“Tom, we may know him for what he is, and revile him for it, but the Londoners— all of England’s commons—do not! They see him only as the fair young boy elevated by tragic circumstances to the throne. He has their sympathy.”
Neville was silent, thinking, and Bolingbroke let his arm go.
“Tom, if Richard were to die suddenly, violently, then all England would believe their fair young king murdered … and whoever took the throne after Richard would soon lose it in a baronial uprising riding the surge of popular suspicion and resentment.”
“So you say that the commons must be given time enough to come to loathe Richard?” For the moment Neville ignored the implications of ‘whoever took the throne after Richard.’
“Aye,” Bolingbroke said. “Whoever moves against Richard must do so publicly and with the surge of popular opinion behind him, so that other barons will be hesitant to challenge him. It is the only way to succeed.”
“If Richard raises this poll tax—”
“—and the commons of England smart under its sting for some months—”
” Then will be the time to act.”
“Aye,” Bolingbroke said again, nodding slowly this time. “When both barons and commons are likely to support a usurper.”
Neville watched Bolingbroke very carefully. “And you will be the one to take his place. You plan to be the next King of England, don’t you, Hal?”
There was a stiff breeze blowing along the Thames, and it whipped Bolingbroke’s silver gilt hair about his forehead and eyes. Apart from the movement of his hair, Bolingbroke was very, very still, and his pale gray eyes steady as they watched Neville.
“Who else?” he said softly.
“Lancaster,” Neville said. “Gloucester. They are both in line to the throne before you.”
“The commons will never accept my father—they have loathed him for years. And Gloucester… Gloucester is not the man to do it. So,” Bolingbroke took a deep breath, and Neville realized that this was likely the first time that Bolingbroke had spoken these words aloud, “yes, Tom, I do intend to take the throne of England from Richard.”
He hesitated a little. “What say you, Thomas Neville. Are you with me, or against me?”
Neville did not hesitate even for an instant. He dropped to his knee before Boling-broke, and took one of the prince’s hands in his. “I am with you, my Lord of Hereford. I will be your man until death.”
Bolingbroke smiled.
CHAPTER IX
The Monday after Septuagesima
In the first year of the reign of Richard II
(23rd January 1380)
MARGARET HAD a far more relaxed journey south to London than had Neville. Mary (and the other ladies who accompanied them) was pleasant company, the weather was sunny if still bitterly cold, Rosalind was delightful, laughing and crowing at every new sight and, to add to her good temper, Margaret now was almost certain she was pregnant again. She knew this pregnancy would bring difficulties, she knew that Hal would use it eventually to further his (their) own cause, but for the moment it simply pleased her. She and Tom had conceived this child amid love and honesty, far from the turmoil and hate of Rosalind’s conception.
This time, the birth would also be accomplished amid love and honesty.
Margaret was now so happy, not only with the fact that Neville had openly admitted his love for her, but with the warmth and companionship she’d found within the womanly Lancastrian household, that she no longer truly cared about what machinations Hal might be up to.
Margaret knew deep within her that this happiness would not last, knew that, like her time at Halstow Hall, her current contentment was only a breath between screams, but for now that did not matter. There would be some months of happiness ahead of her, months when she could allow the political maneuverings to wash over her, months when she could allow herself only to be contented and loved.
Months when she did not have to think about what would happen when Tom inevitably discovered the truth.
A horrifying, dark depression washed over her, and she drew in a sharp breath and gripped the reins of her palfrey tightly.
“Margaret?” Mary pulled her own mount a little closer to Margaret’s. “What ails you?”
Margaret swallowed, and shoved her sudden melancholy back deep within her where it belonged. It had no right to spoil such a wonderful day, no right to make her sad and afraid when there was no need for it. . . not yet.
“Ah, my lady, I was thinking of what might be awaiting us in London. Are our husbands safe?
What does Richard plan?”
Mary was about to laugh away Margaret’s fears when she stopped herself. She couldn’t laugh away what was all too real. “I fear for Hal,” Mary said softly so that none of the other ladies, or the men-at-arms of their escort, might hear. “He is a man of great ambition.”
Grateful to be distracted away from her own fears, Margaret sent Mary a surreptitious glance.
She knew something of what had happened between Mary and Hal the past few weeks, and she was glad of it, especially as Mary now seemed so much happier. Even if Hal did not truly love Mary, at least now he seemed to treat her with a gentleness and respect that before he had denied her.
“What has he said to you?” Margaret said. Over the past months Mary and Margaret had become close friends despite the great gap in their social ranks. In private, Margaret now addressed Mary informally, although still respectfully, and felt she could broach most matters with her. Most. Not all, Margaret could not speak of the deep secrets she and Hal shared.
Mary shrugged, and a momentary unhappiness came over her face. “About his ambitions?
Nothing. But I can see and hear, Margaret, and I can think… and I know that little stands between Bolingbroke and the throne but Richard.”
Now Mary studied Margaret as carefully as Margaret had so recently studied her. “I think I can say this to you, Margaret, for you and Tom have no secrets—”
Margaret’s stomach lurched over sickeningly in guilt.
“—and I think Hal is closer to Tom than any other person alive.”
Mary had turned her eyes back to the road ahead, and Margaret took the opportunity to briefly close her eyes and try to bring her raging guilt under control.
“I think Hal means to depose Richard,” Mary said, whispering now, her eyes darting about to make sure no one else was within hearing range.
“Aye,” Margaret said. “I am not surprised to hear those words spoken aloud. My lady… you know that Tom and myself have found a peace between ourselves in past weeks, and I know that you and my Lord of Hereford have also. Knowing my own happiness, I am happy for you as well.”
There, she had not asked a question, but she had said enough that Mary might respond in kind.
To Margaret’s surprise, Mary flushed.
“Margaret, please forgive me for what I now tell you. I have been a fool, and I am so sorry for what I thought—”
“My lady, what is it?”
Mary’s flush deepened. “Several nights before Christmastide, my lord came to our chamber very late at night. I was frightened—as you know I have been more than wary of my husband—for I thought that he had been with a mistress.”
Now Mary had shocked Margaret. She had known of Mary and Hal’s reconciliation, but had no idea that Mary thought Hal kept a mistress. “My lady! My Lord of Hereford surely would not—”
“It is what I thought, Margaret! Furthermore, I thought that mistress was you.”
Truly shocked, Margaret could only gape at Mary, thinking much the same thing that Bolingbroke had when Mary had told him of her suspicions. Mary thought I was Hal’s mistress, and yet she has never been anything hut kind and gentle with me? Sweet Jem, she is too good for Hal!
Mary gave a little laugh, and shrugged. “I was wrong, I know, but my accusation opened a door for us, for that night we spent a good deal of time talking—
“Amid other things, I think,” Margaret said.
Now Mary’s flush deepened until her cheeks and neck were a bright cherry color. “Aye …
amid other things. Hal was very forthright with me that night, Margaret, and he eased many of my fears.”
“In what way?”
“Well… for one, in the manner of the loving that should take place between a man and his wife.” Mary gave another little laugh, and laid one of her gloved hands over her stomach. “I do hope that I might soon be with child again, Margaret. This one I know I shall carry to term.”
Margaret nodded, and smiled, but kept silent. The dark malaise within Mary had strengthened in the past weeks, tightening its grip, and, like Hal, Margaret could now see where it was