The King’s Concubine: A Novel of Alice Perrers

by Anne O'Brien

  “I’ll have Masses said for your safe delivery. Send me word.”

  “I will.”

  “I’ll be content if you bear me a daughter.”

  “As long as she’s less combative than Isabella!”

  “Difficult not to be.” Edward’s laughter startled the ducks that quacked in the shallows. Then, as I settled myself against the pillows: “Don’t go!”

  The tightening of his hands around mine was a consolation, but I knew I must. In some matters I valued my independence. I wished to be under my own roof when I gave birth. And so I left Court. There was no secrecy now. My departure was marked with banners and pennons and a royal escort, such that all the world was aware that the King’s Concubine would bear him another child. Isabella found other affairs to occupy her so that she would not have to pretend a degree of concern. Good practice, all in all.

  My wolfhound traveled with me, nervous of the water. A more misnamed animal I had never met. I carried Windsor’s dagger in my sleeve.

  A basket of new-laid eggs rested on the table in the kitchen at Pallenswick, where I was engaged in helping my housekeeper to clear out boxes of wizened fruit from the previous autumn. And tucked between the eggs was a letter. An unconventional delivery, forsooth. Intrigued, keeping an eye to Joanne, my new daughter, who slept in her crib beside the hearth, I retrieved it and unfolded the single page. A brief note, no superscription, no signature, no seal. So someone wished to remain anonymous but had gone to a lot of trouble.

  It is necessary for you to return to Westminster. Personal circumstances must not be allowed to stand in your way. It is for your good and that of the King.

  A clerk’s hand. But from whom? I tapped the note lightly against the brown egg on the top of the pile. Not Edward. It was not his style, and why the need for secrecy? Wykeham? He would not stoop to unsigned missives. He would not need to, surely, as Edward’s Chancellor. Edward’s physician? If Edward were ill, a courier would have arrived with a horn blasting out its warning. Certainly not Isabella…None the wiser, I dropped the letter into the fire with a wry smile. Who would actually want me to return? I might be the acknowledged concubine, but most would happily clap me in a dungeon as far away from the King and Court as possible.

  For the length of time it took me to walk from kitchen to parlor, the sleeping infant now in my arms, I considered taking no heed of it. But then—it was a warning. It was for the good of the King. I could not afford to ignore it—or could I? I did not appreciate an anonymous request that smacked of an order. I would think about it overnight.

  I wished the anonymous writer a close association with the fires of hell.

  I was, of course, up betimes, ordering my belongings packed and a barge made ready. I kissed my new daughter—fair and blue eyed like her father, named Joanne after Edward’s beloved dead daughter who had been taken by the plague. I had balked at the name, it being uncomfortably reminiscent of the woman who had disparaged my low birth and consigned me to a life of drudgery, but on this occasion Edward’s wishes took precedence. So I bade my daughter and sons farewell, admonished nurse and tutor with a multitude of unnecessary instructions, and set off for London within the hour. The writer of the note would make himself known soon enough.

  I arrived to find that in my absence Edward had summoned a Parliament. It did not disturb me in any manner. With a new campaigning season approaching, a parliamentary session to give approval for taxation to raise the moneys to pay the English forces was an obvious step. It gave the palace at Westminster, where Edward was in residence, an air of turmoil. There was an unusual scurry and bustle, the stabling overcrowded, and accommodations for lords and bishops at a premium. The commons had to make what shrift they could. It would not affect me. Closing my door against the commotion without, I sighed with the pleasure of arrival. But not for long. I expect I scowled.

  “You took your time!” John of Gaunt announced.

  “What are you doing here?” I was not gracious. Why was I rarely gracious around John of Gaunt? And to find him here in my rooms, without my invitation. I think I always feared him. Gaunt was as ever impervious, sitting on the window ledge, his foot braced against the stone coping.

  “I’m waiting for you, Mistress Perrers.”

  He’d had little to do with me since our initial agreement. Oh, his public recognition of me was superb. He might be forced to accept my importance to Edward, but still I thought he despised me. So what was he doing here? Unless…Suspicion began to flutter over my skin.

  “I came as soon as I could,” I said.

  “I expected you yesterday.”

  I was right. He was plotting again. “So you sent the letter, my lord.”

  “That’s not important. It brought you back. It should have been sooner.”

  I resented his tone—the peremptory demand, his overt criticism. My response was biting. “You didn’t have the courage to sign it, did you, my lord?”

  “Nothing to do with courage. More to do with discretion.”

  “So that no one knows you sent for the King’s paramour? How unfortunate for you that you are driven to consort with such as me, having to admit that you actually have a need of me. Once was enough. But to have to ask again! How can you tolerate it, my lord?” How savage my taunts, but he had caught me on the raw.

  Gaunt was on his feet, striding toward the door. I had pushed his arrogant pride too far.

  “Wait!”

  He halted abruptly, his face stony. “I don’t have need of you. I was mistaken.”

  “Obviously you do.” I removed my mantle and hood, giving myself time to struggle against the inclination to let him go and slam the door at his back. It must be serious for Gaunt to come to me; therefore it was for me to make the first gesture to this man whose conceit was vast. “Let us begin again, my lord.” I stretched out my hand in a gesture of conciliation. “Tell me what the problem is and I will answer you.”

  Serious indeed! Gaunt needed no second invitation. “He refuses to do it. And he must. You are the only one he’ll listen to. Regrettable, but a fact. You’ve got to persuade him.”

  Typical of the man to dive into the middle of the problem without explanation.

  “I presume you mean the King. And I might persuade him if you are more specific. Come and sit with me, my lord, and tell me what’s stirred this particular pot. Is it Parliament?”

  “By God, it is!”

  He sat and told me all in short, incisive sentences.

  Parliament had begun the session in unfriendly mood. Their list of complaints would carpet the floor from Westminster to the Tower. All the money granted by the previous session—what had happened to it? Vanished without trace and with no achievement for it! England’s proud name had been ground into the mud of Europe. Gascony was more or less lost. Where was the English Navy? Were there not rumors of French invasion plans? And now the King was daring to ask them for more finance. Well, they wouldn’t provide it! It was throwing good money after bad.

  I listened, honestly perplexed.

  “I do not see how I can help in this matter,” I observed at the end.

  “They are looking for scapegoats,” Gaunt snarled, as if I were witless not to see it. “They are unwilling to attack the King directly, but they are intent on drawing the blood of his ministers, accusing them of poor judgment. And unfortunately Parliament has discovered a weapon. What do all Edward’s ministers have in common?”

  I saw the direction of this. “They are all men of the Church.”

  “Exactly! Priests, to a man. What do they know about warfare? Nothing! Parliament wants them removed before they’ll consider taxation.”

  It was now very clear, my role in Gaunt’s plans. “And Edward will not do it.”

  “No. He is driven by loyalty. I can’t move him. And if he won’t comply…we would have a crisis at home to match the one in France.”

  “If I persuade Edward to dismiss his clerics, who will replace them?” I asked.

  Ga
unt smiled bleakly. “Here’s my suggestion.…”

  I listened to his planning. It was masterly. I could not find fault with it.

  “Will you do it?”

  I stared at him. “Will your new ministers not be unpopular?”

  “Why should they be? They’re not clerics.”

  “But they’ll be seen as your men.”

  “They’re men of talent!”

  So they were. But for a moment I simply sat and considered the whole, making Gaunt wait just a little, because I was in a mood to do so. I could see no fault with his plan—and it would rescue the King’s relationship with Parliament. It had much to recommend it.

  “I will do it, my lord.”

  “I’m obliged!”

  The agreement was accepted by the curtest of nods, and Gaunt strode from my rooms, leaving my previous good humor disturbed. Damn the man! Gaunt and I might be allies in this, but it would never be an easy alliance. It crossed my mind that it might be like getting into bed with a viper.

  Together Gaunt and I found Edward engaged in some heated conversation with Latimer. He greeted me with a smile, saluting my cheeks, but the welcome was notable for its brevity, even a touch of irritation.

  “You should have told me you intended to return, Alice. I can give you only a few minutes, because…”

  The burdens were hemming him in again. I saw the strain of holding his far-flung possessions together dragging at the muscles of his face. He looked beleaguered.

  “We’re here to talk about your ministers, Sire,” Gaunt intervened gently.

  “You know my feelings about that.…”

  There was an irresolution about Edward that worried me. I touched his arm, drawing his eyes to my face.

  “I have talked with your son, my lord. My advice is to do as he says.”

  “My ministers have served me well.…”

  “But Parliament will not give them the benefit of the doubt. You need money from Parliament whether you like it or not, Edward. How can you fight without their support? Dismiss your clerics, my lord. Now is not the time to be indecisive.”

  I think I said no more and no less than Gaunt must have said already, but Edward listened to me.

  “You think I should bow to Parliament’s will?” His mouth acquired a bitter downturn.

  “Yes, Edward. I do. I think it would be good politics.”

  So he did it.

  And the men who came forward in the place of the unfortunate clerics proved to be the exact same coterie of men who had met with me in the circular room. All friends and associates of Gaunt, able men, ambitious men. Men who would serve Edward well and be loyal to Gaunt. Within the week the reorganization was complete. Carew became Lord Keeper of the Privy Seal. Scrope took on the burden of Treasurer. Thorp became the new Chancellor. William Latimer was honored with the position of royal Chamberlain, while Neville of Raby replaced him as Steward to the royal household. Thus a Court clique to close tightly around Edward and cushion him against the world that he found increasingly difficult to recognize.

  I watched them bow before the King. Gaunt had it right: They were his men and would be bound to him, and since it was my influence that brought them to the forefront, they would be loyal to me also. Not one of them would dare oppose me, giving me friends at Court who would not neglect my interests.

  So I took my first overt step into government circles.

  “You must not worry, my lord.” I raised one of Edward’s hands to my lips. “They will serve you well.” The days when his palms were calloused from rein and sword were long gone. The strain in him, his lack of vision for the future, were pitiable. He was like an aging stag, still leader of the herd but with the weight of years beginning to dim the fire in his eye. Soon the hounds would be baying to drink his blood. Perhaps they already were.

  “It is good that you are back,” he said. “Have you brought the infant?”

  “No. She is with her nurse. But I will. You will see her.”

  I accompanied him to the mews to inspect a new pair of merlins just taken into training, relieved to see him enjoy the moment as he handled the birds. Edward must not worry. But I would. I would do all I could to keep the dangers at bay.

  Gaunt, I presumed, was satisfied with the outcome. He made no genuflection in my direction, but I felt the shackles that bound us together drawing tighter: We were undoubtedly in league, although whether I had sold my soul to Gaunt or he had sold his to me was open to debate. This was a marriage of convenience, and could be annulled if either saw fit. We were too wary of each other to be easy bedfellows, but for better or worse, in this political manipulation we were hand in glove.

  The result of our conspiracy was immediate and inspiring. Edward addressed Parliament with all his old fire and won their approval, and the money was forthcoming. England could go to war again, whilst I smugly castigated the far-distant William de Windsor. Look to your enemies, he had warned me. He had been wrong. I had friends at Court now. Perhaps I should write to tell him. I consigned his dagger to a coffer.

  “I don’t need you!” I informed an entirely unimpressed Braveheart, who had curled up on the hem of my gown.

  And if I needed confirmation of the rise of my bright star in the heavens of Court politics, that was immediate too. When gifts were exchanged between the royal Plantagenets, as was habitual at Easter, the sense of Gaunt’s obligation to me must have struck him like a blow to the gut, for he was astonishingly and unexpectedly generous.

  He proffered an object wrapped in silk.

  I took it, unwrapped it.

  Holy Virgin!

  It was an exceptional object, a hanap such as I had never seen—a bejeweled drinking vessel, fashioned in silver and gleaming beryls, fit for a king.

  Oh, I read Gaunt well. He had a need to keep my allegiance. My voice in his father’s ear was worth every ounce of silver, every one of the jewels set in the hanap, a gift to buy my favors if ever there was one. And why was it so very necessary for this Plantagenet prince to have a royal mistress on his side? Because, as every man in the land knew, of the uneasy state of the succession. Because with the rumors flying out of Gascony of the Prince’s health, no one would wager against the Prince dying before his father, and then the crown would pass to the Prince’s son Richard—a child of four years. A state did not thrive with its ruler not yet out of his minority.

  Did Gaunt see the crown of England falling into his own lap? Children’s lives were vulnerable. Richard’s elder brother was already dead in Gascony. Richard might not live.

  But Gaunt was not as close to the succession as he might like to be, for would not Lionel’s issue stand before him? Lionel, who had died so tragically in Italy, had produced a daughter by his first marriage. This child, Philippa, who was wed to Edmund Mortimer, the young Earl of March, was now mother to a daughter. If that young couple proved sufficiently fertile to produce a large family, a Mortimer son would take precedence over any offspring of Gaunt.

  Not something to Gaunt’s liking, I judged. There was no love lost between him and the Earl of March.

  My thoughts wove back and forth as I inspected the splendid cup, as any tapestry maker would create a picture of the whole. It was all too far in the future for speculation, but without doubt Gaunt had much to play for in this complex picture created in my mind. For who would be a better king within the next decade? The child Richard? A Mortimer son as yet unborn? Or Gaunt in his full strength?

  And just supposing the situation was solved and Richard lived? Still all would not be lost for Gaunt. A governor would be needed for the young Richard, and it was no secret who would be the obvious choice to educate and protect and direct the young King. Gaunt, of course. Gaunt would be in control. And he might still see the Crown as a not impossible prospect for his own son, young Henry Bolingbroke. And what better than to have as an ally the King’s Concubine, who had the ear of the ailing King. Gaunt saw me as a useful arrow in his quiver in ensuring that the succession fell into the be
st hands, for nothing would persuade me that he did not have some scheme in mind. He was not a man to take second place, even to his brother, the dying heir, however deep his affection for him might be.

  Was this treason on Gaunt’s part? Of course it was.

  I smiled, in no manner seduced by the quality of the gift, understanding the motives of the giver perfectly.

  “Thank you, my lord.” I curtsied. I would accept the gift, but my loyalty would remain true to Edward.

  “It is my pleasure, Mistress Perrers.”

  Gaunt too smiled, sly as a fox.

  I was not without regrets in all this realigning of alliances and royal ministers. Wykeham, the man who trod the line between friend and enemy, was the one victim in the political maneuvering whom Edward truly mourned, and so did I. I doubted a more honest Chancellor ever existed, but Wykeham was swept away in the anticlerical hysteria. It was impossible to save him.

  Edward’s departure from his minister was formal. Mine was not. He was packing his possessions, his beloved books and plans for even more buildings that would never now see the light of day. Standing at the open door, I watched him fold and place everything with meticulous neatness. William de Wykeham, Chancellor no longer. He was the closest to a friend, even if an unnervingly judgmental one, that I had. I did not call Windsor a friend. I was not sure what Windsor was to me.

  He did not even turn his head. “If you’ve come to gloat, don’t bother.”

  “I have not come to gloat.” Wykeham continued wrapping a bundle of pens in a roll of cloth. “I have come to say farewell.”

  “You’ve said it. Now you can go.”

  He was hurt, and with every justification. I had stood at Edward’s side and listened to the empty phrases of regret and well-wishing. It had been necessary, and Edward felt the hurt just as keenly as Wykeham, but the man deserved more. I walked ’round the room to force him to face me. He foiled me by picking up and rummaging in a saddlebag.

  “Winchester will see more of you,” I remarked, holding out a missal to him.

  He snatched it from me. “I will apply my talents where they are appreciated.”