A Tapestry of Treason

So I asked my nurse.

‘Nothing you will ever be accused of, Constance. You will be the perfect daughter. The most acclaimed wife. Look how pretty you are. And how pretty your young husband is.’

‘Will I see him again?’

‘When you are a young woman grown.’

‘When will that be?’

‘When you have reached your fourteenth year.’

It seemed an age away. ‘I don’t think he will miss me.’

‘No, I don’t think he will.’

‘It doesn’t matter, does it?’

‘No. You are royal, my child. And he is not.’

‘Will he like me?’

‘It matters not whether he does or does not.’

It was an unsettling day after which I returned to my life of prayer and learning and skills appropriate to a daughter of Edmund, Earl of Cambridge, fourth son of the old King Edward the Third and soon to become Duke of York. My parents returned to their own interests which, with deliberate intent, did not often bring them into each other’s company, nor into that of their children. We had no memory of maternal love during our childhood years. If we had, it might be that we would have become a less rancorous brood.

As for Thomas Despenser, Lord Despenser, I had wanted more than the hostility that sparked between my father and mother, whether he was worthy of me or not. It was not to be. I might have loved him. I might have experienced at least an affection for him, but Thomas admired my dowry and my Plantagenet blood far more than he admired me, and for the most part ignored me except for the need to produce an heir. In the end, it did not matter. We were man and wife and, as many another ill-matched pair, we would live out our days together.

Chapter Three (#ulink_0f7e8005-5177-58fa-a097-c375c0171131)

Early September 1399: Tower of London

‘Where is Mathes?’ King Richard demanded as soon as I set foot within the confines of his room. ‘What have you done with Mathes?’

‘Who?’ For a moment I was nonplussed. Of all the opening commands or pleas I might have expected from Richard, this was not one of them.

‘Mathes. My greyhound. I wish him to be here with me. Where is he?’

‘I don’t know, my lord.’

It seemed to me that there was far more serious content for this discussion between us than the whereabouts of Richard’s favourite greyhound.

‘Bring him to me. I command it.’

But how could I?

I had awoken that morning, Thomas long gone on his own affairs, with one clear thought leaping fully fledged into my mind. I must go to Richard. Waiting for Henry of Lancaster to show us the length and breadth of his ultimate goal toward Richard and the kingdom was all very well, but I could not rest. The one memory I could not shake free from my mind was that of Richard standing in the Great Hall, alone, isolated, even though he was surrounded by my father’s retainers. It had touched my heart with a deep compassion of which I had thought myself incapable. I could not abandon my cousin.

Richard commanded our duty and our loyalty. He was our King, anointed with holy oil, crowned and invested with the sacred regalia of kingship. Casting off such a loyalty was not a simple matter. Nor, for me, was it only a matter of loyalty to my King. Thomas would not understand, but Richard was my cousin. I had known him from birth, enjoyed his hospitality and his patronage, but also his kindness, which had not been merely an extension of his power. Were we not close by blood?

I recalled him drawing me into the intimate circle around his first much-loved wife Anne. I had clear memory of his dancing with me when my steps were still unsure. A collector of fine jewels, he had given me the heraldic brooch of a white hart, bound with gold and rubies, that I pinned to my bodice every morning.

With no need to inform anyone of my movements, for the Countess of Gloucester was beyond criticism, I arranged to travel by river from Westminster to the Tower in my father’s barge. Enjoying the luxury of the scarlet-cushioned seats with their gold-embroidered lions, I made good time for the tide had just turned, the strengthening current aiding the oarsmen. Once there, entering by the Watergate, I acknowledged, as I often did, that the bulk of the Conqueror’s White Tower would intimidate any visitor, its shadow causing me to shiver despite the warmth of the autumn sun reflecting from the stonework.

There was an immediate obstacle to my plan, all six feet of him standing in my path before I had barely stepped beyond the wharf. Will Plimpton, knight, my father’s Captain of the Guard. He had known me since I was a child and still had the habit of addressing me as he had when I held no status other than my father’s daughter.

‘If you have come to see the King, then you can’t. He’s kept under strict confinement, Mistress Constance.’

He had read my intent well enough.

‘I am not here to manage his flight to safety, Will. I am here as a friend and a cousin, to give comfort.’

‘There’s an unconscionable number of cousins in this affair. And be that as it may, mistress, he is allowed no visitors unless sanctioned by the Duke of Lancaster himself. Those are my orders.’

He was an old ally of mine. ‘Do you not serve my father?’ I asked with terrible innocence, smoothing my knuckles over the Yorkist livery that covered his chest with fleurs-de-lys and Plantagenet lions.

‘Not when Lancaster is occupying the royal apartments.’

I changed direction. ‘I am a mere woman, Will. I am no threat. I will not stay long and none need know that you have given your permission. Certainly not my father or Lancaster. I promise I will not speak of it. Besides, my father does not object to my being here, so why should my cousin of Lancaster? Indeed, I believe my father discussed my visit with Lancaster on his arrival in London.’

My father had done no such thing; he had no idea of what I was about, and would have forbidden it out of hand if he had been aware, but what was not known could not be grieved over.

The serjeant grunted, patting my arm with appreciation, his eye gleaming at my attempt at subterfuge. ‘I don’t like it, my lady. And I know your ability to twist the truth to your liking.’

Which made me smile. ‘You will be rewarded in heaven for your compassion to the man who is still your King.’ My own words struck home, a sharp little pain against my heart. ‘We must not forget that. The crown still belongs to him. How can it be removed, except by God?’ At that moment I meant every word I said.

‘As you say. Come then, Mistress Constance. But don’t blame me…’

There was a guard outside the door. When the captain opened it with a key at his belt, I saw that a guard also stood within the room, beside the window, as if my royal cousin would consider an escape by that means, unlikely as it might seem. Richard was not given to feats of strength or endurance or climbing through windows.

‘May we be alone?’ I asked. ‘I would speak of family affairs to my cousin.’

On a gruff sigh, the captain beckoned the man to wait outside the door.

‘Not too long, mistress.’

And there was Richard standing in the middle of the room. Yesterday he had been bewildered. Today he all but crackled with anger.

He had been allowed to change his garments, so that he looked more like the man I knew in a deep red full-length tunic embellished with fur and gold stitching at neck and cuff. His hair cleansed and curling against his neck, shining in a ray of sun that had crept in through one of the high windows, Richard was restored to some element of kingliness, except for the shocking hollowness of his cheeks. On the coffer behind him was a platter of bread and meat and a dish of fruits, all untouched. The flagon of wine was still covered with a white cloth. I thought again that this was not the first meal that he had refused.

‘I want my dear companion, my greyhound. Where is Mathes?’

‘I don’t know.’

Richard’s lips set in a line of bitter self-pity. ‘He went to fawn over Lancaster. Even my dog loves Lancaster more than he loves me. Will you return him to me? I would like him here.’ But before I could speak again, Richard’s temper flared across the room. ‘Where is my authority? Why are my orders not carried out?’ And then, as he focused on me perhaps for the first time: ‘Constance. Are you come to release me?’

‘Of course I am not. How would I have that power?’ I replied to my cousin rather than my King. ‘There is a lock on the door, and you may have noticed that I do not have the key.’

Richard scowled. ‘They have no right to keep me here. By what right do my subjects keep me in confinement in my own realm?’