The Queen's Choice

by Anne O'Brien

  ‘If we support Burgundy, it will hack at our relations with Navarre and Brittany,’ I advised. I had thought much over this proposed dabbling in French politics.

  ‘Not to mention my subjects in Gascony who are in alliance with Orleans and the Armagnacs.’ Henry set his signature and seal to yet another document of intent.

  So it was done. No man would again undermine Henry’s authority.

  And as he grew in confidence, casting off the debilitating pain, I began to stitch the man I envisaged standing in my meadow, tall and strong, arms outstretched towards the space that would be occupied by the lady. I would stitch a falcon with a fierce eye on his wrist as an emblem of his nobility and his latent aggression in the arts of love. Meanwhile I clothed him in red, such as Henry might choose, his cloak fur-lined with ermine. Eventually I might stitch a collar in gold onto his shoulders.

  At Westminster, far from my meadow, Henry began to wipe the past clean of insurrection as he looked ahead. A new Council. A new Treasurer. A new Chancellor. Men appointed that he could trust as the old disobedient guard was swept away.

  ‘My previous Councillors will not be pleased,’ he observed.

  ‘Then reward them with gifts or titles for their past services,’ I said.

  And so he did. He did not look or sound like a king who had failed when he travelled to Windsor and presided over the Garter Celebrations. There was a new power about him, a new repose: an acceptance of this gift of renewed health. His keeping of the seals of Chancellor and Treasurer in his own hands was sufficient testimony to his single-minded sense of purpose, before handing them to men of proven loyalty, Archbishop Arundel and Sir John Pelham.

  In my meadow, my tapestried lover was complete, the falcon bright-eyed, and, satisfied, I turned my attention to the lady, to the sumptuous folds of her gown in my favourite blue, as she sat beside the stream. What would she hold? A flower perhaps, offered to her lover as she offered her love.

  As her ermine-lined cloak fell into its folds under my direction, with a vital switch in policy, Henry, in the interest of keeping old alliances firm, gave his support to Orleans and the Armagnacs, awarding control of the English army to his son Thomas. With inevitable results. Henry and Hal were even more estranged, but Henry would not be moved.

  I stitched late into the night, as if the completion of this work would destroy the antagonism between King and Prince. As if my close stitching on the flowery meadow would hold the country from disintegration. The lady gained life with a sly smile, her little dog springing up at her knee as her lover approached. His hood was the same hue as her gown. In glowing russet, I stitched my lover’s hair curling luxuriantly to his shoulders.

  Rumour said that the Prince was planning bloody rebellion.

  ‘He will not. He is just young and angry,’ I said, hoping it was so.

  Henry grunted. ‘Hal must learn the royal burden of duty and service, to me and to his country.’

  ‘Then speak with him.’

  So Henry did. A dramatic interlude with discordant voices behind closed doors, where I awaited the consequences from without. Not even I would have intruded on them as, father and son, they hammered out their differences. There was no place for me there as I well knew. Whatever it was that passed between them, whether it be an exchange of brutal words with the emotional threat of a dagger as was whispered by servants and counsellors alike, they were reconciled to a degree. No one would know the truth of it, but abdication was not discussed again. No doubt Hal was simply biding his time.

  My needle moved to the creatures in my meadow, a trio of gambolling rabbits with their voracious appetites. Symbols of physical love, they grew in fine detail as they raced through the flowers. And as my rabbits grew in bright-eyed liveliness, joy and hope, such simple emotions but so elusive, soared within me. Sometimes so strongly that I must protect the fine linen from the unexpected fall of tears.

  I did not weep. There would be time for weeping soon enough, and it was not now.

  The new indomitable strength continued to direct Henry’s mind, even as his body betrayed him. But even here he was granted grace. My prayers, hopeless as they seemed to me, were answered.

  ‘Stop stitching that everlasting masterpiece for a moment and come with me.’ Henry took my hand and led me to his chamber in the middle of the day. ‘I discover that I have a need of you.’

  I did not understand. ‘With whom would I negotiate now, on your behalf?’

  It was a gift I had still used when Henry needed soft words to cushion a harsh policy.

  ‘No negotiation, lady.’ He drew my hand gently through his arm as we traversed the antechambers, slowly as he required. ‘Or perhaps I should negotiate with you. For permission to claim you again as my wife.’ I felt him tense beside me. It was not an easy request for him to make, but he did. ‘If you can bear my wasted body. If you cannot, I will understand, and accept.’

  Now I understood. Perhaps the Blessed Virgin had answered my prayers after all.

  ‘I can bear it.’

  In seemly fashion Henry kept his linen undershirt—for my sake—but our ardour was renewed although not without pain for him as we came together. Henry’s flesh roused, his spirit flared, maybe a sad glimmer of its former power but enough to prove his love for me, and I gloried in it.

  My touch was as insubstantial as starlight. His hands framed my face as his lips traversed my cheeks in light kisses as he braced himself against the predictable agony. What sacrifices love demanded, even when the fire burned brightly in him, in both of us. On that day, Henry gave me every gift within his power, with all the grace and courtesy of which he was capable, creating memories for me which would shine with everlasting brightness when, at some point specified by heaven in the near future, I would be imprisoned in loneliness. He knew it and so did I.

  Next morning we hunted, Henry bright-faced, renewed in spirit and in strength, revelling in the speed of the hounds and the bold courage of the quarry, a full-grown stag, that eventually turned at bay to face its death. I could not watch the kill. The bowing of its regally tined head, the sweat-matted coat, the sheer terror of exhaustion in its blurring eye, held too much prescience for my liking.

  And yet I was not without hope. For a time I put away my needle. My heart was lighter, my hopes for the future strong, so that I no longer needed to bury my fears in the picture I stitched. My lady still had an empty hand.

  Chapter 16

  ‘I have a great desire to visit the Holy Land one more time.’

  Once Henry would have marched to the window, to look out towards the east, in the direction of the golden city of Jerusalem. Now he had no energy to squander. Now all he could do was lie on his bed and relive the days of his youth when he had prostrated himself before the Holy Sepulchre, imagining the scenes replayed on the embroidered tester above him. My heart hurt for him as I bent my head over my needlework so that he could not see the pity. I was stitching again. The lovers in their meadow were almost complete, but as they leapt with renewed life before my eyes, Henry sank into frailty.

  ‘I know you do,’ I replied.

  ‘I wish to see Jerusalem once more. Do you know? It was predicted that I would die in Jerusalem.’

  ‘I know that.’

  If I could have transported him there by some magical means, I would have done so.

  ‘And if I were young and my body as strong as my mind, I would go tomorrow.’

  I looked up to see that he had turned his head and was watching me, his lips curved in a faint smile. I returned it. There had been no child of our final coming together but our love remained the lodestar to illuminate our path.

  ‘I know that too. And you would have no compunction in leaving me behind to do it.’

  What’s more I knew that Henry had commissioned ships to take him by sea on this much desired pilgrimage to throw himself on the ultimate Divine compassion. They were more or less built. Not tomorrow, but by the summer months they would be ready, allowing Henry to fu
lfil his great ambition. He had not discussed it with me, anticipating the force of my reaction. Henry could still surprise me by the formidable strength of his will. Even now.

  ‘Will you come with me?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  The lines of his face softened in memory. ‘So will you take to the sea once more to make the pilgrimage?’

  ‘We will go together.’ I pressed my lips to his brow.

  ‘We will need pennons and banners again.’

  ‘I will embroider you a magnificent banner.’

  And he sank back on the bed with a sigh.

  We knew it would never happen, that our promises were empty ones. The ships would never leave our shores and Henry would never make that final obeisance before the Holy Places. Jerusalem would remain a golden memory from his youth.

  And yet, defiant and determined, a final meeting with parliament had been planned.

  ‘Will you be well enough to go?’ I said, increasingly anxious, trying hard not to condemn any such attempt as ridiculously foolhardy, as he lay breathless in his chamber at Eltham, his wasted chest barely rising to mark each laboured inhalation. It was December, the days short and cold with hard frosts. No time for a sick man to be travelling.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Wait a little while, until you are stronger.’

  The young minstrel, William, perched on the window seat, allowed his fingers to pick softly at the strings of his lute so that a favourite melody of Henry’s touched the air and hid the harsh gasps for breath.

  ‘I will do it now,’ Henry growled. ‘Whatever you or Hal might advise.’

  I had abandoned telling him what he must and must not do. And I knew why he would be there at this parliament, for had he not summoned it to meet on the third day of February, the anniversary of his beloved father’s death? It would be his final meeting with the body of men who had so often undermined his desire to rule well, and he would dedicate it to his father.

  ‘Hal is no longer a threat to you,’ was all I could say. Their rapprochement had been a lasting one.

  I watched in silence as Henry pushed himself from the bed and straightened to his full height. With crown and robes he would still make an impression of Lancastrian power.

  ‘Do I accompany you?’ I asked, knowing the reply, regretting it.

  ‘No.’ As decisive as ever. ‘I’ll come back to you here afterwards.’ He raised his hand to still the lute. ‘My thanks, William. Leave me now.’ And as the boy bowed and walked to the door:‘You’re still growing. You need new shoes.’

  The boy turned and grinned, a bright moment in that sad room.

  It was I who walked to the window to look out, moved beyond thought, so that he would not see the moisture on my cheeks. Even in the midst of all this, he could think of his minstrel and his youthful turn for fashion.

  So I must let Henry go from Eltham alone except for the servants of his household, not to Jerusalem but to London. It was what he wanted, and England wanted it too. The country was waiting for the death of its King, waiting with breath held, servants whispering in corners, matters of government held motionless like a pike in aspic.

  ‘What is the mood in London?’ I asked Baron de Camoys who had made the journey to visit us. ‘Do they know?’

  ‘It is a time of expectancy,’ he replied. ‘There is no anxiety. We have our heir. It is merely a matter of waiting on God’s will. All is at a standstill.’ He touched my arm, as a friend would show compassion. ‘You look weary, my lady.’

  I smiled at him. ‘Come and talk to Henry. Don’t encourage him to overtax himself.’

  Lord Thomas stayed an hour and I left them to talk. When he emerged I was waiting for him.

  ‘No. It will not be long,’ he said softly. ‘And I thank God for it. For both of you.’

  We both understood.

  On the night before his departure Henry slept fitfully, drifting in and out of consciousness. His final letters of policy had been written and signed, and I lay beside him on his bed, the palms of our hands the only flesh allowed to touch. And through that most insubstantial of embraces we spoke of the imminence of death.

  ‘Joanna…’ I rested my cheek against his head when I saw that it was what he wanted. ‘We may never be together again.’

  ‘No. If you insist on wearing out your strength, it may bring the end quicker than either of us desires.’

  ‘But I do desire it now. And you should too. How long can I live through this pain?’ He looked up at me so that I could read all that he refused to say. ‘It is too much. I no longer have the will to fight.’

  The White Willow no longer worked its magic. Nothing did. The tapestry which had seemed to bear such potency under my needle had been packed away. I would never finish it.

  ‘You fought hard all your life. A courageous knight, a courageous King. The end will come when it is God’s will.’

  ‘I have been blessed. The day I met you at Richard’s ill-fated nuptials set my feet on a path to much happiness. I hope I gave you joy too.’

  ‘More than I ever hoped for. You have been my laughter and my tears. My joy and my sorrow. I too have been blessed. And will be until this life ends. We will be reunited in the next world. I swear it.’

  ‘Your love for me was magnificent. You left everything for me…’

  ‘Because, God forgive me, my love for you, insubstantial as it still was in those early days, was stronger than my love for my country. Stronger than my devotion to my children. or my family.’

  Henry had fallen asleep and did not hear my reply, but I completed it anyway.

  ‘Yes, it was a magnificent thing. It still is.’

  I kissed him and tucked a religious talisman into his sleeve, a silver medallion such as a pilgrim might collect as a token of his faith in miracles, the Blessed Virgin smiling beneath the canopy of heaven, her baby son on her lap. I would make sure it was with him when he left me. My own attempts were at an end but the Virgin might still give him ease, or simply the strength to withstand. Was it wrong for me to want it, when Henry looked on death as an ultimate blessing? I would pray with him that it came fast and gentle.

  That night I left him to the ministrations of his own body servants. The indignities of care would not be made worse for him by my presence. On the following morning, from some deep well of dedication, Henry sought and found the strength to travel from Eltham to Westminster while I dressed for this farewell as befitted the Queen of England in blue and white, damask and ermine, Lancaster colours. There was every attention to detail. The jewelled collar of my wedding day with its motto Soveignez sparkled on my breast. The great clasp with its ruby anchored my veil to the coif that contained my pleated hair. I would honour my husband the King.

  Determined to the last, Henry walked to the riverside with only the arm of Lord Thomas for support while, standing on the steps of the landing, I curtsied deep and low at his approach, as befitted the occasion.

  ‘Farewell, my lord. God keep you in his overflowing mercy.’

  His hands light, weightless on my shoulders, without speech Henry held me quite still for the length of a dozen heartbeats, his tired eyes locked with mine. Then he kissed my lips and without further farewell he left me.

  Now seated with cushions at his back in the royal barge, as a cover was cast over Henry’s limbs, thin rays of winter sunshine appeared between the racing clouds to set the red and blue and gold ablaze. There was no warmth to it and I shivered, but surely it was an omen. A good omen as the lions of England snapped sinuously above his head in the playful breeze. God would give him comfort at the last. And Henry held up his hand so that the rays fell on the silver talisman. He had it with him after all.

  To Lord Thomas, as he too stepped aboard, I said:‘Take care of him for me.’

  The boatmen shipped their oars and pushed off, falling into a well-practised sweep. I remained motionless, my eyes on Henry’s until tears blinded them and he was no longer in my focus. I knew that he had taken the Crow
n with him in its coffer. He would pass it to his heir when the time came.

  When the time came, as it must in a matter of days.

  How could I not be with him when that moment arrived?

  I lifted my hand in a final gesture, palm raised as we had once acknowledged our love, flesh separated by the iridescent glass of a window. I saw Henry do the same. Our minds remained united. It was a comfort.

  *

  It was Lord Thomas who fetched me. Who sat, silently, at my side through that seemingly endless journey by water. He had not needed to tell me why he had come. My finery packed away, I was clad in thick travelling cloak and hood, my breath white in the cold air. What I wore now was an irrelevance.

  ‘Does he live?’ was all I could ask.

  ‘Yes. But for how long…’

  As he held my hand, more friend than subject, for that is what he had become, I willed the miles to pass as I willed Henry to live just one more day. I would not be thwarted. Henry would not die without my seeing him one more time.

  When I arrived at the Abbot of Westminster’s lodgings, where he had been carried when his strength finally gave way, Henry was lying by the fire, on some makeshift pallet. Ignoring the little crush of people who had come to witness the passing of a King who was greater than he knew, I pushed through to where he lay, Lord Thomas making the passage easy for me. Hal was there, and Humphrey.

  Henry’s eyes were closed but I thought there was a serenity that he had not known for many years. Perhaps not of the body, but of the soul.