Queen of the North: sumptuous and evocative historical fiction from the Sunday Times bestselling author. Anne O'Brien
opportunity to expand on my distaste for the whole of the proceedings. I made no attempt to moderate my tone, despite its uncommonly shrill echo in my ears.
‘Well, wasn’t that a superb show of aggrandisement? My cousin Henry is now slick with holy oil and encased in royal gems. Not to mention four swords instead of three. Most apposite.’ I sat on the bed with relief. It had been a long time, standing in the Abbey. ‘I cannot believe that we stood there and accepted what happened. That travesty of justice.’ Harry was stripping off his houppelande, which caught my attention, deflecting my vexation. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Trying not to listen to you.’
My vexation returned, twofold. ‘I’ll not keep up a pretence of satisfaction, Harry, just to save your ears. I’ve spent the past hour with magnificent hypocrisy, trying to keep a balance between Philippa and Alianore. If I speak of my loyalty to my cousin Henry once more my tongue will sear under the weight of falsehood. I despise what we have done. I despise even more that we are caught like an adder in a cleft stick and can do nothing but accept Lancaster’s hands tight around our necks. You must have suspected this outcome all along.’
‘Yes, I did. Now stop talking and collect your belongings.’
‘Why?’
‘We’re leaving.’
I looked at him aghast. ‘What about the feast? Do we not celebrate? If there is to be tilting and swordplay, how can you resist? King Henry will be delighted to defeat you and all comers. Will you not allow him that further victory against the Percy name?’
‘I’ll resist the temptation.’ He sat next to me to pull off the extravagant shoes. ‘There are only so many times I can bow before him on one day. Look, Elizabeth, it’s done and we must accept it. For now at least. But I’ll not sit through a ceremonial banquet with my father standing throughout, lofting the Lancaster sword as a symbol of what we have just done. I do not wish to see Westmorland holding the royal rod of office. Nor will I exchange lances or sword blows on the tournament field with the King. Enough is enough. It all leaves a sour taste in my throat.’
‘What will King Henry say?’ I took one shoe from him, then the other, smoothing the leather between my palms while he pulled on his boots.
‘I’ll not tell him.’ My brows flew. I dropped the shoes. ‘I’ll send a message. I’ll make some excuse of insurrection in Richard’s name in the north that needs to be put down by the Warden himself. He’ll happily send me off with his blessing in absentia.’
I was already on my feet, opening coffers and removing the jewels I had been wearing.
‘What will your father say?’
Muffled in the folds of the plain wool under-tunic that he was pulling over his head, Harry’s words were clear enough. ‘He’ll cry foul but we’ll be gone.’
‘So you’ll not tell him either.’
Harry, emerging, grinned as I recalled him grinning when he was much younger.
‘Be honest with me,’ I said, helping him to pull on a thigh-length, more serviceable tunic, running my fingers through his hair to restore the semblance of order. ‘I feel a need for honesty on this day. We seem to have been surrounded by trickery and false promises for too long.’
‘There has been no trickery, Elizabeth. We are loyal subjects, we support Henry’s authority, we make the most of opportunities in the north or wherever he demands our participation, and we will ensure that he pays us for the loan of our armed retainers. It will all be to our advantage.’
‘But what about…’
‘I know.’ His fingers on my lips stopped the word ‘Mortimer’ before it could be uttered. ‘Perhaps one day. Not now, not yet. And there is no point in blaming me.’ He kissed me in passing, which went no way to soothing my heart, my sense of failure. ‘We will rule the north in Henry’s name.’
‘Percy deceit and double-dealing.’
‘No. Percy pragmatism. Can you accept that? I would rather we were not at odds for the whole of the journey back to Alnwick.’
‘Very well.’ But I had not quite forgiven him. Or the Earl. Still, I tried for a lighter note between us. ‘I know what it is,’ I said. ‘You can’t bring yourself to sit silent through Sir Thomas Dymoke’s challenge at the feast.’
Sir Thomas, King’s Champion and full of conceit, would challenge to a duel any man who questioned the King’s right to the throne. He would enjoy every minute of the ceremonial.
‘No, I cannot.’ Harry was grimacing. ‘He’s nothing but a pompous bagpipe, and I might be tempted to take him up on the offer. Now, are we ready to go?’
At last we had both set aside our finery. ‘What do we do with these?’ I asked.
Harry regarded them, symbols of Lancaster hegemony. ‘Fold them neatly, I suppose.’
‘You have never folded your garments neatly in your life…’
‘And we will return them with thanks. Until the next time.’
‘Harry…’
I waited until he turned to me. But then a rap on the door forestalled any further conversation, particularly as the door was opened without any invitation from within. The Earl stood on the threshold, casting an eye around the room as his presence filled it, equally garbed in red damask, three strips of gold braid on his right breast defining his rank. A crimson chaperon, decorated with a cloud of white fur, enhanced the impression of status and power.
His smile faded.
‘What in God’s name are you doing?’
‘Going home.’
‘Are you a fool, man?’
‘I’ve done all that is necessary. I’ve acclaimed. I’ve witnessed. I’ve taken an oath that is binding unto death. I do not have to eat and drink and joust.’
‘What’s ruffled your fur?’ He turned on me. ‘Is this your doing? The claim of the Mortimer child is not worth mentioning. Why give it time and space?’
Accusations proceeded to fly between them, needing no intervention from me.
‘You knew this was to be the outcome,’ Harry accused.
‘So did you if you will confess it.’
‘Yes, but I don’t have to like it.’
‘You’ll like the rewards well enough. Even your uncle of Worcester can come to terms with necessity.’
‘As I have done.’ Harry’s temper, kept in hand in dispute with me, now flamed as bright as his hair. ‘But I’ll not sit at his table and raise a cup of his best spiced wine to seal what is a chancy alliance at best. I think we have been used as magnificent puppets, my lord father, won over by oaths and fair words. And gold chains.’ He gestured to the sparkling gems on the Earl’s breast. ‘Are Percy jewels suddenly not good enough for you? Make sure King Henry pays you well for all our services. Without us he would never have been wearing that crown. Our prestige and our troops made all the difference. We were the first to support him with soldiery in any number capable of giving battle.’
‘Without doubt, nephew.’ The Earl of Worcester, similarly opulent in silk and fur and gold braid, had arrived in the wake of his brother. Shorter, less robust, but unmistakably Percy, he held himself with quiet confidence. ‘We have become kingmakers indeed.’ He smiled at me. ‘I was about to say that you look superb, Elizabeth, but there seem to have been some rapid changes since I saw you at the crowning.’
He embraced me.
‘A rapid change of plan,’ I said.
Meanwhile Harry’s stare remained severe. ‘Have you too come to terms with your conscience, Uncle?’
‘I