Barnes gave an involuntary twitch of excitement at hearing such outrageous gossip.
“Which office do you look for?”
“Lord Roache’s. These women inform me he is the one who employed them for my particular service. Pray tell, which door is it?” Barnes pointed and then stepped out of the room to watch as I reached Roache’s, before hurrying away to share the news with all his friends.
I did not knock on Roache’s door but entered uninvited, head held high and lips set in stern conviction. His office was larger than I expected, with a row of tall windows along one side providing an unsurpassed view of the city. A stunning mosaic covered the opposite wall, tiny squares of vivid colours creating an image of a mountain and its surrounds. His desk was at the far end of an expanse of grey tiles, another door to the right of him, and nothing more.
The chief minister looked up from the papers he sat reading, irritated by the intrusion. His short hair went in all directions, as if he often ran his fingers through it. He rose from his seat when he realised who was standing before him. “Queen Anne!” Roache exclaimed and bowed, smoothing the unruly blonde strands. “This is most unexpected.”
I waved for the four women behind me to enter, observing his aspect subtly change as his gaze fell upon the three in his employ. Mistress Roberts in her ill-fitting but expensive dress caught his eye in particular.
“I believe you know them?” Roache said nothing, only stared at me with wary, blue eyes, his sneering expression muted for the first time in our acquaintance. “Well?”
“I do, Your Majesty,” he confirmed. “These are the chambermaids assigned to your apartment. May I ask what this is about?”
He stepped out from behind his desk and buttoned his black leather doublet, a match in hue to his pants and boots, as he walked towards us. He only ever wore black. The ruby signet ring of his office, worn on his thumb, provided the only flash of colour in his ensemble.
“I discovered these three women going through my private effects and letters. They were, as you can see, also rather free with my belongings. This one even discussed stealing a precious comb in my possession, believing in her ignorance that because it was not in the royal vault, it was not valuable.” I held the emerald comb out to him. “What is the punishment for pilfering from the royal family in Tellenel, Chief Minister Roache?”
“Five years in prison,” he told me with admirable calm.
“And what shall these women get for the physical abuse of my servant, Adele?”
It disconcerted him. “Of what do you speak?”
I bid Adele turn around so he could see for himself the black marks over her plain blue dress, left there by the poker.
“These three women, who openly discussed being in your employ as spies, have been forcing Adele to do all the cleaning in my apartment. Then, when they decide she has not done it quickly enough, they beat her with a poker from my fireplace! I caught them at it this very day!”
He glanced at them and their lowered faces gave him answer. “I was unaware.”
“You admit they were in your employ? That you sent them to spy on me and go through my belongings?”
He inclined his head, and I sucked in a deep breath of shock at the admission. I could not comprehend how far he had betrayed my trust or his reasons for doing so. When Lady Drusilla had hinted I should stay on my guard, I did not believe she ever imagined it could happen. Yet, the exact scenario she had warned me about had now come to pass.
“Why is correspondence with my family a matter of such interest? How scandalous is it that my papa and brothers still call me by the name of my birth, the name my papa gave me? Was it worth it? This spying? Do I harbour secrets so dire and horrifying? Such as the fact my papa is unwell. Tell me? Why did you set them to spying on me?”
Roache glanced at the ceiling for a brief moment, as if asking for fortitude or strength. “They were not my orders.”
“Who?” I breathed.
“I think you know.”
My head reared back. “My husband,” I stated, and he nodded. A sick sensation arose within me then, sharp and bitter. I swallowed it down.
I stepped towards Roache, my gaze never leaving his. “This is how it shall be. These women are to be taken to the relevant authorities and punished for their crimes of spying, stealing and physical assault. I will be advised of their punishment and, if I do not find it of suitable duration or hardship, I will begin speaking to every person in this court about this sordid matter. Once they know how readily the King’s chief minister spies on their queen, they may consider how easily they might be spied on themselves.”
“Go wait in the hallway,” he told the three women.
“One moment,” I said, halting their movement. “I understand what it means to be ordered to do something against your better judgement, forced to follow orders even when you know it is wrong. If that were your singular crime, I would have shown you all great leniency.”
I met their stares, one by one, seeing only fear for themselves and not contrition for their actions. For that reason, there was little mercy in my voice as I told them, “However, it is your conduct that condemns you. The cruelty with which you treated Adele, your disregard for my position or place above you, and the way you revealed your baser selves in your manner of speaking and behaviour, even unto your fellow servants. I would tell you to learn from this experience, but I suspect it would be a waste of my effort.”
One woman’s mouth gaped open as I turned away, dismissing them. Roache waved, and they hustled their way out the door, two of them near colliding with each other in their urgency.
“It will be your word against mine,” he warned.
“Did I not tell you I just spoke to Lord Barnes?” He frowned, and I smirked, almost pleased he chose this path. “Quite by accident.” His nostrils flared, understanding from my tone that it was not by chance.
“I imagine he has already told all his friends of meeting the Queen on her way to Chief Minister Roache’s office. Of the three servants who tried on the Queen’s dresses, going through her belongings, and beating her servant.”
“The spying?”
“Not stated in so many words, but easily added to the discourse. So, are we agreed? Those women will receive the harshest punishment possible.”
“It shall be done.”
“Oh, and no more spying on me, Lord Roache.”
He dared to hesitate. I narrowed my eyes at him until he said, “I’ll advise King Edmund to speak with you about the other matter.”
“That will not do. I need your promise on this and will not leave until I get it.”
“I’ll endeavour to ensure neither myself nor your husband ever spy on you again. If we wish to know something, we shall ask. Does that suffice?”
Dragged out of him, the words were yet as I required. I nodded graciously. Whether he would keep to that promise did not matter as much as I wanted him to believe. In fact, I rather expected Edmund would ignore it. The important thing was that I now knew where Roache stood, and he understood how irrevocably he had lost my trust.
“Anything else?”
“Yes. Adele is to be given sole responsibility for my apartment and care. She has been doing everything herself for these past six months and under conditions not even fit for a dog. Everything she asks for will be provided. She has complete autonomy and all the servants in the palace will know and respect her position as my head servant.”
“Granted. And your seneschal?”
“I will continue to use his services for the time being. However, if I should find a replacement more suitable for my needs, you will grant this to me without question.”
“Agreed, Your Majesty,” he answered with a deep bow.
I touched Adele’s elbow. Transfixed, she followed me out of Roache’s office. I sniffed as I passed the women, refusing to look at them,
and then stopped, saying to the air before me, “Keep the dress. It will serve as a reminder of the folly of your actions.”
Once we returned to my apartment, I explained my idea for moving Adele’s bed to the nursery. Quickly appreciating the wisdom of my offer, she confirmed she would do as I asked.
Before I left, Adele dropped into a low and subservient curtsy. “Thank you, Your Majesty. I won’t let you down.”
Affectionately, I told her to get up. “You have never let me down, Adele, nor do I ever expect you to. Call for any assistance that you need and, when you are finished with your jobs, please take the time to rest. You have earned it.”
She bobbed back down. “I will, Your Majesty.”
Originally intending to return to my ladies in waiting, I changed my mind half-way, cutting across the gallery and onyx hall towards the King’s drawing room. Lately, he liked to spend all of his time in seclusion. Not that he was alone, far from it. His newest mistress kept him well occupied.
Emily Rowe had been replaced by Rabitha Perry, who was followed by Jorda Hewt, and then Telli Newell. Now Telli had been supplanted by his latest mistress, Fern Hathen, a woman of fair beauty, as they all were. She had long, glossy black hair and an ample chest. Truly, there was little else to notice about her. I was fairly positive it was all my husband ever saw.
The King’s Guards beyond Edmund’s drawing room came to attention at my approach. I reached for the handle of the door and they both leapt forward to stop me. “Your Majesty,” one said. “This isn’t a good time.”
His cheeks were a little red, and it gave me pause. I put my ear to the wood, hearing unmistakable sounds of ardour. My blush grew to match the guard’s colour.
“Very well,” I responded, trying for a level of calm I did not possess. “Please pass on a message to my husband. I would like to speak to him.”
“We will, Your Majesty.”
I reflected on the state of our marriage as I walked to the Queen’s drawing room. Edmund had not been the considerate husband Lady Drusilla had hinted he would be. Even Eadred had misled me in this but, deep in my heart, I knew it was his only option, honour and loyalty forcing him to hold his tongue, preventing him from speaking ill of his cousin.
It was why I protected him from the truth, despite a desperate inner need to unburden myself to the one person I trusted most in the world.
Not even to my family could I reveal any part of it, for they too would worry about me. Or worse, my papa might see it as a failure to fulfil my role as wife and queen.
For six months I was treated as an ornament only. An inconsequential female, seen and admired but never heard. Edmund gave me no other position. I was not expected to help with correspondence with his subjects or asked to manage any palace affairs or organise events. The council followed his example and only on rare occasions was I allowed a voice or an opinion, and even then it was easily dismissed. Then there were the mistresses. He paraded them in front of me, treating them more the queen and every one of those women knew it. My only comfort was the knowledge that none stayed long. Edmund’s interest always moved on to someone bustier, more beautiful or more scintillating.
On my return to the Queen’s drawing room, I found Regina reclining on one of the beautifully embroidered chaise lounges and the other two working on their needlepoint.
The area was exquisite, with a large mirror on the wall opposite the fire, bordered in gleaming silver. White walls were adorned with silvery scrollwork running across the length of the chamber, close to the ceiling, and more decorating the panels. The fireplace was of fine bone-white marble, embellished with carvings along the top and sides.
A rug, patterned in a delicate blend of blue, yellow and red, covered the tiled floor. The colours were reflected in the soft cushions on the lounges and armchairs. Small tables were strategically placed beside chairs, with a larger one set in the middle, low for ease of use when refreshments were served.
Above the mantelpiece was a framed painting of Edmund astride a rearing steed. Two large vases, overflowing with colourful flowers and cut branches thick with green leaves, obscured the picture. They were replaced with fresh arrangements every day at my request.
Double doors of glass led into the rose garden and another to my private stairwell. I was tempted to make my escape through one of them when Regina let out a petulant gasp. “There you are! We’ve been waiting for the longest time. I was about to insist we find our own entertainments.”
“So we shall,” I told her. “I plan to go for a ride in the forest beyond the palace. Who would like to join me?” Annette fell back against her seat with an aggrieved sigh, and Regina appeared even less impressed. I picked up my riding gloves and put them on. “Very well, I will ride alone.”
Georgette set down her needlework and stood, not looking at the others. “I’ll accompany you, Your Majesty.”
“That would be lovely, Lady Georgette.” I called a servant using the bell and informed them of my plans. “Please have two horses prepared and guards to escort us.”
Annette resumed working on her needlepoint as we left. Regina rang for food and wine. The message could not be clearer: we would not be missed.
On the palace drive before the grand entry, I used the stableman’s help to get into the side saddle. I cared not at all for the ungainly seat, but understood it was another one of those things I must force myself to accept.
Two King’s Guards followed us, each with a hand on the rein and the other on their musket, gazes sweeping for any danger. We led the horses around the corner of the palace and then down the long drive past the west wing. The pungent scents of the city were overtaken with the fresher and earthier fragrances of the royal forest, and I breathed in deeply, relishing the sensation.
“How was your visit to Arnil Wale?” Georgette asked, swaying smoothly on the back of her gently moving mare.
“Full of unexpected sights,” I answered.
“Oh? I heard Lord Eadred cut off a man’s leg. Is that true?”
“It is.” The grisly deeds Eadred performed in his hospice were too macabre to think about. Trees surrounded us now, dappled sunlight falling through gaps between the leaves and branches. The moist ground softened our horse’s steps. “Is it not beautiful …” I began.
Georgette interrupted me. “Lady Annette said it was gruesome. She told me he cut off that man’s leg like he was carving a roast!”
I forced down my sigh. “It is what his profession requires him to do. It is not our place to judge what his teachers have advised him is the best course of treatment.”
“Yes, well that Professor Ludlow did it many more times, I hear.”
“He did, and I do not think he considered the comfort of his patients as much as Lord Eadred.”
“Did he look happy?”
“If you speak of Lord Eadred, then yes, he looked comfortable in his new role,” I lied, remembering his obvious tension. There were burdens on his shoulder greater than I could ever imagine, my dream of him notwithstanding.
I whipped the riding switch against the mare’s side to get the animal moving faster as we followed the well-trodden path through the forest before turning back for home. The horse’s hooves thundered over the ground and the wind rushed past us, whipping away anything else Georgette tried to say. We parted company at the grand entry.
I went straight to the library. Eadred was suffering in ways I found difficult to comprehend. Perhaps by trying to learn more about the origin of our religion, I might discern a way to help him.
The religious works were in the far-left corner. I perused the titles until I discovered two books possibly relevant to my inquiry. A small book, called The Mysteries of the Three, by one Brother Artorelis, and another of spiritual essays. I sat at the table at the end of the row to read.
Curiosity filled me, spurred by my vivid dream. In it I had seen Eadred attac
ked by a woman, his wounding, the blessing and then healing of his injury. I did not question what I saw, a steadfast certainty growing within me. It had occurred. This was no fancy or hysterical imagining.
Now I recognised what I had witnessed all those months before in Arnil Wale: Eadred was Three Times Blessed. His confirmation of those events would only provide evidence of a deeper connection between us, greater even than the pain I felt in his absence.
And my dream about him was not the only of late. I had a recurring one where I walked through standing stones, as soft flakes of snow fell all about me. Etched upon the grey rocks were phrases I struggled to remember. When I stepped through the arch, there were only butterflies to greet me and they swarmed around until I was forced, gasping, from my sleep.
With a tiny shudder at the memory, I returned my attention to the book in my hands, reading the words of Artorelis.
The first manifestation of the Divine came during a time when the world was in turmoil. A turmoil of the spirit as many different religions abounded among God’s children, for these children all gave God different names and believed only they possessed the true one. They also believed, with a fervour they were willing to die for, that they were the chosen people and no other. That it was their duty to spread their Divine message to all they knew, by force if necessary. Wars were fought, lives were lost. None could agree, and therefore any message of goodness or love was lost in the translation.
And then came the Three Times Blessed. He who lit a fire upon this world the like of which we had never seen. Except for the oldest faith, those who worshipped earth, not heaven, every religion that came before was caught up in this conflagration and renewed in a vigour of unity.
But how did one man achieve such a thing, you might ask?
It was not in the exhibiting of those three blessings. Rather, it was in the sensation it gave each and every person who was there to witness it. For the first time in people’s lives, they were given a direct connection to the Divine. It stirred within their blood. They understood it within their hearts as it touched their souls.
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