“Aye,” said Blaze. “I was with the king.” She took the bar of violet-scented soap that Heartha had left for her, and began to soap her arms.
Mistress Boleyn’s dark eyes narrowed into slits and she almost hissed, “Do not think that you can trip lightly back to court and into the king’s good graces once again, madam. He is mine! Mine!”
“I did not come of my own volition, Mistress Boleyn,” said Blaze sweetly.
“What do you mean?” The Boleyn’s tone was not quite as sure of itself now.
Blaze laughed, enjoying the girl’s discomfort, and allowed her to consider the worst before she said, “The king sent for me, and being the loyal servant of his majesty that I am, I came to find my lovely old apartments freshened and awaiting me.” Having washed her arms and shoulders, she now began to soap her legs, humming, as she did, the latest popular ditty.
Anne Boleyn shrieked, her voice rising into a screech of pure anger, “You cannot have him back!”
“My dear,” said Blaze, “do you think to rule the king? It is what he wants, and not what either you or I want. You had best understand that.”
“I will not let you have him!” The Boleyn’s eyes were almost bugging from her head in her rage. Anger did nothing for her looks.
Blaze considered for a moment, and decided that she really was enjoying herself. Slowly she arose from her tub and stepped out onto the rug. The oily water sluiced down her body, giving it a particularly lush sheen in the golden firelight. Her breasts were fuller than they had ever been. Her belly was prettily rounded. Her limbs pleasing in form. Lifting her arms, she undid her hair, and the honey-colored mass tumbled about her shoulders. A drop of water glittered and hung from one of Blaze’s nipples. Casually she flicked it off, and looking up, stared directly at the other girl.
“Can you offer the king what I offer him?” she murmured huskily with devastating effect, and then she laughed again at her opponent’s look.
Mistress Anne could do naught but stare, and she opened her mouth as if to speak, but no words came forth.
“Get you gone from my chambers, Mistress Anne Boleyn,” said Blaze haughtily. “You are not welcome here, and it may be that I am expecting a guest.”
To her surprise the girl turned abruptly about and ran from her apartments, sobbing.
“Why, m‘lady, I have never seen you behave in such a fashion before, not that the little bitch did not deserve it, uppity creature that she is. Leading her on like that, and making her believe that the king was eager to be your lover once again! For shame, m’lady!” But Heartha was hard-pressed to hold back her laughter. “She’s got ambitions, that one, and what big ones they are,” Heartha went on as she dried Blaze off. “You’ve made a bad enemy in her though, m’lady.”
“I will not be here long enough for her to even consider it,” Blaze said quietly. “The jest of the whole matter is, however, Heartha, that the king has sent for me to try to reason with the queen to release him because he believes that he wants to wed with that strumpet.”
Heartha shook her head. “I’m a simple woman, m’lady. I do not think that however long I serve the gentry, I will come to understand them.”
Blaze laughed. “I am not certain that I understand either, Heartha,” she said, “but as the king’s loyal subject I cannot help but do his bidding.”
Chapter 16
It was several days before Blaze was able to obtain an audience with the queen. Seeing her back at Greenwich, alone and without her husband, and living in her royal apartments, confused the members of the court. Her presence gave rise to much gossip, particularly when Mistress Boleyn was seen to sulk within her own little room, avoiding the king. Blaze, however, said nothing that either stemmed the rumors or confirmed them. As for Henry, he seemed glad to have the lovely Countess of Langford about once more, joking openly with her, and insisting she sit by his side one evening during a musical. No one could understand what was happening, although there was a great deal of speculation. Had Lady Wyndham been recalled to her former place? Was Mistress Boleyn already being replaced in the king’s fickle affections?
Finally the queen’s chamberlain set the time for Blaze’s private audience with Catherine. It was to be the following morning in the hour immediately after the queen had heard the Mass.
“Good!” Blaze said to Heartha. “We can leave afterward, and still have practically a full day for travel. With all this sun the last two days, the roads have surely dried. We will certainly get home quicker than we came. I doubt that it will take me very long to report on my interview to the king.”
Blaze chose with much care the clothing that she would wear. Although she was not a noblewoman of great family, she must still show Catherine that her coming on the king’s behalf was not meant as an insult, but rather an honor. Her gown was made of a golden-brown velvet, its bodice very heavily embroidered with a design of gold and pearls, its upper sleeves slashed to show cloth of gold beneath. The fitted lower sleeves were also heavily embroidered, and from beneath them emerged soft cream lace which fell over her wrists. The underskirt of the gown was made of cream-colored silk brocade, its plainness a severe contrast to the overskirt despite the rich material.
The neckline of the dress was square and very low, as the fashion dictated. About her neck Blaze wore a gold necklace that lay flat at the base of her throat, and from which hung an oval-shaped jeweled medallion. Her second necklace was a long strand of matched pearls that hung gracefully below her bosom. In her ears were fat baroque pearls, and upon her hands she sported several fine rings in addition to her wedding band.
Her hair had been parted in the center, and drawn back over her ears to be fixed in a French knot at the back of her neck, and held neatly within a golden caul that was decorated with pearls. From the dainty gold cordelière attached to her girdle hung a delicate, small round gold mirror studded with pearls. Blaze stared at herself in the pier glass and was satisfied. The gown was one she had never gotten to wear when she had been at court last as the king’s mistress. Thank God the fashions had not changed.
“Is everything all packed, Heartha?” she asked her tiring woman for the tenth time since she had arisen that morning. “The coach is ready, and the escort also?”
“Aye, m’lady. All is in readiness. We’ll be on our way as soon as you’ve completed your business here. I’m just as anxious as you are to be home again.”
Home. RiversEdge. God, yes, she was anxious to be home! Anxious to tell Anthony that she did love him. That she loved him with all her heart, and that she never wanted to be separated from him again. How could she have been so damned blind? How could he be so incredibly patient? Even after Philip had been born she had not been able to admit the truth to herself. She had not been able to say the words to him that he so desperately wanted to hear. How her callousness must have hurt him. She did not deserve him! He was the dearest and best man in the whole world, and she was going to spend the rest of her life making it up to him. All that she need do was speak with the queen, speak with the king, and then she was free. Free to go home to RiversEdge and her wonderful husband!
Shortly before the appointed hour the queen’s page came to fetch her, and brought her to the queen’s apartments. The antechamber in which she was left to wait was a lovely room with windows looking over the green lawns that fell away to the river. She was alone in the room, and very uncomfortable. Then at last one of the queen’s ladies-in-waiting, Lady Essex, came to fetch her. Her smile of greeting was a pleasant one, but there was no cordiality about it.
“You are to come with me, Lady Wyndham,” she said.
Blaze followed her into the queen’s dayroom, where the other of the queen’s ladies-in-waiting, ladies of the bedchamber, and the maids of honor were clustered. Some were sewing while others worked upon a tapestry depicting the coronation of the Blessed Virgin. One woman read to the group from a book of pious meditations, while another girl played softly upon the virginals. Several of the women were simply
talking, but they all looked up with curious eyes as Blaze was escorted into their midst.
These were women she did not know. Most she had only seen at a distance, and all knew of her past relationship to the king. A few nodded politely to her, for they understood that she was not the queen’s enemy. Others stared in a hostile manner, for they were extremely loyal to the queen, and suspicious of her presence. The younger maids of honor in the group looked at her, openly curious, for a king’s mistress, though honored by the king’s friends, was considered a bad woman by the queen’s adherents. The maids of honor could not remember ever having seen a really bad woman before. Secretly they considered Blaze a great disappointment for she did not look wicked at all.
“The queen will see you in her privy chamber, Lady Wyndham,” said Lady Essex, and she opened a door for Blaze to go through. Blaze took a deep breath and walked through into the small room. It was a square chamber whose walls were prettily paneled. A small bow window looked out upon the river, and in the fireplace a large fire burned, for the queen was always cold at Greenwich.
Catherine sat now by that fireplace in a high-backed tapestried oak chair with beautifully carved arms that was not unlike a throne. She wore a gown of black velvet whose low, squared neckline was heavily encrusted with a band of pearls, and jet and gold beads. The sleeves of her gown were full to the wrist and not slashed, but whereas the upper half of the sleeve was of black velvet, the lower part of the sleeve was of a rich gold brocade from which peeped fine lace at the wrist. She wore no jewelry upon her hands but her marriage ring, but about her neck were magnificent pearls and a second gold necklace from which hung a crucifix of rubies and pearls. Centered upon her bodice was a beautiful brooch of gold and rubies. Her hair was hidden beneath a richly adorned architectural headdress resembling a diamond that was studded with rubies and pearls, and to which was attached a black silk veil that flowed down the queen’s back.
Blaze curtsied low to Catherine.
“You may arise, Lady Wyndham,” came a deep male voice.
Startled, she stood, to see a tall, thin man in priest’s garb standing next to the queen. He had a narrow ascetic face and black eyes that seemed to bore right into her.
“I am Father Jorge de Atheca, the queen’s confessor, Lady Wyndham. Before you speak with the queen I must know whether you have made your confession regarding your previous adultery with the king, and if you have paid the full penance for your sin.”
“Aye, Father, I have,” Blaze answered, feeling very uncomfortable, which was, she thought, exactly how she was expected to feel. “I could not wed with my husband with the weight of my guilt upon me,” she finished, knowing it was just the sort of thing the priest wanted to hear.
He nodded, a small frosty smile touching his lips. “Now, madam, I ask you to swear upon this relic of the true cross,” and he held out a silver crucifix to her into which was embedded a splinter of dark wood, “that the answers you will give me to my next questions are the truth. Do you swear?”
Blaze kissed the crucifix, wondering what was so important that she must swear such an oath, yet she could not refuse.
“I swear,” she said.
“Is your son the king’s bastard?” the priest demanded bluntly.
The look on Blaze’s face was first shock, which was quickly followed by outrage. “No!” she snapped, and then her temper spilled over. Priest or no, he had no right to insult her. “How dare you ask me such a question, Father? Both my husbands have been earls of Langford, and I have too much love and respect for them to foist a bastard upon the Wyndhams.”
“Even a royal bastard?” the priest inquired slyly.
“Especially a royal bastard!” she shot back.
“Your son’s birthdate?” he demanded.
“All Hallows’ Eve of last year, and he was christened the following afternoon upon All Saints’ Day. You have but to look in the parish records. Do you think a priest would falsify such records? If you think that Philip is the king’s son, which he is not, then I carried him at least twelve months. Have you ever heard of a woman who carried her unborn child for that length of time?” Blaze was furious now. “I did not even sleep with my husband for three months after our marriage, to be certain that there would be no doubts to our child’s legitimacy when we were finally blest with an heir!” she blurted out.
“Enough!” The queen had finally spoken.
The priest bowed, and stepped back into the shadows by her side once more, but Blaze could see his eyes glowing with the light of a fanatic as he looked at her.
“You may be seated, Lady Wyndham,” the queen said, motioning her to a high-backed stool opposite her. “So your son’s name is Philip? I have a nephew named Philip. Is he your first child?”
“Nay, madam. I have a daughter by my first husband. Her name is Nyssa Catherine Mary Wyndham.”
“How is it that you came to marry two earls of Langford?” asked the queen.
“Anthony, who is my second husband, was the nephew of Edmund, my first husband. Just before Edmund died he requested that Anthony wed me to protect me and our daughter. As my second husband had no other match arranged, he agreed to his uncle’s dying request. A dispensation was arranged by our priest through Cardinal Wolsey, my lady.”
“Was your first husband very old? I expect he was, that his nephew was old enough to become your husband.”
“There were but four years between the two men. They were more like brothers, madam.”
“Where is your home?”
“In Herefordshire, madam, on the banks of the Wye River. It is very peaceful and very beautiful.”
“Do you love your husband, Lady Wyndham?” the queen said.
“Oh, yes, madam!” Blaze answered with feeling.
“Then I am curious as to why you have left a husband that you love, your two children, and your beautiful and peaceful home upon the banks of the River Wye. I am curious as to why my husband, the king, should have insisted that I speak with you; and certainly as to why you have returned to court,” said Catherine.
“I returned to court, madam, at the king’s specific request. I should not have come otherwise.”
The queen nodded. “Say on then, Lady Wyndham,” she said.
“The king has asked me to intercede for him with you, though I have told him that it is not my place, madam. He said that he thought you liked me, for during my time I was not forward in my behavior. He believes that you will at least hear me out, that perhaps my woman’s words will move you.”
Catherine’s lips had compressed themselves into a narrow, tight line. For a moment she closed her eyes, and Blaze thought she saw a spasm of pain cross the queen’s features.
“You do not have to hear this, majesty,” hissed the priest from his place at her side. “Send the bold creature away. Her presumption is not to be tolerated.”
“Where is your charity, Father Jorge?” asked thè queen, who had reopened her eyes. “Lady Wyndham has been practically dragged from her home and family to be thrust into the midst of something that does not concern her. Yet if I do not hear her out, my husband will complain loudly and publicly about my unreasonableness. Lady Wyndham, I give you leave to plead your case for the king, though it will do you little good. This country’s greatest lords have come to me on bended knee to plead the king’s case. I have listened to them also with courtesy. What harm is there in hearing one more plea, although I doubt you can bring anything new to this matter.”
“Madam,” began Blaze, “you know better than any other that the king must have an heir.” She was beginning to see how Catherine’s obdurate behavior was driving Hal to his wits’ end.
“I have given the king an heir in the person of our daughter, the princess Mary,” replied Catherine serenely. Her whole attitude was that of a woman who believed in the rightness of her cause.
“The king must have a son, madam. Can you give him a son?”
“I gave him three sons, and two other daughters,” the
queen said. “Is it my fault that God took them from us? I am but a humble servant of God. As such, I cannot interpret his motives!”
“Nevertheless, the king has no legitimate son, and he must. The princess Mary cannot rule England alone. She must have a husband, and of necessity, that husband must come from another land. Our people will not accept a foreign prince as their king. They will not, madam. Therefore, the king must have a legitimate son to follow him as England’s ruler. How can you deny him that if you truly love him as you say you do?” Blaze said gently.
“My mother was Queen of Castile in her own right!” cried Catherine.
“Yet she wed with the King of Aragon, and together they strove to forge Spain into one land, madam. Neither was truly foreign to the other. It is different here in England. England is one land which is ruled by King Henry Tudor, who has no son to follow him. What will become of my country, madam, if that happens? The people, the high lords, they will not accept a foreign prince as their king, even if he is wed to your daughter. There will be civil war again, as there was in the time of my parents’ parents. This is the legacy your daughter will bring to England. Is that what you truly desire, madam?”
“What would you have me do, Lady Wyndham? I cannot deny my marriage to the king.”
“But you could step aside, madam, even as St. Joan of Valois stepped aside for Anne of Brittany in the reign of the twelfth Louis of France. That childless queen made a great sacrifice, for she loved her lord even as I know you love the king. Yet, madam, she put aside her own feelings, her own desires that France might have an heir, for the widowed Duchess of Brittany was a proven breeder of healthy children.”
The queen was rather fascinated by Blaze’s knowledge, for she knew the young Countess of Langford to be, as indeed the king had called her, a little country girl. Catherine would have been surprised if there were even many amongst her own women who had such a grasp of history, particularly the history of another land. “How came you by your knowledge of these facts?” she asked Blaze.
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