The Shadow Queen

by Anne O'Brien

I had loved a knight whose prowess knew no peer. And he had loved me.

  A single thought came into my mind, startling me, carrying me back over the years. Was it Ned or Thomas, my gifted, peerless knight whom had I loved?

  Both of them, of course. And both had loved me.

  I had been blessed indeed. Doubly blessed.

  And then a second thought assailed me, as the grandeur of the Trinity Chapel pressed in on me with its incense and carved saints. Where, in all this holiness, would I command for my own resting place when the day came to end my earthly existence? Here, rendered insignificant by the proximity of Prince and Holy Martyr? I would be cast in the shade, interred to one side perhaps, or at Ned’s feet if room could be found. A wife. A minor player in his life.

  ‘This is not the place for me, Ned,’ I said as if he would hear and understand. ‘I think that keeping Thomas company in Stamford would be a more fitting place. Where I can demand some recognition of my own that is not cast into the shadows by your regal presence.’

  I could imagine his acceptance. The nod of his head, conferring princely permission.

  ‘When my time comes. But not yet.’ There was really no more to say. ‘Farewell, my lord. My thoughts remain with you, always.’

  I followed Richard from the cathedral, turning my face to London, all trace of tears wiped away. There was a task to be done to ensure Richard’s safe inheritance. Nothing must stand in the way of my son’s wearing of the crown; nothing must threaten it.

  January 1377: Kennington Palace

  I must win the high regard of the citizens of London, those who were wealthy, with an increasing influence on affairs of the realm. If Richard was to slide seamlessly onto the throne of England when Edward died, I needed the unequivocal support of the City of London for the God-given rights of a child. When I had received Ned’s gold plate, with fair words and gracious gesture, I had won their approval. Now I must also appeal to the common element with its crude pleasures and wayward alliances. It was not beyond my powers to bring the rabble to heel when I dropped my demands into appropriate and willing ears. Who did not enjoy a celebration? In my son’s name the people of London rose to a magnificent occasion.

  Parading through the streets of London as night fell, feted by the crowds drunk on free ale and good humour, a vast group of masked mummers, well over a hundred of them, all tricked out as squires and knights, cardinals and papal legates, leapt and cavorted, blazing torches creating tortuous shadows. Revelry that would not be forgotten for many a day. From there, at my specific invitation, the mummers arrived at Kennington with huge din, to where we were met, a festive family of Richard’s royal uncles and powerful magnates.

  What a prescient evening it was to be, full of laughter and good will, when, presented with a pair of loaded dice by a crafty emperor in purple and tawdry gilt, Richard cast them again and again onto a square of black silk to win objects of true gold from the obsequious emperor, Richard crowing with childish delight, unaware of the trickery. At my behest but in Richard’s name, gold rings were dispensed to the mummers, ale to the crowd that had followed them. Music played to which all danced, lords and commons alike, even the royal uncles, urged on by the charged and wine-fuelled atmosphere of the moment. My satisfaction was beyond expression, not to any degree overshadowed by the amount of coin and subterfuge it had taken to achieve such a lavish display. It was worth the stench of unwashed bodies and the thick reek of the torches, their flames blackening Ned’s beautiful Kennington stonework.

  ‘Clever.’ Lancaster at my shoulder, still hot and short of breath, his hair curling, knew at whose door the planning lay. ‘Richard the Fortunate: Richard the Munificent. You are to be commended.’

  ‘Am I not?’ I continued to watch, aware of every nuance in the crowd.

  ‘Were the dice yours?’

  ‘They were Ned’s. And before you ask, the gold rewards were provided by me. It cost the mummers nothing but their compliance.’

  ‘I thought I recognised the jewelled knife that Richard won. I gave it to Ned, many years ago.’ He laughed softly, perhaps recognising an ambition as strong as his own. ‘Nothing is too much for your son, is it?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  I followed the line of his sight to where Richard still danced in procession with a cardinal and a handful of scruffy knights in makeshift armour. This was what I wanted for my son. Leaving Lancaster, I ensured the cups were kept full and, rescuing Richard for now he was weary, I kept him circulating at my side, his fair hair gleaming, his eyes bright with the adoration on the unmasked faces. The perfect Prince, who would be well-beloved, a King on whom fortune smiled, even if fortune needed a smart kick on the ankle.

  Across the chamber, Lancaster was accepting another cup of wine. I considered the possibilities of speaking with him. But no, not yet. This was neither the time nor the place, but soon. The King’s life was assuredly drawing to a close. I must be patient for this was a time of waiting.

  I had drunk nothing. My perception of events on that night was incomparable.

  The time came to pursue my plans further in February when I least expected it, and in a manner that was as compelling as it was unnerving, showing me once again how vulnerable we all could be. Late at night, as Compline had pronounced its blessing on us, my household at Kennington was disturbed by a hasty arrival. After a brief conversation and my consent, my chamberlain admitted Lancaster, damp, ruffled, angry, who, marching into my private chamber, dismissed my women with a brusque gesture that asked no permission from me.

  I allowed him to do it. Matters in the city, news of which had been reaching us daily, had clearly come to a head. Exerting patience, I allowed him to pace the room, tossing off his cloak, his artistically folded chaperon, scattering raindrops as he went, while I assessed his mood which was dark with fury.

  ‘Don’t speak until you have drunk this,’ I said at last.

  Rising from my chair I poured him wine which he drank in one gulp, while I sat again and waited as another cup of wine was dispatched.

  Then, into the silence, he told the tale in short phrases, all but spitting out the details. He had been dining with friends, a private occasion at the house of one of the powerful Percy family retainers. News had arrived of an approaching mob, intent on taking revenge on Percy and Lancaster for their attack on the liberties of parliament, clergy and city.

  ‘And are you surprised?’ I asked with deliberate calm.

  For I had made it my business to keep abreast of happenings in London. Why was it impossible to trust any man to act with good sense? Lancaster had thrown a blazing torch onto the bonfire of parliamentary and clerical sensibilities. And what a conflagration that had caused. I was furious with him, even as I admitted that I should not have been surprised. He could rarely govern his words when his temper was compromised. I could accept that he was a choleric man, a man whose haughty mien was second only to that of Ned, but this was beyond forgiveness.

  Calling on his supporters, Lancaster had set about either reversing or ignoring the earlier legislation of the Good Parliament, even, for some inexplicably altruistic motive that was beyond my understanding, reinstating Alice Perrers to her position at court as the King’s constant companion. The Speaker who had led the vocal opposition was arrested, replaced by one of Lancaster’s creatures, ensuring that the new parliament forthwith granted a generous sum in taxes to the Crown. Many frowned at Lancaster’s control, too heavy-handed, too indiscriminate. It made him few friends when he enhanced his own regal power and thoroughly damned parliament, denying that they had any power at all.

  Not the wisest of policies since parliament controlled the taxation for a crown that was increasingly in debt.

  As if that were not enough, the antagonism had grown worse. Why did Lancaster feel moved to support that radical clerk John Wycliffe so openly and so violently? I too might have had sympathy with the man but sometimes principle must be subsumed by expediency. Yet when the august Church Assembly of Convocation m
et and moved against John Wycliffe to stop his subversive views attacking the power and wealth of the clergy, summoning him to appear before them and answer to the charges of heresy, what did Lancaster do? Nothing but push his way into St. Paul’s to rescue his protégé from the mob, threatening to drag the Bishop of London from his see by the hair. The clergy were as instantly up in arms as was parliament.

  ‘I had no choice but to take to my heels,’ Lancaster now said, choosing to ignore my cynicism. ‘They were fired up with anger at their so-called dishonour, they were past conciliation. Someone spread the rumour that I intended to behead the damned bishop. I might think about it, but only a fool would do it.’

  ‘Whereas you are no fool. And you were quite ready to negotiate.’

  ‘Jesu! No, I was not. They’ll get no conciliation from me. A mob has already threatened The Savoy. Did you know that? I found a stinking boat and an equally stinking boatman to row me across the Thames. I’ve a gouge in my shin bigger than my fist, and had to forgo a better dish of oysters than any I’ve eaten for a month. I tell you, Joan, it cuts at my pride to have to run for my life from the gutter-rabble. A Prince of the realm… !’

  So! Lancaster was under threat. And he had come to me. The possible consequences leapt fully formed into my mind like Athena from the head of Zeus.

  He was pacing again, and as he did so, venting his spleen against the Londoners who had dared to proclaim him traitor to his knighthood, pinning his coat of arms, disparagingly inverted, on the doors of St. Paul’s and Westminster Hall, it seemed that events had fallen beautifully into my lap. This was the man I needed as my ally. If I had asked advice from any man of my acquaintance, he would have warned me away from Lancaster with his ambitions and wayward moods. But I knew better. I would harness my future to that of Lancaster, and here he had presented me with the perfect opportunity to tie him to my sleeves – and those of Richard. Here was a juicy morsel of bait for me to throw to capture this enormously important fish.

  But would he allow it? Pride was a Plantagenet besetting sin. Would Lancaster not consider his oath to Ned, with all the drama of a deathbed, to be sufficient? It was not sufficient for me. I would land him, thrashing and desperate for help. I would make him mine.

  ‘So you have come here to me,’ I observed lightly as he finished the tale, pouring yet another cup of wine, growling over his ruined hose.

  ‘Where else would I go? They’ll not attack you. You are honoured as if you are the Blessed Virgin herself. Such a change in your fortunes.’ He hissed on an inhalation. ‘I need your help, Joan.’

  I remained unmoved, even as I saw the wound to his pride in having to ask for aid.

  ‘You need a miracle. It is your own fault.’

  ‘Should I bow the knee to such rabble? Do they think that they are Kings and Princes? Have they forgotten who I am, how powerful I am?’

  ‘They will not have forgotten. You could try compromise.’

  ‘While they spread rumours that I am a changeling.’

  Which I knew came closer to the grain than any other accusation, scurrilous talk in the stews of London that he was the son of a Ghent butcher, substituted for a dead royal child. It hurt his pride like nothing other. But I would allow no sympathy.

  ‘Did you have to threaten the Bishop of London?’

  ‘Yes. But now I am painted as England’s enemy. They are out for the blood of any who support Lancaster.’ At last he sank down on a stool at my side. ‘I fear for The Savoy. I fear for the safety of my people. Yet I know not how to safeguard them other than dispersing the peasant mob with a troop of retainers to give them safe passage.’ He scowled at me. ‘I expect you will say that is bad policy too, to put my armed men on the streets. You could be right.’

  At last. Some contrition.

  ‘What do you want from me?’

  For a moment he sat, hands planted on his knees, energy shimmering round him.

  ‘Mediation?’

  ‘I think I might refuse.’

  ‘Refuse? Why would you?’

  ‘You allowed Alice Perrers to return to court. I am not pleased with you.’

  ‘I dislike parliament’s power to remove her more than I dislike the woman herself. It pleased me to untie parliament’s knots. They have no power other than that allowed by the Crown. By me.’

  I did not think that I could ever forgive him, all my hard work undone, all my plotting gone awry, in the interest of Lancaster’s ongoing conflict with parliament. Curbing my irritation, dismissing Mistress Perrers, for I would deal with her at a later date, I gave a little shrug as I announced. ‘You need to fight your own battles, Lancaster. I have my own concerns.’

  ‘Do you then turn me over to the mob?’

  He looked astounded that I should not immediately spring to his aid. But my compassion was roused. This was the man who had undertaken the burial of my tiny son in Bordeaux. This was Ned’s dear brother, who had fought beside him when his health was draining his strength. This, in the King’s decline, was the most powerful man in England. It would be ill-advised to throw this fair chance to the winds.

  ‘I will help you,’ I said, standing so that for once he must look up at me. ‘But you must be conciliatory towards those who attack you.’

  ‘By the Rood!’

  ‘There is no other way. You must agree to do as I say.’

  ‘I have no choice do I? They will tear me limb from limb if I step beyond your door.’

  I smiled, resting my hand on his shoulder.

  ‘Wait here.’

  I gave orders to send out three of my knights into the hotbed of London streets.

  When I returned, he was where I had left him, the lines on his face sharp-etched. It had been a novel experience for him to be hounded through the streets. Yes, it would work to my advantage.

  ‘Go to bed,’ I advised. ‘You can do no more. Or only damage.’

  He went to bed, but I did not. I waited for the return of my knights.

  Both risen early next morning, I refused to relay any information until we had celebrated early Mass. Lancaster looked as if he had slept ill, but was otherwise his usual peremptory self.

  ‘Well? What news?’

  Groomed, impressive, clothing replaced by me from some of Ned’s garments that fit him well, we had barely stepped out of the chapel. Anger still throbbed below the surface.

  ‘Not in public.’ I drew him into a silent antechamber.

  ‘This is what I have done, in your absence. The citizens of London, who were self-righteously considering burning The Savoy to the ground, have dispersed to their homes through love of me. I have arranged that a deputation of Londoners appear before your father, the King, at Sheen, to answer for their riotous behaviour that has threatened the peace of this land. When their sins were laid before them in my name, they were sufficiently contrite. You will be there at Sheen at your father’s side. You will speak softly. You will make them your friends again. Furthermore I will come with you, to remind you of what is inappropriate when you start to snap and snarl like an untrained hound.’

  He was not convinced. ‘Before God, Joan! You ask the impossible.’

  ‘It is the only way. Yes, you are a Prince, but it is not good to have London as your enemy.’

  He considered this. Then he considered me with a more than sceptical gaze. He nodded. ‘I’ll do it. But I’m not sure why you have put yourself out to such a degree. You are not given to altruistic gestures, Joan.’

  I smiled with great sweetness. ‘Times change, John. How could I abandon you? A Prince should not be seen fleeing through the streets with holes in his hose. The thigh-length tunic suits you, by the way.’

  He reminded me so strongly of Ned. The stance, the lift of his head, the dark wave of his hair against the rich sable edge of the borrowed collar.

  He touched my hand as if he had read the direction of my thoughts. ‘I miss him too. Sometimes more than I can bear. I know that you grew to love him too.’

  My hear
t softened, ached, full of unshed tears.

  ‘More than you will ever know. He became the love I never expected,’ was all I would say.

  It was an uneasy meeting at Sheen. Very few of the summoned citizens presented themselves in spite of my encouragement, doubtless fearing Lancaster’s retribution. If I had thought Lancaster would curb his temper I was wrong. While he continued to rage at their attack on his person and his status, I smiled and offered the citizens safety when they returned to their homes. While Lancaster waxed eloquent and furious about the insults shown to the King and his sons, for which London must be punished, I offered them ale to wet their parched throats. When Mayor and aldermen fell to their knees and begged for mercy, I suggested conditions on which they might be pardoned. The erection of a pillar in Cheapside and the offering of a candle at St. Paul’s must be acceptable although all quailed at death for those responsible for the reversing of the ducal arms. Throughout it all King Edward sat in an isolated silence, not understanding.

  Oh, I worked hard in that hour, until it ended as an apology of sorts from the Mayor, a grudging acceptance from Lancaster, the dispute patched over even though my stitching was lamentably weak.

  ‘I am grateful.’ Lancaster admitted this gratitude to me through a jaw-clenched demeanour that had not softened to any degree.

  ‘You owe me a debt, my lord of Lancaster,’ I replied in all seriousness. ‘One day I will demand its repayment.’

  ‘I pray it will not be too high a price for me to pay, madam.’

  ‘I assure you that it will not. Besides, how could you refuse?’ My smile was of the most dulcet. ‘It may be be that I have saved your life as well as your dignity.’

  ‘I will not forget.’

  In the end, I sent for him. John of Lancaster. A man who could be a threat to me and to Richard, for despite those who decried him, Ned’s death had left Lancaster the most powerful man in the land and Edward’s chief councillor, in effect governor of the realm. A dangerous precedent, which roused fears that he had sinister designs on the crown for himself and his own son. If the line of inheritance through Lionel’s daughter was rejected as a female line and so of no merit, then Lancaster was heir presumptive after Richard. And what if he saw it in his mind to remove Richard, or govern through him as a puppet?