Hastings shrugged. “I capitulate, sire. It is your business when, or if, you choose to tell the queen of Lady de Bohun’s visit to your court. I shall say not one word more on the subject except…”
Edward was harder, tougher, since his exile. Hastings’s playmate was long gone, lost in the fields of the Low Countries, and there was menace in his face as he glanced at his chamberlain. William gulped but struggled on; it was his job.
“…to ask where will the Lady Anne be lodged? Westminster is very full, and will be for some time as the numbers at court swell.”
The king waved to the crowds again. There was a jewel on the third finger of his left hand—a square-cut ruby so rich in color it was almost black until he held it up into the light. Then it glowed, bright as heart’s blood.
“You are right, William. As usual. Lodging must be thought of. But there is time to solve this problem, for it may still take some days to convey my invitation to the Lady Anne. Once we have found her.” He touched the ruby to his lips. “I believe we should make a bower. A very special bower that she will not want to leave. Ever.”
They were close to Westminster Hall now and the king increased his pace, striding out ahead of his friend, waving exuberantly to the pressing crowd of besotted Londoners. He flung his last words over his shoulder. “See to it, will you, my friend? After all we’ve been through, this will be such a little task…” Edward’s sardonic laughter floated back to his exasperated chamberlain.
A bower? Where and how would he conjure such a thing into being? The chamberlain sighed. There would be a way, of course there would be a way, but he would not think about it until after the churching feast was finished. Right now, he was going to get good and drunk. Then he would think about his duty.
CHAPTER SIXTY
Blessing House was locked tight for the night and all the lights had been extinguished when the unexpected visitor knocked at the door. It was a huge door and a sharp knock, and because the sound echoed around the receiving hall, it was not long before the sleepy door-ward lifted the cover on the spyhole and spoke.
“What is your business? It’s long past curfew. This house is asleep.”
“Open the door.”
Alone in the street outside, the tall cloaked man pushed back his hood. The door-ward’s fingers were suddenly thumbs; he rushed to obey the muttered order but it took minutes, not seconds, to unlatch, unbolt, and unbar. The sounds were explosions in the darkened building. The door-ward could not speak from fear, instead he made a gobbling sound as he stumbled the door open, hanging on as if it were the only thing keeping him upright.
“Close it, man. Quietly.” The tone was patient; the stranger was used to the effect he had at close quarters. But in what light there was in the receiving hall—not much, just flickers from the banked embers in the fireplace—Edward Plantagenet was an impressive sight, something he didn’t always fully grasp. The door-ward was a short man: strong, well muscled, but undeniably short. To the dazzled servant the king seemed to soar up and away over his head like a dark angel come to visit. Night, and shock, did strange things to a person’s sight.
“Your master?” The king understood, finally, what the man was trying to say. “You will get your master?”
The door-ward nodded and finally found the words. “Yes, sire, I will fetch my master.” He managed a shambling bow as he ran toward the stairs that led to the upper part of the house. Only later did he recall he’d turned his back on his king. He didn’t sleep for days afterward when the shame of that hit home.
“What?” Mathew Cuttifer was exasperated. Someone was shaking him, making him return from a deep dream and a place where he was free from pain. No more sore knees, no more aching hands and… “What do you want!”
He awoke, truly furious. Lady Margaret, his wife, his dear wife, was shocked. Sir Mathew was a temperate man, not given to sulks or displays of temper.
“Mathew, we must wake. And dress.”
Mathew’s fury was doused by befuddlement. “Dress? Why dress? It’s dark.”
But his wife was already nimbly hopping out of their bed, naked as a babe, and skipping over to the pegs on the wall where her day kirtle hung. He must have misheard her reply. Surely he had?
“The king? Did you say the king?”
Some deep instinct got Mathew’s legs going before his brain, and suddenly he, too, was out of the bed, also naked, and absurd without his clothes. Thin legs, a hard little paunch, and soft arms—bookman’s arms, not tanner’s arms, as his family inheritance had been.
“Yes, Mathew. The king is downstairs, asking to see you. Walter has just informed me. We must think, carefully and quickly, of what we shall say to him.”
Mathew’s heart leaped like a lamb in his chest. The messenger from the palace—they’d sent him away with lies earlier today.
Walter, the door-ward, was dithering from foot to foot outside the door. His heart, too, was racing but for different reasons. In just one night, he’d opened the door to the king, and then run into his master’s chamber unannounced and unasked and awakened him. Where would this all end? Right now, he just wanted to be told what to do. He couldn’t see himself going downstairs to chat blithely with the king all by himself. No, best to wait here, wait for his master.
“Walter? What are you doing here? Why aren’t you downstairs with the king? Hurry, man!”
Half dressed, pulling on hose and trying to tie them off to the points of a half-donned jacket, Mathew Cuttifer was wild-eyed and looking for someone to blame. That was the logic of fear.
Lady Margaret, her kirtle decently laced—somehow—and a plain kerchief covering her night-plaited hair, was vainly trying to persuade her husband to stand still so she could help him dress.
“Mathew! Stop! Stand still. We will get through this. He’s here by himself—that tells us much. Now let me help you or the king will see you half naked. Is that what you want?”
Sir Mathew was suddenly rigid. No, that was, most assuredly, just what he did not want. He called to the door-ward again.
“Go on, man. Downstairs, now! Raise the cook—we must give wine to our guest. And food! And tell the king we’re coming.”
Walter shivered. Speak, uninvited, to the monarch who’d only so recently slaughtered his way to London? There was a comforting thought!
“Go. What are you waiting for? Go!”
Walter saw the look in his master’s eye. He didn’t know the king, but he did know Sir Mathew. In the end, he knew whom he’d rather face. He bowed quickly and hurried away.
“Stop! Torches! Light torches!”
Gulping with the pressure of the extra task, Walter bowed again and scurried from the bed chamber to the receiving hall in the span of two breaths. Was it a dream, was he flying? How could he have got down those stairs so fast?
But, there, suddenly, he was, bobbing bows in front of the king again, hopeful that this fearsome giant would not take it into his head to split him as he had countless others, including the old king, the one who’d been in the Tower. They said he’d died from sheer displeasure only yesterday. Walter didn’t believe that. Not one bit.
In the door-ward’s absence Edward Plantagenet had, with his own hands, fed the banked embers in the great hall fireplace so that a bright glow now flickered across the vast space. “My master and Lady Margaret are—”
“Here, Walter. Go now and do as Sir Mathew asked. Hot wine is needed, and refreshment for our sovereign.” Lady Margaret, her hand lightly on her husband’s arm, had a clear voice that carried, and the tone on this occasion was quite clear.
Pull yourself together, Walter. Think about one thing at a time. Go! Giddily relieved to relinquish the task of entertaining the king to those who were more used to it, Walter cantered to the kitchen, casting one startled glance at the feet of his mistress as he went. No, he wasn’t hallucinating. They were naked. And she didn’t know it. Should he tell her? No! Raise the cook, get the wine heated…
“A good man, but I
suspect Your Majesty made him nervous.” Sir Mathew Cuttifer, mercer, had been an intimate at the courts of two kings in his lifetime, and this king, the man now standing so unexpectedly in his own hall, had knighted him personally. They had known each other for a long, long time but Anne de Bohun had caused a falling out between them that had never been completely mended. And now, only today, Sir Mathew had denied to one of the king’s messengers that he knew where she was. Would he, could he, lie to the king if Edward asked the question himself?
Edward smiled at his wary host and his lady. He did not believe, for one moment, that Mathew Cuttifer was ignorant of Anne’s whereabouts, however he honored that faithfulness to a friend—he’d needed more of the same in the past, and not had enough. These people were important to the woman he loved and it was time to reknit old bonds between them; if only for Anne’s sake.
“I must thank you for your many kindnesses in the past, Sir Mathew; and you, Lady Margaret.”
Margaret hardly dared to breathe. It had come, then, at last. Reconciliation. This was a good omen.
“And I came here tonight since I might not have another opportunity for some time…” Edward coughed, using the moment to think of the right words, “…as all our lives have changed so suddenly, and there is so much to do.”
During this little speech, Sir Mathew had guided the king to a noble cathedra standing to one side of the fireplace. There was another, a matching chair, but he would not sit unless instructed to. Meanwhile, Lady Margaret, to her horror, had realized why her feet were so cold. “Yes, so many tasks to bring the country back to a reasonable state. I mean to do that as speedily as possible. And I will need trade to flourish if we are to accomplish all that must be done.”
Sir Mathew nodded. The king smiled at him encouragingly. An opinion was clearly called for. Sir Mathew cleared his throat, constricted by fear. “Your Majesty is entirely right. Now that you have returned to your throne”—he bowed deeply; Edward nodded graciously—“to the great comfort and delight of all your people, it is needful that we all work together, commons, lords, all of us, to bring this country back to rights. The house of Cuttifer will play its part, Lord King. In whatever way, on whatever terms, that you shall instruct!” Mathew finished with a flourish, his voice a noble clarion in the great empty room.
Lady Margaret smiled discreetly at her husband. That was well done, my dear. Now, if the wine would just be brought, we might avoid talking about…
“Lady Margaret, will you not sit?” The king gestured to the other cathedra and, with great grace, because there was no other choice, Margaret curtsied with a serene expression on her face and sat. The king did not allow Margaret to see that he had glimpsed her naked feet when assisting her to her place. But her husband had observed those slender toes and the mad desire to laugh nearly choked him. What was going on? Surely the king hadn’t visited them to talk about trade reform in the middle of the night?
“You may wonder, Sir Mathew, and you, Lady Margaret, why I have chosen to visit you tonight.”
Somehow the knight and his lady preserved expressions of polite indifference, as if that question had been the last thing they’d thought of.
“I believe you told Lord Hastings that you have no current knowledge of Lady Anne de Bohun?”
For one mad moment Mathew thought of lying, but that was where it had all begun before with the king; lying about Anne had nearly destroyed his English trade and his family. What to say now? His wife saved him.
“Lady Anne left this house in February, Your Majesty. Earlier today, when the messenger came, we were concerned to say as little as possible since that is our ward’s wish. Her one desire now is to live a life of quiet retirement.”
The king smiled. “Ah, Lady Margaret, you are a good friend to the Lady Anne, and therefore you are my friend also. I wish to invite Lady Anne and her nephew to the court that the queen and I shall shortly hold. Perhaps you can assist me? Lady Anne must know of this invitation, and that it is my intention that her exile be revoked. Formally. She has been my friend through countless trials and it is our wish to reward her for her faithful service to our person.” He smiled radiantly. Lady Margaret smiled also but her face had lost all feeling, though the mask of courtesy remained in place. She dared not glance toward her husband, though she heard him gasp and then cough to cover the sound.
“An invitation to court? How kind Your Majesty is. And the exile. Most generous.” The blood hummed in Margaret’s ears, so loud she could hardly hear the words that came out of her mouth. Some part of her brain was engaged, at least, and intent on saving the house of Cuttifer from disaster once more. How could they possibly persuade Anne to obey the king in this? And what would be the consequences if she refused his invitation?
Sir Mathew, knowing his wife so well, picked up the thread. “But of course, sire, we would be most pleased to find a way for your, um, invitation to be conveyed to the Lady Anne.” Invitation, in this context, was the polite disguise that summons wore.
The king bowed in acknowledgment and the Cuttifers held their breath. Would he ask them where Anne actually was? But Edward did not press the point; above all now, he wanted to build Anne’s trust in him. He believed the Cuttifers; they would pass on his message, he was certain of it.
This was a night of shocks and surprises for, as the king nodded pleasantly to acknowledge the service they would render, he extracted a small roll of parchment from inside his jerkin. It was sealed with his own personal badge, the sun rayed in splendor. He held it out to Sir Mathew, who went down upon one knee to receive it, as he had when the king had knighted him.
“I thank you, sir knight. And you, lady. Please see that Lady Anne de Bohun receives this as soon as you can arrange for it to be delivered.” His business over, the king rose and wrapped himself once more in his cloak. At that moment Walter returned, leading a stream of wide-eyed servants from the kitchen. Between them they carried enough food and wine—gently steaming in great jugs—to refresh twenty or thirty hungry men. The party made a creditable sight. Somehow each was properly and cleanly dressed in the Cuttifer livery, and the food smelled delicious.
The king smiled charmingly at his hostess and had the grace to look embarrassed. “Alas, I fear I have detained you all from your beds for far too long. However, since this well-ordered house has been put to so much trouble”—the king strode over to the servants—“this is for your pain.” Quickly, he dipped long fingers into the pocket at his belt and extracted a gold coin for each man and woman who’d come to wait upon him. The gesture caused a little confusion as, one by one, each of the servers attempted to receive the gift while juggling substantial platters laden with delicate viands piled high and hot. But it was soon done and Sir Mathew waved the food and the servants back to the kitchen. They’d all enjoy an early and unexpectedly splendid break-fast today.
The king smiled as he turned back to the merchant and his wife. “You have been most generous, Sir Mathew, and you, Lady Margaret. I am grateful for your help and for your great loyalty to Lady Anne. She and I will not forget. Now, it is more than time for sleep. For all of us.” In the light from the fire, deep exhaustion was written on the king’s face. He’d come tonight to accomplish something that was very important to him, and it had cost him great effort to ask for this favor.
Lady Margaret felt real pity for this man. He’d returned as a victor to London, that was certain, but he’d done it sailing in on a moontide of blood. And he would never, ever rest easy again as long as he lived. “Sire, may we arrange an escort for you back to the palace?”
Edward Plantagenet shook his head. “This is my city and my home. It holds no fears for me, lady.” One final smile to Margaret Cuttifer and the king was gone.
There was a moment’s stricken silence after Walter had bolted, locked, and barred the house once more. Husband and wife looked at each other searchingly. “Well, wife, what do we do now?”
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
Now all had changed, chang
ed again. Because of the letter. His letter; the parchment placed in her hands today by Mathew Cuttifer’s messenger.
How the world had tipped and spun as she’d fingered the wax seal with its familiar device. But she had not opened it. Perhaps she would not ever open it.
Anne stood still, made herself as dense and strong as a stone pillar; as unassailable. She composed herself, half grateful that the contest had arrived. The contest between the past and the future.
She was in her favorite place in all the world—the castellated walk of her house from which she could see the valley below and, if she looked hard enough on a clear day, the sea in the deep and changing distance. Soon it would be suppertime and her son must be fed. Anne walked toward the door that opened onto the stairs leading down to the other floors of the Hall. But then the wind stirred and lifted her unbound hair until it streamed out around her head, around her shoulders. And she heard the voice.
Anne. Anne.
The Sword Mother stood between her and the door. In the evening light her mole-dark cloak made her part of the shadows in this windy place. Anne’s eyes locked with those of the cloaked woman and the wind died away. Utterly.
And then the cloaked figure moved, one graceful step, and the way to the stairs was clear.
There was only a moment and a low whistle, such as a bird might make, and then the shadows swallowed the woman whole and she was gone as if she had never been.
Anne blinked as if sun-blinded. But there was no sun. Night had eaten up the day.
Anne’s bed was in a room on the third level of the Hall. It was not quite a solar, it was too large for that and had doors opening from three of its four walls. Yet it made a tolerable bed chamber with a high view of the countryside. The two women sat huddled behind the red curtains, talking quietly as the rest of the household slept. Lying on the counterpane was the king’s letter.
The Uncrowned Queen Page 34