by Anne O'Brien
“Yes. I will return.”
Within hours, my belongings were packed and loaded onto two horses, a groom and one of Windsor’s household mounted to accompany me. I kissed my daughters and rode like the wind to Eltham, to Edward. And the official document authorizing my release? What happened to it? I had no recollection. With unusual carelessness I did not keep it.
Afterward I wished I had.
Chapter Fifteen
Leaving my baggage to be unloaded, I stepped into Eltham’s Great Hall, good memories of this palace, which Wykeham had renovated, sweeping back and lifting my spirits. But as I walked purposefully, absorbing the atmosphere, I was forced to accept that much had changed. It was, as Windsor had said, as if the heart had gone out of the Court. It had, as I had imagined, the still, dust-laden quality of a stone coffin. The servants I passed looked at me askance. All bowed or curtsied as they had in the past, and no one stopped me, but one man, his hand half-hidden against his hose, curled his fingers against the power of the Evil Eye. I saw it. My reputation as a witch had sunk deep.
That was not all. It would be no easy task to return to my old position. Legs braced, arms folded as if to repel a troop of invaders, Roger Beauchamp, Edward’s new chamberlain who had replaced Latimer, stood foursquare before the door to Edward’s accommodation, drawing himself up as his eye lit on me. I had come so far and so fast, and now this paid minion would keep me from Edward’s side. I knew from the set of his mouth that it would take little for him to draw his sword and drive me from the palace. I might know that my banishment had been lifted, but the speed of my arrival had preempted the news. The word had not yet reached Eltham. Or perhaps it had and he would still deny me.
Here I would discover how much power remained to me. Not much, I thought.
Beauchamp regarded me like one of the vermin that could never be exterminated from even the public rooms of the palace. “You should not be here! The law forbids it.” No respect, all denial, Beauchamp’s challenge confirmed my fears.
“I wish to see the King,” I replied without heat.
“I say you will not.”
“And will you stop me?”
“I will, madam!”
“My banishment is lifted.”
“And you have proof?”
No, I had not. I had not brought the letter. In my urgency I had not seen a need. Not that Beauchamp would have accepted anything less than a royal declaration, stamped and sealed.
“The decisions of the late Parliament have been declared null and void,” I stated calmly. “By his grace of Gaunt himself.” Surely the name would have some power.
“I have no knowledge of it.” Beauchamp’s stance and reply remained implacable.
How I wished for Latimer’s return. And how had this monster escaped Gaunt’s purging? I gestured to the door at his back.
“Let me pass. The King will see me.”
“The King will not.” Beauchamp drew his sword.
I retreated not one inch. “If you intend to stop me, you will have to use that, sir.” I pushed the flat of the blade away with my hand. “I wear the Queen’s jewels. I have borne the King’s children. Will you deny me?”
And I hammered with my fist on the door to Edward’s chambers.
No reply. However confident I appeared, I was far from it. I hammered again, anxiety building layer upon layer so that I could barely breathe, as Beauchamp’s fingers clamped peremptorily, unforgivably, around my wrist. I thumped again on the door with my free fist, raising my voice.
“Sire! It is Alice.” I tried to wrench my wrist free, but Beauchamp held on, and in that moment all was blackness in my mind. I would be cast out. Gaunt’s promise was nothing but a charade.…
“Majesty…!” I heard my voice, harsh with terror.
The door opened.
“What’s all the noise and fuss, Beauchamp? It’s enough to wake the dead. Be still, man.…”
My wrist was released.
Once, I would have gone to him, touched him, spoken with him, no matter who stood between us. But now—considering our parting words, I could not. Yet, to see him standing alone, unaided, to hear him speaking without difficulty, his words with clear meaning—the impact clenched around my heart. Edward, still King, still regal even with the stooped shoulders and hollowed cheeks of old age, was standing in the doorway. Not robust but steady enough with one hand clawed around the edge of the doorjamb.
I sank into a deep curtsy.
“My lord. I am here.” I waited until the faded blue eyes tracked across my face; only then did I rise to my full height. “It’s Alice. I have come to you. Let me in, to be with you.”
Would he turn his face away? Would he reject my return? Would his wayward mind recognize me? The moment when Edward looked at me seemed to last a lifetime. And to my relief the focus sharpened with recognition. And there in that acknowledgment was an astonishment that held unmistakable joy.
“Alice…I asked for you. I was told that you could not come to me.…” And then he held out his hands to me and I placed mine there.
“Now I am here. Let us go in,” I said, my confidence surging back. And I stepped inside the room.
Moisture glistened in Edward’s eyes, but his command was still strong, and so were his memories. As he would have done in the past, he bowed and raised my fingers to his lips, first one hand, then the other.
“I have missed you.”
“I couldn’t bear that you should be alone.”
“They kept you from me.…”
“It was not my choice. But your son has rescued me. I am free to be here with you.”
“Then come.…We will talk.”
And it was impressed on me how harrowing the intervening months had been for him. We were forced to walk slowly, Edward’s right foot dragging a little with every step, his arm beneath my hand tense with the effort to walk unaided. But he was determined, and we reached the great chamber.
“Alice…” Before he could say more, I sank to my knees before him. “What’s this?”
“I need to ask your pardon, Sire.”
“A minute ago you called me Edward and demanded admittance. Now you are on your knees. This is not the Alice I recall.” The ghost of a laugh was tragic on the once-fine features, the muscles on the right side of his face refusing to obey the demand to smile.
I bowed my head. I could not laugh. “I hurt you. I betrayed you.”
“So you did. You should have told me. I think I would have understood.”
“What man could understand that I had married another in secret?”
“Ah, well…What I don’t understand is why Windsor? Why such a man?”
I could think of no reply that would explain the call of blood, one to another. “He will care for me,” I managed.
“Yes. I expect he will.”
“My loyalty to you has not changed, my lord.”
“But you are a young woman, and I…”
“My lord…I am so sorry.…”
“We must have the courage to face our limitations. My flesh ignores the demands of my heart.” Again that heart-wrenching smile. “How many old men have said that when their young lover looks elsewhere? I am not the first. I won’t be the last.”
His candor overwhelmed me. Nor could I explain that my attraction to Windsor wasn’t solely physical, but a meeting of minds.
“It was not my choice to leave you, my lord. Will you forgive me?”
“You know I will. But only if you call me Edward again. Come; stand. It’s too exhausting looking down at you.” And he raised me to my feet with a remnant of his proud grace. “Have you come to stay?”
“I have. If you want me.”
“Do I not want the sun to rise tomorrow? You are mine and I have a need of you, if you can tolerate the weakness of an old man.”
“This is where I wish to be.”
Edward’s brow creased, for which I was sorry. “They—those who have no love for you—say you have no heart, Alice
. That you are as cold as stone. As hard as flint. What do you say?”
I regarded him gravely as I swallowed against the press of tears. “What I say has no weight. What do you say, my lord?” Enclosing his cold hands between mine, in a deliberately intimate gesture, I placed them, flat-palmed, between my breasts where my heart beat. “What do you say?”
“I say that you are never cold to me.” Leaning a little, he pressed a kiss between my eyebrows. “You are as gentle as a blessing, as warm as the sun in summer.”
We both knew that Windsor would not be spoken of between us again. It was a tacit agreement that for the length of Edward’s life, my husband did not exist. Edward turned from me to shuffle toward his bed with its embroidered heraldic hangings. “I am weary, Alice. I have not slept well since you went away. Or at least I don’t think I have.…Memory plays tricks on me.…”
“Then you must sleep now. I’ll stay with you.”
I helped him to lie down on the magnificent bed that we had shared. And I sat beside him, curled against the pillows, his hand in mine as his eyelids began to droop.
“Do you know?” he murmured. “When they told me that you were not allowed to come to me, that we would be parted forever, I was destroyed. Not an emotion appropriate for a king, is it?”
“No. But it is the emotion of a man of honor and courtesy. Of a lover.” I folded his hand between mine.
“I thought I would never see you again.…”
“But I am here now.”
“And all will be well.”
“All will be well.”
I sat with him until sleep claimed him. I would have liked to have told him that he would grow strong, that he would resume the mantle of kingship. I would have liked to assure him that his present clear understanding would remain; that he would know my love and care of him for all the remaining days of his life. But I could not. This lucidity, I suspected, was transient. I tucked the memory away for the difficult days.
Did I weep for him?
Not now. He would not have wished it. I would do what I could for him. I would stay until the end. Windsor would understand.
For that I was surely blessed.
Despite my fears, Edward’s grip on life proved to be ferocious, his mind set on one final magnificent gesture. He was in no fit state to travel, but his resilience was a fine thing.
“I will do it. I will not be gainsaid in this! Do you hear me, Alice?” I heard him. Saw the flash of the old imperious Plantagenet regality. But so brief, so painfully brief. His head lolled forward, his chin against his chest, and he dozed. But on his awakening, the thought was still firmly lodged in his unsteady mind.
“I will sit at the table in Wykeham’s Round Tower at Windsor, even if I have to be carried into the chamber in a litter.”
This would be the last St. George’s Day that Edward would ever see, whether he went to Windsor or no. His physicians warned against the exertion. I shrank from the bathos of the scene that would ensue if I consented. I could not bear it for him.
“Arrange it for me, Alice.” His twisted mouth could still issue orders. “Would you stop me from doing something that will bring you such personal joy? I don’t think you’ll refuse me.”
I flushed at the accusation, but held my ground. “Your health is of prime importance to me, Edward!”
“I know. But I also know you’ll allow me to see this through.” His speech was slurring as his energy waned, but he could still grip my hand. “Do it, Alice!”
How could I not? Edward dragged himself through the days with sheer willpower. He wanted to do it—and so he would.
“I will arrange it. But you know what I will ask,” I said.
“Yes.” His sigh acknowledged the burden I had put on him. “Do I not know you like I know my own soul? A difficult request, Alice…”
“Simply to be there, to watch? Is it so difficult?”
“Unorthodox…” His tongue struggled a little over the word.
“You have the power to make the unorthodox the most acceptable thing in the world.”
Oh, I wanted to be there more than I could express. This occasion to mark St. George’s Day meant as much to me as it did to Edward. I did not expect the flood of vitriol that was to be unleashed against me. Or perhaps I did.…
“It is not appropriate, my lord! She will not be admitted!” Princess Joan, whose nose for Court intrigue had sharpened with her widowhood, was haranguing Edward before the week was out.
“But on this occasion…” Edward might regret the onset of a battle royal with the Princess, but he was still prepared to argue my case.
Except that Joan rolled over him like the English cavalry destroyed the French at Poitiers. “She is not a Lady of the Garter. Only those of royal blood qualify for such high recognition. Only Philippa and Isabella. You yourself would have it so, my lord. Would you put a lowborn woman on the same footing as your wife?” She willfully ignored my role as Lady of the Sun, when Edward had done just that. “Even I am not allowed.…”
“I hear you, Joan.” Edward raised a weary hand. “Tradition weighs heavy—and since I was the one to create it…” He smiled apologetically at me.
Since you created it, you could claim the right to change it! But seeing the fretfulness in him, I closed my mouth on any counterargument I might make. I allowed Joan her little victory, for did I not have one that was even greater? It would be for me a moment of pure joy.
“You will come with me,” Edward ordered, gripping my hand.
“I will come to Windsor with you,” I agreed.
“But not to the ceremony,” Joan added for good measure.
Well, we would see what we would see.
We arranged it most carefully, traveling by river to arrive on the day before the ceremony so that the inhabitants of Windsor would not see Edward lying on a litter rather than riding on a warhorse to their gates. I would at least guard him against that ignominy. But would he be able to walk into the chamber? Would he be able to lift the great sword of state?
It was in God’s hands.
And so the day dawned. Edward broke his fast, a cup of wine driving color into his cheeks and strengthening his sinews. I withdrew into the background as his servants clothed and prepared him for his celebration and his ordeal. With lambskin and fur to protect him, fine robes covered his wasted body, giving him a semblance of majesty. I stood aside as he lifted his head and walked slowly into the chamber, his hand pressing hard on the shoulder of one of his knights, to take his seat at the vast circular table.
What was he thinking? I knew the answer. Of his first inaugural ceremony, more than thirty years ago, when he was in the full strength of his youth, attended by the flower of Europe’s chivalry and Philippa, who presided over the subsequent festivities. There would be no festivities to preside over this year—Edward could not maintain his strength for more than an hour. At least Joan would not have the excuse to lord it over the proceedings. And I, the whore, the mistress, would be shut out of the sacred ceremonial. The solemn rituals had no role for the King’s Concubine, and unlike my splendor as the Lady of the Sun, Edward could not make one for me. All I could do was imagine.…
My eye was taken by the approach of young men clad in scarlet robes at the end of the procession, and all my desire was centered on the one fair face in their midst.
I would not be shut out! I would not be absent from this most glorious acceptance of what I had done in my life. I slipped inside the door and stood to the left in the shadow of a great curving tapestry, unmoving, my breathing shallow. I would simply be there. A silent witness.
There were twelve youths, the new generation of England’s rulers, royal blood flowing through an impressive number of veins. I recognized them all. Edward’s two grandsons were the first to kneel and feel the kiss of the sword on one shoulder, then the other: Richard of Bordeaux, slight and fair at ten years, and Edward’s heir; Henry Bolingbroke, Gaunt’s son of similar age; followed by Thomas of Woodstock. Then t
he young men: Oxford, Salisbury, and Stafford. Mowbray, Beaumont, and Percy. All the great names of the kingdom receiving Edward’s final gift of a knighthood. I had been right. So weak was his arm that the great sword of state quivered, but his will was as strong as ever. I knew he would see it out to the bitter end.
They knelt to receive the honor of knighthood, stood, stepped back. There was only one face I looked for, only one who made my heart bound. And there he was at last. The final youth to kneel before his King—and his father.
John. Our son. My son!
Pale, with nerves chasing across his features, John sank to one knee, his hair bright in the light through the high windows. At thirteen years, he still had the uncoordinated limbs of youth, but he had been well schooled for this day. I held my breath as Edward raised the great sword for the final time, and our son lifted his head to receive the accolade. Pride warmed my blood. Such public recognition of what had been vilified—my place in Edward’s life. I slipped out. I had seen all I needed to see. My son, a Knight of the Garter. Emotion choked me.
“Take me to Sheen,” Edward ordered when the young men, released from their ordeal, had toasted themselves with relieved laughter. “I’ll die there.”
I was afraid that he would.
“What is it?” I asked, seeing the shadow of grief on his face as we began the journey.
He shook his head.
“I shall nag at you until you tell me!”
“There’s one regret I have.…”
“Then it can be remedied.”
“No. It cannot. I allowed matters of state to step in front of friendship. It was a grave misjudgment, and I don’t think it can be forgiven.”
He closed his eyes and would say no more. And however much I worried about it, I could not think what it was that disturbed his rest. And if I could not decipher it, how could I put it right?
And then in the night it came to me. I knew what I must do. And quickly.
* * *
Edward lay on his bed, his chest barely moving, his skin so thin and pale as to be almost translucent, like a pearl from the Thames oyster beds. Occasionally his breath fluttered between his lips, but that was the only sign of the life that remained to him. The day had come. That long, courageous life, lived to the full for the glory of England, was drawing quietly to its close.