The Lancastrian Queen

Chapter 10

July of 1450 – London, England.

The happy prophecy made by Jacquetta was barely the only light in Margaret’s day. Only a few months later, a messenger arrived nervously, insisting to speak with His Majesty the King. The Royal couple was having lunch at Margaret’s rooms, something not rare as Henry had found a powerful political friend in his wife and they would gather to discuss politics at least twice a day. However, the meal would have a bitter taste to it.

“Your Majesties,” the boy spoke breathlessly. “Forgive me for interrupting. But I have urgent news from Normandy.”

Margaret turned pale; Normandy was an English territory since her husband had long fought for it, but originally it was French, it was her family’s, and a very delicate matter to her. Whatever the news were, it would affect her somehow.

“Normandy?” Henry asked. “What is it?”

The boy looked at the Queen, as if he was hesitating to say it in front of her, almost an accusing gesture. But Henry made an impatient move as to tell him the Queen would not go anywhere.

“We lost it,” he finally said. “The French have reclaimed it. We lost Normandy.”

“Out!” The voice of Jacquetta Woodville, who had just entered the room, echoed as she forced the ladies-in-waiting to leave. Some were clearly upset, wishing to hear more about the news. Margaret only wished the Duchess had arrived earlier and avoided them to her about the loss of the province. The expression in the messenger’s face before he told them the news said it all: they would blame her for the loss of Normandy; her, the French Queen, would be guilty of conspiring against England.

“We lost it?” Henry stood up. “We cannot simply lose it! Have they lost their mind?!”

The boy simply bowed down as his King stood, as he had nothing to say, or no courage to say what was on his mind.

“Somerset!” Henry said, turning to his wife. “We must speak to him! Is he alive? Has he been arrested or executed by the French?”

“No, Your Majesty,” the messenger replied. “The Duke of Somerset is alive and returning to England.”

Margaret recalled the handsome Duke she had met on her coronation day, Edmund Beaufort. Henry had assigned him to Normandy, only for the land to be lost.

“Good,” the King said, relieved. He had a great friendship with Somerset, despite his failure. “So we must wait until the Duke returns. Until then,” he paused, a bit confused. “You are dismissed. I must gather my Council.”

The messenger bowed again and left the room in silence.

“What are we to do?” It was the first thing Henry said once he was alone with Margaret. “I fought hard battles to conquer Normandy. I cannot lose it, people will be displeased…”

“I know,” she said. “We must reconquer it.”

“I cannot believe this!” Henry shook his head, completely astonished. “I am the King of England… They cannot simply conquer my properties! What will they want next? My crown?”

The Queen stood up quickly, alarmed. It was about her family, her kin, and she knew quite well it was truth that their ambition was the crown of England. But nothing in the world would make her admit that to her husband.

“We must not go to war,” she advised, her hand landing on his tense shoulder. “Not now. There must be a peaceful way to solve this issue.”

Henry sighed, smiling to his little wife. “You are right, Margaret. Wars are not the answer. It is not what God wants. You are right, Margaret… I shall go pray.”

“Now?” Margaret raised her brows. “We should discuss this, Henry! Can’t it wait?”

“No,” he insisted. “I must go now. Prayer does not wait, milady. God must be consulted. I need to pray.”

Henry kneeled down to one knee and kissed Margaret’s hand before rushing out of the room. She finally released the air in her lungs, feeling the blood boiling inside her veins in anger. What could happen next? It was true that she was a Frenchwoman by birth; however, her devotion was first to England as she was the Queen. She was supposed to be the peacemaker, there was no doubt about that. That was the reason why she was married to Henry of England. Margaret remembered what her mother had said before her departure from France; she had duties as a wife that would not be explained. That was one of them; her loyalty should be her salvation instead of her ruin. But how?

“Margaret?” A soft voice echoed from the door. “My Queen?”

“Jacquetta!” She gasped, recognising her best friend. “What do I do?!”

Jacquetta locked the door carefully and ran to Margaret, who hurled against her lap as a frightened child.

“Now, now, don’t cry, Margaret…”

“This is a nightmare!” The Queen had her face hidden on the rich cloth of blue velvet of the Duchess’ dress, sobbing desperately. “The English already hate me! They will blame me for this, I know they will!”

“Be calm,” Jacquetta said, kindly stroking Margaret’s fair hair. “This is the first thing you must do. Do not show you are desperate. Be calm.”

“Jacquetta, they will hunt me down and have me burned for treason!” The Queen was shaking in fear. “They hate me, and they will find a way to blame me and charged with treason!”

“No,” her friend replied confidently. “You are the anointed Queen of England. Even the Duchess Eleanor was not sentenced to death after being charged with treason. No anointed Queen can be touched or sentenced to death by their own people. I hope to be long dead the day I see England sending a Queen of theirs to the scaffold. Do not fear, Margaret.”

“Either way I shall be ruined! They will send me away like they did to Eleanor. They will arrest me and send me to a nunnery… What am I to do, Jacquetta?”

“Listen to me”, Jacquetta said, touching the young Queen’s chin and turning it to face her. The sapphire eyes of Margaret were red with tears. “You are Queen of England, and a French princess. Do not let it be your ruin. Turn it to your favour.”

“But how –!”

“We both know how the world turns, Margaret. The men think they rule as they will, but we know it is us who cause every turn of event to happen. We allow them to believe they are indeed in charge, as we act in the shadows and secure ourselves and our families.”

“But what can I do to save the situation?”

“Be the secret ambassador of peace. Act swiftly. Write to your family.”

“I do not know what to say to them…”

Jacquetta sighed. “Leave it to me, then. I shall write a letter in your name and send it to Anjou, to your mother –”

“My father, King René?”

“No.” Jacquetta shook her head. “What have I just said? Women are the ones who make the world turn; God forbid men to know about this.”

“Will you help me?” Margaret grabbed her friend’s cold hand. “Please, Jacquetta? You are the only friend I have… Do whatever you need… Use your powers, I allow you to –”

“Margaret!” Jacquetta hissed. “Enough. I shall write to Queen Isabella in your behalf, and that will be it. Do not mention anything about powers and do not think of it.”

“You said we women make the world turn. God has gifted you with the power to help the world turn, Jacquetta. You cannot ignore such gift.”

The Duchess shivered, her eyes glancing at the opened window; the sun was particularly bright, a pleasant summer day that felt unusually cold. “I try not to. But sometimes, I would rather not see the things I see.”