The King's Daughter

by Christie Dickason

  ‘Who has ever tried to wash an Ethiop?’ someone demanded.

  ‘Not I!’

  ‘Nor I.’

  ‘We must seize the chance!’ cried Frances.

  Dripping and laughing, they all turned to Thalia.

  I opened my mouth, then closed it again.

  ‘Your turn, Mistress Music,’ said Frances. She took a jug of water from a groom. ‘Yes, you! Come down here. Don’t be shy!’

  After a moment, Thalia climbed down from her rock, leaving her lute behind.

  I looked away. In truth, I was still a little afraid of Frances Howard.

  ‘Hold out your hands.’

  Thalia cupped her hands as the others had done. Frances poured. Thalia rubbed her hands with the offered towel.

  ‘It’s no good. You must rub harder.’ Frances glanced at the other young women, then at me. ‘Try again.’

  ‘My skin is black all through,’ said Thalia. ‘You won’t find white no matter how hard you wash!’

  ‘Then you’re a sinful she-devil who can’t be washed clean!’ Frances glanced around at the others. I felt Lucy look at me.

  This is my mother’s doing, I thought. Nothing to do with me.

  ‘We can’t leave her soul to black damnation! To the field, ladies! We must try to save her!

  “It’s no use,’ protested Thalia. She put both arms behind her back.

  ‘Are you confessing to resolute wickedness then?’ demanded another dripping black mask. ‘See how she stares like a witch!’

  ‘Surely not!’ said Frances. ‘We won’t tolerate a determined sinner in our midst! Hold her whilst I save her soul!’ She seized Thalia’s wrist. The others pressed close around, pinning Thalia with their bodies in wet, skimpy clothing, netting her with their hands. They forced her left arm out in front of her. Only Lucy held back.

  I wanted to tell them to leave her alone, but part of me muttered that she should not have been there in the first place.

  ‘I don’t find this amusing,’ said Lucy. When the others ignored her, she went off after the queen. After a moment, a figure that I thought was Anne also stepped back from the mêlée.

  ‘Don’t loose her!’ Frances Howard tore a flap of canvas from the corner of a rock and began to scrub at the back of Thalia’s hand.

  Thalia set her teeth. Then she began to struggle. She made no sound.

  ‘Harder! You must go deeper. She’s still black!’

  Her head began to twist wildly from side to side. I stood up.

  ‘Now she’s black and red.’

  Thalia pinched her lips against a scream. Silently, she twisted and heaved, but the nymphs held her tightly with their own bodies.

  ‘Scrub a little harder. Her sins must surely wash away!’

  ‘Look! She bleeds like an Englishwoman…’

  ‘Stop!’ I shouted.

  ‘But, your grace, we’re just having a game.’ The women fell back, even as Frances Howard protested.

  ‘… all in fun,’ added another.

  Thalia hid her arms behind her. I heard her panting.

  I seized her elbow and pulled her arm from behind her back. ‘This is not in fun!’

  ‘But they don’t feel pain as we do,’ someone murmured. ‘See! She doesn’t turn pale at the sight of her own blood!’ There was an uneasy giggle.

  ‘Rehearsal is done!’ I said. ‘Go! Now!’

  ‘But your grace…’ A male voice spoke behind me.

  I rounded on the Master of Revels. ‘They’ve learned all they need to know today!’

  He turned to look for help from the queen then remembered that she had gone.

  I led Thalia back to my lodgings and into my little closet, where I made her sit down. I examined her injury. Seven inches of skin on her wrist and hand had been rubbed away, exposing the raw flesh beneath. Tiny deep red wells of blood rose in the dark pink flesh. When I wiped, I saw the white of an exposed tendon. A violent tremor shook her arm.

  She tried to pull away. ‘It will heal.’

  ‘How can you not cry?’

  ‘And give them the satisfaction?’

  I reared back at the cold fury in her eyes. ‘But doesn’t it hurt?’ Perhaps that woman was right, and she didn’t feel pain in the same way.

  ‘Of course it hurts, you fool!’ Thalia clapped her other hand over her mouth.

  There was a long silence.

  ‘I don’t think you’re meant to speak to me like that,’ I said.

  Thalia stared mutely at the floor, her mouth tight. ‘Are fine ladies meant to behave like beasts?’ she asked at last.

  ‘No.’ In silence, I found a clean handkerchief in my cupboard. ‘This will hurt.’ I wiped gently at the worst of the blood. Then I took a small stoneware jar from a chest my chamberer kept. ‘Marigold, beeswax and other things. I believeit will ease the pain.’ Gently, I applied the unguent to the raw skin of her wrist and hand. She squeezed her eyes shut in pain but stopped trying to pull away.

  ‘Will your playing be affected?’

  She shrugged. ‘You’re not a fool,’ she said between gritted teeth. ‘I apologise.’

  We both watched my finger gently smoothing the salve onto her wrist.

  ‘I’m sorry I didn’t stop them sooner,’ I said.

  She nodded.

  I fetched another clean handkerchief and wrapped it around her wrist. I could have called someone else to tend to her but found that I was enjoying it. I so seldom touched another person, or was touched, except when I was being dressed.

  I spent longer than I needed over tying the bandage just right. I felt towards Thalia the same warmth that filled me when I was looking after one of my pets, or being kind to Baby Charles. A fondness grew in me for the one I was being kind to. I knew that I had betrayed her with my hesitation. Tending her let me begin to think better of myself again.

  ‘Sometimes it’s safer if others think you a fool,’ she said.

  ‘Do you mean me, or you?’

  ‘Both.’

  ‘We should know but not seem to know?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Is that how you are with me?’

  She pulled away her hand, which I realised that I had been clutching. ‘What do you truly want from me, your grace?’ Her voice shook. ‘I no longer know where I am! When I first arrived, I tried to be courtier-like and agreeable and keep a respectful distance, but that wasn’t what you wanted. Then I tried to tell you the truth, as you asked but you didn’t like that, either. Now you tempt me out of cover into greater and greater danger. How am I to keep myselfsafe while giving you true answers? I’m now confused out of all good behaviour!’

  The moment teetered, unbalanced and fragile. But a door was cracking open. I had no idea what lay beyond. I gave it a push.

  I drew a long breath. ‘I’m not angry that you called me a fool, because it’s true. I was being one.’ I stood up. ‘Wait.’

  I felt under my pillow for the little piece of Scottish granite and held it over my heart. ‘I vow to you that I won’t grow angry if you tell me I’m a fool, or anything else, so long it’s true. Here…!’

  With my free hand, I lifted a gold chain over my head. On it hung an enamelled gold medallion bearing the profile of the goddess Diana, carved in white sardonyx and framed in diamonds and pearls. ‘I mean to say, I can’t promise not to be angry for a time, but I swear not to punish you. Please take this and wear it. And if you ever think that I’ve forgotten my promise, just touch the medallion to remind me.’

  ‘I can’t take that. It’s too costly for me.’

  ‘Its value lies only in the meaning. That goddess punished truth-seekers in terrible ways. I vow never to do the same.’

  After a moment, she opened her fingers and let me drop the chain and medallion into her palm.

  ‘Vow or no vow, you still own me,’ she said. ‘That’s the only truth that matters. You have no right to demand truth from a slave.’

  My warmth cooled. I put the wax stopper back onto the little stonewa
re jar. ‘Do you think I begged for a blackamoor maid to carry my handkerchief, until my mother indulged me by buying you?’ I slammed the jar back into its chest. ‘… that I wanted to flaunt you like an egret feather or a locket made from the hair of the Great Cham’s beard and a dragon’s tooth?’

  ‘No one asked my opinion in the matter, neither.’

  ‘Well!’ I was uncertain what to say next. ‘I can’t apologisenor make an excuse for owning you, because no one asked me. I didn’t want you bought. It’s no good being angry with me!’

  She weighed the chain in her hand while she studied me with her large eyes.

  ‘You’re a slave too,’ she said.

  ‘What?’ My jaw trembled as I tried to form words. I raised my hand to slap her.

  ‘Though your price is a little higher.’ She raised her forefingers in a mocking cross to ward off my slap.

  I looked at the handkerchief around her wrist and dropped my hand.

  ‘You see!’ she said. ‘You don’t want to hear the truth. Only the part of it that you choose.’ She held up my chain and jiggled it in my face. ‘I’ve just done what you ordered me to do and you don’t like it. Now you want to punish me for obeying you.’ She dropped her eyes to my still half-raised hand. ‘A slave can never trust the master.’

  She sank into a curtsy of such exaggerated reverence that my cheeks burned. ‘I beg you, your grace, to release me from honesty.’

  ‘I’ll release you from everything, if that’s what it takes!’ I cried. ‘I give you back to yourself! See how you like it! You’ll see how easy it is to be your own mistress without help from anyone! And good cess to you!’

  Trying to straighten again, she stepped on her hem and staggered. ‘That’s a cruel temper!’

  ‘Cruel?’ I was now filled by an unreasoning fury. ‘I call it generous!’

  ‘And when it amuses you, you’ll forget your generosity.’

  ‘How dare you?’ I ran to my writing chest, flung it open, fumbled for a pen. I sharpened the tip of the quill as if beheading it. Spat into the ink to moisten it and scribbled. ‘There!’ I shook the paper under her nose. My voice shook almost as much. ‘Your manumission! D’ye want it or not?’ I heard the Scots leaking back into my voice, a sign even to me of my fury.

  ‘I don’t toy.’ I tried to sound calmer, dignified. ‘How dare you call me a changeable flibbertigibbet? Go on, take it!’

  She looked at the paper and back at me. ‘You’re in earnest?’

  ‘Don’t stare at me so!’

  Thalia took the paper and read it. With satisfaction, I saw it begin to rattle in her hands.

  ‘So?’ I asked. ‘Are you content now?’

  She folded the letter carefully into four and tucked it into her bodice. She stood for a long time with one hand pressed flat and rigid against her breastbone over the paper, staring into the corner of the room. ‘Do you want me to be grateful now?’

  ‘Aren’t you?’

  She gave me another of her opaque looks. ‘You mean well.’

  ‘I’ll have it witnessed!’ I managed not to shout. ‘Tied up in ribbons and seals, if y’ like. But there’s your proof of my intention. With my signature!’

  She nodded.

  ‘Aren’t you even a little grateful?’

  ‘Oh, aye,’ she said, imitating me perfectly. ‘That I am, among much else.’

  ‘Well then?’

  ‘And now that I’m free, you’ll send me away?’

  ‘Why would I do that? Why d’you think I wrote that if I didn’t want you to stay here and talk to me?’ I understood my own words only as I heard them come out of my mouth.

  ‘Are you in earnest?’

  ‘God in Heaven, why can’t you believe me? You’ll make me angry again.’

  ‘And now, you’re not?’

  ‘Yes!’ I shouted. ‘I am angry! Show me that damned necklace before I…’

  She seemed not to hear me. She stood looking down ather hand pressed against her breast. ‘Please, your grace…’ She shook her head then looked down at her hand again. ‘With your permission… I need…’ She made a vague flapping motion with her free hand and ran from the room.

  ‘And I’m not a slave, neither!’ I called after her, and burst into tears.

  When I calmed down, I saw how she had tested me. The door had opened although I did not yet see what lay beyond it. I sent my chamberer to the gallery where Thalia still slept, with a draught to help her endure the pain that night.

  I felt calm as I slid into sleep, without knowing why. The next morning, I woke early, filled with unexplained joy. I lay listening to Anne’s gentle snores, trying to decide why I looked forward to the day with such expectation. I could not say that I had gained a friend. The relationship into which Thalia and I seemed to have launched ourselves was far too spiky and complex to be called friendship. All the same, I was eager to see her again and ask how her arm was healing.

  My first task of the day was also clear.

  33

  Through my secretary, I dismissed Frances Howard. She could go wait for the return of her young husband somewhere else. Then I appointed Thalia Bristo as my Lady Musician of the Bedchamber, her salary to be paid by my steward and properly recorded in my household rolls. I told my chamberer to bring a new pallet bed to my lodgings and a locked chest for Mistress Bristo’s belongings.

  Then I sent for Thalia and waited happily to tell her what I had done.

  She took a very long time to appear. When she did present herself, her renewed wariness felt like a slap.

  ‘Walk with me,’ I said. Silently, she followed me down into the orchard away from curious ears.

  ‘Where’s my chain?’ I asked, without breaking step. ‘I told you to wear it.’

  She paced steadily beside me. ‘Your chain? Then it’s not truly mine now? You also told me that I was my own mistress, did you not?’

  I walked on several more paces, breathing hard. I recognised a crossroads. It was now my choice which way to go. I noted the angry heat of my forehead and cheeks. I remembered the easy joy with which I had slid up into the day.

  ‘Mistress Bristo,’ I began, not entirely certain what was going to come out of my mouth.

  ‘Tallie,’ she said. ‘I’m easier with Tallie.’

  I stopped dead and looked at her. I knew suddenly what I felt when I was with her, even when I was angry with her, or confused, even amongst all the strangeness, false steps and mutual misunderstandings. She made me feel not alone. Just as I had felt not alone on the Cat Nick with Henry, looking down on Edinburgh. As I had not felt since coming south with any creature, except my dogs and horses, and Henry, when we could meet. Not even with loyal Anne. Henry was still my other soul and I was his. But we were two different halves of a single nut. Unlikely as it seemed, Tallie felt like the same half that I was.

  I thought of every way in which we differed. Including the fact that she clearly did not feel as much kinship for me as I suddenly felt for her.

  ‘What took you so long to come when I sent for you?’ I asked.

  ‘I got lost… why do you laugh?’

  ‘Come with me. And remember the way, this time. Whitehall is a labyrinth.’ I took her to the Privy Stairs.

  We stood side by side looking out over the water. ‘This is where I come to start from, when I don’t know where I am,’ I said.

  ‘So here we are?’

  ‘Yes.’ I thought she seemed as relieved as I was by our recaptured accord.

  We continued to stare out at the glinting water. After a time, I saw that she was very far away in her thoughts, looking across the river towards Southwark.

  ‘Are you homesick?’ I asked.

  ‘No!’

  ‘I’d like to visit over there.’

  ‘I promise you, you would not.’

  ‘Why not?’

  She shrugged, closing me out again.

  I took her arm and lifted the bandage. ‘At least it’s not infected.’ I replaced the handkerchief
again. ‘Tallie, I need your help. I am at war. You must…’ I caught myself. ‘I ask you to be my intelligencer.’

  ‘I feared as much.’ She shook her head wryly. ‘Hey ho! Hey ho.’ She did not ask with whom I was at war.

  ‘I need you to be my eyes and ears where I cannot go.’ I hesitated. ‘The king’s orders are to keep me uninformed, most of all about my marriage. He has found a slower way to kill me than the axe or sword – torturing me with my ignorance.

  ‘There may be risks,’ I added.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ she agreed. ‘There’s risk.’

  I narrowed my eyes. ‘Do we speak of the same dangers?’

  ‘Of course, your grace.’

  34

  TALLIE

  There it is still, just across the water. Waiting for you to slip and be sent back.

  Must lose my memories or else they might leak out. She listens too well for me to be safe. Like just now. She can’t possibly see what I see when I look over there – the house, the women, the base coin of counterfeit delight. The babe I saw smothered at birth and taken away to be thrown into the Thames. And yet she makes me feel that she can.

  ‘So here we are,’ I just said to her. And where the devil is that?

  I’m dependent on the favour of a girl younger than I am, who seems to find a kindred spirit in me. If she only knew what unfit company I make.

  I forget that I may be free. Can’t think what that means yet. My head won’t… The world is suddenly grown too big for my thoughts to compass. Don’t trust it yet.

  I can think for myself. Only myself… makes me giddy. Decide soon what to do. Free, but not safe.

  Where can I go?

  Don’t ever let yourself feel safe. You’re too visible everywhere. Every move watched and judged. If I even belch, I’m proved a savage. I’ve heard the ladies whispering, ‘black witch'.

  Damn the queen and her masque, hanging me out for all to see. Elizabeth still doesn’t believe the danger. She’s never been in my place…

  … But I don’t think she can hide neither.

  She means well. At least, she doesn’t speak slowly in that false tone like the others, to be certain that I can understand their drivel. As if court ladies with minds like lame cart horses and the morals of weasels spoke some great wisdom denied to a savage.