* * * * *
“I hear the king’s found a new paramour.”
Eleanor’s plaintive tone caught my attention as we prepared for bed that night. I halted in unpinning my hair.
“She’s called Elizabeth Lucy and they say she’s very beautiful.”
“Oh, my Lady!” I pretended stifled laughter as I picked up soiled linen. “Who’s been feeding you such nonsense? That frowsty jade’s little more than a courtesan!” As if amused, I stooped to whisper secrets in her ear. “She’s said to have had so many lovers, she’s lost count.”
“But the king—”
“Has no interest in her now. Oh, it’s true she was a great beauty but flowers once plucked and often handled soon lose their bloom.” I pursed my lips and affected shock.
Blushing, she lowered her voice. “They say the court ladies are very liberal with their favours and the entertainments there are scandalous—”
“Ah, you must have been listening to Mistress Attemore.” I giggled, dismissing with mere hints further timid questions about the lewd games and fashions being devised for Edward’s particular pleasure. The seed of a new idea began to germinate. I lifted a hank of her hair, expressing admiration for its silky lustre.
“My mother had such hair—the Beauchamp women are famous for it,” she said with a nervous laugh. “And my Neville cousins are all fair too—but Meg—my sister—is dark like the Talbots. People say the king prefers maids who are fair, but—” Tears choked off her words.
“You’ve nothing to fear from these over-blown court beauties, my Lady. Put on your finest gown and let me dress your hair in its most fetching manner. Then we’ll go to court.” I began to arrange it loosely, humming under my breath, lifting it high above her slender neck in a tumbling cascade. “The king will have eyes for no one else. And once your petition’s granted, who knows?” I giggled, peeping at her in the glass. “Surely you haven’t forgotten that special promise the king made?”
Poor Eleanor! I wondered what Brother Brian would think of my browbeating her in this fashion. Without doubt my falsehoods would grieve him. I could almost hear him saying, “Lies can’t be used for good purposes.” Guiltily I thanked my lucky stars that he hadn’t heard me. Nevertheless his continued absence began to irk. Each day I felt him grow more distant. In my dreams he vanished into a swamp of darkness. The sensation terrified.
All through that night I heard a baby crying. I squirmed so restlessly I woke Eleanor.
“What’s wrong, Nan? Are you sick?”
“Don’t you hear it? That babe crying?”
The house lay silent as a tomb.
“I can’t hear anything. Perhaps it’s a cat outside.”
I must have dozed at last because I woke with a start at dawn just as a babe’s wail was cut off short somewhere close by.
“Please God the king grant your petition, my Lady,” Joan said. She bobbed a curtsy as we departed for the palace. In the clear light of day my confidence deserted me. Instead, a dull throb of fear gnawed deep in my belly.
Chapter Twenty-Four
An overpowering stench rose from the river. In spite of the heat, I pulled my cloak over my mouth and nose to block out the worst of this frightful odour. The burly boatman chuckled and spat into the oily water.
“I warned you, Nan,” Dame Eleanor said, with a grimace, “travel by river is a dirty, unpleasant pastime.”
Grunting, rubbing his hands on a greasy doublet, the leering boat-man tried to catch my eye. Swallowing hard, I turned from his sour-smelling breath to look back towards the untidy cluster of buildings hanging tipsily over the bank. Ravens and kites scavenged among vast heaps of rubbish squawking and flapping their ugly wings, while troops of children smeared with river-dung waved at passing boats. Raising my hand, I wondered if they envied us our journey. Standing on this grimy barge, breathing in the rank miasma from the water and the corruption of the middens wafted from those straggling houses a sudden swell of irrational excitement drowned my fear.
As the boat turned a magnificent building seemed to rise from out the waves. All intricate turrets and pinnacles, Westminster loomed before us like a painting from an old romance. Graceful, carved curves swooped over my head; towering stonework gleamed mellow in the sunlight; latticed windows and gilded metal took my breath away. Never had I imagined a royal palace so vast or grand.
When the boat docked the boatman handed Dame Eleanor out first, doffing his soiled crimson cap. Daintily she crossed the wet stones and turned to wait for me. I took the sweaty hand with reluctance but the boat shifted dangerously against the bank-side. Lifting me in a powerful grip, the boatman set me down safely. Feeling ungracious for my former manner, I rewarded him with a smile.
He touched his cap and winked. “I’ll look for you on your return,” he said, exposing yellow, broken teeth in a grin.
Giggling, I tried to amuse Eleanor by whispering to her of this attempt at gallantry. “Keep close, Nan.” Nervously she picked her way up slippery steps. “The cobbles here are slimy and there’ll be a press of people to see the king.”
Within minutes, a colourful crowd clamouring outside the great, armoured doors swallowed us up. Though I stayed at Eleanor’s side, I couldn’t help staring. I gawped at the dazzling, peacock-coloured clothes of the nobility as they strutted to and fro, the ladies in tall, elaborate head-dresses, the gentlemen flaunting elegant sleeves and fantastical footwear.
Eleanor hesitated. A lean figure in swooping ecclesiastical robes bore down upon her.
“Dame Butler?” The voice rang out resonant and solicitous.
Startled, she looked up. “My Lord Stillington.” She stretched her lips into a smile. The eminent churchman inclined his sleek head. His eyes, yellow as a hawk’s, flicked over us with the shrewd appraisal of the hunter.
A sudden faintness overwhelmed me. The horror of a severed head, lips pulled back in a fearful grin, filled my mind with awful clarity. Here stood the churchman I’d seen in the glass at Silver Street! I clenched my fists, fighting long buried memories that surfaced like a shocking pageant, recognising in this prelate the sinister incarnation of childhood nightmares.
“Doubtless you still seek the restitution of your property?” The slight rise of his voice tailed off, as though he thought his question presumptuous but his scrutiny burned fierce as a flame.
Dame Eleanor tinkled laughter, her own nervous glance darting from side to side. “His Grace has promised to consider my petition most carefully, and I—” She clutched at words as she slipped off her azure, velvet cloak and handed it to me. The astute cleric, sensing her discomfiture, blinked his compelling eyes and offered her a life-line. “Permit me, Madam, to accompany you into the Palace.”
Gratefully, she took his arm. The full sleeve swept down like a wing. For a moment, in her pale silk, she seemed like a fragile dove enfolded by a huge bird of prey.
“It’s no easy matter for a lady among such a throng,” the cleric said. He inclined his shapely head toward the crowd as if in acknowledgement of its power. The smile painted on Eleanor’s lips trembled.
A first glimpse of the palace interior took my breath away. The magnificent richly painted roof caught my eye at once. Craning my neck towards this lofty ceiling, I discerned carved beams ornately decorated with angels, swans, and recumbent harts beneath twisted trees. All about the chamber hung brilliant-coloured tapestries and sumptuous cloth of gold. Light danced through jewelled glass and gilded every polished surface, creating such a sense of grandeur I believed I’d stepped into a world from an old tale of King Arthur and his Knights.
We joined an assortment of splendidly dressed noblemen and women hoping to present their own petitions to the king. Several of them nodded to our ecclesiastical companion. Others smiled when they saw Dame Eleanor. Something in these sly looks and whispered exchanges made my cheeks burn.
Stillington regarded her then with a mixture of curiosity and contempt. “You must forgive me if I leave you now but important
matters call upon my time. His Grace will shortly send someone to attend upon you.” Again the gentle bobbing of the head and the quick, predatory glance in my direction before he turned to leave. “I trust your perseverance will be rewarded, madam.” The final remark slid silky as a knife-blade into flesh and Eleanor winced. The colour drained from her cheeks as the prelate swept boldly through the mass of people, no doubt relishing the effect of his words.
In spite of the heat in the hall, I shivered, filled again with a strange sense of foreboding. I recognised Stillington. Those hooded yellow eyes haunted me. At last I confronted my pursuer, the voice that whispered when I woke in breathless darkness, the menacing shape that lurked by the cottage doorway on moonlit nights, the demon of the dreams I’d babbled to my anxious father. Destiny had brought me here. I’d meet Stillington again. Momentarily the glamour of the court faded and I wished for the safety of the kitchen with homely Alison and Joan.
A rustle of excitement startled everyone. Trumpets blared. Dismayed, Eleanor pressed a hand to her throat as Edward Plantagenet and his noisy entourage entered the chamber. They swept by so close I could have reached out to touch his silken sleeve. We sank to our knees in homage but he showed not a flicker of recognition, though he must have seen us. Instead, his lips curled into a sneer. “I declare there are more and more of these beggars with their endless petitions today, Malyn.”
The stocky gentleman in the crimson doublet held out a scroll but the king flicked a dismissive hand, alarming the brindled hound fawning at his heels. “Get up, get up,” he said impatiently. In a moment, however, he recovered his famous good humour and placed an arm about Malyn’s shoulder. “You read the names, Malyn. Or better still, choose the ones I should hear today.” His hazel eyes flirted over us mischievously. “Choose only the pretty ones, Malyn!”
The courtiers laughed.
Leaping to his throne with the skill of an athlete, he draped his arms carelessly allowing the candle-light to dance on his jewelled fingers. He threw back his golden head with the sinuous grace of a stretching cat, and thrust out his long legs, loosely crossing the ankles, permitting us to marvel at his appearance. The velvet doublet with its purple dagged sleeves proclaimed the height of fashion. It was cut daringly short as to expose the lithe, shapely limbs in their fine, emerald hose. The bright gold and enamelled collar of white roses about his shoulders dazzled the eye. By his side crouched his fool, a tiny, wizened rogue with a face like a walnut. This fellow grinned up at him with impudent admiration. His eyes, however, lingered on the low-cut gowns and moist parted lips of the beautiful court ladies clustered about him.
“Be comfortable,” he said. He sipped from a silver-chased goblet proffered by a kneeling page, his eyes scanning us in amusement over its rim. Like a cat toying with a mouse, he watched us intently—all feigned pretence—even the long deliberation while he fondled the silky ears of the hound lolling against his thigh.
The attendant addressed as Marlyn unfurled his scroll. As he stooped to whisper into the royal ear, the royal eyebrows lifted, the royal lips tilted upward. We held our breath, waiting to be summoned. Though impossible for us to hear, evidently the king’s witty comments and gestures amused his courtiers. Giggles, snorts, and raucous laughter followed each exchange. Had I been a petitioner myself, I’d have fumed at this delay, but the magnificent garments and studied manners of these noble men and women fascinated me. How they aped the king’s mood! Plainly, a clever courtier might earn favours by pleasing his sovereign. I speculated on the tales I’d tell Joan and Alison that night. Never had I seen such costly gowns, or such outrageous designs. Never had I witnessed such play-acting.
“Dame Butler.” A bold-looking fellow bowed before us with elaborate courtesy. “His Grace craves your pardon, but he cannot consider your petition today. Pressing affairs of state command his attention.” He plainly gloated on delivering this message and I longed to strike the smug expression from his sallow visage. Instead, I spoke up. “My lady is troubled by this delay in her affairs.” I hoped the king heard me. Certainly, I caused a screech of consternation from the nearest listeners.
“I can assure you,” the messenger replied, barely able to conceal his fury, “His Grace will give the matter just as much study as it needs.”
“Forgive me, I’m unwell.” Dame Eleanor’s trembling voice prevented me from further argument. Alarmed by the tears on her cheeks, I took her arm, whisking her through the press of curious faces toward the chamber doors. Whispers and sniggers pursued us but I held my head high. I wondered if Canon Stillington watched this shameful departure. How could Edward Plantagenet treat Eleanor so cruelly? I all but turned to remind him I’d witnessed his promise to marry her only a few weeks ago. What would those posturing courtiers have said then?
Outside, a swarm of beggars hovered. A ragged old woman accosted us. Seeing Eleanor’s face, however, she fell back.
“Lady, have a care,” she croaked, crossing herself. “Those won with fine words fall fast from favour.”
I urged Eleanor towards the river while the crone called after us, “Secrets can’t be hidden behind stone walls or in stair wells.”
Those cryptic words plagued me ever after.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Just as we were about to sit down to supper the following evening, someone hammered at the door. Gerta admitted a messenger in fine blue and silver livery and accepted a document bearing the royal seal. Amidst a burst of questions she bore it off to Eleanor, and while Lionel stood chatting to the messenger in the doorway, the rest of us simmered with curiosity.
“Perhaps Dame Eleanor’s summoned back to the palace?” whispered Alison.
“She’ll never—”
Joan didn’t finish, for Dame Eleanor herself burst into the kitchen.
“Convey my heartfelt thanks to the king,” she told the man in livery. She dismissed him with a coin and turned to us with a radiant smile. “My estates have been restored to me. We must depart for Sudeley at once!”
Immediate commotion set us whirling. Lionel almost overturned the trestle as he darted towards her, his face florid with good humour.
“Joan and I could go ahead to make the house ready,” he said.
“I could begin packing after supper.” Joan laughed, tugging at her frizzled hair.
“Tomorrow—we’ll begin tomorrow.” Dame Eleanor’s eyes sparkled. “But fetch some wine, Joan, and let’s drink now to the king’s health.”
Perhaps this excitement and my visit to Edward’s licentious court with its heady atmosphere of sensuous magnificence kindled the powerful dream that disturbed my sleep that night.
Trembling with anticipation, I waited on the stairs in a great, draughty castle. I wore a fine dress of pale grey worsted cloth, the sheen on it like silk. Wide sleeves edged with coney fur hung down, a girdle of plaited leather encircled my waist and a velvet hood hid my hair. Tremors of excitement and danger shook me. In the sconce on the stone wall a torch cast mysterious, flickering shadows.
Footsteps descended from above. Caught in a pair of strong arms, I responded to a sensual embrace, pressing my lips feverishly against those of my lover. Equally ardent, he carried me to a tiny, turret chamber where he covered my face and throat with kisses. Looking into his shockingly blue eyes, desire leapt in me like a flame. We sank together upon the great bed, caressing each other, murmuring endearments. Freed from the confines of its hood, my hair spilled its pins and he buried his face in its tumbling fall. Languorously we shed our garments, stroking and crooning, until our mutual urgency demanded other, fiercer pleasures. When his mouth slid down towards my breast, my limbs melted. A delicious hunger flooded through me. Naked and wanton in his arms, I pressed my body against his taut, eager flesh, thrilled to his hardening need. Savouring the sultry heat emanating from his skin, I teased him towards ecstasy with tiny bites. As my hands caressed the tangle of his black hair, lazily gliding down the muscular arch of his back to grasp the tensed buttocks, I ground my body
voluptuously against his. We groaned together luxuriously, until, throwing back my head, I glimpsed the jewelled edge of an ecclesiastical gown in the doorway, and froze—
Heart thudding violently, I shot upright in the first grey haze of morning, my body slick with sweat. Eleanor’s bed-curtains remained drawn although one pale hand drooped toward the floor. I imagined the careless scatter of her soft hair across the bolster, the delicate parted lips—and wondered if she dreamed too. What night-time adventures did she enjoy? Did she meet with the king? Or was she reunited with her late husband at Sudeley?
“Oh, Nan, what am I to do?” She sprang from her bed, anxiety distorting her fine features. She snatched up an azure gown and ran to the glass, holding the garment against her body. Something in her demeanour made me shudder. Struggling into my own gown, I remembered she’d worn the dress when the king had first called on her.
“Suppose the king forgets me?”
“How could he do that, Madam, after the promise he made?”
“Call Gerta.” Skittish as a colt, she flung open the cedar chest in which she kept her garments. “We must pack my gowns.” A faint aroma of lavender and verbena filled the room. Sun-light streamed now through the mullioned windows, mellow and warm, gilding her pale hair. A hectic flush bloomed in her cheeks as she dragged out skirts and sleeves while the inscrutable Gerta knelt to fold linen kirtles.
Perturbed, I watched Eleanor grow playful, casting garments over her shoulders and laughing as they floated down into a tangled pile, some on the bed and some on the floor. “Take these away,” she ordered the Fleming, kicking a pile of discarded gowns. “Nan can help me with the rest.”
She pranced before her glass holding up one garment after another, laughing immoderately, and then threw herself among the ravelled sleeves, hose and kirtles on the bed.
“Will Gerta accompany you to Sudeley?” I folded and replaced items into the chest.
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