As the holly groweth green
And never changeth hue
So I am, and ever hath been,
Unto my lady true.
Green groweth.
Unto my lady true.
IT WAS CHRISTMAS. On Kate’s way to the chapel for evening prayers, voices sang the King’s song once more. She stood still, listening to the refrain: “Unto my lady true.”
Did the King believe those words when he wrote them? Did he believe he gave his heart and that life promised him rebirth, a new beginning? That he would never forsake the woman he loved? Now it seemed that the winter blasts of disappointment, disillusionment and despair froze him, heart and soul.
“Adieu his lady,” the singers sang. “Adieu.”
Kate trembled. Stop it! All is well. Once her aunt gave the King his desired son, all would be more than well. But Kate could not shake away her sense of apprehension.
Holly, ivy and winter flowers garlanded the doorways and walls at Greenwich. Verdant green contrasted vividly with bright red—red holly berries, red flowers, red glass, red ribbons—used to tie up the Christmas trappings and hang them in every possible place, even around the window-seats overlooking the Thames. The trappings became arches then, partially hiding the people who sat there taking rest from the many games, or those who dallied in games of love.
On the fourth day of Christmas, Kate rested in one of these window-seats. Christmas at court was a busy time, even if normal duties were on hold for the while. Days and nights of merriment took their toll.
Her brother played Blind Man Bluff. Kate grinned. The melee of young people darted in and out all around him. His laughter was carefree, so unlike the increasingly circumspect boy who considered his every move with caution.
Only a little time before, she, too, had been blindfolded, her hands outstretched, forced to search for her fellows by hearing and touch, going one way and another. A little scared by her blindness, it didn’t stop her laughing until her stomach hurt. For a short time, she even forgot the absence of her best friend at court. Almost a week ago, Catherine, the Duchess of Suffolk, had left the court to go home to attend her ailing son.
Resting her cheek against the cold stone of the embrasure, Kate tried to ignore the icy fingers that seeped through her gown, draughts let in by the badly sealed window behind her. She struggled to keep her eyelids open—the desire to sleep began to steal upon her.
With a shake, she sat straighter and gave herself a shake. You are young, a maid, not a grey-head crone! Had she fasted overmuch on the days leading up to Christmas, wanting her aunt to be proud of her? How she suffered for it now. Even her aunt did not wilt like this despite her daily struggle to keep down her food. Since the start of the festivities, she had made merry with the King, partnering him in dances, singing with him, talking long with him. Her happiness was contagious and spread to the court. Kate sighed. Aunt Nan had a steel will; she was not likely to seek out her bed as Kate wished to do.
Giving in to her tiredness, she leaned against the stone again, and drifted into a daydream about the Christmas masses four days before. That night she had held a taper in her hand, adding to the light of many borne likewise. The candles lit blue lights in Aunt Nan’s unbound hair and glittered her jewels, casting upon her the gauze of beauty. Side by side, hand clasped in hand, the King and Queen had taken their places to hear the three masses. As the priest told the lineage of Christ, the King bent to whisper something to Aunt Nan, his hand going to her belly. She met his eyes and smiled. Putting her hand over his, she lowered her head to pray. Joy seemed theirs that night, as on the first Christmas when the Son of God came to live among men. The joy of the first Christmas too, concerned a child. As from the beginning, a child is always hope.
Kate had started then, knowing her thoughts influenced by her mother. She had been so angry the day of her mother’s churching. The first moment she found herself alone with her, she had snarled, “Why have more children? Why bring us in the world when it is only pain?” Her mother’s smile had maddened her, but her answer made her cry. “Not only pain, Kate, not when a child’s loved like all my children are loved. All my children have been born in faith. Hope and faith in life.” That Christmas, Kate had no doubt her aunt believed the same.
Leaving the chapel with Madge, Kate’s happiness for her aunt kept her smiling. A smile she found answered in a slight, amused smile of an aged man who stood alone in the gallery, leaning on a walking stick. The light of one torch shone not only on the weave of holly decorations, but also his amicable, angular face framed by longish, greying hair. Despite his amused smile, Kate detected an unmistakable air of sadness around him.
Taking off his black cap, he half bowed to them. Madge bobbed a brief curtsey, and Kate did the same.
Madge approached cautiously. “Greetings, Master Chapuys. Were you in the chapel with us? I did not see you.”
The sadness around him now told its story on his face. He adjusted his black cap back on his head. “Nay, Mistress Shelton.” The voice was accented—the words slowly drawn out as if ensuring their correctness. “I am here to see the King.”
Madge glanced at Kate with a lift of an eyebrow before turning back to Chapuys. “The King? I do not envy you. Ambassador or not, I do not think he will welcome you tonight. He goes with the Queen to her chambers for supper.”
“The Queen.” Chapuys spoke even slower. His mouth pursing, he scraped his walking stick on the ground.
Why did he linger over Queen?
Changing position, he shifted his walking stick again. “Welcome or not, I will see the King tonight. Master Cromwell has gone with my message. The King will come.”
Now, four days later, Kate understood better that strange meeting. She knew from Aunt Nan that the King had seen Chapuys. The King had returned to her chamber furious and difficult to soothe. That same night Chapuys had rode with the King’s permission, permission that had cost him the King’s anger and was only obtained under duress, to be by the side of Katherine of Aragon.
Was his news true? Was the old woman really dying?
“Why alone, Lady Kat? May I sit beside you?”
Kate straightened at Francis’s voice.
“Good sir, pray do,” she said. “How does Brutus?” Inwardly cursing her foolish question, she dared not say one more word in fear of her tongue stumbling again.
Amused, Francis sat close to her. “'Tis my hope he is sleeping in his kennel.” He inspected the window. “But more likely baying at the moon tonight. I’m thankful I am no longer on duty as his nursemaid. Brutus and Persephone have had their introductions to Urian. He told them their place, and they accepted it well. The rest of their training is in the hands of the Queen’s kennel keeper.”
Half-turning to the dull window, Kate sighed. “I wish I could see the moon.”
Francis bounded up and held out a hand. “Why not come and get some air with me? The snow has stopped for a time, and the night is crisp and clean.”
Kate stared at his hand and then at him. She didn’t know what to do or say.
“You can trust me.” Francis laughed. “The Queen’s temper is not something I am likely to risk even for a pretty girl like you.”
Kate trembled, but this time she took his hand and grabbed her cloak. Pretty? He thinks me pretty? She wanted to skip in her delight.
Hand in hand they weaved through the revellers until they reached one of the courtyards that looked over the river. The snow crunched underneath their feet. She sniffed the salt in the air from the nearby sea. Above, a full, huge moon sailed in a clear night sky, a shiny disk of silver against black velvet. Despite her thick cloak, she shivered.
“Are you cold?” Francis clasped her hand tighter.
The warmth of his hand edged her away from him in her greenness. She was both scared and excited, her blood turning to honey in her veins, her knees weak, her woman parts tingling, demanding she go closer to him.
“Your hand is like ice,” he said.
/> She smiled. Removing her hand from his, she walked a few steps away. “'Tis of no concern.” She inhaled a deep breath, hoping it would release her from this feeling that tightened around her its spell. He was still too close. Her heart thumped so hard in her chest she thought he would hear it. She gazed at the sky. Stars pinpricked the heavens.
Francis came to stand beside her and pointed. “There’s the Hunter—and see there the Crab?”
She scanned the night sky.
“Nay.” He took her arm, turning her a little. “That group of stars.”
Despite the freezing night, his hand lit a fire in her blood. She no longer cared about the stars. The nearby torchlight lit up his teeth and the beauty of his heaven-drawn face. His attention returned to her. They stood there silently for a moment. He touched her cheek, bent down, kissed her lightly. His mouth was so warm, so gentle. She shivered again, but this time not with cold.
“I best take you in,” he said, his voice hoarse. His hands were on her shoulders now.
She leant on him and raised her face. “Kiss me again.”
This time his kiss was deep and long. Her limbs became loose, her body melding into his. Francis groaned, and pushed her away.
“Little minx,” he said. “I cannot answer for your maidenhead if we stay out here any longer.”
“Francis,” Kate said, cresting on the swirl of her emotions, “I care not. I love you.” She lifted her face once more. “Pray, kiss me.”
He shook his head and took her hand. “Little minx,” he repeated. “My faith, you’re a temptress. Thank God, I have more years than you, and know we would win nothing if we stay out here much longer. As for love, you are very young. Take my advice—be young for a little while longer. There will be time for dalliances in the future.” Still holding her hand, he led her back towards the music and laughter of the court. “Let’s return before we are missed.”
She swallowed her urge to cry. Feeling slapped and rejected, she swivelled her head a little towards Francis. Despite clasping her hand, he no longer seemed to notice her. Her free hand went to her mouth, and she blinked away tears. Only moments ago they had kissed, really kissed. Now he acted as if it hadn’t happened—as if she meant nothing to him. Nothing? She floundered in deep misery. Aye, all the world thinks me nothing.
Back inside with the revellers, Francis released Kate as soon as he found Madge. He bid them both farewell and disappeared into the crowd of courtiers that edged one side of the room, leaving the floor to the dancers. Kate shuddered.
“What is it?” Madge asked.
Kate remembered her aunt’s command. “Would you care if we go back to our chamber now?”
Madge lifted her eyebrows before searching the direction that Francis had gone. “It matters not to me if we leave now, but you have some explaining to do when we get there.”
Kate turned to Madge in anger, but her defeat won out. Her shoulders slumped. Not waiting for Madge, she strode fast towards the gallery that led to their rooms. Madge caught up, took her arm, walking with her in silence until they reached their destination. Opening the door, Madge cocked her head. “Are you all right, little coz?”
Kate bit down so hard on her bottom lip she tasted blood. She shook her head, rushing ahead to the bedchamber. Kicking off her slippers, she threw herself on the bed, then pushed her face against the pillow. Uncontrollably, her body shook and shook.
Madge’s hand touched her shoulder. “Is it Francis?”
Kate gazed aside at her. “Pray…” Kate’s voice quivered like her body. She swallowed to gain control. “Do not speak of it.”
Madge sighed. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she removed her slippers before turning back to Kate. Her grave expression spoke of concern. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”
Hiding her face again in the pillow, Kate shook her head from side to side. The bed creaked and adjusted to Madge’s weight as she swung around to lean against the bed-head. “I cannot help unless you tell me what has upset you so.”
Kate hiccupped and lifted her head. “He kissed me.”
Madge gaped at her. “Kissed you?” Her cousin smiled. “Is that any cause for all this carry on?”
Kate drew a ragged breath and rested her cheek against the pillow. Thinking back to what happened made her body tremble again. “I told him I loved him.”
“You did? God’s teeth, Kate, one kiss and you tell a man you love him?”
Kate bolted up beside her cousin. “But I do love Francis!”
Madge raised her eyes to the ceiling. “God and all his angels help me.” She pursed her lips before letting out a loud sigh. “Must I be forever in service as your nursemaid? Do you not know you cannot profess love for any man?”
Kate raised her hands to her face. “I cannot tell Francis I love him?”
Madge shook her head. “Silly goose. You are the niece of the Queen, and while the King doesn’t claim you, there are few who don’t know you are his daughter. It is not for you to pick your own match. Consider Lady Margaret. She took it into her mind to marry for love, and all us in her confidence now fear what will happen when the King finds out. I tell you what I think will happen. Lady Margaret and Lord Tom are likely to find themselves cooling their passions in the Tower. Tom may lose his head over this.”
“Lose his head? Surely you’re wrong? My mother married for love—”
“Aye, she married for love and has suffered since. She will never again be allowed openly at court.”
Head bent, Kate mulled over her cousin’s words. “It doesn’t matter,” she said at last, shrugging. “Francis doesn’t love me.”
“Why say you that?”
Kate half covered her mouth and trembling chin. “I told him I loved him. I asked him to kiss me again. He took me back inside.”
Madge groaned. “Oh, for God’s sake, Katherine. What else could the poor man do? Do you think he would want his head struck from his shoulders because he deflowered the niece of the Queen?” She shook her head. “I only hope for your sake that he doesn’t think you a maid with little regard for her reputation.”
Already reeling from the night events, Kate seemed to walk on quicksand, sinking deeper with every new step. “Do you think he would?”
Madge shrugged and untied the side cords of her bodice. “How would I know?” She pulled the bodice over her head, heaving a sigh of relief. “Just remember this in future; you are not free to do as you please, Kate. One false move could not only destroy your life, but lead to the deaths of others.” She sighed. “Fools do not last long at court.”
Kate studied her and gathered the courage to ask her the question she’d kept silent about for weeks. “What of you and the King?”
It was Madge’s turn to stare. She swallowed. “As I’ve told you, the court is no place for secrets. I do not wish to speak about the King, now or ever, other than to say, thank God, that he hunts other quarry now. But as for you, no more assignations, I beg you, unless I am with you to act as witness.”
14
ALONE FOR A TIME IN HER CHAMBER, Kate took the opportunity to write in her journal. Placing her quill back in its inkpot, she studied the parchment.
Here I am, love me.
Her mouth trembled, and she struggled against tears. How she wished she had the courage to speak those words to Francis. But what if she said them and he laughed at her? Told her he did not have any true feeling for her?
Already, life had broken apart her world. She did not want that to happen again. Her time at court had cast her into a mire of self-doubt. Was she strong enough to withstand any more rejection?
Life left her naked, so broken hearted and vulnerable in her misery. Life stripped her of her identity.
Who am I?
she wrote in her journal.
Katherine. Kate. Bastard.
Francis was right not to have further dealings with her. She picked up her quill again.
I love and am trapped
In a world full of woe
I love, yet he loves me not.
Dear God,
Let his heart turn to mine
For I am his
Forevermore.
For days afterward Kate did not see Francis other than in passing or from a distance. Despite Madge’s efforts to explain the implications of courtly romances for one of their station, Kate walked on dark, unmarked paths charted by confusion. Day after day she relived their kiss. She could not believe Francis was false, that he felt nothing for her.
Miserable, Kate busied herself with finishing the gift she was making for her aunt for the Feast of Epiphany. She hadn’t at first known what to give Aunt Nan, but the tapestries telling the story of Esther and the beautiful English Bible—a treasured gift to Aunt Nan and generously shared with all those who served her—gave Kate the idea of translating the conclusion of the Jewish Queen’s story into French and decorating the pages with drawings of honeysuckle and other of Aunt Nan’s favourite flowers.
First, she laboriously copied Esther’s triumphal end from the Bible. Completing the first part was difficult enough, but translating it into French intensified the labour, so much so Kate feared she would not finish in time for the gift giving. But it gave her a good reason to escape Madge’s supervision and go to her brother’s chamber. Since he shared his chamber with no one else, it was a far quieter and more private place to work. Harry had also kindly arranged for all the writing and drawing tools necessary for her to complete her gift as well as staying for awhile to help her with the French. Day by day, she had less need to call on him in her struggle to find the right word for the translation.
Harry told his French tutor and Uncle George about what Kate was doing. After Harry’s lessons, his tutor accompanied his young scholar back to his chambers and cast an interested eye on Kate’s progress, offering suggestions. Uncle George often joined them as well. She discovered then that the poems he had translated in her journal were just a small part of a long line of work he had completed over the years. “I like how it challenges me,” he said. “And your aunt likes it when I give her a translation as a gift.” He laughed. “The skill of translation comes from our father, your grandfather. That you do it too just proves that it is in the blood.”
The Light in the Labyrinth_BooksGoSocial Historical Fiction Page 13