by Anne Carsley
They traveled down the center of England in cold weather which had turned rainy. The way was made easy by the banners of the King and the knowledge that they went on his business. The nights were spent in the private rooms of inns, during the days they rode hard and fast. James kept easy pace and Katherine was inured to the road by now. She found that she was exhilarated by the pace and the weather. It seemed to answer a deep need within her. She rode with her head bare, her hands gloveless, letting the elements have their way. Her skin glowed and her blood pounded freely. More than one man along the journey looked at her with hunger.
They came to London on a freezing night when slivers of ice were carried on the wind. Katherine’s head bent to the cold and it seemed that she was numb all over her body in spite of the heavy robes she wore. She had no opportunity to take in any of the great city other than the shuttered dwellings and houses for they went directly to the residence maintained by James year round. It was kept staffed and ready for the appearance of the lord and any of his family. It was bliss to sink into the warm curtained bed and let her mind float free as she stretched her full length and felt sleep come.
It was afternoon when she woke but her first stirrings caused a cheerful voice to say, “Ah, Lady, I thought you meant to sleep the day away. Come now, drink the ale while it is hot.”
The woman was middle-aged and short with bright curious eyes and black hair almost hidden by a snowy cap. She resembled an inquisitive bird.
“I am Lucy Welmon, housekeeper here and your servant, Lady Katherine. Welcome to this house.”
“James?”
“He seems to be sleeping. Brother Martin is with him. Sir Anselm and Lord Carmartin have gone to the court.”
Katherine laughed. She thought that she might like this Lucy. “How is he?”
Lucy knew Katherine did not mean the present state of James as he slept. “I have not seen my lord for at least five years. He seems older, more gaunt. They told me of his wounds. Surely the learned physicians can help?”
“I know not.” Katherine tossed back the covers and ran for the fire which had been kindled in a corner hearth. Lucy brought a fur robe to wrap around the slender naked body but not before she had appraised every inch of it.
“Might I speak openly, my lady?” Lucy meant to walk carefully before the new wife, yet allowing her to fully understand Lucy’s own importance to the household. Katherine seemed penniless to judge from the sad state of her garments when they were unpacked. The worn, baggy gowns, tattered shifts, her torn cloak and almost useless shoes had been thrown out to be burned. It was a disgrace and heaven only knew what the other servants would spread about her new mistress.
Katherine was watching her and smiling. “Please do, Lucy. I think I know what you will say.”
“You will go to court yourself and there’s much to be done.” Her eyes rested pointedly on the arch of Katherine’s dark brows and the tangle of uncombed hair.
Katherine thought to herself that she had been the retiring lady long enough. Now she would hold by what she had so bitterly learned. If she did not fend for herself, who would? She would indeed be the proper lady here in the capital of the realm. Who could gainsay her? Her eyes lit with mischief.
“I must have your advice, Lucy. I must have new clothes, everything from shifts to gowns, hose, shoes, cloaks, all. My skin is rough, my hands hard. I need soothing mixtures for them, lotions for my face and scents for my body. What are the styles now? What is being worn at court?”
Lucy was speechless with delight for a moment, then launched into an account of who was wearing what and how they looked in it. Katherine let the flow of talk roll over her. Gossiping with the servants was not the role of the proud lady, she supposed, but it would remove the woman’s sharp eyes from her and the information gleaned would be useful.
The rest of the day passed in a blur. Katherine’s hair was washed, dried by the fire, rubbed with silk and combed by a small girl who was adept at her task. Her hands were soaked in a creamy potion which apparently must remain for horns. The same potion was rubbed liberally into her face. She wore a long furred velvet gown the color of rubies and ate so many rich pastries that her stomach ached with them. Lucy continued to ply her with food. “You are too slender, madam, and that is a fact.”
James had roused and eaten but was still “not at himself,” she was told. There was no word from those who had gone to court but Katherine was glad enough for time to herself in which she might loll about and simply rest. Later she wandered into one of the well-appointed rooms near her own and found that James had a library of which a scholar might dream. Memory of the deprivation to which he had subjected her angered her as she looked at the illustrated pages, the elegant bindings, and the gold-tooled covers. There were the tales of Chaucer and the “Decameron,” the history of Troy and tales of mythology as well as books of science and mathematics. James was as rich in his library as another might be in jewels. Doubtless King Edward, that passionate collector of knowledge, envied him. Carefully she took down Chaucer and returned to the fire.
Now, in mid-November, plans were already being prepared for the magnificent Christmas celebrations to be held at court. The maids and seamstresses who had come to outfit her chattered of little else. Katherine posed questions in what she thought was an artful manner but all she received in return were comments on the beauty of the royal princesses and their mother, the majesty of Edward, and on those who might be reliably expected to wear the wrong kind of dress at what function.
Lucy said, “Our Duke’s here for the festivities and because of Parliament but his heart belongs to the North. Then, too, the Queen is jealous. If there should be any real difficulty for Lord James, I am sure he would help.”
They were alone at the moment and Katherine was trying on the several dresses which had had to be made immediately since she had nothing to wear. These were the kind of things that everyone thought but none dared say aloud.
Katherine remembered the cool assessing eyes, swift questions and expressive hands that were all of Gloucester she knew. “Perhaps he will come to see James when it is known that we are in the city. But it is best not to count on the favor of the great.”
“Aye, madam. We should soon see the return of the gentlemen from court. It has been four days.”
Katherine could not bear the gnawing anxiety. She changed the subject. “Why do you say the Queen is jealous of Gloucester? It would be more reasonable to be so of his mistresses. I would be.”
Distracted, Lucy said, “She cares only for power. Do you not know that she is said to be a witch?”
Treasonous words, yet all the country had whispered them at one time or another. People had spoken too, less quietly, of the high pride that had forced her own mother and sisters kneel for hours before her and that had advanced her relatives to the highest posts in the land. She, a commoner, acted more royally than the King. Katherine had heard many of these tales but little believed them.
Lucy was murmuring now, “It is said that she still serves those dark ones who helped her enthrall the King. Her followers are members of the court and even beloved of the King.”
“To speak this way is death.” Katherine was sharp and with good reason. Time shifted and she saw Andrew as he spoke of a power beyond power, of one who was mightier than the King and was not our Lord. Chills ran over her. That was the danger of this sinister gossip, soon you came to believe it. “I will hear no more.”
Lord Carmartin returned the next afternoon and spoke to Katherine in her room. She had meant to explore the house further but the fittings had begun to bore her and she returned to the books with the hunger of her youth. Now she looked up from the Canterbury pilgrims with surprise.
“I spoke to the Lord Chamberlain who tells me that, in view of this illness, there is no question of disloyalty. The wording of the message sent was not well chosen, impertinent. It is now, as it would have been ere long, the matter of the marriage.”
“My fath
er was banished and is dead, his name likely all but forgotten. Surely James is in no danger from me? Does the throne suffer?”
“I must warn you, Lady Katherine, inasmuch as the Lord James is unable to control his affairs at present and since the marriage is thought unsuitable, it may be set aside.”
Katherine looked blankly at him and knew that it was true. Just so could her future be disposed without her will and consent.
“Then the King has given orders.” It was a statement of fact.
“So I believe.” He was sympathetic now for the girl was fair, no doubt of that. She might in time be grateful that she knew so powerful a lord as himself.
“What am I to do?” The thought of an annulment was a hammer blow. Life without James, in whatever condition, could not be considered.
“I speak to you as I would to my own daughter. Renounce this marriage before you are renounced. The King would be grateful that you present no trouble. He has many cares these days.”
Katherine looked into the rubicund face, the earnest eyes, and swallowed her fury. “I must retire and think on these matters. Of course, my thoughts are of the Lord James, as is fitting.” Her voice was soft, her head properly low.
“I understand, Lady Katherine. I must also tell you that a commission has been appointed to look into the matter of the marriage. At the same time several learned physicians will be conferring about Lord James. The advice of the church will be asked. These are weighty matters and decisions are not lightly rendered.”
“I will have to prepare for what must be.” She watched him covertly and was rewarded by a look of relief on his face.
He left her well pleased with himself. The first moves in the game had gone well. The merchant and his wine had been persuasive and, after all, were they not both close to the King? What was more natural than for a good servant to anticipate the wishes of his master? It had been a bit unsettling, though, when Rykos had said, “The marriage was a mistake. There were other plans for the girl which mislaid. There is always the future.” He had stopped abruptly but his fingers had been slippery on the golden goblet and the thin mouth was convulsive.
Katherine walked up and down the room after he left. That bluff manner had concealed nothing. The peril was coming closer. She could scent it much as an animal trapped by the hunt might do. She would fight, not from courage, but from the knowledge that there was no alternative. She would wait and plan; when the time came she would be ready.
Chapter 19
For the Weal of Us All
Sir Anselm finished his daily examination of James and watched him move easily toward a chair. His muscles were firm and strong for he still wrestled, walked, and worked at swordplay with his servant. Katherine read to him, spoke of small daily happenings in the household, the casual gossip of Lucy and of her delights in his books. Still, the gray eyes stared beyond her,
“He could be this way for the rest of his life,” Sir Anselm had said.
She turned back from the window which offered a view of the sodden grounds as they sloped to the Thames. “I will never understand it. He is a brave man. What could have happened to make him this way? He has been wounded many times over.”
“This is a different matter, something that was there all along. I have discussed it with my colleagues and naturally we disagree.”
The physicians had been closeted with James for hours on end on two separate occasions in the past several days. There had been discussions, some shouting, and much grave musing. At the end Sir Anselm told her that no conclusions had been reached. It was a matter for observation.
“There will be an annulment.” She knew that she must not keep worrying the subject. It did not help but she could not help the tears which suddenly blurred her vision.
Sir Anselm was a worldly man, very drawn to this prickly girl with whom he had become friends, possibly to his own detriment. He had even sought conversation with Edward, generally the most accessible of men for him, but had been turned away by servants who were barely courteous. Servants always knew which way the favor of the great would go.
“Katherine, think on this. James had been bidden by the King to marry, very pointed it was. He retired to the North rather than do so. Yet he did marry you. I know, troth plighting is binding but surely he could have managed to avoid it had he truly wished to do so.”
“Lady Dorotea forced him to it.”
“Where the King could not?”
Katherine stared at Sir Anselm who turned his head from the light that shone in her face and faded as she looked at the motionless profile of her husband. She put her hand on his.
“Thank you for giving me heart, my friend. It was kindly meant.”
He said, “He was not indifferent to you, Lady Katherine. Many marriages begin with less.”
For the moment it was enough. Katherine fell in love with the City of London. She spent the mornings with James, toured the house so well run by Lucy’s capable ways, and examined her growing wardrobe.
Then she took a maid and one of the soldiers of James’s retinue and went into the busy, swarming life that removed her from the dangerous quiet of her own. The narrow streets, muddy and smelly, alive with the cries of tradesmen and colorful processions, with houses touching each other and filled with prosperous merchants, fascinated her no less than the marvel of London Bridge, the numerous churches, the mass of shipping on the Thames. Streams of brilliantly garbed churchmen and dignitaries moved in splendor, tapestries and pennons floated from windows, troops of horse rushed importantly by. She never tired of the sights and lively activity.
It was to a silent figure that she recounted her delight and enthusiasm as much for her own sake as for his. Silent or no, James was a commanding figure. One morning she ended her tale and rose with the familiar feeling of hopelessness. Then she looked to see the gray eyes fixed on hers with intensity. Cautiously she went to him, careful not to touch him. Knowing the risk she took, Katherine said,
“James, we are in London, it is December and King Edward has bidden us here. Wherever you are, please know that I am Katherine, not that other.”
The hard look faded and he whispered, “Katherine?”
“Yes, my lord?” She kept her voice on a low level, conversational and helpful in spite of the joy that tore through her.
“Katherine.” He said no more but his eyes followed her until he lay back on the cushions exhausted with the effort.
Katherine did not tell Sir Anselm of this, it was enough that James had not retreated; she did not want the physicians summoned again to poke and pry. On her own head be it.
The next afternoon she went abroad, this time in a litter for the snow was beginning to drift down As she turned to watch a procession of choristers go by she felt eyes on her and saw Andrew standing several feet away. At her startled stare, he smiled with a strange lift of the lips, gave a salute and melted away in the crowd. Almost without surprise Katherine realized that she was being watched and that the time had come for the watcher to reveal himself.
When she returned to the house she found the deputation of those appointed to study the marriage waiting for her. Several were clerics but there were three high ranking nobles as well. Plainly they had come to enforce the will of the King, she was of little account. The spokesman, a tall gaunt friar, said,
“We have informed the King that by reason of duress this is no marriage, further, his present state of illness demands the quiet and calm of a monastery. You have only to agree.”
Behind the words Katherine felt not only the awesome power of the Church but also that nameless thing which menaced her still. Carefully she said, “I have prayed, sirs. I did not enter into the marriage state lightly. My duty is to him whom I have taken before God. We were troth plighted, then united by a priest of God. I do not concur in the finding of duress.” She wept a little into her clasped fingers as the protestations began. “It is my duty.” Over and over she said this as they spoke.
They drew apart from her
to confer and she heard “the King’s will,” “administration of the estates,” “the King commands,” “obdurate.” She deemed it well to sob a bit, then put her hand to her head. Then Sir Anselm came into the room and bent over her.
“Sirs, this lady can bear no more. She nurses her husband constantly, so much so that I fear for her health. She may even be with child. Pray give her time.”
Muttering, the deputation withdrew and Katherine and Sir Anselm drank a toast to reprieve. Then he said, “I do not know how long we can stave off the inevitable but we do well enough for now.”
Katherine continued to spend much of her time with James and she knew that he was responding to her. It was often no more than a quickening of his glance, a look of growing comprehension, a lifting of his brows, but it gave her hope. Once he spoke in a voice dull with disuse,
“Katherine, we are wed?”
“Yes, my lord, and have been these six months and more.” She was always calm and honest with him now. He said no more but Katherine knew that his recovery depended on her and on the time she must have. She was honest enough to admit freely that the marriage was to her advantage as well, but to no one else would she say this.
When she left his room, Lucy came to her with a parcel wrapped in oiled silk. “A Christmas gift, my lady.” Katherine tore it open eagerly and was confronted with a strangely bent cross carved from wood. The Latin message with it read, “He waits, the time is soon.” Revulsed, she threw the things in the fire and watched them blaze up. She shivered as they turned to ash. Then she gave commands that guards be set around the house and that she was to be informed immediately of any strangers on the grounds.