He bowed to my parents and then took my hand and kissed it.

He sat opposite me and, while he talked with my parents and members of the Council, his eyes strayed again and again to me. I lowered mine and he smiled. I was feeling more and more reassured with every moment.

I was disappointed to learn that, in spite of his openly expressed admiration for me, he did not lower his demands.

My mother said: “Let him wait awhile. I know he is enamored of the Princess. He will agree to modify his terms. Give him time.”

He was disappointed, I believe, because my father and his advisers would not capitulate—but he would not give way; and the meeting over, he continued with his campaign throughout Normandy, with alarming results for the French.

I liked to think that he did intend to lower his demands, because he asked for another meeting, but by the time he arrived at Pontoise it was to find the tents had been removed. Only the Duke of Burgundy remained with a few of his men.

Henry said with some rancor: “Cousin, understand that we will have the daughter of your king or we will drive him out of his kingdom.”

The Duke replied: “Sire, you may do so, but before you have succeeded in driving the King and me out of this kingdom, I doubt not you will be heartily tired.”

So in spite of the meeting, it seemed that we had advanced very little.

But my mother did not accept this. She knew men, she said, and a spark had been struck between myself and the King of England, and he was the sort of man who would not rest until he had what he wanted.

I thought a great deal about Henry. At last he was a living person to me. I had seen him, though briefly, but it was enough to show me that he was not the man Isabelle had known.

My life since I had left Poissy had not been a happy one. I lived in fear of my mother. There was a suspicion in my mind, which I could not dispel, that she had poisoned my brother Louis. Of Jean, I was not sure. I knew that she despised my brother Charles. I thought he was safe, though, for there was no son to follow him; so it was to her advantage to keep him alive. I was fond of my father, but I was in a state of perpetual anxiety about his health. I thought of a new life…away from it all, away from the conflicts which had surrounded me since the day of my birth. I thought of Henry as my husband, of myself as Queen of England. I thought of children of my own. Yes, I longed for children.

I had come to the conclusion that I wanted a better life than that which I had hitherto known and that I might find it with Henry. I prayed that these negotiations would not fail. I was no longer a child. The years were slipping by. I was now eighteen years old. For so long I had been told I was to marry Henry. Should I ever do that?

During this uncertain period, there took place one of those events which was to shake the whole of France so violently that, temporarily, even the state of our country was forgotten. My brother Charles, the Dauphin, was under the control of the Armagnacs, and I believed he had now come to terms with his fate and, attempting to prepare himself for the role to come, was eager to make peace with Burgundy.

My father was becoming so feeble that even in his most lucid moments he was unfit to govern; and this must have made Charles feel that he must learn quickly and do his best to bring a stable government to the country.

He had now established himself at Bourges, where a small court had gathered about him. He was very serious, which might have been good had he not been of such a melancholy nature. I knew that he was haunted by the fear that he was illegitimate and therefore had no true claim to the throne. In view of the life our mother had led, it was a doubt which might come to us all. I felt fairly sure of my own parentage. I had my nose to thank for that.

Charles clearly saw that the reason we had fallen so low was the strife between our two great houses and, as he was involved with the Armagnac faction, he renewed his efforts to make peace with Burgundy.

I like to think that my brother was led astray by evil counselors. I cannot believe to this day that he planned what happened. Or if he did, it was because he was convinced that it was for the good of France.

What he did was to arrange a meeting between himself and the Duke of Burgundy when they would discuss how to bring about peace between the two rival houses. The meeting was to take place at Montereau. They would both come in peace and unarmed in order to show their confidence in each other.

I think the Duke must have been a little suspicious, for, although he might trust the Dauphin, the young man was in the hands of the treacherous Armagnacs. However, the meeting was arranged.

I heard that several men close to the Duke thought he was taking a great risk by going unarmed among his enemies and warned him not to agree to the meeting; but after a good deal of consideration the Duke decided that he must go.

“It is my duty,” he said. “If we can make peace, the Dauphin and I can stand together against the English.”

It was a never-to-be-forgotten day in September when he set out for the rendezvous.

The Duke arrived as arranged and was met by one of Charles’s men, a certain Duchâtel, who greeted him with great respect and told him how delighted the Dauphin was that he had agreed to come. It was time they settled their differences and stood together against the English, who were the real enemy of France, instead of fighting each other.

This seemed a satisfactory beginning but, as the Duke was preparing to go with Duchâtel to the Dauphin, one of his own men came running to him and, throwing himself on his knees, begged the Duke not to go. “You will be betrayed, my lord,” he said. “I am sure they mean to kill you.”

The Duke turned to Duchâtel and said: “You heard that, my lord. It is what the people around me have in mind.”

“They are wrong,” Duchâtel assured him. “I swear they are wrong. The Dauphin loves you. You are his close kinsman. All he wants is to end this strife, and that all Frenchmen stand together for France.”

The Duke bowed his head and said: “I trust your word. In God’s holy name, do you swear you have not murder in mind?”

“My good and most noble lord,” replied Duchâtel. “I would rather die than commit treason to you or my lord. I give you my word that the Dauphin wishes nothing but reconciliation.”

“Then let us proceed,” said the Duke.

When he came to the Dauphin, the Duke took off his cap and knelt before him. The Dauphin appeared to be seized with emotion and made him rise and cover his head.

Then, changing his mood abruptly, my brother began upbraiding the Duke. He had not cared for the good of France, he said. He had followed his own inclination. He was wanting in his duty.

The Duke must have been surprised at this sudden change. He had come to talk peace, not to listen to a harangue against his actions.

He said haughtily that he had done what he had thought was right and would do it again.

My brother, alas, was no diplomat. I think that secretly he must have been afraid of Burgundy, who had a very powerful and overbearing personality and considered himself equal to—perhaps greater than—the highest in the land.

Duchâtel ran up and shouted: “The time has come!” He lifted his battle-ax and struck the defenseless Duke.

I wondered if Burgundy had time to realize that he had stepped into a trap. Had he forgotten that he himself had brought the Duke of Orléans to an untimely end? That had happened twelve years earlier, but such things are never forgotten.

Vengeance had been brewing for years. It had been decided that the murder of Orléans should not go unpunished.

As the Duke fell to the ground, others came forward, their swords unsheathed.

There were several who were eager for revenge; and there on the ground lay the once-mighty Duke. They fell upon him with their swords.

The murder of Orléans was avenged.

The Duke’s followers waited at some distance, as had been arranged. They did not know what had happened until they were set upon and, weaponless as they were before armed men, they were forced to fly.

There were some among the assassins who wanted to strip the Duke’s body and throw it into the river. But my brother, already regretting the part he had played in the murder of his kinsman, would not allow that. The Duke’s body was prepared for burial, albeit in a pauper’s shell, and taken to the Church of Notre Dame in Montereau to be interred.

And so died Jean the Fearless, the great Duke of Burgundy. The new Duke Philip was the husband of my sister Michelle.

I wondered what Michelle was feeling now, for she was happy with the heir of Burgundy, and I wondered how this would affect their relationship, for her brother would be held responsible for the murder of her husband’s father.

It was small wonder that I felt a desire to escape from the scene of this strife.

It was not to be supposed that the murder of such an important personage as the Duke of Burgundy would not arouse a storm of condemnation.

The next day, when the news was spreading throughout the country, the Parliament and all the leading dignitaries met. They were determined to bring the criminal to justice. People were crowding into the streets, demanding that the murderer be delivered up to them.

My poor brother was thrown into a state of deep depression. All he had wanted to do was to stop the quarreling between Burgundy and the Armagnacs. He had been led into this. Only the death of Jean the Fearless could bring peace, he had been assured, and, young and inexperienced as he was, he had believed them. And now this terrible deed was on his conscience. Never would he be able to forget the look of horrified reproach in the eyes of the Duke as he fell, when, in those fleeting seconds, he realized he had been betrayed. Charles would be haunted by the murder all his life.