A Tapestry of Treason

‘A more pompous idiot I have yet to meet,’ Edward observed.

‘So will you not answer his challenge?’ I needled gently.

‘Not I. I am firmly in the royal good books. And I will make sure that I stay there.’

The greyhound, no longer following obediently at Edward’s heel, was restored, hale and hearty, to the company of King Henry. It lay beside him, its head on the royal foot as once it had rested on Edward’s, and probably before that on Richard’s, reminding me that all dogs could be fickle creatures.

Edward followed the direction of my gaze. ‘And there’s the truth of it,’ he nodded in a moment of whimsy. ‘Henry the greyhound putting to flight the white hart of Richard.’

‘I dislike omens. And I’ve more care for my dignity,’ Thomas said, ‘so don’t look at me. Public challenges only bring ridicule to all concerned, whoever wins.’

My father grunted his disapproval but acceptance of such levity. It was tradition.

‘I’ll do it.’ Dickon spoke out, his face aglow. ‘I’ll throw down my hood.’

‘You’ll do no such thing,’ I said, suddenly made alive to the inadvisability of drawing attention to our ambiguous position at this dangerously new Court.

‘But I will.’

And he did, his fur-trimmed hood flung to the floor in formal challenge as Dymoke rode past. Before anyone could see and comment, I stooped, picked it up and pushed it into his hand.

‘Be silent!’

‘Why should I?’

‘Such ill-considered chivalry could be noticed. And lower your voice! You are a fool, Dickon.’

‘At least I am loyal.’

‘Then you will perforce learn a new loyalty. As we all have done this day.’

It was Henry who brought the display to an end.

‘I shall personally relieve you of this onerous duty, Master Champion, since no one seems to be prepared to pick up your challenge.’

I wondered if he had seen Dickon’s defiant gesture. Cousin Henry was sharp-eyed. He would need to be if he was to carry this reign to success. I allowed my regard to sweep across the assembled throng. How many here were as ambivalent in their loyalty as we were? As the dregs of the feast settled down around us, the Champion retiring with much unkind laughter, Dickon subsiding, we exchanged a grim smile and raised a toast. To the future. To a new beginning. To inscribing the House of York with gold.

‘He has called for parliament to resume tomorrow,’ my father reminded us, as if we needed the reminder. It was the poisonous fly in the ointment, the occasion when all past enmities just might be stirred into life. Seeing the fine line between his brows, I asked:

‘Do we fear it?’

‘No. I expect it will be a discussion by the Commons of what to do with Richard, and by the Lords how we might curtail the powers of the new King by restricting his finance.’ The line disappeared. ‘Nothing for us to fear there.’

I said what was hovering over all of us. ‘I am thinking that the affair of the Counter-Appellants might not be quite dead and buried. There are those in the Lords who will see an opportunity for revenge for what was done two years ago in Richard’s name.’

Edward grimaced; clearly it had not been too far from his mind. ‘Then it would be good policy, Constance, if you could offer up a prayer that we are all too busy with Richard’s fate that no one thinks of it.’

It could indeed be dangerous. ‘I will. In absentia,’ I added. ‘It is my intention to leave you to your parliamentary deliberations. There is no more for me to do here.’

I allowed my eye to continue to travel over the gathering. The faces, the heraldic symbols, all familiar to me. The rich aroma of meat and spices, the songs of expert minstrels. The inbred wealth and traditions and ceremony. Here was my future. Nothing had changed, except for the wearer of the crown. It was a belief that I must hold to, even though my deepest apprehensions could not be dispelled. We did not yet know what changes King Henry might set in train, nor would we until those changes were in place. Whatever they might be, even if they undermined the very foundations of my family, we were powerless to prevent the excavations.

Meanwhile there would be no event to demand my involvement at Court, when this first meeting of parliament would take precedence over all things. I knew what I must do with my time.

‘Do you go to Elmley?’ Thomas asked as the feast drew to a close and we made our way to our own accommodations. His interest in my whereabouts was mild at best; he would readily find female company, in bed and out. I was resigned to it, almost relieved that his demands on me were light. He already had his heir. ‘If you do, take a look over the rent rolls and send me what you can. My purse is to let.’

‘So soon?’

I knew he had drawn heavily on his estates to equip his expedition to Ireland, and not merely to pay for men and horseflesh, which had been costly enough. Intent on gallant display he had purchased new spurs, rich cloth to fit out his entire entourage and two new gold and appliquéd standards to exhibit the Despenser presence on any battlefield. His annual income of something near two thousand pounds had been stretched.

‘What is it to you?’

‘It matters nothing to me, except that your extravagance could beggar us all.’

‘I don’t have to answer to my wife.’

‘Of course you do not.’ I smiled winningly, which did not enchant him to any degree. ‘All you have to do is enjoy the proceeds of my dower lands.’ And then before he could retaliate on this well-worn theme: ‘You don’t wish to accompany me? You might become reacquainted with your son and daughter. They see little enough of you.’

He shook his head. Thomas would take his seat in the Lords, and the thought intruded as he left me at my door. ‘Do you fear that Richard’s decision over the old Despenser arraignment will be reversed by Henry?’

His eyes narrowed. ‘No. What would be the value for Lancaster in doing that?’ But I thought there was a vestige of fear buried in his mind.

‘Only revenge,’ I mused. ‘Be watchful.’

‘When am I not?’

He made no effort to embrace me in a fond farewell, and I did not encourage him. Already he was striding away towards who knew what liaison. Then he stopped and spun on his heel.

‘You could take Dickon with you. Keep him out of mischief.’

‘I doubt he would come. And before you order him to do so, I would rather not travel with a sullen youth with an axe to grind. You keep an eye on him here.’

There was nothing to be concerned about other than Richard’s fate. I would offer up prayers for King Henry’s compassion. Yet why had I found a need to warn Thomas? Who was it that had helped Richard in his scheming to have his revenge against the Lords Appellant? We had. We had been the Counter-Appellants. We had aided, abetted and benefitted beyond all imagination, hoarding titles and lands from those who had fallen under Richard’s displeasure. We had reaped the harvest grown from the blood of others. A bitter harvest it might prove to be too, planted in tainted soil. There were indeed many at Court who would seize this opportunity to wreak their revenge on a family perceived to be greedy and self-seeking.

On the following morning I began my journey west to Elmley Castle, if for no other reason than to see my children. Richard, called for the late King, was almost three years old, Elizabeth still an infant. Not that they were neglected: cosseted in their own household of nurses and waiting women, employed to rock the cradle and encourage my growing son in his games and lessons, they lacked for nothing. Soon it would be time to appoint a tutor for my son so that the future Earl of Gloucester would be literate in words and figures as well as confident in the use of arms. Soon it would be necessary to discover a future husband for Elizabeth. Daughters were valuable. Alliances were of vital importance to every noble family.

I rode west with a light heart. In some ways it would be a relief to leave the high tensions of Westminster. I must rely on the good sense of my father, brother and husband as well as Joan’s Holland relatives, when parliament opened. It was not easy to do so. My father leaned towards choosing the easy path if he sensed that he was under threat. Edward was as tricky as a cat. Even I as his sister knew that it was best not to place complete trust in a man who beneath his polished exterior had only one interest at heart. Edward would fight for himself.

He had never explained why he had counselled Richard to remain over-long in Ireland, nor would I expend the energy in asking him, even though it smacked of treachery.

As for Thomas, who knew? At the moment he was resentful of the new King. Could he overcome that for the ultimate good of our family? I was sure that he could, particularly if Henry proved kindly disposed over the whole question of past Despenser treasons. Thomas’s ancestors had been driven by more sly ambition than Thomas would ever lay claim to, resulting in their horrific executions. With an old judgement of forfeiture still hanging over them, Richard had been generous enough to remove it, thus giving Thomas the satisfaction of an ancestry wiped clean and smooth as a newly baked egg blancmange. If Henry was inclined to uphold Richard’s reversal, the Despenser name thus reinstated, then Thomas would be effectively won over to the Lancaster cause. I could see no real reason why Henry would not, even though I had warned Thomas to beware of the royal dagger between his shoulder blades.

So much for Edward and Thomas, but then there was Dickon.

As I and my escort left the sprawl of London behind, I wondered what Dickon was doing, left at a loose end as new loyalties were stamped out. Perhaps my father would find him a place in King Henry’s household, where he could impress with his soldiery skills, if he had any to impress with, and earn the patronage he so desperately desired. Dickon needed a sponsor with some authority to foster his talents and keep him in line.

The morning was cool and crisp, providing good travelling weather, with many on the road, mostly merchants who were drawn by a new Court with its need for food and cloth. I wondered if Henry would have the money to satisfy them. Meanwhile I would enjoy a brief respite from devious doings in the tranquillity of Elmley Castle, one of the Beauchamp properties of the Earl of Warwick that had fallen into our hands when the Lords Appellant were swept away. It was a pleasant place, set like a jewel in its deer park.

The sun was only just beginning to move past its noonday height when the rattle of hooves of a single, fast-moving horse beat upon my ear. Without my intervention, we drew to a halt, my escort with hands to their swords, the recent potential violence in the country still making all travellers wary. My rank was obvious from my Despenser device of silver, red and gold, on tabard and pennon. I signalled to move on. A rider alone could be no threat to us, and indeed my escort visibly relaxed as the rider closed the distance.

‘It’s Master Dickon.’ My serjeant-at-arms allowed the grip on his sword to ease.

‘Dickon…’ I rode forward, a little trip of concern as he hauled his mount to a halt beside me. It was sweating, and so was he. He grabbed hold of my bridle and pulled me a distance away from the soldiers, his strength surprising me, as did the severity of his eye and the lines that deepened the corners of his mouth. He was short of breath.

‘You must come back with me.’

His voice broke on the hard consonants. His hair was wild, his garments dust-plastered. All his youthful flippancy had been stripped away, replaced by a raw anxiety.

‘Henry’s new parliament is out for blood,’ he said. ‘Our blood.’

So short a statement, so savagely delivered. It was enough. Without a word I turned my mare, indicating that my escort should follow. Suddenly it was no longer merely a matter of our losing land and title, of patronage and office with this change of monarch. Now it could be that our lives were truly in danger if parliament was pursuing revenge.

We had been far too complacent, expecting that the threats were over with the placing of the crown on Lancaster’s head.

I kicked my weary horse on, urgency a vital spur. Of what value was my return? What could I do? Not a thing, but I knew that I must be there because, before all else, we must present an image of unity and loyalty, so that Henry could never question our demeanour in the coming days of unrest. What I did not know, what none of us knew, was whether our new King would allow his parliament to have its vengeance. Henry had been vocal about the empty state of his coffers. What price would parliament demand for granting him future finance and a peaceful existence?

Furthermore, Cousin Henry might see this as an excellent opportunity to kill two plump partridges with one arrow. To remove his relatives whose loyalty was suspect at the same time as he made a favourable showing with parliament and obtained the promise of a hefty coffer of gold.

Surely he would not.

But how many enemies did we have?

It was late, well into the evening, when I arrived in the York apartments in Westminster Palace, my father struggling from his chair, until held firmly back by Joan. She welcomed me with a rise of her mouse-brown brows, before withdrawing to sit with her back to a tapestry depicting a conspicuously bloody hunting scene, all bared teeth, rent flesh and gore, as if she had nothing more to say or do in the affair that was developing elsewhere in this vast palace. Yet what a complication of family connection there was for Joan through her marriage to my father. The executed Earl of Arundel, most influential of the five Lords Appellant, was her uncle; the Duke of Surrey, hand in glove with my brother and husband in bringing Arundel to his death at King Richard’s behest, was Joan’s eldest brother. The equally complicit Duke of Exeter was also her uncle. Noting her retreat, I felt nothing but mild contempt for her complacency. How could I admire a woman who was so inexplicably unperturbed by the events around her that touched her family so closely? I would not be complacent. I might adopt a serene mask but every sense was tuned to the latent threat to my family.

‘Dickon says we are in trouble.’ I had sent Dickon to procure spiced wine. I thought we would need a strengthening draught before this night was out. Judging from the deep seams between nose and mouth and his white-knuckled clasp around the arm of the chair, it was one of my father’s bad days.

‘So it seems. And I can barely move from this room.’

His hands closed again on the arms, the tendons stark beneath the mottled skin.

‘Have they accused Edward of Thomas of Woodstock’s death?’ I asked, seeing here the real threat.

‘Yes. So I believe.’

‘Is he arrested?’

‘I think not. I hope I would have been told if my heir was at this moment under lock and key.’

‘And Thomas?’

My father shrugged, a grimace of pain tightening his features. ‘I know not.’

‘What about Surrey and Exeter?’

‘I fear for them all.’

‘So it will be a witch-hunt to clear us all out.’ There was only one man who might have prevented it. ‘You did not think to be there, sir.’ It was a statement rather than a question.

‘My lord, your father, has been unwell.’ Joan had risen and interceded in his defence, quiet but firm. ‘The pain has kept him abed until an hour ago. He has only risen at the prospect of your return.’ Her quick glance toward me was a surprise in the challenge that it held, daring me to say more. ‘As you can see, he has had much to trouble his mind.’

‘I am aware. So have we all.’

Accepting the challenge with a nod, for indeed my father looked drawn as if with a winter chill, I approached to touch his arm, the nearest we got to affection, as Dickon returned with a servant and a flagon and cups. I waved Dickon away. He went reluctantly, and I wondered if he might listen at the door.

‘It is that worm Bagot who is stirring the pot, so I am told.’ My father gripped my hand, which was signal enough of his anxiety. Sir William Bagot, one of Richard’s close associates, perhaps the closest other than Edward, had fled smartly back to Ireland when Richard had fallen into the hands of the Earl of Northumberland, rightly fearing for his life. It had not been a successful flight, for he had been taken prisoner and brought back to London in chains. I imagined him scattering accusations with the ready hand of a hen-wife feeding her chicks in an effort to deflect the blame of evil counsellor from himself.

‘A pity he could not have escaped more successfully,’ I said. ‘Or someone could have applied a knife to his throat when he was first captured. It would have saved us a deal of time and worry.’

‘Sometimes your vindictiveness concerns me, Constance,’ my father said. ‘It must be the Castilian blood in your veins.’

‘They were quick to deal with traitors in Castile.’

‘If we in England were to copy them with summary executions, my son might already be dead. Your Castilian grandfather King Peter was stabbed to death by his half-brother who coveted his throne. Do we wish to emulate such an example?’

Which effectively silenced me.

And then all we could do was wait. The time passed. My father sipped morosely from some potion supplied by Joan, who picked up her endless stitching. I turned the pages of a book of poetry without focus, conscious of my dusty dishevelment that for once meant little against the approaching storm. If Dickon was listening he would learn nothing.

‘What are you thinking?’ Joan asked eventually, quietly. She had moved to sit at my side as my father’s eyelids closed and he fell into a light sleep.

‘I am wondering what we should do if they are already all locked in the Tower with Richard,’ I replied with brutal honesty.

She looked horrified. ‘Surely not. Surely the King would not be so precipitate…’

Footsteps, more than one set, approaching. It could be a deputation of royal soldiers to arrest all of us. Edward and Thomas might already be in chains along with Bagot. The tension in the room became the twanging of an ill-stringed lute. I stood, closing the book, facing the door. My father sat up.

‘Surely the King would not stain his new kingdom with blood so soon,’ Joan whispered. ‘Would it not be bad policy to give in to parliament at its first meeting?’

So Joan was better informed than I had expected. All I could do was concentrate on the latch, which was lifted without a formal knock.

The door opened to admit Edward, followed hotfoot by Thomas, who closed it and leaned against it. I might have felt relief, but stark fear walked into that room with them, touching my nape with ice. Thomas’s face was without expression, while Edward was as pale as if his blood had been drained in a fatal wound.

‘Thank God! Thank God!’ My father, awake with the noisy intrusion, managed to stand, taking Edward’s arms in as firm a clasp as he could. ‘Thank God you are returned.’

‘Too soon to thank the Almighty, sir.’

Seeing the pain in his face, Edward led my father back to his chair while Thomas regarded me with complete lack of warmth.

‘I thought you were gone to Elmley Castle.’

I swallowed hard against the creeping terror. ‘I have returned. I understand that we are under attack.’

Edward came to my rescue. ‘Let her be, man.’

It was then, as Edward took a cup of wine from Joan, that I saw it was not fear that held him, but a heat of fury that was banked around him. I could smell it, rank with incipient danger. Gone was the smiling insouciance, the habitual self-confidence of a man who saw his future painted in clear lines. Now Edward had had the solid rock as heir of York mined from under his feet.

‘Under attack?’ He picked up my comment and embellished it. ‘Before God! It’s more than an attack. I am on trial for my life.’ He gulped the wine, eyes fierce with the humiliations of the day. ‘Don’t be under any illusion. I’ll be fortunate to come out of this with my head still attached to my body.’

He tossed the now-empty cup in his hand, catching it neatly, and for a moment I thought that he might hurl it against the recessed fireplace, but before the unwavering gaze of his father he steadied himself and handed it to me.

‘Will you tell us?’ I asked. Best to know the worst of it.

‘Oh, I’ll tell you. As soon as the Speaker asked for all evil counsellors to be arrested, I knew it.’ His lips thinned into one line. ‘I could see it written on the faces of those lords who had not been as fortunate as I under Richard’s hand. The desire for revenge could be tasted, like sour ale lodged in my gullet. It was Bagot’s doing,’ he confirmed, ‘trying to save his own skin by smearing the blame elsewhere. It seems, in Bagot’s weasel words, that I was the principal evil counsellor at Richard’s Court. I am accused of two treasonable acts. Two! I am an accessory to the murder of our uncle Thomas of Woodstock, and as if that were not enough I have expressed a desire that King Henry should also be murdered.’ He snatched back the cup and refilled it in two fluent actions, replacing the flagon with a force that almost buckled the metal foot. ‘I am accused of sending two yeomen to Calais to do the mortal deed against Woodstock. To smother him in his bed. Could Bagot destroy my name any further? I’ve never heard him so voluble in his own defence, while I am the one to carry all blame for Woodstock’s death.’

It was indeed damning. The cold hand around my throat tightened its grip.

‘But you were involved in Woodstock’s death,’ I ventured, seeing the true danger here.

‘Of course I was,’ Edward snarled. ‘As were we all.’ He gestured towards Thomas who still leaned, silent as a grave, against the door. ‘It was Richard’s wish that the deed be done, to punish his uncle for curtailing his power. Who was brave enough to withstand Richard’s wishes? He was volatile and becoming more so, like a bed of rushes swaying in a high wind. To refuse a royal order was to sign my own death warrant.’

‘He would not have had you executed,’ I suggested.

‘He would have had me stripped of all he had given me! I’d not risk it. We all knew what was in our best interests.’ He swung round. ‘Did we not, Thomas? You, if I recall, were as culpable as I.’

Thomas straightened and strolled forward, nudged at last into voice. ‘Yes, we knew what we must do. But I had no hand in Woodstock’s murder. I was not there when the pillow was held to his face. I’ll not accept any blame for Woodstock’s death…’

There they were, facing each other like two sharp-spurred cocks, goaded in a fighting pit. I might not trust my brother overmuch, but here was Thomas sliding out from under a political murder in which they had both been complicit. Thomas Despenser would sell his soul to the Devil to keep the power he had.

‘You will not tear each other apart. Our enemies will do that willingly enough,’ the Duke intervened. ‘What was the outcome? You are clearly not imprisoned.’

‘No. Not yet.’ Edward continued his furious complaint. ‘I said I would prove Bagot false through personal combat. I threw my hood at his feet and challenged him to a duel. I’d force him to eat his words. But what did King Henry do? Calm as you like, he ordered me to pick up my hood and return to my seat. So the accusation still stands, Bagot is free to continue his poisonous complaint against me and throughout the whole, the King’s face was as much a stone mask as the statues around us. I’ll not have confidence in his mercy.’

‘You are his cousin. He’ll not have you executed.’ What an empty promise that was, yet I attempted to pour cooling water on this explosion of vitriol. We needed Edward to be cool and calm, capable of careful planning, not alight with a fire of self-righteousness. ‘Tomorrow all will be well.’

‘Tomorrow all will be far from well,’ Edward growled. ‘You were not there. You did not read the magnates’ delight, gleaming in their eyes, in the opportunity to be rid of me. Once I might have thought them friends. There are no friends where power is concerned.’