Виктория Холт: Epitaph for Three Women

Marriage to Gloucester would change the position. A King’s son – and an ambitious man at that – would give her prestige and if his interest in her was tied up with her estates, well hers for him was in the security and hope which he could bring her.

At first her future had seemed promising enough. To be married to Dauphin John had been an excellent project with a crown in sight, which as soon as his father Charles VI died would be his. Poor mad old fellow, he had seemed more dead than alive, but there was that harpy Queen Isabeau who would have to be dealt with when John came to the throne. Jacqueline had been sure that she could deal with that situation. But it had never come to that.

John had shortly followed his brother Louis to the grave. Of course many said he had been helped there by his fiendish mother, but the affair was wrapped in mystery and it was certain that Queen Isabeau would extricate herself from such an accusation. She was now becoming friendly with the Duke of Burgundy as the better side to be on.

Well then, after poor Dauphin John was in his grave, Philip of Burgundy himself had thought it would be a good idea to marry her to his cousin – and incidentally her own, for Margaret of Burgundy had been her mother. So she had married another John and from the early days of their marriage she had regretted it. Her husband was a weakling, not what she would have expected to come out of Burgundy, and it was not long before her wicked uncle, yet another John known as John the Pitiless, for obvious reasons, was discovering that it was not right that such an inheritance – Hainault, Holland and Zealand – should be in the hands of a woman and that as the brother of the late Count William he had more right to it than the Count’s daughter.

What a weak ineffectual husband they had married her to! It was child’s play for their wily uncle to wrest the territories from the meek little Duke of Brabant and there she was without her possessions and saddled with a husband she did not want.

Katherine de Valois had meanwhile married Henry of England and when she herself was married to Dauphin John, Katherine had become her sister-in-law. Katherine was a kindly girl, ever ready to give an ear to those in trouble, so she had appealed to Katherine and Katherine and Henry, who was then alive, had made her very welcome in England.

And then she had met Duke Humphrey and from the first they had been drawn together. She knew that when he smiled at her he was really looking at Hainault, Holland and Zealand and when she returned that smile with all the charm she possessed she was seeing a strong and powerful man who could regain her estates for her.

Thus they were attracted and she waited eagerly for his coming.

At length she saw the cavalcade in the distance … banners flying, lances glistening in the sun. Humphrey always travelled in style and wished it to be remembered that he was the son of a King. She sometimes fancied his insistence on this had come about because his father had not become King until he had deposed Richard the Second. Humphrey and his brothers, the grandsons of John of Gaunt, had not been born in the direct line to kingship.

Never mind. Humphrey was a power in the land and while his elder brother Bedford was in France Humphrey was to all intents and purposes the King of England for that infant in the Windsor nursery need not be considered for years to come.

So she was triumphant as she went down to the courtyard to greet him.

He was a fine figure in his embroidered houppelande buckled in with a glittering belt; his full-blown sleeves followed the newest fashion and his hair was closely cropped, a fashion admired by his brother which no doubt accounted for its being followed so much. His shoes were long and pointed, though not ridiculously so; they matched his hose which were of two blending colours – blue and lavender.

He would have been a very handsome man but for the pouches under his eyes, the clefts at the side of his mouth and a somewhat ravaged complexion. They were the outward signs of the life he was reputed to live and yet there was about him a certain aestheticism. The debauched gentleman was yet a lover of the finer arts. An interesting man with conflicting characteristics, but there was one which overruled all others – ambition.

Jacqueline understood it all; and she would not have had it otherwise.

The servants handed her the goblet. She tasted it smiling – following the old custom which had arisen to assure the arrival that there was no poison in the cup.

Humphrey drank deeply and let his eyes rest on Jacqueline. Fair enough, he thought. She did not drive him to a frenzy of desire. It would take an extraordinary woman to do that nowadays. He had known too many of them. But Jacqueline … with all her estates, albeit they had to be won back … would suit him very well.

He passed the goblet to the waiting man-at-arms and leaped from his horse. He took her hand and looked at her searchingly. She smiled. ‘I have news,’ she said. ‘But pray you, my lord, come in. We are prepared for you. We shall do our best to offer you hospitality which shall be worthy of you – though that is impossible, of course.’

‘Nay,’ he said, ‘it is I who must prove myself worthy.’

Pleasant talk which neither of them meant or believed for one moment.

They went into the hall. He could smell the roasting venison and it was good. In fact everything was good. To hell with Burgundy. To hell with Bedford. He was sure that in a very short time, Hainault, Holland and Zealand would be his.

He was in an excellent mood when he sat down to eat. The minstrels played sweet music to his liking and only the finest musicians could please his refined taste.

She had whispered the news to him as they went in to dinner:

‘Benedict has annulled my marriage to Brabant.’

‘That is good news,’ replied Humphrey.

‘I hoped you would think so. Is it good enough though?’

Humphrey hesitated for only a few moments. It was not really very good. The man calling himself Benedict XIII was not generally recognised. In some circles he was known as the anti-Pope for since the Great Schism there had been much conflict in papal circles. Benedict XIII was a certain Peter de Luna chosen by French Cardinals and recognised only by Spain and Scotland.

It could often be useful to have these opposing sides for there was always a desire to win the support of people in high places. Oh yes, thought Gloucester, very useful. They would make Benedict’s annulment suit them; and on the other hand if at some time they wished to change their minds they could always throw doubts on its validity.

Humphrey’s hand closed over hers. ‘We’ll make it good enough,’ he said.

She sat back smiling complacently. It should not be difficult to bring back those excellent lands to where they belonged.

While the musicians played they were already making plans.

‘I see no reason why we should delay longer,’ said Humphrey.

A serving-maid was filling his goblet. She leaned closer to him; a lock of dark, rather greasy hair fell forward over her hot face; her bodice yawned a little to show an ample bosom. Their eyes met briefly. These greasy sluts appealed to him now and then. I have had a surfeit of fine ladies, he thought.

He followed the swing of her buttocks as she walked away not forgetting to glance over her shoulder at him.

A lusty wench, he thought.

‘There will be opposition,’ Jacqueline was saying.

‘My dear lady, when has opposition deterred me … or you either for that matter?’

‘Rarely, I admit.’

He leaned towards her. ‘They will shake their heads in dismay. They will curse us mayhap. Do we care, sweet Jacqueline?’

‘Why should I, if you do not?’