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

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СКАЧАТЬ is not the heir. This is wrong, Harry!’

      ‘Wrong it may be, but this is what will happen.’

      ‘And your voice will not be raised against it?’

      He stalked to where a flagon of ale and cups had been left for us, poured, emptied one in a gulp and gave another to me as he replaced his on the board with a smart thump.

      ‘Of what value would that be, to raise one voice in the midst of thousands? Lancaster has been acclaimed by the rabble in the streets and by the lords and clerics at Westminster. One voice will not be heard amongst the rest.’ He scowled down at his feet clad in softest unscuffed leather. ‘Nor am I sure that I wish it to be.’ He looked up at me under his brows. ‘There is so much validity in Lancaster’s claim. The Earl of March is too young, too untried, and the female line of his royal descent disliked by so many. The old King, your great-grandfather, saw the weakness of it when he issued a decree that after his death only males would inherit. Which neatly obliterated your mother’s claim in spite of her Plantagenet blood. Yes, I know what you will say…’ when I opened my mouth to argue, ‘but it’s a matter of right of inheritance against the demands of political expediency. I’ve thought much of this and…’

      ‘You have changed your mind, haven’t you? You will give your wholehearted allegiance to this man who fooled us with his mummer’s oath-taking.’

      I was baffled, horrified, that he had done so after our hearts and minds had seemed so closely in tune. Here was my husband, comfortably in political alliance with Henry of Lancaster. Disappointment was sour in my belly, churning with the acknowledgement that it would be beyond my powers to change Hotspur’s mind, once it was fixed on the vision before him, whether it be the enemy across the battlefield or the usurper who already had the crown in his hand.

      ‘Yes, for the most obvious of reasons. Young Edmund should be King, I’ll not deny it, but it may be that our own power in the north will be more secure with a friendly Lancaster than a young boy who cannot hold the reins of power.’

      ‘Unless Lancaster becomes unfriendly and decides to strip it from you!’

      ‘He owes us too much to do that. There is no real support for Mortimer, and as you see, it is overwhelming for Lancaster. So I think in the circumstances to support the Earl of March would not be politic.’

      ‘Does that make his claim an empty one?’ I would propound every argument at my disposal to change his mind, quick anger surprising me, glossing my words with fiery eloquence. ‘You know that it does not. It is no empty claim. Richard was crowned King as a child, little older than Edmund Mortimer. With a strong council England suffered no hardship. A child King did not cast England into revolt or attack from abroad. My nephew is the legitimate heir, and if the crown does not sit legitimately, what stability will it give this kingdom? The power will be on offer to every magnate who has ambition to seize it for himself. It should undeniably be Mortimer, not Lancaster.’

      ‘I accept all that you say, but you can’t argue legitimacy, Elizabeth. We unseated Richard fast enough when it suited us.’

      ‘That was not Lancaster’s sworn intention when he made that thrice-damned oath. We were all fooled. But if Richard is not King, it should be Edmund Mortimer by the right of his mother’s blood and his father being King Edward’s second son. You know that is the truth of it, but have clearly rejected it for the sake of your own power. Because it is politic.’ I drew breath. ‘And when were you going to tell me?’ My anger was now hot beneath my sleek fur. ‘I doubt your father gives any credence to the Mortimer claim either.’

      ‘I doubt it too.’ Harry found the need for another cup of ale. ‘Whatever the rights and wrongs of it, here we are, trussed up like Christmas geese, and today Henry of Lancaster will be crowned King. Are you ready?’

      I spread my arms. ‘Do I look ready? Lancaster has paid for the clothes on my back!’

      ‘You look magnificent.’

      ‘So do you look magnificent, but to what purpose?’ Even in my anger, he was beautiful. ‘There’s no need to be concerned. I will do you proud.’ My jaw was as tense as his.

      ‘Are you going to drink that?’ I still held the untouched cup in one hand. ‘I suggest you do. It will give you a mellow edge. And try to be polite. At least there will be no possibility of your conversing with your regal cousin until after the event, when he will be your King. It might put a curb on your tongue.’

      I bared my teeth, and drank. For Harry’s sake, and because I foresaw no good in creating dissention at this late point in the proceedings. I resolved, for this day at least, to be the perfect subject.

      ‘I will curb my tongue today. But don’t hazard your Percy acres on my being mellow tomorrow.’

      Despite the desultory rain, the coronation of Henry, Duke of Lancaster, was an affair to be remembered in later years, when men gathered in alehouses or in their lordly castles, reminiscing over small beer and Bordeaux wine. As Harry had announced, my cousin Henry had been acclaimed King by the lords and commons, led to the vacant throne in Westminster Hall by his royal uncle the Duke of York and the Archbishop of York, thus awarding him the highest of commendations from church and state. This sacred crowning was merely the culmination in Westminster Abbey, ratifying the choice of the people of England in the sight of God. He had not taken the crown by force, although the rightness of Richard’s imprisonment and the purloining of his crown was open to question. Lancaster had been invited to be King. Both Harry and the Earl had joined the lords to acclaim Lancaster King of England.

      I considered him an oath-breaker.

      Now, bareheaded but clad in cloth of gold, with nine water fountains teeming with red wine to win over the populace in Cheapside, Lancaster became King Henry the Fourth of that name.

      Anger seethed afresh, despite my promise to guard my demeanour, as the ceremony unfolded. I nudged Harry, angling my chin toward the procession where the great swords of state were being carried in before the usurper monarch. Four of them rather than the traditional three. The two swords of justice bound in red and gold were carried by the Earls of Somerset and Warwick. Curtana, the blunt sword of mercy, was held aloft by Lancaster’s eldest son who would now be designated Prince Henry. And processing before them all?

      ‘Did you know about this?’ I asked.

      There leading the procession was the mighty Earl of Northumberland, swathed in red and ermine, carrying the great Lancaster Sword. A true sign of Northumberland’s dedication. There was no element of age in his rigid spine, his braced shoulders as he bore the weight along the length of the nave up to the high altar. The pride in his face was as great as that of the new King himself.

      ‘Did you know?’ I repeated, when Harry merely watched his father’s stately progress. I thought I read pride in him too.

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘So you are truly tied and bound to this King.’

      ‘Tied and bound with iron chains,’ Harry hissed. ‘And before you meet with him again, my father has been given the highest accolade. He is now Constable of England for his services to the King.’

      ‘Before God, he is not!’

      So there was the reason for the Percy acknowledgement of this destruction of the true pattern of inheritance. The all-devious Earl of Northumberland now lay claim to being the chief official in the royal household, a position of СКАЧАТЬ