by Anne O'Brien
‘Who?’ Gloucester demanded, momentarily baffled.
‘Adeliza. Wife of King Henry the First.’ The bishop’s smile remained fixed when Gloucester flung up his hands in disgust. ‘It pays to be a reader of history, does it not? Although it has to be said that Adeliza was Henry’s second wife and was not the mother of the heir to the throne. Still, if we are speaking of precedents…’
‘Before God! If she had no connection to the royal descent, she has no importance. This is an irrelevance, Henry. If you’re thinking of supporting your damned nephew in this nonsense…’
I raised my hand to stop yet another diatribe against Edmund, even as horror returned to drench me from head to foot. ‘Are you saying that I must never remarry?’
‘Not exactly,’ Bishop Henry offered.
‘There is no precedent for it,’ glowered Gloucester.
‘I understand.’ A bleak landscape, terrible in its vastness, opened up before me. ‘So I must remain alone.’
When Gloucester nodded, I sensed relief in him that he had won his argument, and his voice became appallingly unctuous. ‘Many would envy your position, Katherine. You have your dower lands in England, your son, an assured place at court. It is all eminently suitable for a royal widow.’
Eminently suitable. But, in my mind, lacking one essential perquisite. I knew in my heart at that moment that it was a lost cause, that I would never rouse sympathy from Gloucester, but still I asked.
‘So I have every comfort, every show of respect, but I am not allowed to love?’
‘Love!’ Gloucester’s lips curled as if such an emotion were a matter for distaste. ‘Private amours are for foolish women of no standing. If you were not the Queen Dowager, then why not, if that is what you would seek? Why not find some innocuous nobleman to wed you and take you off to his country estate where you can devote yourself to raising children and good works? But you are not free to make that choice.’
‘It is not right,’ I said, clinging desperately to the last vestiges of hope as Gloucester stripped away all chance of happiness in marriage.
‘Madam Joanna has found no difficulty in remaining a respectable widow.’
‘Madam Joanna is fifty-seven years old. I am only twenty-five and—’
‘And quite obviously incapable of ruling your carnal passions.’
So harsh a judgement! I could barely believe that he had used those words against me, and I froze.
Gloucester’s eyes raked me from head to foot. ‘You are too much your mother’s daughter.’
It gripped me by the throat. Was my mother’s reputation to be resurrected again and again, to be used in evidence against me? And by what right had Gloucester of all men to accuse me of carnal passions? Anger rolled in my belly, dark and intense, until it boiled up to spill over in hot words, scalding the space between us.
‘What right have you? What right have you to accuse me of lack of self-control? I say that you have no right at all to besmirch my mother’s name, as you have no cause to castigate me. Have I not played my part perfectly, in every degree that has been demanded of me? I have accompanied my son, I have stood by his side, I have carried him into Parliament when he was too small to walk. I have never acted with less than dignity and grace, in public and in private. Will I do any less, will I destroy the sanctity of my son’s kingship if I am wed? No, I will not.’
All my resentment surged again, and my will to make my own choice. ‘I do not accept your decision. I will wed Edmund Beaufort. There is no law that says I cannot.’
Gloucester’s ungloved hands closed into fists at his sides. ‘Why the temper? This should come as no surprise to you. Did I not explain what was expected of you when you returned to England?’
‘Oh, you did.’ Fury still bubbled hotly. ‘I remember. Your timing was impeccable. In the week that I had stood beside Henry’s body in Westminster Abbey, you told me of your wide-ranging plans for me that could only be altered by death.’
‘It needed to be said. Your importance in upholding the status of a child king is vital to all of us. Of preserving the claim of Young Henry to be King of England and France. I cannot stress enough how important your role is to England.’
‘And I will do nothing to damage that. Have I not said so? How would I do anything to harm my son’s position as King?’
‘You must remain untouched, inviolable.’
‘I know, I know. A sacred vessel. Untouched until the day I am sewn into my shroud.’ Against my will, my voice broke.
‘Listen to me, Katherine.’ Gloucester exhaled loudly, rolling out a new argument with fulsome confidence. ‘Have you not thought of how this marriage would be seen? By the curious and the prurient? Our saintly Queen suddenly wed to a new husband, younger than she, whose social status is inferior to that of her own? The whole of Christendom will say that you took the first man you set your eyes on to your bed simply to satisfy your physical lust.’
‘Lust?’
‘It would prejudice your honour and your judgement,’ he pressed on. ‘It would defile your reputation. It would undermine the sanctity of the Crown itself.’
I was struck dumb by the enormity of this judgement.
‘His social status is not so inferior,’ Bishop Henry murmured, picking one comment out of the many. His voice seemed to come from a great distance. ‘Edmund is not some peasant discovered by Katherine in the palace gutter. He has, after all, the same royal blood in his veins as you, my dear Humphrey.’
‘I’ll not argue against it,’ Gloucester snarled, swinging round to face Bishop Henry, face livid with rage returned. ‘That’s the point, isn’t it? Your nephew has too much royal blood. And I’ll not allow a Beaufort marriage with the Queen Dowager.’
And there it was, Gloucester’s determination to stand in the way of any Beaufort aggrandisement. No Beaufort would be allowed to rise to power clinging to my silk damask skirts. Gloucester turned back to me, now giving no thought to his words, or to the degree of offence he would give to his uncle the bishop.
‘What role do you intend to give him, your new husband? Regent? Protector of the Realm? To replace me? Is that where the pair of you have set your sights? Oh, I’m sure Beaufort has. He would like nothing better than to lord it over the kingdom in your son’s name.’
‘Gloucester—’ But Bishop Henry’s intervention fell on stony ground.
‘Your marriage to Beaufort could destroy all we have achieved to preserve a kingdom with a minority rule. Do you not see how vulnerable we are with a King not yet five years old? We must do all that we can to preserve the strength of my brother Henry’s legacy, to strengthen the people’s respect and loyalty to the child king. Nothing must be allowed to undermine the God-given sanctity of kingship. And your selfish behaviour threatens to undermine all we have done. A liaison with a man known for little but low buffoonery and high ambition! Is this the man you would choose to stand beside you, as stepfather to your son? It is an entirely inappropriate match.’ He came to a halt, his breathing ragged.
And I, smarting from every criticism he had made of my character, my judgement and of the man I loved, summoned up a smile. Falsely demure, I asked, ‘An inappropriate marriage? If we are to speak of inappropriate marriages and relationships, my lord…’
And I let my gentle-sounding words hang in the still air, conscious of Bishop Henry stiffening in awe at my side.
‘How dare you!’ Gloucester blustered.
‘I think, my lord, that there is an English saying: about the relative blackness of pots and kettles. Am I not correct?’
Storm clouds raced across his face. The bigamous union between Gloucester and Jacqueline of Hainault had provided a short-lived attraction. And while he had set in motion an annulment, he had taken Eleanor Cobham to his bed, lady in waiting to the rejected Jacqueline. Oh, it was well known, but perhaps not tactful to mention here. I did so with a frisson of triumph as Gloucester’s narrow features became rigid with rage.
‘Your marriage has been
far more inappropriate than any I might contemplate, Humphrey. Neither Edmund Beaufort nor I would engage in a bigamous relationship. Neither, I swear, would Edmund consider taking one of my damsels to his bed.’
Gloucester was beyond mere fury. ‘You will not discuss my private affairs,’ he snapped through closed teeth.
‘Yet you are free to shred mine to pieces.’ How bold I was.
‘You will not wed Edmund Beaufort.’
‘I don’t accept that. You cannot prevent us.’
‘Can I not? We’ll see about that.’
And, scooping up gloves and sword, Gloucester stalked out, his brow blacker than ever. I heard his voice harsh, intemperate, echoing through the antechamber as he summoned his servants and horses. I pitied his retinue on the journey back to London.
‘I suppose there is little purpose in my trying to make amends and asking Lord Humphrey to dine with us,’ I remarked to Bishop Henry, who still lingered, thoughtfully, at my side.
His regard was quizzical. ‘That was not wise, Katherine. What did you hope to achieve? Antagonising the man, however satisfying, as I know from my own experience, will not help your cause.’
But I shrugged, unregretful. ‘It was eminently satisfying. I enjoyed the expression on his face. Nothing I say will win him round, so I have destroyed nothing that could be made to work in my favour.’
But Bishop Henry frowned. ‘Be discreet. Compromising behaviour will bring you to the public eye, and who’s to know the result.’ Surprising me, he seized my hand. ‘I beg of you, Katherine. It’s not too late. Draw back from this.’
But I tugged my hand free. So he was not my friend either.
‘I have no intention of flaunting my love in public as if it were some deplorable scandal. It is not. I have brought no ill repute to my son or the English Crown.’ I eyed him. ‘Have you spoken with your nephew yet?’
‘No.’ Head bent in thought, as if he would see the answer in the extravagantly floriferous tiles beneath his episcopal boots, the bishop was already making his way to the door, although I doubted it was to catch up with Gloucester. ‘I’ll try and get to him before Gloucester does, and beat some sense into him.’
‘Sense? Do you think to persuade him to withdraw?’ All the energy that had driven me into defiance against Gloucester began to fade in the face of this new opposition. It hurt that Bishop Henry should stand against me too. ‘So you agree with Gloucester,’ I said sadly. ‘You would advise me against it.’
‘I don’t know.’ At the door he paused, with troubled eyes. ‘All I know is that Gloucester will stop at nothing to destroy the rise of the Beaufort star in the Heavens.’ His smile was dry and brittle. ‘It is my wish, of course, to see our star rise. And until I see my way to it, my advice to you, my dear Katherine, is that you remain…’ he hovered over the word ‘… circumspect.’
A word that could mean anything or nothing.
‘And unwed,’ I added despondently.
He shrugged. ‘Don’t give up hope, my dear.’
Alice, silent throughout, walked at last to stand beside me as the bishop departed and placed her hand on my arm, which now trembled. ‘Madam Joanna did warn you, my lady.’
‘So she did. And Warwick, in his way.’
What would Edmund say in the wake of this denunciation?
CHAPTER NINE
‘Why should we not declare our love?’ I was eager, wanting to shout it aloud to the whole world.
We had returned to Windsor, Edmund travelling openly with me as one of my escort, my preferred companion. Why should he not? His protection, as cousin to my son, was quite unexceptional. It was impossible not to watch his lithe figure astride his burnished mount as he paced beside my litter. I was so full of exuberance that it was hard to pretend that there was nothing between us but family ties, friendship and formal courtesy.
This was the man I would marry. Why should we not be seen to love and be loved? Was it not now more than a year since Edmund had wooed me at Windsor in a frenzy of evergreens and old traditions made new, cloaked in velvet and winged in silver?
‘What need for secrecy?’ I demanded. ‘Who would possibly object?’
Edmund was well born. His blood could be no better, the slur of illegitimacy having long since been laid to rest. Who could take exception to his wooing of the Queen Dowager?
‘Wait a little, my love,’ he murmured against my temple, his lips a fleeting caress when he tucked me into my litter for the return journey.
But I gripped the front of his tunic. ‘I don’t understand why.’
Carefully he detached my hands, folding them one upon the other in my lap. ‘Because it wouldn’t do to cause political tongues to wag,’ he stated, smiling down into my eyes, willing me to see the future as he saw it. ‘Not yet. You must trust me.’ Even though his voice remained unemotionally cool, as if we were discussing the arrangements for the journey, Edmund remained implacable. No one would suspect the heated tenor of his reply as he leaned over me, arranging the cushions for my comfort.
‘One day you will be mine. I will take you to my bed as my wife, and there I will open the windows into heaven for you. You must be patient, my loved one. First I must make my intentions known to Gloucester and Bishop Henry. To the Royal Council. You are Queen Dowager and I am a Beaufort. Ours will be a political alliance, as well as one grounded in true love. It will not be done in secret.’
Which made good sense.
He reached up to untie the curtains, to shield me from the sharp wind. ‘Exercise patience, Queen Kat, and hold on to the fact that my love for you is infinite.’ And the curtain was dropped into place.
But how difficult it was to be patient. What possible obstacle would there be for the marriage of a widowed queen and a young man of royal blood? It would harm no one. Young Henry liked Edmund. And I was tossed in a sea of longing, to be with him and know the happiness of fulfilment.
I will take you to my bed and open the windows into heaven.
I could not wait.
But wait, Edmund had advised. Wait for a little time. So that was what I must do. I settled back against my cushions. I was too happy to be concerned, too secure in his love, anticipating the day when we would be together.
Back at Windsor, leaving Edmund to stable his horse and a tight-lipped Master of Household to organise the dispatch of my litter and escort, I went straight to the royal accommodations. And there was Young Henry in a creased tunic and hose, his fingers sticky with some sweetmeat, his hair clearly not having seen a comb for some hours. He ran to me and I lifted him into my arms. He was growing heavy at almost five years.
‘Have you brought me a gift, maman?’
‘I have.’
‘Can I eat it?’
I enclosed his hand in mine to prevent him smearing honey on my bodice. ‘I don’t think you can.’ A creak of the hinge on the door and a soft hush of skirts caught my notice. ‘Look who’s come to find you, Henry. What do you think, Alice? I think he has grown in even a short few weeks.’ I turned my head, smiling my welcome. ‘Do you?’
It was not Alice who had entered. In the doorway I saw that the woman had not Alice’s upright carriage or robust figure; rather my visitor was fragile and moved with care over each separate step. And then she moved forward into a stripe of sunlight and my visitor was plain to see. Letting my son slide to the floor, I walked to meet her as I smiled, my heart warming, silently admitting that the blame was mine for the distance that remained between us.
‘Madam Joanna!’
It had been too long—Henry’s funeral, in fact—since I had last found time to sit and talk to her.
Young Henry ran to her, but, seeing her involuntarily drawing back, I caught him before he could hang on her skirts. The lines gouged beside eye and mouth, more cruel than I recalled, told their own tale.
‘Will you sit? You are right welcome.’ Keeping Henry at bay I took her hand and led her to a settle that was not too low, where I helped her to sink slowly back against
the upright support.
Joanna sighed, a sound that was almost a groan.
‘Thank you, dear child.’ She managed to summon a smile. ‘Now you can kiss me.’
I did, shocked by the quality of her skin at close quarters for it was dry and as thin and yellow as old parchment. The pain in her limbs was clearly great, the malaise gaining strength with each month’s passing. Acknowledging that she would not wish me to talk of it, I merely kissed her cheek again.
‘When did you arrive?’ I asked.
‘Yesterday. I came up in easy stages from King’s Langley.’
‘To see me? Then it is my fortune that I returned today.’ I enfolded her gnarled fingers with their swollen joints very carefully in mine.
‘They said you were at Leeds.’
‘Yes.’ I whispered in a restless Young Henry’s ear and sent him off at a run to bring wine for our guest, nodding to my page Thomas, who would follow him, while I sat at Joanna’s side. She shuffled in discomfort and I could not but ask, ‘Madam Joanna, are you quite well? Should you have travelled so far?’
‘My joints ache, but I expect no less.’ The movement of her lips was spare. ‘I thought I had to come.’
‘Well, of course.’ Not quite understanding. ‘Why should you not visit me? Although it would have been more thoughtful of me to come to King’s Langley. Forgive me, madam. Will you stay? If only for a few days? Henry will enjoy showing you his new skills with a wooden sword. As long as you stay well out of reach, of course.’
But Madam Joanna no longer smiled, rather withdrawing her hands from mine. In that brief gesture I had the impression that if she had been able to do it easily she would have stood and walked away to put some distance between us.
‘What is it?’ I asked. ‘Has something happened to upset you?’
Madam Joanna’s eyes were old, full of knowledge, full of past grief, but her gaze was uncomfortably direct. ‘I have come for a purpose. When you have heard me out, you may not wish me to stay long.’
It was a disturbing disclosure, but still I did not follow. ‘I’m sorry, why ever would I not wish you to stay?’