by Alex Myers
‘Never!’ Silence whispered vehemently.
‘The question is not so much the king’s schemes, as what the queen will do now.’ He reached for the platter of carrots. ‘There’s a saying where I grew up – “Spurn a woman, feel her curse”.’
‘I appreciate your concern,’ Silence said.
Alfred elbowed him cheerfully. ‘We both know what sort of creatures women are, eh? A necessity at times and otherwise to be avoided. Spiteful, evil, even if they’re beautiful. Especially if they’re beautiful.’
Silence groaned and speared a piece of mutton. He had scarcely choked it down when the king’s messenger approached. ‘King Evan calls for you.’
Once again, Silence crossed to the head table and bowed low. And once again the king stood and drew him to the side. ‘My lady wife feels much improved by your harping and asks for you to return again tomorrow. You heard about the swamp, did you? I swear last season it was dry ground …’
Silence would take a thousand bogs in exchange for the quagmire of the queen. ‘Truly, I would prefer to join you, Your Majesty.’
‘No, no, I won’t hear of it. The queen isn’t easy to please, and so I must grant her requests. You will play for her.’
Silence cringed; it would be ignoble to report the queen’s behaviour. There was no chivalrous response except to accept, and so he did, sweeping low into another bow.
He prayed that night, on his knees in his chamber, asking God for guidance, but went to bed without insight. When, the next morning, he trudged up the steps to Queen Eufeme’s chamber, he found her seated by the window, embroidery in her lap, with a lady waiting on her, who sat on a stool, also stitching.
‘You see how well your songs served, Silence? Yesterday I was abed, and today I can sit and sew. By tomorrow I’ll be dancing!’ she trilled and Silence smiled in return. ‘Such a handsome smile, is it not, Amelia?’
‘Oh yes,’ the lady said, but seemed not to pay much mind to what she was agreeing with.
Confused but grateful, Silence began to play. He cast glances at the two of them, now and again, thinking back to the countessina. He would never understand women. At least with the countessina, she had never (here Silence had to swallow the tiny bit of pride he allowed himself) wanted to seduce Silence. But what the queen wanted … well, he knew what she wanted, at least he thought he did, but what was her strategy today? Women! Alfred was right.
‘Amelia,’ Queen Eufeme said, ‘fetch us refreshment. My stomach is more settled than yesterday, but have the cook prepare my broth with care.’
‘Yes, my queen.’ The woman rose, curtsied, and ducked out of the chamber.
‘So brave of you to return,’ the queen said to Silence, her eyes fixed on her embroidery.
‘Your noble husband insisted.’
‘Must you remind me of him? I was taken as his bride when I was twelve and he was thirty. That was a year before you were born, I believe. I paid attention, you see. Your father was also handsome. But not as handsome as you. My noble husband. Plucks me off the rose bush. Plucks other wild flowers when he so chooses. Why shouldn’t I make my own bouquet?’
‘My lady,’ Silence said and stood up. ‘I should not hear my noble liege so maligned.’
She stood as well and stepped closer to him. He edged towards the door.
‘The coward retreats,’ she mocked. ‘Do I scare you so much?’
‘No, my lady, but propriety …’
‘You are craven. Is it true what they say about you and Sir Alfred? That you prefer each other’s company to the company of women?’
‘No, my lady …’
‘How can you refuse me, then? Or were you meant to be a priest?’
‘It is not proper.’ Silence drew himself up straight. He was accustomed to the teasing and jeering of the other knights, who mocked his beardless cheeks and high voice. But with them, he could win a sparring match, at least. How to reply to this woman?
The queen reached towards the bottom of his tunic. He barely managed to dodge away as her fingers brushed his crotch.
‘Ah!’ she gasped. ‘Are you truly a eunuch? I have heard it rumoured … and you are not eager for me …’
Silence knew that Alfred – that any other knight – would feel the need to rise to that challenge, but he merely stepped back and bowed. ‘My lady. You ask the impossible. How am I to be faithful to my king, to the vows I took before God as a knight, and to honour your request?’
The queen’s red lips curled in a sneer, her brows drawing down to make a perfect V between her eyes. All the youth, all the liveliness, was gone from her face; it had become a mask of disdain. She picked up her embroidery, her fingernails scraping against the tabletop. ‘You are a knight of valour and courage. Play your little harp. I’ll not bother you again.’
So Silence played, plucking melodies on his harp, not trusting himself to sing. His voice might shake … partially with relief that the queen was leaving him alone. Partially with anger, that he should be so disparaged, his courage questioned, and he could provide no answer. Amelia returned with broth and cakes and the queen ate little and didn’t look once in Silence’s direction; at last calls from below told them that the hunt had returned and, from the sound of it, been victorious. Silence bade farewell, relieved and yet baffled by the queen’s behaviour.
Winchester threw off the shackles of winter with haste. The roads turned to mud, the streams ran high with melt, and everywhere, people took to the field and the yard. Silence rode out on Bold, careful to avoid the softest parts of the tracks through the forest, and watched the peasants as they ploughed, watched the shepherds with the new-born lambs. He felt a deep tug to go to Tintagel. Alfred held out some hope that there would be news of fighting in France, or some attack from the always restive north, but Silence was happy with peace. Those craggy fields and flocks of Cornwall were now his, and he hungered to be back, to sit as his father had sat, and mete out justice. For too long, Silence had been subject to others. At Tintagel, his word would be law. He thought he might like that.
The queen had let him alone since the days of the boar hunt. He saw her at the high table. Now and again she sat by the hearth while he played. Once, he spotted her on her palfrey, riding past as Silence instructed pages in swordsmanship. Alfred had thrown up his hands, unable to understand her intent, muttering only women! and that Silence should count himself lucky to have escaped. ‘Many a knight’s had his downfall not at the point of a sword, but in the arms of a woman.’
Silence consulted often with the steward, who had arranged the ledgers that Silence would take to Tintagel. They reviewed Cornwall’s holdings, and Silence’s head swam with the names of the various lords and their lineages; they seemed to marry each other with alarming frequency. ‘That’s how the money and land is kept in the family, eh?’ the steward had said.
Indeed. And that, in a word, was why Silence was here. To keep Cornwall in the family, to uphold the role and position that his father had so desired for him.
He began to pack for his departure, much as King Evan urged him to stay until the roads dried out. Alfred prepared to go as well; he planned to accompany Silence to Tintagel and return to France with the Count of Nevers, who was currently overseeing Cornwall.
On the afternoon before his departure, Silence came in from the practice yard, sweaty and tired. As he crossed the entrance hall, a servant dashed over to him. ‘The steward asks that you come by his chambers.’
‘His chambers? Or the cabinet?’ Silence said, for he most often met the steward in a room off the great hall where the tax records were kept.
‘His chambers. His ankle has swollen terribly, m’lord.’ The servant bowed and scurried off.
Silence swapped his sweaty shirt for a cleaner one and set out for the steward’s chamber, thinking that he would rather make certain that the carts that would go with him to Tintagel were properly loaded, but perhaps the steward would offer him counsel on how many knights he could support in his hall, which
he was still puzzling over …
He rounded the corner of the stairwell and nearly collided with a hunched-over figure – the queen. Silence steadied himself with a hand on the wall, and then swept into a low bow. ‘Your Majesty, I apologize for …’
‘Never mind that,’ the queen said. ‘Help me! Amelia has fainted dead away …’ She knelt beside the slumped body of her lady-in-waiting.
‘Shall I call for a physician?’
‘No, no,’ the queen said impatiently. ‘The silly fool faints often. A mere unpleasant notion can wipe her out. Carry her in here, and I’ll get the salts to revive her.’
Silence bent and put his hands beneath the woman’s knees and shoulders, hoisting her up. She hardly weighed anything at all. The queen opened the chamber door for him and said, ‘Lay her on that pallet, there.’
He crossed the room and set the woman down. She looked asleep, but Silence saw the dark blue of a bruise blooming beneath the skin at the side of her head – a sort of mark he knew well from the practice yard. ‘Did she hit her head when she fell?’ he asked the queen, who stood by the door. She turned the key in the lock until it gave a loud snick, dropping the key in a pouch at her belt.
‘Don’t bother about that. Come here.’ She wore a cloak over her dress, for Winchester was as draughty as any castle, but now let the cloak fall away from her shoulders. Her dress beneath fitted her tightly around the bosom and hips, and Silence remembered how she looked that day she had lain nearly naked in her bed, taunting him.
‘What do you want, my lady?’ Silence stood, wary, by the edge of the pallet.
‘Come here. Do as I say.’ She pointed one long, pale finger at him and then beckoned him closer.
He stepped as close to her as he dared, leaving a gap of a few feet between them. He swore he could feel a heat rising from her body; knew that his own body answered her call, no matter how he tried to school it. Felt that buzzing, almost stinging sensation spread across his abdomen. What would it be like, to be Alfred, to be any man, to be free to answer what so clearly his body desired?
‘I will make you one last offer, noble knight.’ She lifted her chin slightly and peered down her fine, thin nose at him, lifting one corner of her lips on those last two words. Noble knight. Oh, how they stung. ‘Lie with me now. In this very bed.’ She placed her hand on her bosom, over her heart, and Silence imagined the pulse of it, felt his own heart racing, not with desire, but with fear. He wished he could tell her, I have nothing to offer you, I am not what I seem to be, there is no reason for you to desire me … but he could not. As always, he was bound to be silent.
At last, he choked out the words. ‘My lady, I cannot. I will not dishonour your husband.’
‘I see what you are made of now.’ Gone was the teasing smile. Gone the flashing brilliance of her eyes. In that moment, it was as if the sun had set and the shadows of dusk filled her face. ‘Fool,’ she spat.
‘Give me the key, I pray you, and I will let you alone.’ Silence held out a hand.
‘So you can run and denounce me to my husband? Do you think I’m a fool?’
‘No, my lady. I will keep this quiet. Only let me get help for your woman.’
‘You must think me stupid as well as ugly. Well …’ The queen tore the wimple from her head, threw it to the floor and trampled upon it. Her long black hair flooded down her neck, spilled over her shoulders.
‘My lady, what are you doing?’
But the queen ignored him. Instead, she grabbed wads of her hair and began to tear it from her scalp, so violently that blood ran down her forehead, and tears welled in her eyes. She shook the hanks of hair from her fingers, casting them on the floor beside her ruined wimple.
Thinking she was having some sort of fit, Silence reached out his hands beseechingly. ‘My lady, give me the key. Let me get help.’
She plucked the key from the pouch and tossed it towards him; it clattered against the stone floor and as he stooped to fetch it, the queen turned and fled from him, running headlong into the wooden poster of her bed, slamming her nose into it, which crunched and bled freely. The blood spilled down the front of her dress, and she began tearing at the silk with her fingernails, weeping and wailing.
Silence stood aghast, the key in his hand, as she whipped past him and began to pound on the door. ‘Help! Oh help! Help me!’
In moments, guardsmen broke the door loose and the king himself came running up the stairs, stopping at the sight of his bloodied wife, his chest heaving, his cheeks flushed red. ‘What’s the meaning of this?’
‘I’ll tell you, my lord,’ said the queen, stepping forward, tears streaming from her eyes, mingling with the blood that marred her face. The king waved the guardsmen away, and they retreated to stand on either side of the splintered door. ‘This man,’ she pointed a quivering finger at Silence, ‘has robbed me of my virtue. He has taken what none but a husband ought to have! It all began when he played for me while I was sick. As soon as Amelia left the room, he pressed himself against me.’ She shuddered and sobbed. ‘I tried to avoid him, but today he forced his way into my chamber. He knocked poor Amelia over the head.’
‘My God,’ the king breathed, seeing the woman unconscious on the pallet. Two guardsmen hurried over to help her.
‘And then … and then … he beat me and tried to tear my clothes off, and I managed to break away from his grip and scream and pound upon the door, and you came and saved me … Oh …’ And she fell in a swoon against the king’s chest.
Another two guardsmen helped her over to her bed, gently laying her down. The king wrapped a thick arm around her waist and looked down at her as she sobbed. Then he looked up at Silence, eyes glittering with disappointment, rage.
‘What have you to say, Silence?’ the king growled.
There was a ringing in Silence’s ears. ‘Everything the queen says is a lie.’
The king stood, fists clenched, seeming to vibrate with rage. His breathing had scarcely slowed. ‘You expect me to believe …’ He glanced over at the bloody queen, the patches of scalp showing amid the fine dark hair on her head, the blood upon the floor. She lay there, limp as a doll. ‘That she would do that to herself …’
Silence held out his hands – clean, not a trace of blood or hair upon them.
But the king narrowed his eyes and turned to Silence, his mouth was a thin line amid his curly beard. ‘I trusted you,’ he said, his voice flat and dark. ‘Perhaps you did not beat her, but how did you come to be alone with her in these chambers?’
‘Your Majesty, it is as I said, the queen lured me—’
‘Have this man held in his chamber.’ The king turned on his heel. ‘Summon my counsellors.’
The queen sat up on the bed, ‘Do justice, my lord. This is a false knight – one who speaks of purity but is corrupt within. Hang him within the hour, I beg you!’
‘Enough,’ the king said. The anger in his voice made Silence shiver.
In his own chamber, Silence paced to the window, to the door, to the window, to the door. His thoughts rushed and swam. The world as he knew it disintegrated before his eyes. The king was wise. The king was chosen by God himself – so how could he not see the truth? But then, what king calls his queen a liar? What manner of queen is a liar? He acted nobly – how could this be his reward?
He fought to control his own fear and rage, knowing that guardsmen stood by the door; he didn’t want them to hear him swear and cry out. He lifted his hands to his head, wanting to tear his hair out. It was enraging. Impossible. What could he do? He had never felt so helpless in his life, not even back at Tintagel, controlled by his father. For a moment, he wished Griselle were here, that he could press his face to her bosom and weep and no one would judge him for it. He sniffled. Perhaps he was a woman after all. What had he done to deserve such treatment? Would the king order him exiled? Stripped of his title? Hanged? All was within King Evan’s power.
As it always had been. King Evan’s power – his whims and his decrees
– had determined the course of Silence’s life from the moment of his birth. He raged at the injustice as much as at the evil of the queen. Yet, as the sun set, Silence knelt and asked for forgiveness. He searched his mind for what sin he might have committed. As ever, there was the sin of running away, of going against his father’s will, of abandoning Griselle. But he had atoned for this and received his father’s pardon; he felt certain, too, that Griselle (upon seeing him as a dashing knight) would forgive him as well.
What other sins? What other wrongs? Sloth? Never. Lust? The least of his problems. Gluttony? No. All he could think of was the one sin upon which his life was based: being born a girl. Was that a sin? No, that wasn’t Natural. The sin was being born a girl and yet living as a boy. What sort of a sin was this? Envy? Greed? Wanting to be what he was not? Desiring what others had?
He stopped his pacing and propped his elbows on the narrow stone window ledge. The walls of Winchester lay in thick shadow. All he wanted was to be himself. He didn’t need to be the earl, or inherit his father’s role. Silence, the youth, the noble knight. That’s all he wanted. That’s all he was.
The guardsmen opened the chamber door at dawn. He had feared they would shackle him, but the guards merely waited for him to step forth and stood on either side as they walked to the great hall. Alfred waited at the foot of the stairs, offering a smile of encouragement that Silence could tell was false (and Alfred was a master of false smiles, though usually they were turned to a lady).
Squires, pages, and servants were shuffling their pallets and beds out of the way, sweeping the flagstones of the hall as Silence and his escort entered. The new spring light angled weakly through the windows and the air held the chill of night. Servants worked at the hearths, kindling flames from embers, and Silence could smell the trickles of smoke; it would be a while before the hall grew warm.
He lifted his gaze to the high table. King Evan, wrapped in a black cloak with a white fur collar, was waiting. He sat in his chair, one hand extended from beneath his robe, clutching the table before him. Even in the hall’s dim light, Silence could see the heavy gold rings that circled the king’s thick fingers. As if sensing his gaze, the king lifted his hand and stroked his beard at the corner of his mouth. Behind the king, his priest stood, black robes blending into the shadows. Silence rolled his shoulders back and stood straight, lifted his chin and gazed ahead. He was innocent. He had done nothing wrong. Still, his knees trembled as he walked between the rows of benches. Silence walked the length of the hall, stopping when he stood about ten feet in front of King Evan. He knelt, offered a silent prayer, and waited for the king to say, ‘Rise.’