Faithful Traitor: The Story of Margaret Pole (Plantagenet Embers Book 2)

by Samantha Wilcoxson

  Ursula normally would have laughed. On this day, the picture of her almost fifty year old mother racing across the countryside on King Henry’s horse only brought a fleeting smile. “I know you would, mama,” she said. She had resorted to her childhood reference for her mother ever since baby Henry’s death.

  Margaret blinked away tears. Her heart broke for Ursula, and she could never speak aloud that she was thankful that at least it had been the baby and not her that had died.

  “I will keep you and Harry in my prayers.”

  She knew that others would assure Ursula that another child would be conceived soon. God’s will would be done. She also knew that was not what Ursula wanted to hear. She did not like people assuming that they knew God’s will or that the happenstance of this earth necessarily fit into it. Her God was usually kinder than that.

  The hint of a smile. “I know you will do that too, mama.”

  “God bless you, my dearest heart.”

  Margaret embraced her again, then strode quickly away. She did not want Ursula to see her tears and certainly could not stand to see hers.

  February 1521

  “My first joust! I cannot wait to see the knights and their destriers!”

  Princess Mary danced around Margaret’s skirts, her exuberance releasing pins from the carefully crafted hair style that her ladies had spent almost an hour creating.

  “Your grace, you must compose yourself and behave with dignity as those knights expect from their future queen.”

  Margaret never referred to the princess by anything less than your grace or princess and allowed no lapse in respect in any member of the household. She was quick to remind them that one day this child would be their queen and she should be treated as such. She was just as quick to discipline the young lady for she knew it was better to receive strict treatment now than to make public mistakes later.

  “Yes, Lady Salisbury,” Mary said, instantly transitioning from energetic five year old to demure young lady with her head bowed and hands held loosely in front of her stomacher.

  Margaret could not maintain the frowning face of a strict disciplinarian with the lovely auburn haired child so submissive before her. She smiled as she leaned down to the girl’s level. She could feel the cold emanating from the hard ground as she did so.

  “It will be a fantastic spectacle, and you will even get to see my two oldest sons compete in the joust.” Margaret’s grin widened at the thought of her handsome sons proudly representing their king.

  “I look forward to watching Sir Arthur and Lord Montague as part of the revelries,” Mary responded properly and without enthusiasm, making Margaret laugh.

  “You will also see your mother, who I know cannot wait to hear about your progress in your studies.”

  “And my father!” Mary exclaimed, brightening once again.

  “Yes,” Margaret agreed as she replaced the loose pins in Mary’s hair. “Your father will be anxious to receive you as well.”

  She could say nothing else, though she wondered. Henry sometimes behaved as though he loved his daughter beyond measure and was happy to name her his heir. Other times, he showered such favor upon Henry FitzRoy, as Elizabeth Blount’s son was known. Margaret could not imagine how this made Catherine feel because her own feelings were fierce with love and protectiveness for the sweet princess.

  The grounds of York Place were as manicured as they could be with the hard frost still upon them and a vast field had been prepared for the competition. It was bustling with men and horses.

  Margaret instructed Mary’s nurses that they were to keep their eyes on their precious charge rather than the handsome knights. Mary was an obedient girl but had never experienced anything quite like this. Accidents too easily happened when children inadvertently wandered off. Margaret herself would be at the girl’s side as much as possible, but she also would be expected to greet certain peers and was eager to see her children.

  Princess Mary’s eyes were bright with excitement and constantly moving in an effort to take in every detail. However, she made no effort to move from her attendants’ sides. Margaret nodded with approval at no one in particular.

  Her thoughts were shifted from her royal charge in an instant as Montague approached. For a moment, she had caught her breath, he looked so like his father had at his age. Margaret had to remind herself that this could not be Richard. Had he lived, he would be approaching his comfortable old age, but she would not allow herself to question God about why he had not allowed that just now.

  Montague was the perfect nobleman. Handsome but not arrogant, intelligent yet willing to hear the opinions of others. He displayed effortless horsemanship as he easily reined in the giant horse before his mother.

  Mary squealed with delight at the dark brown animal whose coat shone in the sun. Montague leapt from its back and knelt before her, even before greeting his mother.

  “Your grace, it is more than I deserve to have your blessing before my match.”

  Mary suppressed the giggle that rose to her throat and attempted to match his serious tone. “Fight well, Lord Montague, with my blessing and God’s,” she said in a clear, high pitched voice.

  Henry rose, bowed before her, and approached his mother. Bowing low again, he said, “And your blessing as well, mother?”

  “Of course,” Margaret could only whisper as emotion closed her throat. “May God watch over you, keep you safe, and give you victory,” she said in a weak voice, crossing his forehead and resisting the urge to embrace him tightly.

  He gave her a grin as he rose that brightened the already sun-filled day. Margaret nodded to the other women to carry on with the princess and allow the little girl to see the sights as she enjoyed a visit with her eldest son.

  “You could not have made a better impression on your future queen,” Margaret admitted as Henry instructed a page to see to his horse. The grin he returned assured her that had been exactly his ambition. “She will never forget the noble Lord Montague.” She said it in a light tone but nodded her approval. Royal favor could be elusive, but that earned early would color each thought of him from that point on.

  “Arthur has arrived as well,” Henry added in a neutral tone.

  “It will be wonderful to see all of my children,” Margaret said, hugging herself at the joy of it and feeling like a young mother again.

  “He is well, of course.”

  She heard the inference. Arthur always made sure that he was well, though he would not know the status of others. Again, that fear that he was too much like his grandsire crept into the far reaches of Margaret’s thoughts.

  “And Geoffrey?” she asked.

  Henry paused and squinted as though it made him see his thoughts more clearly. “I’ve not seen him. Will he arrive with Buckingham?”

  Despite her feelings for, or rather against, Edward Stafford, she knew of few better equipped to instruct her youngest son in manly arts and had sent him to Thornbury.

  “Yes, and his entourage will likely be impossible to miss.”

  They exchanged knowing glances, and Henry inquired regarding his sister.

  “Ursula travels with them as well. She fares well,” she answered the unvoiced question in his eyes.

  “Good.” As the firstborn, Henry felt protective of his siblings, especially his only sister. “And there they are, I believe,” he said, looking toward a long caravan of horses and wagons making camp in a favorable location near the jousting field.

  Margaret peered in the direction her son indicated but could discern nothing more than fuzzy activity some distance off. Her eyes were no younger than the rest of her, alas.

  “You go to greet them,” she encouraged him, patting his arm to urge him on. “I must find the Princess Mary, and you should not be held up by an old woman.”

  “I would never think of you as old,” Henry argued, though his happiness at being released was clear. “I will bring you back news of my brother and sister once I locate them.”

&nbs
p; “Please do,” she said, but he was already gone, his strong back receding through the crowd that surrounded her.

  As if sensing her need for company, Mary was almost immediately at her side, filling the air with bubbling conversation about the horses and armor she had seen in her short tour of the jousting grounds. Her enthusiasm was just what Margaret needed to lift her spirits while she waited for her children to find her.

  “When will my mother and father arrive?” Mary asked after she had described each scene she had taken in during the short time away from her governess’ side.

  “Within the next day, to be sure. Now let’s take a seat under the canopy and rest.”

  “But I do not need to rest,” Mary started to protest before her tutoring took over and she realized that her governess likely did need to sit. “Yes, Lady Salisbury,” she corrected herself with a low curtsey.

  Margaret raised her up with a pat on the head, and they settled themselves in a spot with an enviable view of the grounds and those camped around it as preparations for the joust went on around them.

  A basket was produced, and the ladies were refreshed with bread, cheese, and watered wine. Margaret was thinking what a charmed life it was when she heard a familiar voice booming voice ranting about the escapades of Richard de la Pole on the continent. She knew only one person who would speak anywhere other than in dark corners of the man so hated by the king that he was the known target of hired assassins. Edward Stafford.

  Anger much deeper than any lust she had ever felt for the man threatened to spill over into her countenance. This man currently counted two of her children as members of his household. Could he not consider the safety and security of those who relied upon him?

  “They are lauding him as Richard IV,” Buckingham said jovially as though telling a great joke, seeming not to notice that those around him laughed half-heartedly and anxiously scanned their surroundings.

  “But we do not here,” Margaret stated firmly. She had reached him quickly, not because she desired his company but because few would stand up to him and put an end to his careless talk. It needed to be done, and she was not afraid. Not of him.

  A few hangers on took the opportunity to melt away from the circle that the king’s spies would inform him were listening to the duke’s treasonous talk. They hoped that their presence had gone unnoted. Others clung on, more desperate for the favor of Buckingham than afraid of the king’s wrath. Only Margaret stood confident, in every way Buckingham’s equal.

  Edward only laughed. “Well, that goes without saying, doesn’t it?” He placed her hand on his arm and chose to ignore how unwillingly she acquiesced. “We both know that it will not be Richard de la Pole to replace good King Harry.”

  Margaret swiftly pulled her hand from his grasp and only just kept herself from smacking his mocking face. Her voice was an angry growl. “If you must cause your own destruction, please do so away from my presence and that of my children. Do you not understand the great risk you take just to take verbal jabs at our king? What could you possibly hope to gain?”

  “Oh, Meg,” he sighed. “You are too uptight.”

  “You lack common prudence,” she countered, letting her fury fuel her words with him for the first time. “Your father died with no opportunity to explain himself to the king or beg for mercy. Do you expect to earn greater reward from a Tudor?”

  For once, Edward fell silent and some color seemed to fade from his rosy cheeks. She waited for him to follow his thoughts where they would lead and watched his eyes seem to take inventory of those who remained close by.

  “You do not think…” he started in a voice tinged with fear, but it soon disappeared. “It is not as though I have raised troops against dear Henry,” he protested, his light tone back in place.

  “Do you think he will wait for you to do that?” Margaret asked in astonishment. “He knows the riches and men you could call up and will not wait for you to do so. He is a king, not a merchant hoping to collect your account. My father was killed on the orders of his own brother. You are counting too much on the kind understanding of an arrogant and mean tempered man.”

  Buckingham looked as though he would argue more, his mouth opening and then closing again like a fish seeking water. Finally, he just smirked and tipped his cap to her. “Good day, Lady Salisbury. Thank you for your kind advice.”

  Margaret watched him walk jauntily away and wondered if she had chosen a poor ally.

  As she returned to her own party, Margaret resolved to enjoy the rest of the day, taking pleasure in Princess Mary’s excitement and the company of her children. She would solve nothing by worrying about Buckingham and his lack of self-control.

  When time for the joust arrived, she forced all concerns regarding Edward Stafford from her mind. She joined Mary in cheering on her sons. Henry, who was normally reserved and older than many of the jousters, performed remarkably well and even appeared to enjoy himself. Arthur was truly in his element, flashing his irresistible grin at the young ladies and effortlessly defeating his opponents. They were so dissimilar yet still recognizable as brothers when they congratulated each other on their victories. The sight of them warmed Margaret’s heart and brought memories of them as little boys together to the forefront of her mind.

  Henry had apparently heard whispers of Buckingham’s ravings, and asked what his mother was going to do to protect their family.

  “I’m not sure what you would have me do, Henry. He is all bark and no bite. All I can do is pray that the king recognizes that.”

  “Forgive me, mother, but I think it is more serious than that.”

  Henry’s eyes, brown like his father’s, bore into her own. She could see that he was serious and he was not known for making emotional decisions. But what could she do?

  He seemed to sense her reluctance. “Remove Geoffrey from his care,” he insisted, laying a hand on hers in silent pleading. “He can join my household for now. You can tell Buckingham that I have an arrogant older brother complex and believe I have superior knowledge to endow. Say what you must, but ensure that Geoffrey’s name is not connected with his.”

  Margaret felt the blood drain from her face. She had underestimated the situation, assuming that Buckingham said more in front of her than others just to torture her. His reputation had grown and there was not a doubt that the king would have heard of his ramblings.

  “I will,” she said, lifting her chin to demonstrate she was ready for any challenge where her children were concerned. “And Ursula?”

  Henry relaxed and waved a hand at the thought of his sister. “She is safe. As a woman and the wife of Buckingham’s son, who all know to be a very different man than his father, the king will not bother to glance in her direction.”

  Margaret pursed her lips. Was he correct, or was his status as the man of the family clouding his vision? On the other hand, what could she realistically do about Ursula’s situation? She was a married woman, Harry Stafford’s wife before she was Margaret Pole’s daughter. “Very well,” Margaret sighed. “Anything else?”

  Henry stood, grateful that his task was complete and successful. He did not realize the effect of his parting words. “Be sure that the queen is ready to beg mercy on our family’s behalf, should it become necessary.”

  April 1521

  Princess Mary held the hand of her governess in a firm grip as she intensely stared at the creature blocking their way on the garden path. She stood perfectly still in order to avoid attracting the attention of its beady eyes. She had gasped in fear when she saw it and wished they had not set out on this early morning trek.

  “Is it a wolf?” she whispered. She had heard terrible stories of grey furred wolves, stealing livestock and even small children. Could that small animal possibly drag her away? She edged closer to the comforting presence of Lady Salisbury.

  Margaret held back her laugh, not because she was afraid but because she did not wish to scare away the fuzzy visitor that was sniffing the air, sensing their
presence but unable to focus its poor eyesight on them. She slowly leaned down and whispered in Mary’s ear. “It is a badger, your grace. He will not harm you and is probably making his way to his bed, for badgers sleep during the day and care for their families at night.”

  A hesitant smile worked at the edges of Mary’s mouth. “Are you sure it is not a wolf?”

  “Quite.”

  They watched the badger sniff and squint for a few moments before he waddled along on his way, telling himself that nothing had been there after all. Once he was out of sight, Mary began to giggle.

  “Did you see his stubby, little legs?”

  Her joy was infectious, and Margaret laughed in return. “He did not know what to make of us, giants in his garden.”

  “We must take early walks more often, so that we can see him again,” Mary insisted, using the voice that Margaret heard her employ with increasing frequency. It was a tone that informed the world that this was their next queen and they should take note of her desires.

  “I think that is a wonderful idea,” Margaret agreed. She did not see Mary’s order as impertinence, but as the budding confidence of a monarch. A frown formed as she saw one of Mary’s ladies hurrying down the path toward them.

  “Lady Salisbury,” she said in a breathless voice that indicated that she did not usually hurry from place to place.

  “What is it?” Margaret asked in a regal tone that never left any doubt of who was in charge at Greenwich.

  “A messenger.” The young woman’s battle to catch her breath would not allow her to say more.

  “At this hour?” Margaret said mostly to herself. She was already stepping around the girl and pulling Mary behind her to return to the hall and discover what news would cause a messenger to ride through the night to reach them.

  The young man’s livery was that of her oldest son and fear gripped her heart. Had there been an accident? Jane was due to have another child, and Margaret prayed for her safe delivery knowing that if the messenger was here her prayers were too late.