The King’s Sister

by Anne O'Brien

  ‘In a moment …’

  The Princess’s eye, still quartering the crowd like a huntsman searching out its prey, fell on me. Since she saw fit to snap her fingers in imperious command, I approached and curtsied again, wishing Philippa was with me. I might be Elizabeth of Lancaster but this lady, my aunt by marriage, was the King’s Mother and of vast consequence. She was also a person of hasty temper and trenchant opinions. Besides, she had more affection for Philippa than she held for me.

  ‘So you’re here too, Elizabeth. Of course you are. And your father? Where’s Constanza? Not that it matters. She’ll do as she chooses—she always has. You’d better join my ladies. I have need of an intelligent woman about me.’ She looked me over from head to foot with a surprising degree of speculation. ‘Come with me. I need to regain my strength before I make the acquaintance of my new daughter. You can be of use.’

  So I followed Princess Joan who walked without hesitation to the chambers usually allotted to her when she stayed at Westminster, her habitual accommodation and my own obedience presumed with royal hauteur. And that was the manner in which, for a short period of time, I became a member of Princess Joan’s demanding household. An unnerving experience, all in all, as the lady, her colour high, dismissed her own women, piled her outer garments into my arms, instructed me to send for wine and food, then handed me a comb as she removed the complication of her hair-covering. And I complied. Princess Joan, not a woman blessed with tolerance, appeared to be in a mood of high volatility.

  Eventually she was settled to her liking on a bank of pillows, eating sweetmeats and drinking honeyed wine to recover from her ordeal. Disposed on a low stool at her side, waiting for the moment when she would command me to comb her hair, I sighed at the third telling of the stresses of her travelling. Hearing me, the Princess stared, before directing her attention fully to my appearance.

  ‘Fine feathers, my girl.’

  I was no finer than the Princess, heated and opulent in a high necked robe with fur at neck and cuffs, the complex pattern of leaves and flowers rioting over her bulk so that she resembled a vast spring meadow.

  ‘Yes, my lady.’

  ‘And why not? Enjoy your youth while you may. It dies fast enough. And then there is nought to look forward to but old age when those around you ignore you.’ Which I could not imagine for one moment had been the Princess’s experience. Continuing to regard me, her chin tilted. ‘Now tell me. Is your marriage to young Pembroke satisfactory?’

  ‘Yes, my lady.’ I might resent such peremptory questioning, but to answer briefly and politely would be circumspect and invoke no criticism.

  ‘Not consummated yet, I take it.’

  ‘No, my lady.’

  ‘Is Pembroke here?’

  ‘Yes, my lady.’

  The Princess’s stare sharpened. ‘I’ve a word of advice for you. I trust you’ll not use this occasion of merriment to cause gossip. He’s very young and you’re of an age to look for more than a boy can offer.’

  I stiffened, hand clenching around the comb, at the unwarranted attack. ‘My demeanour will be beyond criticism, my lady.’

  ‘Good. Because beautiful young women always cause gossip, even when they are innocent of all charges. And don’t look at me as if I had no knowledge of what goes on when the court is in flamboyant mood. I caused scandal enough in my youth. Although I was not always innocent …’ She paused to sip the wine and dispatch another plum, chewing energetically. ‘But listen to me, madam. I called you here because you are young and lovely and ripe for mischief. Don’t deny it …’ As I opened my mouth to do so. ‘You must curb your passions. It would be dangerous for your father if any further scandal were to be attached to his name at this juncture. His position is too precarious. That monkish weasel Walsingham might be prepared to sing the Duke of Lancaster’s praises again, but he still has more enemies than is healthy. It is essential that you remain alert for those who would wound him. You and your sister must live exemplary lives.’

  ‘I do. We both do.’

  ‘No need to be affronted, Elizabeth.’ Her lips stretched into a thin smile. ‘So you were not conversing for too long and in too intimate a fashion with my son, under the eye of the whole court? Don’t look so astonished. Court intrigue spreads faster than poison from a snake-bite.’

  I sought for a reply, thoughts racing through my mind. It was like holding a master swordsman at bay. And I was indeed astonished. Where had that piece of gossip originated? There was no blame for which I needed to apologise.

  ‘I was in conversation with Sir John, my lady,’ I admitted lightly. ‘But there was nothing untoward. We did not even dance. He brought me wine, entertained me and addressed me as cousin. I would never indulge in intrigue.’

  ‘Good.’ She held out her cup for me to refill. ‘Now I must also say …’

  ‘Why do they hate my father so much, my lady?’ I interrupted, hoping to deflect the Princess from yet another attack on my character, and it was a subject that had impressed itself on me since the terrible events of the previous year.

  It certainly caught her attention, but not in the manner I had hoped for. Her eyes almost stripped the flesh from my bones as she regarded me. ‘Are you telling me that you don’t know?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘Well, you should. What have you been doing all your life?’ I thought her eyes flashed with a species of disdain, but perhaps it was merely the candlelight flickering in a draught. ‘Filling your head with nothing but frivolities and your new husband, I wager, when the country’s being torn asunder around us. Shame on you. And you an intelligent young woman. How old are you?’ Then without waiting for a reply. ‘You must learn, my dear Elizabeth, to keep your wits about you. To keep your political sense in tune, like your favourite lute. Would you allow its strings to become flat? Of course you would not! Knowledge is strength, my girl. Knowledge is power. If you know nothing, it will cast you into the hands of your enemies.’

  I have no enemies.

  Once I would have said that with conviction, but since the previous year I knew it not to be true, and so I must bury my pride. Joan’s warning had fallen on fertile ground, forcing me to realise that there was much I had never contemplated in my world of cushioned luxury. In the days of the Great Rising any man who bore the livery of Lancaster had feared for his life. Henry and I had escaped but my father’s much-loved physician had been executed on Tower Hill. As for the magnificent Savoy Palace, that most beloved of childhood homes, it had been utterly destroyed. Not one stone was left standing and all its contents were laid waste in a rage of revenge. I had shed tears for the blood and the destruction. I could no longer pretend ignorance. Being an intimate member of the King’s family would not protect me from those who despised us

  ‘So tell me, Madam.’ Still I bridled a little. ‘It seems I have been foolishly ignorant. Tell me why my father is so detested.’

  The Princess needed no encouragement.

  ‘Where do I begin? All is not good for England. Where are the noble victories of the past? The glories of Crécy and Poitiers? We flounder in defeat after defeat, yet the tax is high to pay for it. The Poll Tax is heavy on the peasants while the law holds down their wages. Do they blame my son the King? How can they? He is too young to blame. They need a scapegoat, and who better than Lancaster who stands at the King’s side and orders his affairs? They pile their grievances on his head. He has already proved he is not the war leader his brother was.’ Momentarily her eyes softened at the memory of the military exploits of Prince Edward, her much lamented late husband, but only momentarily. Once again they were fiercely focused on me. ‘The rebels last year would have had your father’s blood. As for Lancaster’s heir—they’d have strung your brother up from the nearest tree as soon as look at him.’

  ‘I know this. We all lived through the horrors. But surely all is well again. My father made reparation.’

  Surprising me, the Princess reached with her free hand, fingers honey-sm
eared, to touch my arm.

  ‘He did, and should be honoured for it.’

  A terrible reparation it had been. Accepting God’s punishment for his immorality as the cause of England’s troubles, my father had made a public confession, ending with a rejection of Dame Katherine, banishing her from his life. It had filled the household with grief. It had, I suspected, broken my father’s heart. It had certainly destroyed Dame Katherine’s reputation since Walsingham saw fit to damn her as whore and witch. Such an admission to make, such a wrenching apart of their relationship, to restore peace and confidence to Richard’s tottering government, but the Duke had done it because duty to the Crown and his nephew demanded it.

  ‘But all is not well,’ Princess Joan continued, dusting her fingers before returning to her sweetmeats. ‘On the surface you father is restored to favour, the rebels put down, but there are those who still resent his power as my son’s counsellor. There are too many with their eyes open for any excuse to attack and remove him from Richard’s side. Don’t give anyone a weapon to use against him, Elizabeth.’

  This reading of court politics clutched at my belly, for I had seen no dangerous undercurrents. But what possible effect would it have on the direction of my life?

  ‘I do not see, my lady, that my speaking with your son would give anyone ammunition against my father,’ I said.

  ‘Perhaps not. But it’s good policy to be discreet and circumspect. Lancaster needs no divisions with the Pembroke faction if you appear less than a loyal wife.’ She squeezed my arm again with sticky emphasis, and some residue of humour. ‘I’ll not say don’t enjoy yourself but it would be advantageous for you to keep my warnings in mind. Richard is growing fast to maturity. How long will he need his ageing uncles at his side, chastising and advising and pushing him in directions he does not wish to go? He’ll want to be rid of them. He’ll listen to any man who sows seeds of defection. Don’t give anyone a reason to awaken old scandals. Your reputation must be whiter than the feathers on a dove’s breast.’

  Her reference was clear enough.

  ‘I know,’ I said, looking away to hide the sadness that those probing eyes might detect. ‘I miss Dame Katherine.’

  ‘So do I. Witch she might be, to seduce Lancaster—though I doubt he needed much seducing—but she has always struck me as a woman of uncommonly good sense. And without doubt Lancaster loved her.’ The Princess finished the wine, her homily at an end. ‘And now we’ve covered all the political goings-on at my son’s court, it’s time I met the bride. Braid my hair, Elizabeth.’

  Standing, I applied the comb to hair now almost entirely grey but which once must have added to her considerable beauty. Once more in its confining roll, she inspected the effect in her looking glass, grimaced, but nodded.

  ‘It’s the best that can be done. In my time I had every man at court at my feet, but now …’ She struggled with my help to stand. ‘Take me to her and I’ll see what I make of this Anne of Bohemia. Will I like her?’

  ‘Yes, my lady.’ I let her rest her hand on my arm as we walked slowly through the audience chambers.

  ‘Will she prove to be a solid influence on my son?’

  ‘I think she will.’ I wondered if her suspicions of Richard’s waywardness were as lively as mine, but could not ask. ‘He has great affection for her,’ I said.

  ‘Then let us give thanks to Our Lady. May be she can achieve where we cannot.’

  How I admired this woman who walked haltingly at my side, her fingers digging into my arm. So deeply in touch with events and movements she was, despite living in some seclusion at Wallingford. Princess Joan might appear indolent and pleasure-loving, but she was impressively well informed. Her discourse had appealed to my intellect as well as my pride. I would never allow myself to be ignorant again of matters that might harm the Lancaster household. I was grateful to her.

  ‘Thank you, my lady,’ I said.

  ‘There!’ she replied with a malicious little glint in her eye. ‘I knew you would be useful to me. I have a high regard for your father. You can be my eyes and ears. Mine are beginning to suffer from advanced age.’

  Taken aback, I slid a glance.

  ‘When I am gone, who will put their strength behind your father? And when your brother becomes Duke in the fullness of time, who will stand beside him? I see dark clouds looming, storms and tempests the like of which we have never seen before. We women have a role to play. Family loyalty must not be taken for granted. A woman must foster it as she raises her children and stitches her altar cloths. You must foster it, Elizabeth, for my days are numbered. Men wield their swords, but women have the gift of careful listening at keyholes. And of persuasion when brute force fails.’ Upon which she halted, clamping a hand in my sleeve, and regarded me even more sternly. ‘I put this burden on you. Are you listening?’

  ‘Yes, my lady.’

  A frisson of interest, or was it disbelief, gripped me. What was she asking? Never had I been called upon to shoulder so weighty a mission, but of course I would obey. Was not my family the most important part of my life? Without question I would be Princess Joan’s eyes and ears, open to any whisper of danger or attack against Lancaster. I would remain constant and steadfast all my days. And then, on a thought:

  ‘Why did you not ask my sister?’

  ‘Your sister will believe the best of everyone. She’s no use to me. Now you, Elizabeth, are cut from quite a different bolt of cloth.’

  Which made me laugh. ‘I hope I am able to live up to your expectations, my lady. But I will certainly pray for this new marriage.’

  ‘I know you will. And I know that you will prove yourself a magnificent supporter of Lancaster.’ We began to move again, the Princess labouring a little but still as incisive as ever. ‘But remember what I say. Don’t smile too overtly or too kindly on my son.’

  ‘No, my lady. I will not.’

  ‘I wish I could believe you,’ she remarked with dry appreciation as we at last entered the royal presence. ‘I have my doubts. My son has proved himself a man who makes women forget their promises.’

  I smiled. I would never again be ignorant, but indeed I could not promise. Nor was I worried about future storms and tempests for my anticipation of my next meeting with Sir John Holland was too keen. But I would, of course, be careful. My reputation, as the Princess had put it, would suffer no reverses. Could I ever be so well tuned to the political nuances of Richard’s court as she? I could not, in my frivolous mind, imagine it. But I would never neglect my Lancaster blood. No member of my family would ever suffer because of some lack in me.

  But first there was the tournament. My heart was light, my spirits overflowing.

  The weather was a perfect January afternoon for Richard’s festivities: cold and crisp and clear. Muffled in furs from chin to floor, the women of the court took their places in the new pavilion hung with bright tapestry enhanced with swags and gilding, Queen Anne in pride of place as Lady of the Lists, with me at her side, honoured, as was fitting, as her chief lady-in-waiting and cousin by marriage.

  It was the simplest of matters for me to push aside Princess Joan’s advice, her warnings that I should be aware of threat and danger at every turn. Of course she would see the dark side of every glance, slide and movement around the King, and, given her history, the insidious menace of scandal. Was it not the role of a lioness to fear for her cub? But I was young and beautiful and need have no fears. With my father once more counsellor at the King’s side, why did I need to worry my mind with court politics? Was I not too young to carry such a burden? And I was wearing a gown so heavy in gold thread that it turned every head.

  Above my head, pennons snapped in the breeze to display Anne’s heraldic motifs quartered with Richard’s. It was a fine display. Richard was very keen on display.

  Across the field of battle we could make out the two teams of combatants. My father was jousting today. There was Henry. And Sir John Holland in the Lancaster contingent. There was my husband, Earl of
Pembroke, astride a lively gelding, proudly bearing a Lancaster banner as page to my father.

  The opposition was led, reluctantly, by my uncle of York, but there would be no danger. Lances capped, it would be a tournament à plaisance.

  Would we prove to be invincible?

  Richard did not fight. Richard had no interest in fighting. The only time I recalled Richard being part of such a glorious event was in the Great Hall as a child, receiving a mock challenge from a squire tricked out in skirts and false hair as a young virgin. Was he the only Plantagenet not to enjoy bearing arms? Gloriously clad in silk damask and crown, he sat at his wife’s side to enjoy the spectacle.

  Excitement built within me like a hunger. I could no more have absented myself from this event than from the wedding ceremony. Anne might be Lady of the Lists but I knew who would be the chosen lady for John Holland. And there he was, his horse on a tight curb yet eating up the distance between us, the three golden Holland lions snarling across his chest. Jousting helm still in possession of his squire, my chivalrous knight bowed to me. Today there was no subtle perfume: the aroma of horse and leather and rank sweat was exhilarating.

  ‘My lady.’ His expression was as smooth as wax, as if there were nothing untoward in his request. And indeed his words confirmed his clever ploy. ‘As a representative of Lancaster on this auspicious day, and in the absence of your illustrious husband from the field of battle, it would be an honour if you would allow me, and my poor skills, to be your champion.’

  How clever. How damnably clever. How could I refuse so innocuous an offer?

  ‘Why do you hesitate?’ the Queen whispered in my ear. ‘If you do not take him, I will!’

  And I laughed at how easy it was to enjoy the attentions of so talented a jouster. My mind was made up, if it had not been already. Sir John would not wear the Queen’s favours this day.

  ‘Give him something!’ the Queen urged. ‘Let’s get on with it. It’s as cold as charity, sitting here.’

  I thought of giving him my glove as a guerdon, but it was too cold for that. I would be no martyr to John Holland. The ring? No, I did not think so. It would draw too much attention. Instead I burrowed under my furs and unpinned a knot of ribbon from my bodice, handing it to one of the Queen’s pages with a gesture for him to give it to my chosen knight.