Виктория Холт - The star of Lancaster

The children had been hustled out of the Palace and out of Paris. They had quickly been pursued and brought back but not before they had been cleaned, clothed and fed; and soon after that Uncle Louis of Orleans had been murdered in the streets while he was leaving the Queen's lodgings. This murder had been committed at the instigation of Katherine's great-uncle, the Duke of Burgundy, who had decided to put an end to the rule of Orleans.

Her mother was imprisoned at Tours and Katherine and her sister Marie were sent to the convent of Poissy there to be educated and brought up in a manner fitting for princesses.

It was a complete turn about—from the wild adventures of the world outside convent walls to the well ordered life inside. There were lessons, prayers—endless prayers—living sedately, thinking sometimes of the wild days at St Pol when she was hungry and lousy but for some reason she was not unhappy.

Marie declared herself to be disillusioned with the world. It was when she was thinking of their mother that she said this. Marie was becoming more and more drawn towards the convent life. Katherine never would be.

Her sister Isabella had returned from England where she had been the Queen until the people had deposed her husband. She had seen a little of Isabella, but her eldest sister was so withdrawn and melancholy that Katherine had not thought very much about her.

Then she had married the son of Uncle Orleans and when he had been murdered Isabella became the new Duchess. Poor Isabella, she had not been happy. Once she had come to the convent to see her sisters and she had told them that her happiness lay in England in the tomb of her first husband, Richard. She had died when her baby was born. Poor Isabella!

"What a sad life," said Marie. "One would be happier dedicated to the service of God."

Marie was growing more and more remote every day. When she heard that Henry the King of England wanted to marry her she said she would never marry anyone. That had decided her. She wanted her father to understand that she longed for the peace of the convent and that marriage had no charms for her.

Of course Princesses must do what they were bid. But their father was a kind man. It was to be hoped that Marie was not forced into marriage during one of his dark spells by their mother who had emerged from her captivity and was making her presence at Court felt again.

"He wanted Isabella," said Marie. "I have heard that he was in love with her when he was only the son of the Duke of Hereford, that was before his father took the throne from Richard. Isabella would have none of him. She would have none of any but Richard."

"But she took Charles of Orleans."

"Yes, because she was forced to. I heard she cried all through the ceremony."

"Poor poor Isabella!"

"She is dead now. How much better to give one's life to God."

The news of the terrible defeat at Agincourt eventually came to the convent.

Katherine, who was now fourteen years old, realized the implication of this. The English were victorious. They would overrun France and her father might even lose his crown for that was what Henry of England was fighting for.

It was terrifying, for what hope had her father of holding off the enemy when his country was beset by internal strife. Ever since the murder of Orleans there had been a feud between Orleans and Burgundy; and in the centre of it was her poor father with his unstable mind and a wife who was renowned for her rapacity and her adulterous intrigues.

She was not altogether surprised when messengers arrived at the convent.

It was not Marie they had come for, but Katherine.

"Your presence is required at Court, my lady," was the command.

Marie embraced her warmly, but Katherine was aware of her sister's relief.

"It will be marriage for you," Marie said. "This means that I am to be allowed to stay here. I shall thank God for this blessing and, dear sister, I shall pray for you."

So Katherine rode out to her father's Court. She had realized that the sequestered life of the convent was not for her.

She was received by her father and she clung to him for she was so happy to see that his eyes were clear and that there was no madness in them.

"Dear little daughter" he said, stroking her hair. "How well you look, and how beautiful you have grown. You seem happy and that rejoices me. Be happy while you can, dear child. Sad things are happening to France."

"Dear lord father, nothing could bring me more happiness than to see you well."

Tray God that I stay so until such time as I see you happily settled."

It is some marriage you have in mind for me."

"Yes, child, with the King of England."

"Henry. The one who asked for Isabella ... and Marie .. "

"He wants a Princess of France."

"And I am the only one available."

"Dear child, it will be a brilliant marriage. Think, my love, you will be a queen."

"Isabella was a queen. It did not make her very happy."

"Ah, this is different. She was married to Richard ... a weakling."

"She loved him dearly."

It was no true marriage. She was but a child. She saw him rarely and he treated her like a pet daughter. Henry is different. There is one who is seated firmly on his throne. You will admire him, grow to love him and become the mother of kings."

"Oh no, Father. Let me be here for a while just as your daughter."

"It seems that you will," said the King grimly, "for the terms he asks are excessive and we cannot meet them."

She sighed with relief.

"You know that we were defeated at Agincourt," went on the King. "It was a disastrous defeat. We had superior forces ... but they were too much for us. With a small army decimated by dysentery and disease yet he came with his archers and our losses were great, his small. It seems he is another such as his great-grandfather and the Black Prince. If so, with France in its present state we cannot stand against them. He makes great demands and one of these is your hand. If it is not granted he says he will come and take what he wants. A strange way of wooing, I told him, to come to you covered by the blood of your countrymen"

"And what said he to that?"

"His answer was that he is a soldier with a soldier's way and he doubted not when you became his bride you would become used to his ways."

She put her hand in her father's. "I am afraid," she said.

Her father looked very sad and she went on: "But I must do my duty and I promise you, Father, that if it is necessary to marry this man, I will do it willingly for France."

"My good child," said the King and seemed about to burst into tears.

She wanted to tell him that the prospect was not entirely displeasing to her. She wanted to experience marriage and she wanted her husband to be a strong man, a man who knew what he wanted, who would not be cursed by the grim shadow of madness. The victor of Agincourt, the man who claimed he would conquer and subdue France—yes, he seemed a worthy husband for a princess.

It was a sad time. Negotiations had failed. Henry demanded too much. Louis the Dauphin who had been so full of health and had tauntingly sent Henry the tennis balls, had died suddenly. He had never recovered from the shame of Agincourt, it was said. He had been so certain that he was going to bring Henry as his prisoner to Paris—or at least his head on a pike. After the outcome he had been plunged into melancholy, and one day his attendants went into his apartment and found him dead. Of a broken heart, they said.

Prince Jean had become Dauphin and, when after a few months he was stricken by some mysterious disease which killed him within days, people began to say that there was a blight on France. This was a sign. The King mad, two of his sons dying within a short time of each other; the English triumphantly ranging all over the country. What could it mean?