“Well, we could stop by the laundry on the way back …” mused Doña Elvira. “Come along, then. We must make haste.”
Doña Elvira led her down one corridor and then another, until at last they entered the doorway of a large, hot room. Five men were at work over enormous pots of water boiling at four separate hearths. Doña Elvira asked about Kate’s dress and was told that it was clean but not yet dry.
“We can just as well hang it in our rooms near a brazier rather than leave it here,” Kate said.
“Well, all right,” said her nurse. “But you will have to carry it. The damp cloth might bother my joints.”
They passed one of the great kitchens on their way back to their quarters, and Kate couldn’t help peeking in and commenting at the noise, the general flurry, and the state of the workers. Clothed in ill-fitting garments that were either too large or too small, and some, by the look of them, merely underwear, scullions were hurrying about from one pot to another, and Kate thought she detected sweat flying from some of their bodies into the broth.
“How awful!” she gagged. “I can’t believe we eat this stuff!”
Doña Elvira grabbed Kate’s arm and gave it a little shake.
“It’s not for us to complain!” she said. “And it’s certainly better since Thomas Wolsey gave the Clerk of the Kitchen money to purchase garments for the workers, even if the clothes are ill-fitting. There was a time when many worked without a stitch on their backs. I am also grateful that he passed a law about urinating on the cooking hearths, which was a nasty practice all around.”
Kate gulped, trying to figure out how she could avoid eating anything that came from this horrible place. To see those kitchens, and to think about what might actually be in one’s food, was disgusting. How she longed for the sterile cans of soup about which she had once complained. Then she shook her head at her own imagination. Cans of soup? What had gotten into her, thinking up such things!
It was hard for Kate to tear her eyes away from the kitchen. The cooks were putting tall glass jars into the cauldrons, each with different foodstuffs inside. One had chickens, another beans, while another had eggs. All of these jars could rest side by side within the same cauldron and cook the food separately, yet use the same energy.
Bright feathers caught her eye, and she turned to see a senior servant preparing a peacock for the table. He had fanned the beautiful tail up above the plate and was attaching other feathers into the breast. Better than a floral centerpiece, thought Kate, since the gardens were covered in November frost.
As Kate and Doña Elvira turned away from the kitchen, two scullery maids pushed past them without recognition.
“An’ ’e gave us three candles,” one was saying. “An’ you know wot that means!”
“Wot?” the other asked. “Do you believe in that superstition?”
“Well, that I do,” said the first. “There’ll be a weddin’ soon! Me own weddin’, at that,” she crowed, “thanks to those candles!”
“Of course,” the other one jibed, “you don’t know who you’ll be marryin’, do you, now? Could be anyone!”
“Well, get on wi’ you,” said the first. “Wot person else would I be marryin’ then! The Prince himself? I hear ’e’s spoken for!” She howled with laughter. “Princess Katherine’s wot you might call a lady in waitin’!” The girls scampered off, laughing, down the corridor.
“A lady in waiting,” thought Kate. “Was that all she was?” First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes baby in the baby carriage. The bold children’s rhyme, thrumming through her head, gave her an instant headache. If it were only that simple.
“Come on, then,” urged Doña Elvira. “It’s lunch time and I need a spot of soup.”
Oh, no, not soup! thought Kate, agonizing at the idea of eating anything that had come out of those pots.
“I’m feeling a bit unwell,” she said. “Perhaps I’ll just go back and have a little rest.”
When they entered their chambers, two servants watched with interest as Doña Elvira set the jar of leeches on the mantle. As soon as the nurse had left, Kate took one small step of independence. While the others were absorbed in their embroidery, she carried the glass jar into the garderobe and poured the creatures down the hole.
“Bon Voyage!” she whispered.
23
The sadness
BY LATE NOVEMBER, Kate and William could see that the cub was growing quickly to adult size, and one morning at the farmyard, as they sat together in companionable silence, Kate wondered how long the creature could be kept captive in the coop. William was scratching the silky fur on the cub’s belly and the animal was wriggling with pleasure. She admired his gentleness, grateful that he, too, took pleasure in quiet pastimes.
“I’m thinking we should find a way to set him free,” she said.
“I’d rather be stuck in the mud and bowled with … with onions than see harm come to him,” said William. “But you are right. It’s time, maybe past time. He’s managed to catch rabbits and partridges, so in that way he’ll be all right. But the hunters. We have to think of a way to protect him from the hunters.”
“Maybe if he runs deep into the woods, far from here,” said Kate. “Maybe then he will be safe?”
“Maybe,” said William dubiously. She knew what he was thinking. It had become easy to guess his thoughts. MacQueen and the others rode on fine, fast steeds. They could cover a lot of ground.
“There’s a price to pay for freedom,” he said finally. “But no creature should be kept cooped up, away from the light of day, away from the things that give it joy.”
“Yes,” said Kate. “There is a price to pay for freedom.” She knew all about it, for she had been paying it herself.
“The Lord is my shepherd,” muttered William. “He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake …”
He stood up unsteadily and walked to the door of the chicken coop. Kate noticed how stooped he was and how, in the sunlight, his face was very pale.
“Are you feeling all right?” she asked, suddenly concerned.
“No,” he said dully. “I’m not. But I’ll … I’m sure I’ll be fine. I’ve gone at my studies a bit too hard of late. Perhaps I just need more rest. And I miss home. Mother makes the best butter dumplings. I wish you could taste them. Sticky on the outside, light and dry in the middle. She wrote me last week, asking about Father, and I haven’t had the heart to answer.”
“You’re probably just homesick,” said Kate, still conscious of his white face. “It’s hard, missing your family.”
“Do you miss them, too?” William asked in a hollow voice, looking at her. “Your family?”
“I do,” she faltered, a whole patchwork of images rising to attention. “More than I can say.”
“It’s more than homesickness,” he went on. “It’s heartsickness, too, thinking of Father in that terrible place.”
“You’re doing the best you can,” said Kate.
“No,” he said, “I’m not. I haven’t been effective, you know, in engineering his release. I don’t know if he can stand the rest of the winter in the Tower. It’s damp and cold and the vermin are abominable. He won’t be able to stand it.” His voice broke. “I … I won’t be able to stand it.”
“You’re doing what you can,” Kate repeated. She took a step toward him, then stopped at his expression.
“I’m not feeling well. It’s all muddled up, you, and the Prince, and my father, and … and everything.” He leaned against the door frame and breathed heavily. “And someone keeps cooking onions somewhere. I can smell them.”
“I’ll walk you back,” said Kate, flustered. “Maybe you just need a bit more rest, and by tomorrow—”
“No,” William interrupted. “I’ll go alone. There’s talk, you know, of us spending time together. It wouldn’t be good … it wouldn’t be good if this talk reached the King. He wouldn’t wa
nt anything to come between … between the match he is planning between you and the Prince.” Delicately, William didn’t look at her as he spoke.
He took a step out into the sunlight and staggered, almost falling. She ran to his side and took his arm.
“Today I’ll walk you back,” she said. “Another day we can worry about what the rest of them might think.”
She left him at the door to the great hall where he said he’d take a little ale, and went back, worriedly, to her own chambers. He just needed some extra rest, as he had said, and tomorrow he’d be fine. But tomorrow he wasn’t fine, nor was he fine the next day. It wasn’t proper for her to enter his quarters so she had to rely on what she heard from Doña Elvira, who had various ways of getting information. On the third day, when she had made herself sick with worry, she enlisted Doña Elvira’s help to go and see what was the matter. But it was too late. William Fitzroy was dead.
“It was the sickness,” Doña Elvira informed her briskly. “Took him last night along with the newborn babe I delivered last week. It is not an epidemic but we’ll watch to see whether more cases develop. You might need to stay a spell at Fulham if it looks like there’s danger. And Henry, certainly, will be riding with the King should any other illness arise here.”
Kate looked at her uncomprehendingly.
“He’s dead?” she asked. “William is dead?”
Doña Elvira gave her a sharp look.
“Yes, and that’s the end of it. Pay more attention to your betrothed, my dear, and all will be well.”
Kate went into her bedroom and sat down on the bed. So many people she cared about disappeared one way or another. She thought of Arthur and her mother. Then she thought about her father, her real father, whom she hadn’t considered in a very long time. And Isobel. The sorrows of Kate’s losses on top of Katherine’s were truly too much to bear. And now William. It wasn’t fair. It just wasn’t fair! She couldn’t ask about a funeral, for even if they had one here at court, she probably wouldn’t be allowed to attend. But she wanted to go to him, to see him just one more time. How could someone so young, so full of dreams, so good, be suddenly taken? It wasn’t just! She buried her head in her pillow and cried, and, once started, the tears wouldn’t stop. What if everyone she cared about died?
“Katherine!” called Doña Elvira finally after an hour had passed. “Prince Henry has summoned you and you’d best get up and wash your face.”
“I don’t care,” she muttered. “I’m not going to see him today.”
“Katherine!” Doña Elvira came in and sat on the side of the bed. “I’m not sure what game you think you are playing, but your job is to make Henry happy. Your only job. His good friend has just died and he needs you now more than ever. Please, my dear, show some compassion and go to him.”
Kate woodenly did as she was told and went out to meet the Prince. Side by side, they silently walked through the castle gates and westward along the Thames. Kate could tell that William’s death had touched Henry deeply.
At the water’s edge, they saw oarsmen in their green Tudor livery, rowing Princess Mary in one of the state barges. Beyond that, they could see tall masted ships putting out to sea. An ache in Kate’s throat prevented her from speaking and, finally, it was the Prince who broke the silence.
“My brother Arthur died when I was eleven,” he said, “and then my mother when I was twelve. It sometimes feels as if people I get close to are only meant to leave me.”
Kate looked at him and saw that his eyes were full of tears.
“And, of course, my little brother Edmund who died when I was nine. I used to carry him around in a sling. He was only a year old. He had the most cunning white-blond curls. I used to wind them around my finger. And then Edward, the baby who died with Mother. All around me, death. Death,” he whispered.
There was nothing Kate could say. Her heart was suddenly cold. She understood his grief but she couldn’t give him the comfort he wanted.
“My Father the King chooses that I should ride from here tomorrow,” the Prince continued. “If others become sick, you shall go to Fulham, and Doña Elvira and your ladies shall accompany you.”
Kate nodded.
“I loved him well, old William,” the Prince said bitterly. “He was a good friend, a loyal companion. True until the last.”
I loved him, too! Kate wanted to cry. What had begun as friendship had deepened, although she hadn’t let herself pay attention. Now it was too late. William would never know how she felt. Hard as it was to lose him, she knew with certainty that it would have been better to realize her love while there was still time to share it. Not that she was free to make any choices regarding her life. The road ahead unfolded according to plan, and she shivered at the knowledge of what her life held. The hints Henry had given her about the Tower and what happened to people who crossed the Crown had not gone unnoticed. In fact, she had been dwelling on them often of late, as she had been dwelling on his quick temper and the unjust way he sometimes treated others.
An idea suddenly came to her that brought some comfort. She couldn’t bring William back, just as she could not bring back her own father, but maybe she could intervene with the Prince about William’s father. She swallowed hard and very carefully chose her words.
“I am aware that the one thing William wanted was to free his father,” she began slowly, “who he was certain had committed no treason but was unjustly imprisoned. Do you think there’s a chance of his father’s release?”
The Prince looked at her in surprise.
“Well, it’s just been a matter of time,” he said. “My father the King now believes there was little wrongdoing and he has been waiting for the right moment to free the prisoner.”
“I think the right moment is now,” said Kate. “This is how you could show your love for William, if you gave his father the freedom he deserves!”
“Perhaps,” said the Prince, touching a hand to his head as if in deep thought. “Perhaps some good could come out of this, if only the release of an old man who is sure to die within the year.”
“Think of the blessing for his family,” said Kate. “To have their father back at a time when they’re grieving the loss of a son and brother. Oh, please, if you ever loved your friend, now is the time to show your great compassion and mercy!”
“By St. George! I did love him!” cried the Prince, and Kate saw that he was rising to the bait. “And I could see that the old man is released …” He stepped toward her as if planning an embrace and then stepped back, but for a moment, she saw his eyes glitter as they had before in times of triumph. Everything in his life was a step toward mastery of things: a marriage to further cement England and Spain, a way to show his image as a strong and compassionate monarch. He didn’t really care about her or William at all.
“It might be time to show our great power and compassion,” Henry mused. “The people do appreciate sensitivity in the face of death.”
Kate turned away from him. He was not the person with whom she wanted to spend her life. His temper, his ego, his willful nature were faults she had tried to ignore in light of the qualities that had made Katherine love him. Yet she, Kate, pitied him for his failings. How could he help but be anything except what he had been groomed to be—a willful and competent ruler? She pitied him with all her heart but did not love him. Powerless in the face of past, present, and future, she closed her eyes. What was there here for her? What kind of life could she expect?
“The people will appreciate our sensitivity to one of our dearest companions,” Henry repeated, as if trying to convince himself. Kate steeled herself and when she spoke, her voice did not tremble.
“You are wise beyond your years,” she said. “If he had voice to speak his thanks, your friend would be most grateful.”
If William could have seen his father freed, he would have felt such joy. It was what he had set his heart on. A rush of pride carried Kate forward. She no longer felt
small and insignificant. She had done something useful for someone else, at last. The best any of us can wish for is to make good use of the time we have. A tear spilled onto her cheek and she fervently brushed it off. And to create joy for others. It wasn’t so hard after all. And for her, it wasn’t the end. It was only the beginning. She thought of Willow and of Gran. As if pushing through the dark veil of Katherine’s presence, Kate considered all she had left behind and knew it was time to go home. A current of determination ran through her veins.
“I shall not kiss you goodbye,” the Prince went on. “In case any sickness should pass between us.”
Kate nodded again, trying to keep her mind blank so that he could detect nothing from her tone.
“I feel quite well,” she said, trying to sound light. “And I hope that this afternoon we might take the horses and go for a ride, to pass the time until evening when you must make your final preparations for leaving. A ride in the fresh air would be good for us both.”
The Prince contemplated the idea.
“Yes,” he said finally. “A ride this afternoon would be a fine idea. I will meet you at the stables after luncheon. The grooms will have the horses ready.” He seemed to regain his composure and Kate thought he seemed older; she could detect lines around his mouth that signaled an accumulation of more years than he had known. Grief does that to a person, she thought, if you let it.
They returned to the palace and the Prince continued on to his chambers, but Kate turned back toward the old farmyard. It was now or never, she thought, shivering in the sharp wind that had stirred up out of nowhere to sprinkle thin flakes of snow. Kate picked up her pace. It was now or never.
24
Freedom
THE YOUNG WOLF, she saw when she opened the door of the shed, was excited, sensing something new on the breeze. Kate hurriedly led it outside and toward the open country. The fields stretched into woodland and the wolf sniffed at the scents that were wafting on the wind. Kate predicted that it would find rabbits somewhere nearby. Easy prey. She wondered if it would pick up the scent of man and recognize it as the danger it truly was.
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