The Queen's Choice. Anne O'Brien
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the attraction was not dead at all. Merely dormant. Now it was shaken most thoroughly back into life.
*
The following day the Duke came to dine with us, a roil of temper all but visible beneath the Valois livery that he still wore out of deference to his host. In the meagre chambers found for us in the Hotel de St Pol, while our servants supplied us with platters of meats and good wine, we spoke of inconsequential matters, of family, of friends, even though Duke Henry’s mind was occupied elsewhere, and not pleasantly. I prompted him to talk of his sons and daughters. He asked after our own.
It was a good pretence. Some might have been led to believe that the Duke was troubled by nothing more than the discovery of some high-bred prince whom he considered a suitable match for his daughters. Some might have thought that I had no more than a desire to know of the health of Duchess Katherine.
Such ill-informed persons would have been wrong on both counts.
Servants dismissed, the door barely closing on their heels, the Duke cast his knife onto the table with a clatter. ‘You will have heard by now. I warrant the Court is talking of nothing else.’
So we had, and the Court was rife with it. The astonishing behaviour of the English King; the slight to his cousin who sat at our board with little appetite. We knew exactly why the Lancaster heir had found need to throw himself on the mercy of King Charles, and was detesting every minute of it. The heir to Lancaster had no wish to beg for sanctuary, here or at any other Court of Europe. I felt his shame, while John launched into the heart of the matter.
‘So you have been banished from England?’
Any relaxation engendered by the meat and wine vanished in the blink of the Duke’s eye, which became full of ire. Duke Henry placed his hands flat on the table with a flare of baleful fire from his rings and took a breath.
‘I have, by God, and for no good reason.’
‘Then tell us. What’s in your royal cousin’s mind?’
‘A false accusation of treason against me, which Richard chooses to believe for his own purposes.’
‘How long?’ John asked, the one pertinent question.
‘Ten years. God’s Blood! The Duke of Norfolk and I played magnificently into Richard’s hands, without realising what vicious calumny he had in mind. We fell into his trap as neatly as wolves into a hunter’s pit.’ Duke Henry’s explanation was clipped, almost expressionless in its delivery, but it was not difficult to read the underlying abhorrence. It positively simmered over the folds of his fashionable thigh-length tunic. ‘There was no reasoning with Richard. He would not even consider what might be owed to Lancaster, for our support and loyalty from the day he took the Crown as a boy of ten years. He owes my father so much, but there was no compassion in him.’ Now Duke Henry smoothed the fair cloth beneath his hands with short angry sweeps. ‘He banished Norfolk, who made the accusation of treason against me, for life. There was no leniency at all for him in Richard’s black heart.’
‘It will soon pass.’ I tried to be encouraging, but could see no encouragement in the vast expanse of ten years. ‘Could he not be persuaded to reconsider? Richard’s anger might grow cold as the weeks pass.’
‘I don’t anticipate it.’ Duke Henry’s regard was fierce as it rested momentarily on my face. ‘Do you see what he has achieved in this neat little strategy? Richard has rid himself of the last of the two Lords Appellant with one blow. Norfolk and I were two of the five who stood against him, and forced him to accept the advice of his counsellors. Three of the five are dead. Norfolk and I are the only two left, and so Richard struck, hard and sure. Richard will not go back on it. It’s not Richard’s way. There was no treason, simply an opportunity for Richard to take his revenge. I imagine he’s rubbing his hands with royal glee.’
‘What of your children?’ I asked, because I knew it would be a concern.
‘I don’t fear for them, if that’s what you mean. Hal, my heir, has been taken into the royal household, a hostage for my good behaviour. I despise Richard for that, but I don’t believe Hal’s in any danger except for being bored out of his mind by the never-ending ceremony of Richard’s Court. Besides, there’s nothing I can do about it other than have my brothers—my Beaufort half-brothers—keep a watchful eye.’ A pause grew, lengthening out as Duke Henry took up his cup and contemplated the wine in it, and I exchanged a hopeless glance with John. ‘I think it does not need saying—my real fear is for my father. Lancaster’s health is not good. My banishment aged him ten years overnight, so my fear is that he’ll not see out the length of my banishment before death claims him. It is in my mind that we will not meet again this side of the grave.’
It was a desperate cry that echoed beneath the formidable control. All I could do was leave John to make the only possible response:‘We must hope you are wrong. We will assuredly pray for a swift resolution and a speedy return for you.’
Duke Henry drained his cup. ‘It is in my mind to return to England, with or without royal permission.’ And seeing some reaction from John’s raised hand—a brusque denial of such a plan, of what the consequences might be—he looked towards me, with something approaching a scowl. ‘Will you offer advice again, Madam Joanna, to remedy this parlous state in which I find myself?’
Yet something in his request, polite as it was, suggested that Duke Henry did not want advice from me. Or from anyone. I raised my chin a little, detecting an underlying aggression. If he was humouring me, there was no need. I barely recognised this brittle individual from whom all the joy and the laughter had been stripped clean. Understandable of course, but I would be the target of no man’s ill-humour.
‘I will if you wish it,’ I said. ‘Although it had no good effect last time. As I recall, I advised the building of bridges and pleasing Isabelle. Which either failed—or you ignored.’
The heavy brows twitched together. Perhaps the dart had been unkind in the circumstances.
‘I worked hard to mend any quarrel with Richard. It failed, but that doesn’t mean your advice was flawed. What do you say now?’
I thought for a moment, weighing what I might say. Here was a man whose self-esteem had been damaged. How much he must resent having to bend the knee before Charles of Valois to beg for protection, to accept the condescending invitations of Orleans and Burgundy. To accept that he no longer wielded authority over his own lands and his own people. Even worse, to have the taint of treason hanging over him.
‘I would say…’ I began.
Before I could expand Duke Henry placed his cup, which he had been turning and turning in his hands, quietly onto the table, and quite deliberately let his gaze drop away from me.
‘No,’ he said, silencing me with a shake of his head. ‘No. There is no need. I know what I must do. My heart might pull me to return to England where I should cast myself on Richard’s mercy and hope for restoration so that my father will not be alone in his final years. Who’s to say that the climate in England might not change, so that I can return with the promise of a pardon?’ He grimaced, pushing the cup beyond his reach. ‘A pardon for something I had no hand in. Before God, it would stick in my gullet like week-old bread to have to beg for Richard’s forgiveness.
‘But we all know it would be to no avail. So, rejecting what my heart tells me, I know in my mind that it would be a fatal step to put myself in Richard’s hands. All my instincts tell me that I must stay clear of the shores of England until I have the chance of returning with more than a hope of redemption. As it is, I am declared traitor. If I went home, my life would be forfeit.’
‘It is what I would have advised,’ I said briskly, not a little ruffled, ‘if you had allowed it.’ Thinking that I might add: ‘Why ask, if you did not want to listen?’
But out of propriety I did not, and Duke Henry did not look at me but studied his hands, now loosely clasped.
‘And you have the right of it. I must not return. As long as my father continues in good health, I