Philippa Gregory - The Red Queen

I rub my eyes hard, and my fists come away wet with tears. “But this is nothing,” I say fiercely. “Nothing to what I would say to you. Not at all what I want to hear.”

“As it should be. This way you have nothing to confess, neither to a priest nor a husband. And neither do I.” He pauses. “Now go.”

I lead the way down the stairs to the courtyard of the castle, where the horses are waiting. My betrothed gets down heavily from his saddle and lifts me onto my horse, and murmurs again that it is a long way and I might like to ride pillion, or take a litter, and I say, once more, that I have learned to ride, that I like to ride, and that Arthur, the horse that Jasper gave me as a wedding gift, will carry me steadily and safely all day.

The guards are mounted; they line up and dip their banners to the Earl of Pembroke, with the little Earl of Richmond, my boy, in his arms. Sir Henry throws him a casual salute. Jasper looks at me and I look back at him for one unflinching moment, and then I turn my horse’s head and I ride away from Pembroke, the castle, and its earl. I do not turn my head to see if he is looking after me; I know that he is.

We go to my mother’s house at Bletsoe, and I am married in the little chapel with my half sisters in attendance. This time, I do not ask my mother if I can be spared the wedding, and she does not reassure me with false promises. I look sideways at my new husband and think that though he is twice my age perhaps he will be kinder to me than a younger man would be. As I kneel at the altar for my wedding blessing, I pray with all my heart that he is so old as to be impotent.

They give us a wedding feast and put us to bed, and I kneel at the foot of the bed and pray for courage and that his strength may fail him. He comes into the room before I am finished and takes off his gown, letting me see him naked, as if there is no awkwardness at all. “What are you praying for?” he asks, bare-chested, bare-arsed, just utterly gross and shocking, and yet he speaks as if he did not know it.

“To be spared,” I blurt out, and at once clap my hand to my mouth in horror. “I am so sorry, I beg your pardon. I meant to be spared from fear.”

Amazingly, he shows no flare of temper. He does not even seem to be angry. He laughs as he gets into bed, still naked. “Poor child,” he says. “Poor child. You have nothing to fear from me. I will try not to hurt you, and I will always be kind to you. But you must learn to mind your tongue.”

I flush scarlet with misery and get into the bed. He gently pulls me towards him and puts his arm around me and holds me to his shoulder, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. No man has ever held me before, and I am rigid with fear at his touch and at the smell of him. I am waiting for the rough lunge that Edmund always made, but nothing happens. He does not move, and his quiet breathing makes me think he is asleep. Little by little I dare to breathe, and then I feel myself rest into the softness of the bed and the fineness of the linen. He is warm, and there is something comforting about his bulk and quietness, lying beside me. He reminds me of Arthur the horse, so strong and large and gentle. I realize that God has answered my prayers and that my new husband must be so old at thirty-three as to be completely impotent. Why else would he lie still and quiet, his hand just gently stroking my back? Lady Mother be praised! He is unmanned, and lying beside him feels like being safe and warm and even beloved. He does not move; he makes no noise but a quiet sigh, and as my anxiety slips away, I fall asleep in his arms.

I have been married a year and a half before I see my brother-in-law Jasper again, and as I wait for him, in the hall of our grand manor in Lincolnshire, I feel strangely embarrassed, as if I am ashamed of the easy comfort of my life with my husband, Sir Henry. I expect Jasper will find me much changed, and I know that I am changed. I am less haunted than the girl who swore she did not want to marry anyone; I am far happier than the girl who railed against her mother for saying there was no future for her but wedding and bedding. In the past eighteen months I have learned that my husband is not impotent, but on the contrary very kind and very gentle to me. His tenderness and sweetness have taught me tenderness in return, and I would have to admit to being a happy and satisfied wife.

He gives me much freedom in our life together, allowing me to attend chapel as often as I wish; I command the priest and the church that adjoins our house. I have ordered the services to run to the daily order of a monastery, and I attend most of them, even the offices of the night on holy days, and he makes no objection. He gives me a generous allowance and encourages me to buy books. I am starting to create my own library of translations and manuscripts, and occasionally he sits with me in the evenings and reads to me from the gospel in Latin, and I follow the words in an English translation that he has had copied for me, which I am slowly coming to understand. In short, this man treats me more as his young ward than his wife, and provides for my health, my education, and my religious life.

He is kind and considerate for my comfort; he makes no complaint that a baby has not yet been conceived, and he does his duty gently.

And so, waiting for Jasper, I feel strangely ashamed, as if I have found a safe haven and ignobly run away from the danger and fears of Wales. Then I can see the cloud of dust on the road, hear the hoofbeats and the clatter of the arms, and Jasper and his men rattle into the stable yard. He is with fifty mounted horsemen, all of them carrying weapons, all of them grim-faced as if ready for a war. Sir Henry is at my side as we step forwards to greet Jasper, and any hope that I had that he might have taken my hand, or kissed my lips, vanishes when I see that Sir Henry and Jasper are anxious to talk to each other, and neither of them need me there at all. Sir Henry grasps Jasper’s elbows in a hard embrace. “Any trouble on the road?”

Jasper slaps him on the back. “A band of brigands wearing the white rose of York but nothing more,” he says. “We had to fight them off, and then they ran. What’s the news around here?”

Sir Henry grimaces. “The county of Lincolnshire is mostly for York; Hertfordshire, Essex; and East Anglia for him or for his ally Warwick. South of London, Kent is half rebel as usual. They suffer so much from the French pirates and the blockade of trade that they see the Earl of Warwick in Calais as their savior and they will never forgive the French queen for her birth.”

“Will I get to London unscathed, d’you think? I want to go the day after tomorrow. Are there many armed bands raiding the highway? Should I ride cross-country?”

“As long as Warwick stays in Calais, you will only face the usual rogues. But they say he could land at any time, and then he would march to meet York at Ludlow, and your paths could cross on the way. Better send scouts ahead of you and keep a party following behind. If you meet Warwick, you will find yourself pitched into battle, perhaps the first of a war. Are you going to the king?”

They turn and walk into the house together, and I follow, the mistress of the house only in name. Sir Henry’s household servants always have everything prepared. I am little more than a guest.

“No, the king has gone to Coventry, God bless and keep him, and he will summon the York lords to meet with him there and acknowledge his rule. It is their test. If they refuse to go, then they will be indicted. The queen and the prince are with the king for their own safety. I am commanded to invest Westminster Palace and hold London for the king. I am to be ready for a siege. We are preparing for war.”