A Tapestry of Treason. Anne O'Brien

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      Doom kept us all company through the hours of night and into the morning, when Joan and I converged on what had become the women’s chamber, our embattled menfolk already on their way to attend the meeting of parliament. This was no day for any one of them to be absent, not even my father, still in pain but determined. Only a ministration to his limbs of the roots and leaves of hound’s tongue and marjoram, steeped in warm oil, to dull the pain, together with the strong arm of his body servant, got him through the door; his discomfort could not be disguised but he would stand beside his family. The Dukes of Surrey and Exeter joined them to put on a brave face. The fate of all would hang together.

      Which left the womenfolk, as ever, to await the outcome while the royal greyhound fretted outside the door. For some reason beyond my guessing, it had returned to Edward’s care, which seemed absurd when the King had rejoiced at its change of loyalty. I refused to allow it entry. It was enough to tolerate the sickly sweetness of the marjoram which hung in the air, strangely at odds with the stench of alarm.

      ‘It is one of the few times when I wish for a squint, to spy upon what parliament might be doing.’ I pressed my cheek against the almost opaque glass, to peer through the window in the direction of the Great Hall, considering the value of the narrow aperture in a church to allow the host in the side chapel to be elevated at the same moment as the miracle occurred at the high altar. I wanted to know what was being said, what challenges were being issued and by whom. Ignorance was a cruel word and most pertinent. Infuriatingly it was my lot, and that of every woman, never to know of pertinent events within parliament until informed at some later date, if at all. ‘I fear this day will prove interminable.’ I paused, considering the worst scenario, in spite of my brave words on the previous night. ‘And of course, they may not return.’

      ‘Better not to know,’ Joan observed, her head bent over her stitches. She had recovered her composure since hearing that her brother and uncle too would face the Lords’ vengeance, but that probably her husband would not. A treasonous husband could mean any number of difficulties for his wife, however innocent she might be, not least confiscation of all the family estates, including her dower. Joan was unlikely to suffer. I would not be so fortunate. The promise of hours of uncertainty scratched at my temper.

      ‘Better not to know? Until they are condemned to death?’

      Her head snapped up. ‘I cannot believe that of Henry. He owes my lord the Duke a debt of honour.’

      ‘I am not so hopeful. I would like to know that my family is to be sent to join Richard in the Tower before it actually happens.’

      ‘But you can do nothing to prevent it. As I can do nothing to safeguard my brother and uncle.’

      I could not answer that, for it was true. I paced. Joan continued to sit and stitch at some linen garment, until I could bear the silence no longer. I watched her needle flash in and out of the fine material. I resented her stillness, her acceptance. Did she not care? Finally I stopped in front of her. The linen was particularly fine.

      ‘Are you breeding?’

      ‘No.’ She did not even look up. ‘This is an altar cloth. Not that it is any of your affair if I was carrying a child. And what’s more, I despise stitching. I would that I were a man and could wield a sword rather than a needle.’

      Which confounded me. She and my father had been married for seven years now but I had made no attempt to become acquainted with her, nor even questioned why my father should choose to marry a girl so much younger than himself. It was nothing more than an alliance between two powerful and interrelated families, the Hollands and Plantagenets. Could he not have done better if he had wanted a wife for companionship in his last years? I had thought her insipid, self-effacing. Whereas I was incapable of remaining aloof from the events that would impinge so keenly on our future, my stepmother was weakly accepting of her lot in life. I studied her still-bent head. Where was all the fire and duplicity of her Holland family, her notorious grandmother? It had dissipated into insignificance in this young woman. Recognising the complete lack of affinity between us, I had no desire to know her better than I did at that moment.

      And yet this barbed response with its new insight into Joan’s mind grasped at my attention. Perhaps I had been wrong. Here was a young woman СКАЧАТЬ