by Anne O'Brien
He drank and passed the cup to Constanza, who at last looked up and, inclining her head graciously at the Duke, she drank too. There was a glow in her eye.
‘And we hope for a son to become King of Castile in my name,’ she added, her voice vibrating with emotion. ‘Do we not, my lord?’
‘So we hope.’ He bowed gravely, raising her fingers to his lips, whilst I clenched mine against an all-too-recognisable bolt of pure envy. What a wearying emotion it was, but I could not shake myself free of it.
‘It is my life’s work to take back your kingdom, my lady.’
‘And to provide me with an heir,’ she reiterated.
‘We would both welcome the birth of a son.’
I sat, conscious of my magnificence in my new rose-pink sleeves, extravagantly embroidered and edged in thick sable, conscious also of Lady Alice’s warning to be wary, to keep my jealous inclinations under control. Consequently my nails dug painfully into my palms, until we were summoned to echo the toast, raising our cups to fill the room with an oscillating sheen of gold as the candles warmed the precious metals.
No sign of Lady Alice’s doom and gloom for the marriage here. At the same time my position was still secure in our removal to Kenilworth. The Duchess was more than content. I was no longer even sure that she saw me as a rival to the Duke’s affections. I began to relax with a cup of good Bordeaux at my elbow. As I sipped it, it seemed that she was not even aware, and that my suspicions of the night of the charade were misplaced.
The banquet was drawing to a close, the musicians and entertainers, jugglers and dancers who had so fascinated the ducal children were praised and paid, and as a final flourish, Katalina was brought in by Alyne, her small form clad incongruously from head to toe in Castilian heraldic motifs. We drank a toast, admired the baby heir to Castile (until a brother was born), and the gathering began to disperse.
For a moment Constanza remained on the dais with her damsels, working the delicate material of her skirt loose from where it had caught in the high carving of her chair. She smiled at her ladies, her voice as it carried to me light and happy. It had been a good evening. The servants were beginning to clear the tables, folding the no-longer-white cloth from the dais table with a snap of fine linen.
I stepped into my place in the procession behind my sister with thoughts on the dancing in the room that had just seen extravagant completion in the Duke’s building schemes.
‘Katherine de Swynford.’
The Duchess’s voice carried from the dais with as great a clarity as the Duke’s.
I turned, curtsied with a polite smile, my senses lulled by good food and music and the potency of the Bordeaux. ‘My lady?’
‘I would speak with you.’
That same hard, clear timbre, infinitely polite, yet I knew, with a deep beat of a major bell in my chest, that this was the moment. This was where Constanza’s revenge against me would be played out.
What a fool I had been to persuade myself that Constanza was unaware. All through that long evening of ritual and ceremony she must have pondered the content of the rumours, and yet with regal control, as formidable as a charge of English knights on the battlefield at Crecy under the hand of King Edward, she had chosen to play the role of contented wife. She had known when she instigated the courtly game. She had known, and chosen to bide her time. Until now. Until she could confront me at a time of her own choosing, after an evening when the Duke had shown her every consideration as his wife.
Despite my sinking heart, her tactics in dealing with a despised mistress had to be admired. Would I not have done the same? Now I must face her wrath that I had stolen the loyalty of her husband from her, and if not his love, certainly the duty of his body. If I were in her place, that is how I would react. And thus I must withstand whatever attack she saw fit to make against me.
I stood straight-backed, arms at my sides, and waited for the fall of the axe. I could already sense its edge against my nape.
With an imperious gesture from the Duchess, the damsels had left us except for her most intimate trio who stood at her back. Shutting out their expressions of bright delight that I would at last receive my just deserts, I retraced my steps until I stood at the foot of the dais, the Duchess above me, her skirts no longer encumbered. Clearly a clever ruse to remain behind and isolate me. For the first time I acknowledged in my mind just how powerful a force the Duchess was to be reckoned with. I was on trial, and I would be judged by an authority far greater than my own.
‘How dare you.’
Her accusation was surprisingly dispassionate, her expression as well-governed as mine. She knew she had the upper hand for I was part of the ducal household. I was hers to play with, to dismiss. She did not even ask if the rumours were true.
‘You stand there before me, so brazen, so seemingly innocent.’
I held my head raised, my eyes on her face. I could feel the tremble through every muscle as I kept my spine erect.
‘Were you my husband’s leman, were you sharing my husband’s bed before he married me?’
‘No, my lady.’
I answered without pause even though my heart thudded. Here was a moment for truth between us.
‘Then when we were first wed? Even though I was carrying his child, were you his whore when I was travelling here, full of hope, for a new marriage and a new life?’
‘No, my lady.’
‘So it was after I took you as my damsel.’
‘Yes, my lady.’
Still I trembled but I would not show it. I knew that she would never accuse the Duke to his face, but she would accuse me. Had I not always known that this time would come? How cruelly accurate were her assumptions. My conduct was about to be thrown into high relief, a disgraceful patchwork of immorality and sin.
‘Do you know the humiliation for me, of having Lancaster’s whore foisted on me as my damsel, accepting my daily patronage?’
Lancaster. She called him Lancaster. We were both in receipt of her bitterness, but I was the one to be singled out. As it must be. My courage showed a tendency to slither away under Constanza’s assault, as I foresaw my dismissal, but I held firm. I would not be shamed for a decision I had made in cool certainty, and would make again and again. My life was entwined with that of the Duke. For however long he wanted me by his side I would be there. I would not be shamed.
‘When the Duke wed you and welcomed you here, I was not his whore,’ I replied.
‘How bold you are, Lady de Swynford,’ she sneered. ‘Then when I gave birth to Katalina? Did he know you more intimately than he knew me?’
‘Yes, my lady. We were together then.’ I did not see that it mattered, but it did to her. And I supposed it would to me too.
‘And now I hear that you have a son of Lancaster’s begetting.’ I heard a note of fury creep in. ‘When I could only bear a daughter.’ She picked up her gloves from where they had been cast aside on the table, her fingers tearing at the gilt edging. ‘You were my damsel. I actually asked for your service because you had experience. And now you are magistra to Lancaster’s children. And what is it that you teach them? When you are so lacking in morals, how can you be magistra?’ She spat the word. ‘How can that be, that you are allowed to have influence over such valuable young lives and minds? Do you think you have the moral compass to educate my husband’s children?’
The accusations were as keen as a raptor’s talons slicing through my flesh but still I replied with composure. ‘I teach them to fear God and to value their education, my lady.’
‘Do you fear God, Lady de Swynford? Does a whore fear God? Were you his whore when you took my daughter to King Edward’s court? Did you enjoy the pleasures of the flesh at The Savoy, then carry my daughter into the royal presence, in those arms that had seduced my husband into committing adultery? How dare you prate to me about morals and God fearing!’
So I was the one to seduce. The blame was to be laid at my door, was it? I was seized with a need to leap to my
own defence, rather than meekly bow my head. I had stepped into my relationship with the Duke with my eyes fully open, knowing that I would be universally condemned. Had I not undermined my faith and my respectability for love? But I had done it. There was no going back and although my heart was sore for the Duchess, I could not, would not, apologise for a step I had taken in full knowledge. That would indeed be the mark of hypocrisy. Nor would I take the blame. The dignity that I had embraced all my life would keep me from retreating in the face of Constanza’s hatred.
‘Yes, I fear God,’ I replied, holding her gaze where anguish had suddenly doused the fury. ‘And I know that I must answer to Him for my sins at the end of my days. But I am no whore,’ I affirmed, aware of a wash of colour tinting my cheeks. ‘I am not paid for my services in your husband’s bed. Nor can I be accused of seduction. If you are to apportion blame, it must be in equal measure. Yes, I went to my lord of Lancaster’s bed, but I was no wanton seductress.’
She had not expected such a vehement response, nor such an open confession. I heard the in-drawing of her breath, the sharp sound of the cloth of her gloves tearing under her busy fingers as, suddenly, I was not the only object of her loathing.
‘What is Lancaster thinking, taking a mistress when I am his wife? Keeping her here, to my degradation?’
I could say nothing. I would not answer for the Duke. All I saw was Constanza’s disgust and the eyes of the damsels, shining with malice.
Constanza’s thoughts veered, her focus returning to me. She leaned towards me, gloves abandoned, her knuckles planted on the wooden boards of the high table. ‘Does he mock me when you come together?’ Her head whipped round when a servant appeared from behind the kitchen screens at the far end. ‘Get out!’ she shrieked. And then, when the maid scuttled to obey, to me in a fierce whisper. ‘Can you tell me that? Does he compare me with you? Does he think you are more beautiful than I can ever be?’
The cry of every slighted woman, and in this mess of conflicting emotions, my heart melted in pity for her, and sorrow that in her short marriage she had learned so little of the Duke’s loyalty to her. It was the last thing he would do.
‘Never,’ I stated. ‘My lord would never be so lacking in chivalry.’
‘He lacks it enough to take you to his bed! Does he compare me with you?’ She could not let it go. ‘Does he compare my lack with your undoubted talents?’
‘He has too much honour, my lady.’
‘Is it honour to take another woman to the marital bed?’ She paused, horror stretching the planes of her face. ‘Has he had carnal knowledge of you in his own bed, when he has fulfilled his duty to me?’
And, snatching them up, she threw the mistreated gloves. One landed on the floor at my side, the other struck my much-admired sleeve. I bent and picked them both up, as Constanza’s beautiful figured veils quaked with anger about her shoulders.
‘Did you seek the position of Lancaster’s mistress for the power it will bring you?’
‘I did not seek it…’
‘I advise you not to hope for what will never be yours. My lord will not give away his power, and I do not think you have the guile. You have to be a strong woman to take on the Plantagenets and use them for your own interests.’ Her eyes flashed. ‘I will and can. I, Constanza, Queen of Castile. My lord will take Castile for me. What are you but the wife of some minor knight, daughter of some insignificant family? You will not use his authority for your own ends. I will not allow it.’
‘I do not seek power,’ I repeated simply. It was an accusation easy to deny.
‘I do not understand you. I do not believe you! Would you not wish to promote your family? Enrich your children? Expand your lands in this bleak and distant Lincolnshire that you talk of?’
The question surprised me. ‘No, I do not seek to promote and enrich.’ For that was true enough. ‘It is my desire to hand the estates in good heart to my husband’s son, Thomas. That is all. My employment here enables me to do that. But I seek no power.’
‘Then what do you want from him?’
What could I say? I could not, would not say: I love him. I could not say; I am as jealous of you as you are of me. Instead: ‘I want nothing.’
‘You lie.’
Constanza would never understand that a woman could be drawn to a man for other reasons than wealth and power. She would never understand that I had rejected every moral teaching of my youth simply because the Duke had wanted me and I had been unable to resist his allure.
‘All whores seek advancement,’ she stated, now cold as February snow, her eyes glittering like obsidian. ‘I do not want you here under my roof.’
I placed the gloves carefully, palm to palm within my own hands, as I chose my words, hoping that they carried weight. ‘But I am not your damsel, my lady.’
‘You are living in my household and I do not want you in it.’
‘I am in the Duke’s employ, my lady.’
Had he known this when he changed the nature of my appointment? Had he deliberately taken that step to protect my position in the ducal home? Perhaps he had foreseen this—as I too had anticipated it—but nothing could spare me the Duchess’s righteous anger.
‘I do not want you here,’ she repeated, her voice rising to a shriek again as if I were the hapless servant. ‘Get out of my sight!’
Robbed of her gloves Constanza lunged and picked up one of a pair of salt cellars that had still to be collected and returned to the buttery, and drew her hand back to hurl it. I flinched, automatically raising my hands to shield my face as she threw. The salt cellar missed its mark and thudded to the floor far to my right, leaving a spray of salt crystals over the hem of my skirt that glittered in the candlelight.
Fired with her fury, Constanza picked up a gold platter with both hands.
‘Get out! I want you out of this place before the morning!’ She raised the dish.
‘No!’ There was a limit to my pity. Anger flickered, even as I cowered, expecting the platter to find its mark. ‘I will not go.’
‘I say that you will!’
‘That is enough, Constanza.’
The quiet voice stopped her as I could not have done.
I turned. Halfway down the length of the Great Hall stood the Duke. In the extremity of emotion run wild, we had not noticed his approach, but now he stood there, motionless, so still that the light barely shimmered over his cloth of gold. His hair was a perfection of ordered waves, his tunic fell in elegant folds to brush his thighs. All was in control and yet, even though his hands were relaxed at his sides, I saw the tautness in the carriage of his head, the set of his shoulders. This would be no easy negotiation, for any of us.
‘Enough, my wife,’ he repeated softly.
My wife. His choice of words made my heart hammer. How understanding of her predicament, as I knew he would be. But what of me? How painful it was for me who could never look for that honour. I turned back to face the Duchess, all emotion stripped from her face, the platter, forgotten now, but still clutched in her hand. The damsels were a frozen backdrop. All I could do was to wait, all senses stretched, uncertain of the outcome. I felt the Duke approach behind me, heard his measured footsteps grow louder on the painted tiles, then he was beside me, but stepping past until he stood before his wife, as if she were the only woman in the room. He lifted his hand for the platter. Constanza gripped it hard, raising it slightly as if she might still consider hurling it at my despised head. The Duke said nothing, simply waiting with infinite patience.
Then, when she did not respond: ‘Constanza. It is not fitting…’
‘She is your whore,’ she hissed, the word slapping at me again.
‘You will show Lady Katherine more respect.’
‘Why should I? She is the source of your sin in our marriage. She should be driven out. Look at her! How unabashed she is in facing me. I demand that you rid yourself—’
‘No, Constanza.’
I waited, caught between his implacable ref
usal and the Duchess’s adamant insistence.
‘No,’ the Duke repeated into the little silence that had followed, ‘Lady Katherine will not be sent away.’
‘I demand it. I will not have her here.’
‘It is not for you to decide. Will you throw that? Your aim is not good, and it will spoil a good piece of plate.’
With a sharp movement of distress she released into his hand the platter, which he placed on the table.
‘You will dismiss your damsels.’
‘I will not.’
‘Will you discuss your private affairs before women who have no thought of discretion? They are vulgar and indiscreet.’ For the first time the air had become spiked with his anger although his voice remained smoothly even. ‘It will be better that we have this conversation without them.’
‘Better for her?’ The Duchess acknowledged me with a toss of her chin.
‘For all concerned. For the whole of my household. You are not the only member of it, my lady.’ He did not wait for her response but swept a hand to encompass the little knot of women who now hovered uncertainly behind the Duchess. ‘You will leave us,’ he commanded. ‘Nor will you discuss what has been aired here today.’
The Duke bowed as they stepped from the dais, courteous to the last, but his face had the rigidity of the carvings on the walls of Westminster Abbey.
And then we were alone in the vast hall. Three individuals overwhelmed by the space and height, cast into nothingness by the great hammer beams above our heads and by the oppressive air. I sensed the tension building and knew that these two people would soon fill the space with the clash of their will. They faced each other while I stood, an uneasy third point in the pattern. An unnecessary point. The outcome was as impossible to read as the expression on the Duke’s face.
‘Did we wed for love, Constanza?’ he asked.