The Shadow Queen: The Sunday Times bestselling book – a must read for Summer 2018. Anne O'Brien

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СКАЧАТЬ was no question about my royal blood. My dead father was Edmund, Earl of Kent, son of King Edward the First by his second wife, which made him half-brother to the previous ill-fated King Edward the Second, and uncle to the present King Edward the Third. There was no question about my impeccable lineage. As I had reminded Ned, I was first cousin to the King.

      My mother Margaret, Lady Wake, was of a lesser rank. A young widow, her hand in marriage had been sought by my father, a marriage that had been frowned on by his royal brother. My mother came from good stock, but one which was neither wealthy nor influential in the politics of the day; she was not the woman King Edward the Second would have chosen for his brother. Notwithstanding, my parents married for love, were ultimately accepted back into the royal fold and produced four children in as many years, of whom I was one. Why would they not enjoy a life at the royal court, under the patronage of the King?

      ‘Why is our blood besmirched?’ I asked when my mother had regretted the descent of royal disfavour on her and her children.

      ‘Your father was unwise,’ my mother said. ‘And I allowed myself to be drawn into a plot that brought us to our knees.’

      For my parents became involved in the events that removed the second Edward from the throne, casting government into the hands of Earl Mortimer and the Queen, Isabella, who between them brought the young Edward the Third to the throne as the Mortimer puppet. My father, discovering that his brother King Edward was incarcerated in Corfe Castle far to the west, under the control of Earl Mortimer, became involved in a plot to rescue and restore him to the throne, writing letters to that effect, letters that fell into the hands of Earl Mortimer who used them to rid himself of my father.

      So my father was taken prisoner, condemned to death for treason in being part of a plot to oust the rightful King Edward the Third. The new young King gave his assent for his uncle’s death, which seemed a cruelty beyond belief to me in my youth but later I understood. For my father to have rescued the old King would have threatened not only Earl Mortimer and Queen Isabella, but would have snatched the newly won crown from young King Edward. My royal father, even before I knew him, was executed outside the walls of Winchester Castle.

      Thus ended my father, and thus my mother’s perennial discontent. We were all blighted by treason, for she too had set her hand to some of those subversive letters. Our titles were gone, our lands confiscated, my mother’s jewels and possessions removed, leaving us in woeful condition. Even when Earl Mortimer and Queen Isabella were overthrown in an audacious coup by the young King Edward, we and our estates were duly cast into the King’s vengeful lap.

      My mother and my eldest brother, polished for the occasion, made petition for mercy and restitution. Now escaped from the Mortimer iron hand, my cousin Edward was of a mind to be magnanimous. My mother was forgiven her treason, my family pardoned, the lands and title restored to us, but only in the sense of my mother being awarded wardship over a selected few of our estates during my brother’s minority. The rest remained firmly in King Edward’s hands. We children were taken into the royal nursery at Woodstock under the benevolent dominion of Queen Philippa with the Earl and Countess of Salisbury as our governors.

      Was the young King suffering a fit of remorse for allowing his uncle to be executed? I expect that he was. He would make amends, yet it did not salve my mother’s wounds. She remained permanently embittered, regretting royal refusal to restore her complete authority over the Kent lands, spending her life in wearying travel to oversee and protect those she had in her keeping. A constant hard-won vigilance to oversee the work of her stewards. It was a heavy responsibility.

      For me there was no bitterness. I was too young, too naive perhaps for bitterness. But not for ambition. I was royal. I would never give King Edward reason to regret his recognition that I was a worthy cousin.

      How did I see myself in years to come with true maturity? The image was not clear, shrouded in mists. All I knew was that I would be myself. Joan of Kent. Princess Joan. Admired and of fine repute.

      My mind was set on it.

      At two hours after noon, we met in a festively painted and tapestried audience chamber to formalise the agreements over my marriage to William Montagu, heir to the Earl of Salisbury. Clothed in a tightly buttoned cotehardie, a side-less surcoat of rich satin damask cast over all with a jewel-set girdle to anchor it to my hips, as for a royal audience at my mother’s request, I entered the chamber at her side, assessing the occupants who, in various attitudes, awaited us. My mother paused to make effect of her majestic presence, smiled with condescension and pushed me forward, determined to dominate the proceedings and achieve the connection she desired, the Earl of Salisbury being King Edward’s oldest and most loyal of friends, a friendship stretching back to the days before he achieved the Crown. Salisbury was the man who had stood at King Edward’s side when they had taken Roger Mortimer prisoner. The King’s gratitude for this loyalty could not be measured.

      Those who peopled the chamber were no surprise to either of us. My uncle Sir Thomas Wake to give some weight and support to his sister in the absence of my father. There was the Countess of Salisbury, Catherine de Grandison, in the absence of the Earl. Will was here, standing stiffly beside his grandmother, the ancient Lady Elizabeth Montagu, who had remained seated at our entrance out of pride rather than advanced age. And then there was our family priest to deal with any matters of a religious content. I studied his benignly smiling face. He had no idea of the cataclysm that was about to fall on his – on everyone’s – head.

      I allowed a trickle of relief that King Edward was not one of our number. Nor Queen Philippa, which would have been even worse. I might own a strong streak of defiance, but royal displeasure at close quarters was not something to be sought.

      I curtsied to the Countess, as I did every day of my life, for she had the role of Governess over me and all the younger royal household. I curtsied to Lady Elizabeth and was acknowledged by an infinitesimal nod of her ruffled veiling. Momentarily I stared at Will, then looked away. I was still wearing Isabella’s reliquary, wishing that I had more faith in the efficacy of the Virgin’s tears. She had not preserved me from this marriage alliance. Will, dressed as finely as I, incongruously formal in a knee-length gypon and an eye-catchingly domed beaver hat, complete with feather, was studying his linked fingers. He was deliberately not looking at me.

      ‘We are met today,’ Sir Thomas announced, taking control of the proceedings in true Wake fashion, ‘to make formal agreement of a marriage between my niece, Joan of Kent, and William of Salisbury. Such fine young people, here with us.’

      I curtsied again, staring once more at Will, silently commanding him to look at me. Will bowed, and refused. We knew what was expected of us, and there was a little ripple of pleased concurrence as two servants poured wine into fine silver cups and awaited the direction to carry them round.

      ‘Our lord the King has given his blessing,’ Countess Catherine, now seated before the fireplace, remarked. ‘So has my husband in absentia. I am only sorry that the Earl could not be here, but the arrangements need not wait on his release. We strongly desire this match for our son.’

      And so followed a discussion of the extent of my dower. Of legal requirements. Of the publication of banns. Of when the marriage would best be solemnised. Of where we would live and when it would be considered proper for us to live intimately as man and wife. All the complex and heavy detail necessary for a marriage between scions of two important houses. As for when, since the festivities of Christmas and New Year were fast approaching, it was considered by our priest to be most appropriate to celebrate our marriage after the festivities and before the penitence of Lent, which would necessitate abstention.

      Taking no part in any of this, because none was required except for me to stand and look royally obedient and flattered, my thoughts hopped and churned. I allowed none of it to СКАЧАТЬ