Anne O'Brien - A Tapestry of Treason

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?’

While Richard flung away from me to hammer his fist on the stonework of the window surround, I considered an answer to his question. What gave a man, a subject, the right to keep a King imprisoned? In this case the power of the sword. The support of the great magnates of the realm. Henry had the power to do as he pleased.

‘Why are you here?’ Richard was facing me again, eyes wild with displeasure. ‘Are you here to argue Cousin Henry’s cause? Do you like him more than you like me?’

It was the accusation of a child. ‘No, I am not. I am here to give you company. Are you well treated? You have food, I see.’ The muscles in his face twitched under the strain, but he had been well accommodated in the King’s Great Chamber in St Thomas’s Tower. No sparsely furnished dungeon here, but a room with every comfort. The walls, smoothly plastered, were painted with leaves and flowers, candle-sconces aplenty offered light in the darkest corners, and, on a carved and polished coffer, books had been left to help him pass the interminable hours. They were still unopened.

‘Will you take a cup of wine, my lord?’ I asked.

But he waved it away. ‘I will not. I will not be won over by food and fine cloth.’ He tugged at the furred collar. ‘I demand my freedom.’ His eyes narrowed on my face as he beckoned imperiously: ‘Come and talk with me.’

He sank onto a stool and pointed at one beside him. I sat in obedience.

‘I am afraid,’ he said.

‘There is no need. Our cousin will treat you fairly.’

‘Is it fair to take what is not his, what is mine and beyond his taking?’ He leaned close to speak in almost a whisper. ‘He will make me abdicate,’ Richard fretted. ‘How can I? How can a King abandon his sacred anointing at his coronation, in the sight of God and his subjects? I cannot renounce it.’

As he suddenly gripped my hand, crushing my fingers, I felt the weight of sadness that bore him down.

‘They will say that I must give my power into hands stronger than mine, Constance.’ He looked at me, a world of suspicion in his gaze. ‘Your royal father, my uncle of York, is my designated heir. Not Henry of Lancaster. Will your father take the throne from me? Is that why you are here? To plead his cause so I will hand it over, weak as a kitten? Your family always had ambition above its position.’

So we had become the accused also. How easy it was to slide into the pool of Richard’s enmity.

‘I am not here to persuade you to give up your crown, Richard. My father does not seek the crown.’

But Richard was on his feet again, driven by unknown terrors, his fingers tugging his hair into disarray before covering his face.

‘I trust no one. My people do not love me, I am told. They cry out for my blood, my head. I must believe it. I heard them.’ And then, voice still muffled: ‘What do I do if I am not King?’

I allowed myself to reply cautiously to his irrationality. ‘What do you wish to do?’

He thought about it, hands falling away so that his reply came clearly. ‘If I were not King? I would live in a place of my choosing. With friends and servants and enough resources to maintain myself in an honourable state.’

Rising, I gathered his hands, more gently than he had gripped mine. ‘You must not give up hope, Richard.’

His answering smile was wan. ‘Will you have your family speak for me? We were always friends. Aumale and Gloucester, Exeter and Surrey. And my uncle of York.’ He had forgotten that they had done nothing to prevent his falling into Lancaster’s hands.