The King's Mistress (24 page)

He declared himself shot through the heart by the steadfastness it revealed. “I have never encountered such loyal devotion. How did your husband inspire such loving loyalty in you, Mistress Alice? I must know how I might do so.” His deep voice caressed me, his eyes drew me in, as if he sincerely wished to know.

I wished I had held my tongue, or better yet avoided the hunt that morning. I had allowed myself to fall under his spell again, as I had at Hertford.

• Christmas 1360 •

T
HE CHRISTMAS
court was at Woodstock that year, with most of King Edward and Queen Philippa’s sons and daughters and their families in attendance, as well as King Jean of France. There were so many guests that most of the servants slept in hastily constructed “houses” that were little more than huts, and some, mostly guards and retainers, in campaign tents. Fortunate in Queen Philippa’s affection, I was one of the half dozen women sharing her bedchamber in the palace. This was much pleasanter than my usual arrangement in a dormitory with the other ladies. For this crowded Yuletide my living quarter was peaceful on the surface, and for that I was grateful. Janyn had now been gone for almost four months and with all my worry and reliving of all he had said and done my temper was too easily tripped. I also missed Bella. Queen Joan had chosen to avoid the festivities in her mourning for her failed marriage. At least I was spared the dreaded chore of explaining her father’s disappearance. I wrote frequent letters, but had not yet the heart to tell her of her loss.

On Christmas Day King Edward entered the chamber of his wife the queen to escort her to Mass before the festivities in the hall, and I almost cried out as I recognized the design on his gorgeous coat. Embroidered in gold and silk thread were two woodbines twisting and twining across the black satin, and in gold thread was written the motto “Seeking like the woodbine.”

It was usually the king who designed the themes for tournaments, jousts, and feasts, for he enjoyed devising ones based on moral mottos or tales of Arthur, the long-ago king of England. So it was not uncommon for him to wear a coat bearing a motto. But this one he had taken from me, and without informing the queen so that she might match him.

Discovering me watching him, he mouthed, “Your inspiration,” as he glanced down at his coat.

I prayed that the little wine I’d drunk had fevered my mind, but it seemed clear that the woodbine coat was a warning his kindness to me was no longer innocent in intention. I prayed that I flattered myself, that he meant the design to do no more than symbolize his famously happy marriage with Philippa, which had been blessed by many children, and perhaps to honor my faithfulness to my husband. But he had not shared it with Philippa.

I had never sought the king’s attention. I was too vulnerable. I feared jeopardizing my place at court, or Bella’s in the household of the king’s sister, by seeming anything but obedient and grateful to the queen. I had a great affection for her, and did not intend to wound her by flirting with her husband.

I yearned for a confidant, but my old friend Geoffrey was no substitute for a sister or a grandmother to whom I might pour out my heart. I
was
grateful he was safely home. Upon his ransom he’d been sent back into danger, ferrying messages across the Channel between his lord the king’s son Lionel and his household. I had long prayed for this reunion. But he danced away from deep feelings.

As he sat beside me on Christmas Day, enjoying the grand feast, my good friend sought to amuse me—and therefore eliminate the threat of my confiding too much to him—with the highlights of an old book that was popular at court, a cleric’s explanation of the art of courtly love. It was clever and worldly, not to my taste, but in gratitude for Geoffrey’s friendship I feigned interest, seeing that he found it immensely witty.

“No one can love unless he is impelled by the persuasion of love.” Geoffrey paused, cocking his head, a silly grin on his face, as if to say,
Dare to refute that
.

It did make me chuckle. “That would seem obvious.”

“Every lover regularly turns pale in the presence of his beloved.”

Now I laughed out loud. “That is silly, Geoffrey. Of course we know that they often turn quite a deep red.”

He bowed in acquiescence. “The essence of the art, according to this cleric, is the love-yearning for someone other than your husband or wife, the never-quite-attainable.”

That one disturbed me. “Why do they all wish to live in dreams, Geoffrey, or as players in elaborate pageants? Have none of them experienced the joy of a simple love? Of a marriage between a man and woman who love and honor each other?”
Why does the king toy with me?
He could not be sincere in his flirtation, for I was so far beneath him. He stirred in me feelings he did not mean to satisfy. Nor did I wish him to.

“Was yours a simple love, Alice, your love for Janyn?”

“But he is my husband.” I fought tears.

Sobering, Geoffrey caught my hands and pressed them as he apologized. “My tongue too often wags before my wit awakens. Forgive me,
my dearest friend. I meant only to cheer you, and look what I have done instead. I wanted only to make you laugh, to suggest to you a way to find some joy, an innocent liaison.”

His eyes were so kind and blessedly familiar. I knew that he had merely been carried away by his own thoughtless wit. “I am quick to bleed these days, Geoffrey, but you are the best physick for me this court holds and I’ll not deprive myself of your company by nursing some imagined wound.”

He kissed my hand.

I smiled and simpered. “Perhaps I should make this playful love to you.”

“Me?” He shook his head so hard he almost lost his bright red hat. “I am unworthy. What of the king?” His eyes teased me. “The woodbine—is it not the flower you have been sewing into everything you own? How comes he to embrace it in his new motto? Did you speak to him of the dream you described to me?”

I meant to deny it, but he saw the truth in my face.

“Alice!” He looked confused. “Has he made love to you? Have you ridden out alone? Is that why the court whispers of your special favor?”

“No! He is kind to me, knowing my sorrow.”

“Is that all it is? Think again, my friend. You would not be his first conquest since the queen. You know that. All the court knows that.”

I did not want to think about it. I had been haunted of late by the story of Criseyde and Troilus, the tale that Geoffrey had first told me, one I’d heard often since at court.

When Troy was besieged by the Greeks the Trojan seer Calchas fled to the enemy camp, leaving his daughter Criseyde in Troy. Troilus, who was the son of the king of Troy, fell in love with her and she with him. But when a Trojan warrior was captured by the Greeks, Criseyde was offered in exchange for him. She vowed to Troilus that she would return, but once she was in the Greek camp King Diomedes, desiring her, told her to forget Troilus and pledge her troth to him. She acceded to his demand. Troilus, learning of her betrayal, went into battle, fighting with such abandon he was eventually killed. Criseyde was blamed and accused of luring him, of pledging her troth and then abandoning him, breaking his heart and his will to live.

Each time I heard it I dreamed of the horror of being Criseyde, of being blamed for her obedience. She had been traded to the enemy and desired by a king whose affections she had not sought. She had
obeyed, and for this and her beauty was condemned. I had caught the judgment in the eyes of the courtiers in the king’s party whenever he spoke to me, and I understood full well how she’d felt.

I took Geoffrey’s hand and looked into his eyes, willing him to be serious for a moment, for he was wont to skitter off into humor at the slightest discomfort. “Do you remember the tale you once told me of Criseyde and the magnificent cloak and silken gown she wore when leaving Troy and Troilus?”

He looked confused. “What has that to do with your woodbine?”

“As you told the tale, Criseyde was damned for dressing so richly as if her purpose were to catch a lover. Yet she was being
sent
from Troy into the camp of Troy’s enemies,
traded
for a captured warrior. She did not choose to go—at least, that is not how you told the tale. I very much doubt she had much choice about how she dressed for the mission either. Yet
she
was damned, not those who sent her.
She
was blamed for betraying Troilus. But had she any choice? When Diomedes, a king, told her to forget Troilus, was that not a command?”

Geoffrey shook his head, frowning. “I still do not understand, Alice. What am I to see?”

“The king, all unknown to me, copied my emblem, and you are thinking that I lured him, are you not?”

“Am I?” He seemed to be asking the question of himself.

“Do you see what I mean about Criseyde?” I asked it without censure, just a simple question.

My old friend, in his fashionable red-and-black clothes, holding the mazer of fine wine we shared, surrounded by fair folk eating, drinking, laughing, gossiping, sat utterly still, digesting my words. I felt oddly light, as if my ability to make him see that Criseyde was wrongly accused would change my own fate. I was desperate to make him see, as if once
he
understood, it was possible
all
would. At last he nodded.

“Yes, I see that if it were a story about someone you know it would be a gross injustice to blame her. But it is poetry, Alice, an example of the inconstant woman. A symbol, you see.”

My heart sank. “No, Geoffrey, it is not that innocent. She was not inconstant by choice, and I cannot believe you are blind to that. People hear such judgment in tales, and judge the folk they know likewise. I innocently tell the king of my dream, he uses my emblem, and suddenly I am accused of pursuing him.”

“Oh. Yes. Yes, I do see.”

He looked so crestfallen I almost consoled him, but caught myself before being so foolish.

“I am judged, Geoffrey.”

“You are. That is true. And I dare guess that little of it is spoken in your presence. You’ve no idea what the courtiers say about you.”

“I wanted only to be a quiet cog in the wheel of the household, calling no attention to myself. But any little joy I take is noted. I see the censure in their eyes. What can I do? What might Criseyde have done?”

“You cannot confront the king about his indiscreet use of your emblem.”

“Of course not. But, Geoffrey, tell me what you have heard.”

“As you have guessed, already they believe you seek his eye, Alice. They notice every look between the two of you, every new piece of clothing you wear, whether you are wearing his favorite colors.”

“How can I protect myself against illusions? Lies?”

“You cannot, Alice. The court is a dangerous place for anyone who inspires envy.”

The daughter of a merchant a target for envy? They were all mad. I would stop riding out in the king’s company. “I am too ignorant of court. My dear Geoffrey, you must be my ears in future. Will you promise to tell me what they say?”

Poor Geoffrey. His discomfiture was writ plain on his expressive face.

“I promise, as long as you do not punish me for my observations. Remember that I merely repeat to you what I have heard and that I am not one of the gossips.”

“You have only to remind me of that and I will recall any dogs I might unleash on you,” I said.

Geoffrey smiled and kissed my hand, then grew serious. “Have you any news of Janyn?”

I shook my head. I dared not speak of him in public, though we were talking so low and the music, song, and conversations all round were so loud as to drown us out. The danger to my family was not worth even the consolation of sharing my story to receive Geoffrey’s sympathy. I would tell him all if a better opportunity arose.

Geoffrey was recounting one of his adventures across the Channel when I noticed a quiet falling around us. I’d been clutching our shared mazer of red wine and now I glanced down, fearing I’d spilled it on the
indigo gown that had been my last gift from Janyn, but saw no stain. Glancing up, I beheld King Edward standing across the table from me, his expression merry. I stopped breathing. He bowed to me and held out his beringed hand.

“Dance with me, Mistress Alice!”

“Sweet Mary in heaven,” Geoffrey breathed.

“Your Grace,” I murmured, rising, and at once a page was behind me to help me climb over the bench and move round to the king. I do not know how I managed on my trembling legs. I told myself it meant nothing, he pitied me for the loss of my husband and no doubt felt he owed me some cheer since it was his mother who had brought this trouble on my family. But the woodbine design taunted me.

When King Edward took my hand I felt pierced by heat. I am quite sure I made some sound, some exclamation, but he was waving the musicians to lift the tempo and we were off, hand in hand, rushing to join the other dancers. From that moment the alchemy of the king’s touch, of his presence, of his vigor, worked on me, caught me up in his mood. The king, despite his nearly five decades, was agile and light on his feet. I’d never danced with a more skillful and graceful partner.

“Do you like my emblem for this feast?” he shouted, sweeping his free hand across his gorgeous tunic. “You are my inspiration!” His grin teased, but his eyes lingered on my low-cut bodice with a hungry intensity.

“A simple plant, Your Grace, yet you have worked a wondrous alchemy. Gold and silver! But you are unfair, my lord. Forewarned, I might have designed a matching surcoat for Her Grace.”

“And forgone my pleasure in seeing your surprise?” He shook his head, laughing.

As we moved close, again I felt his extraordinary power of attraction. I was a young, giddy girl again, wanting nothing so much as to be desired.

I danced as if I had not a care in the world, and laughed and responded to his compliments with an ease that I would not have believed possible. In faith, he had enchanted me. Some might say bewitched me. Most would say that I had bewitched him. The music was all my body needed to cue me to the movements of the dance, but the king’s presence added a sparkle that I had not felt since last I’d danced with Janyn. We were part of a pattern of swirling colors and our jewels caught the torchlight and added to the enchantment.