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The King's Concubine
Anne O'Brien
A Sunday Times BestsellerEngland’s Forgotten Queens‘O’Brien cleverly intertwines the personal and political in this enjoyable, gripping tale.’The TimesPhilippa of Hainault selects a young orphan from a convent. Alice Perrers, a girl born with nothing but ambition. The Queen has a role waiting for her at court.‘I have lifted you from nothing Alice. Now you repay me.’Led down the corridors of the royal palace, the young virgin is secretly delivered to King Edward III – to perform the wifely duties of which ailing Philippa is no longer capable. Power has a price, and Alice Perrers will pay it.Mistress to the King. Confidante of the Queen. Whore to the court.Her fate is double edged; loved by the majesties, ostracised by her peers. Alice must balance her future with care as her star begins to rise – the despised concubine is not untouchable. Politics and pillow talk are dangerous bedfellows.The fading great King wants her in his bed. Her enemies want her banished. One mistake and Alice will face a threat worse than any malicious whispers of the past.Praise for Anne O’Brien‘O’Brien cleverly intertwines the personal and political in this enjoyable, gripping tale.’- The Times‘A gem of a subject … O’Brien is a terrific storyteller’- Daily Telegraph‘Joanna of Navarre is the feisty heroine in Anne O’Brien’s fast-paced historical novel The Queen’s Choice.’-Good Housekeeping‘A gripping story of love, heartache and political intrigue.’-Woman & Home‘Packed with drama, danger, romance and history.’-Pam Norfolk, for the Press Association‘Better than Philippa Gregory’ – The Bookseller ‘Anne O’Brien has joined the exclusive club of excellent historical novelists.’ – Sunday Express ‘A gripping historical drama.’-Bella@anne_obrien
‘There was … in England a shameless woman and wanton harlot called Ales Peres, of base kindred … being neither beautiful nor fair, she knew how to cover these defects with her flattering tongue …’
—A historical relation of certain passages about the end of King Edward the Third and of his death
‘It is not fitting that all the keys should hang from the belt of one woman.’
—The Bishop of Rochester
‘… no one dared to go against her …’
—Thomas Walsingham, a monk of St Albans
About the Author
ANNE O’BRIEN taught history in the East Riding of Yorkshire before deciding to fulfil an ambition to write historical fiction. She now lives in an eighteenth-century timbered cottage with her husband in the Welsh Marches, a wild, beautiful place renowned for its black-and-white timbered houses, ruined castles and priories and magnificent churches. Steeped in history, famous people and bloody deeds, as well as ghosts and folklore, the Marches provide inspiration for her interest in medieval England.
Visit her at www.anneobrienbooks.com (http://www.anneobrienbooks.com)
Also by
ANNE
O’BRIEN
VIRGIN WIDOW
DEVIL’S CONSORT
The
King’s
Concubine
Anne
O’Brien
This is a work of fiction. References to historical events, real people or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
All Rights Reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Enterprises II B.V./S.à.r.l. The text of this publication or any part thereof may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, storage in an information retrieval system, or otherwise, without the written permission of the publisher.
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the prior consent of the publisher in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
HQ is an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
Published in Great Britain 2012.
HQ
1 London Bridge Street
London
SE1 9GF
© Anne O’Brien 2012
Fleur Adcock, Poems 1960-2000 (Bloodaxe Books, 2000) reprinted
with kind permission of the publisher on behalf of the author
Map and Family Tree acknowledgement Orphans Press Ltd
ISBN 978-1-408-96981-6
Version: 2018-04-09
Table of Contents
Cover (#ud88b5f96-a28f-551e-baca-d28ff99560b8)
Praise (#u9af9bf7b-6419-5e10-8d90-88ee562d35e6)
About the Author (#ufb95f5ed-b043-5262-8a54-87709b18643c)
Title Page (#u415dc358-ce05-54bf-84bd-6b52c21eb739)
Copyright (#u2df37a93-b051-5c84-8e51-ad84b5c7f51b)
Dedication (#uccfd34d7-b38f-55a6-9339-7062560da983)
Acknowledgements (#ub3f8f602-47c4-5fe7-bc1a-e39bbc18904b)
Prologue (#ua9a017af-a957-5cc1-bac4-2e44010223f9)
Chapter One (#uf5a55b12-767e-53f4-935a-c285dd5ccb89)
Chapter Two (#uae2d92e0-c49a-5bff-bd3e-670df18c1c71)
Chapter Three (#u0dae22af-ac80-50d2-a311-6374a98d28a0)
Chapter Four (#u8a34be02-54e3-5d5d-ad3b-fa8344483d93)
Chapter Five (#u882a59bb-0dec-51cd-a3ba-ff267a1bc320)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Other titles by the author (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Author Note (#litres_trial_promo)
Read all about it … (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Descendants of Edward III (simplified)
For George, who managed to live comfortably for
a year with both me and Alice Perrers.
As ever, with love and thanks.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
All my thanks:
To my agent Jane Judd who appreciated the possibility of Alice Perrers as an unconventional heroine. Her advice and support, as always, are beyond price.
To Jenny Hutton and the HQ team. Their guidance and commitment were invaluable in enabling Alice Perrers to emerge from infamy.
To Helen Bowden and all at Orphans Press who come to my rescue and continue to create masterpieces out of my genealogy and maps.
To Phia McBarnet who patiently introduced me to the benefits of social media and set my foot on the steep learning curve.
Prologue
‘TODAY you will be my Lady of the Sun,’ King Edward says as he approaches to settle me into my chariot. ‘My Queen of Ceremonies.’
And not before time.
I don’t say the words, of course—I am, after all, a woman of percipience—but I think them. I have waited too many years for this acclaim. Twelve years as Edward’s whore.
‘Thank you, my lord,’ I murmur, curtseying deeply, my smile as sweet as honey.
I sit, a cloak of shimmering gold tissue spread around me, to show a lining of scarlet taffeta. My gown is red, lined with white silk and edged in ermine: Edward’s colours, royal fur fit for a Queen. Over all glitters a myriad of precious stones refracting the light—rubies as red as blood, sapphires dark and mysterious, strange beryls capable of destroying the power of poison. Everyone knows that I wear Queen Philippa’s jewels.
I sit at my ease, alone in my pre-eminence, my hands loose in my bejewelled lap. This is my right.
I look around to see if I might catch sight of the black scowl of the Princess Joan. No sign of her, my sworn enemy. She’ll be tucked away in her chamber at Kennington, wishing me ill. Joan the Fair. Joan the Fat! An adversary to be wary of, with the sensitivity and morals of a feral cat in heat.
My gaze slides to Edward as he mounts his stallion and my smile softens. He is tall and strong and good to look on. What a pair we make, he and I. The years have not yet pressed too heavily on him while I am in my prime. An ugly woman, by all accounts, but not without talent.
I am Alice. Royal Concubine. Edward’s beloved Lady of the Sun.
Ah …!
I blink as a swooping pigeon smashes the scene in my mind, flinging reality back at me with cruel exactitude. Sitting in my orchard, far from Court and my King, I am forced to accept the truth. How low have I fallen. I am caged in impotent loneliness, like Edward’s long-dead lion, powerless, isolated, stripped of everything I had made for myself.
I am nothing. Alice Perrers is no more.
Chapter One
WHERE do I start? It’s difficult to know. My beginnings as I recall them were not moments marked by joy or happiness. So I will start with what I do recall. My very first memory.
I was a child, still far too young to have much understanding of who or what I was, kneeling with the sisters in the great Abbey church of St Mary’s in the town of Barking. It was the eighth day of December and the air so cold it hurt my lungs. The stone paving was rough beneath my knees but even then I knew better than to shuffle. The statue on its plinth in the Lady Chapel was clothed in a new blue gown, her veil and wimple made from costly silk that glowed startlingly white in the dark shadows. The nuns sang the office of Compline and round the feet of the statue a pool of candles had been lit. The light flickered over the deep blue folds so that the figure appeared to move, to breathe.
‘Who is she?’ I asked, voice too loud. I was still very ignorant.
Sister Goda, novice mistress when there were novices to teach, hushed me. ‘The Blessed Virgin.’
‘What is she called?’
‘She is the Blessed Virgin Mary.’
‘Is this a special day?’
‘It is the feast of the Immaculate Conception. Now, hush!’
