A Dangerous Inheritance

Now the coronation procession was forming in the White Hall at Westminster, and A

Kate’s eyes alighted appreciatively on a handsome young lord who was standing near the King, carrying the orb. Tall and impressively dressed in the robes of a belted earl, he cut a dashing figure. His dramatic dark locks tumbled nearly to his shoulders, framing a face that could have been chiselled from the finest alabaster, with a strong nose and sensual lips. They were introduced: he was John de la Pole, Earl of Lincoln, the King’s nephew and her cousin. She supposed he must be about twenty years of age.

She could not draw her gaze away from him, he was so comely. And he, sensing it, met her eyes and held them. His intense regard took Kate’s breath away.

Another man was watching her, the lord who had the honour of carrying the Queen’s sceptre. He was older than Lincoln by several years, of middle height and stringy build, and nowhere near as handsome; in fact, his face reminded her of a ferret, and it was framed by black hair cut straight at jaw level. She looked away. She did not want him staring at her.

It was time. Richard and A

Kate had not warmed to Lady Stanley, a stern, austere woman with a severe face and a prickly ma

There was only one notable absentee from the coronation, and that was the Duchess Cecily, who had made it clear that she had not forgiven her son’s outrageous allegations, and that she did not believe the tale of the precontract.

For Kate, the long, slow ceremonial passed in a blur of pageantry, prayer and stolen glances at John de la Pole. But she would never forget the moment when Cardinal Bourchier placed the crown on her father’s head. Her heart soared as the voices of the monks rose to the vaulted roof in the Te Deumthat followed, and she too rejoiced, for the solemnity of the occasion must surely wipe out all doubt about the justness of her father’s title. She was thrilled to see the peers come up, each in his degree, to kneel and swear fealty to King Richard, and her eyes lingered on the debonair figure of the Earl of Lincoln as he took his turn.

The coronation banquet in Westminster Hall lasted five hours. At the start, the King’s champion came riding in on his horse to challenge Richard’s royal title, as was customary. None disputed it, and the celebrations continued, with wine flowing abundantly, and dish after dish of flesh and fowl and wondrous sugar subtleties borne to the high table. Kate was seated some way along the board from Lincoln, but several times he leaned forward to catch her eye, and by the end of the fourth course there was a silent, unspoken conversation going on between them. When the salt cellars were removed and the cloth was raised, Kate knew she had her glorious lord in the palm of her little hand.

They were bringing in the hippocras and wafers when, swiftly, he moved through the throng of courtiers and prelates and was suddenly there beside her. Already she knew her power over him, knew herself beautiful in the gorgeous blue gown and golden pendant, knew that she was alluring with her great blue eyes and wealth of dark hair. Both of them were a little flushed with wine.

Lincoln took her hand and raised it to his lips.

‘Allow me to pay my respects, my lady,’ he said. His voice was deep, assured. ‘Or are you a goddess who has bewitched me? In truth, I have had eyes for no other since I first saw you. But I think you were not aware of me until today.’

‘How could I have been?’ Kate laughed lightly, but the expression in her eyes belied her levity. ‘I never saw you before, my lord!’

Lincoln, chuckling, took a goblet from a servant and handed it to her before accepting one for himself. ‘Pray call me John, kind goddess. Your heavenly face reminds me of old Chaucer’s “flowers white and red”.’

‘You are a poet?’ she asked.

‘I love his verse,’ he answered. ‘Indeed, he was my ancestor, but it is not of Chaucer that I would speak. I would tell you how lovely you are, but you disdain to listen.’

‘I am listening now!’ She was discovering how easy it was to flirt. It seemed the most natural thing to do, and her handsome admirer was making it very easy for her.

‘Then I shall recite you a poem,’ he said. ‘I came across it some days after I first set eyes on you in the court. I had been watching you from afar.’ And as he recited the lines, they seemed to speak to Kate’s heart.

‘I shall say what inordinate love is:

The furiosity and frenzy of mind,

An inextinguishable burning, faulting bliss,

A great hunger, insatiable to find,

A dulcet ill, an evil sweetness blind,

A right wonderful, sugared, sweet error,

Labour without rest, contrary to kind,

And without quiet to have great labour.’

There was a pause as John’s eyes met hers. Kate could not quite believe this was happening. He had spoken of love, her young knight, and yet they were hardly acquainted. But still, it seemed they knew each other, had known each other for ever.

‘It’s a beautiful poem,’ she said at last. ‘Yet I ca

‘Oh, you are cruel, my sweet lady!’ His grimace, though, was feigned. He was bantering with her.

‘Am I no more then than a sweet error?’ she countered mischievously.

‘Ah maybe, but you are too, as I said, right wonderful and the disturber of my rest!’ He cocked his head to one side and looked meaningfully at her. She felt her cheeks flush.

‘I think we must postpone this singular pleasure,’ John murmured. Kate looked around and saw that the King was preparing to retire. Queen A

It had been the most exciting, exhilarating day, but as Kate’s spi

She was a bastard herself, and yet she had never been made to feel the pinch of it. Her brother, John of Gloucester, was a bastard too, and yet he had been present at the coronation, and been knighted by their father. It did not seem quite right that her disinherited cousins in the Tower, and their unfortunate sisters in sanctuary, should been forgotten on this great occasion. So before she finally fell asleep, she offered up a silent prayer for them all.