“We like freedom, Edward. That is most precious to us all. Frogs and people alike.”
Leif Molnar was looking at William Hastings as he spoke. Edward was on his tummy on the floor, earnestly inspecting the frog at close quarters. The chamberlain stooped down and held out his hand. After a moment, the frog hopped onto his palm. A strange thing to see. Edward sat up and held out his hand. “No! He’s mine!”
“It is a big and dangerous world, Edward. Some handle freedom better than others. This frog, for instance…”
Edward was on tiptoe, holding up his hands. “Give him to me. Give him to me!”
Deborah was shocked. “Edward!”
The little boy took no notice. “Please, sir. I found him. He’s mine!” His bottom lip was trembling and William Hastings smiled compassionately at the child.
“You may have him back but”—Edward raised a tear-stained face—“there is a price you must pay for him. Where is your aunt?”
The little boy smiled happily. “Oh, that’s easy. She’s at Sir Mathew’s house. Can I have my frog back now?”
It was late in the day as Edward Plantagenet held the small parchment scroll in his hands. He touched the seal with gentle fingers. It was one he had granted personally—three Angevin leopards surmounting two drops of blood. Anne’s seal.
“Your Majesty, may I pour you another—”
“Go!” The king’s glance at the pot-boy was unthinkingly severe. So much so, the child almost dropped the ale flask as he scrambled to back away.
A moment before, the king had been serene. He’d been strolling back from the great mews of the palace after inspecting his hunting birds with a party of friends. It was a late and balmy afternoon; even the midges had cleared in the gentle breeze as the sun declined to the west. There’d been happy laughter, even jokes, from the court party as the king stopped to take the horn of ale.
But then the messenger had arrived with the little scroll. Now the courtiers stood silently, frozen by indecision. Should they follow the boy? The king looked up for a moment as he tore the scroll open. “Yes! All of you. Leave.” He turned his back as he waved them away.
There was quiet debate among the men as they trailed off in twos and threes. Was the king angry, or sad? Or…?
“The French, do you think? Louis back in the game with some deep play?” Wise heads nodded.
“He looked shocked. Bad news?”
There was a sudden whoop of laughter behind them and one or two dared to look back. The king’s face was joyous and he threw his velvet hat high into the air as he hurried away, not caring where it fell. Courtiers turned to one another astonished, and one bent down to pick up the king’s headgear from where it had fallen into a pile of horse droppings.
“Should we go…?”
“…with him? No. He hasn’t asked us.”
The man holding the king’s hat shook it hard to dislodge the stable’s donation to high fashion. The padded velvet would need to be dried and carefully brushed. Perhaps the brown stain left on its rolled rim would be close enough to the natural red not to be noticed when dry. He held it to the light.
His friend shook his head. “Too late.”
For the hat? Or to catch the king?
“Where do you think he’s going in such a hurry?”
His friend shrugged. “Somewhere he doesn’t want us.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE
She was sitting in Lady Margaret’s solar, embroidering all alone, when she heard a distant commotion. Voices, men’s voices, one in particular suddenly raised and then shouting. The thick walls muffled the sound. Moments later, a rapid tapping at the door gave way to the luckless Walter’s flushed face.
“Lady, I can’t find my master or my mistress, but the king…”
Anne stood as the blood rushed to her heart, leaving her breathless and dizzy. Poor Walter; he stepped forward and held out his hand, deeply concerned the lady would faint. She was milk-pale.
“I’m sorry, mistress, I mean, Lady Anne, but the… he told me to fetch you.”
Anne put her embroidery frame down so carefully it might have been a holy relic.
“Go!” Walter slewed around at the sound of the man’s voice behind him and gasped. Edward Plantagenet was through the solar door in one long stride. He’d closed the door and bolted it before Anne had time to draw another breath.
The man and the woman gazed at each other, barely registering the sound of Walter’s feet as he hurried away.
“Well, lady?”
Anne said nothing. Edward Plantagenet crossed the small space between them. His voice shook. “Half a year. A lifetime.” He stood within touching distance but still she was silent, though her throat worked.
“Have you nothing to say to me?” His tone was agonized, pleading.
A shiver ran from the crown of Anne de Bohun’s head down her spine and lodged behind her knees. She held out one hand, one finger, and traced the side of his face, haltingly. Deborah was right. She did not have the strength.
Edward closed his eyes. He tingled where she’d touched him.
“Six months. A lifetime indeed.” Anne dropped her hand and, when the king opened his eyes, drops of water glimmered on her cheeks. He caught one of her tears and touched it to his lips.
“No more of this.”
He opened his arms and she stepped into them. She sighed as she rested there, the base of his throat near enough to kiss. His smell was unlike any other. Behind the scent of orris root and sandal-wood there was the skin of a man; warm, musky, alive. She knew that skin.
“Come away with me.” He raised her chin with his free hand and cupped it. Bending down, his mouth was on hers; her own half opened beneath his. “Yes…” He breathed the word into her. “Say yes, Anne.”
He was holding her against his body, one arm supporting, the other arm wrapping her tighter and tighter. Boneless, she felt as if the scaffolding of her body was gone, dissolved.
Suddenly, she saw her son: smiling, playing in the orchard of Herrard Great Hall. Behind him, running after him, laughing, was Leif.
“Wait! Let me think.” She struggled and he let her go; she stood with her back to him, hands to her face.
“Let me make amends, my darling. Help me to help us both.” He hadn’t expected to sound like a small child begging for his heart’s desire.
Anne’s hands dropped to her sides and she turned to face him. “Very well. Give me peace. I want nothing from you except freedom. Let me live in my own country, unmolested, with my son. No more prying eyes, no more questions. From anyone.”
Her voice was low; her tone carefully neutral. What was she feeling? Edward could not tell but he held out his hand to her, beseeching. “That you shall have. I will give you an honorable life and perfect peace.” He was one step closer to her, and now another. “But I have a gift for you, Anne. It’s a secret, yours and mine. Just for us. Let me show it to you? You will understand when you see it, I promise.”
Anne de Bohun knew Edward Plantagenet and she could hear the truth, see it in his eyes. Would she take what was offered?
“This time you must trust me, Anne. God has given us one more chance.” Edward leaned forward and caught Anne’s hands in both of his. “Come with me, my darling, or you will wonder all your life.” Slowly, never taking his eyes off hers, accepting her silence for an answer, Edward drew Anne toward the solar door. Her skirts trailed behind her, whispering, over the flagged floor.
He lifted the latch and folded her arm through his, holding her firmly to his side. And then he looked down into her face.
“You are the great love of my life, Anne. We can have the future. If you want it.” Edward pushed the door open. Together, he and the silent girl stepped through.
Unexpectedly, in this dark house, light dazzled them both. A great lantern had been set on a stand to brighten the gloomy passage outside as night fell. The king caught a glimpse of Anne’s face as they passed into the light. She was terrified, and joyous.
Unobserved, Margaret Cuttifer watched them go, standing with her husband in the gallery that looked down into the receiving hall. Every servant in the house had been banished to the kitchen so that the king might leave when he chose to. Alone, or accompanied.
“Did we do right to send her letter to the palace?” Anxiety bled from Mathew’s words.
Margaret was helpless, just as he was. “She asked us to send it. How could we refuse?”
Below them, the great door of Blessing House opened and then closed. Anne and the king were gone.
Mathew sighed and did an unusual thing. Normally the most reserved of men, he drew his wife toward him and kissed her full on the mouth. “I am grateful for you. Grateful that you are my wife. May the king and Anne find the happiness I have experienced with you.”
Margaret Cuttifer tenderly kissed her husband in return. “And I with you, husband. I with you.”
They both heard the hooves of an iron-shod horse on the cobbles outside Blessing House; heard the animal canter away.
“Lady Mary bless and keep them safe from harm; as God’s mother has preserved us in our marriage, wife.”
Margaret leaned against her husband’s shoulder, somber eyes on the great, closed door below.
“Amen to that, husband. Amen to that.”
Twilight splashed rose and silver into the western sky as the light began to fade. Soon they would close the bridge and chain the streets, but not yet, not yet.
Anne de Bohun clung to Edward’s waist as they rode through the streets of the village of Westminster. She could smell the warm wind as it touched the face of the moving river; she could hear men’s and women’s voices as they passed beneath houses, great and small; she saw people moving in the shadows of their upstairs rooms as lights were lit; but all of this meant nothing, had no meaning. The horse’s hooves struck a rhythm from the cobbles and she was dreaming again, surely. Perhaps, in a moment, the wolf would spring and blood would spill out over the snow.
“What did you say, my darling? Snow?” Edward laughed and her arms, clasped around him, felt the vibration deep in his chest. “Too warm for snow. Unless…”
“Unless what?”
He shortened the reins and urged his horse faster. “Unless William has done his work even better than I expect him to.”
A dog barked suddenly, quite close, and the king’s horse shied. Anne tightened her grip, her body pressed against his back as she tried not to slip off the animal’s rump.
“Nearly there, my darling, never fear. Hold hard.” The king placed one hand over hers, their fingers knotted together on his tight belly. His voice was suddenly husky. “I remember this. Your breasts against my body as we rode.” Anne said nothing; she remembered too. He spoke quietly as the horse settled beneath them. “I did not want that journey to end even though we were cold and hungry; I thought I’d lost everything but you.”
“And I wanted to ride on too, forever.” Anne’s words were so low they were lost in the clatter of hooves as the king reined the animal to a stop. Anne had an impression of iron gates and flambeaux flaring in the dying light.
“Close your eyes. Please? Just to humor me.”
She heard the excitement in his voice. “Very well. I can’t see anything, now. I promise.” With eyes closed, Anne’s other senses were enhanced, particularly hearing and smell. She heard the creak of the king’s leather jerkin as he reached out to bang on the gate, felt the vibration of his voice through her body as he called out, heard the gate open in answer—a metallic, discordant, scraping sound—and felt, too, the vibration of the horse’s hooves as they struck the ground.
They were in a garden now, she was certain of it. She could smell wild woodbine and roses, the clove scent of gillyflowers and the last sweetness of late jasmine; in this warm night, the perfumes had lingered long after the sun had set. And there was no longer a clatter from the horse’s hooves—they were riding on something soft. Turf?
Edward spoke softly. “Unclasp your hands, my darling, but keep your eyes closed. Can you do that?”
“What, and not fall off? Just because I can’t see?” Anne was scornful. Of course she wouldn’t fall!
The king gently disengaged Anne’s hands from around his waist and stood in his stirrups. With some effort he leaned forward over the animal’s neck and managed to dismount from the front. Anne experienced momentary panic; she was slipping sideways!
“Let go—I’ll catch you.” Remove something you take for granted and the world becomes an odd place. Yet Anne did not hesitate—she allowed herself to fall and he was there to catch her. She felt his arms, one under her knees, one around her back just beneath the shoulder blades. And then he had her against his chest, her head tucked into the space where neck meets shoulder.
“I will show you wonders…” She could hear his boots as he strode. Soft at first, on turf, then hard, on stone. A door creaked open and scented air embraced them both. She heard the door close, then he walked over something soft that rustled; the green scent of crushed, new-picked rushes came to her. He stopped. He put her down and one hand dropped to her waist, holding her close to his side.
“Open your eyes, sweet Anne. See what has been prepared for you.”
Anne blinked, adjusting to the low light, and then she gasped.
They were in a perfectly round room and in the center stood a massive table made entirely from gold. It glimmered in a pool of mellow light. And there were candles the height of small children, fixed to sconces fashioned like giant cupped hands at intervals around the walls. On the table were platters and silver bowls of simple foods: white cheeses, good bread, fruit, marchpane comfits, while beside these was a red marble basin in which lay flasks of wine.
“Is that snow cooling the wine? In summer?” Anne was awed.
The king nodded. “Yes. I must remember to congratulate my chamberlain.” He held out his hand to Anne. “Welcome, lady, to the enchanted bower that has been made for you.”
Anne gathered up the skirts of her dress in one hand and walked slowly around the room. Everything she saw, everything she smelled and touched—all was an equal delight, simple, exquisite, harmonious. Instead of arras, curtains of trembling silk graced the walls. Alternate falls of silver, falls of gold, they moved and billowed gently, in the breeze from the garden. There was little furniture aside from the gold table. Several backless stools made from black wood were clustered beneath its top—ebony?—and one great chest stood beside the door they had entered through. Monumental, it was fashioned from bronze and had a joyous frieze of tumbling cupids running around each one of its sides. They would chase each other for all eternity. And everywhere she looked there were flowers: swags of white roses and woodbine and peonies, all woven together with ivy and late jasmine and hung in graceful garlands around the walls, beneath the rafters of the floor above.
Anne felt profoundly humbled. With this room Edward said he knew her better than she knew herself. “This is the most beautiful room that I have ever seen.”
Edward’s joy was transparent. “But see, there is more…”
He strode to the bronze coffer and hauled up the lid with some difficulty; it was massively heavy, even for him. The king reached inside and withdrew something, something that glimmered in his hands. He shook it gently. Lustrous white cloth, fine as mist, slipped through his fingers. With a gasp, Anne saw the entire surface was embroidered with tiny pearls like so many drops of milk.
“I saw you wear a dress like this once, in Brugge. On the second night of my sister’s marriage. Please me by wearing this tonight?”
Anne was dazzled. Silk was one thing, but a dress graced with hundreds and hundreds of pearls? It was a magnificent, a princely gift. “Your Majesty, pearls are the gems that reward a chaste wife.” She tried not to sound sad.
Reverently, the king of Engla
nd carried the dress to his beloved and held it up against her body. He nodded. “You gave me pearls once. And you are chaste, I know that. Except with me.” He was looking into her eyes. “Except with me, my darling.”
He bent and kissed her, and after a moment, the precious dress slid down among the rushes.
Neither of them noticed.
CHAPTER SEVENTY
He had never thought to see this place again with his mortal eyes, but now, if he turned his head, the distant spires of the abbey reached toward the first stars and there, the unwieldy mass of the palace crouched close by. Was it smoke that rose into the still air from those numberless chimneys, or the presence of sin made visible in this wicked place?
The monk shuddered and closed his eyes as he whispered the words of the ancient psalm. “I will lift up mine eyes to the hills from whence cometh my help…”
Help, strength, support. He would need them all if he was to avoid the mire of human transgression that awaited him at the palace and achieve the task he had been given by his brother, Louis—God’s anointed servant. The king had asked him for information about Edward’s court, but Agonistes knew the truth: what Louis really wanted was justice and revenge on the regicide earl of March. As a king, Louis had that right. God gave him the power to smite his enemies.
“Son of a blackamoor’s whore!” A porter, with great heavy baskets of vegetables dangling from the yoke across his shoulders, yelled at the monk who, oblivious, had just cannoned into his back.
The courtier asleep inside the monk awoke and bellowed, “Hold your tongue or it shall be torn out!” The surging, pressing mass of people in earshot paused in surprise. He might be filthy and scrawny in his patched robes, but this monk had the voice of authority. The porter, hearing the threat, tried to hurry past just as, weeping, Agonistes fell to his knees, desperate to atone.
“Ah, brother, brother, forgive me. It is this place… this accursed place that speaks and not I, the least, the most miserable of God’s servants.”
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