A Dangerous Inheritance

‘The Seymours have always been too puffed up for their own good.’

‘But,’ says Cecil, ‘public opinion speaks in Lady Katherine’s favour. There are many, I would remind you, who regard her marriage as valid, and think that she and Lord Hertford should be allowed to live as man and wife. They are popular with the people, and seen as sharply handled.’

‘What is your view, Lord Robert?’ Winchester asks. ‘Lady Katherine is your sister-in-law.’

‘Was,’ Dudley says quickly. ‘I say we ask the Queen to release Lady Le

‘By you, my lord, you mean?’ Norfolk smirks.

‘Yes, if you will!’ Dudley flares. ‘Or by anybody, come to that. But as she hasn’t, we have to make a decision.’

Arguments erupt. There are more calls for Katherine to succeed, while a few voices speak up for Mary, Queen of Scots. Cecil puts his hands over his ears then holds up a warning finger.

‘My lords, the Queen lies ill within! Have some respect. Now, a show of hands, by your leave. Who is for Lady Katherine?’

A majority respond. Cecil frowns. And at that moment, the German doctor attending the Queen emerges from her chamber.

‘My lords! Come at once. She is better, praise Gott!’

Kate

June 1487. Raglan Castle.

The news was good. There had been a great Yorkist victory at Bramham Moor, led by Lord Clifford, one of John’s commanders. Then they heard that Lincoln, at the head of an army eight thousand strong, was advancing relentlessly: he was at York, at Sherwood Forest, at Nottingham. In the privacy of her chamber, Kate and Mattie rejoiced, but their fears would not be stilled, because it took days for news to get through to Raglan; who knew what had been happening in the meantime?

They had heard nothing from Guy, but then they had not expected to. He could not write. Kate prayed he had got through safely to the Yorkist army.

The King, it was reported, was marching towards Newark in Lincolnshire. The household at Raglan held its collective breath, as did the whole realm, because the inevitable confrontation, which might come any day now, would determine decisively which royal House would rule England. Sweating and ungainly with her precious burden in the heat of the summer, Kate prayed as she had never prayed before, for John’s safety, and Guy’s, and for a Yorkist victory. She wondered if John’s wife, the Countess Margaret, was praying as fervently, wherever she was.

She prayed for William too, but only because it was her duty.

The news, when it came, was shocking. There had been a great, hard-fought battle at Stoke, a few miles south-west of Newark. The Tudor had finally vanquished his enemies. Four thousand, including the Earl of Lincoln, lay slain in the field.

How she kept her composure when William, returning triumphant, a

Kate thought she too would die when she heard John was dead. It was unbelievable, incomprehensible, that her dear love was no more. Slain, dead in the field … that glorious young knight, in the flower of his youth and manhood, and just twenty-five years old. Never again would he hold her, kiss her, whisper love poems to her, or loveher … She could not bear to hear that he had been buried in no sacred place, but where he fell, with a willow stave driven through his heart.

She took to her chamber, knowing her time was near. If she died in childbirth, she would be content. She did not want to live in a world without John.

But the world, in the person of Henry Tudor, was not done with her yet.

Mattie was distraught with anxiety for Guy, who had not returned. Knowing of the great slaughter at Stoke, she was near crazed in case he had been killed, and desperate to know how she could find out. There would be many with menfolk missing, praying they had got away. But, short of travelling across the breadth of the kingdom to Lincolnshire, there was nothing she could do.

A week after the battle, two of the King’s officers in their green and white livery presented themselves at the gatehouse at Raglan and demanded entry. Mattie espied them from a window, clattering into the courtyard, and saw William invite them into the great hall and shout for wine as he disappeared through the door. She thought little of their coming at the time, and went to sit with Kate, whose spirits were so low, and who lay on her bed listlessly, fully dressed, the great mound of her belly taut almost at term, and her long dark locks spread out around her haunted white face. Mattie feared for her: the child was draining her strength, and she seemed to have lost the will to live – and who could blame her? But if she did not rally, she might not have the strength she needed to face childbirth. And so Mattie, suppressing her own fears for Guy, was doing her very best to cheer Kate, talking to her about the coming child, preparing strengthening food and warming drinks for her, and putting fresh flowers daily into the little pewter vase on the window ledge.

She was sitting by the bed, showing Kate the new-fashioned gable hood she was making for her, when the door was suddenly flung open and William stood there, his face thunderous.

‘What have you done?’ he yelled at Kate. ‘What the hell do you think you have done?’ Kate looked at him bewildered for a second, then awareness dawned, and she stared at him in horror, knowing that the forces of hell were about to be unleashed. Mattie started to shake.

‘May we come in?’ said a brisk voice, and William, red with fury, stood aside to allow the King’s officers to enter.

‘Are you the Lady Katherine, Countess of Huntingdon?’ one of them, a young, dark-haired fellow, asked Kate.

‘Yes,’ she replied in a hoarse voice.

‘Did you write this?’ He handed her a crumpled, blood-spotted piece of paper. Her face blenched as she gazed upon it. It was the letter she had written to John. She could not touch it: it was his life-blood that had been spilt on the paper. Had he been carrying it in his bosom when he was killed?

She raised herself up on one elbow and faced her accusers calmly. ‘Yes,’ she said.

‘What did you think you were doing?’ William roared. ‘I swear to you, Sirs, I had no knowledge of this.’

‘The King is aware of that, my lord,’ the second officer assured him. ‘It is clear from the letter. But, Madam,’ he said, turning to Kate, ‘his Grace is mindful that you offered your support to the traitor Lincoln. That is treason. Do you admit that that was your intent?’

‘Yes, I admit it,’ Kate said. ‘I was glad to do it.’ She did not care what they did to her now. The only truth in her life was her love for John, and she was not going to deny it. The memory of it was all she had left.

‘Then, Madam, the case is very serious for you. My orders are to arrest you and convey you to Kenilworth Castle, where the King is, for questioning, but I see you are great with child. In the circumstances, you must remain here as a prisoner until you are delivered. You may have your maid to attend you. My lord, will you ensure, on pain of the King’s displeasure, that your wife is kept close in her chamber and that no one else is allowed access to her?’

‘By God I will!’ shouted William. ‘You have played me false, you strumpet, you traitress! It beggars belief what you have done.’