by Anne O'Brien
Again the breath of a shrug. ‘Get one Percy in your camp, and you get the rest.’ And then: ‘Who’s calling this a rebellion?’
‘If Richard gets wind of this venture,’ Westmorland’s hand closed hard on his sword hilt, ‘the penalty of failure could be death for all of us.’
‘So we are merely riding to ensure the peace of the March. We will return home after a few weeks, as good loyal subjects.’
Harry was deliberately avoiding my eye.
‘I don’t see it.’ Nor was Westmorland persuaded. ‘And what is your opinion, Madam Elizabeth?’
I smiled my thanks for his generosity, but was careful in my reply, for this was a more serious question than Harry delving into my thoughts on my sisters’ possible treason. I leaned towards extreme circumspection.
‘The Earl my father by law considers opinions to be above the minds of females in his household. Thus I have no opinion.’
‘And if you believe that,’ Harry added since Westmorland could find no immediate response, ‘you will believe that Richard will welcome Henry of Lancaster home with forgiveness and celebration and the handing back of his traditional acres!’
We rode on, Harry eventually abandoning me to a companionable conversation with Westmorland about his numerous offspring. The breeze dropped, the sun was warm against my face and shoulders so that I shrugged off the cloak. The land was at peace as we passed, signs of harvest and plenty on all sides in the fields and on the fruit trees. No signs or portents of dangerous prediction. No storm crows to call their warning.
The hard knot of concern in my breast almost melted away. We were not traitors, merely families of some power, concerned for the rightness of things.
Chapter Three
We rode through the array of tents on the banks of the River Don where it wound round the small town of Doncaster. The temporary encampment stretched around us as far as the eye could see, groups of emblazoned retainers sitting at their ease, their weapons stacked to hand, their horses being groomed and readied for action when the call was given.
‘I thought the Earl said he had returned with only a smattering of followers.’ I was both impressed and disturbed by what I saw.
‘So he did. Our cousin of Lancaster has been energetic,’ Harry replied softly in my ear.
However small the group that had accompanied him, returning from his exile, Lancaster’s followers now numbered into the hundreds. The heraldic achievements of noble families I knew well were adorning pennons, jackets and tents on all sides; the flower of the Yorkshire magnates and gentry, keen to be seen in support of their returned lord. Lancaster was not without friends it seemed.
Lancaster was waiting for us outside his tent, hand raised to shield his eyes from the sun. It was to me that he looked. Whereas he might have addressed the Earls first, it was to me that he strode, catching my mount’s bridle and offering a hand to help me dismount. It pleased me. Blood mattered after all.
‘Elizabeth.’ Effortlessly he lifted me and placed me on my feet. ‘I did not expect to see you here.’ There was a smile in his eyes although his mouth remained stern enough, as if unused to smiling of late. ‘Did you have to fight to achieve it?’
‘Certainly not. I have come to greet you on your return, as any cousin should.’
‘It’s good to see family who are not breathing fire and destruction in my direction.’
Which raised a smile from both of us. I knew his reference. Richard had left the power to repel Henry’s invasion in the incapable hands of Edmund of Langley, the Duke of York, his ineffectual uncle.
‘And where is our uncle of York?’ I asked.
He was not a figure to instil fear into any man.
‘Still in London I hope, sending out orders to garrison the northern castles against me.’ Lancaster was drawing me out of the throng of horses and busy pages. ‘Or even, if luck is on my side, heading west rather than north. At least he is not here.’ He nodded over to where the distant walls of Conisbrough could be seen, a castle much loved by York. ‘I expect he is changing his mind as oft as he changes his hose. He never could make up his mind, even to take cover in a thunderstorm. But I don’t expect to be staying long in the north,’ he added with grim decision as I was enveloped into an embrace, my cheeks kissed.
Set aside as he addressed himself to greeting the Percys and Nevilles, I was left to accept a cup of wine from an attendant page and watch the proceedings, and particularly to take stock of Henry of Lancaster as he embraced Harry, renewing an old friendship. Our future might hang with the success or failure of this man who was exchanging some military reminiscence with Harry, which reduced both of them to laughter. There was a closeness here that I had not expected, but perhaps I should have. Shared experiences on the tournament field created strong bonds between men of valour.
A new thought crept from nowhere into my mind.
Your happiness might hang in the balance too.
I resented its intrusion. By what reasoning was my peace of mind threatened? Harry and I were at one. Nothing would destroy that.
I turned my attention back to my cousin, the new Duke of Lancaster since stepping into his father’s shoes. He had been in exile for a year but seemed to have changed very little unless it was to be seen in the fine web of lines that marked his brow. He had had much to trouble him but he was still a well-set, agile figure, a man who excelled on the jousting field as well as in battle, a man to take the eye from his close-cropped hair to his capable hands with their fine array of jewels despite the overwhelmingly military climate of his camp. And there was the Lancaster arrogance in the tilt of his chin, the direct stare. It was a tilt that I recognised, for Harry possessed it in full measure.
Harry came to stand beside me now that the preliminaries were over, leaving the field of hand-clasping to the two Earls.
‘What is he saying?’
‘Nothing in public. We are to meet privately later.’
So here was the new Duke, come home to claim what was rightfully his. The problem was, for everyone concerned, what did he have in mind? What exactly did he see as rightfully his – the Lancaster inheritance, or was there more? That was why we were here. It was an uncomfortable number of troops just to take back an inheritance, even if it was the vast tracts of the Lancaster lands. Henry was indeed a man of honour, of piety, but even so…
‘What would you do,’ I asked the man at my side, ‘if the whole of your inheritance was snatched from you by Richard?’
‘I would raise an army and snatch it back.’
There was no hesitation in him.
‘And would you retreat to your lands, once you had forced Richard into compliance?’
‘It would depend on whether I trusted Richard to live by his promises to return the land to me and to my heirs.’
‘And would you trust him?’
Harry’s eyes, fixed on Lancaster who was deep in conversation with Westmorland, were surprisingly distant and formal.
‘That would remain to be seen, my love.’
‘So will you be willing to trust Henry of Lancaster to keep any promises he might make?’
Harry’s eyes swung to mine, now bright with those memories that this meeting had resurrected. ‘I fought with him and against him in the tournaments at St Inglevert eight years ago. They were good times. He is a worthy opponent and a bold ally to have at your back with a mighty sword-arm. He has saved me from a sore skull more than once, as I have saved him, and he has a hard head for celebrating when the ale is strong. He proved to be a good friend. I have no reason not to trust him. Do you?’
I wrinkled my nose, strangely uncertain. ‘I don’t know.’
Harry tucked my hand into the crook of his arm. ‘Then let us go and see what the man himself has to say.’
At Henry’s invitation, although Westmorland made his excuses to absent himself and seek out old friends, we withdrew into his pavilion where stools were brought while Henry sat on the edge of his campaigning bed. It made me remem
ber that all this would not be new to him after a lifetime of journeying, crusading and competing in the tournaments of Europe. It was as comfortably furnished with hangings and cushions as any lady’s bower, unless you spied the open coffer containing extraneous pieces of armour, a pair of well-worn gauntlets, a battered cuirass. Against the canvas wall was propped a sword and a helm, both shining with care from the efforts of the diligent page who had poured my wine. In the corner were piled the accoutrements and trappings of his warhorse.
This was a man well used to the tournament world, where he had earned considerable renown. He could equally be a man of war.
We sat. We raised our cups in a toast to the returned warrior of renown.
‘And now to business. I am more than pleased to see you ride in from the north. My support here is strong, in my own lands, but I need to know what the north will do.’ And then: ‘Can I rely on your support? I presume I can, or why else bring your retainers in such numbers?’
As forthright as I recalled, he would push for a reply, an admission of intent.
‘That might all depend.’ The Earl, his mind still as keen as Lancaster’s newly honed sword.
Lancaster waited, brows lifted in mildly eloquent enquiry, aware of the power of silence in matters of negotiation. There was nothing mild about him. Nor was there in Sir Henry, who shifted restlessly at my side.
‘It might depend on what it is that you hope to achieve,’ the Earl added.
‘Does it need saying? A restoration of what is mine.’
‘As we would agree. And we would support you in that. The great lords of this realm must protect themselves from…’ The Earl smiled thinly. ‘From royal encroachments.’ The Earl raised his cup and drank, all self-deprecation again. ‘But our own position is ambiguous. Our wardenship of the March is dependent on the gift of the King. We already have old treasons breathing down our necks thanks to my son. Westmorland’s power is on the increase, thanks to the King. I would do nothing to put our authority in the north in further jeopardy, which I assuredly would if I supported you in an insurrection that collapsed at the first hurdle.’
‘As I appreciate.’ Henry of Lancaster stood to go to the tent door, to look out over the ranks of his newly come supporters, raising a hand to acknowledge the arrival of another old friend, Sir Robert Waterton. ‘Although I anticipate no failure in my planning.’ He looked back over his shoulder. ‘My position is as clear in my own mind as is Richard’s perfidy. Who would argue against it? On my father’s death I inherited the title and the Duchy of Lancaster, waiting on the end of the six years for which I was banished for a treason I never committed. Not an ideal situation but I could have accepted it. There were places I would be welcomed. I might go to my sister Philippa in Portugal. Or join another crusade. I could accept the need, even though I might not like it.’
He drank again before running the pad of his finger around the rim of his cup.
‘Until Richard changed my banishment to life. As your brother Worcester will have informed you in detail, Richard forbade the legal settlement of my estates on me, and took them all for his own. There is no ambiguity whatsoever for me. The lands are mine and I have come to take them back.’ He surveyed us with an all-encompassing gaze. ‘I would hope that your presence here would show your support for me in that enterprise. And I expect Worcester, as my attorney, to join forces with me too. To put right a momentous wrong. My father will never rest in his grave until it is done.’
The Earl’s reply was an essay in moderation. ‘I’ll be honest with you, Lancaster. Richard’s truce with Scotland does not play into our hands. We resent interference in what has been ours for generations. Not least we oppose the appointment of royal officials who have no foothold in our region other than what Richard is foolish enough to give them.’
‘Such as Ralph Neville.’
‘Worse than Neville, who at least has a power base there, however much I might despise it. Edward of Aumale is quite another matter, an ambitious interloper who sees his own aggrandisement at my expense.’
‘So what are you saying?’
The Earl glanced towards his son. ‘I am saying that we will support you in an attempt to bring Richard to heel, to wring from him a promise of justice and fair government. A promise to uphold the laws and all tradition.’
Henry had walked back to sit once more on the edge of his bed, elbows propped on his knees, his now-empty cup held lightly between his palms. ‘Then we are at one. With a show of force we will persuade Richard of the need for justice. I claim my inheritance and my banishment is cancelled.’ He paused, head tilted. ‘Your authority as Warden of the March will be recognised by Richard in perpetuity. The Earl of Westmorland you will deal with in your own manner.’ My cousin smiled although there was little warmth in it. ‘Will you take my hand on this? To have the Percy fist with all its might behind me is of greater value than all the lords and knights that you see camped outside this tent, as we both know, and I will show my gratitude when I come into my own. I will not step on your toes in the north, even though my father was wont to do so. I will honour your allegiance to my cause in any way I can. I will make your support of me an undertaking on your part which you will never regret.’
It was a speech worthy of any ambassador well versed in the demands of diplomacy. At last Lancaster’s smile became one of genuine pleasure, lighting his face, yet I saw his cleverness in offering this prime piece of meat to the raptor, to entice it to come to hand. Permanent wardenship of the March was of inestimable value to any Percy lord. As for my cousin’s soft hand of flattery, it was monumental.
‘I know that I need your support,’ he repeated. ‘I cannot take back my inheritance without it.’
‘But would you be willing to accept my price?’ The Earl did not hesitate.
‘What is your price?’
‘Nothing beyond your power – as Duke of Lancaster – to pay.’
Which took my interest. I glanced at the Earl, whose face was inscrutable. Had not Lancaster already been generous in his promises? Was this another layer of negotiation which had passed me by? It should not surprise me that the Earl was demanding every drop of blood from this alliance.
Lancaster was unperturbed. ‘Then I will pay it, for your alliance in person and in military might is beyond price.’
Flattering indeed, and presumably I had been mistaken for the Earl nodded slowly in easy agreement. He moved as if he would take Lancaster’s hand, both now standing and facing each other. So it was all to be settled with Harry and I as mere spectators, watching the manoeuvring of these two powerful men.
And yet it astonished me that Harry had remained silent for so long. I could feel the tension in him as he allowed the Percy future to be decided, as if he were carried along by the ambitions of others, while I had the sense to bide my time. I neither could nor would add anything to this heavy debate in which my opinions would hold little weight, but how long would Harry remain a bystander? His compliance would be crucial to the whole venture.
‘God’s Blood!’
There it had come at last. The thrust of Harry’s muscles as he sprang to his feet, stretching out his hand in denial.
‘This is too precipitate. There is another matter that concerns us, that has not been addressed.’
‘Has he not answered everything to our pleasure?’ the Earl growled, his hand falling to his side.
‘As far as it goes, I’ll not argue against it. But there is one question that no one has asked or answered. There is the question of the crown itself. Who will be wearing it by the end of the year?’
Lancaster waited, and I saw the dark gleam in his eyes, as if he had been waiting for this all along, as indeed he must. Then: ‘Who do you think, Hotspur?’
‘I think it is all cast in shadows. I think you should state your ultimate goal here, Lancaster, before there is any clasping of hands.’ It was a demand that blazed forth in the confines of the canvas walls as Harry rejected the intimacy of the name Lanca
ster had bestowed on him. ‘You now have a powerful force at your disposal. You have much sympathy for your disinheritance. But if Richard does not comply with your demands, what then?’
‘What are you asking?’
And since it could affect my own family so closely, I decided to participate. I moved to stand beside Harry, presenting, I hoped, a formidable front. If no one else was prepared to commit himself to speaking the unspeakable words, then I would do it.
‘He is asking – we are asking – if you would consider taking the crown of England for yourself.’
The Earl scowled but Lancaster’s gaze rested softly enough on me.
‘So that’s what you think. But that would be treason, Elizabeth.’
‘It would indeed. You see our position if we throw in our lot with you. You are not Richard’s heir.’
‘No, I am not.’ It was admitted lightly enough, but he was watchful. ‘The last I heard Richard had recognised my cousin of Aumale, who by my reckoning has no right whatsoever to the crown. His father was King Edward’s fourth son. My father was the third.’
‘No, Aumale has no right by blood to wear the crown. There are others with better.’ I paused but only for the length of a breath. ‘But the Mortimers do have a claim. A claim that comes before your own.’
‘Ah.’ Tossing the empty cup onto the bed, Lancaster laced his fingers. He had expected this, and confirmed it. ‘I should have known that’s why you had come on this expedition.’
‘Richard recognised my brother Roger as his heir,’ I said.
‘Then promptly disinherited him when he considered him guilty of treason. If the Earl of March had not died in Ireland, your brother could well have joined Arundel and Gloucester, dead by some foul means or another. His role in Ireland was already terminated.’ Lancaster’s regard was open and honest. ‘It would be hard for you to make your claim for his son, your nephew Edmund Mortimer. What is he? Eight years old, I think. I understand your family loyalties but I doubt there are many who would support another child King.’