by Anne Carsley
The watch that James had instituted would surely protect her in the event that Rykos sought to pursue her again in vengeance for some crime she seemed to have committed. But what of the Queen, those strange conspiratorial words, the disguise and the league with Rykos? Only the most random of happenings had saved Katherine’s life, she now reflected. The casual way in which the Queen had dismissed her and what Rykos was doing to her terrified her as few matters could have. But surely it was done; she would be safe in the North.
They rode long and hard as the days passed into each other. Katherine grew saddle-sore and stiff, then her body grew used to the demands placed upon it even in the short time it took to travel between London and York. That city was passed and the high road to Hunsdale reached. James rode back to speak to Katherine for the first time since their departure. Long hours outside had given his face a look of health but his eyes were the same.
“We are almost at the end of our journey, Madam. I warn you, look to your conduct.”
Katherine soothed her mare which felt the tension in her. “You will remember in your turn, sir, that I spent many months here—or so it seemed—and was in no danger of defiling your precious name. Have you chosen to forget the terms under which you sent me here?”
“I forget nothing.” He snapped out the words, then turned his back on her and rode rapidly away.
The great grim castle was enlivened by the presence of its lord. Dame Sarah, frailer, wept to see him; the servants and the Redgroves clustered about, plying him with eager questions. The chambers had been cleaned, fresh rushes lay on the floors, fires blazed freely and much of the dampness was dissipated. Katherine was pleased to see that many of the improvements she had made had been continued. She supervised the unpacking of the boxes that had been brought, the contents of which would add grace to the rooms. She was grateful for the many tasks that remained to be done. Perhaps in time the ache in her would be assuaged.
She sought Dame Sarah beside her fire and paid her respects. They spoke of James, and Katherine recounted his time of illness, speaking honestly for the love she knew the old lady bore him. Then she told of the court, the appearances of the great, of the brawling city of London which she had come to love. Then Dame Sarah halted the compulsive flow of words and impressions.
“All is not well between you and Jamie?”
Katherine laughed. She had tried to gloss over much of the tale and had not mentioned the banishment but her pain looked out of her eyes.
“No, nor may ever be. What does it matter?”
The old eyes found hers and would not let her look away. “You love him now.”
“Yes.” It was a relief to say what she had held to herself. “But there is a vast gap that I think we cannot bridge. His heart was given long ago.” She told of the name James had cried out in his sickness and of the eventual release he had obtained. “Does anyone know what happened? Or knowing would tell me?”
Lady Sarah shrugged. “Only he, Katherine. Be patient and give him a child.”
Always that, thought the girl sadly. Women are breeders only. If only I were pregnant.
The days drifted slowly by as Katherine swung from one mood to another, first longing for her husband’s touch, then thinking she hated him. Would things never be right for them?
James came to her one night when the wind blew soft before turning chill and the first hardy flowers were budding only to fall before the cold. She was fresh from her bath and was wearing a loose green silk robe. Her hair hung over her shoulders and was scented with costly perfume. She rose and belted the robe as he drew near. He was very drunk although he moved freely. He reached out and pulled the cloth from her as he looked down at her flat stomach.
“It appears that you are not breeding, Madam. Your little escapade went for naught as is fortunate for you.”
“Your spies have told you that the flux ended five days ago. I had expected you these many nights.” Her voice was as level as his own.
“In longing, I doubt not.”
“In duty, as a wife must.”
His face twisted suddenly and he placed a hard hand on her shoulder as he bent to look at the scar on her breast which Alice had tended without question or comment.
“Strange games. I do not find pain pleasurable. I fear you will have to forego such delights until you have performed your duty.”
Katherine pulled the robe over her hips and tossed it aside to stand naked and rounded in the candlelight. “Do your duty, then, that I may do mine.”
James caught her to him then, his body was hard and punishing on hers. It seemed to Katherine that he intentionally sought neither to give or find pleasure in their union. He could not wholly conceal the hunger in his body, however, as they moved slowly together in the lifting passion that brought its own release. He did not kiss or touch her in warmth but his hands held her close and their flesh melted together in the final moments so that she was joined with him in mutual longing. Almost instantly he withdrew and turned his back to her. Yet she could feel a trembling in his shoulders; he seemed to sigh with more sadness than exhaustion. She could not help a feeling deep within her, a certitude, that she would always love this man. She knew, too, that if she revealed her feelings he would but hate her the more. Best to try and salvage some dignify if possible.
Foolishly, she leaned over him, “James, will you let me tell what happened to me that night? I cannot bear that you think me a false woman and worse.” The instant the words were out she would have given anything to recall them.
He turned toward her fully and took her neck in his hand, pressing slightly on the throbbing pulse. “If you speak to me of that again, you will regret it. It does not matter what I think you, or what I know you are. False, deceiving . . His voice blurred and he repeated the words, then, “We waste time, Madam.”
She felt bruised and limp, finally unable to hold back her tears. She turned into her pillow and sobbed.
Chapter 24
Lux Perpetua
In the next few weeks Katherine thought that she would surely grow to hate James. He took her many times and always in the same manner, almost as he would perform any necessary act. His demands wore her nerves and she grew jumpy as her body remained bruised and sore. She learned to lie still and acquiescent lest the savagery increase with comments as to what she might otherwise prefer.
James stalked moodily about the castle, drinking too much and sleeping too little. At times he would closet himself with books brought from London and Katherine thought of how it might be if they could share such interests. She busied herself with the household and the overseeing of it, riding out with her attendants, reading her own books, but always fearful that the dark figure might appear beckoning in the doorway.
One morning in April she was reading by the dim light of her window, occasionally lifting her head to the cool, earth-scented air, when the door swung back and James stood there, the familiar glint in his eyes, the familiar smell of brandy coming from his clothes. Her nerve broke before it.
“Get out! Out, I say. I have had enough. Take your demands elsewhere. You will not get your precious heir from me!”
James pushed her backward. He paid no attention to her struggles and less to her cries, but tried to take her as perfunctorily as he saddled a horse. The night had been of the same ilk, Katherine was exhausted and her pride fell before bodily pain. There were no tears left, she was beyond that. She lay humiliatingly sick there on the floor.
Ignoring that, James said harshly, “You will not speak to me in that manner again. Nor will you deny me what is mine. Is that understood?”
She stared into the hard eyes that were puffy with drink and then screamed with all her waning power, “Beast! Get out!” The fury was so unexpected that James reeled before it.
“You want teaching, Madam. Look to yourself.” He walked away.
Later Katherine walked on the battlements of the castle, knowing that she must find some way to protect herself from the hell
of her life. She could confide in no one, a woman was for childbearing, this was taught by church and state alike. As for the getting of them, you bore what you must. Fond Lady Sarah would weep for her but of understanding there would be none. She had seen the veiled amusement in Alice’s eyes when the maid brought warm cloths for her bruises and cuts or when soothing balm was applied. Katherine had said, “Leave me, I can tend myself,” or “Go, I wish to be alone.”
Stolidly, Alice had replied, “I am commanded by my lord to remain with you at all times and I obey.”
There was no redress. The rare times she had managed to escape the watching eyes for a few precious minutes, Alice had been beaten on the orders of James. She had ceased trying to avoid it. The thought that all this might continue indefinitely drove her close to madness. She prayed daily in the chapel for the least sign of a child, anything to lessen his tyranny over her.
Now she lifted her face to the cleansing winds and drew the mantle more closely about her body as she watched the scudding clouds. The moors were still gray with winter but green showed more and more in their rolling contours. The hills and crags lifted gray still but birds called about them and the sky was a pure deep blue. There was a flash of movement on the track below that was repeated as Katherine squinted to see. She could barely make out several men riding hard toward the castle. Visitors would mean a break in her husband’s interest, at least. There would be news and new faces. After a month and some few days in Hunsdale Castle, Katherine felt as she had been there for years. In a strength born of desperation, she thought wildly of leaving with whoever was coming, it could not be worse than she endured now. Security was not worth any price. The riders then came pounding into focus and she was able to see that they wore black from head to toe, the horses had black saddles and tassels, the standard carried was unrelieved black as well.
Katherine ran down the stairs, along the corridors and into the great hall of the castle to where, minutes later, the riders were led. James had been summoned and he appeared to speak briefly with the leader of the six. His face went bone white even in the partial darkness. She heard him give the order for the household to assemble, then she started down the stairs toward the company but was stopped by the voice of her husband as he said in a voice that shook with pain,
“Our sovereign lord, King Edward, is dead in London. We must pray for his soul and for our land.”
The servants and men-at-arms began to mumble among themselves, several fell to their knees. Women began to weep. Katherine came down to the messengers and saw that they were faint with fatigue. She must call for wine.
“Sirs, what was the manner of the King’s death? We saw him some few weeks ago and he seemed reasonably well.”
“It was very sudden, Madam. He went boating on the river, was caught in a shower and complained of fever. He died soon after.” His voice was filled with tears. King Edward had been greatly loved.
James interceded, “Rest now and refresh yourselves while I read these letters.” He retreated to a private room off the hall and shut the door. Katherine waited for a moment, then followed.
James was in the act of opening the first of the letters and looked up at her with annoyance but not with the veiled contempt that so often was present. “What is it?”
“I would know of this, also. It is my right.”
James stared at her. “I would dispute that but quarrels are not seemly at such a time. Very well.” He read the first letter, put it down and opened the second. As he read she saw his face change and shift.
“What is it? James, is the King’s death other than natural? The messengers seemed reluctant to say.”
His face was open and free, the dark intensity gone from it. The cruel stranger of the past weeks might never have existed. There was sorrow at the death of a friend and concern for the future as was natural.
“I still cannot fully grasp it, the enormity of it all, what it will mean. He caught a fever in France and never really shook free, moreover, he lived hard and well. When a king dies, there is always speculation. I fear for the realm and Edward’s hard won peace.” Katherine recalled the days in the convent when Edward had been forced to flee with Gloucester when the great Earl of Warwick rose in rebellion. The uncertainty of life had been taught to her vividly then.
Now she said, “Gloucester will be regent for young Edward, of course?” Edward’s sons were twelve and ten, the years of a regency would be long. Her blood was beginning to rise with excitement. Who knew what now might be revealed? Their banishment might be lifted, in fact, surely would be.
James was frowning down at the letter in his hand. “It is from Gloucester who was named Protector by King Edward, the only choice as you have said. But look here, Katherine . . .” He held the letter out to her, much as if they had been two friends.
She looked down to see Gloucester’s sharp sloping handwriting: “Take a select group of men whom you can trust unequivocally and get you to London as swiftly as you may, there to join me in holding for the King. I shall be there at least by the first of May. Fail me not in this my charge to you as you are bound by honor and loyalty.” It continued in this vein for several more sentences and broke off with the terse signature, R. Gloucester.
“I leave immediately after the funeral mass for the dead king,” said James. “You will remain here and on no account are you to stir forth. Be watchful and cautious. The land will be unsettled until young Edward is crowned, already his father has been dead for weeks. This letter disturbs me, it is not like the commander I know. He is troubled.”
Katherine heard only the hard note in his voice as he laid his commands upon her. “I will not shame you, my lord.”
James was impervious. He held out his hand and she took it. “We must appear united before them all.” They went out to join the sorrowing household.
Later that morning a funeral mass was said in the chapel with the castle chaplain officiating. Katherine and James wore somber black as did all who attended. She wore a veil of thin cloth taken from an old chest of long ago which had been hurriedly produced by Lady Sarah. Through it the candle flickered and shimmered as the heavy incense and lovely chants for the departed rose on the air.
“And may light perpetual shine upon him,” intoned the priest. Katherine put both hands to her face then and wept unashamedly for the king. Her father had loved Edward, who had given her misery in this life, but he had brought England peace, and his death might bring it again to war.
In the soft light of afternoon Katherine stood in the castle keep to bid farewell to her lord as was fitting. Twenty men-at-arms and the riders who brought the message were poised and waiting. The black standards rippled in the air as James bent a perfunctory knee to her in the ceremony expected.
“Guard yourself and the castle, my lady. God and the Virgin watch over you. Pray for us all.” The words were rote, Katherine told herself, but the air of responsibility he bore was in such contrast to the brute he had been, that she could hardly credit it. Edward would have destroyed him, too, she thought.
“God go with you, my lord.” Then she took the stirrup cup from her maid and held it out to him. “The King!”
“The King!” The company cried as one man. James drank, returned the cup, mounted and they sped along the road to London.
Katherine tossed and twisted all during that long night. Evil dreams caused her to stir and then sit upright, straining for a sound. Fancies, she thought, and dozed briefly, only to have the cycle begin again. Over and over, frightening thoughts ran through her brain. If she had a child, perhaps James would allow her to live in York with several visits to London during the year. The long slow routine of the castle would pall, she knew. Enviously, she remembered James’ look as he went to the swirl of great events, once more a participant, no longer exile. She could understand, now, the torment that must have been Antony’s.
The strange malaise remained with her the next day and the next. She seemed to walk in a dream but could not sleep.
She was so drowsy and heavy that even cold baths and a long walk on the moors in the company of several guards and the phlegmatic Alice could not rouse her. That evening she sought her bed even as late sunlight still glimmered. It seemed that she had drunk quantities of ale since James left but yet remained thirsty. Someone had placed another full cup at her bedside, and she drained it. A touch of alarm came then but the pull of sleep was too great.
Katherine woke to find herself lying on the floor in one of the small guard rooms high up on the battlements of the castle in a section that overlooked a gorge. She wore only a flimsy cloak and her feet were bare. The cold made her shiver and she twisted into a ball to avoid it, then realizing where she was, sat upright in fear that thrust aside the dizziness. She looked straight into the malevolent blue eyes of Frances Redgrove, a Frances who was no longer stolid but alive with hate and triumph. Her hands held a knife, a man’s weapon with keenly honed edges. Near her stood John, her husband, whose face bore the same look.
“Why am I here?” Her voice was dry and rusty. The appalling thirst was at her again, almost blotting out her rising fear.
Frances gave a low chuckle. “To die, Madam Katherine.”
Katherine’s body seemed to separate from her mind. She examined Frances’ words with utter detachment.
“Why?”
Now John came close and said, “Best hurry with this, soon it will be dawn.”
Frances answered with venom. “Aye, but let me tell this great lady! Did you think I was your servant to be commanded about by a young harridan? But for the small indignity of my father’s refusal to marry my mother, my name would be as noble as your own. Do not look to my husband for help, fool!” She laughed as she saw Katherine’s eyes implore him. “I control the simple lout as I control you. You are to die because you are a danger to the realm, as much a danger as your father ever was.”