by Anne O'Brien
Edward and Ned clasped hands in a fair pretence at reconciliation. Edward kissed my cheek. Unsure that he would ever be reconciled to me, I felt a huge sense of relief that at last our precipitate action would receive royal and papal blessing.
‘Well?’ I realised that Edward’s expression held an interesting speculation as he drew me a little distance from the party.
‘Well what, my lord?’ I realised that his support was not going to be without its cost. Edward was about to take advantage of my relief.
‘You could show your gratitude, cousin.’
‘And how would I do that?’
‘A loan,’ he said promptly. ‘This drains my finances inordinately.’ He waved towards the building operations which swarmed with stonemasons and labourers. ‘The French King’s ransom is slow in materialising, despite his being sent home with all my good will. It was your idea, and it failed.’ Edward was predisposed to whine. ‘You are a wealthy woman. My legal men can travel to Avignon with great speed, if I give the order.’
Admiring his pragmatism – Edward’s recognition and swift intervention in exchange for a loan – I also saw the value to me in having the King in debt for my good offices. Who knew when it would be of value to me? It was a business transaction close to my heart.
‘Here’s what I’ll do, cousin. I will pledge you some of my jewels. You may sell them if you wish or raise money on their value. Will that be sufficient to show my gratitude?’
‘It depends on how many jewels and their value.’
‘Oh, I will make sure that it is a truly royal gift, from the Princess of Wales to the King of England.’ I leaned close. ‘But if I see them adorning Mistress Perrers’ bosom, I’ll make it known the length and breadth of the country. And demand their return in a blink of an eye, with a recourse to law if necessary.’
‘Would I do that? You have my word that I will not.’
Again there was a flush of hot colour along his cheekbones that matched the fire in his eye. Did I trust him? I thought that he might very well bestow them on Mistress Perrers, but not yet. Edward was a man who kept his word. We had come to terms after all.
‘I’ll hold you to that word,’ I said.
As Edward, in a fair mood at having achieved a victory against overwhelming odds, ushered the party closer to the massive building works, I was halted by a hand on my cloak.
‘You should be congratulated, my lady.’
‘Still here Mistress Perrers?’
‘As you see, my lady.’
‘I thought you might have found a ready excuse to be elsewhere.’
‘No my lady. I received an invitation from the Queen.’
I studied her, again intrigued by this woman, in spite of my hostility towards her.
‘What does the King see in you?’
I thought she would be flippant in her reply. Instead her face became solemn.
‘The King tolerates me – even loves me – because I do what none of his household is prepared to do.’
‘And what is that?’ I was curious.
‘I tell him the truth.’ A smile touched her mouth, coloured her pale skin. ‘As perhaps do you, my lady.’ Her eye travelled over my robes, as had many that day. ‘Except perhaps on this occasion when it might be useful to be furtive.’
She was too percipient by half. ‘Stay out of my path, Mistress Perrers.’
‘I will. Your doings have nought to do with me. I wish you well.’ She stepped around me, as she had once before, as bright-eyed as my pet monkey. ‘You might ask yourself, my lady, why the King changed his mind. Was it your voice of persuasion or mine?’
She was a clever woman. Had she added her soft voice? I did not believe that she would since I was no friend of hers. Perhaps she hoped that I would become such a one.
No, she was cleverer than that.
‘Was it yours?’ I asked. ‘I would wager that chain of sapphires it was not.’
‘I would not wager with these gems, my lady. Their value is too great for me to risk my loss of them. One day, when Edward is dead, my place here will come to an end. I must make provision for that day, as you make provision for your future. For one day your power too will die a death. But no, I did not persuade Edward. It will please you that it was his own choice.’
She went to stand beside him, taking an interest as he pointed out where the great walls would be built.
‘I despise that woman.’ Isabella at my shoulder, venom in her regard.
I almost responded in agreement, that I too detested her, her confidence, her self-assurance. But I admired Mistress Perrers’ reading of an unstable situation, the sheer transience of it, a weakness in effect that I would do all in my power to exploit. It made me uncomfortable that she should read mine so clearly.
The contingent of royal legal men set off, laden with scrolls, gold and fine arguments, but neither they nor Ned’s squire returned soon from Avignon. A situation I recognised all too well. My mind began to plot and plan.
‘How long?’ Ned groaned, impatient with a situation he could not change.
‘You will have to wait with patience.’
‘I have no patience.’
‘We could pre-empt the decision.’
‘And do what?’
‘Let me tell you.’
He listened as I outlined my thoughts.
‘Will we find a bishop who will do it, and risk my father’s wrath?’
‘Are you not the Prince of Wales?’
‘But this is not a battle. Or perhaps…’ his eyes were opaque, unseeing of the stretch of the Thames as he considered the matter, then they fell onto me. ‘I think that it is undoubtedly a battle. And since we have come this far, we must drive the charge on to the end.’
***
On a day of calm, early autumnal warmth most fitting for our journey, Ned and I arrived at Lambeth Palace, and there, before a not entirely pleased Archbishop Islip of Canterbury, the most pre-eminent cleric that Ned could get his hands on at short notice, we explained what it was that we wanted. His Grace was reluctant, coldly eloquent, despite Ned’s frown that grew heavier by the second after we had kissed the episcopal ring and shown him every honour.
‘We do not have the dispensation, my lord.’ The Archbishop’s final summing up. ‘We have had no word from His Holiness. Thus it would be unwise for us to proceed along the lines that you envisage.’
‘But we will. We will do more than envisage. This lady and I wish to take this step, in anticipation of the papal decision.’
Although I left him to use his authority, spending the time standing before the Archbishop’s prie-dieu, turning the pages of the missal, my mind was not on the vivid pictures or holy words. I was willing Ned to remain calm, even though I knew it was a lost cause. He might be seated, as invited to do so, but the tension in him shimmered across the room.
‘But we cannot pre-empt it, my lord. That would merely layer another sin on top of the initial one.’ I felt the cleric’s glance touch on me. ‘You are not yet permitted to wed this lady. Why would you wish to take this step, when it is only a matter of waiting?’
‘Because I wish it.’ Ned’s voice was hardening by the minute. ‘We can pre-empt it, Your Grace, because it is my will.’
‘But I am not empowered, my lord…’
I abandoned the missal to stand at Ned’s side, a hand on his shoulder, pressing hard. I smiled at the Archbishop but my question was for Ned, knowing exactly how I could take a hand in what was fast becoming a heated dispute.
‘Do you not think,’ I asked Ned, ‘that we should apply to the Bishop of London instead, if it does not sit easily with His Grace of Canterbury’s conscience? It matters not whether the heir to the throne plights his troth before Canterbury or London.’
Without hesitation Ned stood. ‘Excellent! And plight it we will.’
The mention of London, an unexpected swipe at ecclesiastical protocol, was more than persuasive. That same evening, as the autumn shades gathered, Ned and I t
ook our marital oaths before the suddenly co-operative Archbishop who gave us his blessing with a thin semblance of acceptance.
Ned smiled at me. ‘I would have given you a ring to mark this occasion. I forgot to bring it. Wear this instead.’
He took a ring from his own hand and pushed it onto my finger where it spun, large and loose, but I clenched my fist over it. There it was, the single amethyst catching the light with costly allure. The first step to true legality. All we needed now was the ceremonial, the royal acceptance, the full marriage, in Windsor.
‘I want it fast,’ Ned announced as we prepared to leave.
‘I really cannot publish the bans yet, my lord,’ the cleric was nervous. ‘Not until the Pope has pronounced. I should not have allowed you to plight your troth with such speed. You should consider arranging the ceremony perhaps at the beginning of next month. His Holiness should have made his decision by then…’
Ned considered this, and I nodded when he looked at me. Within a month would be acceptable. Time and enough for my women to sew a new gown in which I would become Princess of Wales. There were some blessings.
So we returned to Kennington with a degree of satisfaction and much planning, only to be summoned back the following day by a page in Canterbury livery, all our complacency undermined when we were ushered in to find the Archbishop in some state of anxiety, as was I although I was more adept at hiding it. Had we been refused after all this? Was everything Ned and I had done to fall to pieces at the last because, in spite of all my hopes, the Pope saw an advantage in putting some malign political pressure on the King of England?
‘Do we have the dispensation?’ Ned demanded without waiting for the formal greeting. No bending of the royal knee or kissing of the episcopal ring today.
‘No, my lord. It is not as easy as that.’
Fear leapt within me now, fully fledged. All my ambitions, all Ned’s autocratic demands, were to be ground under the heel of the papal slipper.
‘I have received a papal document, my lord.’ His Grace was severe, which did nothing to settle the hectic beat in my throat. ‘It is necessary that you know the contents, and consider them.’
‘Why? What do I need to consider? I know what I want.’
‘There are terms, my lord…’
Ned waved him to begin as we took our seats.
‘Make all plain, man, so that we can get on with it.’
The Archbishop, resigned to being hurried along, no matter the importance of the document with its papal seals, placed his hands face downwards on either side of the missive.
‘I think that the conditions are not insuperable, my lord. His Holiness is pleased to smooth your future path together. He has cast the papal eye over the previous situation, my lady, between you and your two husbands.’ He read painstakingly. ‘The marriage between you and the Earl of Salisbury was declared null and void by the papal bull of 1349. His Holiness recognises that this declaration is quite legal.’
‘There was no question of it, Your Grace,’ I said.
As I knew. Did I not have the documents safe in my keeping?
He glance took in both of us. ‘There is the matter of the clandestine marriages that have been a feature of your marital state. The first, my lady, is cancelled with the death of Sir Thomas Holland, Earl of Kent. The second is more problematical – the one undertaken in the spring of this year between yourself, my lord, and the lady here present. Such a marriage without holy approval is open to punishment by excommunication.’
‘But His Holiness would not consider excommunicating me,’ Ned said. He was without fear, although I shivered at the underlying threat.
‘No, my lord. His Holiness consents that this marriage too shall be declared null and void. It was an unfortunate aberration on your part, but it will not be a hindrance to any future step you take. Thus you are both declared to be at this present time unmarried, and so free to marry again under the blessing of Holy Mother Church.’ He cleared his throat. ‘But I must ask you. You are both required, under oath, to promise that you – that neither of you – will ever again enter into a clandestine marriage. Any such marriages must be foresworn, in my presence.’
Ned’s brows rose. I thought he might refuse, his royal dignity impaired.
‘Do you so promise?’
‘Yes.’ I said. ‘We will make such a promise.’ I closed my hand over Ned’s arm. ‘Both of us.’
It was easily done to make a promise, sanctified by the Archbishop’s own golden crucifix, lifted from around his neck and handed first to Ned and then to me. So few words needed to destroy the mistakes of the past and set our feet on a righteous path. We kissed the jewel-encrusted gold and all was made well, our sin wiped clean. Ned’s oath might be dragged from him, but I knew the value of this acquiescence. So we promised. No more clandestine marriages. But then why would we? This is what we had wanted.
‘Good. Good.’ The Archbishop reclaimed his crucifix, replacing it so that it gleamed, a reminder of what we had just done. ‘You are now both released from the penalty of excommunication.’
‘Is that it?’
‘Not quite my lord. Do you now agree, as a symbol of your repentance of so thoughtless a deed…’
I felt Ned stiffen again and closed my hand tighter.
‘… to build and endow two chapels to the glory of God?’
I thought it was in Ned’s mind to refuse, but I slid my hand down to take his, linking our fingers.
‘We do so swear,’ I said. ‘We will endow two chapels.’
‘We do so swear,’ repeated Ned.
‘Then it is done. There is no remaining impediment to your marrying this lady, publicly and legally in a seemly manner.’
‘How soon?’
‘We must publish the bans, my lord.’
‘Then do it now.’
As we left, ‘I wish for a copy of the papal instructions,’ I informed the relieved cleric. ‘Can it be arranged?’
‘Most certainly, my lady. I will send them to you forthwith.’
I was amassing a collection. I would not be parted from them.
It was on the tenth day of October, less than a year after the death of Thomas, that I achieved the true fulfilment of the ambitions that had dogged me since childhood. When I had dreamed of escaping the taint of treason, it had never been in this manner. Now my status before all was confirmed, my less than spotless past wiped clean. I was protected from criticism and disgrace, becoming Ned’s legal wife and Princess of Wales in the eyes of the world in the chapel at Windsor.
The chroniclers recorded, along with less than subtle comments on my being the Virgin of Kent, against which all present turned a discreet blind eye, that the match greatly surprised many people.
No. It surprised very few, for, by the time we stood side by side in St. George’s Chapel at Windsor before the combined weight of the Archbishop of Canterbury, the bishops of Salisbury, Lincoln and Worcester, as well as the abbot of Westminster, it had been the subject of court gossip for as many months as I had fingers on one hand. By the time the bans had been called with disgraceful speed within four days, most there-present regarded this union as a fait accompli, and, to avoid any further acrimony from the pens of the chroniclers, merely wished us to complete it.
The weight of the Church dignitaries would add verisimilitude to the proceedings.
If some thought that the King would continue to show his disfavour, they were to be disappointed. No scandal here. When I stood beside Ned at the altar to exchange our vows, our promises were duly witnessed by Edward and Philippa, a handful of their royal children and a vast gathering of court notables and clergy. Nothing clandestine about this marriage. Edward was gruff when we knelt before him for his blessing, but he did not stint on the acceptance of our union, raising me to kiss my hand and my cheek. His ill-will had faded with the aura of holiness and legality. We were restored.
And so I was Princess of Wales, the legal entanglements of the past untied and retied in this
act of public witness. One day I would be Queen of England.
Ned turned to smile at me as he held my hand in his to present me to the court.
I smiled back. It was no hardship. This time he had remembered the ring, one that I knew he had had made for me so the fitting was perfect, a piece of worked gold to offset the fine ruby at its heart.
Was my heart engaged? Perhaps it was a little.
And yet my satisfaction was spoiled. Is it not a fact that the germ of discontent lies at the heart of even the most perfect of fruit? Here was a grub, tiny and insubstantial yet still a blemish, at the centre of this peach, even though I had to accept the King’s cold reasoning.
I had expected a celebration of vast proportion. For the heir to the throne to take a new bride who would carry his heir, the future King of England, was it not of major importance for the event to be feted? Would we not celebrate that we were legally conjoined? I had enough experience of royal marriages to know what I might expect of masques and dancing, of mummers and tournaments, of foreign ambassadors by the dozen with their heraldic achievements to the fore. Of show and festivity and the shaking out of the coffers of the costumes so beloved of Edward and his court, even down to the peacock feathers. Why would I not expect the same? This was one of the most important marriages of the decade. The English heir, the famous knight of Crécy and Poitiers, wed at last.
Nothing. There was not one ripple in court life to mark our holy wedlock. There was no splendour. The peacock feathers remained packed away. No celebration, no tournament at which Ned could shine, no foreign ambassadors. If Edward had filled his coffers from the ransoming of the French King John, or from my loan, none of it was spent on our union. There was a meal set out for those who attended our wedding. Nothing more.
I looked at the tables with the array of dishes, all quite adequate for a court repast, but hardly for the marriage of the Prince of Wales. Not a stuffed peacock, not a roasted swan, not a Pike in Galentyne in sight. There was no expensive outlay on dramatic subtleties to proclaim our union with heraldic achievements and mythical beasts.
King Edward made all clear.
‘Better if you settle into married life away from the public eye. Until they get used to the idea. An heir would be a good thing, too.’