by Anne O'Brien
‘No,’ I said. ‘No.’
‘I am under orders to inform you of this change in your condition, my lady.’
‘My condition? On whose authority?’ I demanded with all the authority of Queen Dowager. Already I had stepped around him to climb the steps to my home. They were my steps and this was the door into my manor. Without dispute, the land was mine and the buildings on it. ‘There is no such authority that can deny my ownership of Havering-atte-Bower. It is mine by law.’
For a moment I thought there was compassion in the set of his mouth, but not for long.
‘The Royal Council has issued orders to the contrary.’
I stopped. Thrust out my hand. ‘Do you have written orders? I will see them.’
‘No, my lady. I do not. I have to tell you, my lady, that your household—your servants and waiting women and grooms and all in your employ—are to be dismissed.’
I looked towards Marie in sheer disbelief. It was like being trapped in a nightmare, the strands of which would not be broken. Yet I would break them.
‘You have no written proof of this order. On what grounds should so monstrous an order be given?’
‘It is not within my power to say, my lady.’
By this time we had an audience, from stable and palace, for harsh rumour travels fast. It seemed that all eyes were fixed on my face, willing me to save them from the threat of being turned off from my employ before sunset, whilst I was still struggling with disbelief.
‘Your household,’ the Captain clarified his orders, ‘will be given two days to find other accommodations, my lady.’
‘And who will have my dower here at Havering?’ I demanded, a flicker of anger at last fired by this cold disposition of my people, and of me.
‘The King. It will be in his power to dispose of it.’
‘But the King does not need it!’
It was mine. Why would Hal lay claim to so small a manor as Havering when the great palaces and castles of England lay within his grasp? Possessiveness swamped me with fury, blinding me to the stupidity of my statement, as I stood in the doorway as if capable of stopping a dozen well-armed, determined men from entering. Hal did not need Havering. This was all a mistake that could easily be rectified, if only I could see the way through this tangle of mistake and misunderstanding.
‘I will not allow it. You have no power to do this.’ Was my position not sacrosanct here in my adopted land?
But the Captain climbed to stand beside me, eyes on a level and without mercy. ‘I must fulfil my orders. I would not wish to use force against you, my lady.’
But he would. He had what passed for the law and an armed body to enforce it. Suddenly I felt quite alone, shatteringly defenceless, unlike any previous experience in my life.
‘I will not sanction this encroachment,’ I said.
To no avail, as I already realised. I heard the approach of Marie’s clipped footsteps, noting her hand on my arm.
‘Let him by, my lady. We can do nothing.’
Which compelled me to gather my dignity into a hard, cold shell, and I stepped aside.
‘You must do as you choose, sir.’
‘Come with me,’ the Captain ordered Marie with a brisk nod and, I thought, some relief. ‘You can indicate the lady’s personal property.’
So she followed, as I stood, straight-backed and disbelieving in my entrance hall, to watch the contents of my life being removed piece by piece from my home and carried out to the waiting transport. Quiet, efficient, it was encompassed with utmost speed: no rabble-driven plunder here but a careful working of the law, every item noted on a list by a black-robed clerk who stood at the door. Every item of personal property I possessed was taken while I watched in increasing frustration and horror, allowing it to happen because I simply could not prevent it. Coffers containing clothing and jewels. My lute. Chests that held my linen and precious mementoes of my life. My books. Henry’s books that remained an integral part of my life. The unfinished tapestry upon which I had lavished such love and will-power to keep Henry anchored to this life. I could barely force myself to watch as they were passed into such rough yet careful hands, without leaping to prevent it. And there, tucked under the arm of one stalwart, was the cedar box that contained Henry’s first gift to me, the silver-engraved ink horn and pen holder.
I stretched out my hand. ‘Not that!’
Holding tightly, as if fearing that I would snatch it away, the soldier looked over his shoulder, to where the Captain was descending the stairs with the air of a distasteful task well done.
‘Forgive me, my lady. There are to be no exceptions.’
I stepped back. It was lost to me. Everything was lost. It was as if all my life with Henry had been obliterated, loaded and strapped to the baggage animals. My horses were led out from my stables, saddles and bridles heaped in the wagon, all covered with canvas to protect the contents from the rain that had begun to fall. I had not noticed the clouds that had gathered to obscure the sun. The light in my own life had dimmed long since.
‘Why?’ I tried again, standing stiffly before the Captain, my voice level in command. ‘On what grounds is this confiscation inflicted on me?’
‘The Council will send further instructions, my lady. Tell your people to be ready to go in two days.’
He bowed, and they were gone, in a jangle of harness and a clip of hooves, silence gradually enveloping the house and its outbuildings. My household stood about in shocked inactivity. Even the birds seemed to have fallen silent. And when I realised that they had taken my popinjay, I found myself laughing in what would only be unnerving lack of control, cursing those who had dealt with me with such ignominy. I hoped the popinjay would drive them to perdition with its senseless squawking. Except that they would probably wring its neck before they reached their destination.
I stopped laughing.
I walked from room to room. Oh, they were still furnished, lovingly cared for, the tapestries still bright, the little stools that Queen Philippa had used in her final years when she walked less, still in place. But everything of my own was gone, swept up. The manor looked as if it might be ready to welcome new guests, new owners, but everything that was mine had vanished. It was as if I had never lived there.
At one door that stood ajar—the final door that I reached—I halted. Already feeling bereft, I dared not go into my private chamber. But that would be cowardice. I stepped forward.
At least they have left me the inherited bed with its blue and silver tapestry curtains, I thought, a remnant of the earlier hysteria returning. But as for the rest. The room was graced only with a chair and a chest; a bare room for a chance visitor. They had taken all Henry’s gifts to me. My psalter, my precious Book of Hours, even my rosary was gone together with my own prie dieu. Standing against the door frame, not wanting to step further, I viewed the scene of a very personal devastation. And then there was Marie at my side, looking at me wide-eyed, as if waiting for some outburst of anger or grief.
I was incapable of either.
‘What now?’ I asked, although what answer could she give. ‘Do I have anything but the clothes I stand up in?’ The hysteria threatened again, gnawing at the edges of my frozen inertia.
‘It’s not as bad as it looks,’ she said, and drew me across the room to the carved chest that Queen Philippa had used, flinging back the lid. ‘It’s not much but the best I could collect together in the time I had. Then I sat on it while the soldiers picked up everything they could see.’ She smiled grimly. ‘Fortunately not one of them was prepared to push me out of the way.’
What treasures she had gathered together: a winter gown and cloak, items of personal linen and shifts and, Blessed Virgin, there were my Book of Hours and my psalter and rosary. And my tapestry of the lover and his lady.
‘I hadn’t time for more, my lady.’
‘I am more grateful than you can ever know.’ It was the tapestry that did it, and tears were close but I squeezed her hand and remained
brisk. ‘At least I can read and sew while I wait.’ I looked at her. ‘They will take me too. But I don’t know where. I don’t know why.’
‘It must be stopped, my lady.’
‘Yes, it must. And I’ll fight every inch of the way to achieve it.’
My moment of weakness had died a rapid death. Yes, it must be stopped. I would have justice.
*
The meal still laid out for us in one of the parlours, still miraculously untouched by our visitation, was forgotten, appetite stripped away as effectively as my property, but I took a cup of wine while I considered, standing in the middle of the floor. Why would the King’s Council take such an outrageous action against me? And yet the Captain had acted with such authority. What was clear was that I needed help. And advice.
‘What will you do, my lady?’ Marie asked as we went to discover my clerk to borrow pen and ink. I would not think of Henry’s gift that was now languishing in one of the panniers on a sumpter horse.
‘I’ll send out a courier while I still have one. In fact I’ll send two.’
And forcing my apologetic clerk to vacate his room, I sat to write two pleas for aid and information. Having written, I sent off a groom with instructions to waste no time in getting to Winchester. Bishop Henry would know, and would surely stand for me, for we had long healed the wounds of those days of Henry’s suffering. A second groom was dispatched to Lord Thomas. Who else would I turn to?
And then all I had to do was let the hours pass as my household prepared to be cast adrift. But of course it would not come to that. I did not need either support or advice. All this was a mistake. My property would be returned to me forthwith. A mistake. An error of judgement. A misunderstanding.
My servants, silent except where they whispered in corners, looked to me with dismay. I smiled and reassured them as well as I could. All would be well.
‘How can you be dispersed against my will? You are my household and in my employ. It is my choice to have you with me. We will wait for a visit from the Bishop of Winchester.’
But I recalled the early days of my marriage when, an unpopular Breton bride, my servants had been sent home. I had had no choice then. Was this to be a repetition of my powerlessness in the face of the Council? But that was long ago. I was not unpopular. I was no longer seen as the enemy. Did I not have the King’s confidence?
I felt a need for reassurance, but my confessor was away, travelling on a private matter. Confession would have been good, but my Book of Hours sustained me.
*
Four days I had to wait. Four days during which nothing more occurred to disrupt the placidity of life at Havering, except that we were all watching the road, ears tuned to the sound of horse and rider, and I was missing my favourite garments and even the popinjay. But as the days passed, it seemed to me more and more certain that there had been a miscarriage of justice. And being assured of that, I instructed my household to remain and continue their allotted tasks.
But I wished Bishop Henry would come.
At last one of the stable lads dashed into the courtyard to herald the news in raucous tones.
‘Men coming! Soldiers!’
I leaned out of the window, disregarding any need for royal dignity.
‘Is it the Bishop, Sam?’
‘Can’t rightly tell yet, m’lady.’
Smoothly, sedately, I made my way to stand within the wide door arch, at the top of the steps. If it was bad news, I would receive it with chilly composure. But of course, it would not be bad news.
It was not the Bishop. It was not Lord Thomas. Neither was it the Captain of four days ago. Instead a spare gentleman, richly clad, swung down from his horse and signalled to his escort of half a dozen liveried retainers to do likewise. I recognised both the man and the livery. Sir John Pelham, a courtier, born and bred to the last bone in his body. A man whom Henry had trusted to hold the seals of the Exchequer and with whom I had frequently conversed and who had served Henry well. So what had he to do with this? I waited, making no welcome when he came to stand at the foot of the stairs, and knowing with sharp instinct that this was not a visit I would enjoy to any degree, I had no compunction in forcing him to look up at me.
He bowed neatly. ‘My lady.’
I inclined my head. ‘Have you business with me, Sir John?’
‘I do, my lady. I am come with a warrant issued by the Royal Council.’
‘A warrant.’
The scene around me came into delineated focus, touched with brilliance, like sun on morning dew, so that it glinted like the diamonds in my marriage jewels that were no longer mine. So bright that it made me blink, the skin at my temples tight with a building pressure.
‘Yes, my lady. I am come to take you into custody. You are prisoner of the Royal Council.’
When I had been told that my possessions and household were to be removed from me, the import of it had taken time to touch my understanding. No such lapse of time here. Oh, I believed it. I did not waste my breath in denying the possibility, in debating the rightness of it. And certainly when I saw in Sir John Pelham’s hand a document, red-sealed and heavy, I knew that he had come with all authority to take me prisoner. I might not understand why, but I could not deny the truth of what was happening within the confines of my own home.
Although fear rippled in my belly so that I had to breathe hard against nausea, I kept the mask in place.
‘Do I invite you into my home? Or do I come down to you, Sir John?’
What it cost me to preserve my self-command.
‘I will come to you, my lady.’
I turned and walked away from him into the entrance hall, hearing his light footsteps echo behind me. When they stopped, so did I, and turning, raised my hand, palm outstretched.
‘Give me the warrant.’ My eye travelled rapidly down the clerkly hand, then returned. Latched onto one phrase. ‘What is this?’
‘As it says, my lady.’
And I read again. And then again. Treasonous imaginings. I was to be taken as a prisoner for my treasonous imaginings. I was accused of seeking sorcery and necromancy in an attempt to destroy the new King Henry. I was accused…
‘There is no truth in this.’ My eyes snapped to Sir John’s pale gaze. ‘Who accused me of such impiety?’
‘Your confessor, my lady.’
‘My confessor?’I heard the tenor of my voice rise in utter disbelief. ‘How can I accept that Father John would be party to something so abhorrent?’
Father John Randolf, my confessor, who had been with me for more years than I could count on the fingers of my hands. A mild man, compassionate in earthly sins, but fervent in his desire to live a good life. He had heard my confessions, granted me absolution, comforted me when my destitution was at its worst, when grief overcame me after Henry’s death. He had spoken to me of God’s love and overwhelming kindness. Father John could never say such things of me.
‘Your confessor, my lady, has made claims against you. They are there for you to read.’
And so I did. There it was. I read it aloud. I had ‘compacted and imagined the death and destruction of our lord and King in the most high and horrible manner that could be recounted.’ I swallowed hard. ‘But that is witchcraft,’ I said.
‘Indeed it is.’
‘I cannot accept this. And how can it be true? Think, man!’ I strode to confront Sir John. ‘The King has suffered no harm, to my knowledge. Is he not in the best of health?’
‘Forgive me, my lady. Your acceptance is not necessary. Perhaps your methods to bring the King to his death were not as efficacious as you believed. That does not mean that you did not apply them to the King.’ It had a terrible logic, uttered in Sir John’s uninflected voice. ‘Whatever the truth of it, I am here to disperse your household and take you into custody.’
Cool and calm and utterly unemotional, thus he announced the fate of the Queen Dowager of England.
I raised my chin. ‘Where?’ For a deeper horror than all the
rest had come to rest in my belly. I foresaw a dungeon. A cold dark room. A trial. Was I truly to be accused and tried for necromancy? In that moment, all around me was black, a labyrinth of endless terror. ‘Where are you taking me?’ I demanded to know.
‘You will go primarily to Rotherhithe, my lady. If you will be so good as to fetch travelling garments, I have a horse for your use. You will bring nothing else.’
‘I have nothing else to bring, Sir John.’
I did as I was told. For the first time since a child under my father’s unconcerned jurisdiction I must follow orders. Alone, I donned cloak and hood, taking barely a minute to survey what I was leaving behind; all the items that Marie had so cunningly secreted in the coffer were perforce to be abandoned. I was truly destitute. I was tempted to snatch up the rosary—I even stretched out my hand towards it—but the prospect of being searched for illicit belongings stopped me. Would they dare? I thought that they might.
Sir John Pelham awaited me below. It was clear that he had spent the little time in informing my people that they were no longer in my employ, for when I trod down the stairs, I was instantly surrounded. They kissed my hand, touched my cloak, even my hem. Mistress Alicia, my old nurse, wept. It should have been a comfort, that whatever they had heard of my plight, not one of them believed me capable of evil sorcery, but this was an audience with no voice. The Royal Council believed it was so, and they had still to pass judgement on me.
And here was Marie.
‘I’ll not leave you, my lady.’ And to Sir John Pelham, my Governor, for that is what he was now become. ‘I will be with my lady. I will go with her. It is wrong that she should be left with no one to serve her.’
‘You will not, mistress. I will put you under restraint if necessary.’ Again the lack of emotion was chilling. Was it because he felt none, or because he had a need to cover his distaste for my alleged crime? I would rather he railed at me than pronounce:‘Now we leave. The sooner the better.’