by Anne O'Brien
My putative power in England would be destroyed overnight.
Deep respect and trust between Ned and his brother had always been apparent, most keenly in those final days in Aquitaine, but Ned could be blind in his affection for his family. For me there was the everlasting kernel of uncertainty. Did I fully trust John of Lancaster, in spite of the oath he had made when Ned lay dying? He was a man of ambitions, after my own heart. It would indeed be good policy to ensure his loyalty. I must harness it quickly, for I could wait no longer.
He came promptly.
‘I need your help,’ I said as soon as the door was closed at his back.
‘What can I do?’
There was no hesitation in me. Nor were there any social graces. This was a matter of pure business and although I had learned the value of discreet persuasion, on this occasion I wanted no possibility of misunderstanding.
‘It is this.’ I flung back the lid of the little coffer with its crowned white hart, conveniently sitting at my feet, exposing all that it contained. ‘Look if you will.’
So he did, dropping on one knee beside it to begin lifting the documents, sifting with fine fingers, reading occasionally, then returning them to their home, closing the lid on them again as if it might be a danger to expose them to the air. He turned the key and handed it back to me.
Here were the documents I had kept so carefully in my possession. The dissolution of my marriage to Will. The formal and undeniably legal proof of my marriage to Thomas Holland. The complex decisions over my marriage to Ned: the revoking of the first, the proof of my second. All so essential. More weighty than gold. More precious than the gems on my fingers.
‘Do you understand?’ I asked, keeping my hands resting lightly in my lap when they would have preferred to curl into fists of uncertainty at the fickleness of fate. Here was the whole debate over Richard’s legitimacy as heir to King Edward, contained in this one small box, and here was the man whom I did not fully trust on whom I must cast my son’s fate.
‘I think that I do.’
‘I am full of fear.’
His brow creased. ‘Surely you have all the legality here that you need?’
‘But do I? You know all about my past.’ My eyes were wide, commanding on his, forcing him to see the hazards that could still threaten me. Willing him to be won over by what might become a real threat to the stability of the kingdom. ‘You know about the legal difficulties of my first marriage.’
‘But it was upheld in the face of Salisbury’s opposition, wasn’t it? You were returned to your rightful husband. I was too young to take much note, but is that not so?’
‘And I wed Thomas again before King and Court and a clutch of Bishops, but Popes have come and gone since Clement granted my legal status. Will Pope Gregory pipe to the same tune? Not if he decided it would be in his interest to support France rather than England. He might reverse this papal decision, simply to be mischievous.’ For here was an unexpected entanglement. Popes were not immune from reversing the decisions of their predecessors when put under pressure by temporal powers.
Lancaster frowned over the possibility then demurred.
‘I don’t think His Holiness is smiling on either, since neither France nor England agreed to his suggestion of a diplomatic meeting to break the deadlock over who should have ascendancy in Aquitaine. My father would not reject his sovereignty, while the King of France has refused to remove his troops, so all is held in a vice of rank vituperation. I think you have no need to fear Gregory leaping into bed with either.’
‘Gold can sway the argument most effectively.’ I was not convinced by Lancaster’s reading of the politics of Pope and temporal powers. ‘What if His Holiness is persuaded to rescind his predecessor’s decision and pronounce my true marriage to be the one fully witnessed with William Montagu? If that is so, then my marriage to Ned would be called bigamous. That would make Richard illegitimate. What’s more, I would still be married to Will, since he is clearly not dead.’
‘A tale of terrible complications, I agree.’ He continued to frown at the coffer as if its contents were to blame, rather than merely the commentary on past choices. ‘But will it ever happen? Are you looking for rats in corners that don’t exist?’
‘I don’t know what will happen. And they may well become very visible rats.’ I took a long, slow breath, studying my whitened knuckles as if this were all new to me, whereas it had been a longstanding nightmare. This would be the challenge to Lancaster’s own loyalties, despite his oath-swearing. How would he respond?
‘It might well come about, if there are those who would prefer Richard not to inherit the crown,’ I stated carefully, weighing each word. ‘It might well, if there are those who would prefer the crown to pass elsewhere, to a King who is a man rather than a boy. There might well be a reason to drop a hint or two into the papal ear and a purse of gold into his open hand, that a change of policy would be desirable to some in England. His Holiness might be open to persuasion to rescind past decisions and bastardise Richard.’
I lifted my eyes to regard him with all the power of my insecurity, and he looked at me, a sharp light in his eye. He rose from his knee to stand over me, forcing me to look up.
‘Do I understand you, Joan?’
‘I think that you do.’
‘Do you believe that I would work against your son, to take the crown for myself?’
‘There are rumours.’
‘There are always rumours. Which have no foundation.’ There was the rumble of anger that I had expected, the hardening of his mouth into denial.
‘Your power, Lancaster, is vast.’
‘My power is vast, as you say, because my father is incapable.’
‘But what will happen in the future?’
‘I will support Richard, if that is what you are asking. Have I not already sworn to do so?’
‘There are those who might not be so ready to bow the knee to my son.’
He nodded with brusque acknowledgement. ‘Lionel’s descendants. The Mortimers.’ He shrugged, dismissing the possibility. ‘What can they do?’
We both knew what they could do. How easy it would be to question Richard’s legitimacy, bringing into the light of day my matrimonial adventures as evidence.
We were long past subterfuge now.
‘Look, John. You know the story of it. My marriage to Ned was also verba de praesenti. Illicit and invalid this time, through both consanguinity and compaternity. Yes, I know that we received a papal dispensation and were legally married, and the Pope instructed Canterbury to ensure there was no problem in the annulment of my previous marriage with Will. Here is the evidence of it all.’ I placed my hand over the dome, inlaid with a frivolous riot of flowers and tendrils and the collared hart that had taken Richard’s interest. ‘There should be no question of the legality of Richard’s claim to the throne. But I fear. I fear that it could all be resurrected to threaten Richard. If someone saw it in their interest to do so.’
And then there was another layer to my fear. Now I stood to confront him. It was not an accusation to make while seated.
‘Richard is so young,’ I said. ‘Until he is old enough to take a wife who will carry his heir, he is in grave danger. If he were to die tomorrow, who would become King of England after Edward? It is my duty to preserve his life from malign conspiracy.’
‘Conspiracy such as those God-forsaken chroniclers say is in my mind, I suppose. That I will work to remove Richard to claim the crown for myself and my own son.’
‘The court will always gossip about the predictions of Merlin,’ I observed, intrigued to see Lancaster’s reaction in the face of such an accusation. It was explosive, of course.
‘God damn Merlin for a pernicious meddler. I would wager such treason never came from his lips, more from a Mortimer source, endowed with magical significance by this attachment to King Arthur’s court. And yet you summon me here because you think there might be an element of truth in it. What would you h
ave me do? Swear on God’s name that I will not kill my nephew? Shame on you, Joan! Are we to be guided by empty prophesies and dreams?’
With his voice and face hardened into defiance, when he bent to pick up his hat and gloves and began to stride towards the door, I called him back. A woman could not get her own way by berating a man of Lancaster’s calibre.
‘If you want an apology from me, Lancaster, you have it. It was not my intention to question your loyalties.’
He stopped, but kept his back to me. ‘Was it not? But you did exactly that. My loyalty to my brother is beyond reproach. What right do you have to question it? Deathbed oaths are sacrosanct.’
I stretched out my hands, an action that contained no element of dissembling, even as I knew he could not see me. My desperation had taken control so that my voice shivered over the words. Here at the end was the depth of my need, making a plea to the only man who could help me.
‘You are my only hope, John. Richard needs a man at his side, a powerful uncle at his shoulder who will guide and advise and support. If you will not act as counsellor, what can I do, a woman alone?’
‘You can use your own influence. I have seen you do it. You got what you wanted in becoming Princess of Wales.’
An accusation I could not deny. ‘Yes, I married Ned for ambition.’ I would not talk about the love that grew between us. ‘Now, in Ned’s name, I need you to be Richard’s man when he is crowned King.’
‘Why me?’
Oh, I would be more than honest with him. ‘Because you are as ruthless as I in getting what you want.’
His mouth tightened. ‘How can I resist such a reading of my character.’ I saw his shoulders flex, straighten. ‘I will be Richard’s man, for you and for myself. Are we not both surrounded by enemies?’
‘Yes. I can imagine them, in the pay of some self-interested party, screaming bastard at Richard as the crown is lowered onto his brow. I do not wish to live to hear that. The sins are mine, but Richard should not have to carry them.’
Slowly Lancaster turned and, face softened, walked back to me, reading all the fear in me that I no longer had a need to hide. His own anger had quite gone as he once more cast aside gloves and hat and took my hands, held fast in his.
‘I swore to Ned that I will be counsellor to Richard. So will my son Henry. Nothing will destroy the loyalty of Lancaster to Ned’s heir. I will swear it to you, if you wish it.’
‘Yes, I do wish it. For my own peace of mind I would command it.’
‘And this is the debt that you are now calling in?’ His lips twisted into not quite a smile.
‘Yes, it is. You owe me for past services. I am calling in that debt of honour.’
I would anchor him with an oath he would not break. As for Lancaster, he was always a man who could make an impact, simply by walking through a doorway, for good or ill. Now he sank to his knees before me, lifted my hands and kissed one palm and then the other.
‘I will dedicate my loyalty to Richard, in God’s Name and that of the Blessed Virgin. I will do all in my power to smooth his road to the throne. It will be my father’s wish too. He will never disinherit Ned’s son. I dedicate myself to your service too, to preserve your reputation and your ultimate position as King’s Mother.’ Then, once more on his feet but my hands still clasped, he nodded in the direction of the little coffer. ‘Do you wish me to keep those documents safe for you?’
‘No. I’ll keep them under my own eye. When Richard comes of age they go into his keeping. He will understand the need to win his subjects to him, and rule them wisely.’
‘And meanwhile we support each other.’
‘A perfect alliance.’ My smile was genuine but transient. ‘There is something else I need from you, John.’
I could not mistake the malice in his eye. ‘So I am John again rather than Lancaster. Why did I ever think that swearing an oath on the sanctity of my soul would be enough for you, Joan?’
‘I have no idea. But you will approve of this. You must prevent any further discussion in parliament of the deposition of Edward. Can you do this? It can only harm future kings if it is allowed to fester. It can only harm Richard.’
‘I promise to hunt down those who would speak against us.’ His smile widened. ‘What do you want me to do about Mistress Perrers?’
‘Nothing. I will deal with her myself.’
There. It was done, all done, as much as I was able. I summoned all my strength for the days ahead. I knew that I would need it. As for Mistress Perrers, women who made a bid for power above their status were to be admired. Mistress Perrers had many talents, but there was no room for both of us at court. I would have no rival.
Chapter Eighteen
July 1377: Westminster Abbey
I was tense notwithstanding our meticulous planning, my nails dug hard into my palms. Despite the heat pressing down on the crowds in the streets, all was ice beneath the heavy luxury of my furs, all cut in a seemly manner for this auspicious occasion. The light silks of Aquitaine had long since been packed away or refashioned to suit this new life where my dignity and honour must be paramount, my hair never again worn loose under a light veil but braided with all seemliness within a jewelled caul and coronet. I forced myself to breath evenly. Nothing could stop it now. Surely nothing could. On this day Richard would be crowned King of England and Ned’s hopes would be fulfilled.
And yet my heart fluttered, my mouth was dry. Nothing was certain. Prophecies and rumours could not be overlooked as mere gossip to pass an hour over a cup of ale. They held significant power, to be harnessed and used by those who might still wish me ill. Those who would see a ten year old boy as too dangerous to be King of England.
Ah, but this was what I had been waiting for. There it was being held aloft in all its mystical glory, in a blaze of sunlight striking hard through the Abbey windows. The royal crown of the Kings of England was in the act of being held above Richard’s head, the Archbishop on one side, on the other Richard’s Mortimer cousin by marriage, the Earl of March. Between them my child, so small; the crown so heavy. Lord and cleric took the weight of the gold and jewels that one day Richard must carry for himself.
Too young. Too vulnerable.
The echoes in the abbey, silk against damask, fur against gold chains, all rustled and formed into warnings. Was I the only one to hear them?
The crown was lowered until, lightly, it touched Richard’s brow.
My breathing eased.
What need of warnings now? There were those who would shield Richard until he grew, to protect his power, to encourage him in good governance. All had been set in place: he had a Royal Council; he had John of Lancaster; he had my two Holland sons, Tom and John. Will Montagu, of course. And I would be there. I would fight for him as viciously as any vixen to safeguard her cubs from the wiles of the hunter. All my concentration was on Richard’s face, willing him to remain strong through this interminable service, to which I had been party despite my misgivings.
‘It is too long,’ I had said to John of Lancaster when the plans were being made, each step carefully written down by the clerk at his side who noted every demand. ‘He is only ten years old.’
‘It is necessary,’ John had replied, preoccupied with detail, reading over the scribe’s shoulder.
‘Why? As long as it is done, and seen to be done. What need for all this, to sap his young strength.’
John looked up at the sharp protectiveness in my voice.
‘Every detail is necessary. It will turn this child into a monarch answerable only to God. It will show my enemies that I have no designs on the crown for myself. It will show those who despise your unfortunate past that this child is the legitimately-born heir and fit to be ruler.’
‘Do I not know that?’
He watched me, struggling with his habitual impatience, as I failed to mask my displeasure.
‘Don’t rail at me, Joan. You asked me to protect your son. That is what I will do. At the same time you and I wil
l emerge as the seraphim, clothed in white and crowed with heavenly diadems, above any suspicion. Richard will need us in the years to come. And so this lengthy ceremony, with every holy auspice I can think of, is more than essential.’ His smile was suddenly feral. ‘It might even prove to you that I have no designs on the throne which belongs to your son. I will protect him until the day of my death. Did I not swear it?’
Each point was driven home by his finger into the wood of the clerk’s desk. I saw his plan. I should have seen it for myself, for it was worthy of my own planning. I was forced to admit that I had still much to learn, but here I had the man with the skill of political manoeuvring at his fingertips. I would learn fast and I would learn well.
‘And you will instruct Richard that he must sit still, follow orders and concentrate,’ John continued. ‘This is no day for wilful childishness and disobedience. We need nothing for the carrion-crows of ill-omen to pick up and chew over.’
It was in my mind to object, to make excuses of so blighting an indictment of Richard’s occasional truculence.
‘You know he has an uncommonly purposeful mind of his own beneath all that fair innocence,’ John added, before I could.
‘Very well! We will do it!’ I was still tight-lipped, but convinced. ‘And if we are talking of chewing over ill-omens, you had better make sure that all the jewels in the crown are secure. I don’t want any to fall at Richard’s feet.’
‘Already done! There will be no portents of disaster!’
He was as irritated as I, but proving a worthy ally. And so we had closed hands as if a treaty had been agreed. We would make of Richard a worthy successor to his famous grandfather. The King that Ned should have been.
Now it was almost at an end. The processions, the prayers, the acclamation of the lords and clerics in the congregation, had passed as smoothly as the silk and heavy velvet of Richard’s outer garments, those garments that had been ceremonially removed behind a golden tapestry to allow the sacred anointing with holy oil of his frail body on hands, chest, shoulders and head. Now the sceptre and the ring were his too. And the crown.
