He was to be lodged at Vincennes until the coronation, which, said his uncle Bedford, should not be delayed. The situation had been uneasy since the coming of Joan of Arc and now she was dead her influence remained. She was a martyr now and Henry had heard it said that martyrs were as much to be feared as the greatest generals.

Two days before the coronation he was taken to the Hôtel de St Pol to visit his grandmother.

It was an alarming experience. Isabeau, ravaged by the violent life she had led, was still beautiful but her grandson was repelled by her. She put down a hand which he thought was like a claw and drew him to her. He stared at her with solemn eyes. Her face was painted and she looked like some powerful goddess who would have the power to turn him into stone if he displeased her.

‘So, grandson,’ she said to him, ‘you are to be crowned King of France. That is well … that is well.’

‘I am not sure that the people of France think so,’ he answered.

She laughed. ‘You are a clever boy, I see that. Stay clever, little one. There are two things which will bring you what you want … beauty and cleverness. Once I had them both.’

He did not know what to reply so he looked at her steadily thinking she was magnificent although somewhat grotesque.

‘Tell me of your mother.’

‘She is well,’ answered Henry.

‘They have taken you from her care.’

Henry agreed that this was so.

‘Tell me, grandson, did you know the Tudor squire?’

‘Owen?’

‘Was that his name?’

‘Yes, he was Owen Tudor, grandson of Sir Tudor Vychan ap Gronw, and his father, Meredydd, was an outlaw accused of murder.’

‘You concern yourself greatly with the affairs of a squire.’

‘Well, this was Owen …’

‘A rather special squire I believe. Did your mother think he was a rather special squire?’

‘Oh yes. She said there was none like Owen.’

His grandmother began to laugh.

‘Your mother was my youngest child,’ she told him. ‘She became the Queen of England and the mother of its King! That is good … considering the condition we were in. Beaten to our knees by your father, grandson.’

‘Yes, I know about Harfleur and Agincourt.’

‘I’ll swear you do. The English boast of their successes. As all do. Now tell me more of your mother. Tell me of life at Windsor … when you were with her. Tell me about Owen Tudor …’

She made him talk a great deal and although she smiled kindly at him he was very glad when the visit to the Hôtel de St Pol was over.

Two days later he was crowned at Notre Dame by Cardinal Beaufort. It was not a happy ceremony. There was a brooding atmosphere of discontent throughout the proceedings and the people of Paris complained that there were too many English present. Surely, thought Henry logically, this should have been expected since the King was English, but the French did not like it. Moreover Kings of France should be crowned at Rheims and there was a King of France in any case. There was further complaint because many of the customs that accompanied a coronation were ignored. Certain prisoners usually received an amnesty and money was distributed to the needy. All this was forgotten by the English, so it was an odd kind of coronation from every point of view and one calculated to bring little comfort to the French.

The Duke of Bedford was aware of the discontent. He was a very worried man these days. He had been shaken by the exploits of Joan of Arc; and his alliance with the Duke of Burgundy was far from sound. The Duke blamed him for the loss of Orléans. If he had allowed the people to surrender to Burgundy the town would not now be in the hands of the French. It had been a great disappointment to Bedford that Henry could not be crowned at Rheims. In fact the position in France had not been so uneasy from an English point of view since before Agincourt. And to think it was all due to a peasant girl who had heard voices infuriated the Duke. He would not have been nearly so infuriated if it had been due to superior fighting strength and strategy, but this was incomprehensible and even now that the Maid had been burned at the stake he was still bemused and uneasy.

He said to the Bishop of Winchester: ‘The King should leave for England immediately. I cannot rest in peace while he remains in France.’

The Bishop agreed. ‘But you will see that everything will change now. The witch is no more. Her influence has gone. It will be as it was before she came to disturb us all. Charles is a weakling – no Maid of Orléans can alter that. He is lazy, indecisive, not meant for war.’

The Duke nodded. ‘I think of Burgundy …’

‘Your Duchess will make sure that the peace is kept between you and her brother.’

‘Oh yes. Thank God for Anne. But her health gives me some anxiety, Bishop.’

‘She is young. She is devoted to you.’

‘I thank God for that. I pray for a child – so does Anne. She longs for it.’

‘He will grant your wish in time,’ said the Bishop.

The Duke found it difficult to shake off his gloom, and the Bishop thought: This affair of the Maid has unnerved him … as it has us all.

On the Duke’s orders the young King left Paris for Rouen, but it was the end of January before he landed at Dover where he rested for a while and by slow stages made the journey to London, where a great welcome awaited him and although it was cold February the people came out in their thousands to greet him. He looked very handsome in his robes of State with the crown on his head. ‘The dear little King,’ they called him. Banners fluttered from every possible place and the procession was halted again and again as it made its way through the streets of London. Young girls recited poems on the virtues of their King and they did not fail to stress the fact that he was King of France as well as of England.

It was all very pleasant and one of those rare occasions when he was glad he was the King.

Humphrey of Gloucester was there to welcome him back. He was never sure of Uncle Humphrey. He knew that Uncle Bedford, stern as he was, was a man of great honour and virtue. He was not certain what Uncle Humphrey was.

Humphrey had been Regent during his absence and he saw at once that there was a change in his uncle’s attitude towards him. He was a little more deferential.

Ah, thought Henry wisely, it is because I am growing up.

When Humphrey had told him how pleased he was that he had returned safely and how delighted that the people of London had welcomed him so warmly – both sentiments of which Henry with growing shrewdness was a little suspicious – he then began to tell him about the iniquities of Cardinal Beaufort.

Something would have to be done about that old rogue, said Uncle Humphrey.

To hear the dignified Cardinal referred to in such terms was bewildering. But then life often was to a King who was taking such a long time to grow up.


* * *

The Duchess of Gloucester was very pleased with life. From comparatively humble origins she had risen high, for who would dispute the fact that while the Duke of Bedford was absent from England engaged on the French wars, the Duke of Gloucester was the most important man in England – King in all but name; and as she held a powerful influence over him, this meant that the Duchess was a lady of great consequence.

It had been a great triumph to get Humphrey to marry her. As plain Eleanor Cobham she had enchanted and enslaved him and there were few, apart from Eleanor herself, who believed that she could continue to do so and with what effect. But Eleanor had complete confidence in herself. Humphrey had never met a woman like her. As deeply sensual as he was himself she could continue to excite him in that field which had always been important to him; but there was more than sexual accomplishment to Eleanor. She was as wily as any statesman; and she knew how to play a waiting game. There was nothing impulsive about her. She had her eyes well on the future.

There was a little King – a minor for some years to come – malleable as clay in the clever hands of those who knew how to mould him. He had two uncles and one was engaged in the French wars. That left the field clear for the other – Gloucester … or would have if those who tried to impede him were swept away.

She was waiting for her husband when he returned from greeting the King.

Humphrey came bursting into their apartments. She went to him and removed his cloak, then putting her arms about his neck gave him a deeply passionate kiss on the lips. He responded as he could never resist doing and said: ‘Oh, Eleanor, Beaufort’s back with the King.’

‘That snake,’ she said. ‘It’s time someone finished him.’

‘We must.’

‘Come,’ she said. ‘Will you eat? Will you rest? What do you wish, my love?’

‘To be with you … to talk and talk … This thing’s on my mind. He’s got Bedford’s confidence.’

‘We’ll eat first,’ she said, ‘and then go to bed … and you can talk as you will.’

Later they lay side by side in the bed they delighted to share and they talked about the Cardinal … and Bedford.

‘My brother has aged. This woman has upset him.’

‘One would not expect him to be upset by a woman.’

‘No ordinary woman, I assure you, but one who heard voices … a virgin no less.’

‘And Brother Bedford would respect that!’

‘He proved her a witch and burned her at the stake but she haunts him. I can see that. He’s not sure. She was so convincing at her trial … she confounded Beauvais and the lot of them. And how could a peasant girl do that? That’s what they ask themselves. I can tell you that girl is responsible for more than the loss of Orléans and the crowning of the Dauphin.’