Strands of My Winding Cloth

by G Lawrence

  “She has not had a good appetite for some time,” her husband John admitted when he arrived and I asked him about it. “But she said it was nothing to worry about…” With desperate eyes he stared at Kat, white and wan in the bed. “I should have known!” he shouted. “I should have said something!”

  “If you think your wife would have listened, John, you are more fool than ever I took you for.” I put my hand on his shoulder. I tried to smile, but it came out as more of a grimace. “It matters not now. She has been a naughty sprite, and we will scold her when she is well, John. What matters now is that she gets well.”

  The doctors worked on her; taking blood from her veins to balance her humours, applying poultices to her neck and chest. Kat slept on as they toiled about her, as I stood there, watching with eyes of helpless dread.

  When she opened her eyes late that night, I was at her side. “Kat…” I whispered, holding her hand so tight that I must have hurt her, although she said nothing.

  “What happened?” she asked. Her eyes were unfocussed and unsettling to look upon. She looked as though she were drunk, even though I knew Kat rarely imbibed much alcohol, taking her example from me.

  “You fainted,” I said, my voice wobbling. “You have taken too much upon yourself, Kat, as always. I will see to it that you get well, and when you do I will give your duties to others. I will not have you suffer for serving me.”

  “I have never felt my duties to you to be onerous, Elizabeth,” she whispered. “To be with my girl, to stand with her through all the challenges of life… That has never been a trial. It has been an honour to be your servant, and your friend, my lady.”

  “You will listen to me, Kat, and obey me,” I commanded, my voice catching. “I will not lose you. You will get well. You will be at my side for a long time yet.”

  I did not know I was lying when I spoke these words.

  Over the days that passed, Kat would seem to rally and then another fit would assault her. Each time the convulsions came, she weakened. She looked so small in that great bed. So unlike the great force I had ever known at my side. John sat with her whenever I went to try to sleep, but sleep did not come to visit me. John’s haunted face spoke of the terrible fear in his heart. We did not say what we feared. We spoke words of comfort to each other. We told each other she would be well, and when she was we would make her rest more often. We swore we would take greater care of this woman we loved so dear.

  We knew we were lying, but we continued to tell our tales. We made up fairy stories to comfort one another. The truth was too hard to face. We were losing her. The doctors could do nothing.

  One night, when I was alone, sitting up reading to her, she opened her eyes and gazed at me. Not noting that she was staring at me for a while, I finally looked up from the book. She was gazing at me with such warmth, such tenderness. It was a beautiful expression; peaceful, calm, as though her spirit had found its home. “What is it?” I asked, smiling at the affection in her gaze.

  “I was dreaming of the old days, my lady,” she said. Her voice was faint and weak, but her smile shone in her eyes. She looked proud. Proud of me.

  “I was dreaming about the day they came to tell you that you were Queen. You were stood under that great oak tree at Hatfield. The light of the setting sun was shining over you. You looked like an angel, Elizabeth. Your red hair lit up like fire against the red-gold of the trees…”

  Her smile grew, flooding her face with beauty. “Do you remember the early days, Elizabeth? The day we met? I loved you from the first moment I saw you; so bold and so proud… yet so sad. You stood there in your fine gown, wearing such a grave expression. You looked as though all the cares of the world were upon your small shoulders, even then. I had never met a child more serious. You hardly laughed until I found ways to tease mirth from you. So serious, so grave… a poor, motherless little girl. It seemed as though so many others had forgotten you, that since your brother’s birth you had been pushed to one side. You felt it. I know you did. But I saw what others did not. I saw your courage. I saw your strength. I knew that you would become great, and you will be greater still.” She paused and sighed. “I just wish I could be there to watch over you, always.”

  “Kat… don’t speak that way. You will be here.” Sudden fear flashed through my blood and into my bones. I felt weak. The dread of her admission flooded through me; Kat knew she was dying. “You swore you would never leave me, Kat. You must keep your promise.”

  “I fear, my lady, I will not be able to keep to my oath… not in life.”

  “You must.” I put aside the book. As I tried to place it on the bed, it fell to the floor with a bang. Its pages opened, moving, flicking in the breeze which crept from behind the tapestry. Pages of words and thought turned as though a phantom hand leafed through the book, seeking wisdom. I slipped my hands into hers. “You must keep your promise, Kat. I cannot do without you.”

  “You have grown into a fine woman; into a great prince,” she said faintly. “I could not be prouder of you, Elizabeth. I never had a daughter, but even if I had, there would never have been even a child of my blood who I would love as I love you. You are my daughter, as much as you ever belonged to your mother and father, you are mine, too. And as you grew, I had the privilege to know you as a friend. Nothing could have made me happier than to see you as you are now. You are the Queen England was supposed to have. You are the master of all you meet; a ruler who governs with wisdom, power and grace. I am so proud of you, my little girl.”

  “Kat...” My voice broke. I struggled to speak. What can one person say to another at such a time? How could I ever tell her what she meant to me… all that she was to me? Words are feeble when they try to express the love and devotion of hearts joined by bonds unbreakable. “Please,” I whispered, feeling my heart tear within me. “Please, Kat, do not talk so. You will be well again, I will make it so.”

  “Not even you, my little love, have such power over Death,” she murmured. Her eyes fluttered and she made to close them. A shiver ran through my bones. In the shadows behind the bed I seemed to see a figure. Cloaked and hooded, He stood too near. I knew why He was here.

  “Kat… no…” I called out, my voice hard, desperate. “You may not leave me. You shall not leave me! I command you to stay! I order you to live!”

  “Such things as these even you cannot command.” Her voice was faint. She was falling from me. “I have lived well and full,” she murmured. “I have known love and been loved in return. Such grace must be enough for anyone.”

  “Please, Kat…” I fell to my knees at her side, clutching her hand and feeling the life seep from her flesh. “Please… Please, Kat. Do not leave me here. Do not leave me here alone. I love you. I cannot do without you.”

  “I will always be with you.” Her voice was barely audible. My heart was breaking. I could feel it; rending and snapping and tearing and ripping. “I will always watch over you… My girl… My little girl… You are mine, Elizabeth. My child. My daughter. I will always be with you… My love will never leave you.”

  “Kat, I love you too!” I exclaimed, breaking into tears. “Please, Kat. Do not go.”

  She spoke no more. I ran for the doctors who were sleeping in the next set of rooms. There was nothing they could do. I stared at them as though I knew not what they were saying as they explained to me that the end had come. They called for John, and they called for a priest. The last rites were given to Kat even though she could only breathe as a response. Four hours later, as John and I stood lost in a mist of grief, a doctor put his hands to her neck and chest. He lifted his head and shook it just once.

  “She is with God, now,” he said.

  I could not move. I could not speak. As others broke into weeping around me I only seemed to hear a soft sound near to the bed, as though two people had joined hands. I thought I could hear footsteps moving away. Death had taken her from me. Kat was gone.

  I stood there gazing on her still body. She looked so
small. So very small. Her eyes were closed, her face was at peace. She could have been sleeping, had it not been for the pallor of her skin. Hands tried to coax me to move, but I would not leave her. I could not leave her. She was my Kat, my friend. The only mother I had ever known.

  I stood there, frozen like a statue. I could not make sense of what had happened. I could not make sense of my loss. I could not find words to honour her. I could do nothing but stare.

  And then, without making a sound, I fell. I heard people scream and rush to aid me. It sounded as though they were far, far away.

  Darkness swallowed me.

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  Richmond Palace

  Summer 1565

  Blankness.

  That is what I felt when I awoke. That is what I felt when I remembered Kat was dead. My heart had been taken from me. I was empty. I did not rise. I lay in my bed that day allowing no one into my chamber but Blanche. I could not bear to see another face but hers.

  Kat was gone. She was gone.

  It was not like any other time I had experienced the harshness of death. There were no thoughts in my head. No memories replayed. I thought not of the past, nor of her poor body lying in the next room. There was nothing in me anymore. There was only the awful blankness. This terrible, aching emptiness. The vacuum of loss. The long dark.

  Grief was not beside me. Grief was within me. There was a part of me which never left the room where Kat had died; a part of me that would forever stand, silent, motionless, staring at her face. For the rest of my life I would carry grief inside me. He had entered my heart. He was within my mind… inside my soul. I stared at the window, but I saw nothing. I stared at the coverings of my bed and saw nothing there either. Blanche brought me broth on silent feet and I left it to congeal on the table. I did not drink. I did not eat. I stared and I was empty. Grief had made me hollow. Grief had made me lost.

  Others did not mourn for Kat as I did. Phillip of Spain rejoiced, saying that she had been “such a heretic” he was glad for her death. The French Court felt the same. But they had known nothing of the woman I had lost. They knew nothing of her heart; her good heart. They had not known her as a friend. They had not been with her since they were children. Those who rejoiced in her demise had not known her pride, her wit, her spirit, her courage. They had not slept beside her every night since they were small. They had not held her hand or laughed at her jests. They had not had such a friend as I once did and so they understood not that a great soul had been taken.

  I could not remember a time when Kat had not been with me. I did not want to think of a time when I would have to face this world without her.

  I wanted to die, I think, in those first, awful, hollow days. I wanted to be with Kat. I did not want to live without her. I did not want to rise knowing I would never laugh with her again. That I would never go to her with talk or plans or gossip. That I would never again feel the warmth of her arms wrapped about me in the darkness of night. I did not want to participate in life, without her. Kat had been my gentle comfort, my summer warmth, my winter spark. She had been my mirth, my pleasure, and my scolding conscience. She had occupied my heart in a way no other ever would again. Without her, I did not know who I was.

  If you have lost someone, then you understand all I went through. If you have not, then prepare yourself, for we are all fated to lose those we love. It is the price of living. It is the tax of life. And, in truth, we can none of us ever be prepared for loss. The dead leave a space, a gap, which is never filled. All joy had gone from the world. I was lost, naked and alone, in the wilderness. Afraid, raw, broken… bereft of hope and joy.

  I rose from my bed after two days. I went about my duties with a mechanical air. I had become one of my father’s clocks, ticking and clicking through the hours of the day, but without heart or soul within me. Every day, for the rest of my life, I had to wake knowing she was no longer with me.

  Meetings were kept short. My audiences in the Presence Chamber were cancelled. All I wanted was to curl up and disappear inside the aching hole within me. In the day, my bruised eyes shied from the light of the sun, as though looking upon it would cause me to see, only more clearly, Kat’s shadow missing beside mine. Everything was too bright, too loud. I wanted to hide in darkness, crawl into my bed and never emerge.

  At night, Blanche took Kat’s place in my bed. In those long nights, when the dark emptiness threatened to engulf me, Blanche took me in her arms and sang soft Welsh lullabies, trying to lull me into sleep. But sleep did not come, even though I was exhausted by sorrow. As Blanche slept, I would lie with eyes staring and glassy, remembering every day, every event, and every moment I had spent with Kat. Memories flickered, competing with one another. There was the sight of her laughing; the expression on her face as she scolded me; the swish of her silk dress as she marched through my chambers; the warmth of her brown eyes; the memory of her soft hands folding gowns; the scent of her warm skin.

  At times, when I caught the scent of lavender, I believed I would drown in sorrow.

  I went about court dressed in deepest black; my face plastered with thick powder to hide the ravages of my grief. I saved my tears for the nights, heaving silent sobs against Blanche’s soft embrace. I rose each day feeling lifeless. My skin grew grey under my powder. My gowns hung from my skeletal frame.

  Blanche became Chief Lady of the Bedchamber, and in those days when I lost Kat, she was my closest friend, my constant companion. She hardly spoke, understanding there are some feelings which cannot be expressed in words. But every night when I returned to my chambers she was there ready to take me in her arms. Blanche, in those days, was my strength, my courage. She was the only reason I did not fall into the arms of Death to join my beloved Kat.

  “Benthyg dros amser byr yw popeth a geir yn y byd hwn,” she whispered to me one night. “Everything you have in this world is but borrowed for a short time.” She stroked my arm as we wept together, and then started to sing to me. She sung a tale of chivalry and sorrow. I fell into dreams of knights, justice and mercy.

  Slowly, slowly, the court returned to normal. People who had not known Kat forgot her. But as I sat on my throne, meeting with ambassadors and dignitaries, as my Privy Council argued on what was to be done with Scotland, France or Spain, I heard but little. Others could forget. I could not.

  Every time I looked to my side, I saw the gap Kat had left there. Sometimes, I thought I caught a glimpse of her shadow from the corner of my eye. In those moments, my heart leapt with desperate hope. Hope that all of this horror had been but a dream, a nightmare. If I turned my head, she would be there. The nightmare would be ended. The spell would be broken.

  But when I snapped my head about to try to see her face, the shadow faded away, just as Kat had. My heart died all over again. The rawness of my grief consumed me. I knew I was alone. Alone in this world without my friend.

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  Windsor Castle

  Summer 1565

  “Do not use lavender in the trunks, Blanche,” I murmured. “I would that you would cease to use that scent at all, now.”

  We were packing to leave. Blanche knew why I asked this. The scent reminded me too painfully of Kat. My days were hard enough as it was. Memories of Kat were everywhere; in my palaces, in my chambers, in my bed, in my gardens. Kat stole upon me as I tried, tried so hard to get on with my days, with my work. But that scent… when I smelt it, it was enough to bring me crashing to my knees. I lost all courage. I lost all faith. I could not summon the energy to carry on.

  Blanche ordered rose petals from Richmond Palace gardens to perfume the trunks with as we packed and made for Windsor.

  Smell is such a powerful sense; capable of bringing memory to the mind more powerfully than sight or sound. There is nothing that can bring memory swimming into our heads like scent. I could not bear to smell the scent which had lived on Kat’s warm skin. Every time I caught a trace of it about me, I lost her again.

  As w
e came to Windsor, I was taken low with a fever. Kat’s death lay upon me like a shroud and I was drained by emptiness. I had had little will to undertake my duties and little strength to resist this illness when it fell upon me. I was taken to my bed with a cold, fever and a pain in my shoulder. I let the doctors fuss about me, giving in, where in all past times I would have objected. I had no spirit to fight them. I did not want to be before the court in any case. I did not want to have to work and face each day as though nothing had happened.

  Blanche read to me each night; poetry we had shared when Kat was alive. Her voice took me into sleep where nothing else would. When I recovered from my fever, I went riding with Blanche and Robin. Often we would not say a word to each other for the whole day as we rode out through the countryside. They understood I wished to lose myself in the silence and peace of my England. But if they understood my need for peace, others did not. An anonymous petition, calling upon me to marry, circulated at court and was brought to me by Cecil. “We must despair of your marriage,” it said, “as we may despair of your issue.”