Rebellion (4 page)

‘Your majesty,' de Brézé said into her ear,
‘do you remember when you first left this country to sail to England?'

Of course she remembered it. The feasting
had lasted more than a week, there had been eight days of tournaments. All the streets
were hung with garlands of marguerites, her symbol, and banners with silver and gold
daisies on them. And her weeping father had begged her to forgive him for having no
dowry to send with her.

‘You were La Petite Marguerite,' de Brézé
said. ‘The Flower of France. You held your head so high – you would not cry, not you –
and you stepped like a dancer.'

The queen did not answer but she was
listening. She could see herself as she was then, so many years ago, setting off with
such high hopes, such expectations, to be queen of a land she did not know. She had been
fourteen then and now she was thirty-two – sometimes she felt that she was already
old.

‘We sent them the best France had to offer,'
de Brézé said, ‘and how did they treat this gift?'

He had pledged himself to her then, he had
promised that he would always be her chevalier. She turned part way towards him. ‘Two
thousand only?' she said.

‘You have your own men, do you not?' he
said. ‘Here, and in England. And King Louis will support you – what else can he do? He
cannot keep you here indefinitely. And then,' he said, picking up a stray lock of her
hair and kissing it, ‘then we will remind an ungrateful nation of your name.'

She dressed in the least shabby of her
clothes and put on what jewellery she had not pawned. Her mouth was entirely dry.

The little prince was dressed in the blue
velvet that he had nearly outgrown. He insisted on carrying his sword.

Together they approached the royal
chamber.

‘You are hurting my hand,
Maman
,'
he said, pulling away from her. He was nearly nine now and did not want to hold his
mother's hand.

She released him as the doors swung
open.

The king sat in his robes of state,
surrounded by his ministers. His face was severe, she noted, but as they stepped
forward, he smiled.

Somehow it made him look even less
approachable.

They knelt before him, making the usual
obeisance, and she began to thank him for his great bounty and hospitality, but he cut
her short. ‘Cousin,' he said, ‘I have given your situation much consideration.'

Not as much as I have
, she thought,
but he carried on. ‘I have given you a general. De Brézé has my authority to muster men
in Normandy. I can offer you ships and twenty thousand francs. In return for a small
consideration –'

He indicated that they should rise.

Margaret of Anjou stood.
She could hear her own heart pounding.

‘I wish only for the town and fortress of
Calais.'

Her heart and stomach lurched, then seemed
to fall.

‘I cannot give you Calais,' she said.

King Louis' eyebrows raised fractionally and
a murmur ran around the room.

‘The English people would never accept it,'
she added faintly.

Calais was the last bastion of the English
in France. All the other territories, hard won by Henry V, were lost.

The English already blamed her for the loss
of territories in France.

‘Your majesty,' she said, ‘I need the people
to fight for me, not against me. They must see me as their queen, not their enemy.'

‘Then I cannot help you,' said the king, and
a chorus of assent arose.

Margaret of Anjou could feel tears stinging
her eyes. ‘Your majesty –' she began.

‘I have given you so much already,' said
Louis. ‘What can you give me in return?'

Margaret of Anjou was keenly aware that she
had nothing else to give.

‘Everything you give me,' she said, ‘will be
repaid, twice over, when I have won back my country.'

Several of the nobles shook their heads or
looked away as though casting doubt on her ability to win back her country. She felt the
injustice of it burning in her breast. But then, unexpectedly, the young prince
spoke.

‘My lady mother will win back her country,'
he said, ‘and I will be king.'

Everyone held their breath, waiting for the
French king's reaction.

Louis smiled again. It was not pleasant.

‘Well, my young fellow,' he said roguishly.
‘So you want to
be king, eh? Perhaps you would like to try on my
crown?'

Margaret of Anjou shot her son a warning
glance, but he was already speaking.

‘I wish only to wear the crown that is
rightfully mine, your majesty.'

‘Well said,' responded the king, looking
around, and there was a small scattering of applause.

Margaret of Anjou begged the king's
permission to approach. When she was within earshot of only a few of his council she
said in a low voice, ‘Your majesty, I cannot give you Calais – I have already given
Berwick to the Scots.'

‘Exactly so,' said King Louis. ‘One nation
helps another. That is how the great game of diplomacy is played.'

Margaret of Anjou could only say that once
she was queen again they could draw up any number of treaties, England would renew old
agreements, all the money would be repaid – but she could not turn the entire country
against her before she had even set foot on its shores. It would only add fuel to her
enemies' fire. They had already denounced her and alienated her subjects from her
because she had given Berwick to the Scots.

King Louis pressed the tips of his fingers
together.

‘I can see that you might need a little time
to consider,' he said. ‘And you can have a little time. But not much.'

He was reminding her that they had already
outstayed their welcome.

Many thoughts ran through the queen's mind.
She wanted to ask her cousin what he would do in her situation. To consider whether it
was kind to put her in this positon, into a vice. She wanted to fling herself at his
feet and beg. But she knew, of course, that it was pointless to either rail at or plead
with Louis.

Even as a child he had enjoyed only those
games he could win.

So she looked at him without speaking and
their gazes locked.

‘You may have the rest of this week to
consider,' Louis said.

‘I cannot give you Calais,' said the
queen.

She had not given it to him exactly – she had
only mortgaged Calais. Once she had paid back twice the amount of money Louis had given
her, he would have no claim on it. And she would pay it back. All that mattered now was
the speed with which she could gather an army and return to England, for then all
treaties could be renegotiated. But then Louis had tried to send his own garrison to
Calais, and Philip of Burgundy had refused to let them through his lands. One delay
after another seemed to afflict the process, and now the summer was gone, and the autumn
weather was unsettled.

But Louis had kept his word, and given her
ships and money; though when she saw the men de Brézé had assembled at the port of
Honfleur, the queen closed her eyes momentarily.

‘I see they have emptied the prisons,' she
said.

‘
Madame
,' said de Brézé, ‘all these
men would lay down their lives for you.'

If some of these men lie
down
,
the queen thought,
they might never get up again.
Not
least because the person lying next to them would have cut their throats. However, all
she said was, ‘There are not two thousand men here.'

De Brézé looked discomfited. ‘No,
madame
,' he said. ‘Some of the least deserving took flight.'

‘They deserted? Have you not pursued
them?'

‘We do not need such lily-livered creatures.
Let them run.
Every man here is an experienced fighter and keen for the
fray.'

Certainly they looked as though they had
fought, for hardly any one of them was whole. One had an eye missing, one an ear. One,
more worryingly, had lost both his hands. ‘How is he to fight?' whispered the queen as
they passed. But de Brézé said that he carried his dagger in his mouth and could
throttle a man with his arms – de Brézé had seen it himself, or he would not have
believed it. Also he had a kick like a mule.

‘How many men are here?' the queen said
wearily, and de Brézé looked discomfited again, but said he thought they were a little
short of a thousand.

‘
One thousand?
' said the queen.

‘It is not numbers, my lady, but strategy
that counts – intelligence, eh?' He tapped his head. ‘Besides, you have your own men, do
you not?'

The queen had perhaps a hundred knights with
her.

‘And supporters in England?'

This much was true. In anticipation of their
arrival Sir Richard Tunstall had already wrested Bamburgh Castle from his brother, who
was constable there.

That was where they planned to land, near
Bamburgh.

‘So the attack will come from two sides,'
said de Brézé. ‘From inland and from the sea.'

She allowed herself to be encouraged. After
all, anything was better than being kept waiting at King Louis' pleasure. She returned
to her lodgings, warning the little prince not to leave her side, because anything might
happen. They might all have their throats cut in the night.

And, in fact, a fight did break out that
night, and several men were killed. And in the general chaos a lantern had been knocked
over and a fire had started and burned one of the ships. De Brézé found the two
perpetrators and banged their heads together so hard it looked as if at least one of
them would not regain consciousness. Then, of course, there was a delay while the ship
was
repaired. And once it was repaired the wind turned and they were
delayed for several days more.

‘We are not meant to leave these shores,'
the queen said.

‘Tomorrow the weather will change,' said de
Brézé.

‘You said that yesterday,' said the queen,
adding savagely, ‘God is not with us!'

‘My lady, remember the Conqueror,' said de
Brézé. ‘He was delayed also. But then the time was right,
et voila
!'

It was not the best comparison. William the
Conqueror had been delayed for eight months; his men had mutinied. He'd had to dig up
the corpse of St Valery before the wind changed and he'd been able to convince his men
to sail with him. And then they'd sailed straight into a storm and many of them had
drowned.

‘But then, majesty, all England fell before
him.'

The queen gazed at the restless sea.

‘I am not the Conqueror,' she said.

She was more like that unhappy queen,
Matilda, the Conqueror's great-granddaughter, who had fought her usurping cousin and
lost. Because the people of England did not want a queen.

But Queen Matilda's son had been the first
of the House of Anjou to be crowned King of England.

She looked disconsolately at the assembled
rabble. ‘Louis promised me an army,' she said. ‘Is this the best you could do with
twenty thousand francs?'

De Brézé was silent. She looked at him.
‘Louis promises many things,' he said. And suddenly she knew that Louis had not advanced
the money at all. ‘But how –?' she said. De Brézé pulled down the corners of his mouth,
then raised his shoulders. The queen understood that these were his men, it was his
money. She turned away, her heart beating rapidly, terrible thoughts raging through her
mind.

‘Ah, God,' she said. De Brézé stood behind
her.

‘My lady – why are you returning?' he said.
‘Because you have
an army? No. Does the sun rise because it has an
army? Does the moon require the people's consent to return? No. You are returning
because you are England's queen. And because you must.'