Queen of the North: sumptuous and evocative historical fiction from the Sunday Times bestselling author. Anne O'Brien

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СКАЧАТЬ an oath as it was possible to make. How binding for the future was Lancaster prepared to be? To my right, the Earl was looking straight ahead as if the proceedings were of no account. On my left, Harry’s fists were clenched against his thighs. I went back to staring at my cousin’s averted face, his head bent in utter respect.

      His voice when he spoke was clear, carrying to every man here present, but not loud. It was, I decided, as if he communed with God Himself.

      ‘I stand here as Henry, Duke of Lancaster, robbed of my inheritance by an ill-counselled King. I have returned to England to reclaim what is rightfully mine, and that is the title and lands of the Duchy of Lancaster. I swear, before all present and in the sight of God and His Holy Spirit, on these Holy Gospels of St John of Bridlington and on his sacred bones, that I will take no more than those things that are mine by law and tradition. I am here to right a wrong.’

      Lifting his head so that he might survey the congregation, he took a breath, impressive in his solemn dedication.

      ‘I swear that I am not come to seize the throne of England. If there is any question of the unfitness of Richard to rule, then I will not be the one to make the accusation. If there is any man in this realm more worthy of the crown than I, then I will willingly stand aside for him. I will not be guilty of taking the throne by force.’

      A pause as I marvelled at his willingness to be judged.

      ‘If it becomes necessary for me to raise money for this venture, I will levy no taxes on the people of this realm without due consent of parliament.’

      Which made me catch my breath. This was a forswearing of royal power.

      ‘I swear this on these holy relics of John of Bridlington. God so judge me in my keeping of this oath.’

      Once more he kissed the Holy Gospels, and knelt to receive the final blessing from the bejewelled hands of the Abbot.

      ‘Amen.’

      Which we all repeated with sacramental fervour in a sigh of reverence.

      All very seemly, except that Lancaster might have removed his sword, but he was still clad in armour, burnished for battle, which gleamed in the candlelight. A soldier dedicating his future to God.

      The Earl, Harry and I were left alone in the White Friars’ chapel to consider what we had just heard.

      ‘Which makes it all clear enough,’ the Earl huffed. ‘Does it not?’

      Harry made no response, more concerned with collecting his sword from the antechamber, clasping his belt around his waist as if he were unclad without it.

      Was I the only one to have doubts of Lancaster’s veracity? I opened my mouth to say that nothing was clear to me, but decided against it. It was like staring across a thick winter mist with figures looming. Despite the terrible sanctity of the oath, nothing was clear, nothing decided. Not that I would necessarily believe Lancaster to be capable of deception, no more than any other man of ambition; no more than the Earl whose principles were compromised as soon as his authority came under threat. Sometimes it was necessary to tread warily when the future was not clear-cut. And yet my cousin had sworn an oath on his soul, on those holiest of relics.

      I regarded Harry who was still occupied with the stiffness of the buckle. I could not read him as well as I would like. A light-fingered hand gripped my heart and squeezed a little, a forewarning.

      Then Harry looked up, buckle forgotten.

      ‘Do you believe him?’ His demand, addressed to the Earl, cracked the stillness of the now-empty chapel, the precious relics returned to their domed coffer. ‘That he will only take what is his? Are we suitably overawed by this show of magnificent reverence and ceremonial?’

      ‘What do you still fear? That he will still have designs on the throne?’ The Earl seemed to me strangely complacent as if it mattered not at all.

      ‘With an army this size at his beck and call? Why not? And he is talking about raising taxes.’

      ‘Which is sovereign power,’ I added, seeing the direction of Harry’s thoughts. ‘Dealing with parliament to raise taxes, with or without consent, is royal power.’

      The Earl rewarded me with a glance, utterly disparaging, below his brows. ‘Lancaster swore that he would not seize the crown. He would stand aside for any man more worthy.’

      ‘Depends what he means by worthy,’ Harry grimaced.

      I glanced from one to the other. ‘What are you saying? Or not saying? That it would be unwise to explore the term worthy? But he swore on the relics.’

      How conflicted my loyalties, and Lancaster had barely set foot on English soil.

      Harry was still in explosive mood. ‘Oaths can be broken.’

      ‘Lancaster has a reputation for piety,’ the Earl acknowledged.

      ‘The Lancasters have a reputation for hard-headed ambition.’

      ‘There is no outward treason here.’ The Earl gripped his son’s arm. ‘It is my advice that we go with him and ensure that he keeps the oath. If we wish to retain our power in the north, it would be unwise to stand against him at this juncture. Let us assess the lie of the land when Richard returns from Ireland. A decision made now can be undecided. If we think Lancaster’s scheming is not to our taste, then we withdraw. We have committed nothing but our presence and can take it day by day. It may be that it will all fall out to our advantage.’

      For the Earl it was quite a speech. I felt that he saw a need to persuade his son, and for a long minute Harry considered, studying the sword callous on his palm, as if of a mind that a decision made here today would result in more sword galls to come. Then he nodded, looking up, eyes catching briefly in the few candle flames that had yet to be doused.

      ‘I say that we go with him, but we remain awake to what particular dish might be cooking in his pot.’

      ‘We remain awake,’ the Earl repeated.

      They clasped hands in Percy unity; for better or worse we had thrown in our lot with Lancaster. The divergent paths worried me. Better? Settle the irregularities, bring Richard to book and restore good government. Secure Percy power. Worse? The penalty for treason was death.

      Instead of following Harry I chose to remain in the chapel, walking slowly to the altar where I bowed my head as I placed my palms on the dome of the little coffer. The jewels gleamed and glinted as the candles finally guttered and died. I thought to offer up my own prayer to St John of Bridlington whose bones were renowned for working miracles, but for whom or for what should I pray? In the end I lifted my hands, covered my face with them and offered up a plea to the Blessed Virgin, for all of us.

       In this valley, restless, grievous and changeable,

       Turn to us, O Maiden amiable, our Mediator and Advocate, your eyes,

      Full of the joy of paradise.

      That we may gain eternal joy and pleasure.

      It was a prayer that soothed, but my previous conflict refused to be overborne: who would have the power to stop Lancaster from doing exactly what he wished?

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