34

BY MID-JANUARY IN THE following year there were signs that King Henry’s attempt to divert attention from the Flemish pretender had failed and the repercussions caused an upheaval in the royal court.

‘Joan, you know your way around the Tower. Will you accompany me to the chapel on the green? I have never been to the people’s church but I believe it is named for St Peter.’ The queen beckoned me from the front of her entourage, which had just disembarked from her barge at the royal entrance by the Cradle Tower and was gathering in the vaulted chamber at the foot of a spiral stair that led up into the palace. This was an entirely unexpected visit, made in the dawn light as the sun rose over the River Thames.

I stepped forward. ‘Yes, your grace. It’s on the other side of the White Tower but not far to walk from here.’

She pulled her fur-lined cloak around her and went to raise the hood. ‘Can you arrange this so that I can see but not be seen? I expect there’ll be a lot of soldiers around and I don’t want to be recognised.’

I fixed the hood so that it hung over her face. ‘That should be fine as long as you keep your head down, my lady, and just follow me.’ I glanced around at the rest of the royal attendants still standing at a discreet distance. Two of them were the queen’s own yeomen guards who regularly stood sentinel at the entrance to her Privy Chamber. ‘Would you not like your guards to accompany you?’

The hooded head shook in denial and she kept her voice low so that only I could hear. ‘No, Joan; I want to go secretly and privately to pray. That is why I don’t want to use the Chapel of St John or either of the oratories in the Royal Palace. Nor do I wish the king to know. He is very worried and distracted and I don’t want to add to his distress. Let us just go quickly together. Perhaps you could tell your mother to instruct the rest to go to my apartments and carry on as if I were there already but not to be disturbed.’

On sudden and unexpected orders from the king we had left Westminster Palace very early, too early for the queen’s chief lady-in-waiting to be up and dressed and so my mother was standing in for her. Moreover we discovered later that Princess Anne had been ordered not to follow the queen to the Tower but to remain in her quarters at Westminster. A deal of haste and mystery surrounded this dawn move to the royal fortress and when the two of us made our way out into Water Lane it was clear from the increased number of sentries on the battlements that the king’s party was already installed. I could just make out his personal standard flying from the highest flagpole.

‘King Henry must have arrived in the dark,’ I remarked, as we were overtaken by squads of soldiers and scurrying clerks heading for the Wakefield Tower and the main entrance leading from the river to the Inner Court. ‘Something crucial must be going on somewhere in the most secure part of the fortress.’

Her voice was somewhat muffled by the hood. ‘Yes, Joan, something very crucial,’ she said and I thought she might reveal more but she fell silent.

We took the gate that led directly onto the green and for once I did not look for ravens in the alder trees as we passed them, heading directly for the little church at the far end. The office of Prime was over and St Peter’s was empty as we made our way up to the chancel, where a carved and painted image of the eponymous saint dominated a small side chapel. Its altar held a beautifully crafted and bejewelled gold reliquary, reputedly containing one of St Peter’s finger bones, and Elizabeth went straight up to kiss it and leave a pouch of coins before it as an offering. I retired to the stone bench set along the outside wall and waited, wondering what urgent matter she was laying before the Apostle and what national emergency had caused the royal couple’s sudden morning flit to the security of the Tower. My guess was that someone or something was posing a new threat to the Tudor throne and I found myself praying silently for the future of the reign on which my family and I so increasingly depended. I also wondered whether Richard had been called to join the king’s deliberations, wherever they were taking place. As I had been serving the queen at Westminster since the Twelfth Night celebrations ended, we had not been in each other’s company for the past week.

When we left the church I managed to get a glimpse of a pair of ravens perched on the battlemented wall that divided the green from the street on which the Mint was located, its chimneys presently smoke-free during the winter lay-off. The birds were clearly a pair because they were busy preening each other. We soon hurried away, however, when our presence attracted attention from a passing troop of archers who began offering us coarse soldierly comments. Had they known they were addressing the Queen of England they might have adjusted their language but Elizabeth simply followed me, head down, as we ducked behind them into the tunnel under the Coldharbour Gatehouse, which led to the Tower’s Inner Court. When she pushed back her hood, the guards on duty in the archway were dumbfounded to recognise her and immediately drew back their pole-arms in salute to let us pass.

The yeoman guard at the entrance to Elizabeth’s Privy Chamber revealed that a messenger had delivered a note for the queen from the king. Freed of the hood’s shadow, I noticed the blood drain from her face when she heard this and she sped off towards her quarters leaving me trailing in her wake. ‘Thank you, Lady Vaux,’ she said as my mother pressed the sealed note into her hands.

‘Have you learned anything about why we’re here, Joan?’ my mother asked in a whisper, keeping her eye on Elizabeth as she read the contents.

‘No, nothing. She just made an offering to St Peter and prayed for a few minutes, but she is obviously extremely worried. We may find out more now.’

But the queen folded the note, saying simply, ‘The king requests my presence in his Privy Chamber. There is news from Flanders.’

She refused the bread and milk my mother offered to break her fast and insisted on leaving at once for the King’s Lodging, a short walk away through a connecting gallery. It was only when I entered the council chamber with her that I realised that my husband was among those seated around the table with the king. Richard rose as soon as he saw that it was me accompanying the queen and fielded a dismissal signal from the king’s own hand as he bowed to greet the queen.

‘I’m afraid you must leave us, Joan,’ he muttered, taking my elbow to escort me to the door. ‘Word will be sent when the queen is ready to leave and I hope I may see you this evening at the Tower House.’

‘What is going on?’ I whispered back. ‘The queen is as tense as a bow-string.’

‘Top secret, Joan, but I’ll probably be able to tell you tonight.’

The queen dined with the king and his councillors and in her lodging her attendants ate a mess of meat and vegetables sent from the officers’ kitchen, but I had little appetite. After the meal I would have liked to have gone to the Tower House but the yeomen guards told me that the wharf area was closed off and required a special pass for access. I hoped Richard would obtain such a pass so that we could go home in the evening and made the excuse of seeking some fresh air in order to return briefly to the alders on Tower Green, hoping to sight more ravens, but none came. Sim was back in Kent and it was obvious that no one was tending the roost boxes he had built or putting out any tempting treats. I feared that my dreams were becoming reality; the ravens were abandoning the Tower and in the king’s council chamber the legend was being fulfilled.

At sunset the queen returned but she was tight-lipped and agitated, picking fault with the arrangements for supper and becoming angry when there were no musicians available to play soothingly for her. I felt relieved when Richard came to request my release for the night and she agreed to it, stressing that she would need me first thing in the morning.

With George, Hal and Lizzie at Halden Hall and Edward occupied at the royal armouries in Southwark, when we reached our house on the wharf we were bombarded with complaints from Pippa, Bess and Winnie about not being able to take their ponies out to the fields behind Tower Hill. ‘The grooms said no one could leave the fortress,’ grumbled Pippa. ‘So we’ve been cooped up in the house all day.’

‘Mistress Brook sent us to make a list of everything in the kitchen store cupboards instead,’ added Bess. ‘It was so boring and then she wouldn’t let me read your copy of The Canterbury Tales, Mother Joan.’

‘Your governess is quite right, Bess,’ I told her sternly. ‘The Canterbury Tales is not for maids of fifteen.’ Bess sorely missed Maria, who had always been her reading companion. I did not imagine that Maria had much time for reading now that she was a mother and a farmer’s wife.

‘If the fortress was not in lockdown I would have banned you from the fields anyway,’ Richard told her. ‘Tower Hill is crawling with troops at present and no place for girls of any age.’

Pippa’s ears pricked at that. ‘Why is that?’ she asked. ‘Are there going to be executions? Can we go and watch?’

Her father’s brow knitted. ‘Not as far as I know – and no, you certainly cannot!’ he growled. ‘Take some cooking lessons from Jake if you’re bored. That at least might be of some help when you have a household to run.’

‘I shall have a cook in my household, unless you marry me to a pauper, Father, like Maria.’ Pippa was becoming quite a little madam.

‘Maria chose that path herself,’ Richard snapped. ‘So behave yourself if you wish to be well dowered.’

At this point I decided to shoo the girls up to bed, being impatient to get Richard to myself and find out what was occurring in the kingdom to cause royal tears. He was pouring himself a second cup of strong wine as we headed for the stairs and I promised myself a cup when I had settled his daughters and ward.

He must have read my mind for he brought the flagon of wine and another cup to our bedchamber in due course and poured my portion immediately. ‘At last!’ he sighed as he handed it to me. ‘This has been a dreadful day.’ He gulped the contents of his cup before putting it down and shrugging off his doublet. ‘I cannot wait to go to bed.’

‘Well, do not give yourself a sore head for tomorrow if there’s another awful day in store,’ I said, taking a large sip.

He bolted the door and came to unbuckle my belt. ‘Let me take your gown, then turn around and I will unlace your kirtle. It will be safer if we muffle our voices behind the bed curtains before I tell you about it. Nothing of what I say from now on must leave this room because I shall be clapped in irons if it does.’

Within minutes we had drawn the curtains around the bed and when I heard what he had to say I was not surprised that he still spoke in a whisper. ‘It seems unbelievable but Perkin Warbeck, the pretender who professes to be Richard, Duke of York, has not only managed to persuade the two most powerful rulers in Europe to endorse him but has also corrupted one of the king’s closest courtiers. Henry refuses to believe it but it seems undeniable that his Lord Chamberlain is guilty of treason.’

I was astounded. ‘Sir William Stanley – a traitor? But he was responsible for turning the tide of battle against the usurper. He practically put King Henry on the throne! Why would he of all people turn coat to York?’

Richard sighed and scratched his head. ‘It would seem impossible. After all he also fought at the battle of Stoke and has sworn loyalty to the king several times since, most recently when he was made a Knight of the Garter. But there is damning evidence. Henry is in a state of shock because Sir William has travelled secretly to Flanders and there is a reliable witness who heard him say that if, when he met him, he was sure Warbeck was King Edward’s son, he would not take up arms against him; which is surely treason.’

‘No wonder the queen is so distressed. She must be torn. Who is this witness?’

‘A man called Sir Robert Clifford. He managed to join Stanley’s covert trip by feigning Yorkist sympathies but is actually a double agent, under the king’s orders. He has just returned and is being held in the Tower for his own protection, hence the tight security. The king has cross-examined him today in the presence of the queen, because of course if this young man really is her brother – well, she loses her status as King Edward’s heir.’

I gasped in disbelief. ‘Dear heaven! What would happen to the Tudor claim – to her husband and children? England will be torn apart again. Is it really possible, Richard?’ I sank the rest of my cup of wine in one gulp.

Richard took a deep breath and expelled it noisily. ‘Who knows? King Henry is convinced Prince Richard died with his brother in the Tower but obviously the lack of their bodies remains a huge stumbling block. Stanley has not yet returned from the Duchess’s court and this whole situation has to be kept under wraps until he does, because he will be arrested as soon as he steps off the ship. Then there will have to be a trial and if he is found guilty of treason there is the question of the sentence. Most of our meeting was spent trying to persuade Henry that the death sentence is essential, if only to discourage other high-ranking men from committing treason.’

‘But the Stanleys command the loyalty of a huge part of England. Surely they will expect the king to commute the sentence.’

‘Not if the Privy Council has its way. By the way, you’ll be interested to know, Joan, that Sir William’s first wife, now deceased, was also the mother of Francis Lovell, the man who organised the failed attempt on the king’s life in York seven years ago and brother-in-law to your brother.’

I narrowed my eyes at him. ‘My goodness, King Henry really married Nicholas into a nest of York vipers, didn’t he!’

He reached out to put a consoling hand on mine. ‘Lucky you married such a staunch Tudor supporter, isn’t it?’

I snatched my hand away. ‘I haven’t forgotten that you practically accused me of being a closet Yorkist for speaking to my brother’s wife at their wedding, Richard. I’m surprised you wanted to marry me at all!’

His smile in return was gleeful. ‘I only did it to please the king,’ he said and rolled over to fling his other arm across me, more or less pinning me down. ‘There was no question of pleasing myself, of course.’

He seemed to have forgotten his exhaustion. I struggled against his obvious intention but only half-heartedly. I used the excuse to myself that I was still hoping to conceive another child but I knew it was wishful thinking. The days of hiding that traitorous piece of jet beneath my tongue were long gone and there was no brother or sister for Hal. However, opportunities for paying our marital debt did not come very often nowadays and when they did I had to admit that I enjoyed them.

Sir William Stanley and the rest of his party were arrested when they stepped off the ship a few days later and he was brought straight to the Tower as a prisoner. I thought it dreadful that his trial was held before his brother, Lady Margaret’s husband, Lord Stanley, Earl of Derby and to everyone’s surprise Sir William admitted his treason, probably expecting his sentence to be commuted to imprisonment. But there was no change of sentence and in a cold February dawn, before the city awoke, he was taken out to Tower Hill and beheaded.

But that did not put paid to Perkin Warbeck – or bring the ravens back to the Tower. The roost boxes sat empty in the trees, neglected in a kingdom in distress. The guardians of the Tower of London had gone. Who knew what would happen to England now?