Rebellion (22 page)

Which should have been Edmund's role. Edmund
would have united Wales and ruled it for his half-brother, King Henry. But William
Herbert and his brother-in-law, Lord Ferrers, had taken Edmund captive and he had
died.

But she must not think about that now; she
had to think about her son.

As soon as she saw the yellow tower of
Raglan Castle she felt a trembling inside, like a drop of water about to break. But she
would not, she must not cry when she saw him. Her husband held her hand tightly as they
approached.

A considerable number of Lord Herbert's
household had gathered to meet them. She scanned the assembled crowd rapidly, but could
see no sign of children. Lord and Lady Herbert stood in the centre of the group. She had
no difficulty identifying them, though she had not seen them before. Her stomach seemed
to churn and twist as she saw them.

Fifty or so liveried servants stood behind
them.

And there were children, she could see that
now; though she could not for the moment see whether any of them might be her son.

The carriage pulled up and her husband
helped her out of it. She walked with him, keeping her smile fixed. And Lord and Lady
Herbert stepped forward to greet them.

She was very tall, Margaret realized; taller
than her husband. And elegant in a gown of palest green that made Margaret's travelling
gown, which was also green, look dingy. And she was pregnant; that was obvious also.

Lord Herbert was stocky and dark. Though
well past forty, there was no sign of grey in his hair or his beard. He had a broad,
ruddy face, not unhandsome, but his features were somewhat blunt. He had the look of a
fighting man, simultaneously bold and wary.

Margaret's breathing was uneven; she feared
that she would not be able to speak. Lady Herbert was speaking, but she could hardly
hear what she was saying, because here, stepping forward, was her son.

She didn't recognize him
at first, how could she? She'd imagined kneeling down and taking him into her arms. But
this young man was almost as tall as she was, and he was looking at her with wary,
curious eyes. She saw that his eyes were the same blue-grey as Edmund's, and his face
had the same angularity, but his hair was a deeper, sandy shade, whereas Edmund's had
been a tawny gold.

But his eyes were the same: smallish, light
and clear.

‘Henry?' she whispered, and he said, ‘We are
pleased to welcome you to Raglan Castle.'

Despite the formality of the greeting she
moved forward to embrace him. At the same time she could sense the reticence in him; he
did not want her to embrace him. So there was an awkward moment when she moved her head
clumsily and kissed his ear rather than his cheek. ‘How tall you are,' she said.

But Lady Herbert was stepping forward. ‘You
must be very tired after your journey,' she said, and Lord Herbert clapped his hands on
her son's shoulders and said, ‘What do you think of your son, eh?'

And she looked at him fully for the first
time, at the apparently open face. Now would be the time for her to thank him for
raising her son, but her throat closed on the words. Instead she said, ‘I think he is
very like his father.'

William Herbert looked disconcerted, but he
recovered swiftly and said, ‘Well – that's no bad thing for a son. Go and join the
others now,' he said to Henry. ‘We'll see you again at table.' And Henry bowed at once
and disappeared into what she now saw was a large group of children of varying ages.

She watched him go, but he did not look
back. He blended in effortlessly with the group. She wanted to ask if he could stay with
her, but Lady Herbert was saying that they must be shown to their rooms, and around the
castle. Her son would join them for dinner, she added, following the direction of
Margaret's gaze.

They followed Lady Herbert's narrow back
into the castle. She
moved easily, despite the pregnancy, and she was
charming; she had a wide and welcoming smile. For the next hour she showed them around
the castle; the schoolroom where Henry learned Latin and mathematics with the other
boys. She introduced them to his tutor, a thin man with bulging eyes called Andreas
Scotus, who told them that Henry's progress in Latin was exceptional, but in geometry he
was occasionally outstripped by the other Henry, Lord Percy.

‘There are so many Henrys here,' Lady
Herbert said, laughing. ‘We will have to call your husband Harry at least.'

Margaret shot her a sharp sideways
glance.

But she spoke of her two wards, Henry Tudor
and Henry Percy, with the same effortless warmth as of her own children. She showed them
the room where they slept with her own sons, Walter, Philip and George (the eldest,
William, was married now to the queen's sister), then the room where her daughters
slept, which was similarly stuffed with beds.

It was impossible to believe that she had
given birth so many times. And was pregnant again, of course. Her husband was famously
in love with her; it was said of him that he never looked at another woman. Though he
had the usual sprinkling of bastards, so presumably he had looked, at least.
Or
fallen on them blindfolded
, Margaret thought, following Lady Herbert up some
narrow stairs.

‘This is where they pray,' she said, showing
them into a small, square chapel. ‘All my children eat, sleep and pray together – I
think it is the best way of preventing night fears in the very young. Your son suffered
from them a good deal when he was here at first. Sometimes he insisted on me staying
with him – not even his nurse would do!'

Margaret could feel a headache coming on.
Never again would she be able to imagine going to her son at night and gathering him in
her arms to prevent him from being afraid.

Then they were shown to their own rooms, so
they could change before dinner. A maid brought in a basin of water.

‘Lady Herbert – seems very kind,' her
husband ventured, when
they were alone. ‘She certainly seems to have
his best interests at heart.'

Margaret did not answer. She touched the hem
of the dress she'd brought with her. It seemed to her to be the wrong colour, the wrong
cut.

‘He is receiving an excellent
education.'

‘I know.'

‘He is being trained as a knight – four
hours on horseback every day.'

‘You need not repeat everything,' she said.
He leaned across the bed then and took her hand. ‘Margaret,' he said, ‘you must be
brave.'

‘I know,' she said.

Then it was dinner, and she sat next to Lady
Herbert, whose own dress was perfect; a soft colour between lilac and grey. The children
filed past them to a table of their own and Lady Herbert named each one. ‘This is
Walter, my older boy, and Katherine, my eldest girl, and Cecily, and George, Philip and
Maud …'

Walter was tall and thin and serious. The
two younger boys were almost identical, fair like their mother, stocky like their
father. Maud was about six years old, with a sweet face and solemn eyes that, like her
father's, were wide apart.

Henry Percy was a little older than her son,
tall for his age, with an arrogant air. He nodded curtly as he went past. Then her Henry
stood before her with the slight awkwardness she had noticed before. She smiled warmly
at him and extended her hand, but he only glanced anxiously at Lady Herbert and there
passed between them a moment of understanding that Margaret noted with a sharp pain.

‘You may join the others,' Lady Herbert
said, and Henry bowed a little stiffly and left.

‘So many children,' Margaret murmured and
Lady Herbert smiled her wide, blue-eyed smile.

‘One can never have too many children,' she
said.

Henry sat next to Lord
Percy, facing Cecily and Maud. He was different as soon as he sat down, suddenly
animated. He scuffled with the older boys over a plate of meat and the little girls
laughed, except for Maud.

Then all the food for the adults began to
arrive – thirty or so courses of boar and venison, peacock and sturgeon and hare. At
home she was in the habit of eating only one mouthful from every other course, after
fasting for the rest of the day. It impressed her servants, she knew; they took it as a
sign of piety. Secretly, however, she was bargaining with God for the return of her son.
And here she was, in the same room as him, watching him even when she appeared not to
be; following his movements with her eyes and ears and skin.

It would seem impolite not to eat; she would
draw attention to herself. And so she tried.

Lord Herbert had no trouble eating. He grew
more genial as the wine flowed and several toasts were proposed to him, wishing him
success against the Welsh rebels and against Harlech, that final bastion of resistance
to Yorkist rule. He accepted them all with a benign air, an apparently open-hearted
bonhomie that made it difficult to believe those other descriptions of him as
a
cruel man, prepared for any crime
. Margaret could see how fortified he was by
good fortune, by all the victories, awards, riches and titles, children and lands. Who
would not believe that the gods were smiling upon him, that he was inherently worthy of
reward?

But she would not look at him, she would
look at her son. She saw him take a spoon from one of the boys and give it to Maud, who
looked at him with shy adoration. For the first time Margaret felt herself begin to
smile. Maud was slow, but he wouldn't let the older boys nudge or harry her. There was a
kind of jelly, made of meat, in the centre of their table and it kept slipping from her
spoon.

‘He is wonderful with her,' Lady Herbert
said, leaning close. ‘That's why we decided they should be betrothed.'

Margaret's smile became fixed.

‘I thought Lord Herbert
would have told you,' Lady Herbert said, turning her blue gaze towards her husband.

‘I've hardly had a chance yet,' he said,
then he turned to Margaret saying, in more conciliatory tones, ‘But that is the way we
were thinking. They are so fond of one another. Unless,' he said, leaning forward with a
conspiratorial air, ‘you have any objections, Countess?'

What could she say? That she might like to
have been consulted; that she knew, however, that her opinion counted for nothing.
Because Lord Herbert had bought the right to arrange her son's marriage when he paid for
the wardship; he did not even have to let her know.

She put her spoon down and glanced at her
husband, but he was gazing at his plate.

She managed to say something to the effect
that she was sure Lord Herbert would take everything into consideration. And Lady
Herbert said, ‘Well, but they are very young yet,' and the topic passed on. But Margaret
looked over to her son.

They would keep him in their family, she
thought. They would win back his titles and estates from the king because he was theirs
and everything he owned would now be part of their family's estate. Any grandchildren
she had would be the Herberts' also.

She picked up her spoon, then put it down
again, having lost what was left of her appetite.

‘Are you unwell?' Lady Herbert asked.
Speechlessly, she shook her head.

Lady Herbert looked at her quizzically for a
moment – she, after all, was the one who was pregnant. But Margaret's husband spoke up.
‘It must be the journey,' he said. ‘So much jolting in the carriage.'

Lady Herbert seemed to accept this and said
indeed the roads were terrible.

‘Well, I must set out on them tomorrow,'
said Lord Herbert. ‘I must join the king at council,' he said, beaming round.

So he would not be there with them for the
rest of their stay,
Margaret thought. That was something, at least.
Some form of relief. She picked up her spoon again and pushed it into the gelatinous
meaty substance on her plate, but she could not make herself eat it. Her throat
closed.

Herbert would own everything Edmund had
owned, fought for and lost.

She became aware that Lady Herbert was
looking at her again; also that she was sweating.

‘I think I do feel a little unwell,' she
said, and Lady Herbert's face became a perfect mask of concern.

‘You must retire to your room,' she said,
and Henry said, ‘I will take her.'

‘There is no need,' Margaret said, adding a
little desperately, ‘I just need some air.'

‘I could do with some air myself,' Lord
Herbert said. ‘Let me accompany you as far as the gallery.'

This was the worst possible outcome, but
Margaret couldn't dissuade him. After the usual exchanges –
No, you mustn't
interrupt your meal
and
I could do with a little rest, Countess – it will
fortify me for the feast
– she gave in with as much grace as she could manage
and was forced to wait while Herbert finished his wine, then dipped his fingers in a
bowl and dried them, and spoke to his steward.

Finally he rose and accompanied her from the
great hall, his fingers pressing lightly on her elbow. She was dimly aware of her son
watching them as they left. What would happen if she broke free from Herbert, took his
hand and ran?

She would not do it, of course. She would
not tear herself away from Herbert's gently steering fingers.

Soon they were in the gallery, where a fresh
wind blew through the carved stone.

‘Had this built only recently,' Herbert was
saying. ‘All the stone was shipped from the north.'

He paused, but she failed to admire it. He
had released her arm
and she walked as far away from him as she could
without actually falling through one of the gaps. She said nothing, breathing in the
air, and he said nothing either, until they were almost at the end of the gallery. Then
he stopped, and since she could hardly walk away from him, she too was forced to
pause.