Queen of Trial and Sorrow (5 page)

As we sat there, we heard the rumble of horses.  Sewing abandoned we dashed to a window that overlooked the courtyard.  Down below, horses and men were milling about, dogs barking, the grooms standing with their mouths open, chickens fluttering and squawking.  My heart was in my mouth as I hurried down the stairs with Anne at my heels and arrived in the hall just as our steward was bringing in a young man to present to my mother.  When he saw me, he changed direction, swept off his cap and went down on one knee.  “Your Grace.”

And Anne muttered: “He’s got the wrong person.”

Through the open window of the carriage, I gazed out upon the rolling Chiltern Hills and a multihued patchwork of meadowlands and fields, some stubbled after the harvest or lush with ripe grain awaiting the reapers and some dotted with hayricks.  The trees were only just beginning to don their autumn coats of gold and brown but the hedgerows were still full of color and verdant grass. 

Villagers came out of their homes and farm workers stopped what they were doing to cheer and wave.  Men bared their heads and women bobbed clumsy curtsies and grubby-faced little boys ran alongside, leaping up and down to get a better look at who was inside.  They couldn’t have known, but they cheered anyway, for my sisters, Anne and Mary, and I were accompanied by a hundred men wearing the royal colors of blue and murrey, with badges of the White Rose adorning their tunics, and the carriage bore the royal arms on its doors. 

Although the carriage was equipped with springs, they did little to cushion the impact as the vehicle bounced and lurched over ruts and potholes, and the infernal jolting made my teeth rattle.  Fortunately it wasn’t a long journey from Grafton to Reading, requiring only one night’s stop at a hospitable priory near High Wycombe.  Sir Thomas St. Leger, the handsome young knight who had been sent to Grafton with the letter from the king, was thoughtful enough to order frequent halts to enable us to stretch our legs and relieve our bladders.  I did not ask him any questions, other than generalities, nor did he volunteer any information other than concerning our travel arrangements.  My sisters were very quiet, very dignified, practicing how to serve a queen.  They had been too sheltered, that was the trouble.  I had spent a little time at court, but they had seldom left Grafton, and I was surprised at how shy they were when dealing with a practiced courtier like St. Leger.

There were still cases of plague in London, so the king was meeting with his council at Reading Abbey in the Berkshire countryside.  My heart was hammering against my ribs as the carriage rolled to a stop outside an impressive brick and stone gateway where the abbot stood, glittering staff held aloft, with a number of his monks clustered behind him.  A crowd of curious onlookers had gathered, and bowed and curtsied.  I hadn’t anticipated any kind of formal reception and willed myself to remain calm.  This was no more than the kind of reverence my mother was accorded wherever she went.

Sir Thomas was already holding the door handle and waited until I gave him a nod before opening it and folding down the step.  His hand was extended to help me alight and lead me to the abbot, who bowed before me. 

In slow and stately procession, I was escorted not to my husband where I longed to be, but to the church where I was permitted to view and venerate the holiest of the abbey’s two hundred relics, the incorruptible hand of St. James the Apostle.  I made an offering of a gold cloth, produced miraculously it seemed, by my supremely efficient escort.

Finally, Sir Thomas, Abbot Thorne and the monks accompanied me to a large range of buildings that comprised the pilgrims’ dormitories, where the king was waiting in the midst of a group of resplendently dressed men.  He was smiling as I approached, causing my heart to flutter in anticipation, certain he was even more handsome now than when I had parted from him. 

I sank into a curtsy.   Taking my hand, he raised me and turned me to face the men of his court.  “My lords and sirs,” he said simply, “the queen.”

Before they had even straightened from their bows, he led me through the door and my sisters hurried in behind us.  Within the large and opulent chamber, the king’s gentlemen bowed to me also, but he didn’t pause for introductions.  Leading me straight through into the bedchamber, he kicked the door shut on all the inquisitive faces outside, and I was in his arms in a moment, pushed against the door, mouth to mouth in a frantic kiss. 

Lifting his head, he asked endearingly: “Do you need to rest after your journey?”

I laughed and said saucily: “No!  That’s not at all what I need.” 

“Did Thomas take good care of you?”

“He was very pleasant and competent.  I heartily commend him to your Grace.  What about my sisters?”

“They will be well taken care of.”

Even as we were speaking, we were helping each other off with our clothes – fashions militated against a quick strip no matter how hot the blood.  And the blood was hot!  I didn’t know whether other women had consoled him while we had been apart and wouldn’t demean myself by asking, but as for me, the three hours we had spent together on our wedding day had simply not been enough.

I gave myself up to the pleasures of the body without restraint, sensing intuitively that total abandon was what he expected of his partners, and wanting him to find nothing lacking in me. 

The feel of his lips against mine, the exciting strength of his body, the smell of him were all intoxicants making my senses reel.  He was both rough and tender, equally demanding and attentive, and had such care for my own pleasure that I invariably reached a panting, gasping, shuddering climax.

“I love you,” I whispered, arms and legs and silver gilt hair entangled.  I could say it now.  I had never spoken the words to John Grey. Our marriage had been a mutually beneficial arrangement between our parents.  He had come to my bed in the same spirit as he went to the table when a hunger was upon him, and relieved himself without giving any thought to my feelings or needs or even if I had any.  And I had been a conventionally submissive wife, largely unaware of my own needs and certainly unable to vocalize them until my new husband awoke my awareness. 

But Edward had chosen me above all others, above Bona of Savoy and Isabella of Castile, to share his life and to bear the children who would reign after him, and it was my pleasure as well as my duty to love him.

He flopped onto his back, tucking an arm under his head.  Beneath the covers his hand sought and held mine.  Now that my lust was spent, or at least in temporary abeyance, I had only one thing on my mind.  “How did it go with the council?”

“Well enough.”

“So everyone knows?”

“I expect even as we lie here, the news is spreading to the far reaches of the realm.  It may already be on a ship to Europe.  Louis won’t believe it.  He’ll spend a great deal of his time on his knees reminding blessed Saint Anne how often she has failed him in the past and offering five thousand
livres
if only she will heed his plea this time.  Once he is convinced it’s true, he will tear off his battered hat, throw it on the floor and stamp on it several times, before retrieving it and setting it back upon his head.”

“I’ve heard of this famous hat, with so many pilgrim badges pinned to it that it’s weightier than a crown.  Does he have only the one, do you suppose, or does he have someone transfer the badges whenever he changes hats?”

“I think it likely that he has only the one because he’s reputed to be sartorially deficient.  But once he has recovered from the disappointment, he will write me a very nice letter congratulating me on my good fortune and expressing the hope that our union will soon be blessed with an heir.”

“That is my hope also, dear lord,” I murmured.  “But what was the response of the lords of the council?”

“I was censured for it, and then censured again for doing it in secret.  It has never happened before that a reigning King of England has married one of his subjects – not since the Conquest.  They were, to put it mildly, shocked.”

“And what did you say?”

“I reminded them that I never wanted a match with France and decided to make my own choice.  Most will soon get over their chagrin and realize they have no choice but to accept the inevitable, especially with the currency crisis to tax their mental faculties.”

I had no idea there was a currency crisis, but apparently too little gold and silver were being brought into the mints to be turned into coinage, and, in spite of the king’s and his predecessors’ attempts to stop it, too much precious metals in the form of bullion, plate and coin were flowing out of the country.  At the ports the royal searchers and escheators did their best to prevent smuggling and had in fact confiscated a huge sum belonging to none other than a certain Louis, (the king was possessed of a rather sardonic wit, which had me laughing merrily when he told the story) which was ultimately returned to him.  Whether Edward was prompted by an imp of mischief or the spirit of generosity, I cannot say.  The escheators couldn’t entirely prevent the drain of bullion from the land and the result was a marked shortage of cash in circulation.  When money didn’t circulate, inflation rose and markets were depressed. 

I listened patiently, but I confess I wasn’t at all interested in the currency crisis, or any other matter that didn’t impinge on my new status. All I was really interested in was one man: he of whom Louis of France was reported to have said: ‘I hear there are two rulers in England, the Earl of Warwick and another whose name I have forgotten.’ And of whom Edward had said: ‘He is everything to me, father, brother, mentor, friend.’ 

When the opportunity arrived I asked about Warwick.  He was the one who had been pushing Edward to wed Louis’ sister-in-law, Bona of Savoy, and I had no doubt he would be furious at my intrusion into his plans.

I felt the sudden tension in him and his tone hardened when he replied.  “He was determined to unite me with France, not only in marriage but also in treaty, no matter my own wishes on the matter.  He makes some good points, too, but I don’t believe the time is right for a lasting peace with France and I told him so from the start.”

“Did he speak against me?  What did he say?”

“You are not to worry about Warwick,” he said dismissively.  But I did.

Between bouts of rampant lust, we lay asprawl one another with my hair trapped between us, and spoke of many things, particularly of what would be expected of me as queen.  He had very firm ideas about my role, as he did about his own, and gave me to understand that he saw me as an adjunct to the Crown, but a passive, not an active, one.   I was to help him entertain foreign dignitaries; I was to appear at his side on state occasions; I was to concern myself with good works.  But I must never, never attempt to meddle in his affairs.  The example of our former queen, Margaret of Anjou, was repeated over and over.

Sitting upright, he shoved his pillows behind his back and settled me against his chest, one arm draped between my breasts.  “Listen, Bess,” he said very seriously.  “I want you to know how it will be.  You won’t always like being queen.  To be queen is to invite the envy and enmity of others.  You must give up all claims to privacy.  You’ll become as much a symbol as a person.  Our children will also become symbols.  The greater part of your day will be spent in the most mind-numbing routines; pleasures will be few.  You won’t be rich because I’m not rich and I will impose economies on you.  You will have no part in the government.  Your duties will be mostly ceremonious.”

I thought about this; how could I ask for more than I had?  “I wanted to be your wife more than anything in the world.  I’ll admit to finding the prospect of becoming queen both exciting and daunting, but I surely can do no worse than Margaret and perhaps a little better.”

He talked about the necessity of practicing economy while at the same time maintaining the kind of splendid state that would impress foreign visitors and persuade them that England was a prosperous and prestigious nation.  The two requirements were not mutually exclusive.  The economies must be reserved for our private life, the splendor for our public life.

“So you’re not rich?”

“Quite the contrary.  I’ve had to take on Henry’s debts as well as my father’s.”

“I wish you had told me that before I consented to wed you,” I pouted.

He laughed and nuzzled my neck.  He loved it when I made a joke, for he considered me too serious.

“Tomorrow,” he said later, “my cousin of Warwick and my brother of Clarence will lead you to the chapel, where the court will be presented to you.”

“Oh, Edward, so soon?”  I groaned. 

“It’s perfectly natural to be nervous, sweetheart.  But there’s nothing to worry about.  I’ll be there to make sure your introduction goes smoothly.  Everyone will love you.”

I wished I didn’t feel quite so overwhelmed at the thought of meeting the members of his court.  As queen I would certainly have to get used to public appearances, presiding over ceremonies at his side, and it wasn’t as if I was an inexperienced girl, shy in the presence of strangers; I was twenty-seven.  But I was happy being one of a crowd and hated being singled out for attention.  Furthermore, I was deathly afraid that I would be despised for aspiring to a crown. 

“But they won’t!  They’ll look down on me for being lowborn.  But I’m not lowborn.  They wanted you to marry a foreign princess, but I’m the daughter of a foreign princess! My mother is the daughter of a house that has furnished kings to Bohemia and princes to Germany.  She is descended from Charlemagne and closely related to the dukes of Burgundy.”

“We’ll remind them of it at every opportunity.”

“And I’m not nervous, I’m terrified!  The entire nobility of England is waiting out there to look me over, to judge, to condemn…”

“Hush, hush,” he said, pressing a finger to my lips.  “Listen.  Now that you are queen you must grow a skin so thick you can face whatever ordure the world flings at you without flinching.  The reality is that our marriage is not going to be popular.  That’s why it had to be accomplished in secret.  People are generally pragmatic; they will accept what they cannot change. The court is waiting, yes, but to greet its queen.  Remember only that you are my choice.  You are the wife of the king and you will be the mother of kings, God permitting.  When you extend your beautiful little hand for the kiss of a duke or an earl, you do him honor, not the other way round.  You take precedence over all the ladies of the land, including your mother and mine.  Don’t let anyone else see your uncertainty, your nervousness.  Always look as if you are in control, even when your heart fails you.  You must be strong, always.  And smile, sweetheart!  One smile and you’ll captivate them all.”