by Anne O'Brien
I sighed softly. It was done. No one, no one, could question his God-Anointed right to be King of England. For the first time I felt my body relax since the minute that my cousin Edward had passed from this life and been buried, now eleven days ago. Robbed of the power to move, and eventually the power to speak, he had become a sad remnant, shut away in the palace at Sheen, to die alone except for a priest and the redoubtable Alice who it was said stripped the rings from his fingers. What an inglorious end to the man who had made England’s name superlative for military power at Crécy and on the field of Poitiers, building and furnishing castles and palaces with impressive luxury during a time of peace. Who had made the commendable companionship of Garter Knights. A tragic end, his mind wandering, enclosed in bitter grief, unable to survive the death of Philippa and Ned. Now he lay at peace beside his beloved wife in Westminster Abbey.
I had not seen him in those final days, except for the occasion of his celebration of St. George’s Day at Windsor, in the same spirit as he had done so many years ago when he had made Thomas and Ned and Will knights of the Garter. How he had found the strength to stand there in his robes I knew not, but it had been an occasion to tear at my heart. Richard, together with Henry, the young Lancaster heir, had been knighted, the sword touching lightly on his shoulders. Joy warred with pain that Ned was not there to see it.
But after that, in truth I had not tried to see the King again, when Alice, restored to his household, held sway in the royal chambers, dictating who should and should not approach as the King neared his end. It was beneath my self-esteem to request permission from a royal concubine. I would never forgive her for flaunting Philippa’s jewels, the famous rubies gleaming like blood, when she rode through the streets of London as Edward’s ceremonial Lady of the Sun. Nor of secretly marrying a man as immoral as she, William de Windsor, a man of much charm and even more political ambition, which might just have finally broken Edward’s heart. I knew all about the damage caused by secret marriages.
But here at last was the culmination of my victory. Mistress Perrers was not here today. Nor had I allowed her to be present at Edward’s solemn interment. I had taken pleasure in barring her path at the cathedral door. No royal doors would open to her again.
‘This is no place for you,’ I said as Edward’s funerary procession drew close. Her sorrowful demeanour appeared genuine, but I would not be swayed. ‘I rule here now.’ Any compassion had fled with the scandal that one of the youths knighted by Edward at his last Garter ceremony, kneeling with Richard and Henry Bolingbroke, had been John Southeray, the King’s bastard son with Alice. I would have no more scandals to mar this new reign. Alice and her offspring, whoever fathered them, must retire from public gaze.
‘I have a right.’ Her chin lifted, her dark eyes direct, as they had always been.
‘No longer. The King is dead.’
Her eyes were bright, some might have said with unshed tears. I did not trust her.
‘You know what it is to lose a man whose love means all to you,’ she said.
‘I do. I would deny that my loss bore any comparison with yours.’
‘How would you know? Yet you would deny my right to kneel at the King’s tomb, when I have loved him for more than a decade.’
‘You have no right. It was an immoral love.’
Alice stepped back, as a body of mourners pushed forward between us. ‘I had hoped for understanding from you at least, my lady. I was wrong.’
I watched as she retreated, her figure disappearing into the crowds, surprised that it gave me no satisfaction. I felt that I had lost that clash of will, even though she had obeyed me. Should I have seen her pain, allowing her to make this last gesture of respect if not love? Uneasily I accepted that I should have shown her mercy. Almost I called her back as guilt laid an unexpectedly heavy hand on me.
But I did not, shrugging off any finer feelings. There would be no place for Alice Perrers. And yet I did know of the power of love, when love overcame sense and clear thought. Who in England would know better than I? Was I any better than Alice? In birth of course, but not always in choices, and I knew that I would not rest until Alice was stripped of all she had gained in her infamous career.
I cast thoughts of Alice aside. Far more important to me was that Edward had made his will, in which he had been sufficiently in his right mind to make the succession clear. It was to be Richard, of course. Edward had bequeathed to him his best bed with all the armorial hangings as well as four lesser beds and tapestries for his rooms. Richard would never be short of furnishings. His bequest to me of a thousand marks and restitution of the jewels I had once pledged to him was an irrelevance beside his final wielding of royal power, for by Edward’s decree, only males were to inherit the throne. First Richard, then Lancaster and his sons. Which neatly removed the Mortimer descendants of his dead son Lionel. Thus Edward at the end made it plain that he would not countenance any claim to his crown through his granddaughter Philippa.
Security for Richard. Security for Richard’s descendents.
Did I have any hand in Edward’s decision? Who was to say? I might have talked of the problem of the Mortimer claim to the throne on occasion, when my cousin was lucid.
The choristers were beginning to sing, the perfect clarity of their high voices drawing me back to this ceremony, but Richard was weary, his head seemingly too heavy for his slender neck. Now he must withstand the High Mass and the performance of homage by the great magnates of this realm. His uncles of York and Gloucester knelt before him, took their oath of loyalty. So did Lancaster and his young son Henry Bolingbroke.
My triumph was supreme.
With the placing of the crown over Richard’s head I had been deemed King’s Mother. This was my metier. This was why I was born, it seemed. Not to be Princess in distant Aquitaine. Not even to be Queen of England. This was my fate, to mould and guide a new king to further England’s greatness. This is how I would be remembered, for under my hand Richard would administer fair justice, issuing pardons and grants to those who deserved royal favour. He would claim his rights against the aggressive states across the sea. He would become a leader of men, as his father had been. I would ensure that it was so. And first of all, a new barge would be ordered, I decided in a moment of deplorable whimsy as the vision opened before me. Richard would travel in a new barge, gilded overall, drawing every eye as he travelled the Thames. And so would I, seated beside him, catch the attention of those who came to see us pass by.
But I would tread carefully. My experiences with the nobility of Aquitaine had taught me well. A woman had need to be self-effacing, to be guided by honour and discretion, even humility. I would be that woman. No one would ever question my garments or my demeanour again. The days of my scandals were over. Here was a new reign with new challenges, a new dance with new steps to learn.
The singing coming to an end, the echoes dying away, a breath of warm air shivered over us as the great west door of the Abbey was opened to a dramatic entry, a clash of armour, a clatter of horse’s hooves. It was as if a hand of ice had closed over my heart, all over again. I had been too precipitate. All was not well. Again I swept the noble congregation, to note whom might be absent, who might pose a threat. But here were all Richard’s uncles. Here was the Mortimer family out in force, all willing to take the oath of allegiance. Had not the Earl of March himself held the crown?
My hands were clenched hard in the ermine lining of my cloak, as I glanced across at Lancaster. Why did he show no sign of anxiety? Surely this military intervention was not within his encompass? There he stood, calm and implacable beside Richard.
So if he showed no concern…
I looked towards the west door, all my fear draining away at what I saw there. I had forgotten. I had forgotten this element of heraldic tradition that would accompany the coronation of a King. This was expected by all, not a sign of danger, merely a moment of dramatic charade, and I sighed soundlessly at my foolish insecurity. Here was Sir
John Dymock, King’s Champion, come to issue the customary challenge to any man who would question the newly-crowned King’s power. A mighty finale to the whole proceedings, enjoyed by all for its flamboyant performance of an ancient custom, even though no one was likely to accept the challenge.
But no, this would not be!
Richard was wilting, no longer interested in the proceedings, his eyes huge in his face which was as pale as the candle-wax on the altar. I would intervene.
Taking a step forward, I caught John of Lancaster’s eye, before looking towards my son. Whereupon Lancaster nodded, then a whisper in the ear of a squire to carry a message. Sir John Dymoke, expression masked by his great helm, saluted, and the challenge was postponed until the evening. It would all have been too much, far too much for the boy.
Richard was carried out of the Abbey on the shoulder of Simon Burley, whose importance as a member of the Royal Council I tried hard not to resent - I must remember to smile on him - so that the crowds might see their King and acclaim him as had the lords. The cheering was a stunning acceptance of this child-king. Richard’s bright visage was turned to his people as he raised his hand in acknowledgement as he had been taught. He would indeed melt hearts this day in England.
But I frowned at what I saw. Richard, in the crush, had lost one of his shoes.
Had it been noticed as he was held up in Burley’s arms? I held my breath, waiting for a murmuring of concern, of superstitious comment. The gems in the crown had been closely inspected by a master goldsmith. I had had no thought of so trivial a matter as the loss of a shoe, yet some might say this was an ill-omen. I thought it a piece of rank carelessness, determining to talk to those who had dressed him. It must not happen again, nor anything of like nature. I would see to it that there was no sly rumour to undermine the God-Anointed authority of the new King of England.
I was not the only one to notice.
Bowing my thanks to Lancaster who rescued and replaced the gilded leather slipper, suitably reassured I moved to stand beside my son. The cheering redoubled in fervour. I had truly been forgiven. I bowed before the recognition of me as King’s Mother, taking Richard’s hand as he was placed on the steps beside me, smiling down at his over-excited face.
My dear and beloved Ned. I will make of him such a King as England has never seen.
And so it began. I rose to a new dawn. This day, with circumspection, with well-planned discretion and prudence, and perhaps with the hand of fate, I would make my presence felt. The crown, so recently marking Richard’s elevation to his legitimate inheritance as King of England, was barely packed away into its travelling coffer before the doors were flung back by my chamberlain and I was announced into the Council Chamber. The new members of Richard’s Council, not all of them pleased to see me, rose precipitately to their soft-soled feet.
They were an impressive grouping. The Earls of March and Arundel, the Bishops of London and Salisbury, the rest of them familiar faces at court or in the company of Ned in his lifetime. They were a worthy group to give advice to my son and I was not displeased although I had had no influence in their creation. The great magnates of the realm had seen fit to choose themselves on the morning of the coronation.
I would make it clear, in seemly fashion, that they must not ignore the wishes of the King’s Mother. I would not be banished to the realms of the solar.
It interested me that John of Lancaster had not been named, but with power to supervise all aspects of government he could attend the Council if he so wished. At my direct request, he too was present.
We would see what we would see. I would, as far as it was possible, mould this Council into my own creature. And yet I did not have the assurance that my demeanour might seem to invoke. All lay in the balance as I well knew. Even now I might fail.
‘My lords. Gentlemen.’ I approached even as they were still bowing, adopting a fair expression, bowing my head to honour Lancaster and the two earls, then the bishops. My manner was most decorous; they would see no female guile.
A stool was quickly brought forward for me, then, as I gazed for more than a moment at the lack of comfort, a cushion, the whole being set for me at the head of the table, replacing the Earl of Arundel. I sat, indicated that they should do likewise, and placed the document before me, my hands closed flat over its weighty folds, my costly rings an expression of power as I sent out a clear message. This matter was for me and me alone.
‘We did not expect you, madam.’ The Bishop of London did not consider my presence either seemly or necessary.
‘No, my lord. Nor will I attend all your meetings, even though my interest is paramount, for I am aware that I was not appointed to do so, but I am certain that I will be made welcome on this occasion, sir. You must know that I value your advice for the care of my son, the King.’ A long pause as I allowed my eye to rest on every man. ‘Your knowledge in these matters will be invaluable as neither I nor my son the King have any direct experience in the government of England.’ I paused again. ‘Although I, of course, have been Princess of Aquitaine.’
Did they think that I had absorbed no experience of government in Aquitaine? I smiled winningly at those gathered to dictate the direction of the kingdom under its new monarch. Flattery would carry me over many a mile. Any latent hostility at my treading on their toes evaporated in the morning sunshine, but would they bow to my dictates? I pressed my hands hard against the document so that no shiver of light from my rings would display my uncertainty.
‘You are welcome, madam.’ Lancaster’s expression remained as uncomfortably bland as a herb custard.
‘There is a matter I wish to discuss with you.’ I tapped the document.
‘Is this a matter of great urgency, madam? We have much business to attend to.’ The Earl of Arundel, a man of some pride and much impatience. Would he be the one to stoke the fires of tradition against me? Queens rarely sat in Royal Councils, the King’s Mother even less frequently. ‘Finance is as ever critical,’ he was saying. ‘We were considering a royal progress for our young King to make the acquaintance of his subjects…’
I allowed my smile to fade as I turned my regard on him.
His words dried. ‘If that is your wish, of course, madam,’ he added.
‘I am certain that would be good policy,’ I agreed at the same time as I slowly, painstakingly, unfolded the document so that all might appreciate the weighty seal, and the fact that it was in my hands and not theirs. ‘We will discuss the provision of new royal barge for the King’s enjoyment. But royal progresses can wait. Here is the prime issue for our discussion.’
They craned their necks.
I took a breath and smiled with great serenity, aware of the shades of the past around me. Edward, burning with authority, gracious Philippa and Ned, forever glorious, all standing at my shoulder. But their role was at an end now; the burden and the achievement for the future now fell to me.
‘My son the King needs a wife. Here is our first approach,’ I announced, ‘as we might have expected. From the puissant Charles the Fourth, Holy Roman Emperor. He offers the hand of his eleven year old daughter Anne. The Emperor, it would appear, is not one to allow grass to grow under his feet, nor under ours…’
I waited, as the discussion, much as I expected, began.
‘Would such an alliance be in our best interests?’
‘Perhaps not. Yet it would be a magnificent alliance for a young king.’
‘Surely the Emperor is a friend of France in his policies? Would that suit us?’
Much as I thought, as I sat and listened. Division and indecision. Lancaster did not participate, which again intrigued me. I saw his policy. While I played the woman in need of advice, he kept his counsel so that no man here present could accuse him of using overbearing power. There were many who would be happy to so slander him.
‘Do we consider it, or do we reject it, my lords?’ I spoke, cutting through the comments.
‘We should not reject it. Not out of hand
, madam.’
The Earl of March, whose interest in the throne thorough his marriage to Richard’s royal cousin Philippa still found occasion to trouble me whatever Edward’s pronouncement. Edward was dead and this Mortimer Earl very much alive.
‘I would never be so hasty, my lord. We all know the value of diplomacy. But…’ I turned to Lancaster, my trusty ally. ‘Is there any value to us in considering this alliance?’ I pushed a little. ‘Would an alliance with the Emperor further our own English policies?’
His reply was prompt. ‘No madam. I think it would not. There is no prospect of diplomatic gain for us here. The Emperor is in too close collusion with the French for my liking. We can do better.’
‘So I think. Are we then agreed? We will thank the Emperor but look elsewhere.’
They bowed their heads in acknowledgement, while I folded the document and passed it to a waiting clerk. A rejection would be suitably and regretfully penned.
‘My thanks, my lords.’ I stood, so that they must do so too. ‘I am sure that you will understand if I suggest that there will be no agreement on the subject of a wife for my son without my consent.’
No voice was raised against me as I swept out.
Lancaster, paying me a visit later in the day, had acerbic judgement writ large in the lines of his face when he lounged at his ease in my chamber, much as Ned would have done, while I prowled in restless thought.
‘Well done, Joan.’
‘It was, wasn’t it?’
I had done it. I had achieved all I had set out to achieve in these initial days of Richard’s reign, marking my place in the Royal Council, showing these proud magnates that I would be a force in Richard’s life. I would dictate the direction we would take with Richard’s marriage, not my lords of Arundel or March, nor the Bishop of London. Nor even Lancaster. I would continue to invite myself to Royal Council meetings when I felt the need. The Councillors, with soft handling, must become used to my presence. I knew how to wear velvet gloves when necessary.
