The Queen's Choice

by Anne O'Brien

  ‘Son and brother. And both together. To what do I owe the pleasure?’Through the cynicism, I felt Henry tense under my hand. ‘Help yourselves to wine. I would rather not stand. As you see,’ Henry gestured at the mess of documents in front of him,‘the campaign to support Burgundy against the Armagnacs is underway.’ And when, refusing the wine, Hal and Bishop Henry exchanged glances:‘What is it? You may as well tell me since you are obviously deep in some conspiracy.’

  ‘Let me lead it, sir.’ Tall and straight, with all the vibrancy his father lacked, Hal, impossibly impressive despite the ruined face, made his demand.

  ‘No.’ Henry’s reply was gentle. I knew what it took him to keep it so. ‘I will not give you permission.’

  ‘Why not?’ Hal leaned over the table, twitching one of the maps so that he could see it. ‘I have been soldiering since I was a boy. I can lead this expedition to victory.’

  ‘If we go to war, I will lead it. It’s not a policy I like, but I’ll be damned if I abjure my right to lead England into a fully fledged war.’

  ‘You trusted me in the past. Why not now?’

  I saw the quagmire lurch before our feet. Henry too weak, too proud; Hal too impatient, too insensitive. Their relationship was always on an edge, tottering, clinging to polite recognition. Without due care it could fall and be destroyed. Well, for Henry’s sake I would remain silent no longer. I took a step, so that I stood halfway between them, in the line of sight of both.

  ‘It is not a matter of trust. Your day will come, Hal,’ I said. ‘This is your father’s campaign.’

  He barely glanced at me. ‘It is mine too. Or do you intend to give the command to brother Thomas?’

  So here was jealousy too, another deep-seated emotion. I stepped in again.

  ‘Your father has no intention of giving up the command to anyone. I am sure there is room for you to plan it together.’

  ‘All I need is your authority.’ Again Hal’s reply was for Henry, not for me, but the slide of his eye was now in my direction. It was not friendly.

  ‘It might be good policy,’ Bishop Henry advised with smooth interruption, ‘to let Hal take over.’ He had stood apart, but now came to join the group round the table. ‘Your health is still not restored, Henry. It is well known.’

  ‘He is much restored,’ I found myself saying, even though I did not believe it. I could definitely see which way the wind blew here, and it was working itself into a storm.

  Hal let the map, which he had lifted to hold to the light, fall. ‘The duty is mine. Do you want the truth, sir? Your wife will not give it, but I will. And your brother. You can no longer apply yourself to the honour and profit of the realm. But I can. Therefore, as your heir, the authority to take England into war should be mine.’

  Silence. A silence that seared the air I breathed.

  Slowly, Henry stood, until he was as straight as his son. Only I could see the effort it took.

  ‘And whose opinion, that you have seen fit to deliver to your King, is that?’

  ‘Mine. And that of the Royal Council.’

  ‘And what else does the Royal Council say, in its wisdom?’

  ‘There it would be good sense for you to give the Crown to me. To give it now. To abdicate.’

  I saw the blood drain from Henry’s face. Here was poison. I felt my hands clenched into fists at my side, yet I kept my tongue.

  ‘Let me rule.’ Hal leaned on the table, as if proximity would win the day. If the atmosphere had been tense before, now it crackled with conflict. ‘Where is the Crown?’As if it might be sitting on a coffer, to be snatched up. ‘Give it to me and I will bring England to greatness.’

  ‘I will not.’

  ‘The Council will support me.’

  ‘I will never abdicate the Crown I won and have worn with God’s grace.’ Henry’s glance at me was fierce with denial. ‘What have you to say, Joanna? I can’t believe you do not have an opinion on this.’

  Denial, yes. I saw fear there too.

  Could I not see both sides to this tragically unfolding clash of wills? Henry would never go to war again. I had only to look at him to see it. But it was his pride, all that he had left to him from the power that had brought him to the throne; that I could not destroy. Hal had the right of it, but for me to argue against Henry in this family arena would make an uneasy relationship even more untenable. I did not want to be at odds with the heir to the throne. To have Bishop Henry as an enemy would not be good policy.

  I looked at Hal. At the Bishop. And then at Henry, my dear love. My only love. Loyalty was a hard path to tread when faced with truth. But love gave my steps grace.

  ‘This is what I would say.’ I replaced my hand on Henry’s shoulder, resisting the temptation to grip hard, to give him strength in a confrontation that boded ill. ‘The Crown is yours, my lord. To do with as you wish.’

  As simple as that. It could be no other way. I would have to deal with Hal’s disappointments and Bishop Henry’s political cynicisms later. But I could not support them against Henry at this critical juncture.

  And Henry’s voice was stronger than I had heard for weeks, as if my will had fused with his, so that he spoke with a dreadful precision. ‘If you came here this morning to hear my opinion of this piece of insolence, Hal, then you have it. It is not in the remit of the Council to decide who will wear the Crown. Nor is it in yours.’ His eye took in both son and bishop. ‘There is no more to be said.’

  ‘But you cannot have considered, sir.’

  ‘I have considered, gravely. The Crown is not yours to wear, Hal. One day it will be. Then the manner in which you wear it will be your own. Today it is mine.’

  They departed in a cloud of sharp-voiced dissatisfaction. I followed, into the outer chamber.

  ‘Hal…’

  He wheeled round. ‘My father does not have the strength. I am his heir. I will take the burden of government from him. And you should persuade him, Madam Joanna.’

  He looked at me, challenging me to dare to question him, while I, once again, attempted to conciliate as best I could.

  ‘You will do as you see fit, Hal, but don’t leave the King out of your discussions, even less out of your ultimate decisions. We both know that you hold the power now, but you still do not have the right to do it. The Crown is not yours, however much you might wish it were so.’

  Hal’s brows levelled at what he saw as my temerity.

  ‘I know you are negotiating with Burgundy,’ I said,‘which is against the King’s wishes.’

  ‘It will be good policy.’

  There would be no swaying him, but I did what I could. Perhaps I could persuade him towards more subtlety. ‘It may be so, Hal. It may be that I agree with you, if it comes to a choice between supporting Burgundy or Orleans. What I cannot support is your defiance. I am not your enemy, Hal. You must do as you wish, but all I advise is that you don’t alienate yourself entirely from your father.’ But then I hardened my tone. ‘I forbid you to distress him. It is not necessary.’

  Hal retraced his steps with a little shrug, to salute my fingers. ‘I know you are no enemy of mine. But I have ambitions to fulfil, and am of an age to fulfil them.’

  ‘As you will. One day. But it will not be today.’

  It was the best I could do.

  Hal considered, then gave a brisk nod as he masked his dislike of my assessment, even managing a bleak smile. ‘I will take your advice, Madam Joanna.’

  When he strode away I called out so that he halted, turned, while I chose the words that hurt me in their utterance more than all the rest. ‘All you need is patience, Hal. It will not be long. We both know that.’

  He bowed. I knew he understood.

  Returning to Henry’s chamber, it was to find him in the act of striding across the room, astonishingly agile in the white heat of rage, teeth bared in what was not a smile, to open the lid of a coffer. From it he removed the Crown, flinging its soft leather wrappings to the floor. I had not known it was
here, that he could not bear to keep it out of his immediate possession. Now he held it firmly aloft, using every ounce of his strength, as if he would place it on his own head.

  ‘What did you have to say to my son, out of my hearing? You can be honest now, rather than diplomatic.’

  ‘I was honest. I said nothing to Hal that I would not say to you.’ I was not disturbed by the challenge in his stare. How similar father and son were, if they did but know it. ‘The Crown is yours to dispose of as you see fit.’

  ‘The Crown of England. My Crown.’ He regarded it, turning it so that light caught and burnished the gems, setting rainbow prisms to dance across the tapestries. ‘I won this Crown, when all it stood for had been dishonoured by my cousin Richard. I brought justice and fair judgement to England. I brought honest government. I had hoped to bring peace and prosperity to a country respected by every state in Europe.’

  A flash of blood-red ruby fell across his face.

  ‘And I have failed.’

  ‘No…!’

  ‘My Council and my own son would take it from me.’

  It was in my mind to go to him, to deflect such self-condemnation, but the warning in the turn of his head stopped me before I had even taken a step.

  ‘How many attempts have I faced to take the Crown from me? Too many to count: Northumberland, Scrope, Glyn Dwr. So many willing to rise in rebellion. And now it comes to this. My own Council would move against me. My own son and brother would conspire to dethrone me.’

  All I could do was stand and listen in mute compassion as Henry poured out the guilt that had lived with him for a decade. It crashed around us like the breaking of a storm that I could only stand and absorb. Had I not always known that it had been eating away at his conscience? Oh, I had, but never had it been spoken until now. Never had I accepted Henry’s culpability as I did now.

  ‘Was I wrong, Joanna? Was I wrong to take hold of fate and wrest my inheritance from Richard? Was I wrong to take the Crown too? There are those who say it should never have been mine. It was Richard’s and I brutally dispossessed him. Is this God’s punishment on me, for taking a Crown that was not mine to take? Is this God’s judgement for Richard’s death, locked away in Pontefract?’ His voice was thick with emotion. ‘Before God, Joanna, that deed weighs on my conscience. It always has.’

  And there at last was the question I needed to ask, and so I did.

  ‘Were you guilty of Richard’s death?’

  He looked at me, the Crown of England held high between us.

  ‘Yes.’

  There it was, frightening in its starkness, and yet although I acknowledged his guilt, I could not add my words to his self-condemnation. I knew why it had to be done. What ruler was not aware of the need for pragmatic action, however despicable it might seem? And so Henry had conceded to Richard’s death, inarguably a despicable act, but with the best of intentions to rid England of a suppurating sore that would drain her strength and drag her down: the presence of a living, deposed king, the source of every rebellion.

  ‘I thought you might be,’ I said, but there was no accusation in my voice. I knew the need for blood on royal hands and I would not condemn him. Not at this final juncture. It was not my role to stand in judgement. His own self-condemnation was enough.

  ‘Could you doubt that it was my order that sent Richard to his death?’ Henry asked. ‘Oh, it was not my hand that struck the blow, but it was at my instigation that he went to his grave. There was no self-inflicted starvation. I made the choice, that if Richard lived he would remain a real and dangerous threat to this land that I love more than the breath in my body. The country supported me. The lords gave their assent. But yes, the blame is mine, and out of it I snatched this.’

  The Crown, the symbol of so much pain, of so much glory to those who wore it, flashed and glittered with baleful fire.

  ‘Do you see the ironic twist of it?’ Henry continued, his eyes ablaze. ‘It is not my enemies who have brought me low. It is not Northumberland or Scope or Glyn Dwr. It is not my ill-wishing cousins. It is God who has finally called me to account. God has inflicted this terrible suffering on me in reparation for my murder of Richard. For, before God, I am truly guilty.’

  For the first time Henry had told me the naked truth, and seeing in his face a plea for understanding, I gave it unstintingly.

  ‘God has also given you the courage to withstand this pain, and I will never leave you to suffer it alone. Look at what you have achieved,’ I said. ‘You are an acclaimed monarch, with heirs for the future. Your enemies have been defeated. Scotland and Wales are no longer strong enough to threaten you. France is embroiled in civil war. You have friends in high places. I see no failure here.’

  It was as if a burning sore had been lanced. The anguish drained and, without hesitation, Henry placed the Crown on his head, and for that moment the years too rolled away. The young man who had fought and struggled and made himself King was reborn, all authority and regal bearing were his again as the light through the window gilded face and jewels alike.

  I did what seemed appropriate. I bowed my head in acknowledgement.

  ‘My lord. My King.’

  ‘I am honoured, my wife. My Queen. My soul.’

  It was the final bonding of our love, born out of pain and guilt and conviction. Our eyes held with all the promise and glory of a future that we both knew we did not have.

  His breath was laboured with the emotion of the moment, until he raised the Crown again, as if it had become too heavy for him to bear on his brow, placing it gently on his table amidst the documents, where the jewels continued to wink and gleam. So beautiful. So deadly.

  ‘I will not do it. I will not relinquish this Crown. The Crown is mine. What right has any man, certainly not my own blood, to dispossess me? Only death will take it from me. Where do you stand in this, Joanna?’

  It was heartbreaking.

  ‘With you.’

  ‘I would like to be certain of this.’

  I walked across and kissed his lips.

  ‘I stand with you. I always have. Even when we were estranged.’

  ‘I thought you would agree with the policy against the Armagnacs, and that it should be Hal who led the expedition.’

  ‘I think it might be a useful alliance. I dislike Orleans’s ambitions to seize the French Crown for himself. But I agree with no policy that will drag you or England into a war that would bring you no advantage. As for this.’ I took up the royal Crown. ‘This needs to be kept safe, for when you wear it again, with all the ceremony of a King before his Council.’ I placed it back in the coffer, wrapping once more folded around it. ‘What will you do about your son?’ I asked as I closed the lid once more to restore its power to the dark.

  ‘I will challenge his power. He has to learn that a king’s power is a duty, and cannot be laid aside, until the day he lies on his deathbed and takes his last breath.’

  ‘And that, we pray, will be years in the future.’ Placing my hands on the closed lid, I stood upright and turned to face him. ‘Hal hides it well but he does not like me.’

  ‘Hal does not realise the value of a strong-willed wife.’ Henry’s eyes were gleaming as dangerously as the gems in the Crown, now hidden. ‘What would you do in my place? What would be your next step?’

  I considered this. How good it was to talk policy, as we had done in the past. I knew exactly what I would do.

  ‘I would dismiss this Royal Council that is ripe for mischief. I would do it immediately.’

  His smile was a little wry, but quite conspiratorial. ‘I can’t do it today. But by God, it’s the best piece of advice I’ve heard for a long time.’

  ‘I would dismiss your ministers who are too ready to fawn on Hal and do his bidding. I would select where loyalty is guaranteed.’

  ‘A woman after my own heart.’

  I thought. No, he was not strong enough to lead an army into Europe. His spirit might be stronger but not his body. What would he say to my ne
xt advice? Nothing gained, if I did not have the courage.

  ‘And I would abandon the campaign too,’ I said. ‘Let Hal wage war when he is King. While you wear the Crown and see peace as a valuable policy, then follow it.’ I watched his face, awaiting a possible explosion of anger. But perhaps not. ‘Do I order the unpacking of your travelling bed?’

  His eyes held mine. Would he agree, or would pride rule?

  A smile spread across his increasingly gaunt features.

  ‘I will do that too. Have the bed unpacked. I regret I am too weak to make use of it.’

  We linked hands. We were at one. The days of our antagonism were long gone.

  *

  It was as if the Prince’s challenge to Henry, the vile threat of abdication, had resurrected a full-flowering of life within Henry’s wasting body. Energy renewed, seizing control as he had been unable to do for so long, he took a barge to Westminster and met with parliament, speaking powerfully, as it was told to me by Lord Thomas, demanding their threefold loyalty and duty and obedience to their liege lord. As for the treacherous Royal Council, it was simply not summoned. Henry had resumed his powers as dramatically as if he wore the Crown from dawn to dusk. There was a flamboyance that had been long absent.

  ‘Though nothing will resurrect my hair,’ he groaned, nor for the first time, rubbing his fingers over his close-cropped scalp.

  ‘But I still have remedies we have not tried,’ I suggested, thinking of the many and varied properties of Southernwood mixed with fat and ashes that Henry would dislike intensely, as I dropped a kiss on the forlorn remnants of a once lustrous display. ‘Although some of them have an unfortunate pungency…’

  He grinned. ‘I think you will have to love me without,’ he said, for was he not sure of my answer?

  ‘As I do,’ I concurred. ‘But I am willing to pander to your vanity, even though it is a sin.’

  I smiled at this, as I stitched. It had become a compulsion with me, this new tapestry that I was creating with such ferocious energy, as if the figures that grew and capered beneath my needle were a true reflection of Henry’s resurgence. As if I could trap the vibrancy of the tapestry into Henry the man, to build a bower of powerful emotion to defend him from attack by the malign forces that assailed him. And so I created the flowery meadow, the backdrop to my vibrant lovers, every flower speaking of the lasting power of love, while the expedition to bolster the Burgundians was dismantled. Although I saw the bitter acceptance in Henry’s face, it was fast replaced with vigour that he was once more in command of his government, where it was better to use words than a sword. Was it not good policy to stand back from this war?