The Jewels of Warwick

by Diana Rubino

  Amethyst prided herself on her swift action and how she had put her own family's interests above her own desires to be at one with the King, body and soul. Alas, her sister saw only her own livid anger.

  "You swine!" Topaz took Amethyst by the shoulders and shook her violently. "You went running to court after him, that bastard of a king, you, my sister, who ought to hate him as much as I do! You went toadying up to the offspring of our father's killer!"

  "You knew I was invited to his birthday festivities," she protested, trying to struggle free.

  "But I didn't think you'd actually degrade us all by attending! And until you promise never to associate with the likes of him again, you are no longer my sister!"

  "Topaz, you cannot tell me what to do!" she hissed, breaking her sister's vice like hold at last.

  But Topaz was already stalking from the room, leaving her scent of rose oil behind.

  Amethyst dined alone that night in her bedchamber, stuffing herself with hot buttered scones, jellied tarts and delicate pastries. She needed the solace, the comfort, of hot sweet food. Then she began to feel dizzy.

  Her mind simply ceased to function; she couldn't remember what day it was, what the signs of the Zodiac were. Her brain was wrapped in a dense fog, a cloudy curtain that would not let her think straight. She stumbled to her bed and lay down, only to feel a violent nausea rising to her throat. She leaned over the bed and retched.

  Her chambermaid rushed over to her, flung herself across the bed behind Amethyst, and held her hair back. Amethyst threw up her dinner, and what seemed like her entire insides. With a weak groan, she lay back on the bed as her maid pressed a damp cloth to her face, and, completely spent, drifted off into blackness.

  The next day, the sickening nausea rose to her throat with every breath. Sabine sat at her bedside, forcing some sweet gooey syrup between her lips, but the aroma simply made her retch more—what, she didn't know; she had nothing left inside her.

  "Poison...she poisoned me..." she managed to whisper, for even using her voice was a major effort, an expenditure of energy she simply didn't have.

  Sabine moved closer to her daughter, stroking the hair off her face, fanning it across the pillow like the feathers of their great peacocks.

  "What is it, dear? What about poison?"

  "Topaz...she poisoned me...because I...went to see the King..."

  "Oh, no, no..." Sabine's soothing breath feathered over Amethyst's face as she rocked her gently. "She would not dare."

  "She did, she did."

  The next day she felt weaker still, unable to keep anything down. Sabine called for their physician, Dr. Stokes, who bustled into the room, pulling the drapes aside, letting a stream of sunlight enter the musty room.

  "No, please, shut out the light!" Amethyst groaned, her voice a cracked wail of pain. She doubled up as another stab of agony shot through her stomach.

  The doctor jabbed a needle into her heel, bleeding her into a silver bowl at the foot of the bed, and forced some hot thick liquid into her mouth.

  She gagged and spat, but he held her head between his palms with a vice-like grip, forcing her jaw shut. The nausea rose to her throat, and she retched violently, arms and legs spasmodically jerking under the heavy covers, her head thrashing from side to side, but barely able to move under the confining strength of his grasp.

  "You will swallow that, my lady, or I shall open your gob like a bird's beak and force it down your gullet with me fingers," he shouted, above her moans of protest and pain.

  Finally, a breath of the fresh breeze allowed her to relax and her throat gave way, the warm liquid coating her tortured, twisted insides.

  The doctor relinquished his grip on her jaw and pushed her head gently back onto the pillows.

  "Give her that every sunup and sundown and at high noon. Make her swallow it by any means necessary if you wish her to live." He handed the bottle to the thunderstruck Sabine, grabbed his black bag and dashed from the room.

  Amethyst's heavy lids closed. The soft breeze and sunlight faded farther and farther away, as her mind drifted into an empty void of blackness in which she saw nothing, felt nothing, and heard nothing.

  The pain was gone, and her body felt delightfully lithe and supple. Nausea was no longer a burden enmeshed within the confines of the flesh and bones she dragged about; she was a feather, a lucid puff of vapor with no eyes, yet able to see a radiant glow before her, colorless, but brilliant.

  She felt herself smiling, but she had no mouth with which to laugh, and when she wanted to retreat, the light itself faded to dimness and she once again faded with it.

  The drapes were drawn, the window pulled shut. A candle flickered in the corner. The bed curtains were parted just enough so that Sabine and the priest could see the withered body lying still under the sheets.

  Matthew entered the room silently, and then Emerald, both wiping tears from their eyes, their faces contorted with grief. Topaz was tending some sick animals on a nearby farm and had not come to see her sister once no matter how much her mother had pleaded with her to be there at the end.

  The priest said a few words and sprinkled holy water on the slight figure. Sabine could hear her breathing, could see the expression of pure peace on her daughter's drawn face.

  "She will leave us peacefully," the priest whispered. "She will enter Heaven tonight and there will be no pain."

  With a sob, Sabine turned and fell into Emerald's arms. Mother and daughter wound their arms round one another, each lost in her own private grief.

  Matthew went to stand by the bed, stunned at how so vital a young woman could have withered virtually overnight into this wraith of herself. Placing one hand on her chill brow and one over her heart, he began to pray fervently that the good Lord would spare her. That He would take whatever strength Matthew could spare and bring her back to all those who loved and needed her.

  The women's weeping paused as a slight noise came from the bed and Matthew removed his hands and jumped back in shock.

  Amethyst sighed and her eyes opened.

  She could see the shadowy figures at the foot of the bed, the priest in his black robe, holding up a chalice of some sort, chanting softly in Latin, his head bowed, and beyond him, Emerald's honey beige hair piled on top of her head, her face a confused contortion of grief.

  She closed her eyes and continued breathing, more and more deeply, filled with a sense of warmth and new-found purpose such as she had never known before.

  When her mind again opened to the real world and she knew she was not in some faraway dreamland, she opened her eyes, sensing a presence in the pale golden light of the candle on the bed stand. She could see Emerald sitting at the edge of the bed, smiling down upon her gently. Slowly the nausea began to recede, to cease its cruel and savage racking of her weak body, and she asked for a cool cloth.

  Emerald wrung out the cloth and wiped her down, the cleansing making her feel almost human.

  The next morning, her throat muscles loosened and allowed her to swallow a few spoonfuls of soup or porridge without heaving it all back up again. Emerald always seemed to be there, keeping a vigil by her bed, hugging Amethyst close, and she could hear Sabine at the foot of the bed murmuring prayers of thanks.

  "Amethyst, you almost left us, He almost took you, but He gave you back to us," Emerald whispered as Amethyst's eyes fluttered open, welcoming the warm sunlight that spilled into the room.

  "Please open the window, I want to breathe fresh air," she pleaded, "Bring me flowers; 'tis so stuffy in here."

  She opened her eyes and before her was a basket of hyacinths, pansies and marigolds mixed with roses from the garden, compliments of Matthew, who had penned a charming note to her. "That was very kind of him."

  "He never left your side," Emerald said with a tender smile. "He is truly a most kind brother."

  "Aye, brother," she said pensively, feeling a warmth against her breasts that made her shudder with desire and shame.

  She took one
soft petal between her fingers and let its velvety smoothness soothe her. Over the next few days, more tokens of esteem came from far and wide, from everyone except Topaz.

  Yet it was not her enmity, but the very love of all her family that began to make her feel cold inside, trapped.

  As she gradually regained her strength, she found she was able to lift her head without that blast of dizziness, and as soon as she was able, began directing her maids to repack her precious belonging. She was leaving, and would escape at midnight out through the window if she had to, in order to outwit Topaz, who had wanted her dead rather than see her as friends with the King. Let alone mistress…

  She could not let her sister or the rest of her family know she was going back to court to be with Henry, no matter what.

  A messenger arrived with a polite summons from the King. She sent her regrets, saying that she had gone back for a family emergency and had herself become very ill, and that she would commence her journey as soon as she was able.

  Her hand trembled as she penned the note; her heart was a stir in anticipation of her new life at court. She had fled the passion that flared within her at the very thought of being with the King, and tried to do her best for the sake of her family. She had nearly lost her life in the process.

  But now she felt she had been given a second chance at life, one so precious she would be a fool not to take it.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Over the next few days, Amethyst's appetite began to return, and that sickening rise of bile gave way to the hollow gnaw of ravenous hunger. How good it felt to hear the familiar stomach rumble, to actually crave a sweet sticky tart, to enjoy those spurts of mouth-watering when the aroma of a roasted chicken wafted through the room.

  She took her first swallow of solid food, a plump drumstick, as she'd requested something she could eat with her hands, to gnaw at it like a starving animal. She sank her teeth into the warm roasted flesh and chewed, savoring the smoky taste, happily letting the grease smear her chin. Her stomach filled to the point of satiation quickly, exhausting her, and she fell into a contented, satisfied slumber, her body efficiently nourished at last.

  Each day she forced herself to rest, eat, get well, so she could leave for court as soon as she could and be with Henry once more. She had no doubt what becoming his mistress would entail, with all the scandal and yet honor for her family. But it was for the man himself she was pursuing this course of action, Henry and no other, for he had touched her heart and mind and was sure this was her destiny.

  The day before her planned departure for court, she took one last walk through the rose garden, touching the petals with her fingertips, inhaling their sweet scent, glancing back at the castle with a wistful sadness. Her eyes misted over, blurring the rows of towers and protective walls.

  Although she was leaving to start a new and exciting life in the intimate circle of royalty, she would miss the close familiar warmth of home. She plucked a white rose from its stem and twirled it between her fingers. She would take this rose with her as a reminder, hoping that by the time the rose withered and died, she would be so caught up with court life that her homesickness would vanish.

  The flower was white, a Yorkist rose. So many had died for that symbol. She herself had nearly done so thanks to the unbalanced mind of her sister. But the Tudor rose was red and white. Henry had restored their wealth and possessions. There was room at the court for both factions if only they would put aside their old resentments and help him build his modern new world…

  At the clatter of hoof beats, she looked up and glimpsed a gray stallion saddled with the Gilford livery and its handsome rider. "I hope I haven't come at a bad time," Matthew shouted across the field.

  She felt a sudden surge of joy at seeing him and began to run towards him.

  He waved, gesturing her to stay put and not move on his account. Since that evening of the priest's visit when the cold fingers of death were at her throat, he'd sent her flowers, small gifts, and visited her for a few moments on two more occasions to check her recovery and bring her peaches and apples from his orchard.

  "Nay, not a bad time for me, but Mother has gone to visit Aunt Margaret with Emerald." She looked up at him, saddled on his mount, his eyes as green as the carpet of grass beneath them, his skin aglow in the sun.

  "'I am sorry to miss them, but in truth, 'tis you I care to speak to. Shall I stable the horse?"

  "Please do. Join me back here when you are ready." She sat down on a stone bench and turned her face up to the warmth of the sun, though noticed with a frown that it had gone behind a cloud. Why then did her head and face feel so hot and flushed?

  He galloped off and was back, on foot, within a few moments. He sat and removed his shoes and stockings and began to dig his toes into the cool grass.

  "What a glorious day," he said with a warm smile.

  She laughed inwardly at the boyish gesture and gazed admiringly at the man Topaz had chosen for a husband. His sandy hair, sun-bleached to a platinum, was now clipped short in the French style that fashion demanded, brushing the collar of his linen shirt. A dark blond brow introduced a pair of brilliant green eyes, eyes expressing merriment, proudly displaying laugh lines in the corners. His ruddy complexion flaunted daily rides in the fresh country air. She'd been so enthralled by the King, she hadn't even looked in another man's direction. Matthew was charming and attractive—but he was no Henry Tudor. And he was her sister's husband in any case. Save for that, he might certainly have turned her head long ago. But now–

  "I am sorry to come upon you unawares and intrude upon you while you are still recovering."

  "To say sooth, I am much better. All the better for all the help you gave me when I was ill, and for my longing to see my old friend to thank him for his care and attention," she added with a smile.

  "I was glad to be of service to you and your family in your time of need," he said modestly. Then he dared look into her eyes. The truth is, well, I need to speak with you, Amethyst. Please hold this in the strictest of confidence."

  If it were about Topaz, which it invariably would be, who would she tell? Who could possibly be interested? "What did she do now?" she asked flatly.

  "She has done nothing, yet."

  He raised his eyes to meet hers and she noticed that they lightened with the sun to a bright green in contrast to how they darkened in the blaze of their great hall's candles. "It's what she's about to do."

  "What else can she do? Come over here and stuff me into the oubliette?"

  "Nay, 'tis not against you. 'Tis much more serious. She's talking of engaging Wolsey's services for a tidy sum and going round the realm to raise support for her cause."

  A stab of fear hit Amethyst. Her mother was the only person who knew she'd been invited to court. What would happen now?

  She thought quickly, then spoke calmly, for Matthew's sake. "Fear not, Matthew. I don't believe she means it. She's got no way of rousing that much support. Besides, Wolsey's a feeble old man. His days are numbered. The King would never see him as a threat."

  "She's already got followers. She constantly reminds me of your family history and how strongly she feels about reclaiming her birthright, as she calls it. I tried to reason with her; to talk her out of it. I tried to stop her by forbidding her to go anywhere without my permission."

  Although she tried to put Matthew's mind at ease, Topaz's success was what Amethyst feared the most. She had no doubts of her sister's capabilities. What had been dismissed as mere talk by her mother had been recognized by Amethyst as careful planning, maneuvering, and organizing. That had taken years, and perhaps now Topaz was ready. Her time had finally come.

  Amethyst tried to appease Matthew, though; she dared not betray her own concerns, which had multiplied as soon as her sister had tried to kill her. "I'm sure it will not come to anything. She'll see how hopeless it is and give up before any blood is shed."

  "That's not only it, Amethyst." Matthew yanked a clump of grass out of the gr
ound and nervously kneaded it with his fingers. "She's been talking of poisoning the Princess Mary."

  "Oh, God." Amethyst hadn't been expecting this. Fighting against Henry's armies was one thing—but harming an innocent child? "No, she couldn't. Mary is surrounded by guards, moves from residence to residence. It couldn't be done."

  "It has happened through the ages. Didn't Topaz once tell me that your father's own mother and brother were supposedly poisoned? 'Tis nothing new. Poisonings have been taking place since the beginning of time. I doubt she would personally dispense a cup of hemlock to Mary. It will be done slowly, painstakingly, in stages. Henry has enemies. Mary has enemies. Don't put it past her."

  The thought of her recent illness sent a shudder through her. Although she would never know for sure if Topaz had poisoned her, her mind believed she had, but her heart fought the evil judgment, pushing it into the past, leaving it there.