The King's Mistress (46 page)

Our hosts, the Duke and Duchess of Lancaster, had greeted me with warmth and presented me with gifts for John and Bella. I had not expected to be welcomed for my own sake, but to be an inconspicuous part of the queen’s train. My lady Blanche was kind, sharing her most recent experiences of childbearing and asking after my comfort. Never once did she allude to my child being the king’s. My lord John, on the other hand, teased me about being related in some vague degree to the royal family and assured me that young John would be knighted in due course. I should be happy for my son, but with every honor afforded him by the Plantagenets, Edward’s family, I felt more anguish that he was one step closer to a foster home where I would never see him. He would be trained and educated to rise far above me.

Yet as I looked round the hall at the sumptuous dress, the proudly scarred men who had fought in France and elsewhere for their king, the elegant women who bore their children and held the families together when their husbands were away, and most of all John’s half-brothers and -sister and his father the king, I knew I could never justify keeping him from this destiny to which he had been born, even had I such power. My son was a Plantagenet, though Edward had chosen to have him known as John de Southery. I set my mind to be happy for him.

Geoffrey had been right—as John’s mother I no longer had the invisibility I’d enjoyed at such feasts in the past. I was cajoled into
dancing when I preferred to sit in the shadows and observe, I was invited to walk out in the air with ladies who had ignored me before. But I was not free to be with Edward, and my heart sank each time I caught sight of him dancing with some beautiful young woman who glowed in the splendor of his smile.

Perhaps it was fortunate that so many courtiers suddenly sought my advice and partnership in business deals, shipping, and land appropriations, for the distraction permitted me to move through the festivities with grace and prevented such a buildup of jealousy as to ruin my next interlude with Edward. I had been taken aback by my possessiveness regarding him; bearing his child had changed our relationship in unexpected ways.

Over the course of the next year, as my son John grew fat and mischievous, I found myself surrounded by courtly suitors—suing for money, not love. Sir Anthony de Lucy, for example, wished to offer me the use of and income from his manor of Radstone for life in exchange for a sum that would outfit his kinsman to make his mark in battle on the Continent. Such deals would have been abhorrent to my father, who looked for solid value in ships and merchandise, but the queen herself recommended that I judiciously choose a few such offers.

“In such wise you create a bond with courtiers who might prove of use to you at some future date. It is how it is done.”

Of all the people who suddenly befriended me, the most surprising was Richard Stury, Edward’s grim retainer. At first I felt his compliments and small kindnesses, such as a seat closer to a brazier at feasts and information as to the arrivals of friends, were simply by order of his master. But one afternoon he asked if he might discuss a matter of some delicacy with me. I had grown accustomed to his new attempts at smiles, but the deference he showed me in seeing to my comfort and the true delicacy of the situation he revealed to me—a family disagreement over a trust—bespoke a fresh attitude toward me. He was asking for my advice, and I took care over my opinion. He queried me on several points, and then expressed his gratitude.

“I see why His Grace trusts you to go about his business,” he said. “You can see the straight path through what appear to be twisting and devious laws and customs, and you have a clear head about you. I am most grateful for your counsel.”

“And I am grateful to you for all that you do for me.”

I felt as I had as Janyn’s wife and Father’s daughter when they
conferred with me concerning their trade. It was a good feeling, giving me a sense of purpose.

But I learned to be wary of such feelings, particularly when with Edward. He was too quick to act on comments I had meant merely as idle conversation, often in unexpected and unwanted ways. A case in point: I was deeply moved by Geoffrey’s grief over his father’s death. As soon as I mentioned my friend’s mourning to Edward, he decided then and there to offer Geoffrey a commission by which to test whether he would be a useful addition to his household. It had not been my intention to ask Edward to retain him. I was often uneasy with his quick generosity, for I heard the courtiers whispering of how it stemmed from my greed. In this instance it was one of Geoffrey’s fellows who congratulated him for childhood friends adept at teasing fortunes out of fond grandfathers.

I thanked God they would never dare say such things in Edward’s hearing.

When Edward was ailing he increasingly showered me with gifts beyond the ubiquitous pearls. He presented me with a life grant of two tuns of Gascon wine for my service to Queen Philippa, a most gracious gift that would appear in the household records. He wished to document my devoted service to Her Grace.

More personal was his gift of a magnificent brown-and-white palfrey named Nightingale. “It has long been my wish that you ride with no reminder of my mother’s shadow on your heart,” he said with such caring in his eyes that I was choked with emotion.

I’d had no idea that he remembered whence came my beloved Melisende. I loved her too well to ever resent whence she came to me. But I had noticed of late how easily she tired, and knew that it was time to allow her to run free in the fields at my country home, where she would be well cared for.

On another occasion he presented me with several falcons and a falconer for Fair Meadow.

“Or the manor of Radstone,” he said with a slight, smug smile.

I could hide nothing from him. This was a new game in our relationship that I found discomfiting.

“You know of Sir Anthony’s offer?” I forced myself to say it with indifference.

“You are padding your nest well, Alice. Ardington—that is another property at which you might abide from time to time.”

“Do you have people watching what I do when not in your company? Do you not trust me? I know that I am offered these properties only for your sake, though I tell myself I am the protectress of widows and orphans.”

He chucked me under the chin as if I were an infant, a gesture I disliked. “To demonstrate my love for you, I have recommended your friend Geoffrey Chaucer for a mission that I would not usually entrust to someone untried in my household. But, in truth, you are not the only one with high regard for him. Both Lionel and John have been most satisfied with his service.”

As Edward described to me the mission on which he was sending Geoffrey, my heart sank. He was entrusted with bringing back from Navarre English soldiers who had hired out to the wrong side in a dispute between the rightful king of Castile and his half brother. It was a delicate and dangerous mission.

I felt sorry for Pippa.

And for myself. It seemed to me that with every gift from Edward my ears burned hotter with gossip.

D
ESPITE MY
embarrassment and my lingering unease about the subtle changes in Edward’s behavior, for a time my life fell into a rhythm that I found comforting. In most ways he and I grew closer as we watched our son develop—John often accompanied me on visits to his father, and Bella as well, for her half brother was most docile in her company.

My role in Philippa’s household had also eased once more into affectionate friendship. We were so accustomed by now to each other’s preferences and dislikes that we needed little discussion, simply reached for the items that would best suit both of us and smiled in agreement. It had become our custom to design a beautiful litter that complemented her robes, and as her physical stature diminished we added more gold, more sparkling gems, anything that would catch the light and pick out the queen as a glowing presence in a crowded hall. Her appetite for beauty never diminished.

Nor did Edward’s appetite for extravagance. Fortunately he was aging with far more grace than his wife. His height rendered his spreading middle insignificant, and glorious robes of cloth of gold with bright, intricate embroidery; cloaks with ermine or miniver linings; and hats sporting ships at full sail or life-sized hawks all simply added
to his regal image. With his flowing white hair, white beard, and sharp blue eyes, his was a long-legged form that strode, never merely walked, into a hall.

But the heady days of our love were past. Perhaps Janyn and I would have grown to be more friends than lovers, given time, though I doubt it would have worried me, for we would have been legally bound.

I
N THE
spring of my John’s second year I saw William Wyndsor for the first time in four years or more. He was soon to take up positions as constable of Carlisle Castle and sheriff of Cumberland, and while still in the south of England came to me at Fair Meadow. He was as handsome as ever and made a point of being charming, but I trusted him no more than before. Since his letters to me went unanswered, I did not understand why he still pursued me.

He was biding near the manor, not with me, but even so I made certain that Robert Broun remained on the estate while William was in the area, and included him in the company whenever William supped with us. To be fair, he treated me with respect and made himself useful, offering counsel regarding a border issue with a neighbor and advising me on several projects. Following his advice, I was able to resolve the long-simmering unpleasantness with my neighbor, and for that I was grateful. He was also kind to Bella—when he noticed her. It was plain he’d had little experience with children and often launched into inappropriately bawdy or violent tales in her presence.

But every time he looked at me in that way of his, I grew uneasy. He had been in the area for a week when I received the queen’s summons to Windsor to prepare for the Feast of St. George. It was a week earlier than I’d expected, but Philippa often stirred herself up to a pitch that required action long before it was necessary. It was a chilly late-March day. The spring thaw had begun, rendering the countryside muddy and unpleasantly damp, but I did not permit such conditions to trap me indoors when I was away from court. I was glad that Bella had declined the invitation to come with me when suddenly the clouds burst open, drenching me as I rode hard looking for shelter. I found an abandoned shed, and with my horse tethered in one half of the low-slung interior, I took a seat on what had probably been a sleeping platform to wait out the storm. I was considering how I might start a fire for warmth when I heard someone ride up.

William appeared, leading his horse. As he tethered it next to mine, he said, “It was unwise for you to ride out alone.”

“Apparently what I thought a solitary ride was not.” I did not like that he’d followed me. I did not like it at all. “I needed quiet to plan, for I depart in the morning. I am summoned to Windsor betimes.”

“I saw the messenger.” He sat down on the platform and suddenly drew me into his arms, kissing my forehead, trying to reach my lips.

“Stop this!” I tried to twist out of his grasp.

But he held me firmly against him. “Come north with me. Let us live openly as husband and wife.”

“William, I am not your wife, nor will I ever be.”

He kissed me hard enough that his tongue found entry as I gasped and pushed at him.

He laughed. “How do I compare to that wizened, scarred, dithering old man you sleep with? You are young and beautiful, Alice. You deserve pleasure.” He pressed me to the platform and fumbled with the bodice of my gown.

I managed to kick him and roll away. “What has possessed you?”

But he was suddenly alert, listening. He held up his hand to quiet me. I heard it as well—a horseman.

A man shouted our names. It was Robert Broun, coming into sight as he called. And right behind him, Richard Stury. My heart pounded.

Stury bowed to us both from horseback. “When I arrived your steward was about to come in search of you with a dry cloak, Dame Alice.” He turned to William. “The Duke of Lancaster would meet with you before you ride north. I am to escort you to him. He is near. If we leave as soon as you’ve gathered your belongings, we will reach there before nightfall.” He did not look either of us in the eye.

Nor did Robert. When we arrived at the manor house, Gwen took one look at me and hurried me to my room.

“Nothing happened, Gwen,” I said when we were quite alone.

She looked me up and down. “Your buttons, your hat and hair.” She shook her head.

“I know. I fear that Edward, were he to hear of this, might not believe my protest of innocence.” I fought tears of rage. “That man is poison to me! His impudence could ruin me, destroy what is left of my family and my honor.” I sank down on the bed. “I pray that Richard Stury is discreet. It is no accident we’ve both been summoned this day. How did they know?”

“Are you thinking Sir William intended to be caught?”

We looked at each other askance.

I felt as if a noose had tightened round my neck. When we returned to the hall, Stury and William were gone and Robert had disappeared. I cried myself to sleep that night. I wept for the memory of my early days with Edward that William’s passion had stirred. I cursed him.

But I also feared what he was about, praying I was wrong in suspecting that there was a connection between William’s dogged persistence and his being Lancaster’s man. If his pursuit had been encouraged by the duke, this day might have far more dangerous repercussions for my family than a simple case of a man who could not accept rejection in love.

B
ACK AT
court neither Philippa nor Edward mentioned the incident with William, a silence that I found more frightening by the day. I was relieved to hear from Geoffrey that William had taken up his duties in the north, but the damage had been done. I devoted myself to Edward and Philippa, but though I had learned to ignore the subtle inquiries and insults from the queen’s other ladies, my own sense of guilt now taunted me. The whispers and furtive glances worried me far more than they had before, and I had no confidant to tell me what they actually knew.