The Royal Witch's Ambition

Sterborough Castle, Surrey, Winter 1420

Sterborough Castle, Surrey, Winter

I KNEEL BESIDE my mother’s bed, her cold hand in mine. My father and my brother are speechless with grief at the foot. The priest goes round and around, anointing my mother’s body with holy oil, reciting the office for the dying in a low throbbing monotone like a spell.

‘Lady Mother,’ I say, my voice trembling a little. ‘Don’t leave me!’

The eye nearest to me opens a slit for one last critical scrutiny of my face and then closes, as if she has seen more than enough.

‘What will I do without you?’ I whisper. A tear rolls down my cheek, and I blot it with my sleeve. ‘Is it your wish that I go to court?’ I quaver, gambling that she is too far gone to sit up and declare that I should be bundled into a nunnery rather than waste my precious brother’s inheritance.

My mother opens her gummy mouth, struggling to speak.

‘I obey!’ I interrupt her. ‘Of course! A deathbed request: I obey you – I am bound to obey you.’ I break down in sobs loud enough to muffle any croaked last-minute contradiction.

Her eyes widen as she struggles to deny my freedom; my older sister raises her head to protest as I grasp my mother’s hand and crush it.

‘I will go,’ I promise. ‘You will be proud of me. You will look down from Heaven and see me, as happy as a girl in a fairy tale.’

She is struggling to refuse, but my loud sobs drown her out. Even now, on her deathbed, she is trying to confine me to a nunnery; but no one can hear any word of hers over my sobbing promises, and with one last effort, she pulls her hand from mine, turns her head away and dies.

Dies, just like that! The priest starts a low-voiced chant; the wise women step forward and cross her limp hands across her wasted body, put pennies on her closed eyelids. My older brother – her favourite, Reynold – bursts into racking sobs as I bury my face in my hands to hide my triumph.