Passage to Pontefract

by Виктория Холт

  ‘Philippa was never so well able to take care of herself as Elizabeth was,’ she said.

  John frowned and she wished she had not said that for she knew that he’d never liked Elizabeth’s marriage to the King’s half-brother, wild John Holland.

  ‘The best news of all is what has happened to my daughter Catherine. She has settled the matter of the Castile succession and settled it most satisfactorily.’

  ‘Catherine …’

  ‘Your namesake, my dearest. Constanza is happy with the result and so am I. Let me tell you how it came about. The campaign was dragging on. There was trouble all about us. Constanza and I came near to being poisoned.’

  She caught her breath with horror.

  ‘These things will be,’ he said lightly. ‘The King of Portugal had fallen dangerously ill and it really seemed as though he were on his deathbed. Then we began to suffer the same symptoms. We kept watch and the fates be praised we found the culprit. He was trying to get rid of us.’

  ‘He was working for Castile?’ asked Catherine.

  ‘It would seem so. However we had found the root of the trouble and it was amazing how quickly we all recovered. But such incidents sober one. I had come to the conclusion that this battle would never be satisfactorily resolved and it occurred to me that I had a daughter, Juan of Castile had a son. If they married that would settle the matter once and for all.’

  ‘So much better than those endless wars which give victory to one side and then the other and decide nothing for more than a few weeks.’

  ‘My wise Catherine. I put out feelers for the match. Juan was not very anxious for it, but we had a stroke of good fortune, for the Duc de Berri was looking for a wife. He wanted a young one and only a lady of nobility would do for such a noble Prince of France. He was a widower and not very young; I had no intention of giving him Catherine but I pretended to consider. And that frightened Juan. He did not want a powerful French claimant for the Castilian throne. He decided he would take Catherine for his little son, Enrique.’

  ‘And how old is Enrique?’

  ‘Ten. But Catherine is only fourteen. They are ideally suited.’

  Catherine sighed. She herself had made a marriage of convenience with Hugh Swynford and she knew how unsatisfactory such marriages could be.

  ‘I was very clever, Catherine. I have no intention that Catherine shall lose her right to the throne of Castile. Juan has a second son Fernando and part of the treaty is that Fernando shall remain unmarried until the match has been consummated.’

  ‘So this matter of Castile is settled and you have ceased to long to be its King?’

  ‘I have grown older and wiser, sweet Catherine. I tell you truthfully that all through these negotiations I said to myself: If I can settle this matter to the satisfaction of all I shall go home to my Catherine.’

  ‘And so you did think of me while you made these plans.’

  ‘All the time I longed for you.’

  ‘The Duchess?’ she asked quietly.

  ‘Constanza is pleased that her daughter should be Queen of Castile. She is content, I think. She too is weary of all the conflict.’

  ‘She knows you have come to me?’

  ‘She knows it and she makes no protest. She is Castilian at heart. She will never be anything else. She wishes to live with her own people about her. There is no room for me in her life.’

  ‘As soon as she became your wife she knew of my existence.’

  ‘I could not keep it from her.’

  ‘She knew then that your marriage to her was purely for the sake of the crown of Castile.’

  ‘Marriages such as ours are usually for such reasons.’

  ‘And she accepts this?’

  ‘She must. It is life. She does not want me, Catherine. You should have no qualms. Constanza is happy now that Catherine is married to the heir of Castile. Catherine will be Queen of the Asturias. That is all she asks.’

  ‘And for us …’

  ‘Together for ever,’ he said. ‘We shall not be parted. You will come to Court when I am at Court.’

  ‘You think I shall be accepted?’

  ‘If I say you shall be, so shall you be.’

  She could laugh albeit a trifle uneasily. It would not be easy, she knew. The people had never loved him. They had never liked his relationship with her. Whore, they had called her. Well, she could endure that.

  She was happy again. He was home.

  * * *

  The last years had passed more comfortably after that period when it had seemed that civil war could break out in England. After submitting to the restrictions that had been imposed on him for a year Richard had broken free, reminded his ministers that he was past twenty-one and was determined to rule. But he did not forget how close he had been to disaster and acted with caution.

  The Queen was constantly at his side. He trusted her completely. He knew that everything she said was her considered judgment as to what was best for him.

  Anne had been closer to him since the enforced absence of Robert de Vere. He listened to her, took her advice and was guided by her; those who wished him well rejoiced in the Queen for she was a sobering influence.

  Her great sorrow was that she was childless. Richard consoled her. He was not going to have their relationship tarnished in any way by such a consideration. They were both very young. It might well be that she would be fruitful later.

  ‘Our lives lie before us,’ he constantly told her.

  ‘I feel that I fail you and the country,’ she replied sorrowfully.

  But he shook his head. ‘I would not have you different in one way,’ he assured her.

  ‘I know that you love me as I love you. I know it is rare for people such as ourselves to have found this contentment. But how much more contented I could be if I had a son.’

  ‘Then you would concern yourself more with him than with me. No, rest content as we are. I am happy while you are with me.’

  ‘If we had a son the people would be pleased,’ Anne insisted. ‘It would settle the matter of the succession. So many eyes are on the throne. John of Gaunt always wanted it and so does his son, Bolingbroke.’

  ‘Lionel’s family come before them.’

  ‘That’s exactly what I say. There are too many greedy eyes on it. Gloucester …’

  Richard’s face darkened at the mention of Gloucester. He hated that uncle. He would never forgive him for the contempt and insults he had thrown at him.

  Anne went on hastily: ‘You see what I mean. But no matter. We have time.’

  Richard went on: ‘I like not Arundel’s marriage.’

  He was referring to the Earl of Arundel who had stood beside Gloucester in the recent trouble which still rankled bitterly. Arundel had recently married Philippa, the daughter of the Earl of March and widow of the Earl of Pembroke. This Philippa was in the line of succession through Lionel.

  ‘Arundel had no right to marry without my consent,’ went on the King angrily.

  ‘Well, that point was made clear and he was fined four hundred marks for it.’

  ‘It was not enough. I should have liked to annul the marriage.’ Richard laughed grimly. ‘He has a virago there. I wish him joy of her.’

  ‘It is over and done,’ said Anne, but she wondered whether it was. She did not trust Arundel. He with Warwick and Gloucester had worked together – no doubt still did – and it was not for the good of the King.

  They often talked of Robert de Vere. Launcecrona had gone out to join him and they missed the diverting company of those two.

  Richard was always hoping that Robert would come back. He knew though that if he did the trouble would flare up again. He would not be able to stop himself showering gifts on the fascinating young man and Robert would not be able to stop himself giving advice. The people would be in revolt against them.

  They seemed to dislike a man having a member of his own sex for a close friend. They would compare him with Edward the Second.

  O
h, great-grandfather of mine, you have a lot to answer for, thought Richard. The calumnies which people are only too ready to throw at me, the haunting dreams of the night.

  There was news now and then of Robert. He had gone to Paris where he had lived for a year and been treated well which was amazing and must have been due to his excessive charm for it was certain that the Sieur de Couci, who was there, would have done everything in his power to make life uncomfortable for the son-in-law who had repudiated his daughter.

  It was comforting that Michael de la Pole who had escaped at the same time was with him. They had become fast friends during their exile.

  Richard talked of him constantly. When he was excited over some new garments and discussed with Anne how the jewels should be arranged on it, he would often say: ‘Robert would like it this way I am sure.’

  Then one day news came from France. It left Richard desolate.

  Robert had fallen from his horse when out hunting the wild boar and the animal had turned on him. He was so badly gored that he had died of his wounds.

  Richard shut himself away and could not be comforted even by Anne.

  ‘Never to see him again!’ he mourned. ‘And they sent him away from me. Anne, I shall never, never forgive them for parting us.’

  Anne murmured soothingly that he must try to put the tragedy behind him.

  ‘I shall have his body brought home,’ he said. ‘He shall be buried at Earls Colne with his ancestors. It is what he would have wanted.’

  Richard had thrown himself into a fever of activity after the news of Robert’s death. He had at last to be reconciled to the fact that he would never see his friend again. There was no other young man whom he made quite the friend Robert had been, although he had his favourites among the younger and handsomer men of the Court. His main devotion was given to his wife and he looked to her for advice on all things. She always gave it cautiously, humbly almost. She tried to persuade him into doing what she considered the correct action rather than to voice her opinions strongly.

  Life at Court had become more extravagant than ever. His passionate interest in clothes seemed to have grown rather than diminished as he grew older. He would spend a whole morning cogitating on the cut of a houppelande or cote hardie and what jewels should be used to decorate them. The toes of his shoes must always be longer than those about him and as a consequence shoe points were growing to such an extent that they extended six inches beyond the toe. A few had taken this fashion to extremes and they even wore these points so long that they had to be tied to the knees. The King loved jewels and consequently his garments were lavishly decorated with them. One of his coats was so richly embroidered with gold and precious stones that it was valued at thirty thousand marks.

  Anne felt that she could only afford to be slightly less splendid. The costliness of her garments sometimes made her a little apprehensive, especially when she and Richard rode out together through the streets of cities where the poor gathered to see them.

  Richard thought it pleased them. ‘They like to see the splendour of our lives,’ he said.

  ‘Which,’ pointed out Anne, ‘could draw attention to the drabness of their own.’

  He liked her sage wisdom. It made him feel safe.

  There came one day in his life which he would never forget.

  There had been small outbreaks of pestilence in several parts of the country but this was a fairly normal occurrence and aroused little comment.

  Anne was at Sheen Palace at the time and Richard had been prodded into action to do something about the Irish question which was causing such great concern. He was well aware that some action would have to be taken and with his ministers he was discussing the possibility of taking an army to that troublesome land.

  It was in the middle of these negotiations that he received news that Anne had been taken ill.

  He left everything and went with all haste to Sheen. Although concerned he was not deeply so. Anne was young and healthy and this must be some minor ailment. Nevertheless he must be at her bedside to assure her of his devotion.

  When he reached Sheen Palace he received a shock. He scarcely recognised the pallid figure on the bed. She smiled wanly when she saw him.

  He knelt by her bed in bewildered grief.

  ‘Anne … Anne …’ he whispered. He could find nothing to say but her name.

  ‘Richard …’

  He looked at her numbly.

  ‘I am dying, Richard,’ she said.

  ‘No, no! Not you, Anne. You are going to get well. Why only a day or so ago when I left you … you were well. Can I not leave you for a few hours that you must cause me this terrible anxiety by falling sick. Oh it is only a minor ailment. You will be well tomorrow.’

  She smiled at him and he tried to fight the cold fear which had come into his heart. It numbed him. He had not thought this possible. Why should Anne, who was so young and so full of vitality … why should Anne die and leave him alone?

  An hour passed. He would not move from her bedside, and as he watched there hope started to ebb slowly away … as did her life.

  She was dying. His Anne. But how could it have been?

  He questioned the doctors. What had happened? Why should she have been so struck?

  ‘Pestilence is no respecter of rank, my lord,’ said the doctors.

  ‘What hope is there?’ he demanded.

  ‘There is always hope, my lord,’ was the answer.

  ‘Then make her well,’ he cried. ‘I command you. I order you … bring her back to me.’

  They went to the sick room. He was there kneeling by her bed.

  ‘Anne,’ he cried. ‘Anne, don’t leave me. Speak to me, Anne.’

  She said: ‘Richard, my love, my king, you must look at the truth. I shall not be with you very long.’

  ‘You shall not go,’ he cried, clinging to her hands.

  ‘It is not for us to decide, dear husband. You have made me very happy.’

  ‘Anne, I cannot go on without you. I cannot live without you.’

  ‘You will. You must. Oh Richard, take care. It is a rough path you must tread and I wanted to be there beside you. I wanted you to know that I was always there … always with you … no matter what happened.’

  ‘I did know it. I do know it. That is why you must get well.’

  She smiled at him slowly.

  ‘I shall pray for you, Richard, with my dying breath I shall pray for you.’

  She knew that it was time for her to pray for her own soul but she continued to pray for Richard. It was almost as though, there, lying on her deathbed she had visions of evil to come.

  She lived only a few hours. Even then Richard was unprepared for her death. He seemed to have lost his speech, his awareness of anything.

  He flung himself on the bed and stretched his arms over her body and silent sobs shook him.

  At first he would not leave her but at length he was passive as they led him away.

  * * *

  He was in a daze from which he emerged to order that the most magnificent burial must be prepared for her. All the world must know how he had revered her.

  Her body was brought from Sheen to St Paul’s where it was to lie in state before burial at Westminster. Richard had sent to Flanders for abundant supplies of wax for the flambeaux which would be needed in the procession. He demanded that every noble in the land should come to do honour to his Queen.

  They had taken the body away. He went to the apartment in Sheen where she had died and he cried out in his anguish: ‘I never want to see this place again!’

  He snatched at the hangings and pulled them down. They were scarlet velvet and they lay like a pool of blood at his feet.

  ‘I hate this room. I hate it. I hate it!’ he screamed. ‘She died here. Whenever I enter it I shall see her there on that bed.’

  He took a dagger and slit the bed-cover. Then he shouted to his attendants: ‘Come here, all of you. Let us destroy this room utterly. I never want to see
it again.’

  He lifted a pot which stood on a small table and flung it across the room.

  His attendants had appeared. They looked at this wild young man with the longish golden hair which was now ruffled and untidy. His blue eyes stared at them wildly.

  ‘Come, you dolts. Why do you hesitate? Destroy this room. Nothing shall stand. It was this room in which my Queen died. I never want to see it again.’

  He lopped savagely at the bedpost. It came away in his hands and he reeled back as the bed began to collapse.

  There was nothing to do but obey the King.

  The late Queen’s apartments in Sheen Palace were completely destroyed that day.

  * * *

  Having given vent to his fury against fate Richard felt a little better.

  She should have the most magnificent funeral. The whole world should know how he loved her. He summoned all the most noble of the land to come and pay homage to her as she lay in St Paul’s. There was one notable absentee, the Earl of Arundel.

  When Richard heard that Arundel had not attended St Paul’s he fell into a rage against him. He wanted to arrest him but was restrained from doing so by his uncle John.

  At first Richard would not listen but when John reminded him that Anne would not have wished it he was so overcome with grief that he turned away and went to his own apartments.

  Arundel was an arrogant man. He was contemptuous of the King. His new wife Philippa was a forceful woman who continually reminded him of his royalty through her. She was as highly born as the King, she maintained; and she was going to make everyone remember it.

  Therefore if her husband did not wish to attend the obsequies of the Queen he need not.

  She and her husband decided that he should put in an appearance at the burial service at Westminster, although there was no reason why he should remain throughout. He should tell the King that he had come as summoned but had no intention of remaining and the King should therefore give him official permission to retire.