by Anne O'Brien
Still he stood without moving, waiting for me.
‘I agree, if we are apportioning blame,’ I said, and repeated: ‘We are both at fault. And yet I felt that we had breached those walls, when I rode with you to Windsor.’
Henry’s heart settled into a steady beat, as if that was all that he had wished to hear.
‘Welcome home,’ I said.
And Henry, at last, raised his hand, to place it over mine, before lifting them both, lacing our fingers into a clenched fist between us, resting it lightly against the velvet cushioned metal plates of the brigandine.
‘It’s a long time since you have done that,’ I said in deliberate mimicry.
Henry smiled. We both remembered the jackdaw.
I continued my attack, for here still was a threat to our happiness.
‘Why did you not tell me, Henry? Why did you not tell me of the threats against your life?’
Whatever he had expected me to say, it was not that. I saw it in the darkening of his eyes, and he would have shaken his head in denial. The image of the dagger once again gleamed between us, and I would use it. I would not allow him to escape into a cold-planned retreat, however good his reasons might be in the masculine pattern of his thoughts.
‘And here is yet another conspiracy, another attempt to rid England of her King,’ I continued. ‘You can’t keep silent about something that will affect us so greatly. Your son Humphrey is a fount of knowledge. I have used him shamelessly, enough to know that your household and family are rabid with disloyalty.’ I gripped our joined hands tighter until our knuckles gleamed white. ‘You can deny nothing, Henry. I should tell you that I know about all the plots to have you killed by one means or another. I know about the ineffective Countess of Oxford. The metal contraption in your bed that probably never happened except in the lurid imaginations of your stable lads. And the poisoned saddle that quite clearly did. A particularly nasty stratagem worthy of my un-lamented father. But I learned none of this from you, my dearest love. How could I not know of such goings on under my very feet? Why did you keep silent about something so pertinent to us?’
His heart under our joined hands was no longer steady; his grasp forced my rings into my flesh.
‘And this new conspiracy,’ I continued, ignoring the discomfort, ‘this planned attack on Eltham at Christmas is certainly a matter for my concern.’
His nose thinned as he inhaled slowly. ‘So Constance told you.’
‘She revelled in it. How her inestimable brother and your dear cousin, Richard of Cambridge, had hoped to be standing beside your tomb by now. He had it all arranged. A neat little ruse to rid this country of you and your blood when we were celebrating the birth of the Christ-child. Nothing easier. A group of paid assassins to scale the walls of Eltham between one feast and the next. She has no regrets for what she and her brother would have done. There’s nothing like ambition and treachery to bring out the worst in families, as I well know.’
‘It was discovered and prevented before it could come to fruition.’ Henry’s demeanour was quite untroubled, but my rings were still hard pressed. I forced myself not to flinch as he explained:‘I did not mean that you should know about it. What use in worrying you with something you would probably never hear about?’
I studied the stern set of his mouth. Here was an undemonstrative man with such pride. To accept criticism from me was far harder for him than to face an opponent with a lance and a desire to spill his blood in the lists.
‘I understand about families who will strive against each other even unto death,’ I said. ‘I know of that. Who better than I? My Valois cousins are drenched with blood. Did you think I would not understand, and blame you for your family’s treachery? I would not.’
Henry retaliated fast. ‘Why should you spend your days in fear of your life, when there is no need? Would I have my wife looking over her shoulder in her own home? I took a sacred oath that I would protect you and keep you from harm. I swore that, if I could, I would give you happiness. And if that means keeping the truth from you, then that is what I would do. I keep my promises, Joanna.’
I felt a little lick of temper, but curbed it under a flat observation.
‘You, Henry, have been less than honest with me.’
‘You did not need to know.’
‘But I did. I do have a need. Because I am your wife. You had no right not to tell me. Do you not understand? Because I love you, any threat to you is mine to know.’
Which effectively silenced him.
And then all control escaped me at the thought of Henry’s body at my feet, riddled with wounds, masked in blood, as I stepped unsuspectingly into one of our chambers. ‘How dare you keep silent! I had to find out about the saddle from Thomas de Camoys!’
‘So Thomas couldn’t keep his tongue between his teeth.’ The bar of Henry’s brows had become heavier still. ‘Then since you’ve discovered so much—here’s the truth of it. There were enough strains in our marriage, without assassination lurking in the corners of your chambers.’ And he pulled abruptly away, releasing me, retreating to the vast arch of the fireplace. ‘There are so many complexities between us,’ he said. ‘And I’m sorry for it. Perhaps I should never have…’
‘No!’
I was across the room in an instant. I would not allow him to regret our marriage. I would be no martyr to Henry’s impossible honour. I took hold of his arm, so strongly that he turned to look at me, arrested by my vehemence, as I had intended.
‘Don’t apologise for bringing me here, Henry. I could not tolerate that. I came because it was my wish to be your wife. I came of my own free will, against much opposition. This marriage was of both our making, for good or ill.’
I felt his appraisal touch lightly on my face, and with it, surprising me, pleasing me, a brush of his lips. ‘I love you beyond words, Joanna. My desire is to spend my life with you. But sometimes love and desire have been pushed into the background, like a tapestry, beautiful in itself, but merely a furnishing that decorates the room where more important action must unfold. I cannot cast aside my duty and loyalty to this country. I accepted it when I took the Crown. England must come first.’ Henry lifted his shoulder as if the burden was indeed a heavy one. ‘You of all people must have known that. A good king does not have the freedom to put himself before his country. That’s what Richard did, to England’s sorrow. And to my own.’
‘I do know. I do accept.’ I took his hands, holding them as if he were lord and I his vassal, intent on making my own promises. ‘I love that in you,’ I said. ‘Your assurance, your dedication. It is what drew me to you. It is no detriment to my love.’
‘And I admire it in you. The pride and the passion.’ Once again, without our realising it, our fingers were linked. ‘Some days when I awake, I half expect you to be gone. You, along with all your infuriating Bretons, to interfere again in Brittany’s problems.’
‘I will not do that.’ The air of the room was softening around us. We had not exchanged such thoughts for so long. Perhaps we never had, and therein lay the problem. ‘I will never do that,’ I repeated. ‘I will never leave you. I will rid myself of every one of my Breton household if it will mend the Council’s hostility towards you.’
Again I was released as Henry traversed the room. But this time I would not follow him to close the space. This time he must come to me. When he leaned to snuff a guttering candle, in bitter, wifely mode I stooped to pick up the hood and gloves he had flung at my feet, smoothing them and placing them aside, then his cloak that he had draped, still sparkling-wet from rain, over a stool by the door. I folded it likewise, smoothing the fur edging, because I was at a loss.
‘You don’t have to do that,’ he said.
‘I know I don’t have to do it. I know, Henry!’ Reason was not working. A woman might need infinite patience to deal with a man of Henry’s calibre, but on that day it was not mine to apply. Temper might do it, and indeed suddenly my throat was clenched with it. ‘We could
send for a page, a squire. A body servant. The members of the Royal Council. Archbishop Arundel of Canterbury himself, who is more friend to you than I am. We could be surrounded by people, all of whom would do the job much more efficiently than I. When do we ever get time alone, to become more than chance acquaintances who believe that they might love each other? Our wooing was with a stretch of sea between us. In the years since we married—and so few of them—you have been in my company less than my confessor. The demands on your time are great, which I accept, but it is war or parliament or Council. Yes, we have had Christmas at Eltham, but even there we share the time with family and friends. And so our marriage contains more thorns than perfumed rose petals. By the Virgin! We never have time to pick the roses.’
I saw him stiffen. ‘You know what is demanded of me as King.’
‘Who better? But what I also know is that I expect him to communicate with his Queen. If we are to make anything of this marriage…’
‘If we are to make anything of this marriage, you must work for me, not against me.’
‘How can I when you push me away? Am I incapable of helping you? When you invited me to accompany you to Windsor, I thought that you trusted me at last, and I rejoiced in it. I thought that for the first time there was a true unity to be savoured. To be celebrated. But now this new threat of assassination. It frightens me.’
‘I am remarkably hard to kill, it seems.’
‘For which I must thank God. You must talk to me, Henry. You must tell me of the clouds of intemperate ambition that hang over you and threaten your very existence. If you don’t, how will I know?’
The smallest of smiles, even if it was wintry. ‘I will write you a list.’
I was not smiling. ‘I don’t need a list. I know the difficulties that hedge you about. I have discovered them for myself, without your help.’
‘Do you truly know? Who does? Who sees beneath the Crown and orb and ceremonial sword?’ And suddenly Henry’s anger matched mine. ‘Who sees the reality behind the trappings of my kingship? “King Richard is Alive.” The clarion cry of every rebel in the country. I cannot lay it to rest while there is insurrection in Wales. We are open to attack from France and Brittany along our southern reaches. And my coffers are empty. Do you understand the true weakness of my position?’
It had been engraved on my soul. I would never tell him of that day I had seen parliament humiliate him with its defiance and its demands. I shook my head in utter frustration when all I could do was watch unfathomable pressures build within this man who would follow his own path until the day of his death.
Yet it was as if my hopeless gesture unleashed a torrent. For, once begun, Henry talked. He talked as he never had since those far off days in Vannes when words had come more easily to him. I did not interrupt, but simply sank to a stool, to sit motionless with the damp cloak in my lap, absorbing every nuance of victory and failure, letting him tell it in his own manner.
‘My blood is royal—of that there is no dispute. My claim to the royal inheritance is pure and true—but the anointed King of England was Richard. So how did I become King, when I was not born to it? This is how. I removed the Crown from Richard’s head and it was placed on mine by the lords of this realm. I was acclaimed by them. There it is, Joanna. A subtle but very tangible difference that casts a permanent shadow over my power. I am not my own man.’ He opened his hands, palm up, staring at them as if therein he would see the answer to the problems that hemmed him in. As no doubt he did. ‘My hands are so often tied because I haven’t the coin in my coffers to free myself from parliament, or to wage an effective war against those who refuse me their obedience. Do you know what parliament demands, as a price of their cooperation in raising taxes. Power over me and over the decisions I make, because ultimately the Crown of England was in their gift. It is a humiliation too great.
‘You speak of apportioning blame. Before God I feel it like the weight of the sky, forever pressing down on Atlas’s shoulders. Am I not to blame for the unrest and bloodshed that threatens to ruin this land? Am I not to blame that I cannot heal and settle the lives of those who have given me their loyalty, by destroying those who see it as their life’s work to destroy me? If they cannot accept me as King, there is no hope for the greatness of this land that my father and grandfather revered. This land to which I too have dedicated my life.
‘Do you know what was planned? Of course you do. Did I not read the prophesy to you? A tripartite division of England, between my ferocious adversaries. The Dragon, the Wolf and the Lion. Northumberland would take the north, Glyn Dwr the west, while the rest would be apportioned to Mortimer in the royal name of his nephew who is asleep somewhere in this palace. Thus England carved up for the ambitions of others. I cannot let that happen. But how can I diffuse this malevolent scheming when I am unable to either fill my coffers or win the loyalty of my own family?’
So there it was, impressing me all over again; Henry’s utter dedication to the life that chance had placed at his feet, and that held me in thrall. And also the burning sense of failure. The treachery of family turned against him that preyed on his mind more heavily even than the betrayal of the Percys ever did. I felt his grief, his helplessness, all the vehement emotion written in his face. In his fists clenched at his sides.
‘How does a King explain such a débâcle to the woman he has made Queen?’
All I could do was stretch out my hand, keeping my voice level so that he would not know how poignantly he had touched me. ‘He does not have to explain. The Queen feels his despair. But knows that he fights with every sinew in his body to make it right. The Queen knows that there is no weakness in him.’
‘How does a man explain his grief to a wife whom he would love and protect until the day of his death?’
‘How does a loving wife not understand? How does a wife not take the burden of it into her own heart?’
‘Sometimes it seems to me that I have to gird my loins for another battle when I come home, where I would simply enjoy a little peace.’ His voice was raw with sudden anguish.
And I nodded, my fingers clenched hard in the fibres of the cloak. ‘We have been deaf and blind to each other.’
Then he was beside me, kneeling, taking the cloak from me, casting it in a heap on the floor so that there was no distance between us and his fingers could linger on my cheeks.
‘You must not weep. It is unnerving to have my strong wife weeping.’
‘I do not weep.’ I had not realised, but the tears were there for Henry to wipe away.
‘No, of course you do not.’ And he kissed away the dampness of which I had been unaware with such tenderness after the onslaught of despair. He held me in his arms as the emotion settled around us, like the ash falling silently, harmlessly, in the hearth. So we remained for a little time.
‘What do we do now, my wife?’ Sitting back on his heels, it was a question that had only one answer.
‘We destroy the barriers,’ I said.
‘A major undertaking, requiring a siege engine and cannon.’
‘Unless we open the gates. In which case it is not impossible.’
‘No. Not impossible at all.’ He was watching me, absorbing every nuance of the words we spoke to each other. ‘Then here, as I see it, my dearest love, is what appears to be at least one key to the lock. I promise to confide in you.’
‘I will be your confidante and your conscience, if you will. And I promise I will be sensitive to English policies.’
He laughed softly, a sound I had so rarely heard of late and that brushed my skin with desire. A soft knock sounded on the door, almost apologetic. Henry raised his brows. I shook my head. Leaning to kiss my hair, Henry walked soft-footed to the door. But he did not turn the key.
‘Yes?’
‘My lord.’ A youthful voice, one of the pages.
‘Is there a war?’
‘No, my lord.’
‘A fire in the kitchens?’
A startled pause. ‘I
don’t think so, my lord.’
‘Then go away. Whatever it is can wait until the morrow.’ And when there was a scratch of nails against the wood. ‘Take Math with you and feed her.’ When he looked back over his shoulder, there too was the gleam of humour that I had so much missed. ‘We have made a start. A small one, but one worth the doing.’
I returned the smile, knowing that we were, at last, as one. Whatever the problems without, we would hold to this precious time together. Tomorrow the repercussions of Constance’s treachery would demand Henry’s mind and his body. But tonight he was with me. And then he was kneeling before me again, as any troubadour’s lover before his lady.
‘Be with me, Joanna. As if we were making a new start, with you arriving at Falmouth in the heart of the worst storm for decades.’
‘And you far away in—I have forgotten where you were.’ Laughter was beginning to be reborn.
‘Be with me. In spirit. In mind. In heart,’Henry said, while my hands were held secure in his so that I could not have escaped even if I wanted it. He kissed my palms, as a lover would kiss his beloved, and all my doubts melted.
‘Be with me, Henry,’ I repeated softly. ‘In good times and bad.’
‘Let us hold firm against the world.’
‘And together we will bring England to the glory that you foresee.’
I slid to my knees to face him, eyes on a level. How easy a thing it was to plight our troth, all over again, with an embrace and a kiss that did much to drive the shadows away.
‘Are we too weary to seal the deed?’ I asked.
Henry’s eye held the glint of steel. ‘I’ll have you know I am in the prime of my life.’ Then, practical to the last as we walked together to the inner chamber where there was the promise of a good bed:‘Work with me, Joanna.’
‘What do you need from me?’
‘A truce with Brittany.’
So the world had not quite gone away. It never would, but I could bear that.