The Queen's Spy

by Caroline Newark

  ‘You are very sure of yourself.’

  ‘Naturally.’

  ‘You have tested your own defences, I trust? I should not like to think of your virtue being too easily overcome.’

  I said nothing. I felt his hand tighten on my waist. For a few moments there was silence between us while the scene in front of my eyes blurred as the knight was attacked by a horde of small boys dressed in green.

  ‘Are you betrothed to that Everingham man yet?’

  ‘No, my lord. I told you, he needs an heiress. I’m not wealthy enough for him.’

  ‘But you wish you were?’

  Did I? However kind Lord Everingham had been and however much I cared for his children, I was quite certain that if I were an heiress I would set my sights higher. I would set them as high as they could possibly go.

  ‘Lord Edmund, if I were wealthy I would not choose a man who had taken up his sword against the king.’

  ‘Who would you choose?’

  I smiled at this thought. ‘Women do not get to choose, Lord Edmund. They do as they are bid. Fathers and brothers make choices for women.’

  ‘Widows cannot be forced into marriage, Lady Margaret. You know that. You may marry where you will. You are more fortunate than me.’

  I edged further round, being careful not to tread on the back of Lady Abernethy’s gown. Now I was fully in front of him and could see his face clearly.

  ‘How can I be more fortunate than you, Lord Edmund?’ I whispered. ‘You have an earldom and you have riches, however meagre you may think they are. You will marry a wealthy and beautiful lady. You are favoured and your life is blessed.’

  He looked into my eyes. The flame of a single candle beyond where we stood flickered in the depths of his gaze and lightened the planes of his face. He looked incredibly young, much younger than his twenty-one years.

  ‘My brother wishes to make an alliance with Castile. He intends to find another Dona Maria.’

  Ice slithered through my veins and I caught my breath. Of course the king would marry him to a foreign princess; I’d always known this would happen. Anything else was mere daydreaming and folly.

  ‘A good marriage,’ I murmured.

  ‘The lady he has chosen is reputed to be very beautiful: dark hair, black eyes, skin like a ripened peach.’ He peered at me closely. ‘Do you think she will suit, Lady Margaret? Is she a bride you can imagine me taking to my marriage bed?’

  I turned my head back to the doings of the knight in the greenwood. He was climbing up a precariously built tower to rescue a long-haired maiden leaning out of a window.

  ‘Do you think I shall enjoy my Dona Maria?’

  By now I was trembling. I lowered my gaze to the dark folds of my gown.

  ‘I have no idea what you enjoy, Lord Edmund,’ I whispered. ‘It is none of my business.’

  ‘My brother, the king, would make me the richest noble in the land with a wave of his royal hand. But if I were free to choose …’

  His hand left my waist and he thrust his fist hard against poor Guinivere.

  Just at that moment there came a loud blast on a horn and everyone broke into a storm of clapping and stamping.

  With no warning he left me, pushing his way through the press of people and disappearing into the crowd.

  What had he been going to say?

  ‘Wasn’t that wonderful?’ said Lady Abernethy.

  I thought of the handsome young knight in the greenwood and the tests of his endurance. I considered the temptations of sin and the triumph of virtue, and I thought of his whispered words, the warmth of a hand, the hunger, the need and the cliff over which I was gradually falling.

  ‘Yes,’ I replied softly, ‘It was.’

  Frost came in the night and by next morning pale flakes of snow were falling fast from a sky the colour of pewter. He was waiting for me at the end of the cloistered passageway, sheltering from the cold. I’d been half-expecting him, wanting him to come yet all the while hoping he wouldn’t.

  He gave me no conventional greeting because we both knew time was too precious to waste on unnecessary words.

  ‘The king is sending me away.’

  My heart turned painfully in my breast and a lump rose into my throat.

  ‘Are you not staying for the rest of the celebrations, my lord?’

  ‘No, I cannot. Duty calls.’

  He took my hand and I found myself unable to ask him to release me.

  ‘Lady Margaret.’ I stood completely still, not trusting myself to reply or to step away. ‘Don’t marry him.’

  This wasn’t right. He shouldn’t dictate what I might do.

  ‘My lord, I would remind you it is none of your business if I accept an offer of marriage or if I do not.’

  He smiled at me.

  ‘Two manors? I’d say not much to attract anyone you’d think worth marrying.’

  ‘I didn’t ask for your opinions on my prospects.’

  ‘But you might find them interesting.’

  ‘I doubt it.’

  He still had hold of my hand and showed no sign of letting it go.

  ‘There’ll be danger where I’m going. Are you not concerned for my safety?’

  ‘I’m sure you know how to keep yourself safe, my lord.’

  ‘I do but it would be pleasant to think of you worrying about me.’

  I was tempted to smile but bit my inner lip hard to stop myself. ‘I have plenty to occupy my thoughts, I thank you.’

  ‘But you would not refuse to say a prayer for my safety the next time you are in church. I wouldn’t ask for a special visit. That would be presuming too much. But perhaps a candle? A small one?’

  This time I couldn’t prevent the smile. ‘Very well. A small one. A very small one.’

  ‘In that case, Lady Margaret, I shall bid you farewell. I don’t suppose you would permit a kiss?’

  ‘No, my lord; I would not.’

  ‘I thought not.’ He grinned at me. ‘Till we meet again.’

  He turned on his heel and sprinted off up the steps, leaving me standing speechless.

  How had he done that? How had he made me do something I never intended to do? I knew now how much he liked me. I could see it mirrored in his eyes, an appreciation of something I possessed. But it could lead nowhere and yet each time we met I felt more and more tempted. It had been such a long time since John and sometimes in the dark, while the others slept, I longed to have somebody hold me. I knew this man would hold me but I feared he might also let me fall.

  It was more than a twelvemonth before he returned, yet in the world I spun around myself I saw him everywhere: in the sudden turn of a man’s head or the glimpse of a pair of bright blue eyes. And although we had never kissed, I tasted him on my lips each morning when I woke. But while I was day-dreaming the time away with idle thoughts of a man who could never be mine, everything was changing and the balance of power around the king was shifting.

  The queen’s fall from favour that year was so gradual that at first none of us noticed. The king no longer sought her advice, any suggestions she made were ignored and on several occasions she was denied access to his chamber. A crisis caused by an encroachment of the French into our lands in Gascony soured the king’s relations with her brother and resulted in the queen herself coming under suspicion as a Frenchwoman. But all this was lies whispered into the king’s ear by Sir Hugh Despenser. The queen was loyal. I knew she was.

  She followed the king dutifully to Kenilworth for the Christmas celebrations and then to Sir Hugh’s castle at Hanley, but by now it was obvious that the king’s preferred companion was his chamberlain, not his queen. It was with Sir Hugh he sat listening to minstrels play interludes for his delight and it was Sir Hugh’s company he sought when he wished to stroll round the gardens. And in the late evening, where once he u
sed to visit the queen’s rooms, he now retired with Sir Hugh to his privy chamber for refreshments and entertainments of a private nature.

  Long dreary months passed and in all that time there was no news. Nobody mentioned the king’s younger half-brother and, naturally, I couldn’t ask. I had almost given up hope when, at the beginning of April when we were once again lodged at the Tower, he arrived without warning. The trouble in Gascony had deepened and Lord Edmund had come, we were told, to pay his respects to his brother’s wife and meet with the men who were travelling with him to Paris. The king was sending him to talk peace with the queen’s brother.

  I could think of nothing but his presence in the royal apartments. At any moment I expected to meet him strolling through a chamber or surprising me in a dark corner. I wandered across the inner courtyards and found myself unexpectedly in the hall amongst the servants. I visited the queen’s rooms on every possible occasion and offered to run errands in place of her maids. I loitered in the gardens and ran my fingers slowly up the rails as I climbed the stairs, pretending to be deep in thought. His men were everywhere, but he was nowhere to be seen.

  Just when I had given up all hope, he appeared in the shadow of the little church of St Peter ad Vincula, somewhere I had no business to be. It was as private a place as one could hope to find in the inner precincts of the Tower where there were very few opportunities for privacy.

  I kept my head bowed not daring to look at him. I knew my feelings were written right across my face and I didn’t want him to know. We stood in silence as the last rays of sunshine stole away from the courtyard and the laughter of men lighting torches rose and fell and then faded into the distance.

  At last he put out his hand and touched mine. A flash of fire ran up my arm. I flinched and he withdrew his hand.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ His voice was very quiet.

  I began to tremble. To have him this close when I’d thought about him for so long was to be in the path of an incoming tide.

  ‘I prayed for you,’ I whispered. ‘I didn’t forget.’

  His fingers reached out and touched the side of my face. Slowly, slowly, he traced the curve of my cheek caressing my skin until he reached my mouth. There he paused.

  ‘Lady Margaret?’ He seemed very young, very unsure, very uncertain of what to say next. ‘Is there anyone? It’s been more than a year and I wouldn’t blame you if after all this time you …’

  ‘There is no-one.’

  He breathed a deep sigh and wrapped the fingers of his other hand around mine. They were warm and firm and I had no desire to pull away.

  ‘Margaret,’ he whispered.

  Very gently he took my face in both his hands and kissed me. His lips were cool and firm and sweet. It was what I’d woken to every morning these past months, a taste of honey.

  Slowly my mouth opened under his and I felt myself falling. From the moment I’d met him two years before I’d known I was in danger but I’d allowed myself to be lured into his net. Now it was too late and I was caught fast.

  I clutched at his sleeves, drawing him closer. He covered my face with urgent kisses while I tipped back my head, wanting the touch of his mouth on mine.

  ‘Can you feel it?’ he whispered into my ear. ‘How I burn for you?’

  Pressed against his chest I could have put out my fingers and seared them with the fire between us. If he was burning then so was I.

  I had forgotten the joy of surrender: the thrill which ran down my body, the warmth which flooded my veins. During ten long years of widowhood there had been no-one else, not even a passing fancy. I was not like some of the younger women who gave away their hearts a dozen times a week. I had loved only once before and that had been for such a short time. Now there was this.

  I reached up and touched his face: weather-worn, a small scar above the left eyebrow. I ran my finger across the puckered mark. It was fresh.

  ‘Where have you been?’ I whispered.

  ‘In the North, keeping order for the king.’ He lowered his mouth to mine.

  ‘And now?’ I kissed the corner of his mouth.

  ‘Right now?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Right now there is disorder of a most serious kind.’

  I breathed in the rich deep scent of his clothes, felt the unaccustomed softness of his extravagant velvet against my fingers, and sighed. Wherever he had been, wherever I had been, at this very moment we were both in a heaven of our own devising.

  He pushed aside my veil and I felt the night air blowing cool across my skin.

  ‘Margaret,’ he murmured. ‘I love you. I’ve loved you since I first met you.’ He kissed my throat, ‘Such a very long time. Oh Margaret. Christ knows but I love you more than life itself.’

  Slowly he ran his hands down the full length of my clothing, from neck to thigh. He gripped me, leaning the full weight of his body against mine. It was the sharp jab of an iron peg on the base of my spine which alerted me to the perilous position I was in. With a great effort I thrust him away.

  ‘No, my lord, please! No! I can’t.’

  ‘No?’ He looked surprised. ‘I thought you were saying, yes. Was I mistaken?’

  ‘No, you were not mistaken but I cannot do this.’

  His eyes softened. He understood.

  ‘Virtue?’

  I placed my hands against his chest. ‘Yes. It is not that I don’t love you because I do, you know I do. But an encounter like this is not right.’

  He smiled with such tenderness I almost changed my mind.

  ‘Sweetheart, I’m sorry. Of course, not here and not now. But my dear virtuous one, you must know there is no dishonour in any of this. I love you and I want you with me always. I cannot imagine being without you.’

  He wrapped me in his arms and spoke of the life he could give me: the silks, the satins, the jewels, the furs. There’d be fine horses in my stable and silver cups upon my board. I’d have servants to do my bidding and a house with a magnificent solar. And when the day was over and the candles were low, he would lay me in his great high bed and make love to me.

  For a brief moment I allowed myself the luxury of hope but I feared the answer to the question which I knew must be asked.

  ‘In what capacity would you have me in your bed, my lord?’

  I held my breath praying he would not prove false, but as he hesitated, I knew my dreams were fast dissolving into dust.

  ‘Oh Margaret, my dearest love, you know I would marry you if I could. But if I marry without my brother’s permission I will lose everything and he would never agree to my marrying you.’

  ‘Lord Norfolk married without the king’s permission.’

  ‘And got knocked across the floor for his pains. He’ll not be forgiven and it cannot be undone. The king insists I make a good marriage. He says he depends on me.’

  ‘I see.’

  The clipped little words must have betrayed the injury he had dealt me and the vast wound to my pride. It was humiliating to be told that I was not worthy to marry Lord Edmund.

  He hurried to soften the hurt.

  ‘Margaret, this is not what I want but it is all I can offer.’

  ‘I understand.’ Even to myself I sounded defeated.

  ‘Margaret, Margaret.’ He pulled me close and held me tightly in his arms, my head resting against his shoulder. ‘Margaret, you are the only woman I love. Do you imagine I want one of those hairy Infantas with their sloe-black eyes? It’s you I love. I’ve loved you from the moment we first met. But we both know that love and marriage are separate. I do not need to love my wife, but I shall always love my mistress.’ He gave me a little smile. ‘Provided it is you.’

  With that he proceeded to kiss me again. I put up no resistance for I was too tired to explain myself, too beaten, believed myself too much in love. I merely blinked away my tears and turned
my mouth to his.

  We stayed like that for what seemed like hours, holding each other, whispering words of love. He stroked my hair and made an inexpert attempt to pin back my veil which made us both laugh. Tomorrow was another day, another time; tomorrow was an enemy we both feared so we didn’t mention the future again. It was sufficient for now to live like this.

  It was the sound of a night owl which made me aware of the hour.

  ‘When do you leave?’

  ‘Tomorrow. At first light.’

  ‘Will there be danger? Should I light another candle?’

  He smiled. ‘No, there’s no danger. We’re just talking and banging the table. I’m only there to add a bit of royal weight to the proceedings, to impress Cousin Charles.’

  I didn’t want him to go.

  ‘Margaret.’ He was talking into my hair, his voice slightly muffled.

  ‘Yes.’ I kissed the side of his neck.

  ‘When I return …‘

  ‘Shush, don’t talk about it. Not now. Let us be happy.’

  He pulled back, still holding my hands. ‘Wait for me. When I return I shall talk to my brother.’

  For a few moments I stayed where I was looking into his eyes, eyes which I knew to be blue but which, in the shadowed darkness, were pools of black. I stepped forward and kissed him gently on his mouth.

  He took my hand and together we made our way across the courtyard to the safety of the archway leading to the royal apartments. The guards moved aside to let us enter. At the foot of the steps he pulled me into his arms one last time and kissed me until I could barely stand. Then he gave me a little push and I ran quickly up the stairs.

  Next morning he was gone.

  3

  Paris 1325

  A wasteland between: two years with no letters, no messages, no words, nothing. I waited and I wept and I despaired. At times I feared he was dead and would never return; at others that he had proved faithless and was pursuing another woman. My birth was not exalted, my situation one of dependence on the queen, and already the years were beginning to show on my face. I was no virginal beauty trailing a fortune and men seeking wives ignored me, fearing an entanglement which would bring no benefit to themselves. Yet he had said he loved me.