The Secret Diary of Eleanor Cobham Read online

  Apart, that is, from my children. It saddens me to write of it but I fear my son Arthur was murdered by men who knew of his innocence, yet I know my beautiful daughter Antigone lives. My three young grandchildren are part of the reason this journal must be in code, as I still have enemies who would delight in spoiling their young lives.

  Lady Ellen came to see me with exciting news from London. I miss being at the centre of things but it seems bad news travels quickly. I know Henry VI is one of the least able kings to ever have ruled this country and England has been ruined by taxes raised to pay for the futile wars with France. The signs of his mismanagement are everywhere, so I was not surprised when Lady Ellen told me the people of Kent have rebelled against the king. Last month an army of commoner workers marched on London but the king had been warned and fled to safety in Warwickshire.

  She was unclear of the details but Ellen heard that the Tower of London was overtaken and several of the king’s men roughly executed, their heads displayed on spikes for all to see. She heard the Archbishop of York bravely ended the rioting by agreeing to the rebels’ demands, although it seems more likely he has been used as a device to end this revolt. The rumour in the city is that the king has ordered the leaders to be hunted down and given a treasoner’s execution, a horrific way for any man to die.

  I am most grateful to Ellen and look forward to her visits. I have yet to determine where her loyalty lies, so am careful not to criticise the king by calling him a madman, although of course he is. I pity his young French wife Margaret of Anjou, who is little more than twenty years old and has to try to rule the country when King Henry VI suffers from his bouts of insanity. It makes me sad to consider how different the world would be if my husband had been able to take his rightful place as king, with me at his side to guide him.

  Ellen is not much travelled, although she is well tutored and well connected, so must surely have heard the dreadful allegations of my witchcraft, yet she shows no regard for it. One day I would like to see if she will hear the truth of it but that can keep. She has done much to benefit her husband William Bulkeley, as her father helped him secure his position in Beaumaris. For now, I am content to listen to her opinion of the world outside this castle and form my own in secret.

  August 1450

  Fratre regis

  The summer has fortunately been dry and hot in Beaumaris. The sun has warmed the stones of this old castle so I can keep the shutters open, even at night. It is good to feel the salty air fresh from the sea and remember to be grateful I still have my health. Lady Ellen has not been to see me for some weeks but sent a servant with one of her gowns for me. The plain style and dull material is far from the beautiful dresses I once wore, yet it was a simple matter to alter so it fitted my more slender form. I doubt Ellen realises the worn blue dress it replaces was all I had to wear or that my cotton shifts are threadbare from washing as often as I am able.

  At least I look like a lady of some value again, although the poor food in this place has made me thin. When first imprisoned I ate so well and exercised so little I put on weight. Now I can feel my ribs and have little appetite for the rough bread and salty stew the Welsh cook brings me almost every day. I have learned they call it ‘cawl’ and I suspect it is made from kitchen scraps. I use my little Book of Hours to note the saints days in advance and ask for special meals to be prepared, or a jug of wine instead of milk. One day Lady Ellen sent me a bowl of delicious strawberries, which I hadn’t tasted since I was at Greenwich.

  When her husband, my jailer William Bulkeley, visited me and enquired in his usual way if I was well, I asked if he could kindly tell the cook to make me something else to eat. Bulkeley seemed dismissive but sent a servant carrying half a fine cured ham and a dozen sweet green apples, so he may have some pity for me after all. I must keep on the right side of him, as it is within his power to make my life more bearable or most miserable. I shall wait until I know him better but my dearest wish is for a visit from my precious daughter Antigone.

  Now I must explain how I became a lady-in-waiting to Jacqueline, Countess of Hainault, Holland and Zeeland, Dauphine of Viennois, Duchess of Touraine, Duchess of Brabant and then Duchess of Gloucester, wife of one of the most powerful men in England. The countess had sought sanctuary and arrived in England at the personal invitation of the king, as an honoured guest of his court. Jacqueline was glad to escape the threat to her life from civil wars in her home countries of Holland and France. She also needed to prove her marriage to her dislikeable husband John, the Duke of Brabant, illegal on the grounds he was also her first cousin.

  In the year 1423, following the death of my mother, my father decided it was time I joined London society. He was concerned to find some way to improve my prospects of marriage and see me become a respectable lady. The fortunes of my family were to be inherited by my brother, so my father thought it unlikely I would find a wealthy suitor. Instead he sought a place for me as a lady-in-waiting. Fortunately, he was at court and heard talk of the imminent arrival of the Countess of Hainault from France. Her husband had replaced her ladies-in-waiting with those of his own choosing and Jacqueline arrived with only a few servants and the most essential items, such was her haste. It was not a simple matter to arrange an introduction, as there were many others wishing to join such a powerful woman who enjoyed the protection of the king.

  Before I was invited to meet the countess, I spent long hours preparing with a tutor paid for by my father, to learn as much as I could of her family. I found out she had not had an easy life, as her father died horribly before she was sixteen, making her the sovereign of Holland and Hainaut before she was prepared for the responsibility. Her father’s death, quite likely from poisoning, was soon followed by that of her husband, whom she had been engaged to since she was four years old. My tutor explained that they had been betrothed as children and her husband was the son of the French King Charles, so the boy had the title ‘dauphin’ as the heir apparent to the crown. The marriage had been arranged by the Duke of Burgundy, at the suggestion of his sister Margaret, Countess of Holland, who was of course Jacqueline’s mother.

  When I met her I was surprised at how young and attractive the countess was, full of life and lively humour, with no trace of her troubled past. Her blonde hair was always braided in the latest fashion and diamond necklaces sparkled at her neck. The countess had an infectious laugh and a talent for seeing the amusing side of everything, so I was delighted to be asked if I would care to take my place at her side as her new companion.

  I must admit my life had not been easy after my mother died. I followed my father to London and had fallen into difficult times, living in a rented house. The allowance he provided was barely enough to live on, and I met men who took advantage of my circumstances. They didn’t treat me well and damaged my reputation, so my father’s intervention was most timely.

  I found the countess good company once I was used to her condescending manner towards me. She told me her ladies at her Castle Le Quesnoy were of course of high degree and noble blood, ladies of good life and reputation, wise, honest and in all respects worthy. They were also for the most part educated with her from childhood, so had a proper understanding of their place. Although by implication I was not ‘in all respects worthy’, I knew better than to point out none of them seemed to have been loyal enough to accompany her to England. I later learned that the king had only granted safe passage through the English lines for herself and her mother, so only a few servants came with her from France.

  The countess was a woman of more names and titles than any I have known. Baptised ‘Jacoba’ in Hainaut, her mother the Dowager Countess of Margaret of Burgundy called her ‘Jac’ and the French ‘Jacqueline’, the name she chose to use here in England. She told me once her enemies called her ‘Dame Jake’ and worse. As well as being the sovereign Countess of Hainaut, Holland and Zeeland, she was also a Dauphine of the house of Viennois and held the title of Duchess of Brabant through her ill-chosen husba
nd.

  I soon learned to call her different names, depending on her mood and circumstances. She told me her people called her Domina Jacoha but nothing seemed to please her more than to be referred to as ‘la princesse’ in company, although she was more properly known as ‘the countess’ at court.

  Jacqueline quickly came to regard me as her most trusted friend and confidante, which made the future turn of events more painful for us both. We were the same age and had both been born and grown up in country castle estates. She was a skilled horsewoman and we enjoyed riding fast in the royal parks, often leaving our armed escort far behind us. The countess was grateful for my help with her English and understanding of our manners, our English customs and fashions. In return she helped me to improve my French and Latin and started teaching me the Hainault dialect of her homeland.

  There was little similarity in our upbringing or circumstances. My family were wealthy enough for comfort but of declining status since the glory of my great-grandfather’s time. Jacqueline came from a different world. She told me that in truth the modern ways had yet to reach the wooded hills of Hainault. The countess loved to talk about how her household numbered more than two hundred servants and was defended by an army of six thousand fighting men. She said her family home at Quesnoy was richly furnished, with priceless tapestries, exotic peacocks and maidens playing on golden harps. I realised listening to her stories that her family had ruled as feudal lords, demanding absolute obedience and enjoying the highest privileges.

  Jacqueline was also a wealthy woman. In addition to her income from inherited lands in France and Holland, King Henry V ordered a provision of one hundred pounds a month for her expenses so long as she sojourned in England. Once she told me the king had sent an envoy, Sir William Esturmy to proceed to Holland to offer the hand of his brother John, Duke of Bedford, to Jacqueline. It seems Sir William took his time and arrived too late, as by then she was married to the Duke of Brabant. I wonder if I would be in this prison now if he had reached Hainault in time.

  When her marriage to the Duke of Brabant proved a disaster, Jacqueline’s mother encouraged her to seek refuge at the English court. She confided in me they had been afraid the king would be angry, but he was not. The king at once sent a personal letter of authority to permit her and her mother to pass safely through the English lines in France and entry into Calais. Jacqueline said that when she crossed the English Channel she was full of hope the tide might turn for her at last.

  As the weather was fine I was permitted to walk the outer ward of the castle and climb the stone steps to the high battlement, watched by my ever vigilant guards. As I reached the top I could see two pairs of pure white swans on the dark moat which surrounds the castle on all sides. One of the soldiers told me the castle moat is deep and some eighteen feet wide at the narrowest point. I also learned that all the latrines empty into the moat, a thought I do not wish to dwell upon.

  From my high vantage-point I can also see the blue green mountains of Wales and the shimmering expanse of the Irish Sea. Anglesey is of course an island, divided from the Welsh mainland by the narrow but fast flowing Afon Menai. A large sailing boat was unloading in Beaumaris harbour and the sounds of men’s voices carried well in the still air. It took a moment for me to realise they talk in Welsh and I wonder if Lady Ellen will teach their language to me.

  If I were not a prisoner here I would think it a good place to be on a sunny day. Lady Ellen told me this spot was originally the thriving Welsh coastal village of Llanfaes. King Edward decided it was the ideal site for his castle and forcibly moved the entire village some twelve miles away to a place he called ‘Newborough’.

  English kings have indeed shown scant regard for the local people, as even the Franciscan monastery here was plundered and destroyed by the men of King Henry IV, with many of the friars put to the sword for supporting the Welsh cause in their last uprising. It may be Ellen’s influence but I feel sympathy for the people of Wales, who have been punished so severely for trying to defend their homeland.

  It was through Jacqueline that I first met Humphrey Plantagenet, Duke of Gloucester, Earl of Pembroke and brother to Henry V, King of England. Of course I knew him by reputation, as he was a champion of the victory at Agincourt and second in line to the throne. I don’t know what I was expecting when I first met him but I was taken completely by surprise. Countess Jacqueline had been invited to stay at the duke’s London mansion, a fine building called Baynard’s Castle near Paul’s Wharf on the banks of the River Thames. The duke was not in residence when I arrived to take up my position as her lady-in-waiting, as he had been called away to deal with his business in Dover but Jacqueline was happy to tell me all about him.

  She told me when she arrived at the white cliffs of Dover, she found Humphrey waiting to welcome her and escort her to his brother's court. He had brought Jacqueline a fine thoroughbred palfrey for the ride to London, which they reached at an early hour on the following day. She told me the king had received her most graciously, as a grand princess, former dauphiness of Vienne and one who might have been the queen of France.

  I was able to explore the duke’s London residence in his absence and knew from the library he was much more than a soldier. The walls were lined with the finest collection of books I had ever seen. Many of the duke’s books were beautifully written on fine vellum with many illuminated letters and bound in gold tooled leather. I marvelled at the French translations of classical Greek volumes next to early illustrated manuscripts and collections of the work of most of the modern poets. There were piles of books on his table and it was clear he was making a study of them. My mother, who was also my tutor, would have loved to see the duke’s books if she had still been alive.

  The duke was also a lover of music, as he retained a talented group of minstrels in his household and they would play for us in the evenings. I was surprised when I spoke to the musicians and found they were well educated scholars, fluent in several languages. Some had travelled to London from Italy and Spain and spoke highly of the duke, apparently more like companions of his household than simply the minstrels I had taken them for. As with all his servants, they seemed to hold the duke in great esteem and were proud to be in his service.

  Most of all, I could see he had enormous wealth, as the furnishings were all of the finest quality, with ornaments of silver and gold. The walls of his mansion were covered with richly carved wooden panels. Rich tapestries were displayed in every room, with the whole wall of the banqueting hall covered by a dazzling depiction of the battle of Agincourt. The mansion had wonderful views of the busy river, with its own jetty where the duke had a fine golden barge, and there were extensive parks and gardens on all sides. I later found that the duke had many homes, including castles at Pembroke and Devizes and manor houses in Kent and St Albans.

  We had been staying in his mansion for barely a week when the servants told us the duke had sent a messenger to say he was returning home. The countess was greatly concerned to look her best and I could tell she saw him as more than simply her host in London. Jacqueline confided to me she considered Humphrey would make an eminently suitable husband and she intended to marry him. I asked if it was true she was already married but she waved her hand in the air and said she would have it annulled by the pope.

  People have accused me of using witchcraft to secure Duke Humphrey’s affection, that I seduced him through political ambition and even that I was paid by his enemies to come between him and the countess. As with most things, there is a simple explanation. I fell for him as soon as I saw him. I would not say he was particularly handsome. He was ten years older than me and tired from the long ride from Dover. He had the thin, clean shaven face of the House of Lancaster and was wearing ordinary riding clothes. Yet as he stepped into the room I sensed his power and intelligence. His keen eyes took in every detail of what I was wearing. He listened attentively to every word I said. I knew we would become lovers.

  Looking back I can see how Jac
queline’s deeply superstitious beliefs influenced me and might have brought about my downfall. She once told me how she had visited the capital city of Mons in splendour after inheriting her father’s title. The people turned out in great numbers, cheering and celebrating, but at the height of the festivities the most severe hailstorm had deluged the city. The countess looked serious as she described how the sky grew black and the wind howled through the city, with hail so heavy it killed many cattle and ruined the harvest. The people of Mons had claimed it was of ill omen to Jacqueline, who had met misfortune beyond her years.

  Jacqueline told me the sudden death of her father had been seen as a bad portent but when her husband also fell ill with a strange fever and died, the superstitious people of Hainault had said it was a sure sign there was a curse on the family. Jacqueline told me her mother suspected a servant, bribed by the Armagnacs, had found some way to poison him but I could tell from the haunted look on Jacqueline’s face she still believed she was cursed.

  Her next arranged marriage to the Duke of Brabant had led to three years of abject misery and she told me how she had many times wished him dead. This darker side to Jacqueline’s stories emerged as I began to become her confidante. I could soon see why she had sought sanctuary in England and learned the truth of this through the letters which she sent to her mother. As there was a real risk of letters to France falling into the wrong hands, she taught me to write them for her in this special code, based on the old dialect known only to her family.

  My father’s plan to bring me to court as the lady of Countess Jacqueline proved better judgement than even he had hoped. Soon after I first met him, the Duke of Gloucester was sent back to Dover by the king to prepare his next campaign, procuring a fleet of ships to carry a thousand men to war in France. The king sailed with him to Calais as soon as the men were ready, so the countess was invited to join the queen at her confinement in Windsor Castle. Queen Catherine had only been crowned in February but was already expecting the next heir to the throne. We were all the same age and, as the daughter of King Charles of France, the queen was Jacqueline’s sister-in-law through her first ill-fated marriage. They had many interests in common and quickly became close friends.