A Tapestry of Treason. Anne O'Brien
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Edward’s response was fast and smooth, without decoration, punctuated by a yawn as if it were all of no importance. I could not resist the accusation – if only to ruffle his magnificent feathers.
‘Only because you did not have the time to get your hands on it,’ I said.
‘Whereas you, dear sister, would have made all speed to spend a good portion of it, would you not? All that wealth at your fingertips? How could you have resisted?’
He was not ruffled at all. I waved away the presumption of my extravagance as I looked at my father. Someone must make an attempt to untangle all these threads that were being woven into a tapestry of mutual hatred. ‘Why are we here, sir? We have heard much discussion of loyalty and treachery, but what is our position now?’
‘We are here, as must be obvious to you all, to decide what we will do next.’
‘Do we have a choice?’ Edward asked but needing no answer since he supplied it himself. ‘We do what we must. We become unimpeachable supporters of the new order of things.’
A silence filled the room, broken only by the hound scratching for fleas. Joan remained at her chosen distance, silently stitching as if none of this was her concern, stabbing the linen with her needle. A grey kitten had joined her from some previously hidden refuge to entangle her embroidery silks. Her trivial occupations continued to irritate me beyond measure.
‘You say that we give our allegiance to our cousin Henry,’ I said.
‘Yes. Is it not obvious?’
‘Will he accept it?’ I was unsure. ‘He might consider our loyalty suspect.’
‘It will all hang in the balance. But I fear Richard’s days are numbered.’ My father’s face set in doleful lines. ‘There have already been cries for his execution.’
‘Lancaster will not scatter patronage in our direction with the same easy hand,’ Thomas repeated. ‘With four sons and two daughters of his own, and a drain on his finances if the kingdom is uneasy, his purse will be empty soon enough. I doubt he’ll look to us for friendship or counsel. He’s more likely to banish us to our estates, as soon as he gets his lands back from you, Aumale.’
‘I think you are wrong. He needs all the friends he can get.’ Edward stirred himself so that the hound took its chin off his foot and sat up. His advice was the epitome of fair reason. ‘I for one see nothing to be gained by opposing him and much to be lost. And yes, I will willingly restore the Lancaster estates to him. And you, Despenser, will be a fool if you do not meet him at least halfway. Richard can give us nothing, but Henry can and must be persuaded that we have his best interests at heart. Who will be closer to him than us? No one. We are his blood and his family. You, my lord,’ – he bowed his head to my father – ‘are the only royal uncle he has left, the only connection with his royal forebears. He might, if encouraged, see you in the role of his own father. Of course he will not turn us away. He needs to win us to his side, and we must be willing to be won.’
During this masterful speech, I became aware of the dog, its eyes fixed in canine adoration on Edward’s face.
‘I recognise that animal,’ I said.
‘So you should. It’s Richard’s.’ Edward laughed. ‘Or was Richard’s. Mathes.’ He snapped his fingers and the hound subsided once more against his feet. ‘It transferred its allegiance to Lancaster. Clever animal, I’d say.’
I remembered Richard, his pining for this creature that had been quick to betray him. Were we not following in its footprints?
‘Will Lancaster take the crown?’ I asked Edward, already knowing the answer.
‘Of course. I would, in his shoes.’
‘I don’t like the thought of leaving Richard to Lancaster’s tender mercy,’ Thomas stated.
‘What would you do?’ For the first time Edward’s patience seemed worn. ‘Launch an attack, snatch him up out of the Tower, and get him to France?’
‘I could think of worse.’
‘What do we have with which to launch such an attack? No one would be willing to commit to such a hopeless scheme, and your retainers won’t do it.’
Thomas flushed. ‘Better to try than to turn traitor!’
Without further comment, Thomas marched from the room, the door thudding behind him. I watched him leave. Wifely duty might suggest that I accompany him but I was not inclined, choosing to stay with my family by blood despite some antagonism, much hostility and all fair planning for the future now in pieces.
‘Is it impossible to rescue Richard?’ I asked, again with that sense of guilt that we had abandoned him in his hour of need.
‘From the Tower? Under guard?’ replied Edward. ‘You know better than that.’
‘He misses the hound.’
Immediately I had spoken I realised that it would drop me into a morass of explanation that I could well do without. Not for the first time I wished that I had been born another Yorkist son, my participation accepted, weight given to my words, at the centre of events rather than on the edge of it all like Joan, unless I fought to make my voice heard.
‘And how would you know that?’ Edward asked.
I could have lied but I was not in the habit of dissimulation. Instead I raised my chin in a challenge. ‘I have been to see him. I felt sorry for him.’
‘Sorry you may be, but stay out of this, Constance.’ My father’s response was unequivocal. ‘It is no business of yours. If you wish to be useful, go and talk some sense into your husband.’
‘How do you know that I do not agree with him? We seem to have abandoned Richard as fast as that hawk would relinquish a mouse for better prey. At least Thomas sees that we owe him some fidelity.’
‘You are a daughter of York. We are masters of the art of pragmatism.’ Edward stood again, clicking his fingers for the hound to join him, which it did. He had a gift for winning the affection of both animals and men. ‘Let us prepare to smile and bend the knee on all occasions.’ His eyes touched on mine, held them in severe discourse. ‘For what other can we do, in the circumstances?’
‘Nothing,’ I admitted.
So it was decided.
‘Not one of you has talked of my position in all this.’ Dickon, who had been silent and motionless throughout all the previous exchanges, so that we had all but forgotten his presence, now lurched to his feet. ‘What will be my future? You don’t speak of it. I have nothing and we all know why.’
‘We will continue not to speak of it.’ The Duke of York was emphatic in his denial.
‘I will speak of it.’ Voice breaking on a croak, it was rare for Dickon to be so openly dissenting in the Duke’s company. ‘It is only thanks to my mother that I have anything at all to my name.’
Which was true enough. It had been left to our mother, in her will, to persuade King Richard to grant Dickon an annuity of five hundred marks. With great foresight she left all her jewels to Richard, to aid her cause, and thus Dickon received a royal annuity but nothing more. Our father had settled neither land nor title on him. He was merely Richard of Conisbrough, to denote where he was born.
‘I have not even been knighted, which is my right,’ Dickon growled. ‘Am I not worthy of a title of my own as a son of York? Without Richard’s acknowledgement I am destined to penury. What happens to me now?’
‘You had nothing much to lose in the first place, little brother.’ Bitterness was beginning to drip through Edward’s earlier facade. ‘Do you think I have enjoyed this change of fortune? By God, I have not. All I had achieved, all I had worked for at Richard’s Court, flattering him, winning him round to see me as the most loyal friend he had ever had. And now with Lancaster’s victory,