Philippa Gregory - The Kingmaker's Daughter

Isabel receives me in her privy chamber with three ladies in waiting. I know none of them. It is like meeting a stranger in awkward circumstances. I walk in and curtsey; she inclines her head.

‘Iz.’

She has gone deaf with greatness. She just looks at me.

‘Iz,’ I say more urgently.

‘How could you do it?’ she demands. ‘How could you come with her and invade us like that? How could you, Anne? You were bound to fail and face disgrace or death.’

For a moment I am aghast, and I stare at her as if she is speaking Flemish. Then I look at the avid ladies seated around her and realise we are speaking for the enjoyment of the House of York, we are a tableau of remorse and loyalty. She is playing Loyalty; I am to play Remorse.

‘My Lady Sister, I had no choice,’ I say quietly. ‘My father ordered my marriage to the son of Margaret of Anjou, and she commanded that I go with them. You remember that I did not seek the marriage, it was at my father’s command. As soon as we landed in England I asked at once to join my mother. There are witnesses to that.’

I thought that the mention of our mother, mourning in sanctuary, would soften Isabel but it turns out it is the wrong thing to say. Her face darkens at once. ‘Our mother is to be arraigned for treason. She will lose her estates and fortune. She knew of the plot against King Edward and she did nothing to warn him. She is a traitor,’ Isabel rules.

If my mother loses her estates then Isabel and I will lose our inheritance. Everything my father owned was lost on the battlefield. All we have left is the fortune that stayed in my mother’s name. Isabel cannot want to throw this away, it is to make herself a pauper. I shoot an anxious glance at her. ‘My mother was guilty of nothing but obedience to her husband,’ I try.

Izzy scowls at me. ‘Our father was a traitor to his king and his friend. Our mother is guilty with him. We will throw ourselves on the mercy and wisdom of Edward. God save the king!’

‘God save the king!’ I repeat.

Isabel waves the women to leave us and beckons me to come and sit beside her. I sink to a low stool and wait for her to tell me what I am to do, what she means by this. I am so weary and so overwhelmed by defeat that I wish I could put my head in her lap, like I used to do, and let her rock me to sleep.

‘Iz,’ I say miserably. ‘I am so tired. What do we have to do now?’

‘We can do nothing for Mother,’ she says quietly. ‘She made her choice. She will be in the abbey for life now she has walled herself in there.’

‘Walled?’

‘Don’t be stupid. I don’t mean she’s really walled in. I mean she has chosen to live there and claimed sanctuary. She cannot just come out now that the fighting is over and expect to carry on as normal.’

‘What about us?’

‘George is a favoured brother, a son of the House of York. He was on the right side in the last two battles. I’m going to be all right.’

‘What about me?’

‘You’re going to live with us. Quietly, to start off with, until the fuss about the Prince of Lancaster and the battle is over. You will be my lady in waiting.’

I observe that I am brought so low that I am relieved to be in service to my sister, and she in the House of York. ‘Oh, so now I am to serve you,’ I say.

‘Yes,’ she says shortly. ‘Of course.’

‘Did they tell you about the battle at Barnet? When Father was killed?’

She shrugs. ‘Not really. I didn’t ask. He’s dead, isn’t he? Does it matter how?’

‘How?’

She looks at me and her face softens as if beneath this battle-hardened young woman is the sister that loves me still. ‘You know what he did?’

I shake my head.

‘They say that he wanted the soldiers to know that he would not ride off and leave them. The soldiers, the common men, know that the lords have their horses held by their grooms behind the battle lines, and if they are losing, the lords can call for their horses and get away. Everyone knows that. They leave foot soldiers to be killed and they ride away.’

I nod.

‘Father said he would face death with them. They could trust him to take the risk that they were taking. He called for his beautiful warhorse—’

‘Not Midnight?’

‘Yes, Midnight who was so handsome and brave, that he loved so much, that had carried him so often in so many battles. And before all the men, all the commoners who would never be able to get away if they were defeated, he drew his great battle sword and he plunged it into Midnight’s loyal heart. The horse went down to its knees and Father held his head as he died. Midnight died with his big black head in Father’s arms. Father stroked his nose as he closed his black eyes.’

I am horrified. ‘He did that?’

‘He loved Midnight. He did it to show them that this was a battle to the death – for all of them. He laid Midnight’s head on the ground and stood up and said to the men: “Now I am like you, a foot soldier like you. I cannot gallop away like a false lord. I am here to fight to the death.” ’

‘And then?’

‘Then he fought to the death.’ The tears are pouring down her face, and she does not wipe them away. ‘They knew he would fight to the death. He didn’t want anyone to ride away. He wanted this to be the last battle. He wanted it to be the last battle in the cousins’ wars for England.’

I put my face in my hands. ‘Iz – ever since that terrible day at sea everything has gone wrong for us.’

She does not touch me, she does not put her arm around my shoulders or reach for my tear-drenched fingers. ‘It’s over,’ she says. She takes a handkerchief from her sleeve, and she dries her eyes, folds it, and puts it back. She is resigned to grief, to our defeat. ‘It’s over. We were fighting against the House of York and they were always certain to win. They have Edward before them and they have witchcraft behind them, they are unbeatable. I am of the House of York now, and I will see them rule England forever. You, in my household, will be faithful to York too.’

I keep my hands over my mouth and I direct my frightened whisper to her ears only. ‘Do you know for sure that they won by witchcraft?’

‘It was a witch’s wind that nearly drowned me and killed my baby,’ she says, her voice so low that I have to lean against her cheek to hear her words. ‘The same witch’s wind raged all spring and kept us in port but blew Edward to England. At the battle of Barnet, Edward’s armies were hidden by a mist that swirled around them, only them, as they crept forwards. Father’s army was on a ridge in plain view, it was Her magic that hid the York troops. It is not possible to defeat Edward as long as he has Her at his side.’

I hesitate. ‘Our father died fighting them. He sacrificed Midnight to fight them.’

‘I can’t think about him now,’ she says. ‘I have to forget him.’

‘I won’t,’ I say, almost to myself. ‘I won’t ever forget him. Not him or Midnight.’

She shrugs, as if it does not matter very much, gets to her feet and smooths her gown over her slim hips, arranging her golden belt. ‘You have to come to the king,’ she says.

‘I do?’ I am frightened at once.

‘Yes. I am to take you. Make sure you don’t say anything wrong. Don’t do anything stupid.’ She looks me over with a hard critical glare. ‘Don’t cry. Don’t talk back. Try and act like a princess though you are not.’

Before I can say another word she beckons her ladies and leads the way out of her rooms. I follow her and the three ladies in waiting fall in behind me. I watch very carefully that I don’t step on her gown as she leads the way through the castle to the king’s apartments. Her train slips down the stairs, trails through the sweet-scented rushes across the great hall. I follow it like a kitten follows a skein of wool: blindly, like a fool.