Queen of the North: sumptuous and evocative historical fiction from the Sunday Times bestselling author. Anne O'Brien
than a ripple caused by a wasp dropping into a goblet of ale. Next month we might all be bowing in utmost respect before King Richard again with this whole Lancaster episode forgotten, and Lancaster restored to the royal bosom. Let us then be circumspect in what we say and what we do. I advise you not to reply to either.’
I did not question his judgement. Yes, it was treason to discuss the removal of the crowned and anointed rightful King, to replace him with another, whether he be Lancaster or Mortimer. All was so ephemeral, like stars in a night sky when a spring mist descended to blot them out, one by one so that the constellations could no longer be recognised. All was so uncertain.
When he had left the room I consigned the pages to the flames, but the fire could not obliterate the conflicting concerns of my sisters. They remained firmly embedded in my own mind, one struggling for pre-eminence over the other.
If anything surprised me, it was Harry’s circumspection. It was unusual for him to be so wary. Which awakened me even more to the hazards about to land on our doorstep with cousin Henry returned from exile.
The whole country would be holding its breath.
And the one pertinent fact that I had signally failed to discover: were the Percys breathing easily?
It was a sight to smite at the senses. The noise, the vivid colour, the snap of energy. Here was an array to grasp the imagination, to awaken every emotion, the whole overlaid by sheer arrogance, as I sat my mount in the shadow of the walls of Warkworth. Here was the Percy retained army, archers, foot soldiers and mounted men, slick and gleaming as they were at the beginning of every campaign. But this, in some subtle manner, was different. Every weapon shone, but no more so than the horseflesh, burnished to glow in the morning sun. On every breast, every pennon, every banner, reared the red-clawed lion of the Percys, rampant in azure on its golden field. They waited to move off in well-ordered ranks, so different from the usual noisy melee. This was a meticulously created power, prepared to face any opposition, with force of arms if necessary, or to cow into surrender by the impressive display of the might of the Earl of Northumberland.
The Percy retinues were marching south and I, despite Harry’s belief to the contrary, was marching with them.
I could not fail to be drawn in, to become part of this enterprise. I could not recall ever seeing so large a force. If the Earl intended to present Lancaster with a tally for his use of these Percy men, it would be a goodly sum indeed.
The discussions about the number of retainers and the manner of our meeting with the returning exile had been long and heated but here was the glorious culmination of it all. I thought that there had been no doubt about this outcome from the very beginning. It was simply that the men of this household liked the sound of their own voices in hot argument. But were we not in truth contemplating bloody treason, choosing to raise a body of troops in England that was not to be used for the explicit policies of our King?
Even more stirring, the numbers were augmented by the red livery with its silver saltire, the retained men of the Earl of Westmorland who had thrown in his lot, whatever it might be, with us. A hazardous alliance, since Westmorland was one of those men considered a threat to Percy sovereignty in the north, and thus a potential enemy, but the Neville Earl was wed to Lancaster’s half-sister Joan Beaufort. He too would have an interest in hearing what the new arrival had to say for himself.
And yet I was forced to acknowledge that Richard was our rightful King through true descent, with oaths of fealty laid at his feet. What we did on that day in July of 1399 could be called subversion, unless we retired home again without lifting a sword, without Richard being any the wiser when he returned from his campaign in Ireland. An unlikely outcome. What we did here today was assuredly treasonable. Here was rebellion in the making.
So the Earl ordered his men to march south, and I, as the ranks of retainers drew away from the curtain wall and gatehouse of Warkworth, drew my most stalwart horse up level with Harry’s. Momentarily he frowned, as I had anticipated he would, but gave no indication that my appearance offered him any cause for consternation, or even surprise.
‘What are you doing?’ he asked, bending a flat stare.
‘Coming with you.’ Meeting it, I preserved the blandest of expressions, masking the tight fist of emotion that had nothing to do with my defiance of a husband’s clearly expressed will and everything to do with a sudden anxiety at where this expedition would end.
‘I thought we had agreed,’ Harry stated.
‘No, we did not agree. You denied me. I simply retreated from what would have been a useless exchange of opinion, and here I am, as I said I would be.’
I had said nothing when we had parted company after breaking our fast on that morning. If Harry had not realised I was dressed for travel, his mind caught up in the urgency of moving men and equipment as we had exchanged a perfunctory embrace, that was to my advantage. Besides, what could he do? It was not a matter of my asking permission from my Percy lord. He could of course have locked me behind the walls of Warkworth but why would he? My arguments for my accompanying this expedition, if he had chosen to listen and if I had chosen to make them, were superb and Harry had none to offset them, other than that I would be in the way. Of which I took no heed.
‘You will be in the way,’ he said.
‘I knew you would say that. And I will not. I will even polish your armour if you ask nicely so that you make a good impression on cousin Henry.’
I was rewarded with a gleam of appreciation and a grin from his squire. The Earl, riding up at speed, majestic in an azure tunic and chaperon, with Westmorland in tow, was another matter. There was no appreciation.
‘You will not accompany us, madam.’
Since here was neither courtesy nor room for discussion, I gave no argument, instead gesturing to the sumpter horses that carried my travelling coffers, to the two women, efficiently mounted and wrapped in layers against the chill wind, who accompanied me. We were well used to hard travel after a lifetime of living in the March.
‘This could be war, woman.’
‘Could it? I thought we were going to offer Henry welcome and support. Do you foresee a passage of arms?’ And then smiling beyond him: ‘Good day, my Lord of Westmorland.’
‘Good day, Lady Percy.’ Westmorland bowed his head with a quirk to one brow. Another relative by marriage, if an even more distant one.
‘It is good to have your company,’ I said.
The Earl of Northumberland waved any further niceties aside, swooping on my original query like a hawk on a vole, quick to deny any deliberate aggression.
‘I foresee nothing as yet.’
‘That is good. Then I accompany you. If there is a battle, I take refuge in the nearest fortress.’
The Northumberland brow became heavier.
‘This is to be a matter of heavy negotiation, madam, not a social visit.’
‘This is family, sir.’
‘Family! We are all family!’
The Earl looked as if he would happily dispense with some of them. But was it not true? Did it not cause the worst of heartbreak when loyalties were strained to the limit by demands of cousinship, either close or distant? Whatever the outcome in this coming contest, it would not be without its sorrows and pain, for all of us. Even the Earl, through his royal forebears, could not pretend that the victor held no personal interest for him.
‘I am going to meet my cousin and welcome him home,’ I continued with seemingly naive pleasure. ‘I see no reason why I should not be here as a representative of the Mortimer branch of the family since neither my brother nor sister will make the journey.’
Which gave him momentary food for thought, as I knew it would. His eye held mine as if weighing up how much I knew of the developing situation. Did he really think that his son and I conversed about nothing but the health of our children? When I did not look away, he turned his eye, still