Виктория Холт: The Queen's Secret

The French were heartily tired of the war. I supposed the English were, too. No one was winning. If Henry had lived, people were saying, the conquest would have been completed by now. France and England would be one country under the domination of the English. But what was the case now? True, the King of England had been crowned King of France. Who was to say which was the King? What was the point of paying taxes just to continue a war which was coming to no satisfactory end? It was different before the coming of The Maid. Truly, she had changed everything, and although she had not brought complete victory to the French, she had made the English position very difficult to hold…and it was becoming more so.

At this time there was a meeting in Arras which must be causing a great deal of anxiety to the Duke of Bedford. I thought of him as I had last seen him, his face careworn and a desperate sadness in his eyes…in fact, a certain hopelessness.

The meeting in Arras was an attempt to bring an end to the war and to unite the royal house of France with that of Burgundy. If this succeeded, it would be a fatal blow to English hopes in France.

Looking back over the events of the past years, I could see what an effect that quarrel had had on our history. The Duke of Burgundy and my brother Charles were both Frenchmen—moreover close kinsmen—and the quarrel of the Orléans–Armagnac faction with Burgundy had been the downfall of France. It was not until a simple peasant girl had restored that country’s faith in itself that the misery of failure and defeat began to lift.

It was quite clear that Philip of Burgundy and my brother Charles must become allies so that France could grow proud and strong again.

It was tragic that the two leading houses in France should be fighting against each other when an enemy was attacking the country. There must be an end to this talk of revenge. The welfare of France must come before petty family quarrels. Frenchmen must not make war on each other.

The English refused to give up their claim to the crown of France, and Bedford left Arras and went to Rouen. I could imagine his thoughts as he entered the town. This was the place where they had burned The Maid, but she was indestructible. They may have destroyed her body, but her spirit lived on.

I remembered Tressart’s words: “We are lost. We have burned a saint.”

It might well be that he was right.

And there in Rouen, that city of bitter memories, Bedford would be awaiting the outcome of the meeting at Arras. His relationship with Burgundy had suffered even further since the death of Anne. It was she who had helped keep it alive. Bedford had respected Burgundy, and Burgundy had respected him. They had been brothers-in-law. And then Bedford had married again, and so soon after Anne’s death. True, there was an advantage in the match, but it had surprised me…and no doubt others. Moreover, the marriage had naturally displeased Burgundy and could only be expected to widen the rift between them. Perhaps Bedford realized during those days in Rouen that his marriage had been a mistake, for it was still of the utmost importance to England to keep on friendly terms with Burgundy—far more important than any advantage which could be obtained elsewhere.

I had always admired Bedford. He was undoubtedly the best and most honorable of Henry’s brothers. He had been a good friend to me and a good guardian to my son.

When I heard that he had died in Rouen, I was overcome with grief and a sense of foreboding.

The first thought that occurred to me was: the Duke of Gloucester is next in line to the throne.

We had waited in trepidation for some reaction to his discovery. I was sure he had heard rumors about my relationship with Owen, for, careful as we were, some little indication must have leaked out. There was that occasion at the dance when he had fallen into my lap. That had happened a long time ago, but at the time I was sure it had been talked of. Sometimes such things are greatly exaggerated and a minor incident is turned into one of significance.

After he had forced the statute through Parliament about my remarrying, Gloucester had done nothing. That might well have been because he had matters of more significance to occupy him. But now that I had presumed to advise the King, I had brought myself to his notice, and I was sure he would have taken some action if it had not been for his brother’s unexpected death which had taken him a step closer to the throne; and he would have thought for nothing else at this time.

Later I heard accounts of how the Duke of Bedford had died. He was a sick and disappointed man, obsessed by the fear that he had failed in the mission his brother had left to him. He had gone wrong somewhere, he was convinced. He should never have allowed them to burn The Maid at the stake. It was said that that—and much else—was on his mind when he died.

He had been disturbed by the effect The Maid was having on the war, and he had felt at the time that she must die. But then he began to wonder whether he had offended Heaven and whether, even from a practical standpoint, it would have been better to have let her live.

I was sorry for him. He had been a good man, kindly if stern. He had always tried to do what he considered right, and what more can a man do?

He lacked Henry’s genius, but who did not? Events were too much for him. It was tragic that such a good man should die disappointed.

His death was the final break with Burgundy. It was timely, too. It really seemed as though God’s hand was against the English, for it happened just at the time of the Treaty of Arras and must have decided Burgundy.

There was no Englishman whom Burgundy trusted as he had trusted Bedford. So he had made his decision. Frenchman would not fight Frenchman again.

We heard of the rejoicing throughout France. People were dancing in the streets. Burgundians shook the hands of the Orléans-Armagnacs. They drank together. They vowed never to fight each other again. The only cause for which they would fight would be that of France.

The Duke of Burgundy had signed the Treaty of Arras.

“Long live Charles the King!” shouted the people. “Long live the Duke of Burgundy!”

I believed that England’s hopes in France were doomed from that day.

But my main thought was: Gloucester is now next in line to the throne. If Henry were not there, he would be King.

Paris was about to be taken back by the French. The English were leaving; and in the midst of this turmoil, my mother died.

I cannot believe that she was sorry to go. Her life must have changed drastically. She was old and fat and full of gout, and to a woman who had used her beauty and set such store by it, using it to satisfy her ambitions, old age must have been hard to bear.

I wondered what she felt on her deathbed when she was about to leave the world which had meant so much to her. She must have known that the English were preparing to leave Paris and that her son’s triumphant army would soon be in possession of the capital. And what did she think Charles would say to her? She had scarcely been a friend to him, and certainly not a good mother.

He had been at one time beset by doubts as to his legitimacy. It was Joan of Arc who had convinced him that he was the King. His mother had sided with his enemies…against him. She had been responsible for so much misery that had befallen his country; and his mother-in-law, Yolande of Aragon, had shown him what a mother could be.

He would hate his own mother. Would he show any mercy to her now?

That was something we should never know, for she died before the English left.

They showed a certain respect for the dead. They had her body laid in a coffin which was placed in a barge and carried down the river to the Abbey of St.-Dénis, where she could be buried among the kings and queens of France.