Anne O'Brien - A Tapestry of Treason

‘When am I not?’

He made no effort to embrace me in a fond farewell, and I did not encourage him. Already he was striding away towards who knew what liaison. Then he stopped and spun on his heel.

‘You could take Dickon with you. Keep him out of mischief.’

‘I doubt he would come. And before you order him to do so, I would rather not travel with a sullen youth with an axe to grind. You keep an eye on him here.’

There was nothing to be concerned about other than Richard’s fate. I would offer up prayers for King Henry’s compassion. Yet why had I found a need to warn Thomas? Who was it that had helped Richard in his scheming to have his revenge against the Lords Appellant? We had. We had been the Counter-Appellants. We had aided, abetted and benefitted beyond all imagination, hoarding titles and lands from those who had fallen under Richard’s displeasure. We had reaped the harvest grown from the blood of others. A bitter harvest it might prove to be too, planted in tainted soil. There were indeed many at Court who would seize this opportunity to wreak their revenge on a family perceived to be greedy and self-seeking.

On the following morning I began my journey west to Elmley Castle, if for no other reason than to see my children. Richard, called for the late King, was almost three years old, Elizabeth still an infant. Not that they were neglected: cosseted in their own household of nurses and waiting women, employed to rock the cradle and encourage my growing son in his games and lessons, they lacked for nothing. Soon it would be time to appoint a tutor for my son so that the future Earl of Gloucester would be literate in words and figures as well as confident in the use of arms. Soon it would be necessary to discover a future husband for Elizabeth. Daughters were valuable. Alliances were of vital importance to every noble family.

I rode west with a light heart. In some ways it would be a relief to leave the high tensions of Westminster. I must rely on the good sense of my father, brother and husband as well as Joan’s Holland relatives, when parliament opened. It was not easy to do so. My father leaned towards choosing the easy path if he sensed that he was under threat. Edward was as tricky as a cat. Even I as his sister knew that it was best not to place complete trust in a man who beneath his polished exterior had only one interest at heart. Edward would fight for himself.

He had never explained why he had counselled Richard to remain over-long in Ireland, nor would I expend the energy in asking him, even though it smacked of treachery.

As for Thomas, who knew? At the moment he was resentful of the new King. Could he overcome that for the ultimate good of our family? I was sure that he could, particularly if Henry proved kindly disposed over the whole question of past Despenser treasons. Thomas’s ancestors had been driven by more sly ambition than Thomas would ever lay claim to, resulting in their horrific executions. With an old judgement of forfeiture still hanging over them, Richard had been generous enough to remove it, thus giving Thomas the satisfaction of an ancestry wiped clean and smooth as a newly baked egg blancmange. If Henry was inclined to uphold Richard’s reversal, the Despenser name thus reinstated, then Thomas would be effectively won over to the Lancaster cause. I could see no real reason why Henry would not, even though I had warned Thomas to beware of the royal dagger between his shoulder blades.

So much for Edward and Thomas, but then there was Dickon.

As I and my escort left the sprawl of London behind, I wondered what Dickon was doing, left at a loose end as new loyalties were stamped out. Perhaps my father would find him a place in King Henry’s household, where he could impress with his soldiery skills, if he had any to impress with, and earn the patronage he so desperately desired. Dickon needed a sponsor with some authority to foster his talents and keep him in line.

The morning was cool and crisp, providing good travelling weather, with many on the road, mostly merchants who were drawn by a new Court with its need for food and cloth. I wondered if Henry would have the money to satisfy them. Meanwhile I would enjoy a brief respite from devious doings in the tranquillity of Elmley Castle, one of the Beauchamp properties of the Earl of Warwick that had fallen into our hands when the Lords Appellant were swept away. It was a pleasant place, set like a jewel in its deer park.

The sun was only just beginning to move past its noonday height when the rattle of hooves of a single, fast-moving horse beat upon my ear. Without my intervention, we drew to a halt, my escort with hands to their swords, the recent potential violence in the country still making all travellers wary. My rank was obvious from my Despenser device of silver, red and gold, on tabard and pennon. I signalled to move on. A rider alone could be no threat to us, and indeed my escort visibly relaxed as the rider closed the distance.

‘It’s Master Dickon.’ My serjeant-at-arms allowed the grip on his sword to ease.

‘Dickon…’ I rode forward, a little trip of concern as he hauled his mount to a halt beside me. It was sweating, and so was he. He grabbed hold of my bridle and pulled me a distance away from the soldiers, his strength surprising me, as did the severity of his eye and the lines that deepened the corners of his mouth. He was short of breath.

‘You must come back with me.’

His voice broke on the hard consonants. His hair was wild, his garments dust-plastered. All his youthful flippancy had been stripped away, replaced by a raw anxiety.

‘Henry’s new parliament is out for blood,’ he said. ‘Our blood.’

So short a statement, so savagely delivered. It was enough. Without a word I turned my mare, indicating that my escort should follow. Suddenly it was no longer merely a matter of our losing land and title, of patronage and office with this change of monarch. Now it could be that our lives were truly in danger if parliament was pursuing revenge.

We had been far too complacent, expecting that the threats were over with the placing of the crown on Lancaster’s head.

I kicked my weary horse on, urgency a vital spur. Of what value was my return? What could I do? Not a thing, but I knew that I must be there because, before all else, we must present an image of unity and loyalty, so that Henry could never question our demeanour in the coming days of unrest. What I did not know, what none of us knew, was whether our new King would allow his parliament to have its vengeance. Henry had been vocal about the empty state of his coffers. What price would parliament demand for granting him future finance and a peaceful existence?

Furthermore, Cousin Henry might see this as an excellent opportunity to kill two plump partridges with one arrow. To remove his relatives whose loyalty was suspect at the same time as he made a favourable showing with parliament and obtained the promise of a hefty coffer of gold.

Surely he would not.

But how many enemies did we have?

It was late, well into the evening, when I arrived in the York apartments in Westminster Palace, my father struggling from his chair, until held firmly back by Joan. She welcomed me with a rise of her mouse-brown brows, before withdrawing to sit with her back to a tapestry depicting a conspicuously bloody hunting scene, all bared teeth, rent flesh and gore, as if she had nothing more to say or do in the affair that was developing elsewhere in this vast palace. Yet what a complication of family connection there was for Joan through her marriage to my father. The executed Earl of Arundel, most influential of the five Lords Appellant, was her uncle; the Duke of Surrey, hand in glove with my brother and husband in bringing Arundel to his death at King Richard’s behest, was Joan’s eldest brother. The equally complicit Duke of Exeter was also her uncle. Noting her retreat, I felt nothing but mild contempt for her complacency. How could I admire a woman who was so inexplicably unperturbed by the events around her that touched her family so closely? I would not be complacent. I might adopt a serene mask but every sense was tuned to the latent threat to my family.