Rumors at Court

by Blythe Gifford

  And after her husband raised his cup, he did not look at her again.

  Hoofbeats now, as the hunters rode out of the gate. Gil came back inside, grim and silent, looking as if he had lost his way.

  She approached him softly, as if trying not to wake him. ‘You do not go to the hunt?’

  He shook his head. ‘We must take this news to the Queen, you and I.’

  We. Wed now. One being.

  ‘La Reina will be...’ Valerie searched for a word. ‘Disappointed’ was much too mild. ‘Sorrowful.’ A queen, but still at the mercy of her husband.

  He nodded. ‘She will need comfort.’

  And she saw the sorrow in his own eyes, sorrow that meant he understood the Queen’s.

  His kindness seized her heart. It was not Constanza’s husband who would try to give her solace and ease her pain. It was hers. And she was so proud of him, for he had shown more care for the Queen than the woman’s own husband.

  And now, he looked at her, grabbed her hand. ‘And, Valerie, what I promised, still, that has not changed. It is my pledge to you. Our future.’

  Valerie looked down and murmured something like assent, afraid that he might see the truth if she met his eyes. The blow of losing Castile was his, Constanza’s, Lancaster’s. He would not see shared sorrow in her eyes. He would see relief.

  Unto death, he had promised, thinking that would please her. Thinking she, too, longed for a palace in the sun. Hand in her pocket, she gripped the piece of stone he had given her. His promise of a future she did not want, a shining grail always just beyond his reach.

  He knew, despite all she had tried, that her body did not want to join with his. But he did not know that she did not want to join her life to the life he wanted.

  She shivered. No, she could never tell him not to go. Never tell him how much she wanted to stay here on English soil, even if it meant living in the crumbling place that had been his family’s.

  He said he wanted the truth. But he did not want that one.

  No. Kind as he might be, he would not want to know that she hoped never to see Castile.

  * * *

  They did not rush to Hertford.

  Valerie, Katherine, Gil, a few retainers, had travelled largely in silence through the green countryside. Valerie devoured it with her eyes, thankful for the reprieve. She had gained one more winter, perhaps one more summer, before she might be forced to leave.

  When they arrived and joined the Queen, the sky was pink with sunset, the pie bird was chattering, and the Queen received them, holding her baby, looking like a statue of the Madonna and child.

  Valerie and Gil dipped their greetings and let her know that Lady Katherine had gone directly to the children.

  Easier for both women.

  Then silence. The interpreter looked at them, then at the Queen, waiting.

  Valerie glanced at Gil. They had not spoken of what to say, of how to tell her. The wedding, perhaps. Begin with happiness. ‘Your sister is married, Your Grace. The celebration was worthy of her rank.’

  The Queen looked up, expectant. ‘Her husband, what kind of man is he?’

  Valerie hesitated. If sisters could be so different, so could brothers. And this one, she suspected, was not the man Lancaster was. ‘I saw him only from afar, Your Grace.’

  ‘A fine commander,’ Gil added, too quickly.

  From the sound of his voice, she knew he said it only to please the Queen. For a man insistent on truth, he could dance on the edge of it, when he chose. When he, too, hoped to set a mind at ease.

  ‘My sister. Is she happy?’

  What a strange question. As if a woman could expect happiness in a marriage.

  ‘She seemed so, Your Grace.’ Isabel’s laughter still rang in her ears. Not for her the sombre days of duty to country and to God.

  ‘And you, too.’ She looked from Valerie to Gil and back. ‘You are married.’

  Gil glanced at her and took her hand. ‘We are, Your Grace.’

  She could not stop a smile. Unfeigned.

  ‘But there is other news, Your Grace.’ Gil again, dropping her hand and braving what must be said. ‘News I regret to bring you.’

  ‘No Castilla.’

  Not waiting to be told. As if she knew. As if she knew she had been lied to from the first.

  ‘Not this year, Your Grace. The threat at sea must be answered. We cannot risk a landing on our shores. The ships that destroyed ours last month...’

  And she listened with half an ear as Gil made excuses for the King, for her husband, for their loyal English allies, for all who had failed in their promises to this lonely woman. But he tried, swearing again, as he had to her, that La Reina would see Alcázar again.

  A promise given to comfort the Queen, for it was not his to make. This much Valerie had learned. A woman must answer her husband’s wishes, but a man lived at the mercy of his lord.

  ‘And is there more? Do you bring a message?’ the Queen said, finally. ‘For me?’

  Valerie looked at Gil. No one had thought to send personal words to Constanza. Not her sister or her priest, and certainly not her husband.

  At their expressions, the Queen nodded, without surprise, and let her gaze travel around the castle walls, walls which had become her prison, not her home.

  Valerie understood her longing and she wished, fiercely, that she had the power to take this woman home, even though it meant Valerie would then be the one trapped in exile.

  Would she have the strength to make a home in that foreign place? For Gil’s sake?

  But the Queen had neither her husband nor her country. Only her child was left to her. Only the babe she could not even call by its right name.

  Gil tried to explain. The decision was made quickly. My Lord of Spain and King Edward, but La Reina shook her head, as if tired of lies.

  ‘Go,’ she told him. ‘I would speak to your wife.’

  Even the interpreter was dismissed, a signal that they would speak in their own, cobbled language. The Queen, no longer able to maintain her strong façade, handed the babe to Valerie, so as not to let her tears stain the child.

  For a while, the two of them sat, not speaking, letting the pie bird’s chatter fill the silence. Gradually, the tears stopped.

  ‘Your madre,’ the Queen said, as the baby slept in Valerie’s arms. ‘Did she have amor with your father?’

  Love? Valerie doubted that any of her mother’s three marriages had included love. ‘My mother never spoke of love. Only of a wife’s duty.’

  The Queen looked towards the window, which faced south, as if she might see as far as home from there. ‘My father loved my mother. Very much.’

  An insight she had not expected. How much more painful, then, her own marriage.

  ‘It is an unusual thing in a marriage, I think.’

  The Queen turned to look at her with deep, sad eyes. ‘They were not married.’

  Valerie swallowed, unsure what to say. In love, but not married. Did the Queen know how this mirrored her own life? It was hard to say. She did not like Katherine, but Valerie had never known whether the Queen knew, in fact, of her relationship with the Duke. The Queen had been isolated from the court rumours, certainly. ‘Did he have...other children?’

  She had almost said legitimate children.

  ‘No. They forced him to marry other women, once, twice. But he did not give them niños. Only to my mother.’ Such pride in her words. As if children could only be born of love.

  They both knew the lie of that.

  ‘So he made you his heir.’ An illegitimate daughter named a king’s successor. Something England would never see.

  ‘Yes. And after she died, the Archbishop declared they had been married.’

  Valerie’s eyes widened. Was
such a thing even possible? ‘According to God’s laws?’

  And Constanza, who she thought had loved God above all things, simply shrugged. ‘Sometimes, love is stronger.’

  ‘You have seen such a love, Your Grace. I have not. It is hard for me to understand such a thing.’ Harder to believe it.

  ‘Your husband, does he love you?’

  A strange and terrible question. ‘I believe he wants to. He wants that for us.’

  ‘And do you love him?’

  A simple question. And the answer different from what it would have been a few days ago. ‘I might be able to.’

  She wanted to, in a way she could not have imagined before she’d met Gil.

  ‘You will go with him now.’ A command. ‘To your new home.’

  But there was no home. He refused to go to his. Hers had been taken away. Where could they go? ‘I believe he expects me to continue to serve Your Grace and I am happy to do so.’

  They shared a smile, but the Queen shook her head. ‘It is right that you cling to him.’

  ‘I will try, Your Grace.’ This Queen had chosen duty and been denied love. Perhaps she wanted others to find it.

  The Queen stretched out her arms, ready to hold the babe again, and Valerie handed the bundle back, her arms feeling strangely light and cold.

  ‘And also,’ the Queen said, in a tone that signalled a new subject, ‘I have Castile’s heir now. The other children of the King, not heirs, should live elsewhere. With Lady Katherine.’

  And so. She does know.

  How painful to be forced to atone for her mother’s sin. Now she was the married Queen, watching her husband love another woman, just as her own father had once done.

  If she saw the similarity, she did not say. But she also knew what it could mean. At least she now had a child. And if Katherine, too, had children by Lancaster?

  Well, those children, at least, would not be in line for her throne.

  Valerie’s heart hurt for them both. The woman who loved another woman’s husband. And the wife who must watch her do it.

  ‘As you wish, of course, Your Grace. I am certain it could be arranged.’ Lancaster, too, would no doubt prefer dropping the pretence that Katherine served the Queen. It would make it easier for them to be together.

  ‘You tell her. Tell her what I want.’

  ‘I will, Your Grace. You need not see her again.’

  The reassurance seemed to bring a moment of peace. Even a smile. Then, the Queen waved her hand. ‘You may go.’

  Surprised, she bent her head, then touched her necklace. ‘Thank you. For this kindness. And for the necklace. And for so many other things. Vaya con Dios.’

  She had feared a stern, unhappy face, but instead saw understanding. ‘You with him, after. Tell him. Te lo permito.’ Permission. From one who could have commanded.

  ‘I hope so, Your Grace.’

  The Queen’s brow was furrowed again. ‘To make a child. You must make a child.’

  Her cheeks flamed. ‘Yes, Your Grace.’

  That, if not Castile, was a goal she and her husband could share.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Valerie whispered only a few words to Gil of what the Queen had requested, but by his expression, she could tell that he, too, understood all.

  ‘Lancaster asked me,’ he said, ‘to bring Katherine to the coast to see him before he sails.’

  ‘I will tell her,’ she said. ‘And until then?’

  ‘We will take her wherever she wants to go.’

  And after that? Valerie could not guess what would happen.

  She found Katherine in her chamber, eyes closed, head back, as if she had fallen asleep, but she opened her eyes immediately when Valerie came into the room.

  ‘I come...the Queen has asked...’

  Katherine sat up. ‘What is it? What is wrong?’

  Valerie sat beside her and took her hand. ‘The Queen thinks it would be better if you, if the Duke’s children from his first marriage, had a separate household.’

  A sigh. A smile. Relief. ‘Yes, I see.’ She seemed almost giddy with it. ‘I will speak to John, I mean, My Lord of Spain. He will arrange things. He will know where the children should go.’

  John. The Duke. The King.

  Valerie squeezed her hand. ‘Katherine. She knows.’

  The happy smile on her face shattered like a broken mirror. She looked away.

  ‘I said nothing to her.’ Surely Katherine would not think she had told her secret. ‘I swear.’

  Katherine shook her head, resigned. ‘She knew before you did.’

  You, the Queen had said when the babe was born, insisting Valerie, not Katherine, hold her. All the times the Queen had insisted that Valerie serve her instead of Katherine took on new meaning.

  ‘A wife always knows,’ Katherine said.

  Yes, just as she had.

  ‘Gil will take you wherever you want to go. And when the time comes, he will bring you to the coast so you can see...’ No need to say more.

  Katherine’s face spoke her gladness. ‘I will go to London now. A few of the men can accompany me. Gil need not come himself.’

  ‘What will you do in London?’

  ‘I will settle the children into their new household and make sure all will be taken care of without me.’

  ‘I thought you would stay with them.’

  She shook her head. ‘After John sails, I will go home. To Kettlethorpe. I should leave court before...’ she touched her belly ‘...it becomes too clear.’

  A child. Sired by My Lord of Spain. And she seemed to delight in it.

  Valerie embraced her, feeling as if every woman in the world had earned God’s favour except for her. ‘But will you, what if...?’ She did not know how to ask. To bear the man’s child, out of wedlock. ‘Does the Queen...?

  Did the Queen know this, too?

  ‘I don’t know. She may recognise the signs.’ Now, it was Katherine who seemed to comfort her. ‘Do not worry. I will be well. And you...’ Her tone changed. She took Valerie’s shoulders and squeezed them. ‘Your time will come. You will be happy in your marriage.’

  A wistfulness in the words. As if she envied Valerie her marriage, just as Valerie had wished herself a widow, as independent as Katherine.

  She looked towards the door, to be sure they were well alone, then she gripped Katherine’s fingers. ‘Katherine...’ Could she even confess the truth? Yet she could bear the isolation no longer. ‘He will not sleep with me.’

  Katherine’s look of puzzlement matched Valerie’s own. ‘But you are his wife. Surely he does not think you still mourn.’

  She shook her head. ‘I have told him I am willing to do my duty, but I think he wants more. Something like you and...’ Embarrassed, she stopped.

  ‘Something like John and I have?’

  Valerie nodded. ‘Something I have never seen in a marriage.’

  ‘And what do you want?’

  Did she want love? Did she even believe it possible? ‘A son.’

  Katherine studied her, waiting a moment for her to say more.

  ‘I want, I must be with child before he leaves, in case...’

  In case he does not come back.

  She let the words drift away at the expression on Katherine’s face. That moment of pain...she must have been thinking of the Duke and what might happen if he did not return.

  ‘I have made it clear that I am willing.’ But when he did touch her, her body remembered only the fear. ‘He wants more than willing. He wants eager.’

  ‘You can be that. You can coax him into your bed.’

  ‘Did you...?’ Then she bit her tongue. She could not accuse Katherine of seducing Lancaster.

  But Katherine
knew the question. ‘I wish it had been so simple. Sometimes, it cannot be denied.’

  ‘That’s what Gil wants.’ Something that could not be denied. Was she brave enough to risk that? And if she did, could she love him enough to embrace the life he wanted in a foreign land? ‘We have so little time. And I don’t even know where we will go for the next few weeks.’

  He had not said. Only to come here. And then?

  She was weary of the unceasing movement. It was the way of the court, she had learned. London to Hertford. Leicestershire to Wallingford. She wanted familiar earth beneath her feet.

  She missed her garden. Missed the dirt between her fingers. Missed seeing the plants change, gradually, day by day, as a child might grow. You had to look carefully to see the changes, but they were there.

  But that was no longer hers. Even Gil’s beloved Castile did not belong to him. There was only one place they could go now. The one place he did not want to go.

  ‘Home.’ Strange to call his castle by that name. ‘We will go home.’

  She did not know how she would persuade him. But she must.

  * * *

  Gil mounted the stairs to the top of the castle walls, leaving the women to talk. Who knew what women spoke about? They seemed to know things in some mysterious way. The Queen had learned that Lady Katherine and her husband were lovers. No one had told her it was so, yet she knew what he had not recognised when it was right before his eyes.

  Because he had not wanted to acknowledge it. Because in this way too, Lancaster, My Lord of Spain, had failed him.

  He pulled the Castilian stone from his pouch. Pieces of the blue tile had fallen away. The white tile was scratched. All as broken and battered as his dreams. He weighed it in his hand and looked down at the river. If he hurled it forcefully enough, could he hit the water?

  Soft footprints on the stairs. He pocketed the stone and then Valerie was beside him again. They stood next to each other and looked out on the river, and somehow, he felt a moment’s peace.

  ‘Katherine will go to London,’ she said, finally, ‘until it is time to leave for the coast. You and I do not need to go with her.’