The Shadow Queen: The Sunday Times bestselling book – a must read for Summer 2018. Anne O'Brien
to the Countess.
‘I think that he should not be alone, my lady. There is no need to quite step into those magnificent shoes today. Tomorrow will be soon enough.’
And before she could deny it, I went to find him, discovering him where I knew he would be. Will was not one for prayer, seeking out solace in the chapel. Instead he was in the stables, running his hand down the neck of his father’s favourite horse, murmuring some affectionate words I could not hear.
‘Will…’
He hesitated, then resumed the stroking of the massive gleaming neck.
‘I won’t talk about it.’
Instead of arguing the case I went and touched his shoulder. Even when he shrugged me off, I persisted and rubbed the back of his neck gently. When I rested my forehead against his back, at last he turned to me and let me fold him into my arms, the first true embrace born out of affection and compassion in all the years of our marriage. He did not weep, but his body was taut with emotions I could not name. And then he relaxed against me a little as I stroked his hair.
‘I am so very sorry, Will.’
It was not unknown for knights to meet death or serious injury in jousts à plaisir, but that was no comfort to Will who had worshipped the great soldier that his father had been. The shock held him silent.
‘It was a better end than many,’ I tried. Better than execution. Better than the head being severed from the body by an incompetent felon. ‘He had his dignity to the end.’
‘He was a good father.’
‘He was caring and affectionate.’
And then, as if it were an entirely new thought, Will raised his head. ‘I am Earl now.’
‘So you are.’
‘I did not expect it.’
‘Of course you did.’
‘I didn’t mean… But not yet.’
‘You will be an exceptional Earl. As good as your father.’
‘I will not be the King’s great friend.’
‘No. There are too many years between you. But you will be one of his most loyal counsellors and soldiers.’
‘You have great faith in me. More than my mother has.’
‘I have known you all my life.’
‘So has my mother.’
We laughed a little at the foolishness of his remark.
‘Do you realise, Joan? Today we have both grown into our fate,’ Will said, defending his furred collar from the teeth of the huge friendly creature now being ignored, and I looked at him, a query in my gaze. ‘Because now you are Countess of Salisbury.’
That was it. Earl and Countess in a stable, nuzzled by a curious animal. I wiped the remnants of tears from Will’s cheek.
‘You do not weep,’ he said, an observation rather than censure.
‘He was not my father. I am sure that I have wept for my father too, even though I did not know him.’ I could not remember.
Will’s hand closed hard round mine. ‘I cannot be my father.’
‘No. You are yourself. Why should you not be a man of similar renown? And why should Edward not take you as his friend? Friendship is not always a matter of age.’
‘So what do I do? To become a King’s friend.’
‘Talk to him.’ I recalled talking to Edward about maps and King Arthur.
‘Talk…?’ I saw a momentary panic invade Will’s expression. ‘What do I talk about?’
‘About war and… and maps and clocks…’
‘Clocks?’
The panic deepened.
‘Perhaps not, although Edward has a liking for such things. He finds them intriguing. Go hunting with him. Hawking. You can do that. The King will always have an affection for you because of your father that will stand you in good stead. Now is the time to make it your own.’
It seemed good sense to me. All Will needed was some years under is belt.
‘It’s easy for you. He is your cousin.’
‘Believe me, Will, it will be much easier for you. You are a man, not a mere girl. And you are now Earl of Salisbury.’
Will blinked as if, at last, it had just struck home. ‘Thank you for your comfort, my lady. Earl and Countess of Salisbury.’ He huffed another little laugh which caught in his throat. ‘And so we have much to do. My father made it clear. Let us go and tell my mother what she needs to know about my father’s funeral.’
We were Earl and Countess of Salisbury.
William was sixteen years old. So was I.
We interred the Earl with suitable solemnities at Bisham Priory, which he had established and where he had expressed a wish to end his days on earth, after which Will and I returned to the court, leaving behind a lachrymose Dowager Countess who had yet to come to terms with my superseding her, in name if not in actual authority, within the Salisbury household.
The subtle changes within the royal household from that day of deadly celebration in January were immediately apparent but took a little time to absorb in their entirety.
The Queen, despite carrying yet another child, was gravely quiet, acknowledging the King’s loss of the friendship he had held most dear. As for Edward, there was no Earl of Salisbury to advise and cajole and laugh with him. Ned, also unnaturally solemn, was too young to take the Earl’s place, nor did he try. The King walked and talked and ate with a little space of dark loss around him. More startling, it was as if he had lost heart for his plans to install a body of chivalric and glamorous knights, now that his most famous knight had gone from this life, the man who had ridden at his side the night he took back his throne from Earl Mortimer at Nottingham Castle.
It was hard to believe that before the fatal tournament, flanked by the Earl of Salisbury and the Earl of Derby, Edward, a Bible gripped in his hands, had vowed to begin a new Round Table in the spirit of King Arthur, creating a great round structure to house the three hundred knights who would be invited to join. The building, which he had begun with such hope and joy, was left half-finished, collecting cobwebs.
A bleak sorrow pervaded all.
‘Talk to him,’ I urged Will when, greeted as the new Earl, yet another shimmer of panic settled over him, ‘but don’t be too cheerful. Tell him about your new tapestries for Bisham. It won’t be difficult.’
‘Come with me…’
‘How would that help? Go and be a man amongst men.’
I could help him no more. Wishing him well, I went to supervise our occupation of the chambers set aside for the Earl and Countess. No, it was not difficult. As the biting cold was touched with a hint of spring, the King’s spirits lifted and the court began to gleam again. By the time we settled into the austerity of Lent, it was much as I had known it and Will was blossoming with a new confidence.
‘Good fortune, Joan.’
Sir Thomas Holland, with the gloom of January still about him, bowed.
‘Sir Thomas.’ I curtsied stiffly, already sensing an uncomfortable exchange. ‘My greetings to you too.’
There was no one to cast more than a glance in our direction at his formal assembly. The past was the past, over and done with, and with it all the doubts and debates. My mother had left the court for one of her own properties of Castle Donington, under the conviction that the tragic death had stitched me even more tightly into the garments of this marriage.
‘Countess of Salisbury.’