The King's Grace

by Anne Easter Smith

  Henry had entertained his guests at a feast earlier with fire-eaters, tumblers, jugglers, a bearded woman and a giantess from Flanders. Then he invited a privileged few into this room, where Diego, Henry’s Spanish fool, poked fun at de Puebla in his native tongue, making the ambassador throw back his hairy head and roar with laughter. As a juggler tossed balls in the air, distracting the guests, no one was aware for a few moments that Perkin, his two escorts and Katherine, accompanied by two attendants, had been let into the room. Suddenly the Milanese Raimondo Soncino spotted them and, nudging Ambassador Trevisano, his friend from Venice, jerked his head in the couple’s direction.

  Katherine was trembling—Grace did not know if from touching her beloved husband again or from fright—and Perkin took her hand possessively. The admiration in the Italians’ faces told Grace they found the couple beautiful to behold.

  “I give you Lady Katherine Gordon of Huntley and her husband, Perkin,” Henry announced, as if toasting them. “They are free to converse with you.”

  Grace took a step back and stood alongside the second attendant, with Perkin’s men on her other side. Robert Jones was sewer of the chamber, and William Smyth was one of Henry’s ushers of the chamber, and, as close associates of the king, they were commanded to be with Perkin everywhere. They did not look unkind, Grace thought, and William did not seem particularly alert. ’Twas odd that Henry had not chosen armed guards. Grace looked down at her feet, her square-toed shoes peeking out from under her green gown, and wished the sordid and humiliating scene would come to an end.

  It eventually did, but not before Perkin whispered of his love to his wife by hiding behind the pomander that he pretended to sniff, and fondled her neck, stealing one desperate kiss. “How long must we live like this?” Katherine whispered. “And do you have news of our son?”

  “What can you mean, my love?” came his puzzled reply. Then Perkin turned angry eyes towards the dais. “I thought he was with you all this time,” he muttered through clenched teeth. “Christ’s nails, where is he?” He looked at Grace, who had come between them and Smyth and Jones to keep the conversation private. “Do you know, Grace?”

  Grace shook her head. “I am trying to discover his whereabouts.” She saw Henry’s eyes on them. “Have a care, the king is watching. I can do no more.”

  After making their reverences to the king, Katherine and Perkin bowed to the other spectators—that is how Grace described them later to Tom—and made their exits, in different directions. “They may stand close in public,” Soncino whispered to Trevisano as Grace moved past them, “but they can never bed again. Too dangerous. Molto pericoloso.”

  “Lady Grace, pray approach the throne.” The king’s command took Grace off-guard, as she was about to follow Katherine from the room. Her knees wobbled as she walked back to Henry and sank to her knees in a curtsy. Henry pointed to the golden chair next to him, where Bess would have sat had she been present. “Tell me, how does my lady of Huntly? She appears tired, but otherwise healthy. Am I correct?”

  Grace smoothed her skirts and then clasped her hands in her lap. She was aware of many pairs of eyes on her, and she felt the blush start up from the edge of her square-necked bodice, Elizabeth’s amber brooch pinned at its center. What could Henry want from her? She took a deep breath and then looked at the king, who was watching her with amusement. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

  “Why are you so afraid of me, my lady?” he said quietly. “My wife always speaks so affectionately of you to me. Certes, you cannot doubt that I respect her opinion, and therefore I must look upon you as a dear sister, too. Aye, you were deluded all those years ago, but Bess tells me you are reformed—thanks to the guidance of your husband, sans dout. You should know my uncle thinks highly of Sir Thomas Gower and trusts him in all things. He has the opportunity to rise at court, if he—and you—play your cards right.” He gave her a friendly smile. “I believe we can now trust you, can we not? Come, answer me, Grace, or has the cat run away with your tongue?”

  Grace closed her mouth, astonished by his benevolence. “My duty is to you, your grace, and my sister,” she said, a little hesitantly. Where was this leading? she wondered. “And I honor my husband with all my heart.”

  “And with your body, I trust,” Henry said, leaning to her and winking. “You make a handsome couple, in truth. Your husband is a fortunate man.”

  Now Grace was completely perplexed. Was the king flirting with her? If he was, she was disgusted. Thank Heaven Tom has already left, she thought. “Th-thank you, your grace,” was all she could think to say. She noticed that his velvet bonnet was making his forehead sweat in the heat of so many candles, and then she noticed his smile had faded and his myopic blue eyes glittered. Her stomach lurched.

  “I would know what le garçon and his peahen were talking of earlier, Grace. I pray you, do not dissemble. I cannot expect you to swear on your little daughters’ souls, but I do expect you to honor me with the truth.”

  Sweet Mary, he is threatening me, Grace realized, thunderstruck. I am his mouse: first the playing, then the pounce. She gripped her hands and felt Tom’s ring digging into her finger. It gave her courage. “I will tell you readily, your grace,” she said, leveling her gaze at him and taking Henry aback. “They spoke of their love, which seems to be considerable. And then they spoke of their son—the one who was taken from Lady Katherine at Saint Buryan’s. Perkin was unaware—and dismayed—that the child was no longer in her care. Both expressed a desire to know if he is well.” She forced a dazzling smile. “And as a father yourself, your grace, I cannot think you will blame them for that.”

  Now it was Henry’s turn to open and shut his mouth, as Grace continued to smile. “You observed Lady Katherine’s heavy eyes, your grace?” she said. “As her companion, I can tell you ’tis from overmuch weeping for her babe. I would dearly love to comfort her with word of his well-being and safety.” Her heart was thumping so loudly at this outrageous speech that she was sure it was drowning out the lutes in one corner and the conversation around the rest of the room. Surely Henry could hear it?

  Henry avised her for a full minute before his features softened a trifle. “I can see you know not how to lie, Lady Grace, and therefore I must thank you for your honesty. As a reward, and to comfort the noble gentlewoman in your care, I will tell you that the child has been sent into Wales to be cared for by trusted servants of mine. Unfortunately, Lady Katherine must understand that, for my subjects’ protection, she will never see the boy again.” He ignored her look of horror and continued. “I trust you can break the news to her gently. In truth, you are ridding me of an unpleasant duty, Grace, for it would have fallen to me—or the queen—to deliver the bad tidings.” He rose, making Grace jump instantly to her feet, while the company stopped talking and waited expectantly. “My lords,” he called, then turned to Grace and inclined his head, “and my lady, I bid you all a good night.”

  Before Grace could curtsy again, he strolled down the steps of the dais and disappeared among his councilors, leaving her—the only woman in the room—on her own. She fled down the back of the dais and out of the small door through which she had entered.

  She had gone but a few dozen steps when a hand reached out from a doorway to pull her through it and into a small chamber, where a candle guttered as it lit a truckle bed covered with a worn counterpane. She had no time to scream before her mouth was stopped with Tom’s kiss. He kicked the door shut behind her and held her so tightly she thought she would crack.

  “What happened to you, sweetheart?” he whispered when he finally let her go. She was so relieved to see him and feel his strength that she started to cry. “What is it, hinny? Tell me.”

  He led her to the bed and gently sat her down upon it, cradling her against him. He could feel her trembling, and his mind ran rampant. Had someone insulted her? Had she been attacked in the corridor outside the king’s audience chamber? Nay, he had been waiting all that time—and he had seen Lady
Katherine and another attendant hurry by to their quarters. Certes, they would have all been surprised by an intruder, not only Grace. “What is it?” he coaxed.

  Grace wiped her eyes and recounted the scene with Henry word for word. Tom drew in his breath. “He is still suspicious of you, in truth. But, my love, you answered him truthfully and, therefore, he cannot mistrust you. By the same token, you did not betray Katherine, either, for your honesty obtained the information she so craved.” He patted her hand, and then he chuckled. “It appears to me, my beauty, that the king finds you desirable. I cannot help but be flattered.”

  “Tom!” Grace cried, and then lowered her voice. “How could you laugh? I did not know what to do…say.” She paused. “But then I knew what he was doing. He was playing with me, and I took the bait. And now I must deliver the dire tidings to Katherine. I pray she has the courage to accept it—unless…” and her mind began to race, as it always did when an idea was forming.

  “Unless?” Tom frowned. “There seems to be no way out of this, Grace.”

  “Unless we leave court and try to find the boy,” Grace enthused, her tears forgotten. “We could use Enid to navigate around the Welsh hills. I must help Perkin, for he may be my brother. Certes, you must know who took—”

  “No!” Tom said suddenly, a hint of anger in his frustrated exclamation. “No, Grace. There will be no more harebrained schemes, I pray you. You are not alone now. You have a duty to two children, who deserve to live in comfort and safety. I will not permit you to help this”—he wanted to say imposter, but he did not need to hurt Grace further—“this man or his wife, no matter how deserving. In fact, I forbid it.”

  Memories of their disagreements over John flooded Grace’s mind, and Tom felt her stiffen beside him. He tried turning her head to kiss her, but she refused to move it, and he could see the stubborn set of her jaw and tears ready to spill. He sighed. “Please, sweetheart, let us kiss and use this time to discover each other again. ’Tis Advent and a time of chastity, I know, but it has been too long. I do not doubt that God will forgive us.” He stroked her back, tugging at her laces. Even in times of tension between them, his desire for her never lessened.

  “Nay, Tom. I cannot lie with you when I know that poor man cannot lie with his Katherine,” Grace explained. “I am sorry. But their loss will be like a shadow between us.”

  Tom dropped his hand. “Ah, Grace. Once again I must share you with another man,” he said bitterly. “The precious moments I had planned for us here are gone, I believe. I could force you, as is my right, but I made a vow to myself when we were wed that I would never exercise that right. And so I will leave you,” he said, standing up and reaching for his doublet. At the door he turned and, for the first time since she had known him, she saw tears in his eyes. “Can you never put our love above all else? Must you always shelter weak creatures and put yourself at risk? It seems you are as elusive to me as the crown is for Perkin.”

  “Oh, Tom,” Grace cried, running to him. “Do not leave me, I beg of you. I do not mean to hurt you, husband, truly I do not.” It was her turn to stroke him, while he stood solid as the door at his back. “Your words have reached out and touched my foolish heart. Until this moment, I did not know how truly I love you. The scene in the audience chamber unnerved me, ’tis all, and living beside Lady Katherine these weeks has saddened me beyond belief.” She reached up and took his face in her hands, feeling the soft beard between her fingers. “You do not know how many times a day I thank God for the love we have and are able to show each other.” She went back to the bed and pulled off her stiff headdress and the cap underneath. Keeping his gaze, she unwound the glossy plait and allowed the freed curls to fall to her waist. “Stay a while, my dearest love, and you shall have my full attention, I swear.”

  A single tear escaped from Tom’s eye before he groaned, “Ah, my sweet Grace,” and went into her embrace.

  Although Grace gave in readily to Tom’s passion, she could not erase the memory of the two beautiful objects of Henry’s disdain touching each other so tenderly and in such desperation earlier. How could she not offer them her friendship and comfort?

  NO ONE REFUSED a royal invitation for Christmas at Shene. It was unthinkable, especially this Christmas, when Perkin would be a focal point. Once Mass was celebrated, the king, wearing his ceremonial crown according to the custom of centuries, had laid hands on several afflicted subjects, who were expected to heal from the blessing. Only then could the festivities of the twelve days begin.

  Lying next to Cecily after another evening of entertainment by mummers, poets, musicians and the court jesters, Grace dreamed she was back at Bermondsey. She floated through the winter garden, heard a pig shriek in agony near the cowshed as it was sacrificed for the winter provisioning and saw a monk coming towards her, his face hidden in his cowl. As she reached out to throw back his hood, flames started licking at his habit and the sickly smell of burning flesh assailed her nostrils. Then, out of nowhere, crowds jeered and taunted the man, but he did not seem to notice them or the fire. “Water! Fetch water!” Grace screamed at the mob, and then she saw the man’s face. It was John, and he was smiling at her, his face bathed in an eerie light. It was not fireglow she saw, but an unearthly, iridescent light. “Dearest John,” she cried, “you have returned.” He shook his head, and she thought he had never looked so happy. Shimmering as if in a mirage, a second figure appeared beside him, and Grace recognized his mother, Katherine Haute, who took his hand and gently pulled him away. “Look after yourself, Grace,” John said, his habit on fire and yet the flames not consuming him. Then she realized the burning smell of flesh was her own and felt a searing pain in her leg. As the cacophony of voices deafened her, she thrashed at her fiery gown, trying to extinguish it.

  “God’s bones, Grace!” Cecily cursed sleepily. “Stop kicking me, I beg of you.”

  Grace’s eyes flew open and she realized with relief that she had been dreaming. She crossed herself and then frowned, wrinkling her nose. “’Tis no dream!” she exclaimed, sitting up and sniffing the air. “I smell smoke. Wake up, Cis!” An orange glow was reflected in the windowpanes from the king’s apartments, and she could hear distant shouts. “I’m not dreaming, there is a fire!” she screamed. She jumped out of bed and fumbled in the dark for her cloak.

  Cecily came awake instantly. “Where?” she cried, flinging off the bedcovers.

  Grace flung open the casement, and then the shouts could be plainly heard. Although the walls were stone, the interior of the old palace was constructed mostly of wood. Indeed, Henry had remarked just that night, as the Yule log sent out a shower of sparks that set the floor rushes aflame in the great hall, that with its vulnerable hammer-beam roof Shene was a disaster waiting to happen. It would seem, Grace thought grimly as she lit a taper, that his prediction was correct.

  The women ran from room to room, waking the queen’s household, and Cecily and Grace helped Bess into an overdress and cloak to join them in her waiting chamber for news. Grace ran to the nursery to make sure Susannah and Isabella were safe and unafraid. The room was at the back of the palace, and when she entered all were undisturbed, as the noise and smoke had not penetrated those corridors. She held her candle aloft and for the hundredth time gazed in wonder at her sleeping children, curled up together in their tiny bed.

  “There is a fire in the king’s apartments, Margery,” she whispered to the nursemaid. “’Tis a long way off and under control, I feel certain. But perhaps we should take the children outside to safety.”

  Waking the older children and wrapping them in blankets, then each carrying the littlest, the two women made their way down the two flights of stairs to the door into the knot garden. Bella began crying at being so rudely awakened, which set off her cousin Mary, their wails adding to the chaos the little group found outside as dozens of servants and grooms ran back and forth with buckets of water from the river to douse the flames or damp down the adjoining buildings. The chapel wing was bla
zing, which included the wardrobe where Perkin slept with his guards, Grace realized. Dear God, I pray he was not so foolish as to have set it. Why, he might have killed the king! She dared not contemplate such folly.

  An hour later, when the fire had been isolated to one part of the palace, the queen’s household returned to their chambers and Grace let Bella and Susannah share her bed for what was left of the night, although few were able to sleep. As the day was dawning, Henry went to tell the queen that the fire had been contained but the wing was all but destroyed.

  “It began in the wardrobe,” Henry said, his arm about Bess. “A candle, certainement. Praise God no one was hurt.”

  “But that is where…” Bess paused, raising an eyebrow.

  “Where le garçon sleeps? Aye, you have the measure of it, my dear. The two yeomen Kebyll and Sherwyn—his night guardians—slept beside him as always but swore they had snuffed their tapers,” he said. “They were fortunate to get out alive. Very fortunate,” he repeated grimly. His eyes scanned the room and found Lady Katherine, who looked quickly away. Grace felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise. Had Katherine helped him? Nay, she has not been out of anyone’s sight. Truly it must all be a cruel coincidence, she decided. Besides, it would have been certain suicide if indeed Perkin had set it.

  It was a mystery, the courtiers whispered, why Henry has not simply accused the man of attempting to kill the king and could thus have rid himself of this tiresome Perkin prickle. Once again, Henry hesitated.

  Within days Henry had ordered that the palace be completely rebuilt. He said Shene belonged to a bygone era and that in looking forward to a new century, Richmond Palace would rise from the ruins in its stead.

  30

  Malines

  JANUARY 1498

  Henri de Berghes, bishop of Cambrai, waited for the dowager duchess to speak. He had been summoned to her private solar for her usual weekly confession and was surprised to find her waiting for him in her high-backed chair and not upon her knees at the prie-dieu. The exquisite triptych, commissioned from Hans Memling by Margaret, had not even been opened, nor were the two candles lit that illuminated the prayer book. The bishop’s handsome features remained impassive as he contemplated his steepled fingers and allowed Margaret to gather her thoughts. They were alone, as was customary for a supplicant and her confessor, but on more than one occasion the dowager had used the time to confide other than her venial sins to him. About the same age, they shared a strong bond of piety and mutual respect that had allowed confidences to flow freely between them over the past ten years.