do they hate my father so much, my lady?’ I interrupted, hoping to deflect the Princess from yet another attack on my character, and it was a subject that had impressed itself on me since the terrible events of the previous year.
It certainly caught her attention, but not in the manner I had hoped for. Her eyes almost stripped the flesh from my bones as she regarded me. ‘Are you telling me that you don’t know?’
I shook my head.
‘Well, you should. What have you been doing all your life?’ I thought her eyes flashed with a species of disdain, but perhaps it was merely the candlelight flickering in a draught. ‘Filling your head with nothing but frivolities and your new husband, I wager, when the country’s being torn asunder around us. Shame on you. And you an intelligent young woman. How old are you?’ Then without waiting for a reply. ‘You must learn, my dear Elizabeth, to keep your wits about you. To keep your political sense in tune, like your favourite lute. Would you allow its strings to become flat? Of course you would not! Knowledge is strength, my girl. Knowledge is power. If you know nothing, it will cast you into the hands of your enemies.’
I have no enemies.
Once I would have said that with conviction, but since the previous year I knew it not to be true, and so I must bury my pride. Joan’s warning had fallen on fertile ground, forcing me to realise that there was much I had never contemplated in my world of cushioned luxury. In the days of the Great Rising any man who bore the livery of Lancaster had feared for his life. Henry and I had escaped but my father’s much-loved physician had been executed on Tower Hill. As for the magnificent Savoy Palace, that most beloved of childhood homes, it had been utterly destroyed. Not one stone was left standing and all its contents were laid waste in a rage of revenge. I had shed tears for the blood and the destruction. I could no longer pretend ignorance. Being an intimate member of the King’s family would not protect me from those who despised us
‘So tell me, Madam.’ Still I bridled a little. ‘It seems I have been foolishly ignorant. Tell me why my father is so detested.’
The Princess needed no encouragement.
‘Where do I begin? All is not good for England. Where are the noble victories of the past? The glories of Crécy and Poitiers? We flounder in defeat after defeat, yet the tax is high to pay for it. The Poll Tax is heavy on the peasants while the law holds down their wages. Do they blame my son the King? How can they? He is too young to blame. They need a scapegoat, and who better than Lancaster who stands at the King’s side and orders his affairs? They pile their grievances on his head. He has already proved he is not the war leader his brother was.’ Momentarily her eyes softened at the memory of the military exploits of Prince Edward, her much lamented late husband, but only momentarily. Once again they were fiercely focused on me. ‘The rebels last year would have had your father’s blood. As for Lancaster’s heir—they’d have strung your brother up from the nearest tree as soon as look at him.’
‘I know this. We all lived through the horrors. But surely all is well again. My father made reparation.’
Surprising me, the Princess reached with her free hand, fingers honey-smeared, to touch my arm.
‘He did, and should be honoured for it.’
A terrible reparation it had been. Accepting God’s punishment for his immorality as the cause of England’s troubles, my father had made a public confession, ending with a rejection of Dame Katherine, banishing her from his life. It had filled the household with grief. It had, I suspected, broken my father’s heart. It had certainly destroyed Dame Katherine’s reputation since Walsingham saw fit to damn her as whore and witch. Such an admission to make, such a wrenching apart of their relationship, to restore peace and confidence to Richard’s tottering government, but the Duke had done it because duty to the Crown and his nephew demanded it.
‘But all is not well,’ Princess Joan continued, dusting her fingers before returning to her sweetmeats. ‘On the surface you father is restored to favour, the rebels put down, but there are those who still resent his power as my son’s counsellor. There are too many with their eyes open for any excuse to attack and remove him from Richard’s side. Don’t give anyone a weapon to use against him, Elizabeth.’
This reading of court politics clutched at my belly, for I had seen no dangerous undercurrents. But what possible effect would it have on the direction of my life?
‘I do not see, my lady, that my speaking with your son would give anyone ammunition against my father,’ I said.
‘Perhaps not. But it’s good policy to be discreet and circumspect. Lancaster needs no divisions with the Pembroke faction if you appear less than a loyal wife.’ She squeezed my arm again with sticky emphasis, and some residue of humour. ‘I’ll not say don’t enjoy yourself but it would be advantageous for you to keep my warnings in mind. Richard is growing fast to maturity. How long will he need his ageing uncles at his side, chastising and advising and pushing him in directions he does not wish to go? He’ll want to be rid of them. He’ll listen to any man who sows seeds of defection. Don’t give anyone a reason to awaken old scandals. Your reputation must be whiter than the feathers on a dove’s breast.’
Her reference was clear enough.
‘I know,’ I said, looking away to hide the sadness that those probing eyes might detect. ‘I miss Dame Katherine.’
‘So do I. Witch she might be, to seduce Lancaster—though I doubt he needed much seducing—but she has always struck me as a woman of uncommonly good sense. And without doubt Lancaster loved her.’ The Princess finished the wine, her homily at an end. ‘And now we’ve covered all the political goings-on at my son’s court, it’s time I met the bride. Braid my hair, Elizabeth.’
Standing, I applied the comb to hair now almost entirely grey but which once must have added to her considerable beauty. Once more in its confining roll, she inspected the effect in her looking glass, grimaced, but nodded.
‘It’s the best that can be done. In my time I had every man at court at my feet, but now …’ She struggled with my help to stand. ‘Take me to her and I’ll see what I make of this Anne of Bohemia. Will I like her?’
‘Yes, my lady.’ I let her rest her hand on my arm as we walked slowly through the audience chambers.
‘Will she prove to be a solid influence on my son?’
‘I think she will.’ I wondered if her suspicions of Richard’s waywardness were as lively as mine, but could not ask. ‘He has great affection for her,’ I said.
‘Then let us give thanks to Our Lady. May be she can achieve where we cannot.’
How I admired this woman who walked haltingly at my side, her fingers digging into my arm. So deeply in touch with events and movements she was, despite living in some seclusion at Wallingford. Princess Joan might appear indolent and pleasure-loving, but she was impressively well informed. Her discourse had appealed to my intellect as well as my pride. I would never allow myself to be ignorant again of matters that might harm the Lancaster household. I was grateful to her.
‘Thank you, my lady,’ I said.
‘There!’ she replied with a malicious little glint in her eye. ‘I knew you would be useful to me. I have a high regard for your father. You can be my eyes and ears. Mine are beginning to suffer from advanced age.’
Taken aback, I slid a glance.
‘When
