by Anne Carsley
The wine was going to his head and his voice was slightly slurred as he said, “I have always hoped that James would wed and forget the past. At least he shares it with you. How he loved that woman! Her eyes, he told me, were the color of Mary’s own veil, her hair the color of sun and moonlight mixed, a fragile wraith.”
“And she was rotten under the beauty.” Katherine snarled this between her teeth. She was weary of Margaret of Burgundy and wondered, as always, what about the passion with her had so stirred and marked James. Had not others loved and been betrayed?
For all his youth, Roger had understanding. He said now, “We drank long one night some five or six years ago. I was an addled boy. I spoke of my longing to serve a fair lady as is meet in the laws of chivalry and to win knighthood on the field of battle. Jamie laughed and said he would reveal women for what they were.”
Katherine drew her breath in, almost hating her husband.
Roger was continuing, “The woman he had loved and honored, held nigh to the blessed Virgin, not only betrayed him with a low-born lout but taunted him with it, saying that had he taken her with half the fervor that he restrained himself, she would not have done so. Not only with the jongleur but with others as well and they the dregs. When she ran away with him, it was assumed that Jamie had taken her honor and that she chose the way of humiliation. She was a close kinswoman of the Duke of Burgundy and he held it bitter affront.”
Katherine was a realist, or perhaps women saw these things more clearly than men. She said, “How should that mark him so even until still?”
“His ideals were shattered, lady, and all his caring mocked. I think his kind truly love but once.” He looked at her through wine glaze and his eyes were tender. “I have said that before and do not mean to hurt you. But there are other things, children, pride, service to this land, companionship. I know, for my wife is not fair in truth, but she is wise and understands my needs.”
Katherine thought that she would never understand the deep conflicting needs of her husband. She only knew that she loved him with all the fire and passion that was in her heart and that she would take him on any terms. Roger was drunk and would remember little of this conversation in the morning. It was better so and she was thankful for the clearer sight. It explained his hatred of lies and his willingness to believe the worst of women.
“He is a man torn.” She whispered the words and, as she did so, she pictured the tenderness and anger with which he made love.
“Aye, and the luckiest man on this island.” Roger smiled blearily at her.
Katherine knew that the discussion had gone far enough. Next he would be vowing to go on a mission for her in the best tradition of knights errant. “I am weary and must rest now. It has been good to talk with you, my cousin.”
She slept the night in the tiny cell called the best room in the inn.
They came down through the summer countryside, out of the cool North and into the woodlands where greenlit copses filled with flowers waited and the air rang with bird calls. Katherine was reminded of the old tales of Robin Hood and his outlawry, the legends of fairies who granted the heart’s desire if captured by a mortal whose heart was pure, of unicorns who sought a virgin’s caress. For his part, Roger chatted blithely about his view of women’s changing fashions, the way the new steeple headdresses should be worn, the many mistresses of the dead King Edward, and a new book of poems lately come from France.
They paused for bread, cheese and ale in one of the little glens and afterwards, because there was no hurry, sat long on a hillside while looking at the spread of land beyond. The soft winds blew against them and a spray of yellow flowers danced just beyond the edge of Katherine’s sight. Roger was dozing at her side, several of the maids laughed with soldiers not far away, and the stem old mistress, who had been brought to keep the younger girls in check, was frankly asleep and snoring.
Katherine rose cautiously. This was a time out of time; it seemed to have no bearing on anything that had ever happened to her before. The wisdom of the last few days deserted her as she ran like a child toward the flowers. Thanks to her care that no one be disturbed, she was not observed. A path led into the woods at the edge of the hill. She took off her shoes and hose, left them there, and moved swiftly along, her brown riding gown hitched up above her ankles.
She could not see the flowers but the earth scents of the greenwood soon lured her deep into it. A bird burst into song over her head and abruptly stopped. The path curved and dipped as it seemed to grow smaller. Katherine felt restored; she had not realized how very much she needed to be alone at times. All that was missing here were the still waters of the Psalmist’s song. A branch dipped down in the wind and was tossed up again. Peace came to her as she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply of the freshness that surrounded her.
Then there was a cry in an unearthly tongue and a wrist reached out from behind to rest a claw hand on hers. Katherine screamed in deadly fear and whirled to face her assailant, whoever or whatever might present itself.
The peace of the woods seemed to suddenly have become deadly danger. A very tall, swarthy man, a kerchief over his head and what appeared to be an eastern scimitar in his belt, stood very close to her. As she backed away, his voice rose in the cry again as he reached out for her. He had a full black beard and black eyes that snapped with emotion. Here was the demon of the tales.
“One step nearer and I will use this.” Katherine spoke as harshly as she could but she was so frightened that her voice came out in a squeak and made her brandished dagger the plaything of a child.
He took another step that brought him to her side. Katherine brought the dagger down but he moved so fluidly that it only whispered against the sleeve of the red mantle. His other hand flipped the dagger from her and sent it flying into the nearest bush. She jumped back with all the old skill she had learned while playing with the castle children in her earliest days. A great frown scored the man’s face and he spread both arms while speech gushed forth.
Katherine opened her mouth and screamed with all the power of her quite considerable lungs; then she snatched up a rock from the path and prepared for battle.
Chapter 26
Romany Prophecy
The voice fell between them and into the glade, slicing and cold, a breath only. “Tomaso! Enough! She is not Lucia.” Then it spoke again in the strange, spiky tongue the man had used to Katherine. Instantly the tall man turned toward the clump of bushes from which a short round old woman was emerging. He began to stutter, his words seeming furious.
Katherine leaned against a near-by tree and mopped her dripping face with one sleeve. Terror had drained her throat and she was momentarily incapable of coherent thought.
“Did he hurt you? He often forgets that his wife is dead and goes to seek her. Usually we can keep watch but the woods seemed quiet.” The woman was very old, her face seamed and splintered, her black eyes lively and watchful. She wore a purple and black dress that covered her from her neck to her heels. Her hair was jet black and wound in a crown of braids. “Are you lost, lady?”
Katherine gave a final shiver. Tomaso had bowed his head and now stood dejectedly under a spreading tree on the right. He seemed utterly quelled. She tried for her voice and found it would obey her.
“We go to London town for the coronation. My party is resting. Who are you? Who is he?” She felt her fear return.
“Harmless folk who wander.”
“There are many of you?” Katherine was puzzled. “If he is mad as you seem to say, why is he not confined?”
The sharp eyes assessed the girl and the voice lifted, “He would die. He is Romany.”
Katherine backed away in a fear almost as real as the fear she had known when the giant reached for her. Kidnappings, evil rites, ritual murder, rape, theft, death: all these words were commonly circulated about these swathy, wandering people known as Egyptians and later shortened to gypsies. The kind was reported to have banned them from parts of the kingdom;
now with his death they were on the move again. “I have nothing. Nothing, I tell you!”
Her tone was high and it touched Tomaso’s ears. He moved to plant himself at the side of the old woman who stood directly in front of Katherine. As he did so, there was the sound of running feet and Roger, along with three burly men-at-arms, entered the glen. They took in the situation at a glance and closed to attack on Tomaso who whipped out his scimitar. The old woman cried out, but Roger, seeming oblivious to all but conflict, lifted his sword.
Katherine was never to know why she risked her life in such a manner but at the moment it seemed that she could do not other. She threw herself in Roger’s path just as the sword came ringing heavily down on the rock she had not dropped and with which she had planned to try to protect herself against Tomaso. The force of the blow numbed her arm and side, set her head ringing, and sent her to the ground. She lay prone in the grass and dust while the old woman whimpered.
Roger bent down beside her and gathered her close. “Katherine, you fool! I might have killed you! Why did you wander away? Are you all right?”
Reaction shook Katherine and she began to laugh. Roger stared into her face and then at the others. Tomaso now stood behind the old woman, towering over her. Both hands on her hips, feet wide apart, she faced the soldiers who stood, weapons ready, in front of her.
“They are harmless wanderers, Roger. Doubtless they flee from the edicts of King Edward and have suffered even as I from such. The man is mad. I was terrified and cried out; I could not let you harm him.” Roger motioned the soldiers back, then helped Katherine to her feet. “Had I hurt you, I know that James would have slain me. We must hasten to bring you to his side lest more time elapse.”
Katherine knew that with his love for his cousin he also felt fear. It was another bond between them. She said, “I think your life is safe, my cousin. Let us return to the others.”
“Wait!” The command in the old woman’s voice was the command that rulers gave and which could not be questioned. “Send these others back so that they may not hear. I would speak with this woman.”
“Don’t do it, Katherine.” Roger held his sword in front of her.
“Do you speak for her?” demanded the woman.
“I speak for myself but you may say what you will in front of him. He is my kinsman.”
“Very well.” Roger signaled and the others moved away. “Be quick, Dame. You are fortunate that you and yon lout still live.”
“Silence. It is not to you that I address my words but to this woman who has risked hurt that my grandson might not be harmed. His wife was caught stealing three years ago and was burned as a witch. He has sought her in every fair face since.”
Katherine said gently, “He has our pity.”
Black eyes flashed and she drew herself up. “I was once the Queen in our tribe, I, Morna. Great powers brooded over my birth and I have been blessed. Give me your hand and I will read the future for you in gratitude for your kindness.”
Roger sniffed, “You waste our time with such mummery.”
It was very still in the glen. No bird sounded and no leaf moved. A cloud drifted over the sun and the shadow seemed ominous.
“It is with you, lady.” Morna did not move but she seemed larger as Katherine looked up at Tomaso, then back at her.
“Do read.” Katherine extended her hand but the woman did not take it. Instead she looked long at Katherine’s face, the scar beside her mouth and finally into the green eyes.
The gypsy’s words fell like rocks into the pooled silence. “I cannot speak fair words. The beast mark is on you and you go into deadly peril before one more powerful than I. Watch and beware. Bear your love for the bright shrouded one before you as a talisman for there is your salvation if there is to be any for either of you. The power pushes me back, I can say no more.”
Katherine knew with utter certainty that she spoke the truth. She thought of Alexis Rykos and his evil, and of James.
Morna came closer, her breath foul in the girl’s face. She said, “I say no more. Bear this with you in the name of a god older than any of those worshipped this day and whose priestess I yet am.” She touched the throbbing pulses at her neck and mumbled what sounded like an incantation. As she took her fingers away the wind rose again and the sunlight once more flooded the little glen.
Katherine said, “I thank you, Morna. Your words will be heeded.”
The woman and her grandson inclined their heads in salutation and vanished into the bushes. Silently, the party drew close together and went to seek the others.
Katherine was silent as the journey resumed. Roger had dismissed the whole thing as a joke. “Those people always look like death. They have to sound that way, too, it is their trade. It will be an amusing adventure to tell Jamie.”
Katherine felt a chill run over her spine. In some mysterious way, Morna had known that she fought the powers of evil. Antony had taught her that very often those persecuted or thought strange simply had different ways of perception or saw, as he had put it, “with a different eye.” Holy Mother Church would have burned them both, she reflected now. She touched the cross at her bodice as the comforting words of her faith rang in her ears, “I am with you always.” Was it very heretical that she saw the face of James Hunsdale before her?
The road widened and filled with many an entourage as all converged on London town for the crowning of the boy king, Edward V. There was laughter and song, speculation and jokes, and a general spirit of merriment prevailed. King Edward, God rest him, had brought peace and prosperity to England. It was a pity that he had died while still young but his son would reign in his stead and all would be well. So said most of the travelers, with only an occasional dissident voice heard and it quickly hushed.
Katherine, Roger, and their company entered London on an afternoon in early June. The sky was brilliant and cloudless; the Thames ran cool and serene to the sea. The City was in a festive mood, criers and processions were everywhere. Folk stood in clusters or walked together discussing the all absorbing topics of the moment. There were murmurs of wonderment at the Queen who yet remained immured against the wishes of the Protector while she kept all her children with her except the young King. The Londoners had never cared for her but they had loved Edward. Richard of Gloucester, thought to be cold and remote, was largely unknown.
They pushed along the crowded streets as Katherine took in every spectacle of this city she had come to love. It was filled with hawkers, mummers, beggars, travelers from far away. Several singers stood squarely in the center of one of the most crowded and narrow of the lanes through which they must pass to reach the Hunsdale townhouse abandoned in exile so short a time ago. The singers sang a rollicking country song made popular about the time the young King’s father had come to the throne.
People paused to listen and comment. It was no use trying to move in such a press of humanity. Katherine and Roger dismounted and pushed closer that they might see. Joy and sadness ran close together as the fancy of the crowd was caught.
“Sing more! In honor of the House of York!”
“In honor of the young lad!”
Others took up the call and coins rained down on the singers who smiled and tried to decide among themselves what they should sing. Katherine remembered Gloucester’s cool, assessing eyes and the promise which was kept. She cried out, “A song in honor of the Protector! Sing it!”
There was the briefest of silences around them, then Roger called out in his turn, “Aye, for the Protector!” He put his arm around Katherine and tossed a gold piece down.
The crowd looked at their youth and laughter, the slight doubt gave way, the singers took up the old refrain from the Scottish border and inserted the name of Richard of Gloucester as the lord who in splendor came. A young girl crowned with a wreath of flowers took Katherine’s arm on one side, others joined in to make a circle as they swirled together in what might have been the victory dance had this been the field of conquest. The l
ead singer’s sweet high voice called out the roll of exploits. Katherine shook an arm free to wipe the sweat out of her face and looked straight into a familiar pair of gray eyes. The hooded man standing at the edge of the crowd was James of Hunsdale.
She was instantly conscious of her sweaty gown and dusty face, of the way her hair tumbled wantonly to her shoulders, and of the intimate way Roger’s arm now encircled her waist. She blanched and Roger paused.
“What is it? You are suddenly so pale.”
“I saw James. There.” She pointed but the man was gone. She knew that she had not mistaken the intensity of that gaze nor the anger that had blazed, dark and furious, from his eyes.
“Are you sure? I would have thought him deep in plans for the coronation. Gloucester values him highly. Why did you not call to him?”
Katherine had cause to know how highly the Protector valued James. She could not explain this dear kinsman how she feared the dark side of James even as she loved him totally. She knew that she had not been mistaken. What would he say when she saw him? Now that she knew the tale of Margaret, she could understand more fully the passions that tore him.
“Katherine?” Roger’s voice recalled her to the reality of warm sun and the festive surroundings.
She could not recapture the joy she had felt even though the crowd was merrily calling the refrain to a ballad. “I am sure it was he. We had best go. As it is we have been long on the road.”
The house was now fully staffed once more though James was there infrequently since he spent much of his time with the Protector. Lucy Welmon greeted them with joyful cries and made much of Roger whom she had not seen for several years. It was impossible to be downcast with such a welcome and Katherine was soon telling a careful version of all that had befallen her at the castle in the North.
She started at each footfall and her eyes kept going to the door but there was no sign of James. She tried to tell herself that she did not even seek his coming, but, as always, Katherine could not fool herself. That night, she lay sleepless in her bed longing for his mouth and the touch of his hands. Would not any other man, seeing his wife so, have rushed over to demand explanations or at least to welcome her?