Westminster Palace, Spring 1432
Westminster Palace, Spring
CAUTIOUSLY, I WAIT to see if the queen will publicly welcome her son home, and when she takes no place in the ceremonies at court but sends a message to say she will greet him privately, later.
That is when I will fire my cannon. That is when I will blow her up.
In the presence of her son, her devout, nervous, childish son, I will reveal her as the whore of a poor man, a common man, a Welshman.
The shock of her exposure may drive the child completely out of his wits, and when he is taken into the shadowy cloisters of some monastery to cry and go mad, my husband will be Regent of England for life.
This is the moment I have waited for and the time to make my move.
I think it will be May, the madness of May Day, when power is reversed and the lord of misrule commands.
I accept the Order of the Garter in April and take my stall where my lady Jacqueline took hers, and lead the feast as she did.
I am a different person from the girl I was then.
I summon my father and my brother to see me honoured, and my father kneels to me, as he should, to a duchess and now a Lady of the Garter.
I lead the dancing at the feast, taking the king as my partner.
He is nearly as tall as me now, long-legged and big-eyed, shy as a deer.
He dances as if his feet are too big for him, his arms too long.
‘You have grown in France,Your Grace,’ I say to him. ‘Soon you will be taller than me and you will choose all the new pretty girls for your partner.’
‘There are no prettier girls,’ he says; his voice is still a clear treble, his skin is as fair as mine, his mouth like a rosebud, his upper lip unblemished by any moustache. ‘Well—’ he corrects himself with a blush. ‘There is one. But she won’t come to dinner.’
‘Who?’ I ask curiously. ‘Who d’you think so pretty; but she doesn’t come to my celebration?’
‘Oh, it’s no discourtesy to you,’ he says, blushing deeply. ‘I can’t say who. I can’t say why! I should have said nothing.’
‘I’m out of breath,’ I say. ‘Let’s go to the window where we can get the air and talk.’
He looks alarmed, but I have him by the hand, and I lead him from the dancers, and we sit in the curved turret, looking out at the darkening sky over the river.
‘Who’s the fair lady who has taken your fancy?’ I ask him. ‘Some French beauty?’
‘Promise you’ll tell no one?’ His brown eyes are as trusting as a spaniel.
‘I promise,’ I say, thinking: this could be the most important secret I ever learn. ‘Of course.’
‘She is my lovely mother!’ he exclaims triumphantly, his happiness shining in his young face.
‘I am so glad for her. She is married, and she’s going to have another baby!
For she has two little boys already! I came home from France to meet two baby half-brothers!
She had my little brother Edmund the very year I left for France, and then she had my little brother Jasper the next year!
She wrote to tell me, and I am so glad! I have loved her husband since I was a child.
My brothers are a better gift than all the jewels at my coronation!
I could not have had a better present to come home to! ’
I feel as if the wall I am leaning against is crumbling behind me, and we will fall, all of us, into the darkness far below.
‘It’s not possible . . .’
‘We’ve been so clever to keep such a secret!
’ he crows. ‘We kept it together. She told me she was married before I left for France. I could never have left her but for knowing that her husband would care for her as she went into her confinement. There’s a law’ – he breaks off and looks at me – ‘a very unjust law to forbid her from marrying. D’you know of it? ’
‘I’ve heard of it,’ I say, though my lips are numb.
‘So we have to keep her wedding secret until I am of age and I can reverse the law that forbids her to be happy. You won’t tell anyone, will you?’
‘Who?’ is all I manage to say. ‘Who has she married? A nobleman?’
‘My stepfather?’ He beams. ‘Owen ap Maredudd! You know him! He’s cared for me since I was a baby. He’s been a father to me. And he’s loved her since he first came to serve her. It’s like a story from the Romances, isn’t it?’
‘No . . .’ I say. I am choking. ‘No. Not really. For she is a queen, and he is not even an Englishman. And their marriage is illegal, and so their children are . . .’
For the first time, in all the time I have known him, baby and boy, he looks kingly. The smile goes from his rounded young face; he looks grave. He looks reproachfully at me. ‘I thought you would understand, you who married for love yourself – who married in secret yourself.’
I take a breath. I must be calm; I must be serene.
I must keep his favour, which matters more than anything, even if he is a fool and a child.
‘Oh! I do understand!’ I say, smiling. ‘I was just surprised. And of course, fearful for your mother. Especially now. Is she near her time? Is she not old to be with child again?’
He smiles again. ‘She’s very well. She promises me she’s well! And I am so excited that she will have the baby here, in a royal palace, and he can be christened privately at Westminster Abbey. Should you want to be godmother? You will keep our secret?’
‘Oh yes!’ I exclaim, thinking that this is a nightmare.
The dancers move slowly; the music seems to come from far away.
My head is spinning as if I have been out in the sun again, as if I am dazzled by sunlight in a garden.
If the king recognises his mother and Owen’s marriage, they will come to court, and I will have to greet them as husband and wife.
I swear, I will strangle her with my own bare hands before that happens.
I will run him through with my lord’s sword.
I feel as sick as when I first learned they were lovers. I think I have been ill for two years from seeing them together. The night air smells vile. It stinks of camomile.
Humphrey comes over, the dancers make way for him. He bows to the king. ‘Your Grace, I must remind you it is near your bedtime, even though you are tête-à-tête with the most beautiful lady in London.’
‘The most beautiful but one other!’ the boy says with a smile at me. He whispers: ‘You will keep my secret, Your Grace?’
‘I will,’ I say. ‘Tell me what you plan. Promise that you will tell me everything!’
I rise and curtsey to him, and he kisses my cheek.
‘I knew you would be glad for her and for me,’ he says in my ear. ‘Now we will be a proper family at last, and I shall have a father and brothers.’
The music breaks off, and everyone curtseys and bows to him as he nods his head and goes through the door from the great hall to the royal private apartments, where his mother and my lover are waiting to give him their blessing and say goodnight.