by Anne O'Brien
‘We must not allow that.’
‘No. For even when we are at odds, I have a need to be with you. This estrangement hurts me beyond bearing. But I swear I cannot find a bridge to cross this divide. When I try, you retreat in smart order. Or chop down the bridge supports.’
‘Whereas you, Madam Joanna, are equally quick to set fire to the planks. It hurts me too.’ He hooked a stool with his foot and sat in front of me, all in one fluid movement. ‘Shall we try again?’
‘Yes.’ And after barely a moment’s thought, because that one accusation, that I was funding Burgundian hostilities, had hurt more than most:‘I should tell you, Henry—even though it does not sit well with me—that I did not tell you the whole truth. I did not send viable rents to my son. I would never fund Breton campaigns against England. Nor would I ever support Burgundy’s ambitions.’ I paused, seizing my courage, for I had indeed been at fault. ‘It was not what it seemed, and I was not honest with you.’
Henry’s brows twitched, his mouth set again. We were still not on a safe path. ‘It might be better if we did not return to that point of dissension.’
‘But listen.’ At last I put the lute aside, carefully on the floor. ‘All I sent was a tally of the rents due to me that had never been collected. Nor ever will be, I expect, since I failed in all the years of my marriage. Those rents will not aid Breton coffers, not at all. The landowners are famous for their resistance to their overlords. They’ll not pay unless an army descends on them.’ I saw the surprise, the sudden relief. ‘I should have told you, but I was too angry. The truth is that the rents I gifted to my son are well-nigh worthless. I suspect there is insufficient income from them for Burgundy to purchase a new horse.’
Henry considered this.
‘And I was too impatient to discover the truth.’
I lifted my shoulders, let them fall. ‘You didn’t know. But you would not have listened anyway. So I let you believe the worst of me.’
‘Leaving us both martyrs to a misunderstanding.’
‘Yes.’
Seated though we were now, close enough for intimate conversation, so close that I could count the faint lines that might deepen if he smiled, we were still stepping cautiously around each other. Our love was still so new, so uncertain, and now furiously undermined. Placing the box at his feet, Henry lifted my lute, his fingers producing from its strings a ripple of beautifully plangent chords, so beautiful that they awoke my senses, forcing me to swallow.
‘Don’t shut me out, Henry,’ I said, snatching at control.
‘Sometimes I must. I have brought you a peace offering.’
Exchanging the lute for the little box, he offered it, carved in ivory, placing it in my hands, where, turning it so that it glowed in the light, I stared at the exquisite workmanship.
‘It is beautiful.’
A virgin was in process of entrapping a unicorn, its proudly horned head resting delicately in her lap, while a pair of lovers sat under a tree with a spritely falcon to keep them company.
‘I have never seen a unicorn,’ Henry observed conversationally.
‘And I, of course, am no virgin.’
‘So you are unlikely to satisfy my curiosity by being able to entrap one for me.’
A little ripple of humour, of shared delight in this fine object that we could both admire. How long was it since we had experienced that? I found myself smiling at the virgin, and then at Henry, who smiled back, with such gentleness that all the hard ridges that seemed to encase my heart were softened.
‘I will pretend if you wish,’ I said, laughing a little, relief pouring over me.
His hand was possessive on mine. ‘No need. We’ll leave the unicorn for another day. Open it.’
So I did, and lifted out a double-sided comb enhanced with courtly couples amid luxuriant foliage, exchanging chaplets in a garden of flowers. If the little box was a delight, the beauty of the comb was exquisite.
‘It belonged to my grandmother, Queen Philippa,’Henry explained as I examined it. ‘I think she brought it with her as a young girl from Hainault. I managed to save it from my sisters who coveted it. I would like you to have it. And, my lady, if it is your will, I think I would like to make use of it.’
I looked up, surprised, for tenderness had been in such short supply. What I saw in his face made me respond:
‘It is my will, my lord.’
Thus when I unpinned my veil and removed my chaplet, Henry was as good as his word, applying the comb until my hair flowed loose and shining over my shoulders, and with it all my anger melted away. For while he combed we talked. Of this and that, of trivial, day to day happenings. All to remind us that love was still alive, even if it had been cooled by the unforgiving wind of thoughtless handling; of power and politics and civil war.
When my hair was smooth enough to please the most critical of my women, I poured wine for Henry and offered him a platter of preserved plums.
He eyed them.
‘I presume they come from Brittany. I suppose I should refuse them, since I took you to task.’
‘I would be sorry if you did. They are the fruits of my home at Vannes, and they are willingly offered in a spirit of reconciliation.’ I continued to hold the platter towards him, temptingly. Bishop Henry’s hatchet had gone awry, but there were indeed other methods to seduce a handsome man. ‘These plums, from what were my own gardens are, by repute, extremely potent in rousing dormant passions.’
Did they have such a reputation? I had no idea, but on the spur of the moment it seemed to be a worthwhile ploy. As indeed it was. Henry promptly ate one. And another.
‘I think you should eat one too,’ he remarked. ‘Or perhaps a half dozen.’
So I did. Between us we finished the plate. Our kisses were sticky with the sweetness. Was the reputation of my preserved plums from Vannes well-deserved? Oh, but it was.
Our reconciliation moved on to more intimate moments than eating plums and the combing of my hair. Our energies completely ruffled its gleaming length, and in so doing, with no regrets at all, laughter and love and physical desire were restored to us, and with it the bright magic that we had allowed to escape our grasp. All was eloquence and poetry, when we had the breath to be poetic, until Henry murmured against my throat:
‘There is something I should tell you, Joanna. Something I should have told you before now.’
‘And what is that?’ For a moment, caught up in the unexpected hint of strain in what seemed to be a hovering confession, I was anxious rather than diverted.
But Henry sighed, slow and languorous, defusing my fears, his words muffled against the little hollow below my ear. ‘Tomorrow and tomorrow will do. Or even later.’ He sat up, pulling me with him. ‘I never regret that you came to England,’ Henry said, incongruously stern despite his unclothed state. ‘You are all I could dream of, hope for, in a woman to share my days. To walk with me through joys and travails.’
It was all I needed to know. Tomorrow would do well enough for any confession, whatever it might be. I thought it would be of no moment. And yet I wondered what it was that he had needed to tell me in a moment of emotional passion.
‘I love you,’ I told him.
It was all I needed to say. We were magnificently reconciled.
*
Until I received a document, delivered by an official minion to my council in the hour before noon on the following day.
‘Madam.’ Steward Henry Luttrell was holding it out to me. Not a long missive, as I could see by the single folded sheet.
‘Is it from Brittany?’ I asked, busy with an accounting of the previous month.
‘No, Madam. From the Royal Council.’
I saw the expression on his face. I saw his unease.
‘Have you read it?’
‘I have, Madam.’
I took it, my senses aroused for some level of provocation. What business did the Council have with me? Unless it was to do with my dower. Master Luttrell’s sanguine expres
sion said otherwise.
I opened the folded sheet and read the briefest of content. No petition this, as presented before Henry. This was an order, to me, couched in terms I could not mistake.
I refolded it. Sharpened the folded edge with my nail.
Steward Luttrell hovered. ‘Madam? What is it you wish me to do?’
‘Not a thing, Master Luttrell. Where might the King be at this hour of day?’
Chapter 11
He was not easy to find, but eventually I located him in the ordnance chamber, contemplating a list of weaponry with his Master of Ordnance. Spread before him was once again the diagram of Henry’s cannon. Except that Henry had abandoned his artillery and was perusing a document, running his thumb over his chin as he read, a gesture I was quick to recognise. From the set of his jaw he was not pleased with what he read. Only pausing until Henry’s official had melted into the background, I cast my communication from the Council before him. I would try to be conciliatory, even as my belly leapt with anger at what had been done without my knowledge. If I had not been present at that parliamentary session, I would have been entirely ignorant of what was planned. Of what was now demanded with the full force of law.
‘I have received this,’I said, my tone luminous with distaste. ‘You knew, of course.’
It is required, by order of the Royal Council, that those within the Queen’s household who are Breton or Navarrese be dismissed. Of those who accompanied her to England, the Queen will be permitted to retain one lady in waiting of her choice.
I had re-read it again since that first revelation, a thrum of dismay running under my skin.
I could not believe that they had done exactly as they had threatened. Removing my whole household. Was their leaving me with one lady in waiting supposed to reconcile me, a sop to my undoubted fury? I was to be isolated. Forced to employ English servants not of my choosing. I would not be dictated to. I would not. I would not accept that those who had served me for so many years should be dismissed at the will of parliament and Council. And yes, perhaps it would have been good policy on my part to have employed English men and women, but did I not so employ them? Every important official in my council was English. Furthermore, had I not accepted the value of Bishop Henry’s advice, acknowledging the good sense of employing Englishwomen? But in the fullness of time, from my own choice. Not at the dictates of a parliament, issued in a tone that had absolutely no recognition of my regal standing.
And then there was Henry. Henry who had loved me and wooed me anew with his grandmother’s comb and fine words. And then betrayed me.
‘You knew about this, didn’t you?’ I repeated as Henry slowly retrieved the sheet and read.
Of course Henry knew of it. I will consider it, he had said. But I had never thought that he would concur quite so readily or agree to such a whole-scale pruning of my people.
‘Yes,’ he said.
‘Why did you not tell me?’
‘I did not think they would act so swiftly.’
‘And you will allow this travesty? Why do I have to do this?’
Why should I have to surround myself with English women and servants who certainly had no respect for me as French and Breton?Would it cost me any less to employ a coterie of Englishwomen than it would to keep the Bretons I knew well? I did not think so. But clearly Henry did not accept my annoyance.
‘I see no problem. Simply employ English servants instead. Then there will be no question of their loyalty and no inspection of your household.’
It was as if a cold hand gripped my heart. So here was the essence of it. It appalled me that I and my people should have become the object of such suspicion.
‘So that’s the issue. Their loyalty to England. Are they suspected of being in the pay of Brittany? Of acting as spies?’
‘You are too extreme. We have to understand the Council’s fears.’ Of course Henry would support the English view on this. His combing my hair with such tenderness had made no difference at all. ‘Surrounded by Breton ears as we are, who knows what matters of policy might be leaked to Brittany and so to the Welsh? And to the French. It’s a matter of security, Joanna. It is not intended as a personal insult.’
‘To me it is a matter of my comfort, my disposition of my people. And my authority as Queen. I deny that any one of my household is guilty of passing valuable information to those who would attack us.’ And suddenly I saw deeper into this attack on my people. ‘Have I been blind? Am I too suspect of being complicit in such treachery, through my Breton servants?’ I tilted my jaw. ‘Am I so accused of treason? How dare they make such groundless charges.’
‘They make no such charges.’ And Henry picked up on the most salient point in my complaint. ‘It is merely a matter of the protection of the realm, in which sphere, Joanna, you have no authority.’
Whereupon I threw caution and conciliation to the winds.
‘And neither, it seems, do you. Are you not able to protect your wife from such encroachments? The Council might as well accuse me of treason! What manner is that in which to treat a Queen of England? Even out of common politeness, I would have expected a personal request, not an order in Council.’ I gestured to the Council’s dictate. ‘I resent such an order.’
Henry’s reply was bleak. ‘It has to be done, Joanna.’
I stared at him. ‘Who is King here?’
‘I am King. Do you even know what that means?’
‘Very likely not, since you effectively balk at my ever discovering.’
‘Then here it is.’ His hand clenched into a fist over the letter that he still held. ‘This is what it means to me to be King. I am fighting for my Crown. For the security of my country. For the inheritance of my sons. And if that means compromise with parliament, then that is what I must accept, because this damned recalcitrant parliament, as you put it, and the Royal Council, will have it no other way. Even my life is at risk.’
‘I do not know that.’
‘How would you? Now, if there is nothing else to discuss…’
I stalked through the antechamber, as I so often seemed to stalk, my maids pattering behind, turning at the stair that would lead me to my private chamber. Snatching at a folded sheet tucked into a gap in a window frame. And then, seeing another that had been slid behind the corner of a tapestry, I acquired that too, curiosity rife and for a moment replacing exasperation. Even before I had reached my door I had smoothed them flat, read them. They were exactly the same, written in the same hand with the same seal, and the content, brief though it was, made me shiver with its implied threat. Furthermore as I frowned at what was unquestionably treasonous, I knew where I had already seen such a document. Sweeping on my heel, dismissing my women, I retraced my steps, opening the door on Henry without notice, but not before acquiring another folded sheet, heavy with dust, blown by a draught into the corner of the stairwell.
‘You did not tell me,’ I announced.
Leaning across the solid lines of the cannon, forearms braced, Henry looked over his shoulder. ‘Tell you what?’ He was no more accommodating than when I had left, so I held out the three letters.
‘These. And before you deny it, you have one too.’
Certainly without artifice but with a definite air of annoyance, Henry slid the crumpled document from where he had placed it, out of my sight. ‘Yes, I do. It was sent to parliament. There are others in circulation, all over London, all from the same source.’
‘Someone has had a busy few days of penmanship.’
‘They have indeed.’ Henry showed his teeth in a grim smile. ‘And believe it or not, the threat in this fair screed is far more lethal than any unsigned and unproven prophesy.’
There were letters, purporting to be from Richard, the King whom Henry had challenged for the throne. Richard who had died in Pontefract. But not so! He was, Richard announced in a firm and lively hand, safe and well in Scotland, waiting for his English supporters to rise in revolt against Henry the Usurper, to welcome him back
to his throne and his Crown. The signature was his. The seal was his. Or so they appeared to be. This was a personal invitation to insurgency by King Richard the Second.
‘What is this?’ I demanded.
‘A clever forgery. Or not so clever. It doesn’t matter. Those who wish to believe it will do so. And the reason that I did not tell you, is that I really did not need to have this discussion.’
‘But I do. I presume it is untrue.’
It horrified me that Henry would hide this conspiracy from me, that he would disguise a threat of so personal a nature. Meanwhile, while I tried to preserve a sense of moderation, that the threat could not be as lethal as I imagined, Henry was speaking low and fast, as I had learned that he did when anger simmered on the rim of boiling over.
‘Richard is dead by starvation. But which of his erstwhile followers will believe it, if they are intent on rebellion? All I can do is summon Richard’s keeper at Pontefract Castle to swear that he is dead and his body witnessed. Not that Richard’s followers will accept such a confirmation. I can already hear the blast echoing from one end of England to the other. Would I not pay the man to keep his mouth shut if Richard was indeed alive? Was not the coffin empty of Richard’s body when I arranged for it to be buried at Kings Langley? Short of opening the tomb and displaying his maggot-ridden corpse to public view, I have no answer to this malevolent riddle. Perhaps I will do just that…’
At which his temper, usually under such expert control, was lost in spectacular fashion, Henry screwing the offending forgery hard in his hand before hurling it across the room where it bounced against the wall, dropping down onto an array of swords. While the thought came to me, and one that was by no means new, that I did not know the role Henry had played in Richard’s death. Had he played any at all? In the face of this passion I would not ask. I did not want to know the answer.
‘And, once again, I am under an obligation to answer to parliament,’ he continued. ‘I have to satisfy them that this is a lie.’ Henry had begun to stride across the room and back again, oblivious to the weaponry that lay in ordered formation. ‘Do you not realise how viciously damaging this letter could be? If I cannot prove it to be false, nothing more than a malign attempt to undermine my position, the whole country will rise to the rallying cry of King Richard is Alive and we will be back in a sea of blood and destruction up to our necks. Parliament is already demanding that I release Northumberland from imprisonment as a sign of my goodwill.’