The King’s Concubine: A Novel of Alice Perrers (47 page)

“It says little for Father Oswald’s skill.” Should I laugh or weep at the outrageousness of it all? “I failed singularly to win the Prince to my favor, and Gaunt’s allegiance is unpredictable, governed by self-interest.”

A silence fell between us. I had nothing at hand to throw.

“The Speaker is making much of it,” Wykeham said.

“He would, of course.” I tried to predict the next step in this battle, for surely that was what it was. “What have they done with my poor physician?”

“Sent him to St. Albans, in a sorry state, to face his superiors. They’ve done with him, mistress. It’s you they want.” Wykeham’s gaze was cool and direct. I waited for his condemnation, but it did not come. So…

“You were kind to come here to inform me,” I said over the chased metal of the sundial that showed the passing minutes. It seemed hours since Wykeham had first breathed the word
witchcraft
, since my world had become a thing of terror, but the line of shadow had barely moved. Now encroaching clouds blotted out the sun. “You still haven’t said whether you believe the charge or not.”

“The sin of avarice, perhaps. Of pride, certainly…”

“Oh, Wykeham…!” Would he list all my failings?

“But witchcraft? No, not that. I believe you have a deep affection for the King. I don’t believe you would ever do him harm.”

“My thanks. You are one of very few.” It gave me some comfort, but not much. We began to walk back toward the palace, driven in by a sharp little breeze that had chased away the bees and promised rain. Here was blatant propaganda of the worst kind to blacken my character. I stopped, regardless of the spatter of heavy drops.

“Will they find me guilty?” And when Wykeham hesitated: “Don’t give me a soft answer. Tell me what you think!”

“I’d no intention of hiding the truth. I think they might. De la Mare is slavering for the kill.” I flinched when Wykeham did not temper his words. “With Latimer and Lyons under his belt, his confidence shines like a comet. I find it difficult to meet with him without addressing the sin of pride. Damn him!”

“What a handful of unpriestly expressions.” I smiled bleakly. “And if the punishment is proven? Will it be death?”

He thought for a long moment. “Unlikely. Penance and fasting probably. You haven’t killed anyone. Imprisonment at the worst.”

My throat was dry and I barely felt the rain on my face. “Then I’ll plan for the worst. I don’t see de la Mare being content with a few missed meals and a paternoster.” The thought of imprisonment was bad enough to me. I closed my mind to it. “What do I do, Wykeham?”

“You could take refuge at Pallenswick.”

Inwardly I recoiled at the implication, that making a defense against the charges would be a waste of his breath and mine. But flight? “No.” I wouldn’t even consider it. “I cannot. You’ve seen the King. He needs me.”

“Then you remain here and do nothing. Just wait. The Speaker might abandon it…”

I completed his sentence when he hesitated again. “…if he finds something worse to pin on me.”

Wykeham looked ’round sharply. “Why? What else have you done?”

I shook my head and looked away, across to the trees that were now shivering in the wind. There was one secret I prayed would remain hidden from public knowledge for a little time yet. It would bring too much pain to Edward.

And if it didn’t?

Back in my room, where I retired to change my muddied skirts, I hurled a handsome glazed jug at the wall, and then regretted it. I felt no better for it, and one of the serving maids had to clean it up.

Once Wykeham was gone, I returned to Edward’s side in his great chamber. He was now wrapped in a chamber robe, the scarlet and fur at odds with the wasted figure it contained. Before the fire—he always felt the cold even on the warmest day—he slept in his chair, his head forward on his chest, a cup of ale at his side. John Beverley, his body servant, stood close by if he should wake and lack for aught. I gestured that he should leave, and sat on a stool at Edward’s feet, as I was wont to do when he was still in his prime and I was a young girl. But my thoughts were not of past memories. As I leaned my head against the
chair, Wykeham’s warnings echoed shockingly in my mind. He might be sanguine about my punishment, but I was not convinced. Prison walls seemed to hem me in.

When Edward moved, I looked up, grateful for the distraction. His eyelids lifted slowly and gradually his eyes focused on me. They were lucid and aware. My heart leaped with joy.

“Edward.”

“Alice.” Even his voice was stronger. He could still surprise me. “Dear girl. I have missed you.”

“I have been here with you while you slept. You had an audience with some of the worthies from London.”

He sighed a little. “I don’t remember. Bring me a cup of ale.”

I reached to pick up the forgotten cup beside him and placed it in his hand, curling his fingers around it. Sometimes he was still very much the King.

He sipped, then handed the cup back to me. “Will you sing to me?”

How little he remembered! “I would, but it would not be to your pleasure. I’m told I have a voice like a creaking door hinge.” I smiled as I recalled one of Isabella’s more vulgar remarks and saw an answering gleam in Edward’s eyes. “But here is a verse I have found and liked, because it speaks of old lovers, as we are.…” I sank back against his chair, arranging my skirts, drawing the little book from the purse at my belt. “It is about the cold of winter, and the warmth of enduring love. You will like it too.” I began to recite, slowly, gently, forming the words clearly so that he might follow.

“The leaves are failing; summer’s past;

What once was green is brown and sere;

All nature’s warmth has faded fast and gone from here;

The circling sun has reached the last house in its year.”

“You have it right, Alice. Winter has me in its thrall even in the heat of summer.” Edward dragged in a breath, as if it were painful for him to speak it. “I am no use to you as a man. I regret it, but am unable to remedy it.”

“No, but listen, Edward. It is not sad at all.

“The world is chilled in every part:

But I alone am warm and grow

Still warmer. It delights my heart to feel the glow:

My lord made the burning start—I love him so.”

“Alice…You have a beautiful voice.” The slight slurring of his words that always returned when he grew weary was very evident. “I think that was one of the first things I noticed about you.”

“I doubt it!” I laughed a little at the memory. “I think I was shrieking like a fishwife in the chapel at Havering when I was accused of theft! And you were tied up with your clock.”

“I had forgotten.…” He sought my hand and his fingers tightened around mine. I could feel his eyes on my face, on my lips, as I read the final tender lines.

“This fire in my heart is nourished by

My lord’s kisses and his gentle touch;

And shining from his radiant eye the light is such

That neither earth nor brilliant sky can show as much.”

“There, you see.” I closed the little book. “Love remains even in the depths of winter and the fullness of years.”

Silence settled around us. He was asleep again, and my heart was full of sorrow that he should mourn the loss of virility so keenly and above all else. We might no longer be lovers, but we were bound together by our past that stretched over well-nigh thirteen years. Even in sleep, his fingers held mine and I knew he was pleased.

For a little time my fears of witchcraft were banished. I would allow nothing to separate us. Not until death released Edward from his present sufferings.

“Is it true?” Wykeham demanded, his voice raw and positively vibrating with disbelief. He had come to Sheen again in a towering fury.

“Is
what
true? If it’s more empty mouthings of de la Mare that you’ve come to report, then don’t! Just go away!”

I reacted without patience. I was weary beyond my soul. There was no royal audience to distract us this time. Lost in the past, Edward was dictating orders to mark the occasions of the deaths of both his mother and Philippa. And this was after a week when he had spoken not one word to anyone: not to his servants, not to God. Certainly not to me. I had made myself scarce until the doleful ceremony of remembrance was done.

“Is it true?” Wykeham bellowed.

I stood in the center of the Great Hall. “Is what true?”

When Wykeham shouted back, careless of who overheard, I knew my fate was sealed. When he had come to warn me about the charge of necromancy hanging over my neck, he had been the concerned and courteous priest. Now he was the dread harbinger of doom, the executioner. There was no escape for me.

“You actually
married
him?”

Holy Mother!
“Who?” I asked, playing desperately for time.

“You know who!”

Wykeham watched me. He was waiting for me to deny it, while knowing that I couldn’t.

“Yes.” I raised my chin. “Yes, I did.”

“I don’t believe that you would do anything so…so”—he groped for self-control—“so ill-advised!”

“Well, Wykeham! How mealymouthed!” There was nothing genial about my smile. “And how did de la Mare mine that little gem?” I asked. “I thought no one knew.”

“Does it matter?” His voice had dropped to a hiss.
“When?”

“Just before he returned to Ireland.”

“That was when? Two years ago? You’ve been wed for two years?” The volume grew again to echo above us. “In God’s name, Alice! What were you thinking?”

I did not want to explain. I did not think I could.

“Does Edward know?” Wykeham threw up his arms as much in despair as anger.

“No.”

“Don’t you realize what you’ve done?” At least Wykeham now had the sense to lower his voice. “You’ve made him an adulterer!”

I lifted a shoulder. “And so were we both when Philippa was alive.
Edward did not step back from it then, when he had all the knowledge. What’s the difference?”

Wykeham kicked a foot into the ashes of the open fire, sending up a shower of sparks.

“Why, Alice? Why do it? If it was a roll between the sheets you wanted, why not just do it without the sanction of Holy Mother Church? As for the man you chose! God’s Blood! A more self-interested, unprincipled bastard I have yet to meet.…”

Because…because…I watched the sparks die as they fell into gray dust. Because I loved him. Because beneath the hard-edged ambition and ruthless temperament there was in Windsor a man of rare honesty who actually cared for me. But I would not say this to Wykeham. He would not have believed me.

“I wed him because he asked me.”

“Alice!”

I abandoned the flippancy. “Don’t lecture me, Wykeham. You of all people should know that I must make my future secure. I come from nothing and will return to nothing if I don’t make provision. I will not have my children live in penury or on the charity of others, as I did.”

“Surely you have enough property by now to keep shoes on their feet!”

“Perhaps I need a man to stand for me.”

“But to
wed
him.”

“He offered when no one else would. It is not adultery. Not in the letter of the law. The King and I are no longer intimate.” The priest in him flushed to his hairline. “Don’t be prudish, Wykeham. It can’t be a surprise to you that the King is incapable.”

“But the King recognized the children you had together. They will never suffer.”

“Yes, he made provision. But will Princess Joan allow the provision to continue when her son is king?” It was a half-buried fear that was quick to resurface. “I dare not risk it. If marriage to Windsor secures my daughters’ dowries and marriage, then I’ll not regret it.”

“What will Edward say?”

Which brought me up short, as he intended. I replied slowly. “He will be hurt, of course.”

“You must tell him. Unless he knows already.”

“Pray God he does not.”

As Wykeham left me alone in the Great Hall, all its spaces empty around me, I thought of the one thing I had not said. I had wed Windsor—a name that had not once been voiced between us—because I loved him. How weak did that make me?

How swiftly gossip flew. Edward knew. There were always those at Court who would make mischief, and Edward’s mind was clear enough.

“You betrayed me, Alice. You betrayed my love for you.”

He rubbed his hands together in incessant repetition, one over the other, his fingers tearing, his nails marking his skin. Guilt-ridden, I fell on my knees, trying to still his fretful clawing, but he would not stop. Edward turned his face from me as he had never done before.

“I don’t want you here.”

I deserved it. All my senses were frozen.

Did the Commons have mercy on me? By God, they did not! In a mood of vengeful exuberance they ordered me to appear before them in the Painted Chamber at Westminster. And I obeyed—what choice did I have?—seeing nothing but the lugubrious face of de la Mare gleaming with unholy virtue as I set my mind to hear and accept my punishment for bringing the King of England into adultery. By now I feared the worst, gripping my hands together as I sat on the low stool provided for me. At least they allowed me to sit.

I sat straight-backed, determined to hear my fate with dignity. I would never bow my head before de la Mare. Whatever punishment they meted out, nothing could be worse than Edward’s rejection of me.

Nothing?

Ah, no! There was worse, much worse. What had they done? The door to the magnificent Painted Chamber opened and there was Edward, brought to appear before his own Parliament for my sins and his, and I saw the panicked fear in his gaze as it skittered over the vast assembly. I stood abruptly; I even think I reached out to him in my guilt
and misery, but he did not look at me, all his efforts fixed on walking to take his place on the throne. Slowly, one step after another, he dragged himself there, and pushed himself upright to face his accusers. And I prayed that they would turn their claws on me, not on Edward, who did not deserve this. I willed him to look at me. Whatever was asked of me, I would not betray him more than I already had done. I would not do or say anything to increase his humiliation. Was it not terrible enough that he must be here?