Chapter Seventeen
February 1405: Westminster Hall
Bright in my mind, unbidden, came memories from the past. The personal attacks against Edward by Henry’s first parliament, the howl for vengeance, and here was Henry preparing to subject me to the same horror. Henry had decided, in his regal wisdom, to make an example of me. I was brought to the Great Hall, a guard on either side, to stand before the great lords of the realm, the ranks of eyes focused on me. If the intention was to cow me, to shout my insignificance in this vast space, it was successful. I was a prisoner, at their mercy like any condemned animal. Except there would be no mercy. I was guilty. I must accept and bow my head to the inevitable.
Braziers lit for warmth, the taint of rancid herbs rose from satins and furs to smother my senses while Henry took his seat at the head of the table. I would not look at him, knowing that, notwithstanding my own culpability, this was a deliberate ploy to intimidate me and send a message to the ranks of would-be rebels throughout the country. If I, the King’s own cousin, were to be punished with an execution, it would deliver a hard message to all those who might consider another conspiracy, another plot. I would not be allowed to escape justice. If Edward’s culpability could not be proved five years ago, mine needed no hard proving. The leniency after the Revolt of the Earls would not be repeated.
A desire to laugh rose in my throat. How had I ever expected mercy when Somerset had caught me in mid-flight in company with the Earl of March? Perhaps I did not deserve mercy. Someone must pay for the deaths of those who had fought for me; there was no excuse that could exonerate me.
That knowledge sank its teeth into me, my blood as cold as my feet in the soft shoes I had put on. It was February and the Great Hall was so chill that I could see my breath in soft puffs of air. The massed Councillors were muffled in their furs, damply shuffling on their seats in discomfort. Perhaps they hoped it would be a short meeting, with no other business but my condemnation. My hearing might be brief and very final.
From where I was told to stand at the foot of the table, I looked round, masking terror beneath a perfect confidence, my face still. Some would say that it was arrogance, but I was of rank equal to that of the man who faced me, who wore the crown. Emotion was forbidden as I assessed the company summoned to bear witness to my downfall.
There was Edward, robed and magnificent, head bent in some discussion with his neighbour. And Edmund, newly come to the Royal Council, stern-visaged, hair as black as a crow’s wing, a frown in his eyes as he studied the carved angel hovering on the opposite roof beam. My heart clenched at his lack of acknowledgement even as I accepted the inevitability of it. A woman accused of treason could not expect friendly overtures, even from a man who was her lover. Who had once been her lover.
And then when I had all but given up any hope, he turned his head, his gaze resting on my face. All I could read there was rejection. He had warned me and I had ignored his warning.
I looked away from him, as if I were unmoved.
To my right sat John Beaufort, Earl of Somerset, who had been my undoing. Sir John Pelham who had been given control of the Earl of March. And then all the other faces that I knew so well. Sir Roger Winterton who as Henry’s friend would damn me out of hand. There was no compassion to be found here. I could expect none and thus must fight for my life. But would anyone fight for me? Would I be forced to face the prospect of my death alone on this day? There was only one means of escape for me. It was risky, it was unprincipled, but it might be my only hope.
At last I looked at the King. Beside him sat his heir, Prince Hal. I bowed my head in acknowledgement of Henry’s regard. I did not smile. I thought I would never smile again. My face was frozen into immobility.
Henry had already begun his campaign against me. He had kept me solitarily confined for four whole days, during which I was allowed no visitors, only a serving maid, not one of my own women, to answer my personal needs. I did not know if any asked to see me. Thus he had isolated me in my comfortable prison, allowing the fear to build without comfort or advice. But it had given me the opportunity to prepare for this ordeal. My appearance was one of thorough preparation, all traces of my flight and humiliating return obliterated beneath damask and sable and fine linen. If I were to be condemned, there would be no doubt in anyone’s mind that I was royal. Pride must come to my aid.
A murmur, a rustle of silk. So we would begin. There was no seat for me: they made me stand to face my judges and their justice.
‘We are met here on this auspicious day at the behest of our King to celebrate the defeat of this heinous plot against his state, and to enquire into the attempt to take the Earl of March and his brother from the royal household and deliver them into the hands of one of our most dangerous enemies, the Welsh rebel Owain Glyn Dwr.’
The accusation was made by Sir John Pelham. Who better to choose than such a keen legal mind? Unctuously smooth, the accusation rolled on in its dry legality.
‘The plot was foiled at the hands of one of our number, the Earl of Somerset.’ He bowed to John Beaufort who remained unmoved. ‘Lady Despenser is brought here to answer for her part in the despicable conspiracy to tip this country into the horrors of renewed civil war. A situation we have already faced and defeated. This is even more worthy of our contempt since the lady is the close cousin of the King. She is here in our midst to await our sentence on her.’
He drew a breath as he turned to me while I felt the weight of displeasure from every lord and cleric in the hall. With such a burden of sin against me, how could any man have compassion? And all of it true.
‘Here are the charges against you, my lady.’
They were read out, brief and succinct. I mentally absorbed each one.
Treason. Subverting the loyalty of the royal household at Windsor. Creating the means of escape for Edmund Mortimer, Earl of March. Spiriting him away to the Despenser lands in Wales where my tenants were already armed and ready for rebellion. A proposed alliance with Owain Glyn Dwr and the Percy Earl of Northumberland. An invitation to the French to send troops. Sir John’s knowledge of the plot was superb. I wondered how it had become so detailed. It was also quite damning, raising a sharp-tongued discordant jangling of comment and accusation from the Lords. I doubted there was one voice offered in my favour.
Then all lapsed into silence. They were waiting for me. I had not realised.
‘What is your reply, my lady? Can you invalidate any of the accusations?’
It was in my mind to remain silent. To deny my complicity by my absolute denial of their authority to judge me. Let them do their worst, but they would get no cooperation from me. Yet how could I stand in silent denial without making a mockery of my situation? I had been caught truly red-handed in the company of the Mortimers and there was the Earl of Somerset who could testify to it. I had employed the locksmith. It had been my coin that had bought the silence of the guard. My involvement was as clear as if written in blood on the stones at my feet. I wondered what had happened to Milton. Was he already dead?
My only hope was Edward. Would Edward protect me? Would he leap to my defence, as any wild creature would stand between death and its young? But what could he say that would not incriminate himself?
I must accept the responsibility for it. Silence was not an option for me. I raised my chin, becoming aware, in that moment of defiance, that Edmund was watching me.
‘It is true,’ I replied with a clarity which must reach every ear. ‘I helped the Mortimers to escape from Windsor. I knew of Owain Glyn Dwr’s part in the scheme.’ But I would not shoulder the blame for that which I had not known, the worst of the scandal. ‘I was not aware of the invitation to French troops. I would never concede to that.’
It would not save me, but it needed to be said to put a single feather in the scale against the weight of my guilt.
Sir John merely wafted my feather aside. ‘Regardless of your ignorance, this is treason, my lady.’
‘Yes, it is treason.’
‘The penalty for treason is death.’
‘Yes. It is death.’
How easy I was making this for my accuser. I had no arguments to make to add to that feather. The scales were tilted outrageously against me.
‘You do not even have mitigating circumstances for your involvement, my lady. The Mortimer boys are not of your direct blood. This was interference, to further your own ambition, to harm our lord the King.’
I could sense the shuffle of agreement.
‘No. I have no blood connection except a distant one through my own cousin Philippa of Clarence.’
‘It does not assuage your guilt.’
The nails into my coffin were being hammered more firmly by the minute. It astonished me how calm I could remain under such an attack with the outcome so clear. Would I be so controlled if I had to step onto a scaffold and face the axe? I might be tested to that ultimate fate.
I shivered a little beneath my furs.
Sir John had turned to the King and bowed. ‘It seems that we need no more time to decide this unfortunate case against Lady Despenser, who has given her assent to her involvement. Do we give judgement, my lord?’
Now I bit down on that harsh surge of panic. Would no one speak for me? Edward, chair pushed back, was studying the toes of his shoes beneath the table. Edmund had his eyes on the King.
Again the evidence against me was repeated in all its horror.
‘You instigated a plot to usurp our King, my lady. You were involved in negotiation with our enemy the French to send troops. You were in league with the Welsh Prince to invade the border. The evidence stands for itself. Have you nothing to say, my lady?’
Why repeat this evidence again and again? Momentarily I closed my eyes against the incriminations and willed my brother to speak for me, to drop some small word to my credit, or I would assuredly meet my death. My tongue refused to form the words in my mouth. If I spoke out, I would damn him too. He could not save me without admitting his own guilt.
Sir John leaned forward, one palm flat on the table, as if commanding me to speak.
‘Were there others in the plot with you, my lady?’
So here it was, like the gentlest slap against a cheek to bring a sleeper into full wakefulness. So that was what they wanted to know. There was an urgency behind the soft question.
‘If you will tell us, it may be that the King will show some leniency. It is thought that you, a woman, would not have been alone in this. How could you have negotiated the alliance with France and Glyn Dwr alone? Who worked with you, my lady? Who was it who inveigled you into taking part?’
They were offering leniency. They would pardon me if I betrayed Edward. It was as if my lips were incapable of parting. I could not, dare not, reply.
Sir John cast a glance, in no manner innocent, towards my brother.
‘Perhaps I should help you, my lady. There have been rumours that the Duke of York was not unaware of this plot. Is that true?’
The resulting silence could be sliced and chopped with a blunt sword.
‘Is it possible, my lady, that his grace the Duke was the instigator? That he used family loyalties to win your compliance? He would need someone with unquestionable entry to the royal household at Windsor. Your son was there. You were the obvious choice. Is that how it was?’
Before I could respond, there was movement on the dais beside the King, when Prince Hal rose to his feet and spoke out.
‘It seems unlikely, sir. A mere empty rumour. I will speak for York who has been praiseworthy in his service to the crown in Wales over recent months, working at my side to keep the rebels in check. I detected no treason in him.’ The Prince’s face was as implacable as his father’s, and even though his voice still held the light timbre of youth, the wound granted him a malevolence with the banding of light from the upper windows. Nor was he satisfied but continued to turn the knife in the wound he had just created. ‘Why would he be involved in so nefarious a scheme, risking the King’s displeasure? I would say that the Duke has no involvement in whatever his sister chose to do. Lady Despenser has, unfortunately, an unenviable reputation.’
So young and ignorant. Or so damnably manipulating.
And I felt the first ripple of anger. The Prince would ride to my brother’s protection, praising him to the heavens, but would condemn me in the same breath. Some might question my brother’s veracity since he had a reputation for treading his own path, but would they grant me leniency? To my left Edward’s face became creased by a smile of studied charm as he too rose to his feet. Of course he would take the praise and none of the blame. The anger within me became a fury rising up to all but choke me when Edward replied, bowing to the King.
‘It pleases me that my loyalty to you is recognised, my lord, by your gracious son. I will continue to serve you to the end of my days.’ His eyes slid to rest on me. ‘I deny any rumour of treason.’
Complete and utter hopelessness was there in that vast space, to press me down to the slabs of worn stone. I should have expected it, but why did it hurt so much? Edward, the one source of affection in my growing years, who had encouraged me, laughed with me, saved me from loneliness. Once I had thought we were the closest of friends, that I could trust him with any of my hopes and fears. He had supported me through a loveless marriage and the previous treacheries. Now he had urged me to participate in his plan for York greatness, before so casually denying me.
I could not look at him, those familiar features that had called on my family loyalty and duty and then abandoned me. I was choked with ire. And fear. With hot terror. Who could I trust? He had destroyed the only firm foundation of my young life. He had cast my affection, albeit mired in past treasons, into the gutter and stamped upon it.
I had always known his ambition, his putting self before loyalty to a cause. His glib and smiling tongue that hid a rapacious desire to wield power. I had always known, but I had not expected this.
Or perhaps I had, which made the hurt course through me with menacing power. The candles shimmered before my eyes so that my balance was all but over-set, so that I must clench my fists, my nails dug hard into my palms, the physical pain bringing me back to the present. But Edward’s attention was no longer on me. He swung round to address the gathering which seemed to me to be hounds baying for blood. He stirred them further.
‘Lady Despenser was alone in this plot, my lords. Through her wide connections she was able to create the release of the boys. Hers is the blame. Who knows what powers she had to make contact with France and the Welsh traitor? Hers is the cupidity. She has no reply for the accusations. Therefore, my lords, we must consider her punishment for—’
‘No.’
A single clear word that clove through the utter repugnance now directed at me. I could not, would not, take all the blame. If no one would speak for me, then I must protect myself. I would stir up these dusty, opinionated, pompous lords. I would shock them to their embroidered boots.
‘No,’ I repeated. ‘I was not alone in the plot. I was not the instigator. How indeed would I hold negotiations with France or Glyn Dwr? I have not the power or the connections to win them to a conspiracy.’ I ran my tongue over dry lips, for here must be my confession. ‘Yes, I arranged the escape of the Earl of March. I paid the locksmith and bribed the guards. But I deny full complicity. It was my hand, my money that opened their door of captivity for I believed that they deserved freedom. Why should they remain incarcerated for the rest of their lives?’ It sounded virtuous to my own ears, and perhaps there was some truth in it. ‘I will admit my fault, my treason if you will, but it went no further than that. I would never invite a French army into England.’
Edward’s reply was ingratiatingly formal. ‘So who is to blame, my lady?’
I had come so far. I would put the blame where it should lie. I would not be so betrayed. Anger drove me on. I could not contemplate that Edmund had been as silent as a grave. No one had come to my rescue.
Never having felt so alone under the blind eyes of the carved angels and the all-seeing, all-assuming eyes of the lords, with more than a hint of drama, and quite deliberate in its execution, I pointed an accusing finger as I spoke the unforgiving, and perhaps unforgivable, words.
‘I had no part in the devising although I aided the outcome. My brother the Duke of York devised the plot and laid it out before me.’
Edward’s eyes, unfathomable, for the first time lifted to mine as Sir John responded.
‘I would suggest to you that the Duke of York makes an easy target, my lady. My lord Prince Henry has spoken for him.’
‘If there is treason here, he is the perpetrator.’ There had been a sneer in that smooth voice, which made me add, when I had not intended to: ‘It is not the first treason that York has planned, in which I had no part. Are you aware? For I have been made so. There was a conspiracy to assassinate the King on the road to Eltham for the Christmas festivities. He would be waylaid and left dead in a pool of blood.’
Henry did not look altogether surprised.
I would make them sit up, all these sanctimonious lords.
‘Why should you not believe it? Oh, it was a dangerous proceeding, but there were contingencies. If the attack failed, the walls of Eltham could be scaled by assassins.’
Eyes widening, Henry looked round as if for confirmation. ‘We have heard naught of this. Do we believe it?’
I saw Edward’s face set a little around his mouth. So I had discomfited him and I enjoyed it. But the sneer of Sir John Pelham was joined by a smirk. As for Edmund, he sat silent and motionless, as he had since I had first entered this chamber.
‘And perhaps if that was unsuccessful,’ Sir John added, ‘our lord the King would be murdered at his prayers, or at his bath? There are so many possibilities for an imaginative mind.’
A murmur of laughter. They did not believe me. Better to blame a woman, steeped in original sin, than one of their own.
But Henry, not inclined to laugh, raised his hand for silence. ‘I think, my lord of York, that you must answer this accusation.’
Edward stood again.
‘Indeed, my lord. Most willingly.’
‘Did you know of this plot to rescue the Mortimers?’
‘Yes, my lord. I admit that I did.’
There was just the slightest hesitation of breath in the room.
‘So you were involved.’
‘No, my lord. It was never my doing. I fear that Lady Despenser is mistaken.’
‘If you were aware of it, why did you not make it known?’
It seemed to me that Edward’s skin had paled but his reply was immediate. ‘I never thought it would happen. How could a woman have the power to create such havoc? If I was wrong, my lord, I ask forgiveness for my lack of judgement when dealing with my own sister.’ He bowed to Henry. ‘Lady Despenser was quite capable of such an upheaval to the peace of our country.’
‘And the plan to climb over the walls of Eltham, your grace?’ Pelham persisted.
‘Do I look as if I would?’ He spread his arms in pure display, as vain as any popinjay. ‘As if I could. Lady Despenser is misinformed.’
Laughter fell on him as a blessing. He was superbly and expensively clad from his soft-crowned hat with its costly jewel to his scarlet leather shoes, a man of means and today a man of leisure. It spurred me into personal confrontation, when I had vowed that I would not.
‘Why would you have to climb yourself, Edward, to achieve the murder you desired? It would be possible for you to pay someone to do so, while you remained innocent. As you claim your innocence here today by naming me the sole transgressor.’
My use of his given name, when he had been so deliberately formal, made this more than personal. But Edward sighed, superbly theatrical, addressing the magnates as if he were a mummer of great skill, and I recalled him donning costume and mask to act out some dramatic scene in Twelfth Night festivities. St George or the Devil himself. His words were a cold dousing of my anger:
‘Here is the truth of it, my lords. I knew about the plot. My sister asked for my compliance, which I refused. It was I who forewarned King Henry of it, knowing of what my sister was capable. This allowed my lord Somerset to take steps to stop it. As for this accusation of assassination, I deny such a felony.’
Sir John addressed the King. ‘Is it true, my lord, that you received warning of the plot from his grace of York?’
Henry was cautious in his reply. ‘I received a warning, certainly, when I was at Kennington, news that the boys had gone, which enabled me to send my brother of Somerset to check the flight of Lady Despenser. The source was unclear but it came by royal courier and thus I presumed it came from my own household.’
Edward smiled self-deprecatingly. ‘I sent a messenger. Perhaps the source of my warning went astray, my lord. Or perhaps my messenger met up with your courier who, under the royal seal, carried the news for both that the boys had been secreted out of the castle.’
So horribly believable. His soul was as black as hell, as dark as any winter’s moonless night.
‘Then we are left to judge the truth of this as it stands.’
Sir John addressed the chamber as a whole, palms raised to appeal to their sense of rightness, so that I saw it all emerging in their rapt demeanour, a spell cast by my brother. They would send me back to my chamber. They would deliberate in my absence and declare me guilty. My brother’s reputation might be far from spotless, but I knew that not one of his fellow Councillors would condemn him on my word, not with the Prince speaking out for him and the King oblique in his comment.
I swept the room with a glance that was a challenge. There were few who would meet my gaze, perhaps from embarrassment, and those who did mocked me. Except for Edmund, who finally took my stare and held it. I could read nothing there. Long ago I had given up all hope of his aid. Edward’s rejection and Edmund’s deliberate isolation merely threw me back on my own devices. So I would seize the only course open to me, dishonourable as it might be judged by these self-promoting lords. I would stir this moribund gathering to life at the point of a sword. Astounded at my own audacity I spoke out, addressing the King.
‘I will not be found guilty of complicity on my brother’s words, my lord. The guilt does not fall at my feet alone.’ I took a breath to demand what no woman had ever demanded. ‘I ask for a judicial duel, my lord, to prove my innocence. To prove my worth against that of my brother. I challenge his grace of York to a duel.’
Which stunned the room. Challenges were issued by the throwing down of caps, resulting in a heated exchange of opinion. I had resorted to force of arms.
‘A trial by combat, my lady? So you will take up arms against his grace?’ Sir John queried as if he could not believe his ears.
There was the laughter again, perhaps in relief, while I, committed now, vented my scorn, my sneer a mirror of his.
‘I ask for a champion to come to my aid and fight in my name.’
Silence. Not even an indrawn breath. All I could hear was the rustle of some bird above my head, perhaps a dove that had become trapped within the Hall. I was trapped too but I would fight for my rights before the law.
‘Is there no man here who will come to my aid as any knight errant to fight for his lady’s honour? Is every man here so certain of my sole guilt?’
My breathing was shallow as I willed just one of the lords to commit himself in my name. I tried not to notice the curl of Edward’s mouth; it hurt too much. As for my own champion who had once promised to be the most chivalrous knight when I called on him – would not Edmund offer his sword in my name? If he loved me, he would come to my succour, in some token knightly gesture, despite my admitted guilt.
I could see only his profile turned from me; elegant and austere and closed to me.
He would not. Whatever the rumours of our relationship, he would not spread further news of it, as we might spread sweet herbs amongst the rushes for mocking feet to tread upon, and I felt cold once more replacing the heat of my anger, spreading from my head to my hands, the rings on my cool fingers becoming loose. This was the man who had offered me marriage and the worship of his body. He too was abandoning me so that he would remain anonymous and without shame.
‘Will no man offer his sword?’ I asked again, my eyes fierce, my voice echoing in the still air.
‘I think there is none, my lady.’ I flinched at the pity in the King’s reply. ‘Your honour has become a questionable entity.’
And then there was a movement at the door where some squires and pages had collected while their lords were so engaged, and a figure strode forward, to stand beside the table at Edward’s left hand.
‘I will answer the lady’s challenge. I will fight as the lady’s champion.’
A light voice. A smoothly innocent face.
‘I know not your name,’ I said, heart leaping but not in relief.
‘I am William Maidstone. I am a squire to his grace of York.’ He bowed to the assembly. ‘The lady should not go unchampioned.’
‘There is no need,’ I said. He was so very young and no doubt suffering from his first dose of chivalry.
‘There is every need. I challenge his grace of York to a duel.’ He drew his sword from his scabbard. ‘Now or at a time of his own choosing. May I be called to justice if I fail to prove the lady’s innocence.’
I did not know him as one of the many young men of Edward’s household. I could have wept. This brave boy, this foolish boy, who had barely grown his first beard. He would fight for me, and would surely be beaten into the ground. My brother might be thickening around the waist but he was a knight who could ride second to none and wield a sword and lance with skills he had learned before this boy was even born. I could not allow William Maidstone’s defeat to compound all the other disasters of this day.
I raised my hand to halt the challenge. But William Maidstone’s voice rang out again. He was caught up in the moment, his face flushed, his voice unsteady in his enthusiasm.
‘Will you meet me, your grace, and we will prove where the truth might lie? I swear your sister would not disparage your reputation without good cause.’
As I thought: a severe case of courtly love from a youth brought up on the tales of King Arthur’s brave knights, even at the expense of risking his own office of squire with my brother. The boy’s face was aglow with it, the foolish adoration. To my horror, Edward drew his sword from its gilded scabbard that I had once worked for him over a long winter. I could not be responsible for this boy’s death or maiming, even though to refuse his championship would dent his pride. He would recover from that.
‘I accept your challenge.’ I heard Edward, unable to believe that he would do so. But his own honour hung on it.
‘Will you fight now, your grace?’
‘Why not? There is space for me to defeat you speedily enough. Why not here?’
Edward was already pushing back his chair, the grating of wood on stone harsh, but no less harsh than the outcry from the assembled lords, caught up in the drama as the squire and his lord prepared to do battle.
‘Why not? Because it is not my wish that this unwarrantable challenge should proceed further.’ A new voice. The King had stepped down from the dais to stand between challenger and challenged. ‘I refuse the challenge and its answering. There will be no combat here, no bloodshed. I have heard the evidence and I will make the judgement. Take Lady Despenser back to her accommodations. I will give my decision on the morrow.’ And because there was some compassion within him: ‘Take this not to heart,’ he said to the squire. ‘Your bravery is noted and my refusal is no comment on your stance on this. My lord of York, I will be grateful if you wait on me tomorrow after Mass. I will settle matters to my own satisfaction.’
And thus I was led out of the Great Hall. At the door I stopped, and before the guards could chivvy me along, I turned my head and looked back to where I knew he was sitting. Edmund Holland, already standing, bowed to me. It meant nothing. It meant everything. His silence throughout had been a condemnation. In the end, how effortless it had been for me to destroy his love.
Another night in which I did not sleep. I remained seated by the window, watching the dawn break and winter light gradually fill the room. Slowly my surroundings took shape. The outline of the bed, a coffer by the wall. The figures on the tapestry emerged, all familiar to me. But my mind and thoughts remained rigidly centred on that one certainty after Edward’s betrayal: Henry would demand the ultimate punishment. There was, it seemed to me, no future for me to envisage. All hung on Henry’s whim and the persuasive tongue of my brother, my brother who would meet with him after Mass only to reiterate that he bore no guilt in the Mortimer affair. I had learned the hard lesson, again and again, that Edward was not to be trusted. He was as lethal and slippery as an eel that refused to be caught to be cooked, escaping the cook’s hatchet, to slither beneath the door. He would bargain for his own life but not for mine.
As for Edmund, silent, reproachful, I refused to allow any vestige of him to creep into the shadows of my room. If he had tried to see me, I would have refused. What could I say to him? I could imagine what he would say to me. Edmund’s wordless denial had been as wounding as Edward’s vocal rejection.
Stretching out my hand, I touched my fingers to the livery collar that lay, gleaming softly, on the coffer beside me. I would never wear it again, unless I took it to my execution in a gesture of hopeless defiance. Where would I face my end? Now this I could envisage. On Tower Hill? I found myself hoping that Henry would allow me more privacy, but privacy was not the design behind the public execution of a traitor. I would be put on show, a royal pawn to ensure the loyalty of a restive country. Constance of York, Lady Despenser, a royal traitor. I hoped the chroniclers made good comment of my courage in adversity.
My mind slid inconsequentially. Had Thomas died with courage? Had he shouted for mercy when his gold coins were rejected as insufficient to save his life? I did not know.
I had a visitor. A light footstep following the rattle of the key in the lock.
‘Don’t lecture me,’ I ordered as she walked into the room, the door closed behind her by the guard who stood outside. After my behaviour at Windsor, Henry had given trenchant orders. This time I had neither key nor gold nor a willing locksmith.
‘I would not,’ Joan replied, taking a seat to face me. ‘How did you know it was me?’
‘Who else would come and visit me in my ignominy?’ The bitterness in my voice appalled me. ‘Who would be allowed past the guard but a woman?’
‘Well, I thought you might need my company. If you will snap at me I will go away.’
‘I’m in no mood for gossip.’
It horrified me that Joan’s kindness should be rewarded by no more than a snarl of rejection. There was no kindness left in me.
‘Then I will sit quietly until you decide to speak to me.’
Which she did with habitual ease, hands folded in her lap, still little more than a grey outline against the dense mass of the wood panelling. She had not removed her cloak, although she had pushed her hood back from the padded roll that confined her hair. How dissimilar we were, Joan in all her complacency while I seethed with inner rage, yet still she had chosen to come to me in this black hour before my sentence was pronounced.
‘At least you haven’t brought me one of your cats for company.’
‘You do not know what I have in a basket beyond the door. Cats make good company when one is in distress. Do I bring it in now?’
‘No!’
I saw the glint of her teeth in a smile. ‘But no, I haven’t. I doubt you will be here for long.’
I was aghast and must have shown it, despairing that, after a sleepless night, my control was compromised.
‘I did not mean death!’ she assured.
Perhaps she had. But her furious denial made me laugh, shaking me from my melancholy. I stood, then cast myself onto the cushioned window seat beside her. At close quarters she looked well. I suspected that she looked far better than I.
‘It was the worst thing that you could possibly have done,’ she said. ‘Had you no sense of what the outcome would be?’
‘Apparently not.’
I shrugged, reacting as my sleeves shifted against my cold flesh. I was about to receive the lecture after all and resented it. It was one thing for me to admit it; it was quite another for Joan to coat my guilt with a further layer.
‘I never did like your brother, however hard he tried to get under my guard,’ she stated. ‘I certainly did not trust him.’
But I had, when I was young. Or at least I had closed my eyes to his faults. He had been the certainty in my life while I had been smitten with admiration for a glorious older brother. I was a poor maker of choices, a poor judge of character, it seemed. Even after his terrible volte-face over the Revolt of the Earls I had let him back into my affections, because, with shared delusions, shared dreams that would never be fulfilled, Edward remained the one fixed entity in my life.
‘I will not be believed, will I?’ I said.
‘I doubt it. Your reputation is tarnished.’ She smoothed the soft kid of her gloves on her knee, her eyes lowered to the task. ‘Beyond reclaim. My husband said I should not visit you.’
‘So why are you here?’ And when she made no response: ‘Edmund warned me not to become involved.’
‘Of course he did. You should have listened to him.’ Now her eyes rose to mine and I read disparagement there. ‘If you will risk the scandal to share a man’s bed in intimacy, you should at least be willing to listen to his advice out of it.’
‘Henry will see Edward after Mass and hear his weasel words,’ I told her. ‘I doubt I will have to wait much longer.’
‘They’re casting wagers that your brother will be showered with royal grace and allowed to go free, in spite of his questionable past.’
‘A woman is of no value whereas Edward has proven indispensable.’
A silence fell and stretched until I broke it.
‘Why have you come, Joan?’
‘I’m not at all sure.’ She cast the gloves onto the seat between us. ‘Why did you do it, Constance? Was my brother’s admiration not enough for you? Your restored dower lands, the health of your children?’
It would be enough for Joan. It seemed that it was not enough for me.
‘Henry broke his promise. My son was given into Edward’s care.’
‘Was that a motive to plot his downfall? You were not forced into another marriage against your will. You were allowed the freedom to manage your dower properties. You were invited to Court. Your children were well sponsored. Why did you do it? Surely that would be enough for any woman of integrity.’
Integrity. Edmund had used that word when he had rejected me.
‘You always were contrary,’ Joan continued in combative style. ‘Your father said that you were born under a directionless star, streaking across the heavens without control.’
Joan risked a hand on my arm. ‘I think Edmund cares deeply for you,’ she admitted.
I shook it off. ‘He was not noticeably keen to ride to my rescue. It took a mere squire to offer to become my champion.’
Which urged Joan to her feet.
‘Would you expect him to make such an exhibition of himself? It was an outrageous thing to do, Constance. To issue such a challenge, even when your guilt was self-evident.’ Clearly someone had been enthusiastic in drawing the details for her. ‘What did you expect? A battle to the death in Westminster Hall, with you posing as the innocent damsel to be rescued, to be carried off on horseback to some romantic Avalon? It would have been worthy of a poor mummers’ play, and badly acted at that, with all parties held up to ridicule.’
I would not bow before her scorn.
‘I had thought the man who had offered me marriage would wield his sword in my honour. Or some such romantic nonsense. I was obviously not worthy of it. Except for some youth in the fit of lustful longings with songs of chivalry occupying the space between his ears.’
But Joan had caught only one word.
‘Marriage?’
I stared at her.
‘Edmund has offered you marriage?’
‘Why not?’
‘I had not thought…’
‘That he would ask me? He has.’
‘Have you accepted?’
I read shock and not a little bafflement on her face.
‘Yes.’
‘Does he have Henry’s permission?’
‘Yes. The King has granted him the freedom to wed any woman of his choice.’
‘I’ll wager my paternoster beads he had no thought on it being you!’
‘Why not? It will tie Edmund to him, a marriage to a royal cousin.’
‘Well, I wish you good fortune.’
‘Except that Edmund’s chosen bride will lose her head before they can exchange vows. Besides, he has changed his mind in the face of my iniquities. And how can I blame him? You should be relieved that you will not have me for a sister.’
‘I am so sorry.’
To my discomfort, Joan sat again, enclosing my hands in hers, until I stiffened, so that she released me with a sad grimace.
‘I offer you consolation and you reject it. There is no hope for you. But whether Edmund has or has not changed his mind, you have to face Henry. It is time you made ready.’
So as the sun rose late, in a fit of remorse I allowed her to help me dress in sombre wool and pleat my hair beneath its veil, confined in a gilded caul. I was silently glad of her company.
I observed myself in the hand mirror she held for me.
‘I will go to my destiny as a royal daughter.’
‘You do everything like a Princess. That’s the problem. Don’t antagonise him. And don’t even consider wearing this.’ She lifted the Lancaster livery collar from where it glowed with baleful intimations on the coffer and slipped it into her sleeve. ‘It would be a travesty and would win you no friends.’
‘I think I have done quite enough to antagonise everyone. I will receive my doom with silent grace.’ I hesitated before admitting: ‘I did not realise the true horror of battles. I cannot obliterate the memory of the carnage when we were caught. I think that it will live with me for ever, and that I deserve whatever punishment Henry doles out to me.’
I refused to acknowledge Joan’s arched brows. In truth, I was in fear.
I was escorted by a single silent serjeant-at-arms, considered sufficient to ensure that I would not escape, for who would aid me? It was two hours after noon so I presumed that Henry had had his conversation with my brother. If he was as slickly sincere this morning as he had been yesterday, I decided that he would have sat at meat with Henry at noon with no retribution hanging over him. Redemption was becoming second nature to him.
The room into which I was bowed was a small antechamber with no furnishings of note and no source of heat, perhaps deliberately chosen to impress me with Henry’s generosity in seeing me at all. Why not simply send me to an even colder dungeon in the Tower? What need for this liberal spreading of further family anguish for either of us? The walls were bare and marked with damp, the fireplace empty and long swept clean.
I tried not to respond since the movement of my veils would reveal what might be interpreted as terror. I should have worn a tight-fitting wimple that would give nothing away. How long would it take to give this judgement?
‘Do I come with you?’ Joan had offered.
‘I will face my fate alone,’ I had replied.
So here I was. And to my surprise, here was Edward, too. Dressed as finely as I yet with far more ostentation, in vivid Venetian silks. In contrast Henry looked as if he might have just returned, with dust on his boots, from the hunt.
I acknowledged them both with an inclination of my head such as I might have given to an enemy. Then I curtsied to my cousin and ignored my brother although I slid a glance in his direction. I could read nothing in his stance or his expression, but he was not shackled as a traitor.
Hands locked on his belt, Henry addressed us both in a voice that could scrape away the skin. It was privacy that had dictated this choice of venue.
‘I might have hoped that my cousins of York would give me loyalty. I grant you that it was an uneasy start, but I treated you with leniency. I restored your lands. I enhanced your positions at my Court. I gave you, Edward of York, power that befitted your abilities. You repaid me with insurrection.’
‘I have sworn my loyalty to you, my lord.’ Edward was still adamant.
‘And probably broken your oath more times than I know.’
‘I have worked tirelessly for you in Wales.’
‘I acknowledge that, but I have heard enough. What is it that you want from me, Edward? Power? A place at my right hand? You have as much as a man with four sons can give. Is it money that you want? I cannot give it. My own coffers are to let. You have my admiration of your skill in handling men. Yet still you are not satisfied. We have already discussed this. I have given you the wardship of your nephew. You know I can give no more.’
So they had already held their meeting, which gave all the appearance of being a stormy one, nor had issues been laid to rest between them. I for the moment was superfluous.
‘You are an able man. I need able men. My sons will need able men.’ He drew a breath, a ragged inhalation as if it gave him pain. ‘This is my decision. In the certainty that you had some connection with the Mortimer plot, despite the lack of evidence, I will exercise my power to punish you. I am sending you into Sir John’s Pelham’s hands at Pevensey where you can decide what it is you wish for, and the value of your life. I must be God’s own fool to pardon you yet again, but I cannot quite believe that behind that atrocious damask there does not beat a heart that is worth winning. I cannot afford to have your head, although some would say that I cannot afford to let it remain attached to your proud neck. Perhaps it is a weakness in a King, but I have had enough bloodshed in recent years. I hope that you will learn loyalty from Pelham.’
And I, control abandoning me, laughed aloud at this debasement. So Edward would not escape with his skin totally intact. He would suffer the humiliation of imprisonment. It was a laughter fully edged with contempt, of which I was not proud, but I felt he deserved every hour he spent under lock and key.
My brother bowed, realising that argument was valueless. All he asked was:
‘How long, my lord? To give me hope through the hours and days, while I prove my loyalty.’
‘As long as I see fit.’
Edward was dismissed. Not once did he look at me. I turned my head to watch him go. Until Henry sighed.
‘What do I do with you, Constance?’
‘Execution?’ I suggested.
‘Is that what you think you deserve?’
‘I admitted my guilt,’ I said, my voice as featureless as the walls. The laughter was a thing of the past. ‘Since I was apprehended in the company of the Mortimers, all the evidence would prove that I was more involved than my brother. Joan fears for my life. She has become an excellent judge of character.’
‘Then her reading of your character will not be flattering. But Joan does not know me as well as she thinks she does. I admit to having considered it. It would rid me of one unpredictable cousin that I can well do without. Unlike your brother, you have no value to me. Is that too cruel?’ His lips thinned, his brow furrowed as if he were still caught in a dilemma. ‘You can neither lead an army nor sit on my Council nor oversee my parlous finances. Thus the weakness of being a woman. Your death would not be detrimental to my reign. This is the third time you have swum within my pool of disloyalty.’
He studied me. I looked back at him. It had hit hard. Was he trying to terrify me into obedience? I was of no value. There was only one solution I could think of, however much I might despise it. It would be better than death.
‘I could marry one of your loyal followers.’
It was the only offer I could make. My blood was a cold stream at the thought of yet another loveless marriage, but at least my blood would still be in my veins.
‘You could, but I know none who would take you. You are not wealthy enough to attract an important husband. Your reputation does not stand you in good stead; you have lost the esteem of any man of fine sensibilities. Who would be willing to take you on as a wife, unless a dose of royal blood in your children was paramount? Your past might suggest that you would add hemlock to a husband’s pottage if he displeased you.’
I swallowed. ‘You could send me to a convent.’
Blessed Virgin. I prayed that he would not.
‘Ha! I would have to spend more money than I have to found a chantry to persuade any self-respecting Abbess to take you.’ A quick strike of anger lit his suddenly weary face. ‘Why did you do it?’
How often had I heard that question? How often had I found an unsuitable answer? I simply shook my head.
‘I have shown you leniency,’ he continued, ‘but now you have been the cause of the deaths of too many men. None of it need have happened. I won’t ask again if it was your brother’s influence. I am sure it was, but that’s no excuse and I know full well that I can trust neither one of you.’ He flung away, the few steps it took him to the further wall, then back again. ‘I have decided.’
I held my breath. I forced myself to meet his regard with neither plea nor defiance.
‘Kenilworth,’ he announced.
One of Henry’s great fortresses in the Midlands.
‘Is that where I will die?’ Better than in public on Tower Hill.
‘Not unless you take a fit of the ague or the pox. I’ll not have your head, cousin. Edward to Pevensey. You to Kenilworth. Your brother Dickon is under my eye, playing the role of perfect courtier in the hope that I will promote him. That should keep the York family in check for the foreseeable future.’
‘Imprisonment.’ I repeated the word, savouring it in my mouth. I could not quite absorb what he had just said. ‘So I will live.’
‘To my detriment. Any decision otherwise will be with God.’
I felt the blood, now even colder, drain from my face.
‘I thought you might at least be thankful.’
I could barely speak. All my senses were held in suspension, closing in on me. It was only then that I could admit how deep my fear had been that Henry would take my life. I felt a hand close on my arm.
‘Your face is as white as new snow. You won’t faint, will you?’
‘Certainly not.’ I buried my teeth in my lower lip.
‘For a moment I thought you might astound me by proving to have a range of human emotions.’
‘No, Henry,’ I managed to reply evenly as the blackness receded. ‘I have none. I am as you see.’ He freed me, as if to touch me was anathema. But then, as relief swept through me, I remembered. An unpleasant doubt crept through my mind on silent feet. ‘Richard was sent to Pontefract. He failed to live long enough to come out of Pontefract except in a shroud. Why would Kenilworth be different for me?’
Henry looked affronted. ‘I’ll not starve you to death.’
I would live. It seemed that I would live after all.
‘How long will you keep me there?’ I was echoing my brother, so was not surprised by the response. But there was a lightness in my breast.
‘Until I think you might enjoy your freedom without stabbing me in the back. Be thankful.’
I considered. ‘And my children. My son? He will be without guardianship, with Edward imprisoned.’
‘I will ensure that he is well cared for, in my wife’s household. I will visit neither his uncle nor his mother’s sins on his head unless he shows your traits too strongly. Your dower lands will become my property, of course. I may at least get some benefit from your betrayal. It will help pay for my campaign against Glyn Dwr.’
I could expect no less. Kenilworth. So I would not be kept in penury. It was more palace than castle since my uncle the Duke of Lancaster had put his lavish hand to the private living apartments.
‘And my daughter Isabella?’
‘In my magnanimity I will allow her to remain with you. She is very young to be separated from her mother.’
‘May I receive visitors?’
‘Within reason.’
I would not be totally isolated, but who would visit me was beyond my imagining.
At last I curtsied, deeply, because he deserved my recognition. ‘Thank you, my lord. You have my gratitude.’
‘I wish I believed it. I will arrange an escort for you.’
As I walked towards the door, his voice followed me.
‘I thought that perhaps you would wish to say farewell to your brother. You will find him waiting for you. My serjeant-at-arms will take you there.’
I stood, head bowed. Henry had arranged this, an unpleasant little touch of malice to end the day. This would be the first time that Edward and I had been alone together since the abortive plot, since he had sworn evidence against me before the Council. Without reply I allowed myself to be escorted, and there he was, in yet another unused antechamber, even colder than the one where Henry had made his judgement. At the sight of him, when I stood before him, my escort retreating to the wall, I was empty of all but memories and an anger that shook me.
‘I have nothing to say to you, brother.’
‘Did you expect me to leap to your protection? When it would have incriminated me?’
I tilted my chin. ‘No. In all honesty I should have known what to expect. But I thought that you would not so publicly brand me a traitor and a liar.’
‘You accused me of the assassination attempt.’
‘You denied me.’
He raised his hands palms upwards. ‘It is done, Constance. It is behind us. Is there no reconciliation in you?’
‘No. There never will be.’
A grin lightened his expression into the handsome visage that everyone at Court would recognise. ‘We’re not dead, nor will be until the span of our heartbeats determines the end of life. He’ll let us go eventually, you know.’
‘You, perhaps; I think he’ll happily forget about me. I am to go to Kenilworth.’
‘I know. At least you won’t have to listen to Pelham’s lectures on your lack of opprobrium.’ He tilted his chin to match mine. ‘Do you despise me utterly?’
‘Yes.’ I considered. ‘Yes, I think I do.’ I gestured to the guard at the door who had been an interested party, except that there had been nothing to hear. ‘I am ready to go.’
‘Farewell, Constance.’
I could not reply. My guilt was self-evident but his betrayal had been unmerciful, while my hopes of marriage to Edmund Holland were buried in a grave of my own making.