The Shadow Queen

by Anne O'Brien

  ‘I will be a good wife,’ I assured to make her smile again. ‘I will be everything you want me to be.’

  But now it was clear that she did not wish to speak of her son. Her glance was towards the ladies in the window. Full of remorse, I took her hands that trembled. ‘I know that your shoulder pains you. Do you wish for me to call one of your damsels?’ The shadow of panic in her eyes astonished me. ‘But that is not all, is it?’

  ‘No, it is not all. Can I tell you? I can tell no one else.’ Her voice fell, presuming my compliance as she poured out the hurt, the despair, that she had kept hidden for so long. ‘Edward thinks it will not hurt me, if he is circumspect. And I, in my self-delusion, have led him to believe that it will not, because I know that I can no longer give him pleasure. My joints are on fire. How can I give him physical fulfilment when every move is agony for me? But the agony in my mind is greater than that in my body.’

  I saw it in her eyes, where I read what she had not said, what it was beyond her to say.

  ‘He has a mistress?’

  I breathed out slowly, disbelieving. Was this indeed the unacceptable, the unutterable sin, come to pass? The sound marriage of Edward and Philippa based on love and loyalty over so many years, come in the end to the King taking a mistress under his wife’s nose, and she concurring with it? In all the years I had known him, there had been no breath of scandal that Edward had been false to his beloved wife. Was this what Philippa feared?

  ‘Yes,’ she breathed. ‘He has taken a mistress.’

  ‘Who?’ Our voices were now lowered to a collusive whisper, our heads together as if pouring over the open text still on my knee, an illustration of Sir Galahad riding off on some hopeless knight-errantry. I was still of a mind to deny any such disfiguring grub in the heart of the fair fruit of their marriage. ‘A woman of the court? Someone we know?’

  She laughed, a harsh note in that usually melodic voice. ‘One of my own household, no less. And with my consent. Even with my contrivance.’ She indicated the women. ‘The dark girl. If you are going to look at her, don’t stare. I’ll not draw more attention than I must.’

  Carefully, as if merely taking account of who was present in the little knot of damsels, I glanced across to meet the eye of a woman with dark hair and well-marked brows, not beautiful but a striking woman. And she was very young. I knew her, of course.

  Mistress Alice Perrers.

  A low-born damsel who had caught the Queen’s eye for her intelligence, brought into the royal domain, one who had already crossed my path with her absurdly direct observations on my own situation. I stared, regardless of Philippa’s warning, my own concerns buried, when I saw no circumspection in this young woman, more a confident sleekness. She simply stared back, as if sensing the direction of my thoughts, before going back to her allotted tasks, and yet there had been no challenge in her stare. Because of that I believed Philippa. Mistress Perrers was confident in her role as royal mistress.

  ‘I have acquiesced,’ Philippa was explaining remorselessly, unaware of the tears that had begun to slide down her cheeks. ‘You could say I have arranged it. Rather a woman I know, and a servant, than a woman at court who will smirk and condescend. She is my creature as well as the King’s. She will obey me too. She will be discreet and not crow her victory over me.’

  But my thoughts were centred on Edward.

  ‘Where is his loyalty, after all the children you have given him, all the love you have bestowed on him? I despise him for it.’

  ‘You must not. It is better this way. He is still virile, while I am in decline.’

  ‘Oh, no, my dear lady…’ The depth of her sorrow wrung my heart.

  ‘It is true. I see my death. I already envisage my tomb.’

  I held her hands in futile attempt to absorb her pain.

  ‘I could not do that. I could not employ his mistress as one of my damsels. Knowing it. Accepting it.’

  No, I could not do that. It was beyond any consideration. Accepting that I must be blind to what happened on campaign, Thomas had had no mistress to my knowledge within the years we had been together. Nor had Will. Would Ned ever share his bed with another woman if he grew weary of me? Mistress Willesford was a woman from his past, consigned to remain there. Oh, no. I would make sure he had no mistress but me.

  ‘I don’t suppose you could.’ Philippa rallied, as she must have done so often before. ‘But I can. I must. That is not a matter for us now, and you must not meddle.’ Her level stare was as implacable as that of her first-born son. ‘You will say and do nothing. Indeed I should not have told you but sometimes weariness weighs down on me.’ She touched my cheek, the tears already drying on hers. ‘I will speak with the King about this marriage of yours,’ she promised, her shoulders straight again, her chin lifted. ‘But I promise nothing.’

  That spring and summer the court fell into gloom such as I had never seen, not even after the death of the old Earl of Salisbury. Edward was sunk deep in a pool of dark distress. Even as early as February, before I had made my vows with Ned, the heavens had seemed to presage the disasters that now befell us. Burning lights were seen streaking across the night skies. The sun was shadowed so that at noon it appeared to be nightfall. The young corn withered, young fruit fell from the trees. Some claimed to see visions, hosts of soldiers garbed in black and white, issuing from two castles in the clouds, to wage war. All these signs and portents spoke to the chroniclers of calamity.

  At least it turned their thoughts from me for a short time.

  And then we felt the cold hand of death, irrespective of age or status. So many at the court succumbed. Five empty seats were counted when the King’s Order of the Garter met in April. One of them Thomas, of course, the rest Edward’s closest comrades in arms: the Earl of Northampton, Sir John Beauchamp, the young Earl of March, while in March, the most painful blow of all, the Earl of Lancaster had departed this life, that most trusted friend of King Edward. Death hovered on all sides with its noisome breath. And as it claimed its allotted toll, Edward fell further and further into despair, unable to clamber out of it, the constant problem of our marriage overlaid with further loss and desolation. He would not speak of the future. Even when spring blossomed into early May and we might have thought of a lightening of spirits, the plague came. It hit children hard.

  ‘My reign is blighted. It is God’s judgement.’

  In the past Edward had held the Garter tournament to lift England’s spirits. There was no tournament. Hunting gave Edward little respite. Philippa retired into her pain and anxiety behind closed doors. Alice Perrers continued to be an efficient damsel, a quiet, respectful presence, presumably giving what comfort she could to a grieving monarch. I vowed my revenge for the pain she was causing when my own situation had been put to rights. Mistress Perrers would reign no more.

  ‘What do you say when you go hunting together?’ I asked Ned.

  Ned gave my query short shrift. ‘Very little. When I pursue the subject, he clams up. His new goshawk has more to say for itself. We need acknowledgement from the Pope, Joan. Who would have thought that my father would be so stubborn?’ Ned was brittle with anger. ‘It must be settled. My son must be born in the full glare of legitimacy.’

  ‘If I were carrying your son.’

  ‘If there were a chance of your carrying my son! I am tired of waiting.’ His eye, turned on me, was inviting. I did not resist when he guided me to his chamber and proceeded to divest me of my raiment. ‘At least let us enjoy the moment despite the presentiment of gloom and doom.’

  And we did, Ned’s restless impatience driving him to action that left me breathless and him sated. Ned had the power to make me forget my present woes and my past loss. It seemed that I could do the same for him. Laughter returned to us at least for a short time after we had bemoaned the intransigence of the King.

  Chapter Twelve

  I went to the King. I had no thought that I could break this unyielding, but no one else was trying and I knew fu
ll well that it was my reputation that was causing the problem. I was not afraid to beard the lion in his den. I did not tell Ned, who might have stopped me. In the store of garments and masks, readily to hand for a festivity, Edward sat in misery.

  ‘Go away, Joan.’ As soon as he turned his head, hearing my footsteps and saw who it was. ‘I haven’t the time for this. You know what I think. Nothing you say will make me change my mind.’

  ‘I will go if you send me away. If you consider the provision of a court masque more mind-consuming than the happiness of your son. I can understand that it might be so, since the Garter tournament is so important to you. I understand that it is essential that the King’s subjects see him attired in the robes of a Saracen, covered with indecipherable mystical symbols.’

  I kicked lightly at a box of such materials, my skirts raising a cloud of dust and a clatter of buckram pheasants’ wings as they fell to the floor. It seemed frivolous to discuss my future surrounded by feathers and spangles but so be it.

  ‘Enough, Joan. There will be no court masque. Not now. Not ever.’ Elbows on knees, he regarded me from beneath brows that seemed not to have lifted from a scowl for a se’enight.

  I resisted the desire to ask him why he was hiding amidst this tawdry glory if he had no intention of using it. ‘I am here as your cousin,’ I said.

  ‘Or as a daughter by law I don’t want.’

  ‘I want you to reconsider.’

  ‘Reconsider?’ His cheeks achieved a wash of high colour. ‘What are they saying in the streets? Have you not heard?’

  ‘I have.’

  ‘You have overreached yourself! Virgin of Kent, if you are lucky, although the implication is clear. Whore of Kent if you are not, by God!’ Breath hissed between my teeth, as he seemed to find some perverse pleasure is saying it. ‘They laugh over their cups in the alehouses. They toss your name around as if you were some tavern harlot. Is that what I want for the Princess of Wales? I am not the only man in this realm to consider you unsuitable as wife to the future King. To carry the future heir.’

  I held my temper. ‘I have never been adulterous.’

  ‘You are bigamous, adulterous and profligate.’ His eyes narrowed on my tight-fitting sleeves. ‘Extravagant too. If I am not mistaken those buttons are diamonds. What did they cost?’

  I accepted the challenge and returned it.

  ‘Two hundred pounds. Are they not beautiful? Shall I tell you how much this ring cost? These two fine brooches cost your son one hundred and thirty pounds. Do you also wish to know the cost of this gown? Far less, I wager, than Philippa’s sables.’

  ‘They are outrageous! There is ruin in your blood. It is not from your father, I swear.’ Edward was peevish, drawing the fine length of a peacock feather through his fingers, again and again, so that the the triviality of it all caused me to loose the reins on my temper a little. Surprising him, astounding him, I snatched the feather from his fingers, broke it and tossed it aside, letting emotion colour my voice for the first time, for it would do no harm in this vicious atmosphere.

  ‘Listen to me, Edward. This marriage is legal. We both know that it is. If you refuse to recognise our marriage, if you will not help to set all to rights with His Holiness, you will create a rift with your son that will never be healed. He worships you. You are the hero he admired as a boy, and still admires. It will be a blight worse than the plague if you cleave this path of dissension between the two of you.’

  Edward plucked out another feather. Twice he pulled it through his fingers, as if daring me to snatch it again. So I would not.

  ‘Was it your idea to exchange vows in this chancy manner?’

  ‘No. It was none of my doing.’

  For a moment he looked baffled. ‘It was Ned.’

  ‘Yes.’ I might drop to my knees beside him, but there was no softening of petition in my voice. ‘You know your son. When his mind is made up he will not be turned. If you do not make this marriage fully legal, the scandal will be far greater than it is now. It is in all our interests.’

  ‘And yours more than most. You see yourself as Queen.’

  ‘Yes, I do.’ It was the first time that I had ever put it into words. Now it had a life of its own. ‘And I see my children as legitimate inheritors of your crown.’

  ‘He should never have done it.’ Edward cast aside the mangled feather.

  ‘Will you answer me honestly?’

  He grunted an assent of sorts.

  ‘Would you have wed Philippa, if it had been forbidden by your mother? You married her because you loved her. Is it not true that you needed a papal dispensation because Philippa is your cousin? I know it was so. You can hardly condemn me for actions which have simply replicated your own. The manner of our marriage was regrettable, perhaps, but my blood is as good as any. As good as Ned’s as you full well know. I may not be a woman of European status but I am a princess of England. You may argue against it but not with any weight, however hard you try.’

  Which effectively silenced him. I stood, taking a step back.

  ‘I will leave you to contemplate the future. And no, Ned did not send me. I came here to place before you a reasoned argument. Even if you reject it, at least you have now seen the truth.’

  He looked up at me. ‘Are you breeding?’ he asked with a crudity unusual for Edward.

  ‘No.’ I walked to the door amidst all the foolish festive decorations, turning at the last. ‘Not yet.’

  ‘Thank God for one blessing.’

  ‘If you stand in our way, I will not work to heal the rift with your son.’

  A threat that I immediately regretted. Nor did I think that I had won the argument, but who was Edward to condemn my morals when the harlot Alice occupied his bed under the eye of his so loyal wife? I bore down hard on that sudden burst of fury. That was no way forward for any of us, nor must I make life any harder than it already was for the Queen. So I set myself a new task, with new skills demanded of me. I would show him that I could be a worthy daughter, a formidable support for England and for the Prince of Wales. I would leave him in no doubt at all that I could be a wife of great value.

  Resisting my inclination to leave him to his miserable contemplations, I pulled up a stool and sat opposite, waiting, my hands folded neatly in my lap. I was learning that confrontation with an obdurate man did not always achieve victory. Some would say that I should have learned it long before now.

  ‘You look troubled,’ I said. ‘I am willing to listen.’

  ‘I don’t trust you.’

  ‘What is not to trust? I recall days when we could talk without dissent poisoning the air between us.’

  I tried not to show the sharp stab of Edward’s thrust at my heart. I had never been disloyal. Perhaps careless of my status, certainly wilful, but I had never deliberately cast a shadow of scandal over the Crown. Had I not always done what I could to put matters right? Returning to Thomas had been right. Yes, this marriage to Ned was a turbulent river which I must step across, but not now. Edward must be made to accept that I was more than a receptacle for gossip and mischief. I would give good counsel, if Edward would cast aside his scorn, but Edward remained caught up in some inner turmoil that refused to be broken apart.

  Still I waited. Then, slowly, he began to speak, a trickle of thought, as if a dam had been breached by the smallest crack. He had forgotten his animosity towards me.

  ‘Do you know, Joan? I am within sight of the fiftieth year of my life. I have spent most of that life fighting enemies in England, in Scotland and against France, and now we are at peace, to God’s great blessing. My reign is secure. My country is secure from enemies. I have an exemplary wife and enough sons to carry on my name. But what now? How do I bring further glory to my reign?’ His brow furrowed with concern, as if he were in a labyrinth and could see no way forward, only high hedges on both sides, blocked pathways ahead. ‘We are beset with death and disease, by dread signs in the heavens, for which I have no remedy. My wife suffers, may the
Virgin bring her respite in her travails. The friends of my youth are dead. My heir is entangled…’

  He scowled at me.

  ‘Your son is entangled with me,’ I prompted.

  ‘Yes. I would not have had this marriage. It brings England no value. Only scandal and rumour, France laughing up its sanctimonious sleeve. You are a source of disaffection.’

  I felt the muscles in my jaw tighten but I preserved the benign demeanour. ‘I will repair the rumours. There will be no scandal. When I carry your son’s child, the potency of England will be fulfilled. That is, when I carry your son’s legitimate child, received into the bosom of the Church.’ My voiced acquired an intimate note, a deliberately seductive note beneath a businesslike approach. I had thought long and hard about how to reach Edward in his dark thoughts. ‘How would you wish to be remembered, Edward?’

  His brows flattened as he stared at me, redolent of suspicion.

  ‘You have brought peace to this land. You have made the name of England feared and respected. That would make you a great King when tales are told in history. Will you not pursue this greatness?’

  ‘But how would I pursue greatness now? I have no heart for it, any of it.’ He was cold, drawn down by loss and isolation. ‘My brave Garter knights are decimated. All the hopes I had for them. There are no more wars for me to fight.’

  I had not realised quite the depths to which he had sunk.

  ‘Shall I tell you what I would do?’ I asked.

  ‘How would you see inside the mind of a King?’

  ‘No, I cannot. But think about this, cousin. Can you not replenish your Garter knights? Fill the empty ranks so that those who have gone before have brave men to step into their shoes, to continue the glory that they created.’

  ‘Who do I choose to be men of the same calibre to stand with me?’