The Light in the Labyrinth_BooksGoSocial Historical Fiction

by Wendy J. Dunn

  Why did Catherine tell her all this? She rubbed her aching head. “Did you have to?”

  “Have to?” Catherine’s eyes widened. “I was little more than your age. Harry was heartsore over his mother’s death, and very, very ill. His father married me three weeks after the death of the White Queen. I was grieving for my beloved adopted mother, and for Harry, who was dying day by day.” She gathered herself up, her hand at her throat. “Pray, I have said enough.”

  “But why did you have to marry him?” Kate winced to hear the harsh tone in her voice.

  “Kate, are you listening at all? I had no choice. I had just watched the White Queen die a hard, dreadful death and now watched her son fight for his life, coughing his heart out. The physicians told us he sickened with consumption and gave us no hope he would live. I was alone. The boy I loved too weak to leave his bed. What I wanted meant nought. The Duke was all the security life left to me. At first, the thought of marrying the man I saw as my father…. Kate, I thought I would rather die. I wished for death. I prayed for it, too, but when the day came for my marriage, I found I wanted to live. With Harry dying and so much in my life already changed, it was easier to let the current take me than fight against it. Mayhap I was a piece on the chessboard that required moving into another position, but at least I knew what to expect—well, a goodly part of it, even if the rest of my world was in ruins.”

  Despite herself, Kate felt drawn to the other girl’s story. “How mean you?”

  “I was raised to be Duchess of Suffolk. My Lady Mary, the White Queen, brought me up as a princess, preparing me to take my place as one of the foremost women in the realm. Harry was his father’s only male heir. With him close to death, my husband needed a wife to give him another one—a son likely to live. Who else should he choose to take his wife’s place but one he knew healthy, of childbearing age and already trained to be the Duchess of Suffolk?”

  Kate gazed at her in wonder. Catherine had grown up looking to the Duke as a father and never as a husband. But did she not say she loved her betrothed? Kate could not resist and asked, “And the Lord Harry, the Duke’s son?”

  Catherine wrapped her arms around her body. “Harry?” She said it like a sob. “He was my dearest friend—the boy I rode alongside from the time I learnt to ride. We shared the same schoolmaster. He knew all my secrets, every one of them, big or small. We shared everything—everything except the marriage bed. How I wish it could have been otherwise, but it was not to be.” Her eyes swam with tears. “Pray, I beg you, no more questions. Not about my sweet, sweet Harry.” She clasped Kate’s hand. “But you can see, can’t you, that you are not alone? All of us carry crosses of some kind. We are women, Kate. Whatever power we have is only what men give us. It can be taken from us with a snap of a man’s fingers. Do not blame your mother. What choice had she other than what the King or her father wanted?” Hunched over like one cold, Catherine crossed her arms over her chest, her hands holding on to her shoulders. “Sometimes, we take what we must to live.”

  The next morning, a servant came from Aunt Nan summoning Kate to the Queen’s privy chamber. The servant refused to listen when Kate gave her apology of ill health, expressing her desire to stay the morning abed, and waited until she dressed, before escorting her without further ado to Aunt Nan’s rooms.

  Kate entered with a curtsey, finding not only her aunt seated by the fire, but also her grandfather. With his silver grey hair covered by a flat, black velvet hat, he was garbed in what looked like travelling clothes: black, woollen hose and unadorned black doublet with straight sleeves on the lower arms and only a slight puffing from elbows tapering into shoulders. Costly, well-cut clothes, but far less elaborate than the garb he had worn on the day Kate was presented to the King. A man’s three-quarter cloak slung over a chair next to the chamber door confirmed her suspicions: her grand-father was going on a journey.

  Thomas Boleyn looked at her with stern eyes that seemed to calculate her worth. They were not the eyes of the loving grandfather she knew as a little girl, but the eyes of the man who had chilled her to her marrow on his last visit home. With a glance at her aunt, Kate fell to her knees before him and bent her head.

  “Pray, your blessing, sir,” she said.

  The Earl got up then. Despite his great age of nearly sixty, he was still straight, trim and agile. He rested his hand on her head for a moment, before taking her shoulders to raise her up, kissing her briskly on the cheek. He peered at her closely and nodded.

  “You look well and hearty, Kate. I’m glad to see you at court. 'Twas time your mother stopped her foolishness and let you join your brother.”

  She blushed, uncertain how to reply.

  He pointed to an empty chair by the fire, turned toward his. “Sit down, child. I wish to speak to you before I leave for Hever. I’ll not likely see you for some time, not until I return from the King’s business.”

  Gingerly, Kate sat on the edge of the seat. Her hands clasped in her lap, she regarded her grandfather and strangely subdued aunt. Why is Aunt Nan not looking at me?

  Her grandfather returned to his seat and rested a hand on the arm’s rest. “So, you know now that you are the King’s daughter.”

  Kate swallowed and lowered her head. It wasn’t a question, but still she answered, “Aye, Grandfather.”

  “God’s oath, child.” He clicked his tongue. “No need to take on so. There’s no shame in it. If I had my way, it would be out in the open for all to acknowledge.”

  She jerked back and stared at him.

  He grunted and shifted. “God’s teeth! I but speak the truth, and you sit there with the eyes of a kicked dog. Aye, just like your mother has looked at me, time after time. If she had listened to me, she would have done better for herself than two unclaimed bastards and a purse now left short of coin.” He glanced at Aunt Nan. “Your aunt listened to me, and look where it has led her.”

  Aunt Nan started. She turned a look of sympathy to Kate before hooding her eyes and hiding away her thoughts once more. Not appearing to notice, Kate’s grandfather moved forward in his chair.

  “Now that you are at court, we will find you a match worthy of one who has the King’s blood flowing in her veins.”

  Kate opened her mouth, but no words came out. Aunt Nan rose to her full height from the chair. With unstudied grace and a lift of her chin, she stepped towards her father. “Remember your promise, Father. Kate’s husband is for me to decide. I wish my niece matched well—not only for the family, but for herself.”

  Scowling, he waved a hand. “Pray, do not concern yourself and return to your seat. You must keep quiet, Anne. You bear the King’s child.”

  Aunt Nan met his eyes for a heartbeat, then did as she was bid. “But your promise, Father,” she murmured.

  He shook his head. “I am not so old that I need reminding, daughter—although 'tis in my mind you grow soft, Anne. The girl’s well matched as long as it bodes well for our family. You would be wise to marry her quickly to someone who may strengthen your hand.”

  Kate, feeling ill, turned in panic to her aunt. Now she began to understand more fully what Catherine had tried to say to her.

  With a worried glance, Aunt Nan shook her head imperceptibly. “With respect, Father, I do not believe Kate’s marriage is likely to help my own. And my husband is not a fool. If I put forward a candidate for her hand, one who would support me, he would look at the match with suspicion. He would look at me with suspicion. Methinks it’s wisest to leave Kate off this chessboard.” Aunt Nan sat up straighter. Her hands gripped the armrests, her knuckles white. “Your granddaughter is not fourteen until early next year. I desire my niece has a few months to learn the court ways before we seek a good match for her.”

  “Soft. Aye, you grow soft, my girl,” grandfather Boleyn scoffed, his blue eyes like flint. “I have told you before—to win this game, you must keep your heart hard. You’re the Queen—act it.”

  Aunt Nan bent her head and clasped her hands. �
�If you do not think I act the Queen, then your understanding of queenship is different to mine.” She drummed her fingers on her stomacher. “If we do not learn from the lessons given us by life, then we learn nothing. These last years have been a hard school, but I walk now on the road I must if I’m not to lose my honour.”

  She lifted her chin and straightened her back. Aunt Nan appeared a queen ready to go to war. “For many years, Mary and I willingly allowed you to sacrifice us for the good of the family. I—to my great shame—even allowed you to persuade me to convince Madge to do likewise. But I am the Queen of England, Father. If others wish to take that from me, it will no longer be because I fail to keep in mind what that means—or let others persuade me to disregard it. I will no longer sacrifice Madge, or ask that of Kate. If anyone is to sacrifice, it must be me, and it must be for the good of all, not just for the Boleyns.” She shook her head. “I choose now to no longer sacrifice others on an altar that I vowed to give my blood, my life. I am God’s servant first, Father, and then England’s. I no longer serve you.”

  His eyes furious, the Earl slapped his hand against the armrest and inhaled a deep breath. His jaw tightened. He drew in slow, steady breaths. He eased back in his chair, taking in his daughter’s measure. “I never thought I’d hear from you the echo of Thomas More. What would the King, your husband, say to that, I wonder?”

  Aunt Nan toyed with a ring on her hand, twisting it around her finger. “I told you, the last few years have been a hard school. There have been too many deaths. And too many ghosts who walk around my bed at night when my husband leaves me lonely for his company. I pray much on those nights and reflect on the road that brought me to an empty bed and an aching heart.” Her eyes hardened. “I cannot say if Thomas More deserved his death, but he died with a good heart and conscience.” She shifted in her seat, clasping her hands in her lap again. “I only want that for myself.” For a long moment, she rested back her head and half closed her eyes.

  “When my husband told Katherine of Aragon that he would marry me, no matter what, she spoke of an old proverb of her country: ‘Take what you want, said God. Take it and pay for it.’ I took what I wanted and have paid for it, with more sorrow and suffering than joy. Now, I feel I have been offered a choice. I can continue to take, or I look for what I can give.” She sighed. “I no longer hope England will ever love me as it loved Katherine. The hatred of many is something I must bear as the price for taking what I wanted. But mayhap there is hope that England will one day see that what I do, I do for England. That must be my Magna Carta, Father.”

  With a shake of his head, the Earl stood up and bowed. His cold eyes glittered like sapphires. “With your Grace’s permission, I must be on my way.”

  She gestured wearily. “Go then, and Godspeed. Pray do not forget to tell Mother I miss her and impatiently wait for her company.”

  With a nod to Kate, he bowed again and strode towards the door.

  “Father!” Aunt Nan called. “Do you not wish to kiss me and give me your blessing before you go?”

  He turned about on his heel and glared at her. “Blessings are for daughters who listen to their fathers—and who do not take it in their foolish heads to go their own way.”

  When his eyes fell upon her, Kate squirmed.

  “Clearly, you do not wish to listen to my advice about marrying Kate to someone who will make Cromwell think again before crossing you. You say you think of England. I say you are soft and will regret of it one day.” He bowed again. “I bid you good day, Daughter.”

  Grabbing his cloak from the chair, he left. Kate stared at the closed door before turning to her aunt. Fixated on the fire, hands over her belly, she was a picture of despondency.

  “Aunt Nan.” Kate swallowed, frightened. “My Queen, if you wish me to wed—”

  Aunt Nan swung around. “I do not. Not for that reason. If my father thinks me soft, so be it. But I no longer will pay for my actions with my conscience. I spoke the truth. I have enough ghosts disturbing my nights. 'Tis time to do what my heart tells me is right. Life teaches us lessons, child. 'Tis only too late if we never take heed of them.”

  Kate attended on the Queen that night, sleeping on a trundle bed in her room. Her aunt did not sleep in the costly state bed. Kate had already discovered that its padded brocade and bed-hangings, embroidered with real gold thread, were only for show. Rather, there was door in that chamber—a door that did not call attention to itself, a door that took her to a smaller room, with an oriel window overlooking the garden. In it, the Queen’s bed was smaller and simpler, too, the hangings made to protect the inhabitants on the coldest night, just as the smaller room was easier to keep warm in the cold months of winter than the draughtier room before it.

  For hours, Kate struggled to sleep. Every time she thought about her grandfather, she wanted to cry. A hole had opened in her heart that once had been filled with love, leaving her wounded and bruised.

  But if she felt bruised and bloody, it soon became clear one other was more so. In the darkness of the night, her aunt wept—muffled, yet heart-rending sobs. Kate rose from her trundle and stood at the side of Aunt Nan’s bed.

  “Can I come in with you?” she asked quietly.

  The nearby night candle revealed her aunt’s worn face and glittering eyes. The fire, burnt low, crackled and snapped, glowing with red heat. Nodding, Aunt Nan wiped her face, then pulled open the bed covering for Kate to clamber in beside her.

  With her head close to her aunt, Kate asked, “What’s troubling you? Is it Grandfather?”

  Aunt Nan shrugged. “That is but one thing.” She stirred as if in discomfort.

  “You’re not feeling unwell, are you?”

  Aunt Nan wiped at her face again. “Well enough. I have to be”

  Kate clasped her hand. “I am here if you wish to talk.”

  Candlelight gleamed on her aunt’s teeth when she smiled. “I know. I am beginning to think God sent you to me. My own, sweet angel. There are few who I can really trust. I’m so lonely, Kate.”

  She gazed at her aunt, bewildered. Every day, Aunt Nan lived her life surrounded by people. How could she be lonely? As if she heard Kate’s unasked question, Aunt Nan continued to speak.

  “So many nights I lie here awake, listening to the breathing of my attendant. It’s my only human comfort. But it doesn’t prevent me from thinking of dark things, Kate. I think of endings, wondering if this is the end.”

  Kate blinked. “Why think that when you’re with child?”

  Aunt Nan gulped back a sob and spoke hoarsely. “Aye, I bear a child. I want this child, desperately I want this child, but I am so weary. My husband, the King, has put me aside in his heart. Sometimes I think death would be easier to bear. Sometimes I wish for it.”

  Clasping her aunt’s hand tighter, Kate nestled closer to her. “Don’t wish that. Don’t say it. I vow to you I will never desert you. I am yours.”

  Her aunt sighed. “My husband once said that to me. 'Tis easy to speak the words, but far harder to live them.”

  9

  THE DAYS SPED BY and Kate returned fully to learning her duties as one of the Queen’s maids. No one spoke of the reason for her absence, but far too many eyes followed her—some with compassion; some with curiosity; some with smug, wilful spite. Some even with jealousy. But more certain of her true friends now, she welcomed the daily proof of the love held for her by her aunt, uncle and brother.

  Soon she began to feel certain of another kind of love, one she hugged to herself in secret during the cold, wearisome, winter months. Trailing some distance behind Madge, she saw him for the first time in the gallery. A very tall, very handsome young man. He held two dog leashes, while two regal Irish wolfhounds pranced beside him. He concentrated only on the dogs, keeping their leashes short and the huge dogs under firm control, not even glancing towards the girls as they passed him by. Kate caught the smell of him—a strong whiff of musk, leather, dogs, horses and a hint of manly sweat. Suddenly, her in
sides felt like a bottomless pit, with her heart and stomach drawn into a spinning vortex.

  One of the dogs raised its head, caught sight of a cat, and bounded in its direction. Next thing, the man swore as both dogs pulled him along in their swift pursuit, his dark, longish hair lifting as if in the wind’s grasp. The young man laughed as he ran to keep up with the dogs. His agile, lean body spoke of grace, of dance and of the music that belonged to Kate’s beating heart.

  She paused to watch; her knees wobbled. About to turn a corner, Madge looked over her shoulder and grinned. “The Queen is waiting. Tarry not, Kate.

  “Saw you Francis?” she asked, lifting an eyebrow, when Kate caught up with her.

  “Francis?” Kate almost tripped over her feet before facing her cousin.

  “Francis Knollys, the man exercising the Queen’s wolfhounds. Do you wish for an introduction?”

  She cleared her throat. “Introduction? Why—what for?”

  Madge laughed. “For the usual reason. God’s oath, Kate, for a maid close to fourteen, you’re a green girl.” Madge considered her gravely. “An innocent. Methinks, too innocent.” Turning from her, she spoke as if to herself. “One of the reasons the Queen likely wanted you at court is to match you with someone suitable.”

  Kate halted. Madge kept walking as if she did not realise Kate was no longer beside her. Kate stood alone with her bearings stripped from her. Once again, the subject of her marriage left her cold.

  “Match me?” Kate croaked. “But my aunt said otherwise.” Her voice echoing in the gallery, she raised her hands to her hot cheeks.

  Madge looked over her shoulder. “Don’t take on—surely you must know the time has come for your betrothal? You are no longer a child.” Her face puckered in thought, her head turning to the bark of a dog. “Francis Knollys is handsome and well placed,” she said slowly. “You seem interested in him; why not let me introduce you? If you like him, your aunt could possibly arrange the matter for you, rather than select someone less to your taste.”