Other scavengers alighted near the feasting bird. Crouched upon the bloody head, the raven screamed in warning, in possession. Its sharp beak scraped against bone and delved into grisly eyeholes. The bitter, cold wind brought down to Kate the smell of decaying flesh, fecund on this graveyard wall.
Kate swallowed down bile, tasting vomit in her mouth. Wherever Kate looked, right or left, black, empty eye sockets stared back at her. Eye sockets of the dead.
Kate shut her eyes briefly and prayed: God in Heaven, forgive them the sins that brought them here. Keep safe their souls.
She looked up again at the cast-off shells of these poor souls while, at the same time, the living eyes of the ravens glinted down to her with coldness, aggression, arrogance. Robins, doves and pigeons flocked beside the meat-eating birds. Their coos and chirps punctuated the harsh, punctuating caws of the ravens. But that didn’t blunt the nightmare.
She tugged at the reins of Rachel, her mother’s elderly palfrey, kneeing the horse’s sides until she quickened into a trot. The entire journey from home, even when they broke for the night at Barking Abbey, Kate ensured she stayed a clear and careful distance away from her stepfather. Now her failing courage edged her closer to him. Reins held tight in leather-gloved hands, she steered Rachel beside his black stallion. Her stepfather grinned. “Keeping me company now, are you, lass?”
“I want to see Harry,” Kate blustered and looked away from him. More mighty wings thrashed above her head, drawing her eyes back again to the ravens. Beside her, Kate’s stepfather laughed grimly. “Aye, come to London and be greeted by the welcome of death. I hated it as a lad, and I hate it as much now.”
Kate jerked around in her surprise. Resisting her stepfather’s attempts at friendliness, his attempts to be her father, she had never heard him speak of his boyhood. And Kate had never cared or wanted to ask him. He cocked his head and smiled at her. “Do not be afraid. The dead cannot harm us—only the living.”
Kate lifted her chin, tightened her mouth and stared ahead. Why does he continue to smile and speak so gently to me? She desired none of his friendship. Very soon, Kate would have no more need of him. Once he brought her to the court, she would bid him farewell and thank God for it. She hoped the farewell would be for good.
Beginning the journey over the bridge, Kate bent to soothe nervous Rachel, her thighs feeling the quiver of the horse’s muscles. The horse snorted and neighed, her walk a jittery dance that tried to shy away from the press of women, men and children. Most of them made their way across the bridge by foot, but a few also rode like her and her stepfather.
With Rachel at last reassured and no longer threatening to balk at the crossing, London again captured Kate’s attention. Over two years ago, she had come with her grandmother to London from Rochford inland by water for her aunt’s summertime coronation. During the two weeks she stayed with her kin, she continued to travel by water in the Boleyn’s stately barge, going up and down the river with her grandparents, from one destination to another.
This time her mother took it in mind to show that she, too, had the Boleyn pride, insisting that Kate journey to London through the only means that she and Stafford could afford: riding the horses they owned.
Now the city of London seemed to reveal itself to her for the first time. Their way to London Bridge had taken them through streets both wide and narrow, the narrower streets outnumbering the wide.
Travelling down the narrow streets, Kate had looked up to houses that jutted out and cast them into dark shadow and made the streets seem narrower still. Their occupants yelled to one another from their homes, tossing slops and the contents of their privy pots upon people rushing by.
Heady smells overcame and confused her senses, one moment vile, making her grab the pomander hanging on her girdle and bring it to her nose, the next appetising. The cries and songs of men and women selling their wares. So many people, young, old, rich, poor.
Kate’s eyes darted everywhere as she rode across the bridge to the other side, passing under arched gateway after arched gateway. Tall shops of all descriptions mingled with four-storey houses that declared the wealth and status of those who lived within, preventing sight of the river. The outdoor, open privies occupied by poor men and women alike. Startled into staring, Kate’s cheeks heated even more when a man caught her watching. Wiggling his bare backside in her direction, he gestured rudely, yelling, “Want to look, m’lady? Perchance you’d like to eye m’other side while you’re at it?”
Her embarrassment was complete when her stepfather gazed over his shoulder and laughed at her.
The way at last open before her, Kate dug her heels into Rachel’s sides, quickening her to a canter. I must be close to reaching Greenwich Palace and the end of my journey. So close to reaching an aunt who never laughed at her, or treated her like a foolish child.
Handed over to one servant and then another, Kate was brought with her clothes coffer to a chamber deep within the palace confines and handed over one more time to a young, pretty maid-servant.
When she heard Kate’s name, the girl bobbed a curtsey. “Lady Margaret told me to expect you.” She hung Kate’s cloak on a wall hook over the place where they had put her coffer with two other coffers, and then came back. “I’m Alice, m’lady. I look after my Lady Margaret and her sister Mary. Expect now I look after you, too.” Alice studied her. “First things first, if I do say, m’lady. How about you sit by the fire and take off that gown. I’ll round up those squanderers outside to get the tub and hot water for you to have a proper wash before you go and greet the Queen.”
Kate stared and the maidservant burst out laughing. “Well-a-day, m’lady, you do look like you’ve been journeying. The Queen, well, she’s a good nose and likes us to keep our bodies clean, no matter our station. She is fastidious about that—more so than even the King. Don’t you worry—I’ll send one of the lads to let her know you’re getting ready to see her.”
Kate blushed and looked down at her dirty nails and grimy hands. Two full days of travel had left their mark on her. Obediently, she sat down a stool and began to pull at the cords of her bodice.
“That’s right, m’lady. You do that while I go and get the lads organised to bring us the tub and good, hot water. Nothing better I say than a bath after a journey on horseback—you’ll be back the pretty maid you are in no time.”
Kate spent the next two hours washing and getting ready to meet her aunt. She luxuriated for a long time in a tub filled with water so warm it loosened her limbs and made her feel sleepy. Alice washed and combed her hair before helping her out of the tub and into a clean, fire-warmed shift. All the while, Alice chatted. She told Kate she was a daughter of a yeoman, a farmer who had fallen on hard times. For the last three years, the crops had failed. Alice had gone into service because there were too many at home; too many for the family to feed and care for.
“I’m not complaining, mind you,” Alice said as she plaited Kate’s hair. “There’s famine everywhere—and we’ve still got a roof over our heads, while our neighbours were driven out of their homes like animals. At least my good father was able to place me here because he has served a lord or two in his day.” Alice went over Kate’s clothes chest and rampaged through its contents. Selecting the pieces that made up Kate’s best court gown, she sang softly:
In every part
Dame Nature’s art
Gives her the start:
With all my heart
I wish she could rule her tongue
Alice stilled into sudden silence and turned back to Kate, her eyes full of worry. “M’lady—I’m not one of those to blame all misfortune on Queen Anne.”
“What do you mean?” Kate asked, taken aback.
“I am not like the others—I do not take it in mind that these bad times are brought about because of the King’s marriage to your aunt. On my honour, I revere the Queen, as do many here who serve her. 'Tis the ignorant, who know no better, who say the dire things.”
; Kate blinked in her confusion. “What do the ignorant say of my aunt?
Alice, now lacing Kate’s bodice, gazed up at her in alarm. “M’lady—I would rather repeat none of it.” Alice bit her bottom lip. “And 'tis not my place to say, but I think you should know hard times are not simply for those of my station.”
Kate tugged the cord of her skirt. Her tiredness opened up to anger. “If these hard times you speak of concern my aunt, pray spit it out and tell me all.”
Seemingly not hearing her, Alice went over to Kate’s clothes coffer and began to bring out her possessions. She turned with a tied bundle of white cloths in her hand. Kate blushed, and looked down at her feet.
“When it comes to your time, my Lady, do not be shy and think you cannot tell me. I’ll find you a box for you to use for your bloodied rags, and then you just let me know when you need me take them down to the laundry maids for washing.”
Alice returned to unpacking Kate’s coffer, at last bringing out a small box. Opening it up, she took out a black gable-hood. While the headgear was plain and unadorned, it was clearly made with costly materials and once graced Kate’s mother at court.
Her eyes resting on the gable, Kate fidgeted. Alice’s avoidance of her question, and even the way she unpacked Kate’s coffer, seemed a reminder that the servant held the upper hand within these walls, and anger was no way to win her acceptance. She swallowed. “Pray, Alice, could I not know of these matters that concern my aunt?”
Turning the gable-hood around and around in her hands, Alice bent her head. “You desire to know what the ignorant say, m’lady? They say that your aunt’s marriage has displeased God and thus she is blessed with no son. They say it is her fault that famine curses the land, and blame her for all the blood that has flowed these past years. Aye—even when King Harry sent the good monks to their death last year, it was the Queen, your aunt, that people, low born and high born, spoke of with scorn and hate.” Alice looked up. “But that is not what I say, m’lady. I’ve been at court for over one year now and have seen the Queen for what she is—a good, brave woman.” She smiled, brought over the gable and carefully placed it on Kate’s head. “Aye, the Queen has a temper that is wisest to stay clear of—but when she smiles it is like sunshine.”
Alice stood back, and Kate squirmed under her close inspection.
“If I do say so myself, I think the Queen will be pleased with ye—a proper court lady, you are now.” At a knock on the door, Alice rushed over and opened it. She spoke to someone and turned back to Kate. “Just in time, too. One of the Queen’s grooms is here to escort you. Now—the other thing the Queen dislikes is waiting. You best be going.”
All the way to her aunt’s chamber Kate felt more and more a country lass, wide-eyed and astonished at what she saw. Along the long length of the galley Kate walked by groups of young men and women. Some danced together while one of their fellows played a lute, others sat on benches teaching one another to play their instruments, or just singing together. There was even a woman dwarf, dressed in unusual garb, juggling apples for a small audience of children. Music accompanied Kate all the way to the royal apartments as cold draughts escaped through cracks in the gallery’s ill-fitting windows. Their uneven, dull glass could not hide the grey and weary yet rainless winter’s day. Far below, the wind churned the Thames into frenzy, the froth of its water spilling over the steps to the river and the moorings of the royal barge.
Despite her thick clothes, Kate shivered, cursing herself for forgetting her mantle. Like her mother and aunt, she detested winter. Its slow, harsh, dark weeks, turning into slow, harsh, dark months, trapped her within walls and forbade her the outside world. She sighed, yearning for winter’s end, yearning for spring. Yearning for winter’s end? Yearning for spring? Her mother told her that everyone yearned for something; it was a song sung by all until death. She thought for a moment about her still unpacked journal. Might she try and write that first poem when she returned to her chamber?
At last, Kate’s journey brought her to a place she remembered from her last visit to court—when her grandmother had brought her to witness Aunt Nan’s coronation. Lifting her heavy skirts, she gave an excited skip—very soon she would reach her destination and see her aunt again.
Kate turned into the final corridor. Startled that the door was open to her aunt’s chamber, she came to a sudden halt and almost stumbled before remembering to walk forward again. During her past visits to her aunt, Aunt Nan’s doors were not only always guarded but also closed. Now stock-still guards gave no inclination that they could hear what went on behind them. Why this strange lack of privacy for the Queen? Kate asked herself, bewildered. It was like Aunt Nan invited all to observe her chambers.
Halfway within, encircled within a diaphanous haze of winter light, Aunt Nan sat and sewed by a tall window. Lounging by his sister’s side, leaning his shoulder against the wall, Uncle George read out aloud from a thin, leather-bound book. A beam of light gilded his fair hair gold and turned his blue eyes into iridescent gems. He recited in a strong, melodic voice:
All things obey their ancient law
And all perform their proper tasks;
All things thou holdest in strict bounds,
To human acts alone denied
Thy fit control as Lord of all.
Why else does slippery Fortune change
So much, and punishment more fit
For crimes oppress the innocent?
Corrupted men sit throned on high…
Kate looked from behind the stocky groom. She caught sight of her aunt’s hands, ever busy, as Kate had seen in times past, with embroidery hoop and thread. A length of material tumbled over her lap; its silken sheen shimmered against her black skirt. Head bent over her work, her aunt sewed quickly and with great skill. Curled up in a honeysuckle wicker basket at her feet lay a tiny white terrier, fast asleep.
With a low bow, the groom announced Kate as she entered the large chamber. He bowed again and backed out of the room. Kate gazed around the large chamber, taking in the stained-glass windows and the beautiful tapestries suspended on the long length of wall before and behind her, and their shimmer of gold, silver and silk threads.
Dropping into a deep curtsey, she rose to the welcoming smiles of her aunt and uncle. Uncle George was first to move. He put down his book, strode over and lifted her in his arms. Swinging her a little, side to side, he chuckled and bestowed a kiss. Kate giggled, rubbing her face from the tickle of his beard. “Dear girl. How dare you grow,” Uncle George said, putting her down. He gripped her shoulders and studied her closely. “You make me feel old. A year ago you were a child, now look at you—you’re a young woman.”
Kate blushed and gazed at the floor. Woman? My uncle called me a woman! A shadow fell over her and she gazed up to the warmth of her aunt’s smile. She blinked. Silver light outlined Aunt Nan’s head and shoulders in a nimbus. Kate curtseyed again.
“Sweet niece.” Aunt Nan laughed a little. “Your uncle is right. The child is gone and the pretty maid stands before us.” Like her uncle but more closely, Aunt Nan considered her. “More and more, you remind me of your mother; aye, two peas in a pod.” She pealed with laughter and said, “Well, not quite.” She gestured to her small breasts. “My sister at your age drew a man’s gaze. I see you’re yet like me.”
Kate blushed and circumspectly considered the toe of her green slipper peeking out from under her gown. Her mother told her once she flowered her breasts would come. Her flowers had started four months ago, but still Kate’s chest remained as flat as a boy’s.
Uncle George laughed. “Mary drew men’s thoughts, but, unlike you, rarely to marriage.”
Her thin brows brought together, Aunt Nan scowled at her brother. “Pray, George, speak not of our sister in such a fashion. She’s Kate’s mother, after all.”
Kate shifted her feet and gazed uncertainly at her uncle and aunt. Aunt Nan smiled and took her hand, changing the subject. “Where have you been placed? I told
my chamberlain to find you a room not far from my own.”
Kate looked over her shoulder. The bold colours of the tapestries stilled time, and she was back in these same chambers over two years ago, the only time she remembered speaking privately with Aunt Nan during the days leading up to her coronation.
That bright afternoon, her grandmother had brought Kate to her aunt while she rested before the evening’s banquet. With great delight, Aunt Nan had showed her a gift she had received from the King, a book from his own library. “City of Ladies?” Wasn’t that what her Aunt called the book? Aunt Nan told her the illuminated manuscript was about a city of peace, built for women and by women out of books—the stones of learning. Carefully and slowly, she had turned the thick pages so Kate could see the exquisite depictions of women dressed in garb of one hundred or more years ago.
Her hand on the swell of her belly, Aunt Nan lingered over the illustration of the Virgin Mary. Crowned, she held proudly her son, leading the way for all the other women, entering the city to claim it for her own.
And what of the illustration of the woman who had written “City of Ladies,” the one of her presenting her book to a queen in her chamber, where a strong gathering of her women attendants watched and talked? The same scene played out in her aunt’s chambers on that sunlit day. Now these two images and four others took on another life, woven into huge panels of tapestry to adorn the walls.
“Kate?” Aunt Nan stirred impatiently, her grip tightening on her hand. “I asked, is your room close by?” Kate blinked away her memories and thought again about the distance from her aunt’s chambers to the room allotted to her on arrival. It seemed to take forever to reach her aunt’s rooms; it seemed forever since her stepfather had handed her over to another’s care. Kate gnawed her bottom lip. “Everything is yet so new to me I cannot tell. I’m with Madge and Mary. I haven’t seen them yet, only their maidservant.”
Aunt Nan released Kate’s hand. A look of meaning passed between her uncle and aunt. “You’ll see Madge soon enough, but Mary’s none too well and has gone home to be with her family for a time. No matter—you’ll meet many more cousins. With all the young women at court, you won’t lack for company—or kin. If I hadn’t expected your arrival this morning, many of them would have filled this chamber with their idle chatter. Even your cousin Mary, our little Duchess, is here.” Aunt Nan turned back to her brother. “She waits, like me, for her husband to return from hunting. For three days we have waited.” She shrugged. “Your grandfather is hunting with the King, too. Still—their absence allows me more time for you, and gives you chance to draw your breath.”
The Light in the Labyrinth Page 3