All very seemly, except that Lancaster might have removed his sword, but he was still clad in armour, burnished for battle, which gleamed in the candlelight. A soldier dedicating his future to God.
The Earl, Harry and I were left alone in the White Friars’ chapel to consider what we had just heard.
‘Which makes it all clear enough,’ the Earl huffed. ‘Does it not?’
Harry made no response, more concerned with collecting his sword from the antechamber, clasping his belt around his waist as if he were unclad without it.
Was I the only one to have doubts of Lancaster’s veracity? I opened my mouth to say that nothing was clear to me, but decided against it. It was like staring across a thick winter mist with figures looming. Despite the terrible sanctity of the oath, nothing was clear, nothing decided. Not that I would necessarily believe Lancaster to be capable of deception, no more than any other man of ambition; no more than the Earl whose principles were compromised as soon as his authority came under threat. Sometimes it was necessary to tread warily when the future was not clear-cut. And yet my cousin had sworn an oath on his soul, on those holiest of relics.
I regarded Harry who was still occupied with the stiffness of the buckle. I could not read him as well as I would like. A light-fingered hand gripped my heart and squeezed a little, a forewarning.
Then Harry looked up, buckle forgotten.
‘Do you believe him?’ His demand, addressed to the Earl, cracked the stillness of the now-empty chapel, the precious relics returned to their domed coffer. ‘That he will only take what is his? Are we suitably overawed by this show of magnificent reverence and ceremonial?’
‘What do you still fear? That he will still have designs on the throne?’ The Earl seemed to me strangely complacent as if it mattered not at all.
‘With an army this size at his beck and call? Why not? And he is talking about raising taxes.’
‘Which is sovereign power,’ I added, seeing the direction of Harry’s thoughts. ‘Dealing with parliament to raise taxes, with or without consent, is royal power.’
The Earl rewarded me with a glance, utterly disparaging, below his brows. ‘Lancaster swore that he would not seize the crown. He would stand aside for any man more worthy.’
‘Depends what he means by worthy,’ Harry grimaced.
I glanced from one to the other. ‘What are you saying? Or not saying? That it would be unwise to explore the term worthy? But he swore on the relics.’
How conflicted my loyalties, and Lancaster had barely set foot on English soil.
Harry was still in explosive mood. ‘Oaths can be broken.’
‘Lancaster has a reputation for piety,’ the Earl acknowledged.
‘The Lancasters have a reputation for hard-headed ambition.’
‘There is no outward treason here.’ The Earl gripped his son’s arm. ‘It is my advice that we go with him and ensure that he keeps the oath. If we wish to retain our power in the north, it would be unwise to stand against him at this juncture. Let us assess the lie of the land when Richard returns from Ireland. A decision made now can be undecided. If we think Lancaster’s scheming is not to our taste, then we withdraw. We have committed nothing but our presence and can take it day by day. It may be that it will all fall out to our advantage.’
For the Earl it was quite a speech. I felt that he saw a need to persuade his son, and for a long minute Harry considered, studying the sword callous on his palm, as if of a mind that a decision made here today would result in more sword galls to come. Then he nodded, looking up, eyes catching briefly in the few candle flames that had yet to be doused.
‘I say that we go with him, but we remain awake to what particular dish might be cooking in his pot.’
‘We remain awake,’ the Earl repeated.
They clasped hands in Percy unity; for better or worse we had thrown in our lot with Lancaster. The divergent paths worried me. Better? Settle the irregularities, bring Richard to book and restore good government. Secure Percy power. Worse? The penalty for treason was death.
Instead of following Harry I chose to remain in the chapel, walking slowly to the altar where I bowed my head as I placed my palms on the dome of the little coffer. The jewels gleamed and glinted as the candles finally guttered and died. I thought to offer up my own prayer to St John of Bridlington whose bones were renowned for working miracles, but for whom or for what should I pray? In the end I lifted my hands, covered my face with them and offered up a plea to the Blessed Virgin, for all of us.
In this valley, restless, grievous and changeable,
Turn to us, O Maiden amiable, our Mediator and Advocate, your eyes,
Full of the joy of paradise.
That we may gain eternal joy and pleasure.
It was a prayer that soothed, but my previous conflict refused to be overborne: who would have the power to stop Lancaster from doing exactly what he wished?
All as complex and mischievous as kittens in a box.
I could not imagine for one moment that Harry had not allowed this consideration to occupy a significant moment of his thoughts. But was I guilty of an unwarrantable cynicism in my suspicions that Lancaster might be more than willing to break so solemn an oath, sworn on such powerful relics? The scene so recently enacted in this chapel remained vivid in my mind, the holy words, the sacred incense-filled atmosphere that still dried my throat, the stern voice of absolute assurance from the royal vow-taker. A man could be damned for breaking so reverential a vow. Was not my cousin a man of proven honour and integrity?
‘Blessed Virgin, keep me safe from all mean doubting,’ I murmured in a final heartfelt plea. ‘And preserve Henry of Lancaster in the vow to which he has committed his soul.’
How could I not accept such dedication? Lancaster would do what was right and just.
I said my farewells to Harry. Lancaster’s army was marching south, supported by Percy forces, to the Lancaster fortress at Leicester where more troops would join with them, but I would not be there. With a fast-riding escort in Percy livery to deter any well-wishers, I had decided to make my way to London where I would claim accommodation at Westminster and glean as much as could be gleaned from friends and family. Better to be there when Richard returned from Ireland to face his nemesis than isolated in the north, for London was where the future would be decided.
I was sitting on the bed in Harry’s campaign tent while Harry strode around me, stuffing items of clothing into a coffer. A squire was waiting for it outside the canvas door-flap.
‘Keep safe,’ he said in passing. ‘Go straight to London. I doubt you’ll meet up with His Grace of York. We hear he’s in the west after all, searching for invisible rebels.’
‘And you keep safe too.’ I turned my head to watch him in his perambulations. ‘Will there be fighting? When Richard lands from Ireland?’
‘I doubt Richard will have the stomach to take us on. York even less.’ He paused, the groove between his brows becoming a fully fledged frown as he looked out to where the Earl was issuing orders. ‘But there may be,’ he admitted.
‘Are you sure of all this, Harry?’
Harry threw a quick glance over his shoulder to ensure that the squire was out of earshot. ‘He took the oath. You heard him.’
‘So you expect Richard to return to London, where he will be feted as King, and with Lancaster following behind as his loyal subject?’
‘I don’t know. Lancaster seems well intentioned.’
‘Lancaster seems well organised and single-minded to me. That oath no more