A Dangerous Inheritance

Katherine

November 1560. Greenwich Palace and Whitehall Palace.

When the court moved to Greenwich, Ned returned to Hertford House in Westminster, and there he fell ill of a fever. He wrote in anxious vein to Jane. To my dismay, his courage appeared to have deserted him. He was wavering again, fretting about how our wedding might be accomplished.

‘It is his sickness that speaks,’ Jane said, looking sick herself. ‘Do not let it upset you.’ But I did. These past days have been a nightmare, for I have thought of nothing but what I might do if Ned forsakes me. I could not live. It is as simple as that.

Yet now comes another letter.

‘He asks me to further his suit!’ cries Jane. ‘He says that, although your marriage must be secret, he intends to do all properly, according to custom. Thus he will propose himself formally to you, and you will be betrothed; and your wedding will then take place. All this he insists upon, so that your children shall be of undisputed legitimacy. He asks if you are content to agree. Oh, Katherine, it really is going to happen!’ And she embraces me heartily.

‘Content? I am the happiest woman alive! Pray tell my dear love that I am well inclined to whatever arrangements he desires to make, and that I shall give him my resolute answer in person when the court returns to Whitehall next week.’

And it is at Whitehall, in Jane’s closet, that I next embrace my beloved, who looks a shade pale, for he is not fully recovered from his malady, yet handsome and ardent for all that. And when, finally, we draw apart, breathless, Ned goes down on one knee before me and takes my hand.

‘Katherine,’ he says, ‘I have borne you goodwill for a long time, and I am content, if you will, to marry you.’

I smile down upon him. ‘I like both you and your offer, my Ned, and Iam content to marry with you, be the consequences what they may.’

‘When?’ he asks eagerly, rising to his feet.

‘As soon as possible!’ I laugh. ‘Next time the Queen’s Majesty leaves the palace!’

‘Then it shall be done,’ he agrees, embracing and kissing me. ‘And now we must be formally betrothed.’ He summons his sister, and when we three are together, he takes my hand in his and puts a ring on my finger. It is set with a pointed diamond, a glittering stone of unfathomable depths, which represents power and protection, its greenish hue the colour of life, beauty and constant love. Now, we join hands, and Ned vows to take me, Katherine, as his wife. It is done. We are promised.

We agree that, as soon as the Queen leaves for the good hunting to be had at Greenwich or Eltham, either Jane or I will get word of it to Ned, and then we shall come to Hertford House. We ca

‘I will seek out a minister to marry you,’ Jane undertakes. Her zeal for us is touching; of course having her brother married to one who might be queen will be the answer to her family’s prayers. Yet I know she loves me for myself.

‘The minister must be a Protestant,’ Ned insists, looking questioningly at me.

‘Of course,’ I say. I have now decided where my spiritual allegiance truly and properly lies.

‘And I myself will stand witness,’ Jane adds.

‘There must be two, I am certain,’ Ned says.

‘Who can we trust?’ I ponder.

‘One of your maids?’

‘I suppose it will have to be. Mistress Coffin is a chatterbox, so not her. Mistress Leigh is discreet, and she is loyal. I will ask her, although not until the day itself.’

‘Good. And as soon as I hear from you, I will send my servants out of the house,’ Ned promises.

‘I ca

‘It is an answer to all my prayers,’ Ned declares, and clasps me to him.

Kate

June 1484. Raglan Castle.

It had been a weary, seemingly endless journey, and Kate had lost track of the i

He really was the most unattractive of men. Well, no matter! She had Mattie with her, and Mattie could talk for England!

But they had left England behind them now and crossed the mighty Severn into Wales, that strange, alien land she was now to inhabit. And it was a poor land, and an oppressed one – anyone could see that. The countryside was scattered with ruined buildings and slighted castles; the towns lay wasted and broken down, having clearly suffered devastation at some time in the past; the people looked ill-fed and resentful; and only a few thin cattle grazed in the empty fields.

‘It was Owen Glendower’s revolt that brought them to this,’ William said suddenly, bringing his horse up beside Kate’s as they rode past a ruined monastery standing stark and blackened, its treasures plundered. ‘It was a brave bid for independence, but it brought the land to ruin, and after Henry IV crushed the rebels, every English king was resolved that never again should the Welsh have an opportunity of rising against their rule. They were determined to teach them a hard lesson, that rebellion brings only destruction and misery.’

‘But Glendower’s revolt was long ago, wasn’t it?’ Kate asked, shocked at what she was seeing.

‘Eighty years ago. But he united the Welsh behind him. They are a proud people, and refuse to be conquered. They hate us. But they have paid a bitter price for their resistance.’

‘How do they live?’ Kate asked.

‘Meanly. Do not try to extend charity to them when you are lady of Raglan. They will not thank you for it.’ William’s mouth set grimly. ‘And never go beyond the castle precincts without my permission and an armed escort. The countryside is not safe. I dare not risk your being taken hostage: the King would never forgive me; and even if you are not abducted by those who would overthrow their lords and masters, there are gangs of dispossessed men roaming the moors and wastes who would not hesitate to commit rape and murder. So heed my warning, my lady!’

On the afternoon of the tenth day, they at last caught sight of Raglan Castle in the distance. It was truly impressive: a massive, majestic fortress of reddish-gold stone that held a commanding view over the wide, undulating green countryside and distant hills.

‘Look yonder!’ William called, suddenly more animated than Kate had ever seen him. ‘Raglan lies ahead! Nearly there now.’ His men gave a little cheer.

Unusually talkative for once, he told her that the castle had been built fifty years before by his grandfather, an ambitious but loyal Welsh gentleman called William ap Thomas; his father, the great Earl of Pembroke, had converted it into a palatial mansion and made it impregnable. ‘He wanted a seat that would reflect his power,’ William explained. ‘As indeed it still does.’