A Love Most Dangerous (8 page)

I sighed. 'The King and I discuss poetry and music,
nothing more.'

'Then that little is far more than any other lady of
the court,' she said. 'Your conduct is whispered of, Alice, and not just by the
Queen's Ladies.'

'I cannot help the whispers,' I said. 'I only obey his
Majesty's commands.'

'And that is what the gossip is about, Alice. What exactly are his commands?'

I held her hands in mine. 'I tell you truth, Susan. We
read only poetry and discuss things of the mind. Nothing more.'

In the flickering light of the candle I saw her smile.
If I could not convince my friend how could I hope to convince my enemies?
Lucy, sweet thing, looked puzzled by our conversation.

I put my arm through theirs. 'Come, we must away to
the Chapel. It would not do if we arrive late.'

The chapel was freezing cold. The service went on for
an hour and was tedious beyond recounting. I sighed with relief when it ended
and I could make my way back to my bedroom.

Mary and Susan walked with me. I had always considered
them to be my best friends. Now I counted them as my only ones. Since I had
been summoned to see the King I had become an outcast amongst the Queen's
Ladies. This was not due to loyalty to the Queen, believe you me. It was due to
jealousy of my intimacy with the King.

We walked in silence through the corridors. I glanced
out of the window. It was still dark night, the dawn would not arrive for a few
hours yet.

'Let's get some rest,' Susan said as we left her at
her chamber. 'Tomorrow will, no doubt, tax our strength.'

'Tomorrow is today,' I said. 'It will be dawn sooner
than we hope. But you're sensible, Susan. We must get what sleep we can.'

My hopes for rest proved illusory. I lay in my bed but
could not sleep. Thoughts whirled around my head like cats chased by hounds.
What would the birth of the King's son mean for me? What would the return of
the Queen to full health and to the King's bed? How might I fare when Sir
Richard Rich decided to come snooping round once more?

I rose with the dawn and washed myself thoroughly. I
chose my second best gown and dressed myself with greater than usual care. I
would not let the likes of Wicks and Bray see that I alone of all the Palace
did not celebrate the joyous news of the birth of an heir.

A servant hurried along the corridor crying out that
we were to attend on the King in the Great Hall within the hour. Mary and Susan
joined me at the top of the staircase and we hurried down to the chamber close
to the Kitchen where we dined. I normally ate little breakfast but today,
despite the excitement fluttering in my stomach, my long hours awake had piqued
my appetite. I ate two white rolls with butter and conserve and drank a cup of
watered down ale. The kitchen staff brought out some saffron cakes, hot from
the oven and smelling enticing. I could not resist and ate one of these as
well.

And then the whispers started. The Queen had not had a
successful labour and the surgeon had been forced to cut the child from her.

I turned to my friends at this news. 'Then Jane is
dead, or dying,' I said. No surgeon would perform a Cesarean until the mother
was close to death or passed beyond it.

Arm in arm with Mary and Susan I joined the throng of
people making their way to the Great Hall. When we got there we found dozens of
the Lord Steward's officers, with the Master of the Household huffing and
puffing around them to make sure they performed his orders exactly.

We were asked our names and positions at court and one
of the officers led us to the place designated for us. Most of the Queen's
Ladies were there and the rest joined us within ten or so minutes. I made sure
that I kept away from Wicks and Bray.

The whole Hall was crowded with other senior servants
and courtiers.

We stood there for what must have been an hour while
the spaces behind us filled up with those who held lesser offices than ours. A
space had been left unfilled, a central corridor dividing the crowd in two.

Suddenly trumpets blared around the Hall. The noise
was deafening and all the Ladies put their hands to their ears. The trumpets
called on and on and on so that I wondered what sort of monstrous lungs the
trumpeters must possess. My head began to spin at the clamour.

Then, a great gasp swept across the throng.

I craned my head and saw him.

King Henry stood at the front of the Hall, a tiny baby
held high above his head. The King began to walk down the central corridor with
slow and measured tread, pausing at each group of courtiers to show the child
to them. As he did so each group began to applaud with enthusiasm, some with
genuine pleasure. A few called out with joy but such loud demonstrations were
frowned upon by the Steward's officers. Presumably they were fearful for the
infant's tiny ears.

The King came close to us. Knowing that we were the
Queen's Ladies he did more than merely pause as he had with the other
courtiers. He stopped and moved closer to us holding the baby out so close we
could have reached out and touched him. A cooing came from our throats, as
though we were creatures of a Dovecote and not young women of the Household.
The King smiled at this, delighted at our response.

He turned and continued his progress down the Hall,
the applause rippling alongside him and his son like waves breaking upon the
shore.

He had not looked at me at all.

It was the afternoon of the birth of the future King.
After the mid-day dinner I, along with most of the Queen's Ladies, had retired
to our bed chambers. It had been a long and exhilarating day and we were all
exhausted and emotionally drained.

I immediately fell into a deep sleep. I woke once and
recalled a dream of white swans upon a rippling pond before falling straight
back into unconsciousness.

I was awoken by a loud rapping upon my door.

'Who is it?' I called.

'Humphrey the Page,' called a familiar voice. 'You are
summoned by the King.'

I rose at once, confused that it was still bright day.
I washed swiftly, dressed myself and glanced around for a book of poems. The
King and I had been reading a variety of works over the last few days and a
number of volumes were scattered about the room. The King, no doubt, would be
weary and would require entertaining.

I hurried down the staircase and along the corridors.
The route had become familiar to me but when I found out the Queen had given
birth this morning I thought I might never take it again.

I paused outside the King's Study, took a deep breath
and knocked on the door.

I stood with my hand upon the door, waiting for his
usual command to enter. To my surprise no voice sounded. Instead the door
opened to reveal the King, standing in the door frame. I was astonished that he
had opened the door himself. He was wearing hose but not a doublet and his
shirt was open at the neck.

He nodded at me and walked into the room.  He glanced
over his shoulder and, without a word, beckoned me to follow. I entered the
chamber, shut the door behind me and approached the King.

He took the book from my hand, flung it on a chair and
smiled.

'I have an heir, Alice,' he said. 'I wish to
celebrate.'

He took my hand and led me towards a door in the
corner of the Study. We walked into a second chamber. It was the King's Bedroom
and my heart began to hammer.

In the centre of the room stood a large bed. Plump
soft pillows were piled high upon it. White sheets were covered by a red cloth
emblazoned with the Arms of England and the Tudor Rose.

The King pulled back the bed-clothes and gestured me
closer.

'Slip off your clothes, Alice,' he said quietly.

I gulped and hastened to do as he commanded. My
fingers became clumsy, as useless as raw sausages. I struggled to undo my
fastenings and cursed myself for my slowness. I glanced up at the King and saw
that my delay, far from angering him as I thought it might, was actually exciting
him. His face shone and his eyes watched my every movement with hungry
intensity.

I slowed down a little while his eyes feasted upon me.
Finally I stood in only my chemise. I lowered my eyes and allowed it to slip to
the floor. I stepped out of it as naked as if about to take a bath. I knew I
had a fine body and I stood tall in order to show myself off the better.

'You are beautiful, Alice Petherton,' the King said.
His voice was heavy with lust. 'The King is well pleased with you.'

He indicated I was to get into the bed and immediately
climbed in after me.

I touched him softly on his arm and gazed up into his
eyes.

'I am a virgin, Majesty,' I said. 'Forgive me but I do
not know the ways of love.'

His mouth grinned with pleasure. I could have said
nothing more exciting to his ears.

'Then I shall teach you, Alice Petherton,' he said.
'And our love-making will celebrate the birth of my son with greater enthusiasm
than the ringing of all the bells in the Kingdom.'

He pressed his lips on mine and I felt his hot tongue
push into my mouth. His breath tasted of egg and onions. His tongue licked
around my mouth as though he was tasting a dish of custard.

I must confess that this first experience of
love-making was more painful than exhilarating. In addition to the pang of the
piercing of my maidenhead I felt borne down by the weight of the King. I came
to realise later that he was more enthusiastic a lover than a skillful one.
Although he was politeness itself and considerate his only real concern was to
take his own pleasure.

But gone was the firm voice of command. He enquired
solicitously if he could do certain things to me and rather less solicitously
if I would do other things to him. I felt bemused by all the acrobatics and
contrivances but did my uttermost to be obliging. At last he gave a deep-seated
gasp and collapsed upon me. The breath was thrust from out my body so that I
gave an almighty gasp myself.

'Aha,' he said. 'I see I have satisfied you greatly,
Alice Petherton. That is unusual in a young virgin.'

Not satisfied, I thought, nearly suffocated.

But I smiled with what I made look like gratitude and
hoped to heaven that he would heave himself off me before I expired.

He did, withdrawing from me so swiftly that I winced.
He smiled again, taking this for yet another demonstration of my pleasure.

'I feel honoured, Your Majesty,' I gasped. 'Honoured
and exalted.'

The King beamed with pleasure. I swear he almost
purred, like a cat being scratched behind its ears.

'I also feel honoured,' he said. 'You have chosen to
give to Your King the greatest gift a woman has to offer.'

There was no choice about it, I thought. No choice at
all. But I smiled once more and fluttered my eyelids. 'Your Majesty is more
than kind,' I murmured.

'Come now,' he said. 'We have been intimate. I want no
more of your calling me Your Majesty.' He clutched my hand and brought it to
his lips where he planted a surprisingly gentle kiss upon my fingers.

'From now on,' he continued, 'you may call me Your
Grace or Your Highness. Even in Court.'

Then he fell silent and his eyes moved swiftly from
side to side. 'Except when the Queen is present,' he said. 'Then I shall
require you to call me Your Majesty.'

'Yes, Your Majesty,' I said. Then I giggled and held
my fingers to my lips. 'Yes, Your Grace.'

He squeezed my cheek playfully. 'The language of
lovers is a wondrous thing, Alice,' he said. 'A wondrous thing.'

He smiled and leaned back on the pillows, putting his
arms behind his head.

'We shall rest for a half-hour,' he said. 'Then we
shall continue to celebrate the birth of my son.' He lifted his head from the
pillow and stared at me.

'Did I say I was going to call him Edward?' he said.

'A marvellous name, for a marvellous child.'

'How very true, Alice Petherton, how very true.'

And pray to God His Grace hasn't planted another child
in my womb, I thought.

CHAPTER TEN

Peril and Victory

12th October 1537

Three hours later I slipped out of the King's bedroom,
through the Study and into the corridor. I had the good sense to pluck up my
book of poetry; as if we had been engaged in our usual literary pursuits in his
Study rather than the more energetic ones in his Bedroom.

It was evening now and the corridors were empty. I
leaned against the wall and closed my eyes. My mind went back to when I was ten
years old and had first ridden a pony. My thighs and buttocks had ached
terribly then. They ached far more now. Even my ribs hurt, so heavy and
vigorous was the King in his love-making. I rubbed my hand across my forehead.
It was hot and clammy from so much exertion. The poets had not written of first
love in this manner. Perhaps this was because they were men.