Queen of the North: sumptuous and evocative historical fiction from the Sunday Times bestselling author

Harry came to stand beside me now that the preliminaries were over, leaving the field of hand-clasping to the two Earls.

‘What is he saying?’

‘Nothing in public. We are to meet privately later.’

So here was the new Duke, come home to claim what was rightfully his. The problem was, for everyone concerned, what did he have in mind? What exactly did he see as rightfully his – the Lancaster inheritance, or was there more? That was why we were here. It was an uncomfortable number of troops just to take back an inheritance, even if it was the vast tracts of the Lancaster lands. Henry was indeed a man of honour, of piety, but even so…

‘What would you do,’ I asked the man at my side, ‘if the whole of your inheritance was snatched from you by Richard?’

‘I would raise an army and snatch it back.’

There was no hesitation in him.

‘And would you retreat to your lands, once you had forced Richard into compliance?’

‘It would depend on whether I trusted Richard to live by his promises to return the land to me and to my heirs.’

‘And would you trust him?’

Harry’s eyes, fixed on Lancaster who was deep in conversation with Westmorland, were surprisingly distant and formal.

‘That would remain to be seen, my love.’

‘So will you be willing to trust Henry of Lancaster to keep any promises he might make?’

Harry’s eyes swung to mine, now bright with those memories that this meeting had resurrected. ‘I fought with him and against him in the tournaments at St Inglevert eight years ago. They were good times. He is a worthy opponent and a bold ally to have at your back with a mighty sword-arm. He has saved me from a sore skull more than once, as I have saved him, and he has a hard head for celebrating when the ale is strong. He proved to be a good friend. I have no reason not to trust him. Do you?’

I wrinkled my nose, strangely uncertain. ‘I don’t know.’

Harry tucked my hand into the crook of his arm. ‘Then let us go and see what the man himself has to say.’

At Henry’s invitation, although Westmorland made his excuses to absent himself and seek out old friends, we withdrew into his pavilion where stools were brought while Henry sat on the edge of his campaigning bed. It made me remember that all this would not be new to him after a lifetime of journeying, crusading and competing in the tournaments of Europe. It was as comfortably furnished with hangings and cushions as any lady’s bower, unless you spied the open coffer containing extraneous pieces of armour, a pair of well-worn gauntlets, a battered cuirass. Against the canvas wall was propped a sword and a helm, both shining with care from the efforts of the diligent page who had poured my wine. In the corner were piled the accoutrements and trappings of his warhorse.

This was a man well used to the tournament world, where he had earned considerable renown. He could equally be a man of war.

We sat. We raised our cups in a toast to the returned warrior of renown.

‘And now to business. I am more than pleased to see you ride in from the north. My support here is strong, in my own lands, but I need to know what the north will do.’ And then: ‘Can I rely on your support? I presume I can, or why else bring your retainers in such numbers?’

As forthright as I recalled, he would push for a reply, an admission of intent.

‘That might all depend.’ The Earl, his mind still as keen as Lancaster’s newly honed sword.

Lancaster waited, brows lifted in mildly eloquent enquiry, aware of the power of silence in matters of negotiation. There was nothing mild about him. Nor was there in Sir Henry, who shifted restlessly at my side.

‘It might depend on what it is that you hope to achieve,’ the Earl added.

‘Does it need saying? A restoration of what is mine.’

‘As we would agree. And we would support you in that. The great lords of this realm must protect themselves from…’ The Earl smiled thinly. ‘From royal encroachments.’ The Earl raised his cup and drank, all self-deprecation again. ‘But our own position is ambiguous. Our wardenship of the March is dependent on the gift of the King. We already have old treasons breathing down our necks thanks to my son. Westmorland’s power is on the increase, thanks to the King. I would do nothing to put our authority in the north in further jeopardy, which I assuredly would if I supported you in an insurrection that collapsed at the first hurdle.’

‘As I appreciate.’ Henry of Lancaster stood to go to the tent door, to look out over the ranks of his newly come supporters, raising a hand to acknowledge the arrival of another old friend, Sir Robert Waterton. ‘Although I anticipate no failure in my planning.’ He looked back over his shoulder. ‘My position is as clear in my own mind as is Richard’s perfidy. Who would argue against it? On my father’s death I inherited the title and the Duchy of Lancaster, waiting on the end of the six years for which I was banished for a treason I never committed. Not an ideal situation but I could have accepted it. There were places I would be welcomed. I might go to my sister Philippa in Portugal. Or join another crusade. I could accept the need, even though I might not like it.’

He drank again before running the pad of his finger around the rim of his cup.

‘Until Richard changed my banishment to life. As your brother Worcester will have informed you in detail, Richard forbade the legal settlement of my estates on me, and took them all for his own. There is no ambiguity whatsoever for me. The lands are mine and I have come to take them back.’ He surveyed us with an all-encompassing gaze. ‘I would hope that your presence here would show your support for me in that enterprise. And I expect Worcester, as my attorney, to join forces with me too. To put right a momentous wrong. My father will never rest in his grave until it is done.’

The Earl’s reply was an essay in moderation. ‘I’ll be honest with you, Lancaster. Richard’s truce with Scotland does not play into our hands. We resent interference in what has been ours for generations. Not least we oppose the appointment of royal officials who have no foothold in our region other than what Richard is foolish enough to give them.’

‘Such as Ralph Neville.’

‘Worse than Neville, who at least has a power base there, however much I might despise it. Edward of Aumale is quite another matter, an ambitious interloper who sees his own aggrandisement at my expense.’

‘So what are you saying?’

The Earl glanced towards his son. ‘I am saying that we will support you in an attempt to bring Richard to heel, to wring from him a promise of justice and fair government. A promise to uphold the laws and all tradition.’

Henry had walked back to sit once more on the edge of his bed, elbows propped on his knees, his now-empty cup held lightly between his palms. ‘Then we are at one. With a show of force we will persuade Richard of the need for justice. I claim my inheritance and my banishment is cancelled.’ He paused, head tilted. ‘Your authority as Warden of the March will be recognised by Richard in perpetuity. The Earl of Westmorland you will deal with in your own manner.’ My cousin smiled although there was little warmth in it. ‘Will you take my hand on this? To have the Percy fist with all its might behind me is of greater value than all the lords and knights that you see camped outside this tent, as we both know, and I will show my gratitude when I come into my own. I will not step on your toes in the north, even though my father was wont to do so. I will honour your allegiance to my cause in any way I can. I will make your support of me an undertaking on your part which you will never regret.’

It was a speech worthy of any ambassador well versed in the demands of diplomacy. At last Lancaster’s smile became one of genuine pleasure, lighting his face, yet I saw his cleverness in offering this prime piece of meat to the raptor, to entice it to come to hand. Permanent wardenship of the March was of inestimable value to any Percy lord. As for my cousin’s soft hand of flattery, it was monumental.

‘I know that I need your support,’ he repeated. ‘I cannot take back my inheritance without it.’

‘But would you be willing to accept my price?’ The Earl did not hesitate.

‘What is your price?’

‘Nothing beyond your power – as Duke of Lancaster – to pay.’

Which took my interest. I glanced at the Earl, whose face was inscrutable. Had not Lancaster already been generous in his promises? Was this another layer of negotiation which had passed me by? It should not surprise me that the Earl was demanding every drop of blood from this alliance.

Lancaster was unperturbed. ‘Then I will pay it, for your alliance in person and in military might is beyond price.’

Flattering indeed, and presumably I had been mistaken for the Earl nodded slowly in easy agreement. He moved as if he would take Lancaster’s hand, both now standing and facing each other. So it was all to be settled with Harry and I as mere spectators, watching the manoeuvring of these two powerful men.

And yet it astonished me that Harry had remained silent for so long. I could feel the tension in him as he allowed the Percy future to be decided, as if he were carried along by the ambitions of others, while I had the sense to bide my time. I neither could nor would add anything to this heavy debate in which my opinions would hold little weight, but how long would Harry remain a bystander? His compliance would be crucial to the whole venture.

‘God’s Blood!’

There it had come at last. The thrust of Harry’s muscles as he sprang to his feet, stretching out his hand in denial.

‘This is too precipitate. There is another matter that concerns us, that has not been addressed.’

‘Has he not answered everything to our pleasure?’ the Earl growled, his hand falling to his side.

‘As far as it goes, I’ll not argue against it. But there is one question that no one has asked or answered. There is the question of the crown itself. Who will be wearing it by the end of the year?’

Lancaster waited, and I saw the dark gleam in his eyes, as if he had been waiting for this all along, as indeed he must. Then: ‘Who do you think, Hotspur?’