A Tapestry of Treason Read online

  My father approached, forehead thick with lines. ‘What are you doing here?’

  Why would I not be here? What I found difficult to understand was why Richard’s Keeper of the Realm was acting in the role of captor, and thus I wasted no words in courteous greeting. Fear was too strong in me.

  ‘The King is a prisoner and suffers humiliation, sir,’ I observed. ‘Could you do nothing to stop it?’

  ‘It was not possible.’ My father, perhaps unaware of my peremptory demand, slapped his gloves against his thigh, raising a cloud of dust which made him cough, his gaze tracking to where Richard had just departed. ‘I am merely following orders.’ Then he added: ‘As will every one of us, if we have any sense.’

  ‘Whose orders? Are you not Keeper of the Realm?’

  ‘For the moment.’ He returned his gaze to me and it was uncompromisingly bleak. ‘Lancaster plans to ride to St Paul’s to pay homage at his father’s tomb. From there he will stay at the Bishop of London’s palace overnight, before returning here. All will be settled tomorrow. I advise you to keep your opinions to yourself meanwhile. What is loyalty in one breath becomes treason in the next.’ Which I decided was a surprisingly apposite warning from my father who was not known for his keenness of wit. I too looked to where the guard had disappeared, taking Richard with him. ‘Tomorrow I expect he will be moved to the Tower.’

  ‘And no good will come of that.’

  He raised his brows in reply. ‘He is still King. That has not yet changed.’

  Then he turned away to discourse with the importunate Mayor, before signalling to his entourage to depart.

  ‘Where is my brother Edward?’ I asked before he was out of earshot.

  My father halted, looked back. ‘Aumale is with Lancaster, of course. Where else would he be?’ I detected more than a breath of cynicism.

  ‘Making himself indispensable, I expect,’ Dickon added sotto voce as the Duke of York was swallowed up into a crowd of loitering soldiery and aldermen. ‘And your most noble husband? Where will he be? You did not ask.’

  I overlooked the sneer that Dickon had been practising of late. ‘I know where he’ll be. Following in our brother’s footsteps, so close that he treads on his heel. As he always does. They’ll both be waiting on the commands of the Duke of Lancaster. If Lancaster is in the ascendant, why would they throw in their lot with Richard?’

  ‘Why would they?’ The sneer did not dissipate. ‘I doubt you need to worry. Thomas will be polishing his armour to make the best impression in the ceremonial entry, at Lancaster’s side.’ But then his grin robbed his comment of too much malevolence. ‘And what will you do?’

  I thought for a moment. Power seemed to hang as insecurely as a bees’ nest in a wind-tossed sapling. ‘Stay here at Westminster. I’ll be here when King Richard’s fate is decided, one way or another. You should do the same. It may be vitally important to us.’

  Was all not still in the balance? If my father, brother and husband were cleaving to Lancaster’s cause until we were certain that Richard’s crown was lost, it might be good policy for me to show my loyalty to the man who was still the anointed King. If that was to be cunning within a cunning family, then cunning is what I would be. A York foot in both camps could prove to be advantageous. I made to follow my father towards the rabbit warren of apartments in the Palace of Westminster where the Duke of York’s family could always command accommodations. Dickon elected to accompany me.

  Recalling the King’s sad humiliation amongst this regal display that he had created, I realised for the first time the enormity of what had happened. Halting at the end of the Great Hall, I took a moment to inspect the row of Kings, thirteen fine statues of Reigate stone set in carved niches, each one representing one of our past Kings from Edward the Confessor to Richard himself. Their crowns were gilded and their robes painted red and green, giving it the air of a reredos in some great church, an altarpiece to the glory of God. And before it all, there was set in place the new throne that Richard had had carved, complete with a gilded cushion. I considered whether he would ever again sit on that throne. There had been cries for his execution from some of the aldermen.

  ‘All will be decided on the morrow,’ I said aloud.

  It seemed to me that the only hope for Richard was if some high-born family with military strength was willing to lead a resistance against Lancaster. Who better than our own? We could surely command support. But was it too late? How firm were Lancaster’s hands on the reins of power?

  I walked, to halt before the finely executed statue of Richard himself.

  ‘Where is our loyalty?’ I asked Dickon who had come to hover beside me, not really expecting a reply.

  ‘Where do you think? You saw Richard. All was lost for him. I’ll stand with Edward and Thomas. I expect you will too.’

  ‘Are we so fickle?’

  I must discover how far my family, and the Holland lords, had committed themselves to Henry of Lancaster, and how much Lancaster was prepared to forget our past allegiances. If he was unforgiving, our position at Court would be untenable, our humiliation as great as that of the King, which led my thoughts into a different path, an unpleasant one edged with thistles. If our future lay with Lancaster then we must bow and scrape. How I despised such a plan, even as I accepted that sometimes the despicable must be adopted for the future good and because, indeed, I was given little choice in the directing of my fate. I grimaced lightly. Much as in my choice of husband, where I had been given no choice at all and found him more than despicable.

  I remembered Friar John, wondering where he was now. The warnings of his golden dice had proved to be more than accurate. We should have taken heed. But what could we have done?

  ‘If you’re going to upbraid your lord and husband for abandoning Richard, I might just come along,’ Dickon, still shadowing me, suggested in a spirit of devilry.

  ‘No, you won’t. I’ll see Thomas alone.’

  * * *

  It was early evening before the brisk tread, easily recognisable after so many years of sharing the same less than amicable space, announced the arrival of my husband. The latch on my chamber door was raised and he entered.

  ‘Thomas,’ I said, with a smile that could be interpreted, by the uninformed, as a welcome. ‘I expected you a good four hours ago.’

  ‘Constance, love of my life. They said you were here. I knew I would receive a wifely tribute to my survival.’

  ‘You receive the words due to you, my lord.’ The smile remained pinned to my lips. ‘They said that you had returned in Lancaster’s train.’

  ‘Are you going to take issue with that?’

  ‘Should I?’

  My hours of solitude had given me no respite and my temper was warm. Thomas, only now discovering the time to visit me, had seen a need, despite the critical events afoot, to change his well-travelled garments for a figured silk-damask tunic and velvet cap. Insurrection might threaten the realm but Thomas must dress to proclaim his rank. As he closed the door behind him and leaned his compact figure against it, his chin was tilted in defiance.

  I chose not to rise from my chair where I knew the light from the high window would enhance my beauty in this richly appointed room, the perfect setting, as carved gold enhanced the flawless jewel in the brooch at my breast. Moreover I had freed my hair from its confinement. The Earl of Gloucester was fortunate in his bride, both in her looks and in her royal connections. Unfortunately, Thomas would have wed me even if I were the most ill-favoured Plantagenet daughter in England.

  ‘A picture to welcome any man home from the wars.’

  ‘What have you been doing?’ I asked, continuing my cold appraisal.

  ‘I had matters to attend to,’ he said, walking slowly forward.

  ‘As I see.’ I made a languid gesture to the furred garment and the costly shoes before firing the obvious arrow. ‘To whom are we bowing the knee today? King Richard or the Duke of Lancaster?’

  He was annoyed. He bent, elegantly, to raise my chin with one finger, scanning my features, as I returned the regard. Not an unattractive man with dark hair, flattened into seemly order beneath his cap, and eyes the colour of brown agates, I thought for the first time that it was unfortunate he roused no heat in my blood.

  ‘And good day to you too, Constance.’

  ‘Is it? It is not a good day for Richard.’

  Thomas caught my gaze, held it. ‘Have you seen him?’

  ‘I have. He was under guard.’

  ‘So you don’t need to ask where our allegiance must be.’

  I remembered Richard as I had seen him in the Great Hall. Bewildered at his change in circumstances, all his glory dimmed from his dirty shoes to his vacant expression. Yet here was Thomas, very much undimmed as he dropped his gilded gloves and chaperon onto my lap. In a little spirit of spite I allowed them to slide to the floor, ignoring Thomas’s silent snarl.

  ‘Have you seen York?’ Thomas asked.

  ‘Yes. My father was keeping guard on the man who may or may not still be King. He says he’s following Lancaster’s orders. I understand my father did not even engage with Lancaster, despite the strength of the army at his command.’ I made no attempt to hide my disgust. ‘Surely Lancaster could have been stopped when he first landed in England,’ I suggested.

  ‘I expect that he could, but he wasn’t, and now he’s strong enough to order up and pay the piper and we all dance.’

  ‘And you are garbed for dancing, my love. Lancaster cannot fail to be impressed.’

  I stood and ran my hand down the length of his embroidered sleeve, but when Thomas moved away, I deliberately softened my mood, knowing from long experience that I would get nothing from him unless I appeared compliant.

  ‘All we can do, then, is
wait,’ I offered.

  ‘Wait for what? For Lancaster to decide that I and the rest of your family are as culpable as King Richard for robbing him of his inheritance? Is there wine in here?’ he demanded.

  I fetched the cups and a flagon from the cupboard and poured as he flung himself into the chair I had just vacated.

  I chose my words carefully.

  ‘I know so little, Thomas, and my father was too busy with the Mayor. Put my megrims down to spending too long alone with no certain knowledge.’

  Not quite true but he would enjoy informing me of his own experience.

  Thomas took the cup of wine, raising a little toast at last with a show of grace. ‘I’ll tell you what I know, for what it’s worth, but it’s not pretty. York headed to Gloucester, we thought to join up with Richard when he returned from Ireland, and together they would deal with Lancaster.’

  Thomas scowled.

  ‘But that didn’t happen,’ I prompted.

  ‘It didn’t happen. York went to Berkeley Castle where he just sat on his arse. When Lancaster advanced west against Richard, when your father could have stood in his way, York did nothing other than meet him in the church outside the walls of Berkeley Castle.’

  ‘And what was the outcome?’ I took a low stool at his feet and sipped.

  The damask rippled in a shrug. ‘York agreed to let Lancaster proceed against Richard. And by doing that he sealed Richard’s fate.’

  I watched him, absorbing the underlying anger which in effect matched my own. Beneath the brutal self-seeking that governed his every action was a man of some ability, acting as one of Richard’s trusted lieutenants in Ireland. At Court he had been one of Richard’s close coterie of friends. Now his past loyalties had put him in danger; his whole future could be in doubt unless he was clever enough to extricate himself from the coming conflict of Lancaster against Richard. From Lancaster’s inevitable victory.

  My future would be in doubt too.

  ‘So you are saying that all we can do is wait.’ I was becoming as repetitive as a well-trained popinjay.

  ‘But we will use the waiting well, and make plans.’ Thomas leaned forward. ‘Are you going to welcome me home?’ His hand closed around my wrist to pull me to my knees, close enough to plant a kiss on my lips, a possessive gesture rather than an affectionate one. ‘I could have died in Ireland. Did it cross your devious Yorkist mind that today you might be a widow?’

  I was well used to retaliation. ‘Yes, it did. But you obviously survived to return to my welcoming arms.’

  ‘Would it have been a blessing if I had fallen into an Irish bog?’

  I considered his polished presence. ‘There are no signs of battle on you. Did you actually fight?’

  ‘Do you brand me a coward?’

  I did not flinch from his regard. No, I would never so condemn him. Lacking courage he was not. Thomas had been given command of the rearguard of Richard’s army. And not only was he capable with sword and lance, but he had proved to be equally skilled in negotiation. He had been sent to bring the King of Leinster to terms. It had not been his fault that he had failed, so I understood.

  ‘Would I openly brand the father of my children as coward?’ I replied in all fairness. ‘Don’t judge me. I don’t wish your death, Thomas. It would not suit me to be a widow, nor our children to be left fatherless.’

  ‘Your dower would keep you, as a widow, in silk under-tunics.’

  ‘So it would. My dower has kept you in well-bred horseflesh,’ I responded in similar style for the value of my father’s gift to my husband had been a prime attraction from the moment our marriage contract was signed. I was a woman of affluence and worth a marriage, with estates and castles in Glamorgan as well as scattered throughout England. I knew my value, as did Thomas.

  Yet he was clearly feeling aggrieved. ‘If I were dead on a battlefield, you could wed again, a knight of your own choice.’

  ‘My father might have something to say about that. And better the devil you know…’ I smiled at his grimace, twisted my wrist from his grip and sat back on my heels. ‘Tell me: what have you been doing since the Irish campaign came to so abrupt an end? I presume you fought with your usual panache?’

  ‘Of course.’ Preening came second nature to him. ‘I returned with Richard – although what your brother Aumale was thinking in dripping poisonous advice into Richard’s ear… Doubtless he’ll have some good reason. He always does. And I’ll wager it smacks of some outrageous scheming.’

  My ears pricked up at my brother’s involvement in something nefarious.

  ‘What did Edward do?’

  Thomas was not inclined to be informative; his smile was feral. ‘Oh, he’ll tell you himself, full of self-vindication which no one will believe. As for what I did – Richard sent me to rally the men from my estates in Glamorgan. They refused.’

  The crease in his handsome brow suggested some unfortunate clash of will, which he had lost.

  ‘How hard did you try?’ I asked, giving no quarter since he had been unwise enough to suggest that I might wish him dead.

  ‘Hard enough to know there was no moving them.’

  Which did not surprise me. Thomas had no interest in estate management and made no effort to win the goodwill of his people through fair husbandry. I considered the jewels on his hands, the gilded leather of his soft boots. All he did was rake money from the rents for his pleasure. He took with one hand, then took again with the other. His tenants despised him, and if I were in their worn shoes, I would have refused to march north for him. What was the point in abandoning the harvest, with possible death on a battlefield as the only incentive, for a lord who had no thought for their well-being?

  Thomas must have seen the derision in my gaze before I could hide it.

  ‘Oh, I tried, whatever your opinion of me might be. I know as well as you where our interests lie and a small force of our tenants rallying to Richard might have made a difference. But then Richard abandoned his army at Carmarthen and fled north, so it would have made no difference at all.’

  ‘And you fled with him.’

  ‘Yes. I did.’

  I frowned, taking the empty cup from him, handing him mine which was almost untouched. ‘And so?’ I enquired.

  Thomas’s voice was as flat as a boned herring. ‘I left Glamorgan to return to fight for Richard but I was taken into custody with him at Conwy. God rot those cold and draughty Welsh castles! There were eight of us. Richard asked for guarantees of our safety from the Earl of Northumberland, who has thrown in his lot and his Percy troops with Lancaster, which to my mind makes Lancaster invincible.’

  ‘So your life was never in danger.’ I did not wait for a reply. ‘You changed sides. You abandoned Richard and gave your allegiance to Henry of Lancaster.’

  At that moment I disliked him more than I had ever done in my life. He had been my husband since I was four years of age. I did not like him then; I liked him far less now.

  ‘I did. I’ll not lie to you.’ His eyes narrowed in some bitter memory. ‘The cause was lost by the time Richard was taken from Conwy to Flint under restraint. The Holland Dukes of Exeter and Surrey had tried to negotiate with Henry, but they had already relinquished their freedom. What value would there be for me – for us – in my remaining at Richard’s side to join your Holland cousins under lock and key? If I had, I’d be locked in the Tower with Richard now. Is that what you would have me do?’

  I shook my head. In truth that would not have been to our advantage. Nor to Richard’s. If there was any hope of his rescue, he needed his friends with freedom to conspire, not comrades sharing his incarceration. Moreover I understood the ambition that drove Thomas. To stand with Richard at the eleventh hour, without an army, without friends, faced with the overwhelming power of the Percy retainers, would have been politically inept and personally destructive. But I suspected that there was little compassion in Thomas’s planning for Richard. Thomas would do whatever would best suit his vision of Despenser aggrandisement.

  ‘What do you suggest that we do now?’ I asked with the sweetness of autumn honey. ‘You know that I dislike sitting on my hands when all is to fight for.’