Queen of the North: sumptuous and evocative historical fiction from the Sunday Times bestselling author. Anne O'Brien
pleasing unto himself. It is no surprise.’ Philippa’s bitterness continued to pervade every word she uttered.
‘We are committed,’ I repeated. ‘We have to be so.’ Bitterly, disbelievingly, I realised that I was echoing Harry’s own words, when, less than an hour ago, I had been berating him for his betrayal. I felt no commitment.
‘But are we content? I will never be content.’ Philippa again.
‘Nor I.’ Alianore.
‘Lancaster promised to support the most suitable claimant,’ I said, studying the rings on my hands, trying for balance where there was no balance. I was as unsettled as my sisters.
‘Suitable? What does that mean?’ Alianore’s voice climbed. ‘What about God-given right? My son Edmund is suitable. He has the right.’
‘But Edmund is so young.’
‘He will grow. All he needs is a regent and a group of trusted counsellors. It has been done before, it could be done again. Richard had a council, and his lady mother, Princess Joan, until he reached his majority.’
I tried to be realistic, and loyal to Harry, when I had no wish to be so. My thoughts matched Alianore’s. Princess Joan, Alianore’s grandmother, had been a match for anyone in guiding a youthful King. But in my mind I heard Harry’s warning echo and re-echo.
‘No one will stand for a child, if Lancaster is here with an army and the support of the lords. No one would willingly choose a regency. Besides, it is done now. The lords have made their decision.’
‘Any man of principle would be quick to choose the rightful bloodline,’ Alianore said. ‘Decisions can be unmade. Kings can be un-kinged. Have we not just proved it? It is a dangerous precedent, but it can be used to our advantage.’
‘As Lancaster knows.’ Playing devil’s advocate was proving exhausting. ‘He will be on his guard against any threats to his new power.’
Another unfortunate gambit. Alianore leaned to whisper in my ear: ‘What do I do if he sends for the boys? They were royal wards under Richard. They will continue to be so. They are the only challenge to his power.’ Her whisper became a sibilant hiss. ‘What do I do if Lancaster sends for them? Can I refuse?’
‘Let them come,’ Philippa advised, our heads close. ‘I don’t believe Lancaster will do what is unjust. They will not meet a hasty death.’
‘Is there ice in your veins, Philippa?’ Alianore demanded.
‘No. I am merely practical. Besides, what can you do? Short of hiding them in the Welsh March or sending them into the fastness of Wales, you can do nothing but obey. I think that we should smile on our new King. Unlike Richard, he has no blood on his hands.’
‘Not yet. What do you say, Elizabeth?’
‘I say I don’t like the thought of them being here under Henry’s dominion but I agree with Philippa. I don’t see that you have a choice. Nor do I see King Henry being guilty of murder.’
Alianore proved intransigent. ‘I thought we had agreed that he might very well arrange for Richard’s demise in some distant castle. Why not my sons too? Then all opposition is destroyed, and King Henry can toast the untrammelled inheritance for his own four sons.’
‘I know.’ I sighed, acknowledging that I would not wish to send my own children into Lancaster’s keeping. Not that I feared him, but I would not wish them out of my sight. ‘There is no easy path, is there?’
Such disloyalty, such treachery, in such seemingly innocuous conversation when all around us were celebrating. The interruption, which effectively silenced us when it came, was smoothly inviting.
‘You look to be in serious confidences together, cousins. Does the new reign already see the stirring of a plot?’
We turned as one to regard the newcomer, recognising the voice, the light timbre, the teasing note.
Constance of York, daughter of the ineffectual and allegiance-swapping Duke of York and his Castilian wife. Now Lady Despenser, Countess of Gloucester, Constance was fair-haired and fair-skinned amongst the Mortimer sallow complexions and dark hair, a goldfinch in the midst of sparrows – although today her hair was invisible, neatly coifed in a jewelled net. She was quite beautiful, and artful in presenting her beauty; in comparison her tongue could be uncomfortably sharp. Sometimes cousinship presented us with a high price, but on this occasion she seemed to be all gentle compliance. It pleased me that Alianore, who had inherited much of her grandmother’s glorious golden beauty as the Fair Maid of Kent, was inclined to cast Constance into the shade.
Beside me I sensed Philippa and Alianore stiffening, but Constance was smiling. Perhaps for once she was not looking down her arrogant nose. Arrogance too was a family trait.
‘You should know that we are never serious, Constance,’ I said, summoning an engaging smile. ‘We were discussing the metal contraption that our aunt of Gloucester is wearing to cage her hair. Is this to be the fashion? It is not flattering.’
My sisters, without a blink, added their comments about fur and veiling.
Until Constance lost patience.
‘So are you – all three of you – not suffused with victory, as is the rest of this throng?’
I raised my brows; I would make her spell it out. Again, Philippa and Alianore took their silent lead from me.
‘Will you be raising your cups in heartfelt appreciation of the new wearer of the crown?’ Constance asked.
‘Why would we not be?’
‘Where the name Mortimer abounds – all three of you indeed – there will always be room for suspicion of other loyalties.’
Alianore seemed to be searching the crowd for someone who might rescue her. Philippa disentangled a gold chain from the fur at her neck with great concentration. I took up the challenge.
‘No disloyalty here, Constance. We Mortimers know where to put our allegiance, but your own family could be prime meat for any muck-raking gossip. Your father was quick to lead an armed force in Richard’s name, to prevent Lancaster’s success, yet here we have seen him building essential bridges by leading cousin Henry to the empty throne. And how does your husband Lord Thomas stand in loyalty to King Henry? It was Richard who conferred the title of Earl of Gloucester on him. Would your husband not feel some allegiance to his royal benefactor?’
Constance continued, effortlessly, to smile. ‘My father and husband have seen good sense in cutting their garments to suit the present cloth. We are now all true subjects of King Henry.’
‘As have we Mortimers. Our garments are of King Henry’s own making.’ I returned the smile. ‘Are you acting as King Henry’s spy, Constance, to discover the opposition?’ I spoke the lie seamlessly: ‘My loyalties to the new King are beyond question.’
‘I would not. How can you think it?’ Her jewelled veils shivered brilliantly as she laughed. ‘Our lords have all bowed the knee. Poor Richard is condemned to a life of obscurity. Expediency is paramount, for all of us. Even those with Mortimer sons.’
She touched Alianore’s arm in sympathy. Alianore did well not to flinch.
I was relieved when Harry loomed at my elbow to draw me away with a masterful hand beneath my arm and a bow for Constance. I smiled at her, promising to continue our conversation after the feast. I would not tell Constance my innermost secrets, nor would I trust her two brothers with my life. Her demeanour might be perfect but there was a thread of self-interest running through them all.
Is there not through all of us?
It was a question I preferred not to answer.
I never made it to the feasting, raucous or otherwise, or to continuing an exchange of views with Constance. Harry kept a grip on my arm and drew me at a fast pace out of the crowd. From there he hurried me through courtyards,