The wedding had taken place hours ago with much fine food and ale: several coneys stuffed with pepper and currants; a dozen capons spiced with nutmeg, sugar, ground almonds, and garnished with prunes; venison roasts; spring salat made with asparagus to “renew love,” bugloss to say “I am pleased with you,” and rosemary flowers, meaning “I accept your love.” The wedding cakes were gingerbreads gilded with gold. The ale and wine flowed without limit and the guests reeled and laughed, taking great merriment from the special occasion. Madge had danced with every man who asked for her hand, no matter how rank his odor or how drunken his manner. After eating and dancing their fill, the wedding guests carried Madge to the bedroom, then toppled Thomas onto her, all the while singing songs that caused the blush to rise in her cheeks. Finally, after much more singing and telling of bawdy tales, the villagers left, along with friends and family. Then, Thomas excused himself to the outdoor jakes and left Madge with much on her mind.
She could not imagine allowing this stranger to occupy her; the thought made her flesh creep and tears filled her eyes. Even when she had bedded the king, he was no stranger. He had saved her from harm, joked with her, danced with her. Allowing him to paw her body’s intimate places had not been easy, but now, doing such with this new man—it was more than she could bear.
She heard heavy steps traveling up the stairs. She looked up and in the doorway stood her husband. He did not say a word but strode to her and sat beside her, taking her hand in his. Without thinking, Madge threw herself on the floor, grabbed his ankles, and spoke.
“My good lord, have mercy on me. I beg of you, delay for a while your pleasure. Let us grow to be friends so as to be at ease with one another. I fear if you meddle with me now, you will disturb the babe that rests within. I am at your mercy, my good husband,” she said, not once raising her head to look at him.
“Prithee, arise, madame. Here, here,” he said as he pulled her to her feet and patted the bed next to him. She sat a little way from him. Tears ran down her cheeks and her nose dripped. She could not stop either so she remained still, not sobbing or crying out.
“You give me pause, wife. I know I lack beauty but am I one to cause such dread? Eh?” he said, lifting her chin gently. A slight smile raised the corners of his mouth.
“No, my husband. You are kind to take such a one as I to marry. I am grateful,” said Madge, finally looking into his face.
“I shall not dally with thee this night, madame. I know too well what danger such play is to the babe within. And though he be not mine, I would harm neither you nor him. We shall be chaste until he is born. And in that time, I hope to win you, as I would if you were a true maid,” he said. “And now, let us sleep for I have drunk much wine this day.”
Madge took his hand and looked straight at him.
“Kind sir, I thank you with all my heart. When the babe comes, I shall be as good a wife to you as you need—truly buxom in board and bed,” she said.
* * *
Weeks passed and Thomas remained true to his word. He often returned to his home in Kimberly to oversee the care of his sheep, the running of the manor over which he would be lord someday. He told Madge about hunting the plentiful deer that roamed his forests and made humorous stories regarding the foibles of his servants. Because only his father, his two brothers, and he lived at Kimberly, Thomas believed Madge would be more at ease staying with her mother and family at Great Snoring. Sir Thomas rode to Great Snoring at least once a week and when he was visiting, he and Madge often walked the rolling hills, taking picnics by the creek and talking about the future. During his absences, Madge found herself with little to do except sew quilts for the coming child, along with caps, gowns, and booties. She took great pride in embroidering each garment with tiny violets and sprigs of lavender. She smocked the softest lawn available for the child’s christening gown and attached fine lace around the collar and sleeves. She felt the babe quicken one day while she was walking in the garden to gather flowers. The almost imperceptible nudge within her caused her to smile with wonder, imagining the tiny babe she would soon bear for her beloved Arthur. Each time the babe kicked, it reminded her again of the man she adored and, often, she wept. Her sorrow and joy were so mixed, she could not tell where one stopped and the other began. Her heart carried a heaviness that nothing seemed to relieve as she slowly came to realize she would never see her darling Sir Churlish again.
* * *
All summer the weather had been unseasonably cold, with many cloudy days and much rain. Finally, the sun found his place once again in a cloudless sky and Madge wanted to soak up the warmth.
“Mother, I wish to accompany the washwomen to the hedgerows. I shall watch as they lay out the clothes to dry. The day is warm and I have been too much inside. I shall go mad if I have to stay so cloistered again,” said Madge.
“’Tis warm enough, I gainsay. But have a care—place your feet on solid ground for a fall now could damage both you and the babe. And don’t be gone too long—the afternoon turns quickly to eventide and the cold air will do you no good,” said Lady Shelton.
Madge smiled at her mother and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. She called to Shadow and off they ran, following the washerwomen, who carried large baskets filled with wet sheets, nightgowns, and smocks. While the women laid the laundry over the hedges, Madge threw a small leather ball for Shadow to fetch. Tiring after a long game of it, Madge lay down on the warm grass, the sun on her face and Shadow’s head on her lap.
“We be going back to the house, mistress. Will ye come along?” said Lucy, the chief washerwoman.
“No. Methinks to stay a while in the sun. I shall be along anon,” said Madge, closing her eyes and flopping her arm over her brow to block the bright rays.
She could hear the women’s voices growing softer as they made their way back to the manor. Soon, all she heard were the noises of the land: the lark’s song, the chirp of the jays, the creak of the cricket. With the warmth of the afternoon came a peace she had not felt for many weeks. No thoughts of Queen Anne’s execution troubled her, no dread of the king’s wrath. Instead, she thought of Arthur, tried to remember the exact shade of his eyes, the shape of his mouth, the feel of him. She recalled the times they lay together and instead of feeling sad, the way such daydreams usually made her feel, she was happy to have known this love, happy to have his child in her belly. Soon, the sun warming her completely, Madge drifted to sleep with sweet thoughts of Arthur fluttering in her head.
“My love.”
Madge heard his voice and she knew she must be dreaming still. For certainly, that was Arthur speaking. And it sounded as if he were lying beside her. She smiled and turned toward the sound but did not open her eyes. She did not wish to disturb this dream.
“You have never looked so beautiful.”
Her eyes flew open at those words. She looked straight into Arthur’s deep brown eyes.
“What? What is this? Enchantment?” she said.
“I am no phantom, my love,” said Arthur, bending over her, taking her in his arms.
“How? What—”
Before she could say more, he kissed her, gently at first, then urgently. She responded to him without thought, still foggy from sleep, the sun striking her vision so that nothing seemed real.
Finally, she pulled away from him.
“Where have you been?” she demanded abruptly.
“My love, there is much to tell. I will shorten the tale as I am able. Come, let us walk along the hedgerow and I will make things plain,” he said.
He pulled her to her feet and, arm in arm, they strolled while Shadow wove circles around their legs.
“When I discovered the queen was to die, I knew I must come for you—I knew you were in grave danger. My dear father knew my mind and had me bound and imprisoned in the barns at Guildford Castle. He did not wish for me to marry from such an evil family. He bade me eat once a day, bread and water, so my strength would ebb,” said Arthur.
“
How did you get away?” said Madge.
“I am not without certain, er, skills, milady,” he said, smiling.
“Skills of magic? Ways to unbind yourself?” she said.
“The serving wench who brought my food was soon willing to bring meat and ale. After a time, she was willing to unloose my bonds,” he said, still grinning.
Madge could feel her face burn.
“And how did you reward this wench? Did you bed her?” she said.
“You are a pretty one when you are angered! How your cheeks blaze! And your eyes are filled with passion! I wish to throw you upon the ground and take you, my love, right now!” said Arthur, pulling her to him.
“Not so, sirrah! You need explain yourself!” said Madge.
“Tut, tut. I did not bed the wench! But I did pack my horse and was ready to ride to London. I waited until nightfall, then led the horse out of the barn in all silence. But the wench must have spilled my plans to my father, for he met me in the outer yard,” said Arthur.
“Oh no! What then?” said Madge, hugging him to her.
“When first I saw him, I feared for my life! He is not a man to be crossed. His sword was drawn and his face thunderous! He came at me and bludgeoned me about the shoulders with the blade flattened against me. Then, he took me by the ear and pulled me into the hall. He continued until we were in his privy chamber where there was set a table with meat and drink. He pushed me onto a bench and told me to stay put. Then, he poured us each a glass of Rhenish wine, thrust the cup at me, and commanded, ‘Drink, ye lowborn son of a whore!’ To which I drank,” said Arthur.
Madge stopped walking and faced him. She reached her fingers to touch a bluish spot on his brow.
“How long did he make you suffer?” she said.
“He did not give me that blow—’twas from the horse. But pray, let me continue,” said Arthur, kissing her fingers.
“I was used to name-calling so he did not get the rise from me he wanted. He ordered me to explain myself, and I told him once again of the great love I hold in my heart for you, my sweet. I allowed that since I was born on the wrong side of the bed, I owed him no allegiance and he had no right to keep me from you. To which he replied as my father, he had every right. And then, to my astonishment, he pulled out a parchment and opened it. He had claimed me, had given me a small portion of his lands and gold, and all was signed by order of the king himself!” said Arthur.
“It is only right that he should do so, dearest! He should have done so long ago! I cannot help but think him a knave,” said Madge.
“Nay, nay, sweetheart. He is the best of men. For he also gave his permission for me to marry to mine own liking—he said he did as much when he took His Majesty, the king’s sister to wife—and he was none the worse for it. Then, we sat down together and drank more bottles of wine than I can remember,” said Arthur, laughing a little.
“Oh, my love! I cannot believe this is true!” said Madge, throwing her arms around him.
“Take a look at this bag of coin if you do not believe me,” said Arthur, taking a small bag out of his breeches. “And there is more in my saddle pouches, enough to buy a small house here. I thought we would settle near your own people, away from court and away from my father’s wrath, should it roar up again,” said Arthur.
Madge looked at the gold and burst into tears.
“What is this? Do you shed tears of joy to see such wealth?” said Arthur.
“No, ’tis nothing of that. But, how can I tell you … I am … I am…”
“What is it, woman? You are what?” said Arthur.
“I am married! And I am to have your child! Oh, all is lost and befuddled!” said Madge, crying harder now.
“What mean you? Married? How so? My child? Oh, ’tis glorious news! But the tale is muddled, I fear. Speak it plain, my love,” said Arthur.
“My mother, when I told her I was with child and I had heard no word from you, she devised to help me. For surely, of all people, you know what happens to a woman who has a bastard child. My father, had he been home, would have thrown me out. So, my sainted mother found me a husband,” said Madge between sobs.
“But how? And who? Who would marry under such conditions?” said Arthur.
“Sir Thomas Wodehouse. He is a neighbor and my mother paid him dearly for agreeing to the marriage. He is a kind enough man, though greedy. She gave him coin and land to take this babe as his own and to take me for his wife. We have been wed two months now,” said Madge.
“And is there no way out? Can we not say we were precontracted to each other?” said Arthur, who turned away from her.
Madge could not think clearly. She longed to hold Arthur, kiss him, and make him her own again. She sensed he was angry and she knew he thought her false.
“I am sorry, dearest. I did not think I would ever see you again—I doubted your love. In this, I was wrong,” said Madge. She felt the babe move, as if it, too, were sorry. She took Arthur’s hand and placed it on her belly.
“Your son moves, sir,” she said quietly.
“I feel … little bumps, kicks? Is that it?” said Arthur, his face aglow.
“Yes. He must needs walking. Let us continue,” she said. She did not let go of his hand and he entwined his fingers with her own.
“Has the marriage been … consummated?” Arthur mumbled.
“Nay. Sir Thomas does not wish to disturb the babe and, as I begged him for time, he has agreed to wait until the babe is born,” said Madge.
“So, he has not known you then?” said Arthur.
“No. All we have done is share a bed—for sleep, beloved. For sleep alone,” said Madge.
“Then there is our answer. For a marriage can be annulled if man and wife have not known each other. My own father used such a ruse when he rid himself of his first wife. We must go to your mother at once. She will, mayhap, help you again,” said Arthur.
He kissed her once again, deeply, a kiss that took possession of her, body and soul. Then, they walked back to the manor house.
* * *
“Madame? Madame? ’Tis he! ’Tis Arthur! Come, Lady Shelton! Come at once!” cried Cate as she stared at Madge and Arthur walking into the courtyard hand in hand. Her own heart was in her throat and she felt the flush of joy for her dear, dear Maddie.
Lady Shelton soon joined her, her sewing still in her hands.
“He is a pretty sight, is he not, milady?” said Cate.
“Quite manly and bold, too, to come here now. I see why my daughter would give herself to such a man,” sighed Lady Shelton. “But he is come too late. She is wed to another.”
“Surely, this can be changed, madame. Surely we can find a way to give my Maddie what she wants. She has suffered much, more than you will know, lady,” whispered Cate.
“Let us remove from the door—we do not want them to find us gaping like sheep. Come, Cate. Into the sewing chamber. Let the serving wench lead them to us,” commanded Lady Shelton.
The two women hurried to the sewing chamber where each sat on a low stool, bent over her work.
“I cannot keep my needle steady, my hand shakes so,” said Cate.
“Hush! I hear footfalls,” whispered Lady Shelton.
The women kept their heads down. Madge and Arthur waited for Lucy, the washerwoman, to announce them.
“Lady Wodehouse and Sir Arthur Brandon,” shouted Lucy.
Lady Shelton rose to her full height and Madge noticed her mother looked as if she smelled something quite rotten.
“Mother, this is Arthur,” said Madge as she curtsied to Lady Shelton.
“How is it he is now ‘Sir’ Arthur, rather than Master Arthur?” said her mother with venom in her voice.
Madge started to answer, but Arthur stepped up from his bow so that he stood between Madge and her mother.
“Lady Shelton, you have reason to be angry with me, for I know how this looks to you. But I assure you my love for your daughter is true and I wish to have her as my wife. We can claim
a precontract—there is proof enough in her belly,” said Arthur calmly.
“How do you imagine my daughter could be precontracted to a baseborn bastard?” said Lady Shelton.
“If this is your only objection, madame, I have the parchment to prove my father, duke of Suffolk, has now claimed me and made me part heir with my two brothers. This means I am to inherit one full third of his holdings. Lady Shelton, need I tell you such an inheritance will raise your daughter’s status immensely. And that of your grandchild,” said Arthur.
Madge’s mother fell silent for a moment, then curtsied deeply to Arthur.
“My lord, you have astonished me. Forgive my impertinence,” said Lady Shelton.
Arthur raised her up gently and smiled at her.
“It is I who should beg your forgiveness. I failed to come for my Pretty Madge when she most needed me. There is good reason for this but I shall save that tale for another day. I am here now and wish to claim my bride,” he said.
“Hmmm. There is the precontract; but I have promised Sir Thomas both gold and land—he will not give these up, of that I am certain. And Margaret is a good match for him as well,” said Lady Shelton.
“Mother, there is something you must know. Thomas has not bedded me,” said Madge, her cheeks on fire.
“Why on earth not? He is no ganymede! And you are buxom enough!” said Lady Shelton.
“I begged him to wait until the babe was born. I told him I wished to know him a little before we…” said Madge.
“Ha! And he agreed to this?” said Lady Shelton.
“I told him such an act would endanger the babe and myself! He was kind,” said Madge.
“What fools men be! Tut, tut. ’Tis good, though, for our purpose. What shall be done? Oh, what shall be done?” said Lady Shelton as she began to pace the room.
“Madame, if I may be so bold, this is between Sir Wodehouse and myself. I can handle him, even if I must draw my blade,” said Arthur.
At the Mercy of the Queen: A Novel of Anne Boleyn Page 36