Hand in Violent Hand

28 - Dowager 1396-1436

Dowager

Queen Isabela of Valois (1389 - 1409)

part 1 - the wedding 4 November, 1396

A great lady.
"I'll be a great lady," I whisper, looking down at the yards and yards of smooth silk fabric. Such a nice dress. They'll all say I look beautiful.
"Of course you shall. You shall be queen my darling, just as God intended," my mother says, checking my hair. I can't move. I'm not allowed to move. "You'll be a good queen."
But I'm frightened. I don't think I'm supposed to be. But I am. I've only seen England on a map. And my staff are quiet. I know I won't come home again.
"I'll never see you again," I say, softly.
"You may. But it doesn't matter. This is your purpose," my mother says, tipping my face up to check my cheeks, "You must stop eating berries. They'll spoil your dress."
"Yes, I'll be beautiful," I whisper. I know that's important. I have to look pretty for everyone. "Why does it matter so much that I'm beautiful?"
"It's what people expect. They won't bother you or think you're clever if you're just beautiful. They'll all be charmed. And you are, very beautiful. You're their queen now. You must shine," she says, adjusting my hair gently.
"I will," I say, softly. I will be perfect. I have to be perfect.
"Then you can control them. They'll worship you. Make them worship you. And you can do anything," she says.
I nod, taking a little breath. This dress is heavy. And I'm scared. I'm scared to leave home. What if I can't do it? What if they don't like me?
"What if I get behind in my lessons?" I ask, "Because of the trip. I have to be a good queen."
"You're six, they don't expect you to have started lessons even. You're fine," my mother says, "You're only ahead because you're clever, in fact don't let them know how clever you are if you can help it."
I nod. There's a lot to remember. "What if he doesn't like me? My husband?"
"You'll make him like you. You're a woman, you can do that. And you have time. It isn't till you're twelve that he comes to your bed," she says.
That means have a baby. I know that. That's part of my job too. I have to have my own babies.
"Understand? I'll write to you then. Till then it'll be just like this, you do your lessons, and learn to be queen, except you're learning to be queen in England, with your people," my mother says, practically, "Now stand still. Let them finish your hair."
I obey, trying not to figet as my ladies fix my dress and I have to be perfect. It tugs a little but I'm used to it. I tip my chin up, looking at the top of the tent we're standing in. Waiting for him to come and collect me.
"You're so good at it," my mother says.
"What?" I resist the urge to chew my lip. That wouldn't be beautiful.
"Being beautiful," my mother says, quietly, "You're lovely."
"Is he going to take me away tonight?" I ask.
"No. In a few days. Don't let on you know English now, it's best to know what they're saying."
I wait in the dim candlelight. It's sunny outside we're out on the lawn. I wanted to do my lessons I'm supposed to do reading now and writing it's relaxing I like watching the ink stain the page so softly and the steady scratch of the pen. I didn't want to miss it.
But he has to come and collect me. I imagine my dolls felt like that at the place that dolls come from. I don't know. My uncle and mother bring them to me. The dolls didn't know they were getting a fine home and nice dresses. Maybe I'll get a fine home too.
The english party arrives, the minstrels are playing. I don't know which one is him. So I stand there still as i can and good and quiet not spoiling my dress. I'll be perfect. I have to be perfect.
One of them steps forward. A man he looks like my father's age. He's wearing the most beautiful clothes. And he does wear a crown, but a little one. My father has one bigger than that. His hair is light red and skin very pale, his look is almost jarring and I don't know why, then I realize it's his eyes. Big and brown, and dark against such fair hair and skin.
He kisses my mother's cheeks and then swiftly kneels before me. He smiles gently.
"I'm Richard, it's nice to meet you Isabela," he says, in neat French.
"My lord," I say, like I'm supposed to.
"Are you ready to come home with me?" He asks.
Taht's not home. This is home.
"Yes, I am," I say anyway, like I'm meant to.
"Good, now we're going to marry, may I kiss your cheek?" He asks.
I nod.
"right then," he smiles, he's smooth shaven, and his smile is gentle it reminds me too little of my father. I think my father should have smiled at me but I can't recall it.
He rises and goes back to speaking with my mother. So I must stand there being pretty as I was. One of my ladies takes my hand. I'm hungry now I want to eat. I don't know when the feast will be.
It's not for hours. I watch the sun on the floor of the tent. I don't mind them all just talking. I want to be ignore it's easier to be hungry then. And then I might be able to eat not like a lady. But Richard gravitates back to me just as they're setting up entertainers and jugglers and things. He kneels next to me, easily, he's very tall yet he just sinks down to my height.
"Do you like the tumblers?" He asks, tapping his hands together oddly.
"I like minstrels best," I say, quietly, after considering if I am allowed to care.
"So do I," he smiles a little, "Do you want me to call you anything but Isabella? Does your family call you something??"
"No my lord," I frown. That is my name.
"Right. Well you can go ahead and call me Richard, I never get to be just Richard as I'm king so everyone calls me 'my lord'. And the like. Even my brothers if we're in public, but we're family now all right?" He asks, holding out a hand. His fingers are long and boney, i can count every bone in his wrist and knuckles.
"All right,"I. Say, putting my hand over his.
"I'll probably start calling you things I give even the dogs several names," he says.
"You have dogs?" I ask, hopefully.
"Yeah you like dogs?"
I nod.
"Well we'll have to get you some dogs then. I've got a pony—nearly picked out for you. I and some very technical people are debating which one is gentlest," he says.
"I don't have a poney yet, not till I'm seven," I say, glancing in my mother's direction.
"Well you can pet it till then, how about that? I go and pet my horses, all the time actually," he frowns.
"I pet the dogs if they're inside," I say.
"Don't you go out to play?" He frowns.
"I'd get dirty, and anyway I have lessons," I say.
"Hm. I'm pretty sure my brothers threw me in a mucky lake when I was six," he muses, still lacing his fingers oddly, "More then once actually."
"I don't. I do lessons, I don't get mucky," I say. That wouldn't be beautiful.
"What are your lessons in? Reading? Maths?" He asks.
I nod.
"Languages?"
I nod.
"scis Latin?" He frowns.
"Etiam i studere eam," I nod.
"Well well, we'll have to keep you challenged," he says, "My cousin, PHilppa, is going to kind of do what your mum does, and make sure you have lessons and toys and things when I'm busy and away—when I'm about you can tell me about them and go hunting well when you're old enough."
"Do you have children?" I ask, quietly. My mother said not to ask. But i want to know.
"No. Ah—my wife and I—God never gave us a child. Never granted me a child not—not till now," he says, but I can tell his smile's forced, "So you'll have to forgive us. And tell us when we're all treating you like one of my nephews and not a little girl. Can you do that?"
I nod.
"Okay," he smiles, "You going to miss home?"
"I'm ready to come learn to be queen," I say, because of course I'll miss home.
"I was born in France you know, and when I was about your age I had to come to England. I was sure I wouldn't like it a bit," he offers, "So I know a bit what it's like and we'll—we'll do everything to make you comfortable all right? If you don't like your rooms or Windsor, then we'll go to one of my other castles. We'll make sure you're at home."
"I shall be," I say. I'm not to let them know I'm frightened.
He nods a little looking down at his folded hands, "let's—let's do this um. What is your favorite game to play? Not your lessons. What do you like to do for fun?"
I'm not supposed to say 'eat'. I shouldn't say anything.
"I like my dolls, and the dogs," I say.
"Well dogs we have covered. And there's going to be a room for your dolls next to yours," he says, "I like to play card games do you know how to play those?"
I nod a little, "Heads up?"
"Yeah you can play with my nieces and nephews, my brother's children ah—we might have to teach you to cheat first," he considers, "They're part Lancaster that means they don't like games they can't cheat at. That's—well that's the Duke of Lancaster I was just talking to."
"I see," I say, even though I don't. I can't tell everyone apart there are dozens of people and all sorts of men he's been talking to I can't tell one from the other. And I can't ask who he means.
There are so many people and I'm so tired. But there's the whole feast and the thought of food keeps me going even if I must eat like a lady. I'll still get to eat some of it.
At the feast my ladies and my mother sits on my one side, Richard on the other. It's a heavily crowded room and the smoke from the torches makes me want to sneeze. I don't dare sneeze. That wouldn't be proper.
Richard gravitates quickly to my side, smiling hopefully and offering a hand to help me into my chair. I take the edge of his delicate sleeve so he won't think I refused him. He's my husband by now I think I can't do that.
All the food smells heavenly, roast lamb, and there's venison somewhere, the pies and cakes are what I want though but they're hard to eat neatly.
"Do you know, what the fox said to the hound?" Richard asks, leaning a bit to whisper it quietly.
I frown, shaking my head no.
"Nothing, foxes don't talk," he says, flatly.
I bite my lip not to laugh, covering my mouth with one hand.
"Finally got a smile," Richard says, smiling fully.
I might like him. He's like my nicer tutors. Not they ever tell me jokes that much. But their smile is like that. It feels safe somehow. I see it in my father's knights. The ones my mother really trust. Like they're trying not to scoop me up and carry me someplace safe. Here isn't safe.
And most of them don't smile like that.
They smile at me like they look at the meat on the table. Something they want to eat up. Something made all pretty for their eyes so they can tear it apart.
"Has she started riding yet?" Richard asks my mother.
"Oh no she's far too little for the ponies," my mother replies, watching as they serve me a plate. Nothing too messy.
"Well her tutors will have everything in hand I'm sure, her room's prepared I know my cousin is chatting with her governess but—," Richard glances at me, "Is there anything else I've not thought of? For her comfort on the trip home."
"No she's travelled before, and you're very brave aren't you?" My mother says, touching my shoulder gently.
"Yes," I say, even though I don't feel brave. I do feel hungry so I eat a small piece of venison as carefully as I can. I don't want to look up at the crowded room. And see them all looking up at me they were. Waiting. Watching for a mistake. I won't make a mistake.
"I'm sure. Is that your favorite venison? I do need excuses to take my brothers hunting," Richard says, leaning over a bit so i can hear him.
I nod a bit, "It's good. I like pies."
"Bet you'll like boar even better, I should organize a boar hunt," Richard says idly.
I don't come. I know that. Ladies don't hunt.
"You can't come this time. Eventually, well we'll start on deer first. Has she been hawking?" Richard asks, hopefully.
"Since she's six no," my mother says.
Ricahrd looks like he's doing complicated maths in his head, as he stares off at the smoky room.
"What your father took you hunting when you were six? Prince Edward wasn't that keen a hunter," my mother scoffs. I guess she knew his father. I guess that's his father.
"Yes. And—well that's not important—yes yes my brothers and I. Well I suppose young boys. Anyway hawking's delightful, we'll go," Richard says.
I nod, that sounds like fun. At least he's saying we'll do fun things. We might not do them.
"That's why you're going to learn to be English," my mother says.
"That isn't english my lady it's entirely his majesty," a man across the table quips idly.
"Yes some of us chose to stay inside hunting retreats for some some reason," Richard says, clearly not annoyed at being contradicted.
"Well there isn't wine in the forest," the man says, raising a cup.
"You can bring it," Richard laughs, leaning back, then he turns his head to me, "My uncle the Duke of Lancaster, and guarder of the wine while the rest of us are out hunting."
"Yes while the athletic people are freezing and muddy you may remain at the keep with my girls, thankfully the lord has blessed me with several," the Duke says.
Richard smiles, taking a sip of his own wine. His plate was served but he's not touched it other than to push the food around with a knife. He sets the fork and knife down now to sip his wine, he hasn't eaten any of it. And the feast is for us.
"Do you like it?" I ask, softly, tapping his elbow gingerly. He doesn't react poorly though.
"What's what's that?" He asks. He repeats words often I don't know why.
"Do you like the feast? You aren't eating it," I frown, "Is food different in England?"
"A bit—ah I hadn't noticed," he says, quickly, "No it's all lovely."
"Not cooked enough?" My mother asks.
"The king isn't fond of food he's not personally hunted, there was no challenge," the Duke intervenes, "Or something of that kind."
"Yes and I'm easily distracted. Speaking of isn't there someone you are watching?" Richard asks him.
"Oh hell I thought he sat down with the others," the Duke says.
"What did we say about incidents?" Richard asks, spinning a hand.
"Right I'll handle it," the Duke snaps his fingers at a waiting footman.
"Problems?" My mother asks.
"My cousin has a uniquely charming personality, for a brief period anyway. There's There's plenty of married women here," Richard says. I don't know what that means, so I look back down at my plate. It's almost empty I've been nibbling. But I'm still hungry. I wanted that pie but no one is giving me any.
Richard must notice that I'm now just looking down at my plate, because he says, "What's your favorite hm? We'll have to tell your cook all your favorite foods."
"I like pies," I say, quietly.
"Do you? I—the best pies I've tasted are in taverns—when hunting we'll we'll stop at a tavern if it looks fine enough and we'll—well after you've been in the woods for hours anything tastes good I suppose but nothing like it,," Richard says, looking about a moment then back to me.
"I'd imagine so," my mother says, "And they know they're serving a king."
"Sometimes—sometimes I don't get recognized. Roger and I were so covered in mud once they didn't want us sitting down," Richard laughs a little, still looking off. He still hasn't touched his food.
"What's your favorite?" I ask, tapping his sleeve again so he knows I'm asking him.
"Favorite what?" He asks, face softening as he looks back down.
"Food," I say.
"I—I really don't—," he shakes his head.
I frown. I thought everyone had favorites it seemed like a good question.
"Honey cakes. Honey. We'd—in Bordeaux there was a bee farm they—it was fresh we had so much the cook would put it on anything," he says, "And—well well have honey in London. I suppose that. I don't know if it counts as food."
"It doesn't," my mother,t the final authority on such matters, says firmly. "She'll eat sweets all the time if they're not paying attention. Children will they grow past it."
"I was going to say we'll have sweets all the time well," Richard says, "No need to grow past it I've got lots of cakes available my—we used to have them every afternoon. But—but anyway no foods make you ill do they? My one little niece will be sick if we let her have any fruits even Cooked."
"No nothing, she's healthy and strong," my mother says patting my shoudler.
"Yes," Richard says, looking away. They told me his last wife died. I thought that might mean he killed her but his face is kind so perhaps not. He doesn't act like he wants to kill me. I know men kill women they talk about it in whispers. That if a girl goes off alone she'd best not get murdered or her virtue taken. I don't know how that happens. And now I'm going off alone. Now I'm scared again.
Richard turns to one of the women who came with him. A tall woman, dark in feature she reminds me of my mother. He says to herr, quietly, "debet esse in hoc sero? Lizzie semper ponit se ad lectum sentit sicut." My Latin is mostly good and I miss a few words. But he's asking if I should be put to bed.
He adds, "nonne semper lectum essemus?" that he always had to go to bed.
the woman smiles, "Mater tua nos de pedibus existimo voluisse, et pater tuus recte assumpsit nos plus iocum habere in cenaculo surgere quam nitide cena." She's amused, thinks that they were put to bed to get them out of the way.
"secundum verum esse potest ipsa cum s s ludit et est sero," Richard says, shrugging a little. He says I might rather go play with my dolls? He kind of mumbled. But it was something like that.
"Yes," the other woman nods.
"Sorry Isabela, habit," Richard says, seeming to realize I was watching him.
I frown.
"We make, a, a habit of speaking in Latin if the conversation isn't for staff ears, or most anyone, nobles can usually read it but hearing it they'll miss most of it. My cousin Phillippa who will be your lady, she and I tend to. Got the habit from my my father he'd speak Welsh to his bowmen, then to his close companions if he need privacy, then english with us children around nobles who aren't going to speak that, or German to his brothers and my mother, it's useful as we're always surrounded by people. If you like you can use Latin or whatever language you're best at with your ladies or me, that way you can tell us you're tired or don't like a meal or are frightened and no one else need know all right?" Richard offers.
"What did you say?" I ask, softly. I understood most of it but I want to know if he'll lie to me.
"I was wondering if it was past your time to go to bed, I feel like nobody left me up this late at your age," he says.
That was basically what they were saying, minus a little bit about them likely going up to play but that's not really important. And he was pointing out I might sooner go play. Which I would.
"You might want to organize your dolls before bed? I know I played with my dogs or friends if I could manage it, when I was was young," he says.
I shake my head no, "I only play with dolls after my lessons."
"She'd be up all night otherwise," my mother puts in.
"Oh-I don't—foresee us being that organized. To be honest," Richard says, wincing, "I do believe in England we're less organized but I'll —I'll get a sample. Philippa you were playing with me becuase we were delightfully unsupervised back then because my father considered two large wolfhounds adequate supervision for six year olds."
"Yes so we're useless," Philippa says, but her eyes sparkle with a smile, "Harry's got kids, I saw you talking to him earlier about probably not doing your father's method as the Queen wouldn't approve?"
"I don't," my mother offers but the english cousins aren't truly listening. Richard's king too he's polite but he's not my mother's subject.
"yes I was—Harry's—Harry's my cousin the Duke's son, eldest," he explains, gesturing to the man across the table from him. The one we spoke to earlier. I can follow this.
"Yeah what'd he say when you asked what his kids did to get them to sleep?" Philippa asks.
"irrumabo, si novi what do you think? He had no idea," Richard says, "I'll ask my uncle—,"
"You sent three suggested schedules and details on the cloth of the curtains I'm not concerned," my mother says.
Again they are more interested in the conversation than with her.
"Uncle, when do your grandchildren get sent up to bed and is there—well you know how my father managed that sort of thing and my mother let him—," Richard spins a hand to indicate his uncle should understand what he's trying to say.
"Yes I'm very fond of your father's methods of supervision as I benefited from them as a boy. My dear Mistress Swynford usually contained them with success if the conversation is when then you're aware we don't sleep in my household," the Duke says.
"Yes I was there I meant the grandchildren—do they get toys and things and sent to a room till they fall asleep?" Richard asks, holding his cup of wine delicately.
"Oh. Yes. As I understand. They're at a fighting age mostly I'm not involved unless their parents agree to lay money on it. I know Lizzie wears them out till they collapse but Harry's lot were more organized though I don't see them with toys. Definitely weapons—,"
"Did you give them the weapons?" Richard asks.
"That's really not important when Harry is this close by and I'm blaming your brother—,"
"So that's a yes, uncle," Philippa says.
"When they were small and came to stay of the two oldest one of them organized and counted and stacked toys and just things, instead of letting the little ones play with them, and then other one was always mucky and we never found out why," the Duke finishes, ignoring their interruptions.
"So that's a yes your grace we'll likely be a bit disorganized. Isabela is going to have to be very strict with us," Richard says, smiling playfully.
"Okay," I say.
He laughs, "So the determination of that was if you're sleepy we'll get you smuggled out of dinner, and none of us are organized enough to stop you if you want to play with my cousins or your pets instead of going to sleep. Does that sound fair?"
I nod. That was pets plural. I'll like having pets. I want what he says to be true. They seem so happy. And I like playing with my dolls everyday I'd like to twice not just once.
"I think I'll like being married to you," I say, leaning a little against his arm.
"I -I like being married to you too," he says, gently putting a hand on my shoulder.