The Forbidden Queen

On my right Owen stood, hat and gloves in hand, all emotion tight reined. Father Benedict trembled on my left, clutching the document. The King’s Council regarded us with a flat stare, and I shivered.

It was little different from when we had last stood there: the same faces, some with signs of advancing age but much the same, like viewing a tapestry, well known but faded with time and ravages of the sun. Gloucester, Warwick, a clutch of bishops. They were thoughtful of my condition, and this time I took the stool offered. My child was too near its time for me to make a gesture by standing throughout. Neither was I allowed much choice in the matter. Now that I had announced our purpose for being there, Owen’s hand was heavy on my shoulder.

‘I will make the case, Katherine, because it is my honour that is at stake,’ he had insisted again, at the very door to the chamber.

‘I know—’

‘No, you don’t. You should not even be here.’

‘We’ll not argue through that again.’

‘No, we won’t, but you’ll do as you’re told.’

So I sat as Owen bearded the dragon in its den. Standing tall and straight, his shoulders braced, the chain he wore not one of servitude but of status; the sapphires, which gleamed with sullen power, were the size and hue of ripe sloes. Owen had sneered at my intent, but I would spare no expense, and he wore it with panache as he allowed his considering gaze to travel over the ranks who held his future in their hands. What was going on behind that superbly disciplined facade? I wondered. Would he be able to impress and persuade them against their better judgement? He looked magnificent. All I could do was listen, and pray.

Then he began. His voice was quiet and respectful but confident in its presentation. Our planning had been extraordinarily thorough.

‘We came here two years ago, my lords, at your request, when we provided proof that Queen Katherine and I were legally wed. You have seen the evidence. We have two children legally born, under the powerful protection of the Church.’ He bowed towards Bishops FitzHugh and Morgan. ‘The birth of our third child is imminent. Yet because of my Welsh ancestry and my people’s demand for autonomy under Owain Glyn Dwr, I am not a free man. I ask for a ruling and a judgement from you.

‘Are the heirs of my body also to face the same discrimination? Would you condemn the children of the Queen Dowager to penalties before the law, as descendents of a man who is proud of his Welsh blood? I say this, my lords. I say that, for the dignity of Queen Katherine and her children, I should be granted the rights and freedoms enjoyed by every Englishman here in this chamber.’

As he took a breath, I surveyed the faces. They were listening. But that did not mean that they would concur. Everything hung on the outcome. The weaving of the strands of our future together lay in the balance. Rejection, and we would always live with the fear of attack and betrayal. Of untimely death. Success and—

I would not think of it. I reached out to Owen with my thoughts, opening my mind with all its love and encouragement, and when he tensed a little then glanced in my direction, I knew that he sensed it.

‘It is not dignified that the Queen Dowager be wed to a man who is condemned to live under the force of penal statute, for a crime that he has not committed. That her sons, the brothers of the King of England, must accept that their father is subject to the law as an enemy of the state. I have committed no crime. I have done no wrong. I have served in Sir Walter Hungerford’s household, under our valorous King Henry in France. Yet still I am punished for a rebellion in which I played no part.’

Gloucester, predictably, stood.

‘Are you expecting us to believe that you would not have backed Glyn Dwr’s rising, and wielded a sword against us?’

I held my breath. It was a moot point and we had seen it coming. There was a flash of temper in Owen’s eyes.

Don’t! Don’t retaliate!

It was quickly masked, and I exhaled softly. He would not be shaken from his purpose.

‘No, my lord. I would not have you believe that. I expect, if I had been of an age to fight and hot-headed enough, I would have marched with Glyn Dwr against English forces. But times have changed. The Welsh are at peace. I have a wife and young family to consider. I am no danger to England. Would my wife as Queen Dowager have wed me if I intended to plot and rebel against her son, the Young King? I think she would not. Any man here who would argue the point does not appreciate the utmost respect and loyalty that Queen Katherine maintains towards this kingdom not of her birth.’

A waiting silence fell on the chamber, so strong that it deafened the clamour in my own head. This was for me to fill. From where I sat, I dropped my own words into it.