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

‘I know.’ I sighed, acknowledging that I would not wish to send my own children into Lancaster’s keeping. Not that I feared him, but I would not wish them out of my sight. ‘There is no easy path, is there?’

Such disloyalty, such treachery, in such seemingly innocuous conversation when all around us were celebrating. The interruption, which effectively silenced us when it came, was smoothly inviting.

‘You look to be in serious confidences together, cousins. Does the new reign already see the stirring of a plot?’

We turned as one to regard the newcomer, recognising the voice, the light timbre, the teasing note.

Constance of York, daughter of the ineffectual and allegiance-swapping Duke of York and his Castilian wife. Now Lady Despenser, Countess of Gloucester, Constance was fair-haired and fair-skinned amongst the Mortimer sallow complexions and dark hair, a goldfinch in the midst of sparrows – although today her hair was invisible, neatly coifed in a jewelled net. She was quite beautiful, and artful in presenting her beauty; in comparison her tongue could be uncomfortably sharp. Sometimes cousinship presented us with a high price, but on this occasion she seemed to be all gentle compliance. It pleased me that Alianore, who had inherited much of her grandmother’s glorious golden beauty as the Fair Maid of Kent, was inclined to cast Constance into the shade.

Beside me I sensed Philippa and Alianore stiffening, but Constance was smiling. Perhaps for once she was not looking down her arrogant nose. Arrogance too was a family trait.

‘You should know that we are never serious, Constance,’ I said, summoning an engaging smile. ‘We were discussing the metal contraption that our aunt of Gloucester is wearing to cage her hair. Is this to be the fashion? It is not flattering.’

My sisters, without a blink, added their comments about fur and veiling.

Until Constance lost patience.

‘So are you – all three of you – not suffused with victory, as is the rest of this throng?’

I raised my brows; I would make her spell it out. Again, Philippa and Alianore took their silent lead from me.

‘Will you be raising your cups in heartfelt appreciation of the new wearer of the crown?’ Constance asked.

‘Why would we not be?’

‘Where the name Mortimer abounds – all three of you indeed – there will always be room for suspicion of other loyalties.’

Alianore seemed to be searching the crowd for someone who might rescue her. Philippa disentangled a gold chain from the fur at her neck with great concentration. I took up the challenge.

‘No disloyalty here, Constance. We Mortimers know where to put our allegiance, but your own family could be prime meat for any muck-raking gossip. Your father was quick to lead an armed force in Richard’s name, to prevent Lancaster’s success, yet here we have seen him building essential bridges by leading cousin Henry to the empty throne. And how does your husband Lord Thomas stand in loyalty to King Henry? It was Richard who conferred the title of Earl of Gloucester on him. Would your husband not feel some allegiance to his royal benefactor?’

Constance continued, effortlessly, to smile. ‘My father and husband have seen good sense in cutting their garments to suit the present cloth. We are now all true subjects of King Henry.’

‘As have we Mortimers. Our garments are of King Henry’s own making.’ I returned the smile. ‘Are you acting as King Henry’s spy, Constance, to discover the opposition?’ I spoke the lie seamlessly: ‘My loyalties to the new King are beyond question.’

‘I would not. How can you think it?’ Her jewelled veils shivered brilliantly as she laughed. ‘Our lords have all bowed the knee. Poor Richard is condemned to a life of obscurity. Expediency is paramount, for all of us. Even those with Mortimer sons.’

She touched Alianore’s arm in sympathy. Alianore did well not to flinch.

I was relieved when Harry loomed at my elbow to draw me away with a masterful hand beneath my arm and a bow for Constance. I smiled at her, promising to continue our conversation after the feast. I would not tell Constance my innermost secrets, nor would I trust her two brothers with my life. Her demeanour might be perfect but there was a thread of self-interest running through them all.

Is there not through all of us?

It was a question I preferred not to answer.

I never made it to the feasting, raucous or otherwise, or to continuing an exchange of views with Constance. Harry kept a grip on my arm and drew me at a fast pace out of the crowd. From there he hurried me through courtyards, skirting screens, up staircases, all without explanation, weaving through knots of servants bearing platters of meat and flagons of wine.

We hurried on. Back to our chambers, it transpired, where he shut the door on my women, presenting me with the opportunity to expand on my distaste for the whole of the proceedings. I made no attempt to moderate my tone, despite its uncommonly shrill echo in my ears.

‘Well, wasn’t that a superb show of aggrandisement? My cousin Henry is now slick with holy oil and encased in royal gems. Not to mention four swords instead of three. Most apposite.’ I sat on the bed with relief. It had been a long time, standing in the Abbey. ‘I cannot believe that we stood there and accepted what happened. That travesty of justice.’ Harry was stripping off his houppelande, which caught my attention, deflecting my vexation. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Trying not to listen to you.’

My vexation returned, twofold. ‘I’ll not keep up a pretence of satisfaction, Harry, just to save your ears. I’ve spent the past hour with magnificent hypocrisy, trying to keep a balance between Philippa and Alianore. If I speak of my loyalty to my cousin Henry once more my tongue will sear under the weight of falsehood. I despise what we have done. I despise even more that we are caught like an adder in a cleft stick and can do nothing but accept Lancaster’s hands tight around our necks. You must have suspected this outcome all along.’

‘Yes, I did. Now stop talking and collect your belongings.’

‘Why?’

‘We’re leaving.’

I looked at him aghast. ‘What about the feast? Do we not celebrate? If there is to be tilting and swordplay, how can you resist? King Henry will be delighted to defeat you and all comers. Will you not allow him that further victory against the Percy name?’

‘I’ll resist the temptation.’ He sat next to me to pull off the extravagant shoes. ‘There are only so many times I can bow before him on one day. Look, Elizabeth, it’s done and we must accept it. For now at least. But I’ll not sit through a ceremonial banquet with my father standing throughout, lofting the Lancaster sword as a symbol of what we have just done. I do not wish to see Westmorland holding the royal rod of office. Nor will I exchange lances or sword blows on the tournament field with the King. Enough is enough. It all leaves a sour taste in my throat.’

‘What will King Henry say?’ I took one shoe from him, then the other, smoothing the leather between my palms while he pulled on his boots.

‘I’ll not tell him.’ My brows flew. I dropped the shoes. ‘I’ll send a message. I’ll make some excuse of insurrection in Richard’s name in the north that needs to be put down by the Warden himself. He’ll happily send me off with his blessing in absentia.’

I was already on my feet, opening coffers and removing the jewels I had been wearing.

‘What will your father say?’

Muffled in the folds of the plain wool under-tunic that he was pulling over his head, Harry’s words were clear enough. ‘He’ll cry foul but we’ll be gone.’

‘So you’ll not tell him either.’

Harry, emerging, grinned as I recalled him grinning when he was much younger.

‘Be honest with me,’ I said, helping him to pull on a thigh-length, more serviceable tunic, running my fingers through his hair to restore the semblance of order. ‘I feel a need for honesty on this day. We seem to have been surrounded by trickery and false promises for too long.’

‘There has been no trickery, Elizabeth. We are loyal subjects, we support Henry’s authority, we make the most of opportunities in the north or wherever he demands our participation, and we will ensure that he pays us for the loan of our armed retainers. It will all be to our advantage.’

‘But what about…’

‘I know.’ His fingers on my lips stopped the word ‘Mortimer’ before it could be uttered. ‘Perhaps one day. Not now, not yet. And there is no point in blaming me.’ He kissed me in passing, which went no way to soothing my heart, my sense of failure. ‘We will rule the north in Henry’s name.’

‘Percy deceit and double-dealing.’

‘No. Percy pragmatism. Can you accept that? I would rather we were not at odds for the whole of the journey back to Alnwick.’

‘Very well.’ But I had not quite forgiven him. Or the Earl. Still, I tried for a lighter note between us. ‘I know what it is,’ I said. ‘You can’t bring yourself to sit silent through Sir Thomas Dymoke’s challenge at the feast.’

Sir Thomas, King’s Champion and full of conceit, would challenge to a duel any man who questioned the King’s right to the throne. He would enjoy every minute of the ceremonial.

‘No, I cannot.’ Harry was grimacing. ‘He’s nothing but a pompous bagpipe, and I might be tempted to take him up on the offer. Now, are we ready to go?’

At last we had both set aside our finery. ‘What do we do with these?’ I asked.