Rumors at Court

by Blythe Gifford

  Not only had she taken it upon herself to tell the Queen of their marriage, she had also apparently implied that the Castilian fleet was in sight of the coast. As a result, the terrified Queen had insisted that Lancaster send her entire household to the country. Instead of spending time on the island’s defence, Gil had spent the morning sending messengers to Hertford, Higham Ferrers and Kenilworth castles to see which of them could shelter and defend the Queen and her ladies.

  My Lord of Spain had not been pleased.

  And now, the Lady Valerie was going to hear of it.

  He entered the outer chamber of the Queen’s quarters unannounced to see Valerie, on her knees, surrounded by trunks.

  She did not look up.

  ‘This chest contains La Reina’s private altar and crucifix...’ she began, pointing, as if giving directions to a servant. ‘It must be moved with the utmost care and should packed in the first cart. She will want it as soon as we arrive so she can thank God for our safe journey.’

  She turned to other items, as if expecting a servant to come and lift the chest.

  But when he stood, speechless, she asked again. ‘Come, quickly.’

  Then she lifted her head, saw him and scrambled to her feet. ‘Forgive me, my lord. I did not know it was you.’ The woman who had confidently been giving orders to an unseen servant bowed her head and lowered her eyes.

  His ire burst into words. ‘When you become my wife, I do not expect you to share my every counsel with the Queen!’

  The words rattled off the wall and she cringed. Her face, unguarded, reflected a moment of terror, as if she expected him to land a blow.

  Quickly, she ducked her head again, bending a knee. ‘I thought only to serve the Queen as faithfully as you serve her husband. I thought My Lord of Spain would want her protected in case...’

  In case the worst happened.

  Her reminder stopped his tongue. It was wise for the Queen to be moved to safety and he felt a bite of shame that neither he, nor the woman’s husband, had thought of it.

  He cleared his throat, struggling for calm. ‘I see. That is true, yes.’ Had he told her to keep her counsel? He could not remember now. And even if he had, no man should shout at his wife as he would at an ox that would not pull his plough.

  She raised her eyes to his. ‘Give me what punishment I deserve.’

  ‘Punishment?’ What did this woman take him for? Angry as he was that she had spoken without his permission, her exaggerated meekness seemed an accusation. It was as if despite his lifetime of striving for the ideals of knighthood, she could sense the darkness within him.

  ‘No,’ he said, ‘there will not be... I do not mean...’

  He paused to study her face. She had assumed her blank look again, impossible to read. When first he met her, she had scorned his outstretched hand and turned away as if she were a lady of the highest rank. He had thought her sad, but strong. Now, she cowered before him as if she were a dog he had kicked.

  Well, given the way he had stomped into the room, bellowing at the top of this voice, he should not be surprised. No need to think she could sense some hidden monster in his soul when he had behaved like an fool.

  He bowed his head, in a brief apology. ‘I was for’wrought.’ He could not blame his family for her fear. His own blustering missteps were reason enough. ‘The morning has been spent in search of the best place for the Queen’s household. In a day or two, we will know where you are to go.’

  ‘The Queen will be grateful,’ she said. ‘As will I.’ And still she did not raise her eyes.

  The Lady Katherine had warned him of bad beginnings. He must take care not to lose his temper again. ‘Look at me.’ A gentler voice. ‘Please.’

  Startled, she raised her head, dark eyes wide, looking into his. ‘If you wish, in the future I will—’

  ‘Do you find me so hard to look on?’

  A shy smile. A touch of pink on her cheek she could not hide. ‘I find you...’ she swallowed ‘...pleasant to look on.’

  Now, he was the one who could not keep a smile from his face. He took a step towards her.

  She shrank away.

  He paused. ‘Do not fear me, Valerie.’ As if he could command her feelings.

  She kept her eyes on his, as if to prove she did not. ‘I do not fear you.’

  A brave lie. He had seen enough men prepare for battle to know. Or, perhaps he was wrong and she was only wary, like an animal ready to flee if threatened. ‘Good.’

  ‘I scarcely know you.’

  ‘Nor I you.’ And the more time he spent with her, the more she confused him. She could defy him to share information with the Queen, yet face to face, she was all meek subservience. ‘Yet My Lord of Spain has matched us, so, it seems, we should...talk.’ They had exchanged a few words last night, speaking for the first time of something beyond necessities. Even then, the talk had been of Castile and little else. A woman must expect some...wooing.

  ‘As you wish.’ No more.

  ‘What shall we speak of?’

  Now, puzzlement. ‘You said you thought we should talk. I presumed you had something to say.’

  What woman, invited to talk, ever remained silent? What did Lancaster do to make the Lady Katherine smile? But perhaps... Had he the courage to speak today? ‘You asked before about my family.’ There. He had given her another opportunity to ask.

  A slight raising of her eyebrows. ‘You have made it clear that is not something you wish to discuss.’

  He detected no hint of suspicion in her words.

  ‘Besides,’ she continued, ‘My Lord of Spain believes us worthy of each other. That is all I need to know.’

  Relief. Reprieve. One day he must tell her himself, but not today. Not until she was less frightened of him.

  ‘Better that, as your wife, I learn what pleases you. You must let me know, as you did today, when I do not.’

  ‘What pleases me?’ He did not know how to answer the question. ‘I am pleased when we are victorious, when my lord praises my prowess. And I will be pleased when we attain Castile.’ He thought the word would bring light to her eyes. It did not. ‘But I would learn of you, as well.’

  A slight lift of the chin. As if she were the child, forced to fulfil his wishes. ‘What would you like to know?’

  ‘You seemed not eager to marry. Was it...something about me you did not like?’

  She shook her head, without hesitation. ‘As I recall, neither were you eager to wed.’ A smile then. One that seemed to tease him. ‘I should ask whether you objected to me.’

  ‘No! Of course not. I meant to marry some day, of course. Just not...now.’

  ‘Well, you see, I had married already. I did not think it necessary to do it again.’

  He knew few women well and had never thought of how they spent their days, be they wives or widows. Would her life be different if she did not wed? ‘If you had been allowed to remain a lady of dower, what would you do?’

  ‘I would be on my lands. Tending to the crops and flocks.’

  Dull work. The kind he had been glad to avoid as a man of war. ‘But when the work is done, what do you do then? Do you like chess?’ Perhaps there was something she enjoyed and had feared he would not allow it. ‘Or the hunt?’

  She looked up at him, puzzled. ‘How does that matter? The time you and I spend together will be in bed, not in play.’

  What kind of marriage had she had with Scargill? Did he come home, bed her, and then leave with no more than a word?

  Or was it worse than that?

  He tried to remember what he knew of the man. He had certainly seen him raise his voice, and his hand, in anger. But to a woman...?

  Something Gil could not imagine. But if it were true, it might explain her meek behaviour around him. He put the tho
ught aside to join a lengthening list of things he did not want to speak about.

  ‘Certainly, we will, uh...spend time outside the marital bed.’ But now that she had raised it, the thought of bedding her flushed all logic from his mind. Heat gathered. His body leapt to attention.

  He struggled to regain command. ‘So, again, what do you like to do?’ He hoped, desperately, that it would be something he knew something of. The Lady of Losford had despaired of his grasp of poetry.

  Puzzlement. As if no one had ever asked her the question. And then, she paused, thinking, taking his question as genuine.

  ‘I like to grow things,’ she said, finally, with a nod of her head.

  ‘Grow?’ She had already spoken of crops. What could she mean now? ‘Like herbs?’

  Her cheeks reddened. ‘Flowers.’ A smile. Soft, involuntary. ‘I like to grow flowers.’

  ‘Flowers.’ The word lay before him like a weapon he did not know how to wield. Well, she had asked of the growing things of Castile. He had not known how to answer then. Or now. He cleared his throat. ‘And why do you like flowers?’

  How witless he sounded. But at his interest, the dreamy smile on her face turned to joy. ‘It seems God created them only to make us glad. The roses in my garden are so many beautiful shades of red and of white. And their scent...’ She paused to inhale, as if smelling them still. ‘The earliest ones will bloom soon, or should. If I could be there...’

  Then, she remembered and her joy dimmed. ‘But I know that is not possible.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, regretting the way he had cut her off last night when she had asked to go home. ‘It is not.’ I have a garden, she had said. As precious to her, it seemed, as his memories of Alcázar were to him.

  And so again, she donned her dutiful smile. ‘You spoke of the gardens of Alcázar. What flowers grow there?’

  ‘I am no gardener to know what the green things are called, but I have not seen their like here.’

  ‘Forgive me. It is not for a warrior to call the blossoms by their names.’ Her determined smile wobbled. ‘My question was foolish.’

  He put a hand on her shoulder, a gesture he might have used to reassure a soldier. ‘No. It wasn’t.’

  He was the fool. Until he had seen the tiled courtyards of Castile, he knew of gardens only as gloomy places where dark secrets were buried. ‘I have been a man too close to war and too far from...’

  Home. As far from that haunted castle as possible.

  But this woman found joy in the earth, could even coax something of beauty from the soil. Could she do that for a home as well? Make it one he did not want to flee?

  She nodded, as if his touch had steadied her. ‘I will ask La Reina. She will know,’ she said. ‘And if there are no roses, can we take some with us when we go there?’

  ‘We will not need to carry memories of England to Castile,’ he said. ‘Our gardens will be full of new plants.’

  He let his hand slide down her arm, leaned forward, as if to reassure her.

  She blinked. Her lips parted.

  Just a little closer and, he could kiss her. He could claim what would rightfully be his. There was a smudge of dust on her nose and a lock of hair had escaped, the strands mixed brown and gold. But the rest remained damnably tucked beneath the widow’s wimple, as if she still belonged to that other man.

  He pushed the lock of hair aside and let his lips brush her cheek, then pulled her closer.

  She lay unmoving in his arms, then whispered, ‘The servants will return.’

  Of course. Not here. Not now.

  He let her go and rose, moving away to break the pull of her. What had happened? He had stormed into the room, angry at her disloyalty and then, his mind had been wiped clean of all thought except to make her his. No wonder he preferred war to love. The outcomes, and the terrain, were much more manageable.

  Dangerous, this woman. He did not recognise himself around her. She was a knot he could not untangle and each time he tried, he only found himself further ensnared.

  He had wasted valuable time here when he should have been planning for war. ‘It is too soon to think of flowers,’ he said, looking down at her, his frown firmly in place again. ‘If we do not retake the throne, we will see no gardens at all in Castile.’

  Again, she became the meek, joyless soul. ‘Of course, my lord. I mean, Gil.’

  She said his name by rote. He wished she would call him nothing at all. ‘And be sure the Queen is prepared to move by week’s end.’

  ‘La Reina asked that I come with her household. May I have your permission to do so?’

  Lancaster had said nothing of when they were to wed. In the meantime, it was better they stay apart. That way, he would let slip no more secrets. And in Hertford, she would be safely away from the court, where she might hear rumours of the Brewen past. ‘Yes. Of course.’

  As she had promised, the servants returned, allowing him to escape, more confused than when he arrived.

  He did not understand this woman at all. Worse, he did not understand himself when he was around her.

  * * *

  And so, while the men prepared to defend the coast, Valerie moved with chests, Castilians and pie bird to Hertford Castle, far enough from London so that, if the unthinkable happened, Castile’s Queen would be out of harm’s way.

  Valerie sent a message, but did not see Gil again before they left. Word of the Castilian–French fleet had finally become known and rumours of war now filled the court.

  The move had been intended to allow the household to live with a sense of peace and safety. Valerie, united again with a garden, was the only one who felt it. Once settled into the country home, she could snatch time alone to watch the purple fleur-de-lis emerge, day by day. Beauty that required no translation.

  The Queen, heavier with child, spent even more time in prayer, no doubt pleading for God to spare her and her unborn child from the terrors of birth-bearing as well as the swords of the enemy. And by the panic in her ladies’ voices Valerie guessed they chattered of what would happen if the pretender to the throne landed and found their hiding place.

  At Hertford, they were even more isolated than they had been at the Savoy. Since London was two days’ ride away, they received their news from the household’s priests, who travelled regularly between the court and the country home. Valerie had no faith they spoke the truth.

  Separately, Katherine was also travelling to London regularly and brought reports Valerie counted as more reliable, for they came, she assumed, from the Duke himself.

  The purpose for Katherine’s trips was, she explained, was to confer with Lancaster about the children. Was there another, more private reason she visited so often? Valerie was beginning to wonder. For when she did return to Hertford, Katherine spent most of her time with the children of John’s first wife and her own, not with the Queen.

  Both Katherine, and Constanza, preferred it that way.

  And if, as Valerie was beginning to suspect, each woman ruled a separate realm of the man’s life, it was no more than any wife, or mistress, could expect.

  * * *

  One evening in May, as the sky turned from blue to pink, Valerie and the Queen were trying again to teach words to each other. There was soft laughter when one got something right, or wrong. No, they hoped not to be in England for long. England was cold and feo. Castile was warm and magnífico.

  And then, the Queen hushed them all and asked her favourite singer among her ladies for a song of home.

  Even though Valerie had never been there, the music roused her as well. If she could speak the tongue, if the gardens were beautiful as Gil had promised, could she find peace there? Or, a year from now, would she, too, be hearing songs of home and feel as isolated and alone as these women?

  Constanza lay quietly, ey
es closed, and the pain seemed to lessen with the melody. Perhaps the music reminded her of home, childhood, of a time of safety. Did she sleep? Valerie could not say, but she seemed to find a moment’s peace.

  And then, her face turned rigid.

  She clutched her belly and groaned, then gasped, trying to get the words free. ‘Mi niño...’

  The song broke off. The Castilian ladies surrounded their lady, turning their backs on Valerie.

  She rose, not knowing what to do. She had never borne a child. Knew nothing of what came now. Was the baby to come immediately?

  The midwife had been called to a birth half a day’s ride away. But Katherine was here. Katherine had borne four children and served the Duke’s duchess.

  ‘I will get Lady Katherine,’ she called, hoping Constanza would hear and understand.

  A muffled response. Did the Queen protest? Hard to hear amidst the cries and whispers and the screech of the pie bird.

  She ran through the halls, to the rooms Katherine occupied with her own children, bursting in without introduction.

  ‘La Reina. She is in pain. The baby...’ What a fool she was, to not even be able to speak of it.

  Katherine rose, without a word, and walked into the corridor.

  Valerie followed her, but when they entered the Queen’s quarters, the ladies turned to look, but did not move away.

  ‘Let me see her,’ Katherine said.

  She stepped forward, forcing the ladies to part. Valerie stayed nearby, hoping that by coming closer to the birth, God might understand how much she, too, wanted a child.

  And so, she was close enough to see a flash in the Queen’s eyes. It was more than pain. Was it hate? Could the Queen, too, think that Katherine and her husband...?

  La Reina took an easy breath. And then another.

  The ladies looked at each other, nervous.

  Katherine took the woman’s hand, squeezed it, then placed a damp cloth on her brow. ‘Rest now. The babe does not come yet.’ A smile. A calm voice. Enough to allow the Queen to close her eyes.

  Only when they left the room did Valerie see Katherine’s unguarded face. The reassuring smile she had worn for the Queen was gone.