The King's Sister

‘God’s Blood! Where is my son?’

Sensibly Richard had made himself available, with as many members of his court as he could muster when the Princess’s proximity was announced. Now he emerged from the royal apartments, walking in stately fashion down the steps, only to be seized in the Princess’s arms and dragged into a close embrace as if he were still a small boy, while I slid my way between shoulders and overlapping skirts until it was easy for me to see the strange pair they made in this reunion. Richard, young and angelically fair, had grown tall in recent months, over-reaching his mother who had become so stout that even climbing the steps at his side made her catch her breath. Once, before my birth in the reign of the old King, Joan had been acknowledged as the most beautiful woman in England, and led a scandal-ridden life that made the most of her undoubted charms. Now her broad features and less than svelte figure proclaimed a woman who was a shadow of that former beauty.

But her eyes, although they might be swathed in little mounds of flesh, were still keen and beautifully sharp, and the timbre of her voice was mellifluous even though it could cut like a knife. As it did.

‘Holy Virgin! That journey was a nightmare from start to finish. The state of the roads between here and Wallingford is a disgrace, Richard. You must do something about it. And the riff-raff that use them. I have come to meet the bride. I should have been here yesterday.’

‘I would have sent my own escort, Madam,’ Richard said, not pleased at being taken to task.

‘That would hardly shorten my journey.’

‘You appear to have travelled in comfort,’ Richard observed with an eye to the equipage being led away.

The Princess waved this irrelevance aside but her complaint ground to a halt as, noticing them in the crowd, she graciously extended her hand for her two sons by her first marriage to Thomas Holland, Earl of Kent, to kiss. Which I noticed they did with alacrity, yet much affection, even if they were now grown men and royal counsellors.

‘Thomas …’ she said. ‘And John …’

‘My wife is within,’ Richard announced, intent on reclaiming his mother’s attention.

‘In a moment …’

The Princess’s eye, still quartering the crowd like a huntsman searching out its prey, fell on me. Since she saw fit to snap her fingers in imperious command, I approached and curtsied again, wishing Philippa was with me. I might be Elizabeth of Lancaster but this lady, my aunt by marriage, was the King’s Mother and of vast consequence. She was also a person of hasty temper and trenchant opinions. Besides, she had more affection for Philippa than she held for me.

‘So you’re here too, Elizabeth. Of course you are. And your father? Where’s Constanza? Not that it matters. She’ll do as she chooses—she always has. You’d better join my ladies. I have need of an intelligent woman about me.’ She looked me over from head to foot with a surprising degree of speculation. ‘Come with me. I need to regain my strength before I make the acquaintance of my new daughter. You can be of use.’

So I followed Princess Joan who walked without hesitation to the chambers usually allotted to her when she stayed at Westminster, her habitual accommodation and my own obedience presumed with royal hauteur. And that was the manner in which, for a short period of time, I became a member of Princess Joan’s demanding household. An unnerving experience, all in all, as the lady, her colour high, dismissed her own women, piled her outer garments into my arms, instructed me to send for wine and food, then handed me a comb as she removed the complication of her hair-covering. And I complied. Princess Joan, not a woman blessed with tolerance, appeared to be in a mood of high volatility.

Eventually she was settled to her liking on a bank of pillows, eating sweetmeats and drinking honeyed wine to recover from her ordeal. Disposed on a low stool at her side, waiting for the moment when she would command me to comb her hair, I sighed at the third telling of the stresses of her travelling. Hearing me, the Princess stared, before directing her attention fully to my appearance.

‘Fine feathers, my girl.’

I was no finer than the Princess, heated and opulent in a high necked robe with fur at neck and cuffs, the complex pattern of leaves and flowers rioting over her bulk so that she resembled a vast spring meadow.

‘Yes, my lady.’

‘And why not? Enjoy your youth while you may. It dies fast enough. And then there is nought to look forward to but old age when those around you ignore you.’ Which I could not imagine for one moment had been the Princess’s experience. Continuing to regard me, her chin tilted. ‘Now tell me. Is your marriage to young Pembroke satisfactory?’

‘Yes, my lady.’ I might resent such peremptory questioning, but to answer briefly and politely would be circumspect and invoke no criticism.

‘Not consummated yet, I take it.’

‘No, my lady.’

‘Is Pembroke here?’

‘Yes, my lady.’

The Princess’s stare sharpened. ‘I’ve a word of advice for you. I trust you’ll not use this occasion of merriment to cause gossip. He’s very young and you’re of an age to look for more than a boy can offer.’

I stiffened, hand clenching around the comb, at the unwarranted attack. ‘My demeanour will be beyond criticism, my lady.’

‘Good. Because beautiful young women always cause gossip, even when they are innocent of all charges. And don’t look at me as if I had no knowledge of what goes on when the court is in flamboyant mood. I caused scandal enough in my youth. Although I was not always innocent …’ She paused to sip the wine and dispatch another plum, chewing energetically. ‘But listen to me, madam. I called you here because you are young and lovely and ripe for mischief. Don’t deny it …’ As I opened my mouth to do so. ‘You must curb your passions. It would be dangerous for your father if any further scandal were to be attached to his name at this juncture. His position is too precarious. That monkish weasel Walsingham might be prepared to sing the Duke of Lancaster’s praises again, but he still has more enemies than is healthy. It is essential that you remain alert for those who would wound him. You and your sister must live exemplary lives.’

‘I do. We both do.’

‘No need to be affronted, Elizabeth.’ Her lips stretched into a thin smile. ‘So you were not conversing for too long and in too intimate a fashion with my son, under the eye of the whole court? Don’t look so astonished. Court intrigue spreads faster than poison from a snake-bite.’

I sought for a reply, thoughts racing through my mind. It was like holding a master swordsman at bay. And I was indeed astonished. Where had that piece of gossip originated? There was no blame for which I needed to apologise.

‘I was in conversation with Sir John, my lady,’ I admitted lightly. ‘But there was nothing untoward. We did not even dance. He brought me wine, entertained me and addressed me as cousin. I would never indulge in intrigue.’

‘Good.’ She held out her cup for me to refill. ‘Now I must also say …’

‘Why do they hate my father so much, my lady?’ I interrupted, hoping to deflect the Princess from yet another attack on my character, and it was a subject that had impressed itself on me since the terrible events of the previous year.

It certainly caught her attention, but not in the manner I had hoped for. Her eyes almost stripped the flesh from my bones as she regarded me. ‘Are you telling me that you don’t know?’

I shook my head.

‘Well, you should. What have you been doing all your life?’ I thought her eyes flashed with a species of disdain, but perhaps it was merely the candlelight flickering in a draught. ‘Filling your head with nothing but frivolities and your new husband, I wager, when the country’s being torn asunder around us. Shame on you. And you an intelligent young woman. How old are you?’ Then without waiting for a reply. ‘You must learn, my dear Elizabeth, to keep your wits about you. To keep your political sense in tune, like your favourite lute. Would you allow its strings to become flat? Of course you would not! Knowledge is strength, my girl. Knowledge is power. If you know nothing, it will cast you into the hands of your enemies.’

I have no enemies.

Once I would have said that with conviction, but since the previous year I knew it not to be true, and so I must bury my pride. Joan’s warning had fallen on fertile ground, forcing me to realise that there was much I had never contemplated in my world of cushioned luxury. In the days of the Great Rising any man who bore the livery of Lancaster had feared for his life. Henry and I had escaped but my father’s much-loved physician had been executed on Tower Hill. As for the magnificent Savoy Palace, that most beloved of childhood homes, it had been utterly destroyed. Not one stone was left standing and all its contents were laid waste in a rage of revenge. I had shed tears for the blood and the destruction. I could no longer pretend ignorance. Being an intimate member of the King’s family would not protect me from those who despised us

‘So tell me, Madam.’ Still I bridled a little. ‘It seems I have been foolishly ignorant. Tell me why my father is so detested.’

The Princess needed no encouragement.

‘Where do I begin? All is not good for England. Where are the noble victories of the past? The glories of Crécy and Poitiers? We flounder in defeat after defeat, yet the tax is high to pay for it. The Poll Tax is heavy on the peasants while the law holds down their wages. Do they blame my son the King? How can they? He is too young to blame. They need a scapegoat, and who better than Lancaster who stands at the King’s side and orders his affairs? They pile their grievances on his head. He has already proved he is not the war leader his brother was.’ Momentarily her eyes softened at the memory of the military exploits of Prince Edward, her much lamented late husband, but only momentarily. Once again they were fiercely focused on me. ‘The rebels last year would have had your father’s blood. As for Lancaster’s heir—they’d have strung your brother up from the nearest tree as soon as look at him.’

‘I know this. We all lived through the horrors. But surely all is well again. My father made reparation.’

Surprising me, the Princess reached with her free hand, fingers honey-smeared, to touch my arm.

‘He did, and should be honoured for it.’

A terrible reparation it had been. Accepting God’s punishment for his immorality as the cause of England’s troubles, my father had made a public confession, ending with a rejection of Dame Katherine, banishing her from his life. It had filled the household with grief. It had, I suspected, broken my father’s heart. It had certainly destroyed Dame Katherine’s reputation since Walsingham saw fit to damn her as whore and witch. Such an admission to make, such a wrenching apart of their relationship, to restore peace and confidence to Richard’s tottering government, but the Duke had done it because duty to the Crown and his nephew demanded it.

‘But all is not well,’ Princess Joan continued, dusting her fingers before returning to her sweetmeats. ‘On the surface you father is restored to favour, the rebels put down, but there are those who still resent his power as my son’s counsellor. There are too many with their eyes open for any excuse to attack and remove him from Richard’s side. Don’t give anyone a weapon to use against him, Elizabeth.’

This reading of court politics clutched at my belly, for I had seen no dangerous undercurrents. But what possible effect would it have on the direction of my life?

‘I do not see, my lady, that my speaking with your son would give anyone ammunition against my father,’ I said.

‘Perhaps not. But it’s good policy to be discreet and circumspect. Lancaster needs no divisions with the Pembroke faction if you appear less than a loyal wife.’ She squeezed my arm again with sticky emphasis, and some residue of humour. ‘I’ll not say don’t enjoy yourself but it would be advantageous for you to keep my warnings in mind. Richard is growing fast to maturity. How long will he need his ageing uncles at his side, chastising and advising and pushing him in directions he does not wish to go? He’ll want to be rid of them. He’ll listen to any man who sows seeds of defection. Don’t give anyone a reason to awaken old scandals. Your reputation must be whiter than the feathers on a dove’s breast.’

Her reference was clear enough.