by Anne O'Brien
‘There’s no one to hear, or I wouldn’t have said it.’
‘There’s me.’ His observation had amused me. Shocked me.
A glimmer of a smile lightened the severe features, smoothing the indented corners of his mouth. ‘You will think me too harsh. But you seem to me a woman of great common sense. Extravagance is a sin when a state lacks gold in its coffers. Do you not agree?’
‘Certainly. As we know in Brittany.’ I paused, then because we seemed to have dived headlong into a stream of personal comment:‘But you are very judgemental, sir, against a man who is not only your King but also your cousin.’
‘Forgive me.’ He grimaced slightly, before allowing another more expansive smile. ‘This is supposed to be a day of celebration. There’s no reason to inflict my particular brand of disillusion on you, Madam Joanna. Will you forgive what must seem to you to be a nasty case of envy?’
‘Yes.’
I said it without hesitation.
‘Well that’s got the introductions over with. What—or should I say whom, since you have a mind for gossip—shall we discuss now?’
I liked him. I liked his candour. As I allowed myself to acknowledge this, we found our attention once more drawn towards the royal tableau on the dais.
‘Shouldn’t you be with your family?’ I asked.
‘Richard won’t miss me.’ There again, the edge had crept back into his voice; the cynicism darkening his eye. ‘Look at him, wringing every drop of glamour from this alliance. That’s not to say that he will not do well by his bride. He will dress her in silk, laden her with jewels and treat her as she treats her dolls. She will be his little sister.’ His mouth twisted. ‘Perhaps he’ll not allow her to keep all the jewels in her dowry. He’ll wear most of them himself. Richard likes to glitter when in company.’
The bride had a collar of rubies that almost out-weighed her.
Aware of the sudden silence beside me, I turned to look, to see that Earl Henry was regarding the King of England, and in the muscles of his jaw and the brilliance of his eye, I thought I read not so much displeasure at Richard’s unwise open-handedness but a very personal dislike.
‘You don’t like him, do you?’ I said before I could think of the wisdom of such an observation.
‘Liking is too facile an emotion for my relationship with Richard. He is my King and my cousin. I am duty-bound to be loyal.’ My companion’s spine stiffened a little, words and expression immediately shuttered like a storm candle, obscuring the light. And I was sorry. I liked his honesty rather than the discreet presence bred in him by his father. I liked his smile, rather than the present grim demeanour. Perhaps I could entice him back into this intriguing view of the English King.
‘You can admit to not liking him,’ I said softly. ‘Certainly in my company. I didn’t like my father at all.’
Earl Henry’s eyes gleamed with appreciation until suave diplomacy once more invested his features. ‘I dare to surmise, Madam, that no one liked your august father.’
‘It would be beyond the powers of any normal human to view my father with anything but disgust. My father was accused of every sin from poisoning to sorcery with a deal of blood-letting in between. And I expect he was guilty of all of it.’ What point in being circumspect? ‘Hence Charles the Bad. Charles the very Bad!’And when my companion’s brows arched expressively, I continued:‘I say only what everyone here knows. There was much rejoicing at his death even if not for the manner of it, although many expressed the opinion that it was a well-deserved foretaste of the fires of Hell.’ My father had been consumed in a conflagration in his bed when the bandages he wore, soaked in brandy against some sweating disease, had been set alight by a careless servant with a candle. ‘Why don’t you like your cousin?’
Earl Henry slid a speculative glance but his response was smooth and I felt that he was restoring us to the realms of polite discourse. ‘A mere memory of youthful frictions. Richard and I were raised together, and not always amicably, I suppose because our tastes and interests are vastly different. Richard is the most inept wielder of a sword that I know. There you are. Nothing more and nothing less than childhood conflicts. You might say that I should have grown beyond such trivial grievances.’
‘I would not be so indiscreet as to say any such thing, sir.’
I did not believe him. There was a stern brooding involved here, but our acquaintance was so transient that I must allow his diversion, however much I might like to discover more.
‘No. I don’t suppose you would,’ he replied, lightly now. ‘Not only a lady of common sense but one of great discernment, I think. And of considerable presence. Duke John is a fortunate man to have a wife who is as handsome in character as she is in person.’
I wondered if he was guilty of a soft mockery at my expense, for I had never been considered a great beauty, even when touched with the kind hand of youth, and so I challenged him, my brows a little raised, but he met my provocation directly and held it. Once again I experienced that uncomfortable little jump of my heartbeat; a warmth spreading beneath my bodice as if a flame had been lit.
And I was intrigued. There was no mockery in his steady regard. Instead there was a curious arrest, almost a bafflement as if some unexpected emotion had intruded on our innocuous exchange of opinion. Even the air felt heavy with portent. His lips parted as if he would express what was occupying his thoughts.
Then it was gone, the moment broken, the tension that held us falling away, so that the air settled quietly around us again, as my husband, abandoned by Burgundy, rested a hand on Earl Henry’s shoulder, and I was left to wonder if I had imagined the whole episode as John observed: ‘You were a child when I saw you last. And here you are, Earl of Derby, with a reputation as an expert jouster.’ His eye twinkled. ‘How old were you? Ten?’
‘About that. And I remember, sir.’ Earl Henry was at ease again, and whatever he had been about to say was lost for ever. ‘You gave me a hunting knife when we rode out at Windsor and I had lost mine. I still have your gift. It has a fine engraved blade. If I recall, I didn’t let it out of my sight for months.’
John laughed. ‘You’ll do your father proud. It’s good to have an heir. Richard will have a long time to wait for his bride to grow up and bear him a son.’
Once again we inspected the group on the dais where Richard spoke gravely to King Charles, who looked mildly interested, and Isabelle threaded her fingers through the gems on her girdle.
‘Do you stay for the whole of the celebrations?’ Earl Henry asked.
‘Unfortunately, yes. My wife will not allow it to be otherwise.’
With promises to meet again, we prepared to follow the royal party, Earl Henry saluting my fingers with a chivalric grace worthy of the most famous of troubadours.
‘Thank you for your discretion, my lady.’
‘It is my pleasure, my lord.’
‘And what was that about?’ John asked as Earl Henry threaded his way to his father’s side.
‘I have promised to keep secret the fact that Earl Henry detests his royal cousin,’ I replied, following his progress, struck again by the unconscious grace.
‘I expect King Richard knows it full well,’ John growled. ‘We’ll do well to keep out of English politics, for our own health. And particularly out of the sphere of that young man. As your uncle of Burgundy was kind enough to advise, although why he should think that I cannot judge the matter for myself I have no idea. Who knows more about treachery than I? Burgundy says to steer clear.’
‘Did he?’ I was surprised.
‘He considers the Earl of Derby to be a dangerous fire-brand. There is already the taint of treason about him. He raised arms against Richard ten years ago.’ John eased his shoulders beneath the weight of bullion. ‘I see no danger but we will keep our friendship warm but appropriately circumspect.’
It was a warning but softly given and not one I needed. I had no intention of becoming involved. As for Henry, Earl of Derby, ours was a
mere passing acquaintance. A friendship. An opportunity to give open and honest exchange of opinion, where neither of us needed to be circumspect. That was trust. Was that not the essence of friendship?
But then I recalled that first brilliant moment of awareness. Something, some close link, like those in the Earl’s glittering livery chain, had scattered my thoughts like the stars in the heavens, nudging into life a longing I could not recognise. It disquieted me, unnerved me. How could it be that I could trust a man within a handful of minutes of my setting eyes on him? I was certainly not given to immoderate confidences.
And he stayed in my mind as I retired to our cramped chamber to rest my ankles that, in these early days of my pregnancy, had a tendency to swell in the heat. With soothing cloths soaked in a tincture of red wine and cinquefoil, my hair loosed from its confines, I lay back against the pillows and had no difficulty at all in summoning the Lancaster heir into my presence. The fan of lines at the corner of his eyes that had smiled so readily, when not shadowed and sombre. The flare of passion when he had admitted his dislike of his King, even if one born out of childhood antipathy. The austere nose, a mark of all the Lancasters, that spoke of command. The agile carriage, albeit swathed in fragile cloth, of a man of action. Instinctively I knew that the extravagantly ringed hands could wield a sword and manage reins with force and skill. And as for the pride, it infiltrated his every movement, every turn of his head. He too knew his own value as a scion of the Plantagenets, raised into it by a powerful father, the most influential of the sons of old King Edward.
‘This is inappropriate, for a married women who is content with her situation,’ I announced aloud, dismayed by the detail of my recollection. ‘And one who is carrying a child. He is nothing to you.’
Yet the sense of distress would not leave me. And the little punch of guilt. Engaged in a marriage not of my choosing to a man certainly of advanced age, I had discovered through this marriage, and to my delight, an unexpected blessing. John had given me his friendship and a deep respect that proved to be mutual, as was the firm affection that underpinned our life together as the years passed and our children were conceived. I could not have hoped for a better mate when, through necessity as a child of a royal family intent on building powerful alliances, I had been placed in this marriage with the Duke of Brittany.
Did I know love in my marriage? No. Not if love was the emotion of which our minstrels sang, extolling the heating of blood and heart so that the loved one was essential to the drawing of breath. For John I experienced a warm acceptance of all he was to me, but I was not dependent on him for every moment of happiness. Nor was I a necessity for him. We were content together but distance, when John travelled to the far reaches of his domains, did not destroy us.
Henry of Derby, in the space of that brief meeting, had forced me to consider an entirely new landscape.
‘What is it, my lady?’ Marie de Parency, the most intimate of my Breton ladies-in-waiting, was instantly at hand, always watchful for my needs.
I shook my head, sighing as I stretched on my bed, trying for comfort as my ankles throbbed. ‘Hand me my rosary, Marie. I have need of a self-inflicted penance.’
A small flame that had been lit in some far recess still flickered, but of course it had not been lit for him. Earl Henry had been blessed with true love with his wife, now sadly departed this life. I closed my eyes as I spread my hands on my belly where the child grew, confident in the knowledge that my own strange discomforts would soon vanish.
Early pregnancy made a woman overly imaginative.
*
A grand hunt brought to conclusion the wedding of Richard and Isabelle. We made a combined party, it becoming evident that the Lancaster family was as fiercely keen on hunting as we were in Brittany. An occasion of much laughter and chatter, of reminiscence and proposals for future meetings. My pregnancy offering no hindrance to my participation, when we halted in a clearing in the woodland to draw breath, I found myself in the close company of Earl Henry.
I had been aware of him, riding in the forefront, from the moment the royal huntsman had given us the office to start, and I had seen enough of him to know that he was a peerless proponent of the sport. Not that I had watched him, of course. Riding at a more sedate pace, not always of my own choosing, beside Duchess Katherine, I had made the most of the opportunity to darn the holes in my knowledge of this family.
Now it was Earl Henry who manoeuvred his horse to my side while I determined to keep him at an amicable distance. I noticed that he had dispensed with the white hart on his gold livery collar.
‘I see you number horsemanship amongst your many talents, Madam Joanna.’
‘As you have a silken tongue amongst yours, sir,’ I replied smartly. ‘This wretched animal, lent to me by my uncle of Burgundy, has barely extended herself out of a slow trot.’
He smiled at me. And I smiled back.
And there was that same intensity that had unsettled me on the previous day. A sense of closeness, of keen understanding. More than that. Like the click of a key turning in the lock of a jewel coffer so that all the intricate parts slid smoothly together as if our acquaintance was of long-standing. Why should I resist? Why should I not take him as my friend? I had few outside my immediate family. The household in which I had been raised in Navarre, redolent with suspicion and vicious deeds, had not encouraged friendship. I would enjoy what this man had to offer me, and it would be no sin.
This thought in your mind is not friendship, a whisper in my mind.Don’t pretend that it is. This is entirely different. Have a care.
Wary now, even dismayed, I hid it behind a light smile and even lighter remark.
‘That is a fine falcon you have, my lord.’
The Earl reached across to take the bird from his falconer, removing her hood, then one of his gauntlets so that he could run his hand affectionately over her head and wings. The finely marked bird bobbed her head and shook out her pinions.
‘She is beautiful,’ he agreed, indulgently possessive. ‘She was bred from my own birds at Hertford. She is inordinately partial to chicken, when she can get it.’
‘Extravagant!’
‘If she is worth her value to me, then it behoves me to feed her well.’
I stroked the feathers of her neck, admiring the fervour of this man in his appreciation for his hunting hawk. ‘What will you do after this gathering, my lord? I hear you have been on Crusade.’ Having discovered as much from Duchess Katherine.
‘And I might again,’ the Earl was replying as, with dexterous fingers, one-handed, he re-hooded the falcon. ‘I have a desire to return to Jerusalem. To stand before the Holy Sepulchre and experience God’s infinite grace. But I’m more like to go back to England. To see my own children, to take over some of the administration of the Lancaster estates. I have two young daughters as well as four sons to raise. The boys are as strong and active as a small herd of hill ponies. I think you have sons. You’ll know what I mean.’
His enthusiasm was compulsive. ‘Indeed I do.’
‘And then…’
Gravity descended, like an obscuring shadow. I considered it to be born of a concern long held, some bone of contention long debated. I saw it in John when he broached some intricate matter of business, most often Breton trade disputes with our mercantile neighbours.
‘Is there a problem for you at home, sir?’
Handing the falcon to John who, approaching, was eyeing the bird with some envy, Earl Henry considered for a moment, then replied with striking frankness:
‘I have a need to return. Sometimes it seems to me that my position in England is under a subtle duress. I am being pushed to the margins of political life. Positions and dignities are given elsewhere. My cousin Edward of York is preferred before me, even though as heir to Lancaster my supremacy is unquestionable.’
So here was pride again. And rightly so. With the death of two of King Edward’s sons, Edward of Woodstock and Lionel, Duke of Clarence, the Lancaster
heirs with their true male line were foremost in the land after the King Richard. As I had suspected, the hostility between Earl Henry and King Richard, first cousins though they might be, was not merely a remnant of childhood tussles in the mud.
‘Richard fears me,’the Earl said, the line between his brows dug deep. ‘I dare not be absent from England any longer. It might give our King the opportunity to find some means of casting a pall of disgrace over my family. That must not be. My father is ageing. The duty is mine to protect and hold fast to what we have, and fight for what we should have.’
‘Why would he fear you?’ I asked bluntly. ‘Do you threaten him?’
‘It has to be said that I did,’ the Earl admitted. ‘In my youth I was one of the five Lords Appellant who forced Richard to rule more circumspectly after we removed his favourite de Vere from the scene. A decade ago now, but it will rankle still. Richard hadn’t the strength to oppose us then, but he has never forgiven us.’
Which explained a lot. ‘Hardly the basis for a sound friendship.’
‘As you say. Although why I am burdening you with this, on a fine hunting day, I have no clear idea.’
‘Because I can be a good listener,’ I said.
He looked at me, eyes as incisively watchful as those of the hawk on John’s fist, but there was a smile there too.
‘So that’s why I’ve been lured into this eddy of self-pity. Would you tell me that all is lost, between Lancaster and the King?’
I thought about it as my mare tossed her head, deceptively eager to be on the move. ‘I think you could well redeem yourself. I think you should…’ I stopped. I was in no position to give him advice. He would find me intrusive at best, unjustified at worst.
Earl Henry tilted his head. ‘Do you advise your husband in matters of government?’
‘Most certainly I do.’
‘Does he accept it?’
I thought about this. ‘Sometimes.’ And paused under John’s sudden acerbic scrutiny. ‘Often.’
