The duke began to pace the floor. For a moment I feared he was not going to believe me, but something obviously convinced him of my ignoble roots. He began muttering, thinking aloud.
‘Left, has she? I am not surprised. She fled because she is corrupt and greedy, like all the queen’s ladies. However, she will be found and punished for abandoning her charges. But she is unimportant. What I need to know immediately is the whereabouts of the dauphin.’ His voice had risen and his pacing had brought him back to me. Almost casually, he grabbed a handful of my hair and jerked my head upwards, forcing me to look at him. ‘You can tell me that can you not, whoever you are?’
The burst of pain brought tears to my eyes and I thought my scalp would split. ‘No!’ I yelped. ‘I cannot. I am only a nursemaid. The queen came with the Duke of Orleans and took the dauphin and his brother and sister. I do not know where they went.’
‘I do not believe you,’ he snarled, hurling me away from him so that I cannoned into the steel-clad legs of the other man. I felt a fearful crunch in my neck as my head whipped back and tears of pure terror began to course down my cheeks.
‘Do not do that!’ Through blurred vision I saw Catherine hurl herself at the duke’s armoured leg, hammering at the gleaming metal with her fists. I shouted a warning and scrambled forward, but I could not reach her before he did, bending to snatch her up and hold her level with his face, her bare feet dangling helplessly. She was stunned into silence, mesmerised by his predatory glare.
‘You are a little shrew, are you not, Mademoiselle?’ he hissed, eyes glinting with anger.
‘Do not hurt her!’ I screamed in desperation. ‘She is only a child.’
The duke shot me a look of cold venom. ‘When the hawk swoops, it does not ask the age of its prey,’ he snapped. His eyes drilled into Catherine’s, his hooked beak almost touching her nose. ‘Now, little shrew, you tell me where your brother is. I take it you are the dauphin’s sister?’
Catherine stuck out her chin, her mouth clamped shut. His cruel treatment had brought out her stubborn streak and I feared the result. ‘She is not yet four, my lord,’ I protested. ‘How can she know anything? These two are only babes.’
The duke sneered. ‘I have children and I know that they understand a great deal more than you think.’ He shook Catherine so that her head wobbled alarmingly. ‘Is that not so, little shrew? You know where they have gone.’
‘Chartres!’ Charles’ high lisping treble rendered the word almost indecipherable, but it diverted the duke’s attention and he dropped Catherine in a heap on the floor beside me. I clutched her to me, sobbing.
Now the ducal gaze focused on Charles whose thumb, as always in times of stress, had gone to his mouth. The duke bent and wrenched it out, gripping the small wrist so fiercely that Charles let out a wail of anguish. ‘Silence!’ roared Burgundy, pushing the little boy towards his armoured companion. ‘Did he say Chartres, Deet? Make him say the word again.’
‘No!’ I screamed as the man pulled Charles towards him. ‘He did say Chartres. The queen said they were going to Chartres! That’s all we know.’
With sudden and vicious momentum, the duke swung round and swiped my cheek with the back of his hand in its studded gauntlet. Stars exploded in my head and I fell back against the bed, gasping with shock. ‘You stupid slut!’ I heard him shout through the ringing in my ears. ‘Why didn’t you tell us that straight away?’ He began to issue orders to the man he had called Deet. ‘Get the men mounted immediately. We can be sure that the queen will not hurry. She will have rested overnight at Melun. But they must not reach Chartres. We will cut them off at Étampes. Go, man! I will join you very soon.’
My head was still spinning but I managed to haul myself to my feet as Charles was abruptly released and ran to my arms. My cheek was burning and the unfamiliar taste of blood was in my mouth where my teeth had cut the inner flesh.
Behind his hawk-like beak, Jean of Burgundy’s grey eyes glittered, fixed not on my face but on my unlaced chemise and my breasts, scarcely covered by the thin cloth. I felt blood dribble from my cheek and mingle with the sweat running cold between them.
‘Let that be a lesson to you, slut,’ he sneered, moving towards me.
His gaze was like an obscene caress and my skin crawled. Slowly, he removed the gauntlet from the hand which had struck me and from its bristling surface he flicked a scrap of what I assumed was my own torn flesh. Without the glove I could see that his hand was white and soft and I cringed, thinking he was going to grope me. The thick, sweet smell of him was nauseating.
‘Name, slut?’ The repetition of the insult was effective in reducing me to an object, without free will.
I heard myself say in a croaky whisper, ‘Guillaumette,’ and immediately regretted it. Why had I told him the truth? The unusual name marked me out. Why hadn’t I said Jeanne or Marie and been lost in the crowd?
His let his hand hover over me and a cruel smile twisted his lips as he relished my mounting terror and disgust. Then, instead of reaching downwards to grope my breasts as I feared he would, he let his fingers linger briefly on my battered cheek. When he withdrew them, they were red with my blood. My gorge rose as I watched him push them one by one into his mouth and suck them clean. His action struck me as so revolting that it was all I could do not to vomit over his steel-clad feet.
‘Not noble blood but sweet enough,’ he conceded, smacking his lips. ‘Unfortunately I have no time to savour it now but I will remember – Guillaumette, the slut …’
He slipped the gauntlet back on and his mood immediately became businesslike. ‘There will be changes here. The king’s affairs must be put in order. I will leave a guard on these royal children. See that they do not venture out.’ Then he turned on his heel and was gone. His threat echoed in my head, ‘I will remember – Guillaumette …’
Catherine stared after him, her pretty little face twisted into an expression of loathing. ‘Who is that man, Mette?’ she asked in a thin, fierce voice.
‘That is the Duke of Burgundy,’ I told her, struggling to control my voice.
‘He is a bad man,’ she responded, her voice rising in passion. ‘I hate him, hate him, hate him!’
Young though she was, I often wondered if Catherine had a premonition about the Duke of Burgundy. It was many years before she was to encounter him again, but his image was to haunt her dreams as vividly as mine.
To my surprise, most of the palace servants saw Burgundy’s arrival as a boon and it must be said that he did impose some much-needed order. The sight of the Burgundian cross of St Andrew fluttering on every tower and gatehouse alongside the royal lilies made me feel distinctly uneasy, but it held no sinister overtones for the mass of scullions, chamberlains and varlets, who were only too happy to start pocketing regular wages for a change. In the nursery we even received a visit from a household clerk enquiring after our needs and, amazingly, within hours the children received new clothes, two tire-women arrived to scrub the floors and stairways and decent food and hot water were brought to us regularly. Several luxury items were also brought to the children, including a beautiful miniature harp which had apparently been sent to Charles months ago by his godfather, the Duke of Berry. It seemed that Burgundy’s agents must have caught up with la Bonne and le Clerc and recovered the goods they had looted. Having felt the violence of the duke’s anger myself, I shuddered to think what punishment had been meted out to that thieving pair.
The children liked the new clothes and the better food and didn’t associate them with the terrifying encounter in the governess’ chamber. They hardly noticed that there was now a double guard on the nursery tower and that armed soldiers shadowed us whenever we ventured out for fresh air, but I certainly noticed these things, for I became a virtual prisoner, unable to visit Jean-Michel or my parents. Consequently, it was some time before I discovered what had been going on in the outside world.