind howled and driving rain rattled the shutters, but the candlelight and blazing logs enfolded us in a flickering intimacy.

      ‘Thank you for leaving the wine and the sweetmeats in your chamber, Mette,’ Catherine began with a smile. ‘You certainly know the way to Louis’ heart.’

      I shrugged. ‘I remember how he used to fall on the pastries I brought in from my father’s bake house. He was always hungry as a boy.’

      ‘That has not changed. He consumed everything you left.’ Catherine made a face. ‘He is so greedy!’

      ‘It is making him ill,’ I commented. ‘He has too much black bile.’

      ‘Is that so? It is a pity because he needs to be fit and healthy. France has suffered too long from an ailing monarch.’

      There was a pause while she considered the dire truth of this.

      ‘Perhaps I should not ask, but what did you pray for when you returned?’ I probed gently. ‘You seemed so troubled.’

      She shook her head as if to clear it. ‘I felt confused. Sometimes when you pray, things become a little clearer.’

      ‘Yes,’ I said, unable to think when prayer had done the same for me. ‘And did they?’

      ‘No. Not really.’ Her eyes found mine then and I saw that they were full of tears. ‘Oh, Mette! I feel so lost.’

      Impulsively I took both her hands in mine, feeling the prick of tears in my own eyes. But I did not press her to confide in me. Instead I tried to be reassuring. ‘You can never be entirely lost when I am here.’

      She squeezed my hands then let them drop, settling back and clearing her throat. ‘I have to make a decision, Mette. Telling you about my dilemma might make it seem less daunting.’

      I nodded encouragement and gestured towards the triptych. ‘You know that I will remain as silent as the Virgin.’

      Catherine’s brows lifted in mild censure. ‘I think sometimes that you are too irreverent, Mette,’ she said reproachfully.

      I occurred to me to remind her that I did not have the advantage of a convent education, but instead I tried to look contrite and receptive at the same time and said nothing.

      ‘I was never happy at the convent,’ she observed, as if she had read my mind. ‘But I am grateful to the nuns for showing me right from wrong. It is a shame that no one did the same for my mother and brother.’

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