Читать книгу Queen of the North: sumptuous and evocative historical fiction from the Sunday Times bestselling author - Anne O'Brien, Anne O'Brien - Страница 14
ОглавлениеWe rode through the array of tents on the banks of the River Don where it wound round the small town of Doncaster. The temporary encampment stretched around us as far as the eye could see, groups of emblazoned retainers sitting at their ease, their weapons stacked to hand, their horses being groomed and readied for action when the call was given.
‘I thought the Earl said he had returned with only a smattering of followers.’ I was both impressed and disturbed by what I saw.
‘So he did. Our cousin of Lancaster has been energetic,’ Harry replied softly in my ear.
However small the group that had accompanied him, returning from his exile, Lancaster’s followers now numbered into the hundreds. The heraldic achievements of noble families I knew well were adorning pennons, jackets and tents on all sides; the flower of the Yorkshire magnates and gentry, keen to be seen in support of their returned lord. Lancaster was not without friends it seemed.
Lancaster was waiting for us outside his tent, hand raised to shield his eyes from the sun. It was to me that he looked. Whereas he might have addressed the Earls first, it was to me that he strode, catching my mount’s bridle and offering a hand to help me dismount. It pleased me. Blood mattered after all.
‘Elizabeth.’ Effortlessly he lifted me and placed me on my feet. ‘I did not expect to see you here.’ There was a smile in his eyes although his mouth remained stern enough, as if unused to smiling of late. ‘Did you have to fight to achieve it?’
‘Certainly not. I have come to greet you on your return, as any cousin should.’
‘It’s good to see family who are not breathing fire and destruction in my direction.’
Which raised a smile from both of us. I knew his reference. Richard had left the power to repel Henry’s invasion in the incapable hands of Edmund of Langley, the Duke of York, his ineffectual uncle.
‘And where is our uncle of York?’ I asked.
He was not a figure to instil fear into any man.
‘Still in London I hope, sending out orders to garrison the northern castles against me.’ Lancaster was drawing me out of the throng of horses and busy pages. ‘Or even, if luck is on my side, heading west rather than north. At least he is not here.’ He nodded over to where the distant walls of Conisbrough could be seen, a castle much loved by York. ‘I expect he is changing his mind as oft as he changes his hose. He never could make up his mind, even to take cover in a thunderstorm. But I don’t expect to be staying long in the north,’ he added with grim decision as I was enveloped into an embrace, my cheeks kissed.
Set aside as he addressed himself to greeting the Percys and Nevilles, I was left to accept a cup of wine from an attendant page and watch the proceedings, and particularly to take stock of Henry of Lancaster as he embraced Harry, renewing an old friendship. Our future might hang with the success or failure of this man who was exchanging some military reminiscence with Harry, which reduced both of them to laughter. There was a closeness here that I had not expected, but perhaps I should have. Shared experiences on the tournament field created strong bonds between men of valour.
A new thought crept from nowhere into my mind.
Your happiness might hang in the balance too.
I resented its intrusion. By what reasoning was my peace of mind threatened? Harry and I were at one. Nothing would destroy that.
I turned my attention back to my cousin, the new Duke of Lancaster since stepping into his father’s shoes. He had been in exile for a year but seemed to have changed very little unless it was to be seen in the fine web of lines that marked his brow. He had had much to trouble him but he was still a well-set, agile figure, a man who excelled on the jousting field as well as in battle, a man to take the eye from his close-cropped hair to his capable hands with their fine array of jewels despite the overwhelmingly military climate of his camp. And there was the Lancaster arrogance in the tilt of his chin, the direct stare. It was a tilt that I recognised, for Harry possessed it in full measure.
Harry came to stand beside me now that the preliminaries were over, leaving the field of hand-clasping to the two Earls.
‘What is he saying?’
‘Nothing in public. We are to meet privately later.’
So here was the new Duke, come home to claim what was rightfully his. The problem was, for everyone concerned, what did he have in mind? What exactly did he see as rightfully his – the Lancaster inheritance, or was there more? That was why we were here. It was an uncomfortable number of troops just to take back an inheritance, even if it was the vast tracts of the Lancaster lands. Henry was indeed a man of honour, of piety, but even so…
‘What would you do,’ I asked the man at my side, ‘if the whole of your inheritance was snatched from you by Richard?’
‘I would raise an army and snatch it back.’
There was no hesitation in him.
‘And would you retreat to your lands, once you had forced Richard into compliance?’
‘It would depend on whether I trusted Richard to live by his promises to return the land to me and to my heirs.’
‘And would you trust him?’
Harry’s eyes, fixed on Lancaster who was deep in conversation with Westmorland, were surprisingly distant and formal.
‘That would remain to be seen, my love.’
‘So will you be willing to trust Henry of Lancaster to keep any promises he might make?’
Harry’s eyes swung to mine, now bright with those memories that this meeting had resurrected. ‘I fought with him and against him in the tournaments at St Inglevert eight years ago. They were good times. He is a worthy opponent and a bold ally to have at your back with a mighty sword-arm. He has saved me from a sore skull more than once, as I have saved him, and he has a hard head for celebrating when the ale is strong. He proved to be a good friend. I have no reason not to trust him. Do you?’
I wrinkled my nose, strangely uncertain. ‘I don’t know.’
Harry tucked my hand into the crook of his arm. ‘Then let us go and see what the man himself has to say.’
At Henry’s invitation, although Westmorland made his excuses to absent himself and seek out old friends, we withdrew into his pavilion where stools were brought while Henry sat on the edge of his campaigning bed. It made me remember that all this would not be new to him after a lifetime of journeying, crusading and competing in the tournaments of Europe. It was as comfortably furnished with hangings and cushions as any lady’s bower, unless you spied the open coffer containing extraneous pieces of armour, a pair of well-worn gauntlets, a battered cuirass. Against the canvas wall was propped a sword and a helm, both shining with care from the efforts of the diligent page who had poured my wine. In the corner were piled the accoutrements and trappings of his warhorse.
This was a man well used to the tournament world, where he had earned considerable renown. He could equally be a man of war.
We sat. We raised our cups in a toast to the returned warrior of renown.
‘And now to business. I am more than pleased to see you ride in from the north. My support here is strong, in my own lands, but I need to know what the north will do.’ And then: ‘Can I rely on your support? I presume I can, or why else bring your retainers in such numbers?’
As forthright as I recalled, he would push for a reply, an admission of intent.
‘That might all depend.’ The Earl, his mind still as keen as Lancaster’s newly honed sword.
Lancaster waited, brows lifted in mildly eloquent enquiry, aware of the power of silence in matters of negotiation. There was nothing mild about him. Nor was there in Sir Henry, who shifted restlessly at my side.
‘It might depend on what it is that you hope to achieve,’ the Earl added.
‘Does it need saying? A restoration of what is mine.’
‘As we would agree. And we would support you in that. The great lords of this realm must protect themselves from…’ The Earl smiled thinly. ‘From royal encroachments.’ The Earl raised his cup and drank, all self-deprecation again. ‘But our own position is ambiguous. Our wardenship of the March is dependent on the gift of the King. We already have old treasons breathing down our necks thanks to my son. Westmorland’s power is on the increase, thanks to the King. I would do nothing to put our authority in the north in further jeopardy, which I assuredly would if I supported you in an insurrection that collapsed at the first hurdle.’
‘As I appreciate.’ Henry of Lancaster stood to go to the tent door, to look out over the ranks of his newly come supporters, raising a hand to acknowledge the arrival of another old friend, Sir Robert Waterton. ‘Although I anticipate no failure in my planning.’ He looked back over his shoulder. ‘My position is as clear in my own mind as is Richard’s perfidy. Who would argue against it? On my father’s death I inherited the title and the Duchy of Lancaster, waiting on the end of the six years for which I was banished for a treason I never committed. Not an ideal situation but I could have accepted it. There were places I would be welcomed. I might go to my sister Philippa in Portugal. Or join another crusade. I could accept the need, even though I might not like it.’
He drank again before running the pad of his finger around the rim of his cup.
‘Until Richard changed my banishment to life. As your brother Worcester will have informed you in detail, Richard forbade the legal settlement of my estates on me, and took them all for his own. There is no ambiguity whatsoever for me. The lands are mine and I have come to take them back.’ He surveyed us with an all-encompassing gaze. ‘I would hope that your presence here would show your support for me in that enterprise. And I expect Worcester, as my attorney, to join forces with me too. To put right a momentous wrong. My father will never rest in his grave until it is done.’
The Earl’s reply was an essay in moderation. ‘I’ll be honest with you, Lancaster. Richard’s truce with Scotland does not play into our hands. We resent interference in what has been ours for generations. Not least we oppose the appointment of royal officials who have no foothold in our region other than what Richard is foolish enough to give them.’
‘Such as Ralph Neville.’
‘Worse than Neville, who at least has a power base there, however much I might despise it. Edward of Aumale is quite another matter, an ambitious interloper who sees his own aggrandisement at my expense.’
‘So what are you saying?’
The Earl glanced towards his son. ‘I am saying that we will support you in an attempt to bring Richard to heel, to wring from him a promise of justice and fair government. A promise to uphold the laws and all tradition.’
Henry had walked back to sit once more on the edge of his bed, elbows propped on his knees, his now-empty cup held lightly between his palms. ‘Then we are at one. With a show of force we will persuade Richard of the need for justice. I claim my inheritance and my banishment is cancelled.’ He paused, head tilted. ‘Your authority as Warden of the March will be recognised by Richard in perpetuity. The Earl of Westmorland you will deal with in your own manner.’ My cousin smiled although there was little warmth in it. ‘Will you take my hand on this? To have the Percy fist with all its might behind me is of greater value than all the lords and knights that you see camped outside this tent, as we both know, and I will show my gratitude when I come into my own. I will not step on your toes in the north, even though my father was wont to do so. I will honour your allegiance to my cause in any way I can. I will make your support of me an undertaking on your part which you will never regret.’
It was a speech worthy of any ambassador well versed in the demands of diplomacy. At last Lancaster’s smile became one of genuine pleasure, lighting his face, yet I saw his cleverness in offering this prime piece of meat to the raptor, to entice it to come to hand. Permanent wardenship of the March was of inestimable value to any Percy lord. As for my cousin’s soft hand of flattery, it was monumental.
‘I know that I need your support,’ he repeated. ‘I cannot take back my inheritance without it.’
‘But would you be willing to accept my price?’ The Earl did not hesitate.
‘What is your price?’
‘Nothing beyond your power – as Duke of Lancaster – to pay.’
Which took my interest. I glanced at the Earl, whose face was inscrutable. Had not Lancaster already been generous in his promises? Was this another layer of negotiation which had passed me by? It should not surprise me that the Earl was demanding every drop of blood from this alliance.
Lancaster was unperturbed. ‘Then I will pay it, for your alliance in person and in military might is beyond price.’
Flattering indeed, and presumably I had been mistaken for the Earl nodded slowly in easy agreement. He moved as if he would take Lancaster’s hand, both now standing and facing each other. So it was all to be settled with Harry and I as mere spectators, watching the manoeuvring of these two powerful men.
And yet it astonished me that Harry had remained silent for so long. I could feel the tension in him as he allowed the Percy future to be decided, as if he were carried along by the ambitions of others, while I had the sense to bide my time. I neither could nor would add anything to this heavy debate in which my opinions would hold little weight, but how long would Harry remain a bystander? His compliance would be crucial to the whole venture.
‘God’s Blood!’
There it had come at last. The thrust of Harry’s muscles as he sprang to his feet, stretching out his hand in denial.
‘This is too precipitate. There is another matter that concerns us, that has not been addressed.’
‘Has he not answered everything to our pleasure?’ the Earl growled, his hand falling to his side.
‘As far as it goes, I’ll not argue against it. But there is one question that no one has asked or answered. There is the question of the crown itself. Who will be wearing it by the end of the year?’
Lancaster waited, and I saw the dark gleam in his eyes, as if he had been waiting for this all along, as indeed he must. Then: ‘Who do you think, Hotspur?’
‘I think it is all cast in shadows. I think you should state your ultimate goal here, Lancaster, before there is any clasping of hands.’ It was a demand that blazed forth in the confines of the canvas walls as Harry rejected the intimacy of the name Lancaster had bestowed on him. ‘You now have a powerful force at your disposal. You have much sympathy for your disinheritance. But if Richard does not comply with your demands, what then?’
‘What are you asking?’
And since it could affect my own family so closely, I decided to participate. I moved to stand beside Harry, presenting, I hoped, a formidable front. If no one else was prepared to commit himself to speaking the unspeakable words, then I would do it.
‘He is asking – we are asking – if you would consider taking the crown of England for yourself.’
The Earl scowled but Lancaster’s gaze rested softly enough on me.
‘So that’s what you think. But that would be treason, Elizabeth.’
‘It would indeed. You see our position if we throw in our lot with you. You are not Richard’s heir.’
‘No, I am not.’ It was admitted lightly enough, but he was watchful. ‘The last I heard Richard had recognised my cousin of Aumale, who by my reckoning has no right whatsoever to the crown. His father was King Edward’s fourth son. My father was the third.’
‘No, Aumale has no right by blood to wear the crown. There are others with better.’ I paused but only for the length of a breath. ‘But the Mortimers do have a claim. A claim that comes before your own.’
‘Ah.’ Tossing the empty cup onto the bed, Lancaster laced his fingers. He had expected this, and confirmed it. ‘I should have known that’s why you had come on this expedition.’
‘Richard recognised my brother Roger as his heir,’ I said.
‘Then promptly disinherited him when he considered him guilty of treason. If the Earl of March had not died in Ireland, your brother could well have joined Arundel and Gloucester, dead by some foul means or another. His role in Ireland was already terminated.’ Lancaster’s regard was open and honest. ‘It would be hard for you to make your claim for his son, your nephew Edmund Mortimer. What is he? Eight years old, I think. I understand your family loyalties but I doubt there are many who would support another child King.’
I shook my head, refusing to give way. The Mortimer family had much experience of minorities whose interests had to be nurtured. ‘So he is still a child. But there are many who would say that my nephew’s claim is stronger than your own, through the line of Lionel, the old King’s second son.’
‘Through the blood of your mother. A female line. It is not to everyone’s taste.’
It was stated unequivocally.
‘But has not the young Earl of March’s claim as Richard’s heir already been supported by parliament?’ Harry queried. ‘It is a delicate point, I accept, but one that brings us back full circle. What are your intentions, Lancaster? Who will wear the crown if it is not Richard? And you in possession of a powerful weapon in those men camped out there, under your aegis.’
‘We could not support any action that undermined my nephew’s claim,’ I said.
‘You see an undermining that does not exist.’
Harry, fast losing patience, was far more brutal in his choice of words. ‘If Richard dies without an heir I would not like to see you robbing my nephew of his rights. You know all about being robbed of legal rights.’
‘So I do.’
‘Are we participating in a usurpation here?’
The tightening of my cousin Henry’s lips seemed to threaten a squall of temper but his control was stronger than Harry’s and his reply equable. ‘I have not said that.’
‘Some would say it was a usurpation for you to land and collect an armed force. It questions the King’s supremacy.’ Harry pushed harder. ‘Do you intend to destroy it?’
‘Not if the restoration of my inheritance can be achieved any other way.’
Which I considered a supremely enigmatic statement. So much polite wording. So much circling. So much left uncertain.
‘Is it in your planning to remove Richard and take the crown of England for yourself?’ I persisted in plain words.
Now the Earl sighed loudly, moving from one foot to the other. Lancaster’s glance at me was brief and dismissive, before he addressed Harry. ‘Here it is. If I can convince you that my intentions are naught but good, will you give me your hand, Harry Percy? Your father will, but I need you too. You are well named, Hotspur, and there is no one I would rather have riding beside me as we face the unknown.’
‘If you can convince me, I’ll give you leave to call me Hotspur again. You see my concern. You have a following strong enough to play whatever hand you wish.’
‘So I have, but I also have integrity. I know a way to convince you all, I think.’ His glance slid in my direction again. ‘Even you, Elizabeth, with all your Mortimer loyalties.’
His smile held a quality that was hard to withstand, but I would wait and see if he could convince me. Family loyalties were one thing; family assassination was quite another. If Richard had no heir of his own body, my little nephew should be the next King of England.
‘You wish to know my intentions. Then you shall.’
Without more ado we mounted and reconvened at the House of the White Friars on the outskirts of the town of Doncaster; there we were received by the Abbot in full regalia who, without question, ushered us into the chapel. We were expected. Which reminded me never to underestimate my cousin of Lancaster. Foreseeing the doubts that would be raised, with masterful cunning he had made contingency plans to answer them. Expectation and holy awe rippled through my blood. What would be our participation in this sacred place? The saints regarded us with a flat judgement in their painted eyes, making me shiver.
‘I think we have been outplayed and outfoxed,’ Harry said as we knelt in the silent grace, the chapel filling up behind us with Lancaster’s followers, the Abbot offering up prayers for the efficacy of this meeting. Westmorland was here, a sprinkling of other heraldic badges, all of us disarmed in the sacred atmosphere, all eyes fixed on a jewelled coffer which rested on the altar. Lancaster had come here to the White Friars more than prepared. Here, unless I was mistaken, were relics of some importance.
With God’s blessing residing with us, thick as the incense that filled our lungs, Lancaster stood while the Abbot opened the coffer, lifting out a number of gold-girt bones to place them on the altar. Then, both bowing in heavy reverence, Lancaster took from the Abbot and held aloft the jewel-embossed Gospel, raising it to his lips while we looked on, consumed with as much curiosity as piety. What would Lancaster say? This would be as binding an oath as it was possible to make. How binding for the future was Lancaster prepared to be? To my right, the Earl was looking straight ahead as if the proceedings were of no account. On my left, Harry’s fists were clenched against his thighs. I went back to staring at my cousin’s averted face, his head bent in utter respect.
His voice when he spoke was clear, carrying to every man here present, but not loud. It was, I decided, as if he communed with God Himself.
‘I stand here as Henry, Duke of Lancaster, robbed of my inheritance by an ill-counselled King. I have returned to England to reclaim what is rightfully mine, and that is the title and lands of the Duchy of Lancaster. I swear, before all present and in the sight of God and His Holy Spirit, on these Holy Gospels of St John of Bridlington and on his sacred bones, that I will take no more than those things that are mine by law and tradition. I am here to right a wrong.’
Lifting his head so that he might survey the congregation, he took a breath, impressive in his solemn dedication.
‘I swear that I am not come to seize the throne of England. If there is any question of the unfitness of Richard to rule, then I will not be the one to make the accusation. If there is any man in this realm more worthy of the crown than I, then I will willingly stand aside for him. I will not be guilty of taking the throne by force.’
A pause as I marvelled at his willingness to be judged.
‘If it becomes necessary for me to raise money for this venture, I will levy no taxes on the people of this realm without due consent of parliament.’
Which made me catch my breath. This was a forswearing of royal power.
‘I swear this on these holy relics of John of Bridlington. God so judge me in my keeping of this oath.’
Once more he kissed the Holy Gospels, and knelt to receive the final blessing from the bejewelled hands of the Abbot.
‘Amen.’
Which we all repeated with sacramental fervour in a sigh of reverence.
All very seemly, except that Lancaster might have removed his sword, but he was still clad in armour, burnished for battle, which gleamed in the candlelight. A soldier dedicating his future to God.
The Earl, Harry and I were left alone in the White Friars’ chapel to consider what we had just heard.
‘Which makes it all clear enough,’ the Earl huffed. ‘Does it not?’
Harry made no response, more concerned with collecting his sword from the antechamber, clasping his belt around his waist as if he were unclad without it.
Was I the only one to have doubts of Lancaster’s veracity? I opened my mouth to say that nothing was clear to me, but decided against it. It was like staring across a thick winter mist with figures looming. Despite the terrible sanctity of the oath, nothing was clear, nothing decided. Not that I would necessarily believe Lancaster to be capable of deception, no more than any other man of ambition; no more than the Earl whose principles were compromised as soon as his authority came under threat. Sometimes it was necessary to tread warily when the future was not clear-cut. And yet my cousin had sworn an oath on his soul, on those holiest of relics.
I regarded Harry who was still occupied with the stiffness of the buckle. I could not read him as well as I would like. A light-fingered hand gripped my heart and squeezed a little, a forewarning.
Then Harry looked up, buckle forgotten.
‘Do you believe him?’ His demand, addressed to the Earl, cracked the stillness of the now-empty chapel, the precious relics returned to their domed coffer. ‘That he will only take what is his? Are we suitably overawed by this show of magnificent reverence and ceremonial?’
‘What do you still fear? That he will still have designs on the throne?’ The Earl seemed to me strangely complacent as if it mattered not at all.
‘With an army this size at his beck and call? Why not? And he is talking about raising taxes.’
‘Which is sovereign power,’ I added, seeing the direction of Harry’s thoughts. ‘Dealing with parliament to raise taxes, with or without consent, is royal power.’
The Earl rewarded me with a glance, utterly disparaging, below his brows. ‘Lancaster swore that he would not seize the crown. He would stand aside for any man more worthy.’
‘Depends what he means by worthy,’ Harry grimaced.
I glanced from one to the other. ‘What are you saying? Or not saying? That it would be unwise to explore the term worthy? But he swore on the relics.’
How conflicted my loyalties, and Lancaster had barely set foot on English soil.
Harry was still in explosive mood. ‘Oaths can be broken.’
‘Lancaster has a reputation for piety,’ the Earl acknowledged.
‘The Lancasters have a reputation for hard-headed ambition.’
‘There is no outward treason here.’ The Earl gripped his son’s arm. ‘It is my advice that we go with him and ensure that he keeps the oath. If we wish to retain our power in the north, it would be unwise to stand against him at this juncture. Let us assess the lie of the land when Richard returns from Ireland. A decision made now can be undecided. If we think Lancaster’s scheming is not to our taste, then we withdraw. We have committed nothing but our presence and can take it day by day. It may be that it will all fall out to our advantage.’
For the Earl it was quite a speech. I felt that he saw a need to persuade his son, and for a long minute Harry considered, studying the sword callous on his palm, as if of a mind that a decision made here today would result in more sword galls to come. Then he nodded, looking up, eyes catching briefly in the few candle flames that had yet to be doused.
‘I say that we go with him, but we remain awake to what particular dish might be cooking in his pot.’
‘We remain awake,’ the Earl repeated.
They clasped hands in Percy unity; for better or worse we had thrown in our lot with Lancaster. The divergent paths worried me. Better? Settle the irregularities, bring Richard to book and restore good government. Secure Percy power. Worse? The penalty for treason was death.
Instead of following Harry I chose to remain in the chapel, walking slowly to the altar where I bowed my head as I placed my palms on the dome of the little coffer. The jewels gleamed and glinted as the candles finally guttered and died. I thought to offer up my own prayer to St John of Bridlington whose bones were renowned for working miracles, but for whom or for what should I pray? In the end I lifted my hands, covered my face with them and offered up a plea to the Blessed Virgin, for all of us.
In this valley, restless, grievous and changeable,
Turn to us, O Maiden amiable, our Mediator and Advocate, your eyes,
Full of the joy of paradise.
That we may gain eternal joy and pleasure.
It was a prayer that soothed, but my previous conflict refused to be overborne: who would have the power to stop Lancaster from doing exactly what he wished?
All as complex and mischievous as kittens in a box.
I could not imagine for one moment that Harry had not allowed this consideration to occupy a significant moment of his thoughts. But was I guilty of an unwarrantable cynicism in my suspicions that Lancaster might be more than willing to break so solemn an oath, sworn on such powerful relics? The scene so recently enacted in this chapel remained vivid in my mind, the holy words, the sacred incense-filled atmosphere that still dried my throat, the stern voice of absolute assurance from the royal vow-taker. A man could be damned for breaking so reverential a vow. Was not my cousin a man of proven honour and integrity?
‘Blessed Virgin, keep me safe from all mean doubting,’ I murmured in a final heartfelt plea. ‘And preserve Henry of Lancaster in the vow to which he has committed his soul.’
How could I not accept such dedication? Lancaster would do what was right and just.
I said my farewells to Harry. Lancaster’s army was marching south, supported by Percy forces, to the Lancaster fortress at Leicester where more troops would join with them, but I would not be there. With a fast-riding escort in Percy livery to deter any well-wishers, I had decided to make my way to London where I would claim accommodation at Westminster and glean as much as could be gleaned from friends and family. Better to be there when Richard returned from Ireland to face his nemesis than isolated in the north, for London was where the future would be decided.
I was sitting on the bed in Harry’s campaign tent while Harry strode around me, stuffing items of clothing into a coffer. A squire was waiting for it outside the canvas door-flap.
‘Keep safe,’ he said in passing. ‘Go straight to London. I doubt you’ll meet up with His Grace of York. We hear he’s in the west after all, searching for invisible rebels.’
‘And you keep safe too.’ I turned my head to watch him in his perambulations. ‘Will there be fighting? When Richard lands from Ireland?’
‘I doubt Richard will have the stomach to take us on. York even less.’ He paused, the groove between his brows becoming a fully fledged frown as he looked out to where the Earl was issuing orders. ‘But there may be,’ he admitted.
‘Are you sure of all this, Harry?’
Harry threw a quick glance over his shoulder to ensure that the squire was out of earshot. ‘He took the oath. You heard him.’
‘So you expect Richard to return to London, where he will be feted as King, and with Lancaster following behind as his loyal subject?’
‘I don’t know. Lancaster seems well intentioned.’
‘Lancaster seems well organised and single-minded to me. That oath no more than a clever ploy.’
‘The Earl believes him.’
‘Does he?’
A pause in which Harry pushed another under-tunic into the coffer that was more than full.
‘Harry.’
‘Yes?’
‘Who is the more worthy ruler after Richard?’
Which brought a halt to his housewifery. He lowered his voice. ‘We both know the answer to that. We have talked of it oft enough.’
Suddenly it was vital that I knew what was in his mind. ‘Are we in agreement on this?’ I asked.
‘I think we are.’ Giving up on the coffer, he sat on it as he fastened the lid. ‘I have not entirely changed my mind about the possibility of a Mortimer King. If, that is, the crown falls by whatever means from Richard’s head.’ His frown deepened again. ‘I think I would rather you returned to Alnwick, out of harm’s way.’
‘Or where I will not be able to voice an opinion which will stir lambent ashes into a conflagration? Much as you might do.’
With a sudden lightening of the atmosphere in the tent, Harry grinned, showing his teeth. ‘Something like that.’
‘I am in no danger.’ I went to him and, taking the final tunic from him, folding it neatly, I put my arms around him. ‘I will say nothing untoward.’ I kissed him. ‘I promise.’ Any obvious fears that Lancaster would fail and Richard return to London, burning with ire, to punish all who had dared to support Lancaster, were not to be dwelled upon. Nor would I burden Harry with them. Besides, Harry would see no possibility of failure in this enterprise, as I could not envisage my own death at the hands of King Richard. I doubted that he would make war on a woman.
‘I will see you in London,’ I said.
‘Whoever is King.’
I sighed a little. ‘Whoever is King.’ I thrust aside the tangle of conflicting loyalties because to become enmeshed would do no good at all. ‘Before God, Hotspur, I love you.’
And he replied, his mouth on mine sealing the promise. ‘Heart of my heart, look for me in a month. Then all will be made plain.’
My journey to London gave me much opportunity for thought. I may have promised to take care with what I said aloud, but the workings of my mind were my own, and entirely predictable, as I recalled Lancaster’s carefully worded oath. So Lancaster would look for a more worthy claimant, would he? What a clever word was ‘worthy’. It was all very unsettling, yet Harry’s farewell embrace had gone a way to reconciling me. We would work together for the future. What was it he had said?
We go with him, but we remain awake to what particular dish might be cooking in his pot.
It was all we could do.
And yet, the Earl had been quick to ask if Lancaster would be willing to accept his price, that it would not be beyond Lancaster’s power to pay. It may be that my fleeting suspicions of the Earl’s calm questioning were more than justifiable. Once again I found myself wondering what that price might be.
