The King's Mistress (27 page)

There was, however, someone who seemed ready to take the king’s place in flirtation, Sir William Wyndsor, a man of some reputation in the military, handsome and slightly arrogant. He made it difficult for me to ignore him, the way he devoured me with his wide hazel eyes and paid me compliments whenever we met, which was far more often than mere chance could explain. During the festivities at Windsor he invited me to dance several times.

“Mistress Alice, you are a feast for the eyes. How is it that we have not met before?”

“I trow it is because you have been occupied with making a reputation on the battlefield, Sir William, and I have been safely occupied in the queen’s household.”

Such was the depth of our conversations, but I thought it admirable that we managed to say as much as we did while dancing. I particularly enjoyed dancing with him when the king was present.

“It is rumored he will be the Earl of Ulster’s captain in Ireland,” Geoffrey told me after one of my dances with Sir William. “He’s already valued by the king, and if he survives Ireland and keeps Lionel alive, may rise at court. In time you might come to think of him as a worthy spouse and father for Bella. You could do far worse than wed William Wyndsor.”

I met his comment with a confusion I tried to hide by protesting, “I am in mourning, Geoffrey, despite my lack of widow’s weeds.”

“Forgive me, I merely point out a potential escape from court.”

“Geoffrey!”

He squeezed my hand. “Dare to be happy, my friend. At least dream of it.”

“I am not blind to the beauty and wit all round me,” I assured him.

Countess Joan joined Geoffrey in encouraging me to find happiness, though her message was less sanguine.

“No matter what you believe about the deaths of your husband and his mother, know that you are safe in Her Grace’s household,” she told me one afternoon as we walked in the gardens. In befriending me she had told me all about her scandalous past. On that particular day she had begun by confiding in me that while wed to William Montague she had taken care not to become pregnant, though they had lived as husband and wife for seven years.

“You know how to avoid conception?” I asked, having heard of such things, but never having known anyone who had actually gone to such lengths.

Joan had become serious, glancing round to make sure no one could hear us. Seeing that we were quite alone, she said, “You shall soon lose your heart to one of the worthy knights pursuing you, I am sure of it. And happy for you!”

I began to protest, but she raised her hand to silence me.

“What I wish to say is, should you have need of such protection as I did with Montague, come to me at once. You must drink some of an herbal mixture before and some after the act.” She patted my cheek. “You have had enough heartache from dumb obedience. Now it is time for you to take control of your life.”

I thanked her for her advice, though I did not consider it possible for me to follow it.

She was truly a most beautiful woman and reveled in life, dressing and moving to show off her sensual body, plunging wholeheartedly into the activity of the moment as if tomorrow might never come. This approach to life excited those about her, lifting spirits and creating possibilities where none had appeared to be before. She spoke her mind and made no effort to be nice as a general principle—one
earned
her friendship.

“We women are treated with less courtesy than men treat their
horses, dogs, or hawks,” Joan told me. “God granted us souls, like men, and minds with which to reason our way to grace, yet we are expected neither to think for ourselves nor to mind being unappreciated and neglected. They consider us domestic beasts and find us annoying if we behave otherwise, if we question their commands or doubt their wisdom. We are to be obedient unto death, and to bear many sons. And, of course, priests and monks fear us because they desire us and have little control over their own appetites; so they blame us and call us sinful, for they cannot admit to their weakness. I do not understand why God does not better support us.”

I did not disagree with her, although I had considered my own anger at such things sinful and would never have expressed it aloud. She opened my eyes to the possibility of trusting in my own wisdom, something the dowager queen Isabella had spoken of also; but Isabella had, I believed, gone against both God’s and nature’s laws in destroying her husband and king. Joan’s way of honoring her own wisdom was far more palatable to me. Perhaps I would find joy again. Life at court did much to raise my spirits. Yet I had only to hear someone speak of a child to be overcome with yearning for Bella.

A
FTER THE
Feast of St. George the king was off to the Isle of Sheppey to consult the masons and clerks of works on the palace of Queenborough, which he was building there for Queen Philippa. To her deep regret the extravagances of the feast had so seriously exhausted her that Philippa canceled her plans to accompany him to the site. She agreed with her physician that the long journey from Windsor to northern Kent was too much for her. But that did not mean she was willing to forgo having a voice in the palace’s design, and so was inspired to send me along in the king’s party, as a woman whose taste she counted on. I was to travel with the king. My heart pounded at the news. I was to be one of several ladies from the queen’s household in the party, but she singled me out, consulting with me at length regarding the details to which I should give my utmost attention.

“Where is your excited smile, Alice? You are to design a palace for your queen. Create beauty. I am honoring you, entrusting you with something very dear to me.”

I was, in truth, overwhelmed by the great honor and trust she was bestowing on me. I forced a smile. The queen was ever impatient with any lack of confidence.

“Your Grace, I was caught up in the litany of all we have discussed, committing it to memory. I pray you will forgive me.”

I must have divined the right excuse. She smiled. “You are forgiven.”

“I confess I was also thinking how much more delightful it would be were we there together.”

She pressed my hands, satisfied, and was soon on to other topics—the sad state of her health, the ravishments of so many pregnancies, and since her accident, the lack of activity that seemed to be leading her into a downward spiral. This talk eventually wearied her, and she, apologetically and I think with sincere regret, sent me off to prepare for the journey.

Gwen brought an enthusiasm to the preparations I’d rarely witnessed in her. She took pains to learn as much as she could about the island and the route we would be traveling, ensuring that I would have enough warm clothing.

“It is said to be damp, with thick morning mists,” she explained.

“Well, it
is
an island,” I noted.

I could see by the set of her shoulders as she resumed her work that my indifference disappointed her.

“I am excited, Gwen, but I am also keenly aware of my duty to Her Grace. I fear I shall crowd out her instructions with details about the journey.”

It was true. I prayed that I remained steady, that I would not disappoint the queen and ruin Bella’s future.

On the evening before our company was to depart, the queen summoned me to her chamber rather late. Gwen at once began to fret that the trip had been canceled or postponed, and I found myself also praying that we were still to go. For all my dread of disappointing the queen, I did look forward to the journey.

Rising with haste, I succumbed to Gwen’s efforts to erase the signs that I’d already been drifting off to sleep and then hurried along the corridor. I slowed down as I saw several of the king’s pages standing just outside the door. I did not wish to interrupt a conjugal visit. But a servant knocked twice on the door when he saw me and stepped within to announce my arrival. I heard the queen call out for him to show me in, and the door was opened wide. Inside I found a cozy domestic scene, the king and queen sitting at a table by a brazier, their postures relaxed. Queen Philippa waved me to the vacant chair between them.

“I could not sleep until I was assured that you both understand
that you, Alice, are to represent
my
interests at Sheppey,” she said. “I daresay you were abed, catching all the sleep you might before the journey.” She was looking better than she had in days, her color soft, her eyes clear. Even her voice held more life. “But Edward was delayed by every courtier not accompanying him to Sheppey, asking for last-minute advice, orders, favors, were you not, husband?”

King Edward patted his wife’s plump hands, folded loosely on the table before her, but he looked me in the eyes. “Forgive me for the late hour. As you say, my love, the night before a journey the court realizes that they have left everything too long and try to right that before they sleep.” He clapped his hands and a servant brought us jeweled mazers filled with wine. Raising his cup, the king said, “Let us discuss what we must before this fine claret calls us to rest.”

I rejoiced that we were still to depart on the morrow. But to sit between my king and queen awed me. Fortunately the wine was delicately mulled and heated just sufficiently to soothe. The queen launched into a now familiar list of considerations essential for a beautiful, inviting palace, particularly considering that Sheppey was marshy.

“Alice, when you walk the land with the masons and the clerk of works, I bid you breathe in and pay heed to the dampness. Notice your feet as well. Steer the men away from the worst spots. Keep them on the highest ground. Husband, pay heed to Mistress Alice.”

“My love,” the king interrupted, “the location of the palace is already set. It will replace the old castle.”

“I remember it as an abysmally damp, dreary place, yet I have other memories of beautiful spots in the grounds. You know better than to question my memory for such things, husband.”

The king’s laughter brightened the room. I felt it warm my blood. But my heart ached to recognize in both their faces the deep, abiding love I had once enjoyed with Janyn.

Philippa had continued with her description of a pretty walled rose garden for strolling and sitting in on warm days, “even by the sea there are certain to be warm, sunny afternoons,” and a suite of rooms specifically for her and her ladies that should include a hall large enough for music and dancing, “for though I no longer dance I delight in watching others.”

That provoked a hearty laugh from Edward. His was a deep, full-bodied laugh, a kingly laugh indeed.

“My love, I am ever wary of planning aught with you if I have any
thought to the health of our coffers! What begins as a simple castle for occasional, brief visits grows to be a magnificent edifice before it is even begun.”

Philippa shrugged in a manner that must have been pretty when she was younger, her smile bright and her chuckle light.

“Then do not ask, my love, and you will happily achieve a plain, uninviting, damp, and cheerless castle safe from thieves, for no one will dare leave furnishings there to molder.”

They shared laughter. I downed the remainder of my claret and wished for more. In a moment a servant had stepped forward to refill my mazer.

Philippa tapped the table by my hands.

“Too much wine will make tomorrow’s journey more tiring.”

“But the excitement, my love. Mistress Alice may need the wine to sleep.”

They looked at me expectantly.

I forced a little laugh, a pathetic sound. “You are both right. I shall drink just a little more, though it is a pity to waste it.”

“Wine is never wasted,” said Philippa. “The servants drain the cups before they wash them. You make friends of them by always leaving a little.”

The king yawned, the queen patted her mouth to stifle a yawn, and after a few more rather aimless comments the king proposed we all hie to our beds. I stumbled back to my room, a little drunk and missing Janyn so badly I cried myself to sleep.

T
HOUGH IT
was spring the air was damp and chill on the Isle of Sheppey. We arrived late in the afternoon, the chatter of our company overwhelmed by the warring clamor of wind, waves, and sea fowl. The land was so flat and low lying that it seemed the breaking waves would wash over us. Though I had lived all my life in London, in the flat land by the Thames, I had been surrounded by buildings. I had never seen earth and sea and sky joined so.

I slept in the small convent, in a room crammed with cots for the queen’s ladies. We were none of us comfortable or happy. On that first night I slipped out of my room and sought the chapel. Though cold, the sacred space was blessedly peaceful. I knelt before the altar and prayed for release from my mourning, for the wisdom to provide a good life for my daughter, and for the grace to fulfill my duty to the
queen. I was discovered by a servant just before dawn and shooed back to the crowded bedchamber. I was grateful to be outdoors again after Mass and a simple meal of bread and thin ale.

One of the convent servants led me to where the king and several other men walked near the old castle. In the flatness of the marshy island the men looked like giants, and the king the tallest of all. He moved with head held high, back straight but not stiff. Indeed, he was the very model of grace in motion.

“Your Grace,” I cried out, my only hope to be heard over the wind that rushed past my ears and snapped my clothing. I bowed to him.

Much to my confusion, the king reached out a gloved hand to me, and as I bowed to kiss his ring he shook his head and drew me up. “The gale is so strong I fear you might take flight, Mistress Alice,” he bellowed with hearty cheer, though the expression in his eyes was quieter, gentle. “My wife would never forgive me if I lost you to the wind and the waves.” He took my hand firmly in his. “I shall be your anchor.”

His expression surprised me. I felt that he truly saw me, acknowledged me as Alice Perrers, neither a nameless servant nor one of many ladies of his wife’s household. For so long I had felt that no one saw me, saw
Alice
. I remembered how before my marriage I had feared that I would lose myself in my love for Janyn.