by Anne Carsley
Katherine awoke one morning to a great hammering at the gate, a blare of trumpets and a call, “In the King’s name, open!” The cry was repeated once more as the household hastily assembled. She seized a gown and fur robe, left her hair hanging down her back, and descended the stairs. Lord and Lady Arrington stood in the keep, Milady’s face was pale with shock and hers was not the only one. The train had been admitted; there were several important looking personages, a tall gray bearded man with a protruding stomach who wore physician’s garb, several younger ones who deferred to him, a squat friar, soldiers and clerks. The whole was commanded by a stern-faced man in gorgeous trappings whose banner bore the three sun device of the King. He had been speaking to Lord Arrington who now turned to a servant,
“Summon Lord Hunsdale immediately. Tell him it is the King’s business.”
The servant sped rapidly away but returned in minutes with a look of total horror on his face as he spoke hurriedly to his master who whispered to the leader. Katherine watched as his face grew red, then paled.
“He disobeys his sovereign?” It was a roar.
She drew back, meaning to fetch James bodily if necessary with the help of the servants. Just as she did so, she looked up to see James standing at the head of the stairs, looking down at the assemblage.
“What does this intrusion mean? I have given my answer to Gloucester, there is no need to repeat it.” His voice was expressionless, his manner weary.
“I do not come from the Duke of Gloucester, Lord James. I come from King Edward by his express order.
I am Lord Carmartin, as you may know. Shall we retire to discuss this in private?” It was a command.
James came down several stairs. “Speak here, that you may the sooner leave.”
Carmartin flushed again. “Take care, sir. It is the King you flout.”
“Say it here.”
The silence was so acute that one of the castle dogs could be heard scratching at the rushes. Katherine started to speak but knew that it would be useless.
Lord Carmartin said harshly, “As you will. You and your wife are commanded to London, there to answer to King Edward in the matter of your marriage. There is also the question of why you have disobeyed the Duke of Gloucester’s requests to join him in London when it is known that you are recovered from your wounds. Your loyalty has been questioned.”
James stood very still, his face unchanged. Many a hot-blooded noble would have drawn his sword at such an accusation. Katherine felt the sting as she moved to face the King’s messenger.
“I am Lady Hunsdale. My husband has been very ill and remains so. What charges are leveled against him who has fought for the kingdom?” The scorn in her voice raked Lord Carmartin.
“Madam, such matters are not discussed with women. I suggest that you ask your husband.” He was trying to control his anger but having little success. “Lord James, prepare yourself for we leave this day.” “I go nowhere.”
“You defy the King yet again?”
The hall was once again very still. Katherine looked at James and felt that he was not even there, yet he uttered words of ruin for them all. His face showed only boredom and weariness. She heard her own voice then, hard and commanding.
“Give us time to make ready, say three days. Send a message to London stating this. You will not force a peer of the realm. We must have time.”
She stared him down, the small girl with the huge green eyes and the firm jaw. The scar on her pale face stood out but she did not bend before threats. Lord Carmartin recognized the ploy for what it was but, still, Hunsdale had a deathly look upon him and his uncaring attitude was chilling. He remembered the fury of King Edward when he learned of the marriage and those messages saying that they would remain indefinitely in the north. Those Plantagenet rages would be the death, if not of Edward, then those around him. Hunsdale would be lucky if he were not stripped of his estates, despite all those years of service. He opened his mouth to forbid her once more to interfere and said,
“Madam, the time is given. You are a worthy advocate.”
Katherine smiled at him and he thought he saw for what the foolish lord had risked all that mattered.
James turned and went to his room, Katherine rushed after him but the bolt shot home and there was no response to her repeated calls.
This time Katherine went to Brother Martin who had been with James in his bitter illness. He was a man of learning and compassion who had much experience. Now he said, “His body is restored but he has an illness of the spirit. For that there is only prayer.”
Why did churchmen always take it for granted that you could spend all your time on your knees? Katherine was irritated. “I do pray. But we must do something and soon, else they will take us prisoner to London. What can the King mean to so treat a loyal subject?” So had Antony been loyal.
Brother Martin was practical. “We will ask the advice of the learned physician who came in the train of Lord Carmartin. I am at a loss.”
It was not until late afternoon that they were able to speak to Sir Anselm Burlen who had studied at Padua and the University of Paris. He had been in holy orders in his youth, but had found that his faith was too little for the tests. He had traveled extensively, some of it in the Saracen countries and had brought back knowledge that many might have considered to be heresy. King Edward, something of a cynic himself, had appointed him as one of the court physicians and they often spoke long into the nights when the king was restless.
He listened to the tale Katherine and Brother Martin told but they could not discern what his thoughts might be. Soothingly he said,
“I will evaluate Lord James, bearing in mind all that you have told me. You need not fear. If his mind suffers, steps will be taken to heal him.”
Later, in the chill room where James sat as if an effigy of himself, Sir Anselm put softly worded, well chosen questions to him but was hard pressed not to explode in fury. Finally he said, “None of us live but by the King’s will. If you flout that, you are doomed. For what? A noble name, an honorable injury, a new bride. You seem to care for nothing.”
The gray eyes were remote. “You have said it. I care not.”
Sir Anselm, who most passionately did care, resorted to all the charm that had won his mercurial prince. It was as if he were not there. Then he recalled the gist of a conversation with one of Katherine’s maids earlier. Craftily he decided to use it.
“You are unhappy in your marriage? It is common knowledge that in your delirium you called for another lady than your wife. Perhaps you can be freed from her. She has suffered a miscarriage, you need an heir, you find it difficult to perform your duty since your heart is elsewhere .. .”
James winced at hearing of the miscarriage and then looked at him. “I will not discuss my wife with you.”
Sir Anselm reported all this to Katherine and Brother Martin. He had not intended to do so but he found it intriguing. “Indeed, I sought only to shock him from his reverie but failed. He will have no speech with me though I have tried. I have failed and that is something that seldom happens.” He was not boastful, merely honest.
“But you can pronounce him too ill to think rationally or to be responsible for his actions. That will surely suffice.” Katherine spoke urgently, her hands moving back and forth on the rubbed velvet of her skirts.
Sir Anselm shuddered as he envisioned the wrath which flared these days at the slightest imagined provocation, much less outright disobedience. What he was going to say approached treason, was certainly rash behavior, yet the girl deserved the truth.
“Lady Katherine, King Edward is jealous of his privileges and rightly so. He must be an autocrat to rule this land after so many years of war and divided loyalties. He is not as he was in the early days of his youth. He has learned that you cannot trust and rule.”
Katherine’s eyes were green pinpoints, her pale cheeks were red, as she cried, “He is much coarsened in body and spirit if gossip be heard aright. I have no fait
h in his justice for it is not there.”
“Lady, Lady.” Brother Martin sought in vain to stop the rush of words.
Sir Anselm remembered the great golden King, his friend of the dice tables and the gay gallant of the streets. The man who had once said, “My body aches as if it will never stop of late.” The man of wild remarks, shifting gazes and rapid suspicions. So many rose and fell. And there were always the sharp waiting eyes of the Woodville woman whom he had lifted into the light.
“I have been honest with you, Madam, for you seem a woman of sense. These outbursts must stop. They do you and your cause no good. Is that understood?”
Katherine nodded. Could it be that he was going to help?
“Lord James has an illness of the mind and spirit. He is experiencing deep melancholia, a spiritual deprivation of some sort.” He paused, fingering his beard, and thought back to a time when he had seen a bare dead body, dead only minutes, it had seemed, with a great healed scar along one side and over the back. Later, under the cover of night, he had explored it with the knife under several layers of flesh and muscle. Purulent matter had been disgorged by the cupful. He said as much aloud now, adding, “Perhaps there is such in his mind. I do not know. You say that he is always reticent?”
“About his past life, yes.” Katherine would not give him the details, even the few she knew. What good could it do?
Brother Martin was intrigued. “There is an illness that sometimes comes upon those in the monasteries and convents. Sadness, loneliness, an uncaring melancholia, despair beyond all comfort. Accidia, it is called. It leaves as it comes and sometimes it never leaves.”
“Scholars are often afflicted by the condition of which you speak. I wish to consult with my colleagues on this. There is much for us to learn. Lord James must go to London one way or another. Nothing can be done for him here.”
Katherine asked, “Can he be cured in London?”
Sir Anselm smiled at her. “He is a vigorous man and I have heard reports of his skills in the tiltyard. A child might be the best cure of all. He will not have forgotten a fair woman.”
“You are blunt.” Katherine found her lips lifting. The King’s physician was a charming gentleman.
Sir Anselm, who meant her to think that, added, “Think on it. I am sure that Brother Martin would so council you.”
Her flesh did ache for that hard body against hers in passion and domination. She dreamed of the thrust and pull of his loins, of his mouth holding hers. She stood mute before them as Brother Martin murmured piously,
“A wife’s duty, Lady Katherine.”
Chapter 18
Necessity's Pathway
The next night Katherine bathed in hot scented water, washed and polished her hair so that it fell about her hips in a silky cloud, and surveyed her body anxiously as she tried to see herself with a man’s eyes. Her breasts were high and full, her waist small, her hips rounded, her legs tapering. She had matured more fully with all that had happened to her and that knowledge was reflected in the long-lashed green eyes. She touched her flat stomach; if she could only have a child, then perhaps James would be vindicated in his own eyes and she would have her security.
Katherine slipped into the thin bedgown which was old and soft but clung to her smoothness. She was fair and she knew it; a woman who had been through adversity and faced much ahead, a woman who wanted and needed her lover. She put both hands under her breasts and lifted one, remembering their shared passion of the past, how he had touched and caressed her, the eager drive of her body as they joined in sweet hunger. Her tongue went over her lips and they shone pink in the candlelight. Not for the first time, she wondered about Margaret who had inspired such love in James and then had thrown it away. Would God that he loved her, his wife, with such a deathless passion! Katherine lifted the candle in sudden resolution. If only the barrier between herself and James could be broken down, she would have a chance.
James was lying on his side in the bed when she approached him. In sleep his face was vulnerable and somehow gentle as she had seen it with her in the early day of their passion. He had gained back some of the weight he had lost even though there were still hollows in his cheeks. The covers lay loosely around him. She set the light down and settled close to him. The soft hair swung forward over her shoulders which gleamed in the flickering shadows.
Katherine set her lips to his shoulder, and her mouth traveled to the sensitive spot under his ear. Her bare breasts moved against his back and her hands sought the column of his manhood. It moved to her manipulations and she felt the warm wetness of her own body as it expanded in readiness to receive her lover. James moaned and turned almost in his sleep. His hands reached out to touch her body and ran down the satin smoothness to stir little fires under the skin.
“James, it has been so long.” The soft moan came from her almost involuntarily. “I have longed for you so.”
The gray eyes opened and he stared at her. Katherine put both hands on his to draw them downward that he might fondle her the better. She felt him recoil and the shudder that passed through him. “Jamie, what is it?”
He rose on one arm and pried her fingers loose. His lips moved but no words came. Katherine remembered that boldness was sometimes exciting. She reached out to touch the lean length of him, her eyes shining with eagerness.
“Get you gone. I will have none of you.” He sat up and stared at her with apparent fury as he gathered the coverlid closer to his legs.
Katherine jerked back in horror, shame flooding her being. “It is all right, James, you are well enough and after all, we are wed.” It was natural enough, this passion she felt for him. Why did she feel so degraded?
“Succuba.” His hand lifted to push her away. “Succuba.”
Katherine felt as if he had slapped her. Did she truly seem to him the soul stealing demon of the night? Had his illness made him forget earthly pleasures?
“Succuba. For my sins. Succuba.” His voice was a monotone. He stared at Katherine and repeated the word over and over. His face contorted with growing anger, then he cried, “Out, demon!”
He had no fever and was getting better. What was the reason for this? Katherine felt the pain rise in her until it seemed that it could not be borne. She caught the flimsy bedgown to her, knowing it did not conceal any of the charms she had so wanted to delight James. She felt a very slut and the anger built in her as she stood up and glared down at the man in the bed. She was so angry that she did not notice the wide staring eyes or the dancing movement his fingers made.
“Bitch.” The word was a bare breath in the room, a fading whisper.
Katherine slammed her balled fist into her hand twice as if the pain could somehow be relieved by such a gesture. She advanced on him then and spat, “Selfish pig! When I lay torn because of the child you forced on me, alone in that castle at the end of the world, did you care or even wish to know! If you have chosen to leave this world, I have not. You shall not endanger my life along with yours. No, Lord James, my dear husband. We will go to London whether you will or no. You seek peace? By God’s most precious soul you shall not find it here.” Her voice rose and cracked as she fought to control herself in her bitter humiliation at having forced herself on a man who loathed her very touch.
James looked into the furious face so close to his and grappled for his sword. When he could not find it, he gave one last flail, lifted his hand and let it fall. He lay motionless and still, looking blankly into space.
“James.” Katherine cried his name several times but there was no response even when she touched him and shook his shoulders. Finally she drove her sharp nails into his hand. There was no movement even though the blood ran.
She drew the bedgown tighter around her and pulled the cloak James had worn earlier over that. It was deep red and her green eyes were lit with its color. Her anguish was not of words or tears. She looked at the still body of the man she loved and who was so wounded. Then she called for the servant who was then dispa
tched for Sir Anselm.
The scene told its own story. He knew no way to be gentle and felt partly to blame that he had urged her to this course.
“He was pushed too far and he has retreated. There is no fault to be placed. Who could know how it was to be? London is now doubly necessary for him to be helped. Let him rest for the next several days and we have time to see.”
They sat with James for the remainder of the night and into the next day. By that time Sir Anselm was able to say with authority that Lord James went in no danger of his life.
Katherine, pale and composed, acquainted Lord Carmartin with the situation, saying at the end, “We will go to my lord’s house in London as soon as he is able so that he may be treated. The King must be informed of these developments so that no strain rests on our name.”
He looked at her, “This is all rather convenient, is it not, Madam?”
“Do you think that the King’s own physician connives?”
“I am a soldier bidden to my duty. It is not seemly that we quarrel.”
“I am not seemly when I fight for my life and that of my husband?” Her words were icy.
Wearily he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Adder of a woman! No wonder poor Lord James was ill. His shallow sympathies swung round and he tried to reassure her. “Neither of you is in any danger of losing your life, Lady Katherine. I marvel that you thought you ever were. Matters will soon be put to rights when the physicians have found the nature of his illness.”
“I thank you.” Katherine took gracious leave of the commander and went to prepare for yet another journey. Whatever the future brought it would be better than this limbo to which she had been confined for the past few months.
Five days later they left for London. It was anti-climactic to see how easily the leavetaking was accomplished after all the difficulties. James sat easily astride his horse and responded to directions as his body adapted to the saddle. He ate and drank when presented with refreshment. There were no problems though Katherine flinched to see the docility of the hawk.