Chapter Sixteen
February roared in as if it were March, crisp and cold when the high winds finally fell. Excellent hunting days lay ahead, but today Edward and I were hunting for a new King. All was arranged; all it needed was a nod from Edward and I knew what I must do. For this was our planning: within a matter of days the Mortimer heir would be safely ensconced in the Despenser fortress in Cardiff while the Court at Kennington, enjoying the good sport provided for the hounds and raptors, was only just being awakened to the threat to the crown. I had made my maternal excuses for a visit to my son at Windsor, as had already proved to be so easily accepted. I would not be questioned.
With a retinue stronger than might be considered necessary if anyone cared to assess the number of armed men who would accompany me, I hoped that Edmund might have gone hunting with Henry and the Queen. Lost in love I might be, but I had no wish to explain the purpose of my journey to him.
He had not. There he was, on the shallow flight of steps, next to my waiting-woman who was holding my cloak and hood and gloves. I dismissed her, handing my gloves and hood to Edmund as I fastened my cloak, concentrating on the pin of my brooch so that I need not meet his eyes. I would just have to make the best of this farewell. My heart pattered within my bodice.
‘Are you hunting, my lady?’ he asked. ‘If you are, you’re late. They left a half-hour ago.’
‘No.’
The brooch was giving me some difficulty. Anxiety made me clumsy.
‘Where are you going? Did I know you were leaving Court?’
He took the brooch from me and fastened it himself with clever fingers.
‘No. I’ll not be gone long,’ I said. ‘I will be at Windsor for a few days.’
I began to walk towards where my escort waited, needing an escape. He would damn me for what I was doing, and what would I do when the plot was complete? Throw myself on Edmund’s mercy? Had I really agreed to Edward’s instructions without seeing their repercussions? It felt as if I stood on the moving ground of a quagmire. One careless step and I would be swallowed up. Edmund had asked me to wed him, all I could have wished for, and here I was, casting it all into jeopardy.
‘You saw your son only recently.’
I glanced up, forcing myself to meet his regard. His expression was unreadable.
‘And I will see him again. I am told that Richard is unwell, with a fever. It is my duty to see that he is given the best treatment.’
‘So you need to be there.’
‘Yes.’
He angled his chin, brows formidably level. ‘Why have my suspicions suddenly been given a boot in the groin?’
‘I don’t know. Why should they? Why should a mother not visit her son?’
‘No reason at all. Except that I don’t believe one word you have said.’
I raised my chin against the sudden pain that he should brand me false. Even more that he should have every reason for not believing me. I was lying to him, because I must.
Before God, this was no bedrock for marriage.
‘I might be more willing to accept your reason for this departure,’ he added, ‘if it were a frequent occurrence for you to show such maternal concern.’ He handed to me my hood, then my gloves, which I donned, briskly efficient, before turning to grasp my horse’s bridle. ‘What are you doing, Constance, that you are not willing to tell me?’
Noting that I had become Constance, I halted, spinning to face him. There was no love in him today. I could not afford for there to be in me.
‘Stay out of this, Edmund. It’s best if you do not know. There is no place for you in this.’
How cold I sounded, how unapproachable.
‘But I will know. What have you got yourself into?’
I had already said more than I wished, and was unwilling to place the burden of truth at his feet. It would bury a knife in the heart of his love for me.
Edmund kept his distance. This would be no intimate parting.
‘You asked me about my Mortimer nephews,’ he said. ‘They are at Windsor. Tell me this is not about my nephews. Tell me that this is not some devious conspiracy by your brother.’
He thought I was so vulnerable. He believed that I would simply obey any dictate that my brother cared to make. Did he not realise that I had my own opinions, my own ambitions? No, he did not know me. He knew only what I had allowed him to know.
‘What if it is?’ I did not deny it now. Nor did I lower my chin. There was an anger simmering in him, as there was in me, but the fault was undoubtedly mine. How could a man love a woman who refused to be open with him, who lied and lived by deceit? I did not deserve love after all, and here I was in the act of demolishing the gift I had so unexpectedly received.
Edmund had brought all his intellect to bear on my sudden departure.
‘Oh, I see it all. You rescue them and make Edmund Mortimer King. The York family seizes power in his name.’ How wounding his words. How damning.
I replied, matching emotion with cold calculation:
‘Are we not all ambitious? You would seek patronage from Henry. We would seek it elsewhere.’
‘I’ll not deny it. But why did you not tell me? Are you the woman who shared my bed and accepted my offer of marriage? I do not know you.’
His repetition of my own assessment was bitter indeed. The ice of desolation filled my veins, leaching into my voice. ‘No, you do not know me. And I am sorry for it.’
Edmund’s reply was all fire. ‘Was it Edward? Did Edward warn you against telling me? What did he think I would do?’ The anger was building with every question. ‘Did he warn you that I might tell the King and have you all arrested?’
An inconsequential shrug that shamed me, yet I met the condemnation in his eye. ‘The fewer to know the better.’
‘And you did not trust me enough to tell me.’
‘If you recall, I asked your opinion.’
‘You denied that you had fallen for Edward’s plotting yet again.’
‘I make my own decisions.’
I moved to mount my horse, my limbs stiff. This was a brutal farewell, his words following me.
‘Anyone of any sense would see that an escort of this size and military strength is more than required for a short journey to Windsor.’
I indicated for my groom to help me into the saddle. I could not ask Edmund, although he came to stand at my horse’s head, holding the bridle. He had not yet finished with me.
‘Did you know that this is not the only plot that Edward has put in hand in recent weeks?’
So I was not the only one to harbour suspicions about the journey to Eltham.
‘I have heard that there was to be an attempt on the King’s life on the road,’ I said carefully. ‘Which did not materialise.’
‘And the one at Eltham itself? By paid assassins?’
I did not know. My silence answered the question.
‘A ludicrous venture, to climb over the walls at Eltham during the Christmas festivities. Did he tell you of that? I doubt he intended to climb the wall himself. His assassins would kill the King.’
‘How do you know?’ I whispered, sufficiently shocked.
‘Does it matter?’ He drew a gloved hand across this mouth. ‘I see from your face that you didn’t know. But I doubt it would have made any difference to you. You are up to your neck in his vile enterprise, whereas I was foolish enough to believe that you would deal with me with honesty and honour. I thought that your days of blood and treason were long gone.’ For a moment he studied the floor at his feet, before once more searching my face, his eyes expressing all the conflict I had created in him. ‘The woman I see you truly are, prepared to carry out York’s bidding without question, does not fit well with my integrity.’
‘But that’s the problem, Edmund.’ I could not defend myself, but I tried. ‘This is treason. I would not burden you with it.’
‘How noble of you.’ His sarcasm bit deep. Then his voice changed and his hand was hard on mine as I gripped my reins. ‘Don’t do it. For the love I have for you, I beg of you, don’t involve yourself in this.’
‘Do you have no compassion for your nephews?’
‘Yes. All the compassion in the world, but I see no future for them as the pawns of Glyn Dwr and Northumberland.’
‘Edward will stand for them.’
‘Edward will stand for himself.’
His fingers tightened until I winced with pain. ‘Don’t, Constance. If you love me, abandon this scheme. If you would wed me, step back. It’s not too late. You were fortunate to be restored after the Epiphany affair. If you are involved in this and fail, Henry will show neither compassion nor mercy.’
I wrenched my hand free. ‘Henry will have no compassion! Does that matter so much to you?’ A rage struck from nowhere. ‘Henry killed your brother. He killed your uncle.’
‘As I recall, it was the townsfolk of Cirencester and Pleshey who have blood on their hands.’
‘And Henry was not in agreement?’
‘They plotted to kill him.’
‘And now you will be the perfect loyal subject.’
I hated the taunt in my voice, yet still I made it.
‘We have to make a choice in this life. I choose to make my fortune with the man who has the kingdom in his hand. What point in bemoaning the death of King Richard? Or of Tom and John Holland? It will not bring them back. This is where we are. Henry is King. Don’t ignite the flames of bloodshed and loss again.’
I stared at him, the man I loved and who loved me. The man whose love I had just wilfully destroyed.
‘I cannot retreat from this because I have given my word,’ I said. ‘I will release them, send them on their way, and then I will return to Court. I can promise no more.’ I swallowed hard. I was not born to beg. ‘All I ask is your tolerance. I don’t ask for your complicity, or your forgiveness, merely your silence until I return and all is in hand to dethrone Henry. We can’t have Richard, but we can have the next best thing.’
‘You are implacable! How can I dislodge an idea when it is buried in your mind?’
‘You cannot.’
He released me, then released my horse and strode away, before swinging round to say: ‘I petitioned for my freedom to ask a woman I thought I loved to wed me. It seemed that I made a mistake. How could I wed a woman who dives into the first pool of treason to lap against her toes? You were right, Constance. I do not know you.’
He walked on. When I stretched out my hand in a gesture of utter despair, he did not see me. He did not look back when I turned my horse in the direction of Windsor. No time for wallowing in self-recrimination.
February 1405: Windsor Castle
After Compline, before the household went its separate ways with the priestly benediction for our quiet rest, I held out my hand to Edmund Mortimer who saluted my fingers and bowed, while their habitual guard shuffled in impatience.
‘Goodnight, my lady. God keep you.’
‘I wish you good rest.’
‘And to you too, my lady.’
‘You might find this of value if your mind will not settle. These pages will be particularly comforting. Look…’
I opened my missal at random. The boy was polite but uninterested. The guards yawned their boredom while I stepped closer with the open page, running my finger at random as I whispered:
‘Do not undress or retire. Await the signal. I know not the time but it will not be late.’
‘Why?’ His lips soundlessly formed the word.
I could have explained but to what purpose? I must rely on their obedience after years under surveillance.
‘It will be to your advantage,’ I said.
Eyes brightening, he nodded, fortunately not without understanding.
‘I will be sure to take this sage advice, my lady, and read carefully.’
He took the missal, turning to smile at his guard. ‘We are ready.’
I could not believe that all should have unfolded as smoothly as a bolt of new silk, waiting for me to shake it out. I had been made welcome at Windsor as a frequent guest. My son Richard, feverless, welcomed me without any degree of surprise, supporting a maternal embrace with stoicism. The Mortimer boys had been willing to eat supper with me, enjoying news from the Court. John and Humphrey were still at Kennington with Henry and the Queen as far as I knew. There was no interest expressed in Constance Despenser coming to meet her son and being entertained by the Mortimer heirs.
Now I retired, taking Richard with me.
‘Come and tell me how your education progresses,’ I said.
But once in the chamber provided for me, leaving him to prowl the room, turning over any objects that took his interest, I considered my own participation. If I could achieve their escape, all well and good. They would be long gone before their absence was discovered. But where would suspicion lie when their door was opened on an empty chamber come the morn? My presence here was obvious; pleading innocence or ignorance would be futile. There was only one outcome here. I must go with them. It would ensure their safety and mine.
I looked at Richard who was sitting cross-legged on the floor, inspecting the blade of his knife, holding it up to the light. He must come too. I could not leave him to Henry’s mercy. If this escape was successful, my days of acceptance at Henry’s Court were at an end.
I had said I would return to Edmund. That I would not put myself in danger. Had I truly believed that I could simply declare my ignorance when Henry’s Mortimer prisoners disappeared at the time that I was in residence? I had always known that I must be a physical part of their flight to the west. I hoped that Edmund would forgive me. And if he would not…
Closing my mind and my heart to the great personal loss I had set in motion, I could not deny a tingle of excitement that spread through me, a welcome return. It was long since I had enjoyed such anticipation, such a sense of danger to be accepted and overcome.
‘Richard.’
He looked up.
I crouched beside him so that our eyes were on a level.
‘I expect you are good at keeping secrets.’
‘Yes, madam.’ He looked suddenly wary.
‘Can you keep a very important one?’
‘Yes, madam.’
‘Then this is what you will do. Go to your room. Dress as if you were to go hunting. Collect the heaviest cloak you have. Then return here, as silently as you can. If anyone questions you, tell them that you need to speak with me before I leave tomorrow, and that you have a gift for me, wrapped in your cloak. No one will question that. Say nothing more to anyone. Can you do that?’
His eyes glinted in the candlelight, as if it were a game. He was on his feet and halfway to the door.
‘Gently, Richard. We must not draw attention.’
He was gone, closing the door quietly behind him. I must trust him. I could not leave him here to bear my guilt.
Now for my own preparations. In a leather pouch beneath my pillow were keys on a ring, new, unused. I sent for Richard Milton, an esquire of Edward’s who had accompanied me. He did not have to ask what it was that he should do. By the time Richard had returned, booted and cloaked and excited, the keys had changed hands and Milton was on his way.
‘Did anyone question you?’
‘No, madam. Where are we going?’
Why should I not tell him? ‘To Wales. To your lands there, in Glamorgan.’
‘Does my lord Edward know?’
‘Yes.’
He cocked his head. ‘Do Edmund and Roger come with us?’
‘God willing, they do. And now we must wait.’
We waited, senses stretched for any untoward noise of commotion that would signal my failure. Until a light scratch of a knock on my door. I moved to listen.
‘It is time, my lady,’ said Richard Milton.
I opened the door. ‘Are they released?’
‘They are, my lady. They await you by the wall in the outer bailey.’ He looked at my cloak and hood, and at Richard at my shoulder. He did not have to ask, a man well chosen by Edward. ‘I will go and procure two more horses.’
‘What of the guards?’
‘Unharmed but well trussed up and hidden in the cellar. They were induced to fall asleep with a dose of belladonna in their ale. They’ll recover, but we’ll be long gone.’
We followed him down the silent stairs. There were no servants; all were asleep or quiescent with the promise of a small coin, yet my heart was thudding. In every movement, every shadow, there lurked danger. What could I say if we were discovered? It would be impossible to be plausible if found at this hour in this company. Blessed Virgin grant us anonymity.
A little group awaited us in the outer bailey, dark shadows against a darker backdrop. There were horses standing quietly, my armed escort at their heads to muffle any noise. Would I be prepared to trust the future of these boys to Milton? And my own safety? I had no choice. The conspiracy, for good or ill, was under way. For a brief moment Edmund was there, in my head, hot with condemnation of me and my untrustworthiness. Too late for that. He might be my lover but he was not my master, nor would he ever be. I turned my thoughts to what needed to be done, without delay. At least there was no moon.
‘My lady?’
‘Let us go.’
We led the horses towards the gate which opened at some given signal. We mounted, a tight-knit group. I looked back over my shoulder. One cry of alarm and all would be undone. We would all be prisoners.
Then we were outside the gates, into the town.
We must ride as if our lives depended on it. As indeed they might.
‘Do we follow the plan as discussed, my lady?’
‘We do. We ride west. As fast as we can without the horses foundering.’
I looked at the young Earl of March and his brother. ‘Today you will be free.’
Following Milton at a steady pace, at last I allowed my mind to return to what might be. If all fell out as we had planned, perhaps Edmund would join me and we would push the Mortimer claim to its true fulfilment. Perhaps he would forgive me in the end.
I could not look so far ahead.
We rode hard and fast. No one was following us, although at intervals I left men behind to keep an ear and eye trained. We had to pray that there would be no discovery and news would not reach the King until we were far beyond his vengeance. As dawn began to break behind us, we rested, then rode on, the boys displaying a tenacity, despite their youth. We had accommodation arranged this night in a friendly house. Milton would leave us, probably at Bristol, to take ship to France, then Flanders, to whip up support. The Despenser tenants had already received advice to arm themselves in preparation. Edward had assured me that Glyn Dwr and Sir Edmund Mortimer had promised their aid. We must make the best time that we could until we were out of Henry’s long reach. He had proved that he could move with unnerving speed when danger threatened his crown.
The Mortimer lads rode silently with a dedication, Richard determined to show himself as their equal. I rode with my heart in my throat, thankful that the weather was good, the roads free from mud. We made good time.
‘I will keep an eye on them,’ Milton assured, riding beside me.
‘They think it is a grand adventure.’
‘Let them continue to think that.’
But I knew it could end in death. I had to keep my mind set on what would be. I dare not worry about what might be following us.
We rested overnight at Abingdon and were under way almost before dawn. The boys were pale and tired but there were no complaints, merely an exhausted acceptance. Rain drenched us before we had covered a handful of miles, but we continued to keep up a steady speed. There was no word of our being followed, but at some point Henry would know and have sent out the warning that we were to be apprehended.
‘How far are we from Bristol?’ I asked.
‘Not too far, my lady.’ I thought Milton was being optimistic since the lads were listening. ‘We’ll skirt through the forest around Cheltenham.’
I nodded. ‘We’ll be safer when we cross the River Severn.’
It became a talisman. If we could cross the river, then Wales would be within our sights and we would secure this bid for freedom. I would not express my fears. Every muscle was tense, even as the miles vanished beneath our horses’ hooves.
We rested briefly for a mouth of bread and a cup of wine, not even dismounting. Then on again, the rain clearing but the going hampered by mud that clung and squelched. Until our serjeant-at-arms, who had dropped back a little way, rode abreast and signalled for me to stop.
‘There are horses following, my lady.’
‘Merchants?’
‘No, my lady. A larger group than that, moving faster and more organised. I sent one of my men back.’
‘Let me know when he returns.’
Regardless, we pressed on. And then the serjeant returned to my side.
‘Tell me the worst.’ I could read it in his face but I strove for calm.
‘We think the pennons are those of the Earl of Somerset.’
I imagined them: lions, fleurs-de-lys, a portcullis, the heraldic symbols of my cousin John Beaufort, Earl of Somerset, Henry’s half-brother.
‘He’s brought a considerable force, my lady.’
Bad news. The worst news.
‘Can we outrun them?’
‘We can try.’
‘Then let us waste no time.’
The forest hampered us, the low branches, the uneven terrain, the thick, sodden undergrowth that encroached on the paths followed by Milton, but it would also hamper the hounds on our trail. Hiding was impossible. The boys were tiring, the horses were nearing the end of their stamina but still we pushed on. If only we could reach the Severn. We could cross and take refuge, but my mind repeated again and again that it was too far. Too hopeless.
‘They’re overtaking us, my lady.’
It was a grim warning that intensified with the loud command.
‘Halt!’
And with it reality faced me. I would not be ridden down like a doe to be torn to pieces by the pack. I would stand my ground. I would negotiate if I could. Would it be possible to sway John Beaufort to allow us to continue? I could hold out little hope but I would not surrender without trying.
At a gesture from me, we turned to face the hunters, my men creating a protective circle around us, but it was a matter of minutes before we were surrounded.
I had no personal experience of the carnage of battle, of vicious death, of the monstrosity of blows delivered, of bodies hacked, of the spilling of blood from terrible wounds. I had no knowledge of the nerve-shredding shrieks of wounded and dying men. The tales of such events, told by the victors, full of honour and chivalry, did nothing to prepare me for the horror of what I witnessed that day, when I forced myself to watch the outcome of what I had started, denying the nausea that rose in my throat as blood and torn flesh spattered the hem of my cloak. I was in no danger, but the soldiers of my escort were fair game, outnumbered and overwhelmed by a force of greater skill. Flight had been our only chance, not battle. Death came to some who protected me.
‘Tell them to stop, to lay down their arms,’ I ordered Milton whose voice would carry more strongly than mine. And as he bellowed our surrender, I urged my mount to the edge of the clearing where the Earl of Somerset, my cousin through the blood of John of Gaunt, sat his horse and waited for me. All fell silent around us apart from the snort of winded horses, the groans and oaths from the men wounded in my cause.
I sat and simply looked at him, sickened to my soul, my cloak dark with rain that had soaked through, and on through the rest of my garments to my skin. I would not apologise. What was there for me to say? All I could see about me was the mist of failure, and the consequences of the terrible choice I had made. But here was no moment for weakness. I must bargain for the lives that were left.
‘Well met, cousin.’ John Beaufort oozed animosity.
‘I wish I could say the same.’
‘You’ve caused us a great deal of trouble, Constance.’
‘Legitimate trouble, John.’
‘You couldn’t hope to win.’
‘Who told you of our flight?’
‘What matter? Whatever your plan, you are foiled.’ And no, it did not matter. We were captured and the blame was irrelevant. ‘My orders are to take you, the Mortimer boys and what remains of your escort, back to Westminster. The King will be waiting for you there.’
I inclined my head in acquiescence. ‘So we are not to be chopped down and our bodies hidden in the forest.’ It was impossible to swallow the bitterness of defeat.
‘Hardly. Since when did the King stand so barbarously outside the law, even when his enemies deserve it? Although he might make an exception in your case. You are a persistent thorn in the royal backside.’
Now he dismounted, helped me to slide to my feet and bowed before he took my hand and led me a little distance away where we could speak with some privacy, but what more was there to say? There was nothing that could incriminate me more than this – action that spoke louder than words. I flinched as my feet squelched and sank in the ooze of the forest floor.
‘What were you thinking?’ Somerset rounded on me. ‘Or was it York who put you up to this?’
It was so easy to blame Edward. I found myself leaping to his defence even though he did not deserve it. He had made the rod for his own back.
‘Why would you think that?’
‘I thought you might have had more honour. I thought you might have seen the value of remaining loyal to Henry, even if your brother is blind to it. If Henry executes the lot of you, you will only have yourself to blame. You will have to throw yourself on his mercy.’
‘Again.’ I glanced up at him, determined to open every pathway. I placed my hand on his sodden arm. ‘How strong are your own loyalties, John?’
He showed his teeth in a grimace.
‘Strong enough not to throw in my lot with the Mortimers and the Welsh rebels.’
‘But you were a loyal subject of King Richard. As were we.’
‘And now I am a loyal subject of my brother Henry.’ He laughed softly. ‘I don’t care how persuasive you are, I will not allow you to go free. What a schemer you are.’
‘What is scheming to some is justice to others.’ I allowed my hand to fall away. ‘I have no money to bribe you.’
‘It would not be enough.’ I read compassion in the gloom of that rain-drenched forest.
‘Will he execute me?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘The Mortimer boys?’ I looked over to where they stood, surrounded and disconsolate. Suddenly I was weary to the bone. If they met their death, the blame would be mine. ‘It would be the best excuse Henry could snatch at, to remove them from the scene.’
‘No, he will not. Nor your son.’
‘Do you swear it?’
But he would not. He could not so commit himself.
‘We must begin our journey back. By the Rood, Constance, you are your own worst enemy.’ And then as he dragged me back to the horses and helped me to remount: ‘Is Edmund Holland involved in this?’
I thought of Edmund, of his warning, his fury when I would not listen, his abandonment of me.
‘No. The Earl of Kent is as loyal as you. He is entirely innocent.’
But there was blood on my hands and on my conscience. By the time we reached Westminster I was tired to the bone. When John Beaufort helped me to dismount, I could barely stand.
‘Where are you taking them?’ I asked, seeing the boys herded away, stumbling after so many hours in the saddle.
‘We have a chamber for them. They will be cared for.’ He looked me up and down. ‘Are you ready to meet the King now?’
‘I would rather change my clothes.’ I could not imagine the impression I would make. My hair was damp against my cheeks and neck, my linen coif shapeless, my cloak and skirts were splattered with mud, and worse. The fur of my cuffs clung unpleasantly to my wrists.
‘Henry cares not what you wear.’
I followed him, every footfall a clap of doom. No, I did not suppose that he did.
Henry, as neat as an illuminated letter in a Book of Hours, rendering me horribly aware of my own deficiencies, ignored me as I was led into the brilliantly lit chamber, but nodded to his half-brother.
‘Thank you, John. It was well done.’
‘Do you wish me to stay?’
‘I don’t fear for my life.’
‘Perhaps you should. But she has no weapon.’
‘Nothing but her mind and her heart. Weapon enough.’ And at last to me, his regard sliding over me: ‘Sit down.’
I sat, my skirts clammy around my legs. While he poured and handed me a cup of hot spiced wine I pushed back my hood. My hair had come loose from some of its pinnings to fall onto my neck. This was one of Henry’s private chambers. I was relieved to see that there were no guards, no audience for my coming humiliation.
‘Drink.’
I did not need the encouragement. I drank, grateful for the warmth that might bolster my courage.
Henry sat also. It could have been a reunion of friends after a long absence, a cousinly conversation. He steepled his hands, elbows on the arms of the great chair, but, when I expected him to begin a thorough condemnation, he continued to sit in silence, waiting. I could not wait.
‘What do you wish me to say? You know what I have done. There can be no denial. All you have to do now is pronounce judgement.’
He sighed.
‘Why, Constance? Or do I need to ask?’
I gave the simplest statement I could without the involvement of ambition and personal dreams. ‘You should not be King.’
‘How many times do I have to hear that? Do you truly care about the strength and legitimacy of the Mortimer line? Or is this merely another exhibition of York’s ambitions? I can’t believe your brother is uninvolved. You would use those boys for your own ends.’
All delivered in an even voice as if he were discussing the state of the crops. But this was treason and I was in fear of my life.
‘You would lock those boys up, forcing them to spend their lives as prisoners. They deserve freedom.’
Henry made no attempt to justify his actions. ‘The bloodshed is on your shoulders, Constance, and yours alone,’ he continued. ‘The men who served you died because of your tinkering with the succession. You had no right.’ Suddenly his regard was fierce. Here was the condemnation. ‘You even put your own son Richard’s life at risk in this ill-judged venture.’
‘I dared not leave him behind. I accept my guilt.’
My voice seemed to come from a great distance. Every word I uttered would incriminate me further.
And then, swift as a dagger-thrust: ‘Who set up the plot, Constance?’
I refused to answer. The old loyalties to my brother tightened.
‘I don’t suppose it was Edmund Holland. His feet are set on a path to becoming a great magnate at my Court. He has too much to lose.’
‘Edmund Holland is innocent,’ I said, the least I could do.
‘Whereas you have resurrected death and suspicion at the centre of my Court. What happens to Milton now, the man who followed your orders? And the locksmith who could not resist your bribe?’ His expression had become bleak, his voice abrasive. ‘Shall I tell you what happened to your locksmith? I cut off his hand. It betrayed me by being in concert with your treason. Then I cut off his head. His death and the manner of it will make a worthy memorial to those who flout my authority.’
I drew a breath.
‘You escort will be punished, but not by death. They followed orders. But Milton will die.’
‘I am sorry for it.’
Henry stood and walked around me, to come to a halt at my side so that I must perforce look up. ‘What value is that? Your regrets have robbed men of their lives.’
‘And what part did you have in robbing King Richard of his?’
His face paled as if I had drawn his lifeblood.
I lifted my chin. ‘What of my son? He has no guilt.’
‘I have yet to decide.’
And because I must face it: ‘And what of me? You have me at your mercy.’
For the first time his banked temper was evident as he walked behind his chair and drove his fist into the carved back of it.
‘Death. The penalty for treason is death.’
‘You forgave us once.’
‘A mistake of vast proportions.’
‘Which you will not repeat.’
The cloud over me was as black as an encroaching storm.
Henry showed his teeth. ‘Oh, I will take no responsibility for shedding your royal blood, cousin. I’ll not have it on my conscience. I shall send you before the Royal Council. They will decide if your treachery is worth an execution. And I warn you, I will not argue the case against it if that is their decision. You can stand before my Council and argue your innocence if you dare.’
I could imagine it. The hot desire for revenge of the magnates who made up the Royal Council. Henry would make me stand before them and receive their judgement.
‘You would not!’
It stripped me of all my pride. Would he throw me to the lords in the Royal Council, a gout of flesh to the hounds after the completion of the hunt? There were so many who would once again enjoy an opportunity to drive their daggers into York flesh. Ambition and success made enemies. We had much experience of it.
‘I would, Constance. As you will learn.’
He walked to the door, opened it. ‘Take her to her chambers and lock her in.’
‘What will you do with the Earl of March?’ I asked as I passed him. If he read a plea in my eyes, in my voice, I could not prevent it.
‘The Council has already decided. He and his brother will be placed in the care of Sir John Pelham in his castle at Pevensey. There will be no more plots to rescue them.’