The Shadow Queen

by Anne O'Brien

  I saw what we had done for the celebration for my churching after Edward’s birth, spending without restraint. All who were of a mind to be critical had only to point to the stabling of eighteen thousand horses, all at Ned’s expense. The tourneying and jousting lasted for ten days. Imagine the money spent by Ned’s generous hand to entertain the knights who flocked to enjoy our hospitality. The candles alone cost over four hundred pounds. The great feast of oysters and peacock, veal and venison and suckling pig. Nor was that all. The new hangings and tapestries for my chambers were a shock even to my love of outward show, as were the hangings of tapestry to clothe the walls of the banqueting chamber, eight pieces a side and an ornate dosser to hang behind Ned’s chair. All lit as bright as day by those inordinately costly wax candles.

  Too much. Too wasteful. There were the figures before me, black on the page so that there could be no denial. It could be construed as vulgar ostentation. I had never sought vulgarity.

  One of the banquets had been cooked over wax candles.

  I remembered what I had said to Sir John. What would we do? Practice dull abstemiousness? Our Aquitainian subjects must accept their new rulers.

  But it would have been better to be more prudent in the impression we wished to make. To rule more considerately. So much wasted on empty show that could never win the loyalty of these subjects. And then Ned had returned from Castile burdened with a debt that could not be paid. I shuddered at the pounds in gold that Ned had paid into Pedro of Castile’s greedy hands.

  But what could I say? How could I put this burden on Ned’s shoulders? I had been as guilty as he. I had enjoyed the diamond buttons that now afflicted my conscience. Thus I assumed a calm exterior, without judgement, when Ned made his decision, because I could see no other way out of our extremity. But I tried to reason, as a clever woman must reason with an opinionated man.

  ‘We must tax them again,’ he said.

  It came at the end of a tiring day when Compline had brought neither of us peace in our hearts, only a wearing anxiety that we both hid.

  ‘It will not be well received, Ned. Is there no other way?’ I knew that there was not.

  ‘Well received? I am grown tired of their empty promises behind sour expressions. Here’s what it must be. Another hearth tax. They are used to hearth taxes.’

  ‘Do we not have enough coin?’ I knew the answer.

  ‘No, we do not.’ The words were bitten off. ‘If you expect to eat off the gold plate with the vine leaves when we next receive guests, you will be disappointed. I have had to break up some of our plate to pay our soldiers. If this continues we will be eating off common clay. A hearth tax is the only way.’

  That might be so. They might be well used to hearth taxes, but not as frequently as Ned was demanding them, nor at such high rates. And so it proved. The Assembly of the estates of Gascony, sullen in its sitting when Ned summoned them to give their consent, was more than reluctant, granting such a tax at the extortionate rate of twenty four pence because Ned demanded it, but only on condition that he agreed to a charter of rights which they drew up to confirm their independence. They would no longer be automatically obedient to their English rulers who were dabbling in every one of their Gascon pies.

  ‘I would still advise against the tax,’ I said.

  ‘Why? They have agreed to it.’

  ‘They might agree now but are they plotting insurrection at the same time? I think you have pushed them too hard.’

  Ned managed a thin smile. ‘I’ll push them harder.’

  What we did not expect was a response from England, even as Ned’s clerks were amassing the coin. Ned erupted into the private walled garden where I sat in the shade with my women and the baby, waving a letter in my direction.

  ‘I do not deserve this. Before God I do not!’

  At a nod of my head, my women, carrying the baby, retired behind the distant lavender hedges.

  ‘Let me read.’ I held out my hand.

  But he would not, screwing it in his fist.

  ‘This is a letter from my father. A rebuke, without doubt. He warns me against – what was the word? – novelties in administration. Novelties, By the Rood! I swear that my father would have discovered far more novel means of wringing money from this Gascon stone than ever I could! I know they detest a government working in their midst. I know they prefer their ruler to be many leagues distant so that they can pull the wool over his eyes. But that is not how it will be.’

  I had risen to place a hand on his shoulder, which he shrugged off, later being stirred enough to write a reply, which he did not allow me to see. I think he expected me to advise moderation in his relations with his father.

  Ned was beyond moderation.

  But worse. Far worse. A formal summons from King Charles of France for Ned to appear in Paris to discuss the hearth tax which, King Charles opined, was against all tradition since it appeared to be becoming an annual occurrence rather than an infrequent appeal for help. So our subjects had indeed gone en masse to complain to their previous liege lord and here was the consequence, enough to rouse Ned to burning ire.

  ‘What is this? A demand from a liege lord to his inferior? The French King is no suzerain of mine.’

  If it had not been clear before, it was now. The Treaty of Brétigny was long dead and gone, buried deep in its coffin. King Charles, with no intention of abiding by it, would reclaim Aquitaine as his own, and until he achieved it, he would stir up our subjects by any means he saw fit, even summoning Ned to Paris as an underling. All Thomas’s hard work to hammer out an agreement from two hostile sides destroyed by a French King with his mind on re-conquest. It made me consider the effect on Edward, faced with his wife’s suffering and now the destruction of his famed peace. The end of all his dreams.

  Here in Aquitaine, an explosion of Plantagenet temper rent the air of Ned’s chambers, to which I added fuel to the flames, for I could no longer remain silent. The still-new bright love did not blind me to Ned’s refusal to see the truth.

  ‘I think your father was well-informed. The tax was too much a novelty for them to accept. Certainly it was too frequent.’

  ‘Well-informed?’

  ‘I warned you.’

  ‘So you warned me.’ His gesture was dismissive. ‘I do not want your warning. Where is your wifely loyalty?’

  I withstood the hard stare.

  ‘Loyalty weighs nought against crude reality. Do you know the state of our coffers?’

  ‘Do I know? Of course I know. Why would I levy another tax if they were full to the brim? I suppose you would blame me for going to the aid of thrice-damned Pedro? Or of being unable to wring the promised gold from him?’

  ‘No. But the tax was too much. You must woo them, Ned, not beggar them.’

  ‘And you so experienced in the government of states.’

  The cynicism coated me from head to foot.

  ‘I am experienced in the handling of men,’ I replied, thinking of all the occasions on which I had negotiated, persuaded, taken to task.

  ‘I had not noticed. You appear to be singularly maladroit at managing the men in your life.’

  I felt my own temper begin to match Ned’s.

  ‘I wooed you,’ I said, remembering the archery contest that seemed so far away in a different world.

  ‘I did not require the wooing. I wanted you. And your advice? What is it? Let me guess. Cancel the tax?’

  ‘We cannot do that,’ I agreed, but our voices had begun to fill the chamber, fortunately empty apart from ourselves and a brace of hounds. ‘We are too much in debt. And much of it our fault. Our extravagance has become the source of anger.’

  ‘As is your taste for unsuitable garments.’

  ‘I have not heard you complain.’

  ‘I am complaining now. That veil is not suitable for a married woman, flaunting your hair. What has happened to a seemly covering?’

  ‘Do you wish me to adopt a full veil and wimple, as would your mother?’r />
  ‘You are unreasonable, Joan. I merely ask you to be discreet.’

  ‘As you were discreet in entertaining every knight and his horse in Aquitaine at appalling expense.’

  ‘And you know why I did it. An impression of power is based on a flood of gold. Nor do I recall your complaining. It was to celebrate your churching!’

  Which of course led to an abrupt end to our conversation. Which lasted the rest of the day. And the next, Ned unforgiving, seething with righteous anger, discovering a need to be anywhere but where I might be. I accepted that I was not the problem, rather the blow delivered to Ned’s pride from his father, accepting at the same time that it would be wrong of me to increase the burden on him while he wrestled with this wound to his self-esteem from the one man who claimed his love and his admiration. The peace must be of my making. I steeled myself as I walked into his chamber.

  ‘I have come to negotiate terms,’ I said baldly.

  I found myself regarded as if I were an invading force. ‘I am not open to negotiation if you are still of a mind to put the treachery of our unruly subjects on my shoulders.’

  I stood before him so that he had no choice but to look at me. ‘I do not blame you. We are both to blame. I think we have not always been very wise. You notice I include myself in this.’

  ‘Thank you. Should I be grateful that you accept your own part in this monstrosity?’

  I set my teeth. This was going to be more difficult than I had envisaged. Ned’s expression was shuttered.

  ‘I have not come to fight with you. I am relying on your generosity of spirit.’

  ‘At this moment, I have none.’

  ‘I agree. I see none at all. You are still slouched in that chair while I am standing here. I have made the effort and I think that you might too. If you were truly the chivalrous knight you claim to be, of course.’

  He regarded me, at last the beginnings of a smile lurking.

  ‘It must have taken a lot to bring you here to make that admission that you too were in the wrong.’

  ‘Yes. It did. Are you going to banish me or will you come to terms?’

  ‘How can I refuse such an effusive offer?’

  The reconciliation was one of a handclasp, as if we were ambassadors of warring states. Except that it was followed by a kiss that became an embrace.

  ‘What will you do?’ I asked pouring wine, dreading the reply. ‘About King Charles’ invitation.’

  ‘I’ll accept the summons. By God I will! But I’m no supplicant to this French King. I’ll appear before him – with helm and sword and sixty thousand men at my back. Then we will see who holds the power here. Then we will see who rules Aquitaine.’

  He looked at me to assess my response to such a provocative policy.

  I would not stir another wasps’ nest into life.

  ‘Then that is what you will do, if you so wish. And I will support you in it.’

  But he would not. He could not. Although the courier was sent with this less than tactful response, I knew that Ned would never be in Paris at the head of an army, however ill-used he felt. For underlying every strain and stress within our domain was the decline in Ned’s health. It could no longer be avoided or ignored. Draining, debilitating, one attack followed fast after another, a weakening flux that struck him down. I was afraid, and for more reasons than I could talk of.

  Too unwell to travel, as the months passed Ned barely left the palace. Never did he trouble the Gascon lords as he had in the first days when a progress had been the order of his days. There were some days now when he was too ill to stir from his bed. The best of physicians could work no magical cure. And while we remained in Bordeaux, French King Charles, seizing his opportunity, began to infiltrate his troops into the eastern reaches of Aquitaine, Gascon lords flocking to his banner.

  Ned was too ill to be more than fretful, dragging himself between the bed and the privy.

  ‘I can do nothing to stop them.’

  I could not even advise him to send out his loyal captains, to enforce obedience in his name. There had been many deaths of his most reliable men, Sir James Audley and Sir John Chandos, his closest friends. He would not speak of this loss, and I dare not, for anger brought him even lower.

  When I could see no way forward, I wrote to my cousin Edward, braving Ned’s wrath if he should ever discover what I was doing.

  Your son is unwell, I wrote. The King of France drains our strength with attacks on our borders. We need help. I ask it in your son’s name, when he will not.

  Ned became more unapproachable by the day while I was fuelled by fear. I became a mistress of the art of concealment. Meanwhile I prayed that Ned be restored to health and the burden of stark fear, that could find no relief in such facile emotions as tears, be taken from me.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Blessed Jesu!

  Aid came to us in our beleaguered state in Angouleme, and with it a relief that lit Ned’s face with joy, although that only served to enhance his wasted cheeks, the long bones of his face sharp beneath the skin. In July his brother, John of Lancaster, once again arrived, full of rude good health, accompanied by a force sufficient to bolster our defences. A force that once again brought my son Tom who had grown beyond all my memories. I received John without explanation or excuses or even warning, simply leading him into Ned’s chamber. John stopped me before we reached the door.

  ‘Is he so ill that you must write?’

  ‘As you will see. And has been so for many days.’

  I opened the door, on a light knock to warn the occupants. John’s greeting to his brother was masterly in its self-control.

  They talked, Ned supported by a bank of pillows, the servants who had been caring for Ned’s bodily needs dismissed. They discussed the deceased Treaty of Brétigny, the untrustworthy King of France, the recalcitrant Gascons. John’s visit did far more good than I could ever do at this time. Ned’s thoughts were dominated by his sense of failure which John was able to direct into a different path, a more wholesome one, with plans for the future. It was only when I took John out to allow Ned to rest - a high flush along his cheekbones had presaged the return of a fever - that John sighed and let his true thoughts flow.

  ‘I did not know. I had no idea that things had come to this pass. You did not say.’

  My reply was cool, disliking the accusation that I had not seen fit to pass on bad news. ‘As I knew nothing of Philippa’s passing. News, even tragic news, travels slowly.’

  John himself had brought the news with him, unable to keep it from Ned that his mother, much-beloved Philippa, had died at Windsor, bringing to an end many months of suffering. I had not yet acknowledged it for myself, this great loss. I would think of Philippa’s passing later. Now all I could do was hold my sorrow at bay.

  ‘No. I suppose you would not.’ It was as close to an apology as I would get from Ned’s brother. Knowing that he would have been stricken by his mother’s death, I allowed myself to mellow somewhat.

  ‘I could not worry my cousin the King,’ I said. ‘I knew your mother suffered. As for Ned, he forbids me to trouble anyone with his ailments. You have seen him on one of his better days. He hides it - you know how proud his is. But it can no longer be hidden.’ I hesitated. ‘He won’t return to England, even though we have talked of it.’

  Looking out from the height of one of the towers to which we had made our way, we talked, and it was for me a small lessening of the load. How long I had borne by fears in silence, with no one to whom I could speak freely. And so we talked about Ned of course. About John’s own thoughts of a new wife from Castile, an exiled daughter of the troublesome King Pedro, now dead.

  ‘Do you have an eye to the crown of Castile for yourself?’ I asked, remembering some past anxieties. If John of Lancaster had an interest in Castile it would remove his ambitions from England. We talked of the future for Aquitaine. Of Alice Perrers who had sunk her claws even more strongly into Edward’s deteriorating mind, and would conti
nue to do so since there was no one able to stop her. And then:

  ‘How do you fair?’ John asked.

  For a moment it robbed me of an immediate answer. I could not recall when anyone had asked after my situation. Not that I would reply with any degree of honesty. Better to keep my own counsel, even with a man I would perhaps call friend, despite his youth. I had little experience of friends, but he was as close as I would come to one. My response was light.

  ‘As you see. As self-willed as ever.’ I swept the silken layers of my skirts, still extravagant, with an expert hand. Anything to cover up the distress which would never release me.

  ‘As beautiful as ever.’

  ‘You know how to flatter a woman.’

  He took my hand from where it rested on the coping stones and kissed my fingers.

  ‘I see below the surface, Joan.’

  ‘Once Ned did. But now he is too ill, too beleaguered with what, in his eyes, he has failed to do.’

  Which hurt so much. We had been together for such a little time to enjoy the love that had finally touched me with its cruel hand, before threatening to snatch away the object of that love. And I wept, shocked to find myself enclosed in a brotherly embrace.

  ‘When did you last weep?’

  I pushed away from him, turning away. ‘I have no idea.’ The storm was soon over. I could not afford weakness. ‘I do not weep for myself, or for Ned. But when I am alone, I will weep for Philippa.’

  ‘You don’t have to be in control of your emotions all the time.’

  ‘Sometimes it is better that I am. What value are tears? They’ll not heal Ned. In truth I think nothing will. I think there is more amiss than the flux.’ I turned back, despite the temporary ruin of my beauty. ‘Do you believe in divination, John?’

  ‘No more than any man. Why?’

  I explained the grievous prediction with the advent of the three kings in Angouleme. That Richard would rule next in England after his grandfather.

  ‘Three kings, two of whom no longer had the power to claim their thrones, one of them dead,’ John sneered. ‘For shame, Joan, that you should even listen to such falsehood.’