A Tapestry of Treason
‘I see you are not concerned with my safety,’ Thomas added with terrible petulance.
I had neglected him, when usually I was careful in my response to him, a man who was easily stirred to selfish anger. Now was not the time for him to sink into sullen recrimination.
‘Be at peace, my lord. Indeed, I recognise your danger.’
I went to him to refill his cup, to soothe with a formal kiss of greeting to his cheek, which he accepted with ill grace.
‘I think you do not. Bagot wasn’t satisfied in attacking Aumale. He went on to accuse the rest of us involved in the removal of the Lords Appellant. We are all incriminated as evil counsellors.’ I became aware of Joan stiffening at my father’s side. This was the news she had not wanted. ‘Bagot named Surrey and Exeter too, as well as Salisbury.’
Thomas was not finished. ‘He also named me.’ He glanced at Edward, prepared now to concede a point. ‘I was not directly involved in Woodstock’s death, but I was one of the Counter-Appellants and reaped the rewards. The Earldom of Gloucester as well as Arundel and Beauchamp estates and castles. It will not be easily forgiven by those who thought Arundel died a martyr’s death. I foresee no pardon for Surrey or Exeter. Or for me. As for the rest of you,’ – his gaze swept us all – ‘the King might decide to rid himself of the whole hornets’ nest of potential traitors.’
‘I thought—’ I began.
‘If you think we had persuaded him that we could be of value to him as supporters of the new reign, then you are wrong. We were all wrong.’
It is exactly what I had thought. But here was violent death lurking on our threshold. Joan looked as if the dread angel sat on her shoulder. My father was stricken to silence, a hand, shaking, covering his eyes.
‘What do we do?’ Joan asked helplessly.
It was as if no one cared to answer her. Perhaps they thought her question fatuous, as I did.
‘This is what we do,’ I said, for there was only one choice to make. What could we possibly do to pre-empt the next step by the King? ‘We do nothing. We keep our temper. We preserve a good humour. We challenge no one. We answer all accusations, or not, as required. We admit nothing. We discuss it with no one. We do not allow temper to cloud our judgement.’
I had their eyes and their ears. I did not hold back. In this black void of fear they would listen to me.
‘We do not beg for mercy from the King until we need it, if we need it. And we wait. Nothing to be gained by doing anything else. We will conduct ourselves as if we were innocent. Any accusation against us must be proven. Will the King listen to Bagot before his own blood?’
‘He might not.’ Edward’s fury had subsided somewhat into a mere rumble of falling rocks. ‘But the Lords would gladly do so.’
‘Then we trust that the King sees sense and dismisses the Lords. He cannot afford to lose you, Edward.’ I glanced at my husband. ‘He can’t afford to lose any of us. Meanwhile, we’ll add nothing more to the danger we are already in.’ Then to my father: ‘Have you been threatened to any degree, my lord?’
He shook his head.
‘Surely Henry dare not,’ Edward said, equanimity restored at last as some degree of clear thought came into play. ‘Our father played kingmaker at Berkeley, by negotiating rather than directing his army to fight. Without that, Henry’s struggle against Richard would have been twice as difficult. He owes our father an incalculable debt of gratitude.’
‘Then let us hope that he realises it,’ I agreed. ‘And that to reward the Duke of York for past services, he must pardon the Duke of York’s family.’
But Edward was frowning down into the empty cup. ‘Bagot said that John Hall should be questioned,’ he admitted.
‘And who is John Hall?’
Edward’s eyes met mine, and there was deep concern still alive and well.
‘John Hall was one of the valets involved in the death of Thomas of Woodstock in Calais. Bagot says he should be questioned because he knows who was involved. Who sent the order and who carried it out. Hall is in prison in Newgate. I expect he’ll be in the Lords’ clutches by tomorrow morning.’
‘Will he incriminate you?’ I asked, knowing the answer before I asked the question.
‘Yes. This could all be much worse than we think.’
It had to be Thomas who pointed out the obvious: ‘Worse?’ He rubbed his hands over his face. ‘How can it be worse? I can see death writ large for all of us.’
Chapter Five
Doom kept us all company through the hours of night and into the morning, when Joan and I converged on what had become the women’s chamber, our embattled menfolk already on their way to attend the meeting of parliament. This was no day for any one of them to be absent, not even my father, still in pain but determined. Only a ministration to his limbs of the roots and leaves of hound’s tongue and marjoram, steeped in warm oil, to dull the pain, together with the strong arm of his body servant, got him through the door; his discomfort could not be disguised but he would stand beside his family. The Dukes of Surrey and Exeter joined them to put on a brave face. The fate of all would hang together.
Which left the womenfolk, as ever, to await the outcome while the royal greyhound fretted outside the door. For some reason beyond my guessing, it had returned to Edward’s care, which seemed absurd when the King had rejoiced at its change of loyalty. I refused to allow it entry. It was enough to tolerate the sickly sweetness of the marjoram which hung in the air, strangely at odds with the stench of alarm.
‘It is one of the few times when I wish for a squint, to spy upon what parliament might be doing.’ I pressed my cheek against the almost opaque glass, to peer through the window in the direction of the Great Hall, considering the value of the narrow aperture in a church to allow the host in the side chapel to be elevated at the same moment as the miracle occurred at the high altar. I wanted to know what was being said, what challenges were being issued and by whom. Ignorance was a cruel word and most pertinent. Infuriatingly it was my lot, and that of every woman, never to know of pertinent events within parliament until informed at some later date, if at all. ‘I fear this day will prove interminable.’ I paused, considering the worst scenario, in spite of my brave words on the previous night. ‘And of course, they may not return.’
‘Better not to know,’ Joan observed, her head bent over her stitches. She had recovered her composure since hearing that her brother and uncle too would face the Lords’ vengeance, but that probably her husband would not. A treasonous husband could mean any number of difficulties for his wife, however innocent she might be, not least confiscation of all the family estates, including her dower. Joan was unlikely to suffer. I would not be so fortunate. The promise of hours of uncertainty scratched at my temper.
‘Better not to know? Until they are condemned to death?’
Her head snapped up. ‘I cannot believe that of Henry. He owes my lord the Duke a debt of honour.’
‘I am not so hopeful. I would like to know that my family is to be sent to join Richard in the Tower before it actually happens.’
‘But you can do nothing to prevent it. As I can do nothing to safeguard my brother and uncle.’
I could not answer that, for it was true. I paced. Joan continued to sit and stitch at some linen garment, until I could bear the silence no longer. I watched her needle flash in and out of the fine material. I resented her stillness, her acceptance. Did she not care? Finally I stopped in front of her. The linen was particularly fine.
‘Are you breeding?’
‘No.’ She did not even look up. ‘This is an altar cloth. Not that it is any of your affair if I was carrying a child. And what’s more, I despise stitching. I would that I were a man and could wield a sword rather than a needle.’
Which confounded me. She and my father had been married for seven years now but I had made no attempt to become acquainted with her, nor even questioned why my father should choose to marry a girl so much younger than himself. It was nothing more than an alliance between two powerful and interrelated families, the Hollands and Plantagenets. Could he not have done better if he had wanted a wife for companionship in his last years? I had thought her insipid, self-effacing. Whereas I was incapable of remaining aloof from the events that would impinge so keenly on our future, my stepmother was weakly accepting of her lot in life. I studied her still-bent head. Where was all the fire and duplicity of her Holland family, her notorious grandmother? It had dissipated into insignificance in this young woman. Recognising the complete lack of affinity between us, I had no desire to know her better than I did at that moment.
And yet this barbed response with its new insight into Joan’s mind grasped at my attention. Perhaps I had been wrong. Here was a young woman who felt as constrained as I.
‘I was merely enquiring after your health,’ I said curiously. ‘Do you resent my doing so?’
‘No, you were not merely enquiring.’ Now she did look up and her gaze was a forthright stare. ‘Yes, I do resent it, and no, it is not your affair, Constance. You were delving into my relationship with your father.’
Which I suppose I had been, my query born out of impatience rather than compassion, which made me deserving of the rebuke. No, she was not lacking in confidence, and I had been wrong. But then a granddaughter of Joan of Kent would be unlikely to be a wilting flower, choked by the pre-eminence of those around her. The Fair Maid of Kent by both character and reputation had never been intimidated. I was ten years old when she died and recalled a woman with a sharp tongue and little patience for royal children who got under her feet.
Perhaps my stepmother, ridiculous as it might seem to have such who was younger than I, deserved my attention. I studied her profile as once again she turned back to her work. Not the beauty of Princess Joan, nor her flamboyant choice of style and colour, but she had inherited her caustic tongue when she allowed it free rein. It was regretful that Joan still favoured a sideless surcoat in dull autumnal hues rather than a houppelande, and her silk chaplet with a short veil was plain to a fault, but it might be worth my while to make better acquaintance of her, given that we were destined to spend considerable time together in the circumstances.
‘Do you remember your grandmother?’ I asked.
‘Barely. I was little more than six years when she died, and she had lived most of her final years as a recluse at Wallingford.’
‘She was a remarkable woman. I remember her visits to Court at New Year.’ I continued to regard her. ‘Have you been satisfied in your marriage, Joan? Until this upheaval?’ Some conversation was better than none.
‘Life could be worse.’
‘Your grandmother wed where she chose.’
‘And I did not.’ She was quick to pick up my implication. Once again she fixed me with a stare that was a challenge. ‘I would never have chosen a man almost forty years older than I as my husband.’
Here was plain speaking. I could not imagine why I had been used to refer to her, in my thoughts at least, as ‘poor Joan’. I paused in my perambulations. ‘Was your heart given elsewhere?’ I was surprised to find that she had my compassion if it was so. I had no experience of such. My heart was quite untouched, either within marriage or without.
‘No.’
‘Does my father hold an affection for you?’
‘Yes, he does. I am grateful.’
Again there was the warning, in the flash of an eye, that I should not intrude too far. I considered, reluctantly liking her spirit.
‘I imagine he has more thought for you than for Isabella.’
‘He detested Isabella. So it would not be difficult.’
‘Has he told you that?’ Now this did surprise me. They must be closer than I had imagined for my father to bare his soul.
‘Yes. He disliked her face, her character and her morals. He only wed her because he was instructed to do so by your grandfather.’
So they did converse. Which is more than Thomas and I did.
‘Did he tell you that too?’
‘Yes. If he hadn’t wed her, Isabella would have been prey for any man who had an eye to the kingdom of Castile. Better if both daughters of King Pedro, Constanza and Isabella, were safely shackled with English princes. John of Gaunt had little affection for Constanza, but at least she did not act the whore, whereas he was not averse to flaunting his Swynford mistress with appalling immorality before the whole Court. Isabella had no thought at all for her reputation, only for her personal satisfaction.’
She paused, colouring faintly. ‘Forgive me. I should not have said any of that about the lady who was your mother, or about your uncle. There may have been extenuating circumstances, I suppose. I might have done the same as Isabella if I had been trapped in such a marriage.’
‘Whereas you can see widowhood at least hovering on your horizon.’
‘Yes.’ Her gaze was again formidably forthright. ‘I’ll not lie to you. Being Duchess of York is all very well, but I’d exchange it for my freedom. Or the hope of a child.’
Which made me laugh. I had not expected to find a confidante so plain-speaking, or so close to my own heart. I decided to repay honesty with honesty.
‘I am as aware of my mother’s reputation as you appear to be, and I had little affection for her other than that demanded by duty. As little as she had for me.’ My thoughts deflected from the present chaos. ‘I know my father spent as little time with her as he could. Enough to get himself an heir. And myself.’
‘But not your younger brother.’
I felt my brows rise. ‘So he told you that as well.’
‘Of course. He makes no claim that Dickon is his.’
‘And, since you are so well informed, I presume you know who rumour says is Dickon’s father?’
‘Yes.’ She appeared quite unmoved. ‘My uncle has a reputation.’
Indeed he had. It was whispered in kitchens and royal bedchambers that my mother Isabella had enjoyed a lengthy and fiery liaison with John Holland, Duke of Exeter, the result of which had been Dickon. My father’s lack of interest in the child merely added fuel to the flames. So Dickon was born a York son, but raised under sufferance. I frowned. My younger brother was the only one of my family who roused my compassion.
‘Sometimes I think it would be better for Dickon if my father was more compassionate of his circumstances. It is not his fault and it does no good to treat him as a bastard. There is a bitterness in Dickon that worries me.’ I took a cushioned stool beside Joan, thinking of my own children. ‘Is there no hope for you, for a child? Do you and the Duke never share a bed?’
‘Again it is not your concern. But no.’ At last her hands fell unheeding to her lap, crushing her despised needlework as her cheeks flushed stronger with bright colour. ‘His pain is too great, and his hope is in Edward. He regrets that Edward has no children of his own to carry on the line.’
‘Nor is there any likelihood,’ I observed.
Edward had married Philippa de Mohun, a lady a good decade older than he who had already been twice wed, twice widowed. She bore her first two husbands no children, nor was there more success with Edward. Where the fault lay would be impossible to say. Perhaps Edward should have chosen more wisely. He was said to have married for love but I saw no evidence of it in their calm demeanour and frequent partings.
‘She may yet be fortunate.’ Joan was condemning of my cold judgement.
All I could do was give the lightest of shrugs. ‘Your one consolation is that my father is almost into his sixtieth year and in ill health. You will be a young widow. And a desirable one.’ It sounded callous, even to my own ears, but it was true, and no more callous than Joan’s own opinion of the whole affair. ‘His brothers have not proved to be particularly long-lived.’
‘Particularly when murdered.’ She flinched her apology at the reference to my uncle of Woodstock’s unfortunate demise. ‘I will probably wed again at the dictates of my family. You know what it is like.’ Her bitterness, I realised, matched that of Dickon.
‘I’m not sure that my situation matches yours.’
‘It does not take great intellect to know that you and Thomas barely tolerate each other. Is that not so? Does he have any affection for you?’
‘No.’
‘Do you have an affection for him?’
I considered replying that it was no concern of hers, as she had warned me. Instead: ‘No.’
‘You were married young.’
‘We were children. Another political marriage.’ Why not admit it? ‘Yes. I know what it is like to be wed for an alliance. I know what it is like to find no union of spirits in a marriage. We tolerate each other. We are also able to live apart. He has his heir.’
‘But would wish for another.’
‘What man does not?’
‘I think you suffer more than I. Your father never neglects me.’
‘Then you are fortunate.’ I kept my tone without inflexion. ‘It is perfectly possible to live without love. Those of our status do not expect it.’
‘Do you have no regrets?’
How persistent she was. ‘How do you regret something of which you have no experience? Life is far more comfortable without. I do not have to consider the state of Thomas’s emotions, as he does not have to consider mine. He never has, he never will. It is as good as any foreign alliance based on pragmatism between two parties who have nothing in common, and they work well enough.’
‘It sounds a cold existence.’
‘Cold, yes. He gives me the status I desire.’
Why was I indulging in confession to Joan Holland? It was not my intent to engage her pity. Still frowning, I stood and began to pace again, turning the conversation into a different yet no-less-painful path. ‘I need to know what is happening.’
‘Why don’t you go and find out? I am not dependent on your company for my contentment.’
Which was uncommonly sharp as she returned to stabbing her needle into the cloth. I responded in kind, since she had forced me to face my isolation, to acknowledge my ignorance of affectionate emotion. I had not enjoyed the experience.
‘How fortunate for you,’ I replied. ‘I doubt anyone is dependent on my company.’
‘I did not mean…’
‘Yes, you did. Here we are, two bitter and powerless women trapped in marriages we did not want. No matter.’ I turned my back on her, looking down again from the window. ‘I cannot go. I would be too obvious.’
‘Then send a servant to discover and report any developments.’
‘I’ll not open the coffers of our family affairs for servants to riffle through.’
‘They will know anyway. They know everything. They know that I am still a virgin. I expect they inspect the sheets regularly and inform the whole household.’
I looked back across the room with just a breath of pity. ‘I am sorry.’ Then turned away from the sudden sadness in her face. Her advice had given me an idea. I might not go. A servant was unacceptable, but…
‘I could send Dickon to be my messenger.’
‘An excellent idea.’
It was suddenly comfortable to be standing on less personal ground. ‘But Dickon, as ever when needed, is invisible. It is below my dignity to stand at the door and shout for him. Nor is he always amenable to orders when he sees no personal advantage.’
‘If you smiled at him, and offered a bribe…’
‘A bribe?’
‘What would he like most, that you could give him?’
‘I have no idea, other than an estate, a title and a chest of gold. As well as a mission to fight someone, somewhere in Europe. There are ten years between us. Our thoughts do not keep company.’
‘Does that mean that you have no knowledge of him? I suppose my family is closer than most. I always knew what my younger brother Edmund was thinking although, of necessity, we have now grown apart.’ Her eyes sharpened. ‘What I would say is that Dickon is a young man of interest. He might be useful to you one day.’ She paused. ‘I will ask him for you, if you wish it. I do not find him unamenable. He makes me laugh, when I don’t have much to laugh about.’
A day of revelations.
‘I think I have misjudged you. I thought you were a mouse.’
‘I think you have. A rat, more like, but I hide my teeth and choose not to engage in battles which I will never win.’ She regarded me with some speculation. ‘But then I think you often do misjudge those around you. I suppose it is easy for a woman with royal blood to consider herself superior. Even though my own blood is as royal as yours through my grandmother.’
Joan left the room to send a message to bring Dickon to us, leaving me discomfited. She was right, I admitted, even though I might not like the picture she painted. And why had I not been aware of Joan’s keen intelligence and wit? Because I had never made a true effort to know her beyond a superficial acquaintance. That was my fault, too. But now was not the time to consider any blemishes in my character.
Within a handful of minutes Joan returned with Dickon; he was dragging his feet, but at least he had been open to persuasion.
‘Constance.’ He looked wary. ‘What do you want? I was busy.’
It did not bode well. ‘Busy doing what?’
‘Whatever will allow me to keep out of the royal eye. Today might not be the day to advertise my connection with the families of York, Holland and Despenser.’
Succinct and accurate, he had had an ear to some closed doors.
‘We have a favour to ask,’ Joan said with an encouraging smile before I could hack at his lack of loyalty.
‘What’s that?’
Joan glanced at me.
‘I need an ear to the ground,’ I said. ‘An ear that is less obvious than mine. Go down to the Great Hall…’
‘They’ll hardly let me in!’
‘As I am aware, but you can merge with the hangers-on and question those who have knowledge. I want to know what’s happening. I want to know if John Hall has been questioned and if any of our family is in danger. If there is a threat to our lives or our freedom. I want to know if any one of our enemies dares to push for single combat. I want to know before Edward and Thomas are put under restraint.’
He opened his mouth, I presumed to refuse, but Joan stepped in, gripping his arm with both small hands.
‘My brother is in danger too, Dickon. Ask about the Duke of Surrey. And my uncle the Duke of Exeter. Will you do that for me?’
He looked unapologetically hostile as only a thwarted youth could. Then shrugged. ‘I’ll do it.’
‘I would also like for you to discover the King’s mood, as far as you can,’ I said.
Dickon grinned. ‘You mean will he throw us to the snarling dogs? I’ll do what I can, though I don’t see why we can’t just wait for the outcome.’ He caught the sharpness of my glance. ‘But I agree it might be best to know sooner rather than later. Are we planning a flight to the Welsh Marches if King Henry proves hostile?’ He paused, then grinned again. ‘I may need coin for bribes.’
At last Dickon’s eyes shone with the light of conspiracy.
‘I have none to hand,’ I said.
‘Then I won’t do it.’
But Joan discovered some in the purse at her belt and handed them over in a little clinking stream into his palm.
‘Thank you, Dickon,’ I said. ‘I will be very grateful.’
‘I’ll remind you of that.’ And when the greyhound, which had followed him into the room, showed a willingness to accompany him, he pushed it back. ‘Keep it: it might be the only bargaining tool that we have. The greyhound in exchange for Edward’s life.’
Which might have seemed horribly prescient.
‘Let us hope,’ I said as Dickon’s footsteps faded into the distance, ‘that it’s all like one of Henry’s subtleties at the end of the feast. All decorative wizardry and no substance, that collapses at the first breath of wind.’