The King’s Concubine: A Novel of Alice Perrers (45 page)

Sire to the heir? But only if Richard were dead…Or perhaps Richard did not need to die.…The complications wound around my brain like a web spun by a particularly energetic spider. March—and even Gaunt—might challenge the boy’s legitimacy because of Joan’s scandalous matrimonial history. They would not be the first to do so, but…I could not think of that yet. There was a far more urgent danger.

“Can you hinder Speaker de la Mare?” I asked.

“What can I do? The Commons are elected and hold the whip hand over finance,” Gaunt responded, as if I were too much a woman to see it. “I’d look a fool if I tried and failed.” When he rubbed his hands over his face, I realized how weary he was. “You have to tell the King.”

My response was immediate and blunt. “No.”

“He needs to know.”

“What would be the point? If
you
can do nothing, what do you expect from an old man who no longer thinks in terms of plans and negotiations and political battles, who cannot enforce the authority of royal power? You’ve seen him when he is as drained as a pierced wine flask. What could he do? He’d probably invite de la Mare to share a cup of ale and discuss the hunting in the forest hereabouts.”

“He is the King. He must face them and…”

“He can’t. You know he can’t.” I was adamant. I watched as the truth settled on Gaunt’s handsome features, so like his father’s. “It will only bring the King more distress.”

Gaunt flung his ill-used gloves to the floor. For a moment he studied them as if they would give him an answer to the crisis; then he nodded curtly. “You’re right, of course.”

“What will you do?” I asked as he recovered his gloves and walked toward the door, his thoughts obviously far away. My question made him stop, slapping his gloves against his thigh, searching for a way forward.

“I’ll do what I can to draw the poison from the wound. The only good news is that the Prince is too weak to attend the sitting in person. It might give me a freer hand with Speaker de la Mare. If we come out of this without a bloody nose, it will be a miracle. Watch your back, Mistress Perrers.”

“I will. And I will watch Edward’s too.”

“I know.” For a moment the harshness in his voice was dispelled. “I detest having to admit it, but you have always had a care for him.” Then the edge returned. “Let’s hope I can persuade the Prince to have mercy on his father and leave him to enjoy his final days in peace.”

He made to open the door, clapping his hat on his head, drawing on his gloves, and I wondered. No one else would ask him, but I would.

“My lord…”

He came to a halt, irritably, his hand on the door.

“Do you want the crown for yourself?”

“You would ask that of me?”

“Why not? There is no one to overhear. And who would believe anything I might say against you?”

“True.” His lips acquired a sardonic tightness. “Then the answer is no. Have I not sworn to protect the boy? Richard is my brother’s son. I have an affection for him. So, no, I do not seek the crown for myself.”

Gaunt did not look at me. I did not believe him. I did not trust him.

But who else was there for me to look to? There would be no other voice raised in my defense.

Gaunt was gone, leaving me to search out the pertinent threads from his warning. So the Prince was behind the Commons attack, intent on keeping his brother from the throne. Every friend and ally of Gaunt would be dealt with. And I saw my own danger, for I had failed to foster any connection between myself and the Prince. But perhaps I was a fool to castigate myself over an impossible reconciliation. Could I have circumvented Joan’s loathing? I recalled her vicious fury over the herbs, her destruction of the pretty little coffer. No, the Prince would see me as much a whore as his wife did.

Could I do anything now to draw the poison, as Gaunt had so aptly
put it? I could think of nothing. Edward was not strong enough to face Parliament and demand their obedience as once he might. He needed the money. And what would the price be for de la Mare’s cooperation to keep the imminent threat of France at bay? Fear was suddenly perched on my shoulder, chattering in my ear like Joan’s damned long-dead monkey.

Watch your back, Mistress Perrers!

I considered writing to Windsor, but abandoned that exercise before it was even begun. What would I say? I could expect no help from that quarter before the ax fell. If it fell. All was so uncertain. I shivered. I would simply have to hope that its sharp edge fell elsewhere.

In those days following Gaunt’s warning, while I sat tight in Westminster and rarely left Edward’s side, the name of Peter de la Mare came to haunt my dreams and bewitch them into nightmares. I gleaned every piece of information that I could. Neither Edward nor the Prince attended any further sessions, so all fell into the lap of Gaunt, who tried to chain de la Mare’s powers by insisting that a mere dozen of the Commons members should present themselves to confer privately with Gaunt in the White Chamber. De la Mare balked at the tone of the summons. How clear was the writing on the wall when he brought with him a force of well over a hundred of the elected members into a full session of Parliament? There they stood at his back, as their Speaker put forward his intent to the lords and bishops in the Painted Chamber.

He called Gaunt’s bluff, and it put the fear of God into me. This was a dangerous game de la Mare was playing, and one without precedent, as he challenged royal power. I would not wager against his victory.

Oh, Windsor. I wish you were here at Westminster to stiffen my spine.

I must stand alone.

Gaunt’s description of events during that Parliament, for my personal perusal, was grim and graphic.
Thud!
Speaker de la Mare’s fist crashed down against the polished wood.
Thud!
And
thud
again, for every one of his demands. Where had the money gone from the last grant? The
campaigns of the previous year had been costly failures. There would be no more money until grievances were remedied. He flashed a smile as smooth as new-churned butter. Now, if the King was willing to make concessions…It might be possible to reconsider.…

Oh, de la Mare had been well primed.

There must in future be a Council of Twelve—
approved
men! Approved by whom, by God? Men of rank and high reputation to discuss with the King all matters of business. There must be no more covens—an interesting choice of word that clawed at my rioting nerves—of ambitious, self-seeking money-grubbers to drag the King into ill-conceived policies against the good of the realm.

And those who were now in positions of authority with the King? What of them?

Corrupt influences, all of them, de la Mare raged, neither loyal nor profitable to the Kingdom. Self-serving bastards to a man! Were they not a flock of vicious vultures, dipping their talons into royal gold to make their own fortunes? They must be removed, stripped of their power and wealth, punished.

And when Parliament—when
de la Mare
—was satisfied with their dismissal? Why, then the Commons would consider the question of money for the war against France. Then and only then.

“Do they think they are kings or princes of the realm?” Gaunt stormed, impotent. “Where have they got their pride and arrogance? Do they not know how powerful I am?”

“You have no power when Parliament holds the purse strings,” I replied. The knot of fear in my belly grew tighter with every passing day, as we awaited the final outcome.

And there it was.

Latimer, Lyons, and Neville were singled out as friends of Gaunt. And the charge against them? De la Mare and his minions made a good legal job of it, ridiculously so. Not one, not a score, but more than sixty charges of corruption and abuse, usury and extortion. Of lining their pockets from trade and royal funds, falsification of records, embezzlement, and so on. I had a copy of the charges delivered to me, and read them with growing anxiety. De la Mare was out for blood; he would not be satisfied with anything less than complete destruction.

I tore the sheet in half as the motive behind the charges became as clear as a silver coin dropped into a dish of water. Guilt was not an issue here. The issue was their tight nucleus of control, a strong command over who had access to the King and who had not. Latimer and I might see our efforts as protection of an increasingly debilitated monarch; de la Mare saw us as a blight that must be exorcised by fire and blood. What did it matter that Latimer was the hero of the nation, who had excelled on the field of Crécy? What did it matter that he ran Edward’s household with superb efficiency? Latimer and his associates were creatures of Gaunt. De la Mare was delirious with power and would have his way. Gaunt was helpless.

Throughout the whole of this vicious attack on his ministers, Edward was ignorant.

For what was I doing?

Trying to keep the disaster from disturbing Edward, whose fragility of mind increased daily. And I would have managed it too, having sworn all around him to secrecy, except for a damned busybody of a chamber knight, a friend of Latimer and Lyons, who begged for Edward’s intercession.

I cursed him for it, but the damage was done.

After that there was no keeping secrets.

“They’ll not do it, Edward,” I assured him.

Dismissal. Imprisonment. Even execution for Latimer and Neville had been proposed.

“How can we tell?” Edward clawed at his robe, tearing at the fur so that it parted beneath his frenzied fingers. If he had been able to stride about the chamber, he would have done so. If he had been strong enough to travel to Westminster, he would have been there, facing de la Mare. Instead, tears at his own weakness made tracks down his face.

“This attack is not against you!” I tried. “They will not harm you. You are the King. They are loyal to you.”

“Then why do they refuse me money? They will bring me to my knees.” He would not be soothed.

“Gaunt has it in hand.” I tried to persuade him to take a sip of ale, but he pushed my hand away.

“It is not right that my ministers be attacked by Parliament.…”
Did he realize that I too was not invulnerable against attack? I don’t think he did. His mind, besieged by all manner of evils, could not see the full scope of what de la Mare was planning. I enfolded Edward’s icy hand, warming it between both of mine. “I want to see the Prince…” he announced, snatching his hand away.

“He is not well enough to come to you.”

“I need to listen to his advice.” He was determined, struggling to his feet. I sighed. “I want to go today, Alice.…”

“Then you shall.…”

I could not stop him, so I would make it as easy as I could, arranging everything for Edward’s comfort for a journey to Kennington. I did not go with him: I would not be welcome there, and it would do no good to add to Edward’s distress by creating some cataclysmic explosion of emotion between myself and Joan. I prayed that the Prince would be able to give his father the comfort that I could not.

And so I made my own preparations. No longer could I delude myself that Latimer, Lyons, and Neville would escape without penalty. And when they fell…

So far my name had not been voiced in de la Mare’s persecutions. I had remained unremarked, but that would not last; I saw retribution approaching. I had myself rowed up the Thames to Pallenswick—thereby removing myself from Westminster and from any of the royal palaces. Discretion might be good policy. What effect would it have on Edward’s failing intellect and body if the one firm center of his life was gone? For once, the prospect of Pallenswick, the most beloved of all my manors, and reunion with my daughters, did not fill me with joy. Rather a black cloud of de la Mare’s making settled over my head.

Storm clouds. Storm crows.

The words came back to me, Windsor at his most trenchant. The presentiments of doom were gathering.

I shivered with fear as the days passed, heavy with portent. Even though I was isolated from the Court, could I not see the future danger, its teeth bared like a rogue alaunt? I needed no recourse to a fortune-teller, or to my physician, who had something of a reputation for the reading of
signs. I could read them for myself while sitting watchful at Pallenswick, every nerve strained. Braveheart slept at my feet, unconcerned, lost in a dream of coneys and mice. The blade Windsor had given me lay forgotten in a coffer upstairs. The threat to me came not from an assassin’s dagger but from the heavy fist of the law.

The three royal ministers were dealt summary justice, their offices and possessions stripped from them. They were confined to prison, but the demands for execution died. Not even de la Mare could make the charge of treason stick. There was no treachery in these men to endanger King or state, unless acquiring a purseful of gold was treason. And if it was, then every man in government employ was guilty. But imprisonment was considered a just punishment. This was the price Latimer and Neville and Lyons paid for their association with John of Gaunt and Alice Perrers!

Holy Virgin! Would I be next? Gaunt, a royal son, would be safe, but the royal Concubine would be a worthy target. I too might end my days in a prison cell.

My mind leaped to Ireland, as it often did in those days.

Did Windsor know of my plight? It gave me some foolish comfort to think of him riding to my rescue. But of course he would not, and he was too far away to stretch out a hand to me. I shut out the image of his arms protecting me, his strength resisting any attack. It was too painful to imagine when I had no weapon that I might use. I had given Edward all I could—my youth, my body, my children. My unquestioning allegiance. Now I was truly alone.

And then, as expected, the charges against me arrived, ominously red-sealed. I had to sit, my legs suddenly too weak to hold me upright, as I read de la Mare’s accusations, a pain hammering at my temples as I absorbed the horror of it. What had they concocted to make my freedom untenable?

Ah…! As I read the first charge, the pain lessened. My breathing steadied. Predictable, nothing outrageous to shock me. I could answer this. I could state my defense. This was not so very terrible after all.…