by Anne O'Brien
The last time I had kept vigil beside the dying had been with Philippa. I smiled a little at the memory of her amazing duplicity born out of compassion. Then my smile faded, for who could have believed it possible that Edward’s loss of his most dear wife should place his feet firmly on the path to deterioration. Every day for the past eight years he had missed her keenly, until his mind could bear it no more. I was second-best. So I had always been. I had known it and accepted it. Today Edward would lay the burden aside.
And so would I.
At the foot of the bed knelt Edward’s confessor, Father Godfrey de Mordon, a man of erudition and superior oratory, of morals as narrow as his unfortunate ferretlike features. I disliked him as much as he disliked me, but I let him pray. I did not pray, but simply sat and watched as Edward’s life ebbed, until the priest’s voice broke into my thoughts.
“His Majesty needs to repent.”
“Later.”
A pause.
“It would be better if you were not here.”
I turned my gaze on him, noting the deliberate absence of respect in his address. “Yet I will stay.”
“You have no place in this final confession of the King’s sins.” The priest’s scowl informed me that I was the source of the most virulent of them.
As he made the sign of the cross and launched into yet another Ave, I reflected how Father Godfrey had revered Philippa as a saint, while he regarded me as the worst of Eve’s daughters. I folded my hands, one over the other in my lap. What would this priest say if I announced that I was innocent once? Who did he think had arranged that the King of England should take a girl with no background, no beauty, and no breeding as his mistress?
Edward sighed, his hand clutching convulsively against the bedcover. That was all in the past. This priest would not want to hear my justifications. Here we were at the end of that supremely difficult road. It was in my heart to pray that Edward might keep hold of the thread that bound him to me, but I could not. He wanted to let go. He had had enough of weakness and forgetfulness, of lack of dignity. So I prayed that death would be quick now, and painless, that he would slip away into soft oblivion.
And when it was over?
I would go to William de Windsor, of course, but with the King’s death, the wolves might be howling at my door again, and Gaunt might not consider it politic to hold them at bay. The thought of Windsor settled me. He would strengthen me. He would hold me in his arms and keep the nightmares away by the force and heat of his body against mine.
In the shadows beyond the bed, John Beverley tidied and arranged with his usual quiet competence, having done all he could to make the King comfortable.
“Go now,” I murmured. “You can do no more.”
We were alone, the priest and I, and Edward was sleeping, the precursor of death. I closed my eyes, suddenly very weary.
The priest’s voice scraped along my nerves as he stood. “Mistress Perrers! His Majesty must confess before God.…”
“Of course.” It would be necessary, but my eyes gleamed. It was in my mind to reduce this pompous cleric who despised the ground I trod on. “Now that you’ve got up off your knees, make yourself useful and light more candles. It’s too dark in here.”
The palace might be silent, but Edward would die with light and power surrounding him.
“It’s not fitting.…”
“Do it. Why should he not die in the light? He lived his whole life in it.”
Reluctant to the last, Father Godfrey obeyed, until the chamber shone as if for a royal feast. I touched Edward’s hand, unsure even now that he would wake, but his lids lifted slowly. He turned his head toward me. “I’m thirsty.”
His voice was labored and low, his breathing heavy. I poured a cup of wine and held it to his lips so that he could sip, then banked the pillows behind him, lifting him so that he might be aware of his surroundings. And his eye fell on the crown that rested, by my orders, within his vision on the bed beside him. “Thank you.” Stretching out his hand, he touched the jeweled gold.
The priest stepped up to the bed. “There are more important things for you to face now, Sire.” He held up the crucifix around his neck. “Your immortal soul…”
“Not yet. My soul can wait.”
“Sire—I urge you to make your last confession.”
“I said not yet. Talk to me, Alice.”
So I would. Without sentiment or pity. We would pretend that there was all the time in the world, and I would entertain the King as I had always done. Edward would die as he wished. I sat on the edge of the bed, turning my back on the priest. It was as if we were alone, as in the days of our past together.
“What do we talk about?” I asked.
“The glory days. When I was the mightiest King in Europe.”
“How can I? I didn’t know you when you were the champion of Crécy.”
“Ah…! I forgot. You were a child.…”
“Not even born.”
“No…It was Philippa who was with me then.”
“So she was. And loved you for every moment of your marriage.”
“Sire…!” The priest hovered at my side.
“Let him be…!” I snapped.
“Talk to me about the last day we hunted the deer at Eltham,” Edward said.
“Your hounds brought down a tined buck. You had a good horse and rode as well as any man.” It had been one of his better days. My throat clenched hard.
“I did, didn’t I? Despite the years…”
“No one could match you.”
“It was a good day.” Edward closed his eyes as if he could see imprinted there the memory of his greatness.
“It is sacrilege that you speak to him of hunting,” Father Godfrey hissed at me. “That you encourage him.” He turned to Edward. “Sire…!”
The tired eyes opened. “I’m not dead yet, Godfrey.”
“You must make your peace with God!”
“For what?” Suddenly those eyes were unnervingly keen. “For all the dead on the battlefields of France? Will He forgive me for those I sent to their deaths, do you think?”
“He will if you repent.” The priest held his crucifix higher.
“How can he repent of the deeds that made him the great King he is?” I challenged the priest.
“Leave it, Alice!” As ever, Edward was more tolerant than I. “Do you remember the day we flew the falcons from the battlements at Windsor? Now, there was a sight.…” Edward breathed laboriously through a long silence. And then: “Alice?”
“I’m still here.”
“I’m…sorry it’s ended.”
Father Godfrey swooped in like some form of venomous insect. “He’s slipping away. Get him to repent. He mustn’t die unshriven.”
“He’ll do as he wishes.” I stroked Edward’s hand, careful of the fragility of his skin. “He always has. He has enough favor notched up with the Almighty to get him into heaven whether he dies unshriven or not.”
“Blessed Virgin! Get him to make confession!”
It was too much. I stood, making the priest step back. “Get out!”
Father Godfrey held his ground, but his eyes slithered away from mine. “I will not.”
I strode to the door and opened it. “Bring Wykeham as soon as he arrives,” I ordered the nameless squire outside, and saw Edward’s face light with joy. Edward’s one regret, his alienation from Wykeham. I had been right to send for him. If anyone was to shrive Edward, it would be Wykeham.
Father Godfrey stalked out. “When the King is dead, who will save you then, Mistress?” he snarled.
Which unfortunately echoed my own thoughts.
Wykeham arrived and Edward rallied, with ill grace and a delicious levity that completely failed to rile the imperturbable Wykeham.
“Wykeham? Is that you? You were almost too late! Let’s get it over with.…I ask your pardon for a dismissal you did not deserve. And I repent of all my sins. Will that do?”
“For myself, I’
m deeply grateful.” There was the shine of unshed tears in Wykeham’s eyes. “As for the Almighty, I think He might need rather more than that, Sire.”
“Intercede for me, damn it.” A spark of the old fire. Edward’s lips attempted a smile. I stood, silent, content with the much-desired reconciliation. “Why did I make you bishop if you won’t speak for me at the feet of God?” Bold words, but his voice was failing.
“I doubt God will accept intercession by a third party for fornication.” Wykeham’s harshness surprised me, but then, he was a priest, after all. “And adultery,” he added. “You must confess your sin if you hope for forgiveness.”
“Then I’m condemned to the fires of hell. I’ll not betray Alice in repentance. Nor will we argue witchcraft. I was not bewitched. The decisions and actions were all mine, and I’ll answer for them.” Edward’s hand closed around mine as his breath caught. “Sooner rather than later. I can see death waiting beside the door.” Edward looked up at me, but his sight was blurred now. “Do you suppose Philippa will be waiting for me?”
“I expect she will.”
“Yes…It will be good to see her.…” It hurt me, a blow delivered without intent, but one I should have expected. But still it hurt. “Hold me, Alice.”
I knelt on the bed and stretched to put my arms around him, horrified at how thin and insubstantial he had become.
“You never were a witch, were you?”
“No. I never was. You knew what you wanted without my intervention.”
“So I did.” He drew in a breath. “Take them.…” A ghost of a laugh shivered under my palms. “Take them, as I said you must. I can’t do it…but you can. They’re yours…your final insurance against dreaded penury.…”
“I will.”
“You were the light of my final years. The joy of my old age.” His breath caught again on a harsh intake. “Do you ever have any regrets, Alice? For what we did?”
“No. I regret nothing.”
“Nor I. I love you.…” His voice died away. Until the final whisper: “Jesu, have pity.”
Then his breath was gone.
So England’s great King died in my arms, his head on my breast, light blazing around him as if he were already in heaven. And I had perjured my soul, denying any regrets.
“God have mercy.” Wykeham, still on his knees, made the sign of the cross.
“Farewell, Edward. Philippa will stand beside you when you approach God’s throne.”
I stood to perform my final tasks for him, removing the pillows so that he could lie flat. I combed my fingers through his hair, arranged his linen so that it fell gracefully against his neck before placing his hands palms-down at his sides.
And then…because he had remembered…I began to take the rings from his fingers. A cabochon ruby. A sapphire flanked with diamonds, heavyset with pearls. A trio of beryls. A magnificent amethyst, set alone. I took them all.
With a sharp oath of distress Wykeham sprang to his feet. “In God’s name! What are you doing?”
And I turned to look at him. The bright light illuminated the expression on his face, every deeply marked line making it clear exactly what he thought of my actions, and over all a contempt of me so deep as to coat me from head to foot. For a moment it shocked me into immobility. Did Wykeham, the best man of God I knew, truly believe me capable of robbing the dead? Of stripping Edward’s corpse of everything of value out of pure avarice? Would Wykeham of all men consider me guilty of such a final infamy? Do you have any regrets? Edward had asked, and I had denied it. But sometimes the reputation I had achieved was a heavy burden. Why should I alone be the one to deserve the world’s scorn?
Emotion raced across my skin to match Wykeham’s, and far more deadly. Combined with my anguish, bright anger melded to create a vicious brew. So Wykeham believed the worst of me, did he? He would damn me just as readily as Father Godfrey for my sins. Then let him. In my torment, a desire to hurt and to be hurt was born within me, a vehemence that would not be restrained. Fury was there, but also self-loathing. And an urge to destroy.
So be it!
I would destroy Wykeham’s so-called friendship. I would destroy any good standing I had with him. I would live up to the worst of my reputation. For who would care? The only man who had cared was dead.
Windsor cares!
I slapped the thought away.
Oh, I had an enormous talent for dissimulation. For self-mockery. I held up the rings on my palm so that they glimmered with a myriad of reflected candle flames.
“Don’t I deserve this for giving my youth to an old man?” I demanded. Never had I sounded so cold, so unfeeling.
“You are robbing the dead.” Wykeham was aghast, as if he could not believe what he saw. I drew a ring set with opals from Edward’s thumb, feeling the force of Wykeham’s stare as I did so. “It is an abomination!”
“Hard words, Wykeham!” I placed the ring with the others on my palm.
“Once, I thought you almost worthy of my friendship.”
Friendship? I had just seen the limits of friendship, to be condemned without trial.
“Foolish Wykeham. You should have listened to the common gossip.” I raised my chin, praying that the tears that had formed a knot in my throat would not betray me. “What do they say about me? What do the courtiers and the Commons say?”
“You know what they say.”
“But you say it. Humor me. Let me hear it spoken aloud.” How I wished to lash out, to cut and wound. And be wounded. I would hear anew the dregs of my reputation. In my grief and anger I had no control.
His lips were a thin line of disgust. “They say you’re an unprincipled slut…”
“Well, that’s true.”
“…and without shame.”
“Is that all?” I think I tossed my head. “I’m sure it’s worse than that.”
His eyes blazed as bright as the candle flames. “You’re a grasping, self-seeking whore.”
“That’s closer to the truth, forsooth!”
“Will nothing shock you?” His rage was suddenly as great as mine, his tongue unbridled. “They say you fucked the King to drain him of his power. You’re nothing but an adulterous bitch who betrayed Queen Philippa and—”
I struck him. I actually struck him, the hand that did not clasp the rings hitting flat against his cheek. The man who had stood as the closest I had to a friend at Court in recent years, who knew the truth behind all the Court scandals.
“My lord bishop!” I mocked. “So shocking! And for you to repeat such vulgar language!”
And I began to laugh.
Cheek aflame, he snarled, “You don’t like the truth, do you?”
“I didn’t think you’d actually say it to my face. I really didn’t.…But there’s your answer: Always believe the gossip of the stews and the whorehouses. Always believe what’s said of a woman who makes use of the talents God gave her.” I poured all the scorn I could into my voice.
For a moment he was speechless. Then he gestured to the rings in my hand.
“Are you proud of what you’ve done?”
“Why not? I’d be living in the gutter in London if I’d been less than an unprincipled slut. Or I’d be dead. Or a nun—which is probably worse.”
“God have mercy on you.” He flung out his hand, stabbing me with his finger. “You’ve missed one! He’s still wearing the emerald. Don’t let that one escape. It’s worth more than all the rest put together. It will keep you in silk and fur until the day of your unworthy death!”
The emerald. I made no move to take it.
“Why stop now? Have you suddenly developed finer feelings? You squeezed him dry of everything you could get out of him. You took what should have been Philippa’s. His company, his loyalty, his devotion into old age…” I flinched at the hard words, but recognized them for what they were. Wykeham’s own grief, lashing out at me. “Take it!” he hissed, and drew it from Edward’s finger, holding it out to me.
“I can’t.…�
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“Oh, I’m sure you can!”
“It’s the royal seal.…” I took a step away.
“Since when would such niceties stop you?”
“The coronation ring…It belongs to Richard.…It’s not for me.…”
It was a mistake. I knew it as soon as I had opened my mouth. My deliberate construction was destroyed with those few careless words. Wykeham simply looked at me, the emotion draining to leave his face white and drawn except for the print of my hand. His hand with the emerald ring dropped to his side.
“Oh, Alice!”
All the fury leached from the room, leaving it still and cold despite the constant shimmer from the burning flames.
“Alice…”
“I don’t want your pity, Wykeham.” I turned my face away. “Good-bye, Edward. I hope I made you happy when you thought there was no happiness left in life.” For a final time I knelt and kissed his hand. “I loved him, you know. In spite of everything. He was always kind. I think he loved me a little. I was not Philippa—but I think he loved me.…”
“Where will you go?”
“To Pallenswick.”
“To Sir William?”
“Yes.”
“Let him take care of you.”
“I don’t need him. I don’t need anyone.…” Still I would punish myself.
“Alice…”
“Don’t—just don’t! If you’re about to bless me, don’t think of it!” I rubbed the sudden moisture from my cheeks with my sleeve. “Your God will rejoice at my sufferings. Perhaps you should offer up an extra Ave and a Deo Gratias for my ultimate punishment.”
Tears were streaming down my face.
“You can’t go like this.…”
“What will you do? Put the record straight? Paint me as a virtuous woman? No one will believe you. I will always be the King’s whore. And I was—I think I filled the role with superb competence.” I opened the door, looking back over my shoulder to the shining crown on the bed beside Edward’s hand. “Do you think the boy will wear it as magnificently as he did?”
“No. No, I don’t think he will.”