Philip nodded. “We don’t have to fight it out, though, do we? At least, not on the battlefield.”
“What do you mean?”
“The fight between you and me over France will take place in Catherine’s bed, Bolingbroke.
France will go to whomever Catherine chooses as husband.”
Bolingbroke’s face was now completely expressionless.
“You love her,” said Philip, “and you think she loves you. You think she will conspire with you against me to hand you the crown of France to add to that of England. You think to use me to rid yourself of Joan and then cast me aside.
“But are you still so sure of her, Bolingbroke? Do you truly think that—?”
“I will have Catherine,” Bolingbroke said.
Philip very slowly shook his head. “You can no longer be so certain of that. For the love of Christ, Bolingbroke, she came to my bed on the night you took Mary Bohun to wife. That was vengeance, Bolingbroke, not compliance to whatever intrigue you and she hatched years before!”
“She will not—”
“I offer you a deal, Bolingbroke. Call it a wager if you will. We ally together to destroy Joan.
We both need her dead and gone, along with that faint-hearted idiot whose cause she espouses. True?”
Bolingbroke nodded, his eyes locked into Philip’s.
“Then,” Philip said very softly, “the throne of France. There is no need to fight it out, Bolingbroke. That would be witless. Instead, why don’t we agree to allow Catherine to choose for us? Whoever she picks as husband will take the throne. Once Charles is dead, I Catherine’s marriage bed carries with it the legal right for her husband to be crowned king of France. We let her choose … agreed?”
Bolingbroke sat very still for some time, then he jerked his head in assent.
Philip rose, and held out his hand. “Shake on it.”
His eyes still locked into Philip’s, Bolingbroke also rose, the chair scraping back behind him.
Slowly, he lifted his hand, then grasped Philip’s in a viciously tight grip.
“Catherine chooses between us,” Bolingbroke said, not loosening his grip. He paused, then said, “You have wagered stupidly, Philip, for she will choose me.”
“Remember that she came to me on your marriage night,” Philip said, his voice both soft and hard at the same time. “In my time with her I have given her nothing but honesty, respect and tenderness. What have you given her?”
Bolingbroke’s eyes darkened with anger, and he abruptly let Philip’s hand go.
Philip grinned boyishly. “So, we are allies.”
He walked to a table and poured them both cups of wine, handing one to Bolingbroke. “To your successful rise to the throne of England, and to Joan’s and Charles’ untimely deaths!”
Relaxing slightly, Bolingbroke raised his cup in salute, and drained the wine.
CATHERINE AND Margaret watched as Mary turned away and walked toward the door of the chamber. She swayed slightly as she went, and had to grab at the back of a chair for support.
Margaret made as if to move to her, but Mary shot her a look that froze Margaret where she stood.
Then, taking a deep breath and visibly gathering herself, she straightened her back and walked with sweet dignity through the door.
Catherine and Margaret stared after her for a moment, then Catherine looked at Margaret.
“She is dying.”
Unbidden, Margaret’s eyes filled with tears. “Aye.”
“Hal knows?”
“He knew before he married her. I think … I think he thought she’d be dead by now.”
“Sweet Jesu!”
“She has a malignant darkness in her womb,” Margaret said. “Every so often it appears that she is with child, but she expels only a portion of the mass which has grown too burdensome to bear any longer.”
Catherine turned so that she stared out the window rather than at the door where Mary had disappeared. “How can she bear it?” she whispered. “To think yourself with child, and then to discover that—”
“Mary does not know what she bears,” Margaret said. “We have told her only that she carried
a child that could not live.”
Catherine was still staring out the window with faraway eyes. “What is the greater cruelty?”
she said. “To continually lose the hope of a child, or to have a husband who is so unheedful?”
“There is no point to asking that, for Mary must bear both of them nonetheless.”
Catherine took a deep breath, and looked once more to Margaret. “I am pleased to finally see your face, cousin. For too many years I have had news of you only through our kindred.” She looked to Margaret’s belly. “And to have a child…”
Margaret smiled, although she was still saddened by the effects of Mary’s lingering misery in this chamber. She lifted Catherine’s hand, and placed it on her belly. “Feel. A boy.”
Catherine smiled as well. “A child, and healthy. You are blessed, Margaret.”
Margaret looked carefully at Catherine. “And you, Catherine?”
Catherine’s smile faded, and her hand slipped from Margaret’s belly. “Until I walked into this chamber this afternoon I did not know what I would do. Now…” She sighed again, shifting her eyes away from Margaret.
“Hal did much wrong when he married Mary,” Margaret said. “He thought her only someone he could use, and who would be of no consequence.”
“As I once thought of Philip,” Catherine said softly, staring down at the castle of Gerald the Devil.
Margaret also looked down at the forbidding, silent castle. “Do you know what I think?” she said. “I think that between them Mary and Philip have the power to completely undo Hal.”
Catherine took a long time to respond. When she did, Margaret could barely hear her words.
“And they shall do so through the love that Hal professes, but which he cannot understand.”
Margaret reached out and gripped Catherine’s hand, and for a long time the two women stood there, silent, staring at Gerald the Devil’s murderous abode.
CHAPTER VIII
After Compline on the Feast of the
Transfiguration of Our Lord Jesus Christ
In the second year of the reign of Richard II
(late night Monday 6th August 1380)
— III —
THEY SAT together on the bedcovers they had pulled before the hearth.
Both were naked.
Catherine sat slightly in front of Philip and closer to the fire, and as he ran the fingers of one hand softly down her spine he marveled at the beauty of the flame-shadows chasing themselves over her body.
“What did you and Hal speak of?” she said softly.
His hand trailed to a halt, and when he spoke he answered her only with a question.
“Do you know why I brought you to Gravensteen?”
“You came to see Hal—”
“But why did I bring you}” His hand resumed its slow tracking up and down her spine.
“You brought me to see Hal,” she whispered.
“Yes … and no. I brought you so that Hal could see you.”
“Philip …” She twisted about so she could see his face.
“I needed to know how much he loved you,” Philip said, and slid his hand around her body to caress her breast.
Catherine felt sick to her stomach. “How long have you known?”
“Forever,” he said, and leaned forward to kiss her deeply.
“I—” she said, when he drew back a little.
“You need say nothing,” Philip said, then sat back and dropped his hand from her body. “Hal and I spoke of two things. You … and France.”
Catherine did not speak, but watched him with frightened eyes. Frightened, not because she thought she might be in physical danger, but because she realized that some secret part of her had always hoped Philip would love her … and now the hope of that love was almost
certainly gone.
But why hope for Philip’s love when she loved Hal?
“I said to Hal,” Philip went on, watching Catherine’s face carefully, “that I knew you and he had some secret pact that would give him the French crown.”
Catherine went rigid.
“Why else will you not wed me?” Philip said. “You have given me everything else … but not that. You want someone else as a husband, don’t you? And for a wedding gift you would give him France.”
“I—”
“No! Don’t speak,” Philip said, furious not with her, but with himself for being so close to tears.
Damn her!
“You have set out from the first to use me,” he continued. “Tempting me with the crown when you meant to give it to someone else.”
“I—”
“I said not to speak! Yes, I knew you did not love me, and that you used me for your own ends, and I thought that it did not matter, for I meant to use you as much as—”
“Philip—”
This time he stopped her words with a hard, desperate kiss, and at its end both had tears in their eyes.
“But why did you make me love you?” he whispered when finally he lifted his mouth from hers. “Why be that cruel?”