The King's Mistress (39 page)

Now that I no longer
wished
to leave court, to leave Edward.

I wished I might comfort him. I had never seen Edward in such distress. I was also desperate to ask him whether he might now reveal the great secret that had destroyed my wedded happiness. It would not bring back Janyn, but at least I might understand why he had died. As Edward passed me leaving the chapel, he noticed the swirl of seed pearls on my sleeve and lifted his head to give me a wan smile. I pressed my hands to my heart, and he did as well, though by then he was past me.

I was not summoned that evening, either by the king or the queen. I thought perhaps I had been mistaken, perhaps the news had nothing to do with my family. But Philippa and Edward must have known that I would wonder and might have afforded me the comfort of some word, some explanation. I slept badly, my dreams fevered and incomprehensible. I woke several times in the night with my heart thundering. At last I gave up the attempt to sleep and knelt beside the bed, trying to pray. But my mind only conjured nightmarish images of Janyn’s bleeding body, his agony, his death.

In the morning I saw the king’s favored chamber knights and servants in the yard, sumpters loading their packhorses, and several wagons already loaded. As we dressed Philippa she informed us that Edward was leaving for one of his hunting lodges. My fingers were clumsy over her buttons as tears welled in my eyes. I had hoped he might send for me, to allow me to console him—and perhaps to tell me who had died. His departure without a word cut me to the quick. I feared he was taking this opportunity to discard me. I had just resolved to work hard to keep Edward’s love, and he had shut me out.

“He requires rest and prayer,” said Philippa. “As do we all.”

I require answers!
I silently screamed.
For pity’s sake, let me know all so that I might put this agony of wondering behind me
. But I said nothing, for I saw by the swelling of her face that the queen had taken extra physick during the night. Whatever she had heard had weakened her. Even so, she insisted on dressing and attending Mass. After a simple midday meal, Philippa told me to attend her as she went to speak once more with the Italian priest.

Perhaps at last I was to learn something. My legs shook so that I was grateful that two servants were assisting the queen in her halting progress to her parlor. I tried to distract myself from anxious fantasies by observing how her pale gray silk gown fitted her—badly. In less than a month she had lost weight and height. Yesterday’s alteration in the hem of the gown had simply made it safer for her to walk.

The priest was already in the parlor, rising and bowing his respect as Philippa entered. He was slender and graceful, with pale eyes that looked almost milky in contrast to his dark brows and olive skin.

Philippa dismissed the servants who had assisted her. As soon as she introduced me to Dom Francisco, he turned those eerie eyes on me with a discomfiting intensity.

“Dame Alicia.” He honored me with a slight inclination of his head. “His Grace the King has instructed me to tell you of my mission, particularly the history of the man whose death is the occasion of my journey.”

The queen nodded her approval and settled back, a cup of wine in hand, as if for a long story.

I sat and shivered.

The queer story of a William of Wales being brought to King Edward twenty-four years earlier was now fleshed out. He had been the guardian of a child brought to an abbey outside Milan as an infant. A
child who was to be hidden and protected—the son of Queen Isabella and her lover Roger Mortimer.

The precious one had been a child, not the deposed king. The illegitimate son of the queen and her lover. The Perrers had protected their knowledge of this child
.

After Mortimer’s capture and execution, Isabella had been kept in seclusion through her lying in and churching. This was no mere bastard, but the son of a former queen who could be used by barons or foreign powers to challenge the reigning king—or whom
she
might use. She had taken up arms against her husband; it was not inconceivable she would do so against her son for executing her lover, and threaten to replace him on the throne with her son by Roger Mortimer.

Tommasa’s family arranged the baby’s journey to Italy, and my mother-in-law was his wet nurse for the journey. Thereafter her family were couriers of messages and gifts between mother and son, and eventually my Janyn had become the primary courier.

“But my father-in-law swore he did not know whom they protected.” I had not intended to speak.

Dom Francisco did not seem surprised by my outburst. “That is true. Master Martin had been told, and apparently chose to believe, his wife’s journey concerned a family emergency.” Janyn’s sister, whom Tommasa had still been nursing, made the journey as well.

“You see the terrible secret they guarded,” Philippa said to me, her eyes surprisingly entreating. “Lady Isabella rewarded them with property, coin, and patronage, grateful for their loving care and silence.”

I doubted that Isabella had willingly given up her child. She had not been a woman to relinquish control of anything important to her. But both the priest and Philippa insisted that Isabella had never considered keeping the child in England. Perhaps it was one of the many things I would never truly understand regarding the royal family, that ready acceptance of their children being reared in the homes of others. I wondered whether they had any concept of how difficult I found my separation from Bella.

“Do you know what happened to my husband and his parents?” I asked when the priest seemed finished with his story. My voice was a mere whisper as I found it difficult to breathe. I feared to hear repeated what Edward had told me, but I also feared to learn that he had lied.

Dom Francisco’s pale eyes seemed to be on me, but when Philippa subtly shook her head the priest shrugged and brought up his hands
in apology. “I know only the part of the story that involves the abbey. I am sorry.”

I did not believe him, but if the queen did not wish me to know more than that, I would waste my time and try her patience by asking any more.

“And now this child of Isabella is dead of a fever, and the secret is no longer dangerous,” I said.
Too late. Five years too late
. I felt ill.

“Of course, you understand that you must never speak of this,” said Philippa. “Except, perhaps someday, when she is old enough, you might explain to your daughter what a precious secret her father and his family guarded. But you will speak of this with no one else. One never knows how unscrupulous people might seek to use such information.”

“I am ever your servant, Your Grace.” I almost choked on the words.

The priest rose. “My mission is now complete.
Benedicite
, Your Grace. May God watch over you and all your family and household.” He blessed her and then me. A servant showed him out.

The queen had not stirred. Servants entered and set out more wine and some fruit, cheese, and bread. I rose and stood for a while looking out of the small window, forcing myself to remain silent, to wait for the queen to speak. I prayed she would express remorse on the part of Isabella and Edward. My thoughts were wild, frantic. I wished I might rush to the stables. I yearned to ride hard, the wind in my hair, to scream my frustrated anger where it would harm no one. I might ride forever, a ride with no destination, for no one would be waiting for me at the end, no one expected me. No one. A sob escaped.

“Do not think that I am unaware of the pain this meeting has resurrected in you, Alice.” The queen’s voice pulled me back into the blue-and-gold parlor.

Slowly, focusing on recapturing my breath, I returned to my seat, accepting with gratitude a cup of wine offered by the servant. I took a long drink, trying to steady myself.

Philippa motioned for the servant to leave.

“Your plight touched me from the moment Lady Isabella asked me to bring you into my household. I blame her for your unhappiness. I harbored much anger toward her for the pain she brought to my husband and his family as well, and your situation gave me a cause to champion. But after hours of prayer and reflection I had to acknowledge my own role in this sad history. It was Edward and I who insisted
the child be smuggled out of the country and hidden. We made the arrangements for it. And then, until he was brought to us on our journey to Rome, I forgot about him. Poor child, abandoned to utter strangers.

“My heart misgave me when I met him. I had just been delivered of my son Lionel. In that difficult time—when I missed carrying my child within, was easily brought to tears by anything, but particularly the thought of handing over my baby to a wet nurse—seeing Isabella’s son at that moment, a boy of seven, a sweet, timid child, I silently prayed for forgiveness for my cruelty toward him and his mother. He spoke a little French, but mostly Italian, so I did not understand much of what he said, and he did not understand my speech at all. He was handsome, looked more like Isabella than any of her other children. I never spoke to her of the visit.”

Philippa bowed her head.

I had initially hung mine and only half listened, but as the queen went on I found myself staring at her. She deserved contempt surely for such treatment of a child? But Isabella had done worse, much worse. My anger toward Philippa did not last. She was too ill, and in many ways too admirable for me to hate. Yet as I absorbed the sorry tale of adults fearing the power of a former queen’s bastard son, and in their fear using my husband’s family as their shields, I found little pity in my heart.

“How did Janyn and Tommasa die? Were they murdered when they would not betray their oath of secrecy?”

“Yes. Tommasa was forced to watch her son tortured and finally murdered. Her captors did not know of her weak heart. Their efforts to force her to speak killed her. Mercifully, I think.”

I pressed my stomach, though it was my chest that felt as if it were being crushed.

“I see in your eyes why my husband did not wish to be the one to tell you this,” said Philippa. “You condemn us.”

I managed to halt an inner vision of Janyn’s torture and Tommasa’s torment long enough to speak. “I am no saint, Your Grace. I have lost so much. And why? Because the most powerful family in the kingdom feared a baby boy. A saint might see God’s plan in this, but I cannot. My dear husband tortured. My gentle mother-in-law forced to watch. Would that Isabella’s bastard had died years ago!”

I drank the rest of the wine and rose to pour more. Despite my anger, I served Philippa as well, with wine and food. It helped me to
move, to keep my hands busy. Though she was queen and might consider that I was merely doing my duty, she thanked me, the expression on her face vulnerable and fond. Something in this exchange pulled me back from the brink of dangerous recklessness, and I remembered the deference due to the woman before me. No matter how responsible she was for my loss, I was her servant, I depended on her for almost everything, and she had been generous to me. And I was always uncomfortably aware of how, in the eyes of most people, I would be seen as the usurper of her marriage.

“Your Grace, I pray you, forgive my outburst. You have been good to me and my daughter. I am in your debt.”

Her eyes held mine as she said, “You may have lost much, but consider what you have gained.” She lifted her fingertips to her forehead in a gesture that signaled a headache, but instead of pleading illness, said, “Still, you deserve an apology. I pray that someday you may forgive us.”

I dropped to my knees before her. She placed her hand on my head.

“Let there be peace between us.” She urged me to take some refreshment. “I have a little more to say. Then you are free until morning.” Her speech was halting. She needed to pause frequently for breath. Her physical collapse was making everything difficult for her, even breathing.

“Your Grace,” I whispered, rising. I had no appetite, but busied myself quartering a blanched winter apple.

We sat in silence for a while, both of us pretending to eat but merely moving the food about in our bowls. The sound of Philippa’s labored breathing inspired in me both shame and relief—shame for supplanting her in the marriage bed and relief to realize she could no longer find pleasure in lying with Edward. I found myself praying that the latter canceled out the former for her. But what if he no longer wanted me? What if, now that I might walk freely, the secret of the precious one no longer a threat to be used against the king, he felt relieved of his duty toward me? I’d be free, but heartbroken.

After a time, Philippa set aside her pretense of eating. “You have proved a skillful and clever sempster, concealing the collapse of my body and shielding me from humiliation. And you have proved a trustworthy and steadfast companion in a confusing and often difficult arrangement. Few could have done so much. As a token of my gratitude,
I would relieve you of unnecessary discomfort by speaking from my heart.”

I found myself shivering as I listened to her halting speech. I could not imagine how she might relieve me of unnecessary discomfort. And what was the necessary discomfort? She had paused to sip some wine.

“Your Grace, you must not tire yourself.”

She shook her head. “I will not do more than I wish to, Alice.”

Though I knew I’d had sufficient wine, I poured a little more to keep myself busy.

“The love of husband and wife changes over time,” Philippa resumed, “of necessity. You did not have sufficient time with Janyn to experience this.” Her smile was sad and kindly. “The year before you were wed, I was delivered of my last child, Thomas. I prayed that he was my last because I thought I might go mad if I found myself again with child. So many months of discomfort, before and after. I selfishly prayed that God would stop my courses so that I might live out the rest of my days in a little more comfort.” She crossed herself. “My womb could not complete the next child conceived, and I lost it. Then I fell. That part of my marriage was over. God often works in unsatisfying ways.” A bitter laugh, then, “You are taking nothing away from me, Alice. He loves me in all the ways still possible.”