The Queen's Choice

by Anne O'Brien

  Hal had valued my willingness to set aside my mourning to honour his victory. I recalled his compassion and his grat-itude as I donned royal colours and an ermine cloak, laying aside my black. Did that smack of enmity between us, so great that he would suspect me of foul play towards him? I was certain it did not.

  Hal had been kind to me.

  So why had Father John laid evidence against me? Had he indeed been tortured to extract his confession? And then the worst thought. Who hated me enough to encompass so vile an act, to inflict pain on another to ensure my guilt?

  *

  I was allowed visitors. Anticipation thrummed, for here came Bishop Henry and Lord Thomas together. Now I would learn the truth. But as they bowed low before me, neither man appeared to be rejoicing, bringing with them the cold of a late November afternoon, their respective visages as dark as the clouds banking across the river.

  Bishop Henry shivered.

  ‘It’s not warm in here.’ He frowned at the smoking fire. No, it was not warm. ‘Are they looking after you well, Joanna?’

  ‘Never mind that!’ I walked forward to be enveloped into a hug, despite everything enjoying the aroma of cold outdoors from his rich clothes. The aroma of freedom. ‘Have you come to set me free?’

  Interpreting Bishop Henry’s grunt of displeasure correctly, I stepped back, looking across to Thomas. I knew they had not.

  ‘Unfortunately, no, my lady.’

  ‘Then I presume you are here for a purpose. Will you fetch wine?’ I asked my perennial guard who still lingered in the doorway.

  ‘Send it with one of the maids,’ Bishop Henry instructed. ‘We have no need of a guard.’

  ‘Sir John’s orders, your grace,’ my permanent shadow replied stolidly.

  ‘His grace orders you to stand outside the room, man,’ Bishop Henry responded. ‘When you have sent for the wine. Unless the lady flies through the window, she will not escape.’ Striding over, he shut the door on the man’s back. And smiled wryly. ‘Perhaps that was not the most politic of observations to make in the circumstances.’

  ‘No, it wasn’t.’ My tone was acerbic even though I was delighted to see them both. ‘He believes me a witch already. As does the girl appointed to act as my serving woman. The whole household of Rotherhithe make the sign against the evil eye when they walk into any room in which I might be.’

  The door opened, Isabelle Thorley entering with wine and cups, placing them on a coffer, retreating in smart order.

  ‘I see what you mean. She shuffles round you as if you carry the plague.’

  Lord Thomas dispensed the wine.

  ‘So you have no good news for me,’ I stated.

  ‘None.’

  Bishop Henry sat in my chair, elbows propped on the arms, fingers steepled beneath his chin, while I demanded, since I had had much time for contemplation, too much time:

  ‘Lord Thomas said the Archbishop of Canterbury knew of malign conspiracies against Hal. What did he mean?’

  The Bishop squared his shoulders. ‘Our Archbishop most certainly knew. He circulated letters against witchcraft in the week before you were arrested, that required English priests to pray for the safety of the King, whose life was apparently at risk. From the superstitious deeds of necromancers, if I recall his admonitions right.’

  I did not know what to say, or even how to assess this new knowledge. And then, because it had been in my mind, ‘Has my confessor been tortured? To get him to confess to my crime?’

  ‘It would seem so.’

  I had the grace to feel compassion in the midst of my anxieties.

  ‘Will I be sent to trial?’

  Thomas slid a glance in the Bishop’s direction. ‘We don’t know. We wait on the decisions of the Council.’

  ‘What does Humphrey say? Surely he has an ear to the walls of every member of the Council.’ I knew that of all Henry’s sons, Humphrey was in London.

  ‘Humphrey is being surprisingly reticent,’ Bishop Henry said.

  It was like trying to prise a hazel nut out of its shell.

  ‘So you can tell me nothing at all?’ And when nothing was forthcoming from either of my visitors, men of power as they might be; when fear tripped its way along the skin of my arms:‘Why have you come then, if you can give me no hope for the future? All you have done is sit here in my chair, admit to ignorance, and drink my wine.’

  Bishop Henry had the grace to blush, but it was Thomas who replied. ‘We have come because you are alone, and need to know the worst as well as the best of it. There have been no detailed accusations made against you. We hear nothing of an attempt against the King’s life. As long as it remains nothing but shadows, it is in your favour.’

  ‘Witchcraft does not seem in any manner shadowy to me. Is the punishment for those guilty of witchcraft in England the same as it is in France and Brittany? In Navarre?’Another thought that had occupied my mind in the depths of sleepless nights. ‘I think this might be the worst of it, so you had best tell me.’

  ‘The punishments are various, Joanna.’ Bishop Henry picked at the cuffs of his gauntleted gloves. ‘Depending on the severity of…’

  ‘For God’s sake, tell me.’ I was on my feet, all pretence at composure cast aside. ‘The truth can be no worse than my fears. I’ll not shriek and weep at your feet, if that’s what you fear. When have I ever? Not even when faced with Henry’s terrible burdens. I’ll keep my anguish tight imprisoned. So tell me.’

  And he did, without decoration.

  ‘The punishments are various. Public humiliation. Imprisonment for the term of your life. Banishment. A public burning…’

  Nothing that I had not already guessed. England was not much different from Brittany in aspects of the law against those who dabbled in sorcery. It was terrifying. But I kept my reply light, if caustic.

  ‘Thank you, Bishop Henry. Your visit has been entirely worthwhile. You have frightened me to death. And so your advice?’

  ‘Sit tight. We will do what we can.’

  Without warning, my mind betraying me, I remembered the golden bars on the walls at Eltham after Henry’s death. It had meant nothing, then, but now it seemed a harbinger of my present situation. I opened my mouth to remark on the strangeness of memories, then changed my mind. Better not. Events that foretold the future must be shunned, tainted as they were with necromancy. What an emotive word that was.

  I could not sit again but paced the width of the chamber.

  ‘Since you cannot help me, do I petition the King?’ I asked, as I had asked once before.

  And with the same reply.

  ‘I advise not,’ Bishop Henry said.

  ‘Why not? Surely it is important that he is informed of what is being said? Would he not come to my aid if he knew my circumstances? I cannot believe that he would allow me to suffer any indignity.’

  Bishop Henry’s reply was gentle.

  ‘Hal is preoccupied. His mind is full of battles and negotiations for a new bride. You must be patient.’

  So was I preoccupied, and not at all patient, but I chose not to say. I had been sharp enough. I valued their visit more than I could say. I would not impose my ingratitude on them further.

  ‘Perhaps when the King returns to England,’ Thomas added.

  ‘But when will that be?’

  ‘Not until he is satisfied with the impending defeat of the French rebels.’ He acknowledged my grimace with an encouraging smile that I tended to distrust. ‘As you say, we have been of no real help to you today and can give you no comfort for the coming weeks.’ He stretched out his hand to me. ‘Come and sit. Let us at least enliven your day by telling you of what is happening at Court.’

  So I complied, because there was nothing other for me to do, and we passed a half hour in gossip, salacious and otherwise, but our hearts and minds were not in it. The rank aroma of sorcery filled the room. I thought they were glad to go.

  I was allowed, my guard in attendance, to descend to the wharf where my guests’ bar
ge was being made ready. How I longed to step into it, to claim my freedom, to return to Westminster and order my life as I had always done. Instead I was constrained into allowing Bishop Henry and Lord Thomas to leave without me.

  They bowed and kissed my fingers with grave diffidence as if they could read my longing. Yet I needed to ask once more:

  ‘Can I presume that you know beyond any doubt that I am innocent?’

  ‘I think you can presume exactly that.’ The Bishop’s kiss was soft against my cheek.

  ‘I will not deign to answer such a foolish question,’Thomas said.

  It was some comfort, I supposed.

  They left me to stare out at their craft that sped over the little waves on the river as it took them back to London, until my guard chivvied me back to my allotted rooms.

  I was not satisfied. I would find a means to petition the King. How could he not come to my aid, ordering my prompt release? Had he not a debt to pay to me? Had I not added my considerable weight to the negotiating of yet another truce with my son the Duke of Brittany only two years previously? Hal had been grateful, honouring me with Garter robes. Hal would not desert me. He knew my good intentions towards him.

  And yet. And yet…

  A doubt crept into my mind: a tiny grain of fear that doubled and trebled until it dominated every thought. Surely by now Hal would be well aware of my predicament, however great the demands of the French war. How could he not know by now that the Queen Dowager was in effect imprisoned for her attempts on his life? The Royal Council would have informed him. And if he knew, why did Hal not deny such a wicked untruth? Perspiration lay cold and heavy along the length of my spine, beneath the linen and velvet, as heavy as the fear that prompted me. Was it possible that Hal believed the calumny? If so, who had planted such vicious seeds of malice into his mind?

  Helpless, my mind was exhausted from its useless travels through endless circles, that brought me back to the same terror, again and again. Hal must know. Hal had chosen to keep me under duress.

  January 1420

  Here come to Rotherhithe were three formidable men, the pennons of their escort straining in the wind of the New Year, as they rode into the inner courtyard. The fact that this deputation must have started out on its journey when the New Year festivities were barely complete, told its own tale. I could not believe that they had come merely to bestow some festive goodwill.

  They made a grave trio. Bishop Henry, Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester, Lord Thomas de Camoys, three abreast in my solar. It was three months since my freedom had been taken from me. Three months since the vile accusations had been made, and my situation no different. The waiting, the constant anticipation that I would be summoned to appear before the Royal Council was becoming intolerable. Now, faced with their grim demeanour my long-held patience, hard won over the weeks, shivered and collapsed at our feet. Without offering a seat or a cup of wine, not even waiting until Thomas closed the door at their collected back, I addressed them, ignoring Sir John’s page who, seated on a cushion in the warmth by the fireplace, continued to play inappropriate lovers’ music on his lute. The words poured out, to my horror.

  ‘I am prisoner here against my will. I am Queen Dowager of England, a princess of Navarre and Valois. I am innocent of all charges of necromancy, yet have been given no hearing. The charges have not even been presented to me.’ My voice was low and bitter. ‘And you look like a black-clad jury come to pronounce sentence. Is no one doing anything to discover the extent of my wickedness? I still do not know what it is that I have been accused of doing. So what is it, my lords? Has all been decided in my absence, without granting me my right of a trial before the law? Am I to face the ultimate penalty with flames to kiss my flesh? What is it that you have discovered, for in truth, I see that you have not come to rejoice with me.’

  I was proud that there was no tremor in my voice. Every muscle in my body was governed. If they had come to pronounce on my death I would not shame myself or them.

  Bishop Henry advanced to salute my hands, holding them between his own, as usual expensively gloved. Humphrey scowled. Lord Thomas preserved a dour countenance that I could not read.

  ‘There is no need to discover more, Joanna,’Bishop Henry said. ‘We now know all there is to know.’

  ‘Then perhaps you will be good enough to inform me.’

  ‘We think your constraint must last longer, Madam Joanna.’ Humphrey was never one for soft words.

  ‘Am I then found guilty?’

  ‘No, Madam. How could you? There has been no trial.’

  ‘I’m no longer certain that a trial, or lack of, will make any difference to my situation. You are not helpful, Humphrey. Why will you not petition the Council in my name? But I see that you will not.’ It was not difficult to read his reluctance. Bishop Henry had already refused such a petition. ‘If you two honourable men of my own family refuse, is there no one who will represent me?’

  I spun on my heel to look directly at Thomas. Given his past service at home and in the battlefield, his close friendship with Henry and Hal, both father and son, I was convinced that he would have the authority to face the Council in my name. Ill-usage bloomed within me that he had not already offered. Now, silently, his gaze full of compassion, Lord Thomas shook his head.

  To the accompaniment of the page’s pellucid renderings, I lifted my hands, tight-fisted. ‘Surely one of you has the courage to argue my case? Surely one of the three of you has the backbone to stand up to the Council’s silence?’ How I berated them, giving no quarter. ‘You have the courage of a day-old rabbit beneath the talons of a hunting buzzard.’

  ‘You need to understand.’ Bishop Henry, ignoring my plea, and my less than flattering description, was leading me to my chair, trying to smooth out my fists, which he did, but I would not sit. The room was full of a black foreboding that grew minute by minute, playing on my nerves like Nicholas’s youthful fingers still attacking the strings of his lute, which suddenly I could stand no longer.

  ‘Stop that!’ I said.

  The music stilled mid-stanza.

  ‘All I understand is that Hal would never be convinced of my guilt. We parted on the best of terms. And therein lies my salvation.’ I dragged my hands free of the Bishop as he intoned:

  ‘Hal knows you are innocent, Joanna.’

  ‘So why am I here?’ I heard my voice threaten to rise, and then the Bishop was pressing me to sit after all, with Thomas at his elbow, pouring wine, offering it.

  ‘No. I don’t want it.’ I waved it away. ‘What good is wine to dull the edges of this sorry existence? I swear that you have brought a miasma with you. It is not acceptable that I should be kept in the dark, however ill the news.’

  For surely it was. It was as if the room was filling with the noxious stench of plague. I had been right to fear their news.

  ‘Drink,’ Thomas insisted.

  ‘Well, I will!’ Ungraciously. One quick sip, because it seemed the easiest action. ‘Now tell me, for before God I see it is not something to give my heart comfort.’

  It was Bishop Henry who pulled up a stool and sat to face me, hands planted on his knees, eyes on a level with mine, while Humphrey and Thomas flanked him, uncomfortably, studying the floor, or the tapestries. ‘You should have seen this unfolding, Joanna. With all your experience and intelligence, it should have become clear. I certainly should have seen what was afoot, and have no excuse. Perhaps we are encouraged to see the best in my royal nephew, even when sometimes he does not earn our regard.’ He fixed me with a straight stare. ‘Tell me what you have, that Hal covets. Tell me what Hal desires more than anything in this world?’

  ‘Victory over the French,’ I replied. There was nothing new here. It was his one driving obsession, that every man in the country could have recognised. ‘To pursue the policy that he began at Agincourt. I have no influence over that.’

  ‘Perhaps not. But tell me this. How will our King achieve this momentous victory over the Valois?’ />
  ‘Is this a catechism?’ I responded. ‘We all know the answer. By raising an army that is bigger and better and more effective than that of the French.’

  Bishop Henry smiled grimly. ‘There you are. You know all the answers. And how will my nephew do that?’

  ‘By getting Thomas here to raise more money and more men. Which he is finding more and more difficult because…’ I inhaled sharply. ‘Because…’

  It was like lighting a lamp in a dark room, so that all the shadowy corners sprang into life, every stitch and carving sharply defined. And in those bright-lit images were creatures I did not wish to see.

  ‘Excellent, my dear sister! Hal is in need of a new source of wealth.’

  My mouth dried. A rock was lodged in my throat. And it was I who reached out to my clerical brother. ‘How could I have been so very blind? Because of course I have my dowry. Ten thousand marks in annual revenue.’

  ‘You do indeed have your dowry.’ Henry patted my hand as if he might console me, his face vivid with the excitement of political intrigue, even though it had been worked at my expense. ‘Or you did have it. Look how much of England’s wealth is tied up in your person. Our King is in need, at a conservative estimation, of forty thousand crowns. Am I not right, Thomas?’And when Thomas grunted his agreement, ‘To dower his new French betrothed and pay for keeping his army at fighting strength until the French capitulate, your dower, granted to you by my brother, would solve all his problems. Do you see?’

  ‘Oh, I do.’

  ‘You have your dower lands too,’ Humphrey added.

  ‘I have them no longer!’Anger, sour as unripe fruit, began to flood through me as the enormity of what Hal had done struck home. And perhaps still a disbelief that this could be the truth. I regarded the Bishop in horror. ‘Will he sell my dower lands? To raise money to pay his knights and footsoldiers?’

  ‘It is my thought that he will use the estates to make gifts, dear lady. Land is an exceptional commodity when buying support. Hal will find it invaluable.’

  ‘I cannot believe this.’

  Nor could I. That Hal should treat me with so little compassion. Never effusive, never warm in his affections, yet never hostile. Oh, we had clashed over his ambitions when Henry was too ill to rule, but I thought that we had healed those particular wounds. Yet these men, politicians all, were telling me of Hal’s rapacity. So great, so unprincipled that he would resort to an act of such injustice that any man of honour must condemn him out of hand. Had he so little affection for me after all? Was there nothing behind his precise exterior but a cold self-will? A selfishness beyond all belief?