‘Different? Changed?’ Eyes opening wide, a glint of light, John considered the sumptuous surroundings with scorn. ‘There was no difference. Yet everything suddenly changed for me. It would have been the simplest of matters to let events take their course. To let Richard go to his incarceration and death—’

‘You have no evidence of that!’ I broke in.

‘—for I see nothing less than death for him,’ John continued as if I had never spoken. ‘I could have worked for a return of my titles and lands from a grateful Henry, and taken a stance on the side of power and military might. How painless it would have been to accept office under the banner of Lancaster, mimicking the affection of a close-knit family.’ The sneer took me aback. ‘I thought I could do it. And then I could not. My little sojourn in Hertford as Henry’s prisoner made me aware of my vulnerability, and of my true allegiance. And if I was vulnerable, how weak is Richard? It was not right, Elizabeth. I could no longer pretend that it was.’

In spite of the anguish that was building—for was this not indeed farewell between us? —I forced my mind into the paths that John’s was taking:

‘But was Richard right in his judgements? Was he a better man than Henry? If you had murdered Henry and released Richard, would your brother have ruled England with fairer justice than my brother? There is no evidence of it. Rather of the contrary, I’d say.’

He sighed. ‘Probably not, but Richard is King by true inheritance. Where will we be if might is allowed to have its day? Do we accept that a king be usurped by a powerful man with an army at his back, simply because he is the stronger?’

‘Not any man,’ I urged. ‘Henry has enough royal blood and more to make him eligible. He is our grandfather’s heir by royal entail and male descent. It is his right to be King.’

‘And there are many who would question that right!’ Frustration gave fuel to John’s arm as he flung the packed saddlebag to the floor. ‘The whole Mortimer faction will be crying foul on Henry’s claim.’

Which I knew. Descended from my dead uncle Lionel, second son to my grandfather, the Mortimers had a sound claim, except that it ran through a female line which old King Edward had overstepped in his entail.

‘And you know full well,’ John was continuing, ‘that Richard chose the line of your uncle of York to succeed him.’

‘Of course I know. With Cousin Edward smirking with regal pretension.’ Still I would argue Henry’s cause. This was no time to be distracted by Edward of Aumale’s posturing. ‘Henry’s claim has the force of law behind him. He has the right to rule through our mother’s blood too, from Henry the Third. It is a claim that is hard to resist.’

‘It’s hard to resist because Henry has men who’ll fight for him in their own interests! But does that make it legal?’

‘Yes. To me it is entirely legal.’

As John, furiously, marched to the end of the Jerusalem Chamber to collect his outer garments, animadverting bitterly on the cunning words of lawyers, I scooped up the saddlebag and waited for him to return to me. Which he did in the end, to stand foursquare before me.

‘I know there is no bending you,’ he said. ‘But let me speak to you.’ And at last, anger draining away, I saw grief and regret in the flat planes of his beloved face. ‘This is the last time we might see each other. If the fates smile on me, and bring me safe to a foreign shore, will you come to me? Or will spending the rest of your life with me be more than you can bear? If I have indeed destroyed your love for me, then I must accept that we will never meet again.’

Against my will, the beat of my heart quickened. Still at this eleventh hour, he was offering me a choice.

‘You never make life easy for me, do you?’ I said

‘No. We never thought it would be.’

‘Would you want me with you?’

‘Yes. You are the heart of my heart. That will never change.’

I loved him so much. In spite of everything, I loved him. I suspected I always would. But would I willingly go with him into exile? Would I leave my children and follow John into an uncertain existence in France? An exile that might never be rescinded? The alternative, the terrible alternative, was never to see him again.

Could I refuse him—and myself—that final vestige of hope of living together?

Reality rushed through my mind to cool my heated thoughts and show me what it would mean. He would never again be there at my awakening, or in the final hour of my day. Never would we ride together through pasture and woods, a hawk on his fist, the hawk no fiercer than he. Never would I see the golden lions of his banner in a tournament heralding his incomparable dexterity of hand and eye. Never again would I know the brush of his fingers against my wrist to set my blood pounding into desire. Never would he shower me with opinion, inviting my response as if I were an equal, not a woman to be kept in the background.

John smiled a little at my silent presence as if he could read my thoughts. And I was stabbed with love and desire that heated me all over again. Remaining apart from him was no alternative at all. My decision was made, chasm or no chasm.

‘If you can get word to me, I will come to you,’ I said.

‘It will mean being an exile.’

‘Then I will live in exile with you.’

In spite of everything, I could not let him go.

‘You don’t have to decide now. Wait until I can send for you.’ His lips twisted into a smile that was barely a smile. ‘Will you allow me to kiss you in farewell?’

I stepped across the abyss and there I was, enfolded in his arms as I had been so often in the past.

‘It was wrong and the outcome is dire, but I would do it again tomorrow,’ he said.

Honesty was what I expected from him. That appalling honesty.

‘I know. I can’t condone it or excuse it, but I do understand. Keep safe, my dearest love.’ I would not weep again. He did not need my tears. ‘You must go.’

I offered my lips and he took them, his hands cradling my face with so much love and understanding that for a moment I could believe that the hot breath of treachery was a fantasy, but when he released me, it was to confront a cruel parting, the need to be gone stark in John’s face.

‘I will love you for ever,’ he promised, brushing a wayward curl of hair from my temple in a final gesture.

‘As I will love you.’

‘I will never forget you as you are at this moment.’ His fingers rested against my cheek, my lips, my brows, as if he must retain the image of them for a time of drought.

‘Nor I you.’

‘God keep you, my dear love.’

‘And you. I will keep you in my thoughts.’

Such a simple confirmation of what we had been to each other, before he left me there, striding off through the environs of Westminster towards the Thames. I could have gone with him to the waterside, but better that I leave him without any further chains around his neck. What would I have done, stood on the riverside and waved to him in farewell?

Before he left, I give him a purse of coin. All I had.

‘Go! Be safe!’ Guilt colouring my words so that he must surely understand, but with a courtly little bow he left me.

Holy Virgin, keep him safe. Holy Virgin, give me the strength to withstand our parting.

‘Who?’ the guard barked, holding up a lantern.

‘Elizabeth of Lancaster,’ my page replied soft-voiced but still arrogant on my behalf. ‘Allow her to enter.’

There was no hesitation.

So I returned to the Tower, no longer surprised how a few coins and being sister to the King could open doors. My face, my status, were well-known. In present circumstances, uncertain of its reception, I took care not to breathe the name of Huntingdon.

Once more within, my page dismissed, I leaned back against my door and allowed the full horror to wash over me, my love for John battered by my knowledge of what he had done. What he could envisage as just revenge for what many saw as remarkable leniency. What was the loss of a title weighed against the death of the male house of Lancaster?

But could I condone Henry’s killing of Richard? Any childhood affection for Richard had long faded but he was still of my blood, and Henry’s too.

But he will not.

I thought he would. I kept out of Henry’s path, not difficult since he was still occupied with the final bloody consequences of the Revolt of the Earls.

Keeping close in my rooms I prayed that the Blessed Virgin would bring John to sanctuary. That he would make landfall somewhere in France, and that one day I might be united with him. For in spite of all, my love for him had bonds of steel. Yet even as I offered up prayer after prayer, outside my windows storms raged, dashing my hopes that he would reach safety. More like his ship would founder and he would be dashed to death on the rocks or dragged down beneath the indifferent waves.

I would never hear from him again and I would never know his fate.

My knees were sore as my fingers clicked over the beads of my rosary, repeating petition after petition, not least for peace within my own soul that I knew I did not deserve, until at last, in hopeless despair, I sank back to my heels.

‘I can pray no more.’

All I could do was wait. Knowing my children to be safe at Windsor, I determined to stay in London until I knew, for better or worse. I kept to my chambers, the only thought in my heart being that to hear no news was not all bad. The storm winds had abated, bringing a strange calm. John might even now be secure and at liberty in some French port.



Chapter Fourteen

Three days after I had said my farewell to John, there was a fist driven against my door and a royal official was admitted.