The King's Mistress (48 page)

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I
COULD NOT
imagine Windsor Castle without Queen Philippa’s throaty laughter, her exclamations of delight when sorting through cloth and decorations for her gowns, her almost childlike eagerness as the time approached for a long-planned celebration. I could not imagine the Garter ceremony without her. Indeed, I could not envision how the court would function without Philippa ordering it. Princess Joan was still in the Aquitaine. Though Princess Isabella had returned to court after her husband de Coucy returned to France, in essence deserting her, I could not imagine her presiding over the court.

But more than all this, I feared that a part of Edward might have
died with Philippa, and that he was now frighteningly vulnerable. I vowed to protect him, to envelop him in my sheltering love.

W
HEN HE
had realized that he would be at Windsor for a while, Edward had freed me to go to one of my homes as soon as I felt well enough. On my journey to Fair Meadow I witnessed how Queen Philippa’s death had cast a pall over the entire kingdom. Even in the countryside I encountered tradesmen, the local parson, neighbors, my own tenants and servants, all mourning as if the queen had been their dearest friend.

On my occasional trips to London to tend to business, I found the sense of loss so palpable it was almost unbearable. In the churches the priests prayed for the king and all his family, enumerating the losses they had suffered in three years, the death of the queen being the culmination of a long, sorrowful time. I had not thought the common people knew of Prince Edward’s illness, but they did, and all feared what would transpire on the death of the king. It seemed that the queen’s passing had reminded the people of Edward’s own mortality. They wondered how the prince could rule if he did not recover his full strength, but worried that if he died the kingdom would be ruled by a boy younger than the king had been when he ascended to the throne. Had Prince Edward no male heir, the Duke of Lancaster might have ruled. People were uncertain how they felt about him, but at least he was hale and hearty and mature. They counted it unfortunate that Edward and Joan had two sons, still but children, who stood before the adult Lancaster in the succession.

Geoffrey reported speculation about the king remarrying—his grandfather
had
married a second time. I tried not to think about it, arguing with myself that my beloved was too old, that he had sufficient sons. But in the dark hours I lay in bed feverishly planning what I must do to prepare myself for being abandoned, because simply to feel the pain of a possible parting was unbearable.

O
N A
blue-and-gold day in early autumn, as Bella and I were exploring the gardens at our manor of Ardington, enjoying the warm afternoon and visions of the beautiful garden we were planning, we heard several horsemen approaching the house. I expected no one, and except for Dom Hanneye and my steward, no one knew I was in Berkshire. No one
I
had told.

Anxious to see who had arrived, Bella rushed ahead. I watched her long-legged run, graceful and swift, her skirts held daringly high, and felt a glow of joy. Her beauty mirrored her gentle, loving nature. She was beloved by all, servants, friends, family. Edward said that Bella was the perfect name for her, for she was in all ways beautiful. I could not believe she was twelve years old. It seemed just yesterday that I had first held her in my arms and counted her fingers and toes.

She had reached the servant hastening to fetch me, then raced back to announce, “It is the Lord Chancellor himself, Mother! Himself!” Her dark eyes were wide in her flushed face. She did not ask, but I knew the question in her mind.
Trouble? Another death?

I grabbed her hand and hurried back to the house with her.

William Wykeham stood quite still in the middle of the modest hall, his dark, serviceable traveling jacket, hose, and riding boots neither obviously those of a bishop nor a chancellor, but rich and well made, part of his heavy gold chain of office escaping from between his buttons beneath the dagged shoulder cape. He’d developed a more elegant style of late, a charming hint of the pride he felt in attaining such high offices in both the clerical and the secular worlds.

“
Benedicite
, Dame Alice, Mistress Isabella. I regret intruding on your peaceful afternoon.” His smile was warm, genuine, and somewhat eased my worry about the cause of his visit.

Bella bowed to him.
“Benedicite
, my lord Bishop,” she whispered.

I echoed her and added, “Welcome to Ardington. Would you care for some refreshment?”

“You are most kind. Wine is sufficient. I cannot linger.” His smile had faded.

Bella slipped away to summon a servant.

Wykeham eased himself down on a chair by a small table and proceeded to remove his gloves with a meditative slowness, as if using the time in which to compose his thoughts. When he had at last set them on the table beside him, he took off his wide-brimmed hat and pushed back his hood, mopping his brow. But he did not remove the shoulder cape, indicating a brief visit indeed. I had seldom seen him look so ill at ease.

“You come on official business, then?” I asked. “Something that you find unpleasant?”

When he met my questioning gaze, he looked apologetic. “I am here to summon you to King’s Langley. His Grace the King needs you.”

“Now?” I had not expected to be summoned until after the queen’s burial, which had been delayed until after Christmastide. “Surely not. It is not appropriate for his mistress to come to him in his mourning.”

I could see by the conflict in his eyes that Wykeham agreed, but he said, “And yet it is just so. He is the king and he summons you.” He paused to accept the mazer of wine proffered by a servant. “The Duke of Lancaster has also urged me to ensure that you are by the king’s side. He wrote that His Grace is best with a woman’s gentle guidance, and that at present you are that woman, Dame Alice. The king is at ease in your company, more … temperate.” He paused to take a long drink.

“
At present
I am that woman.” I took a deep breath. “Are there plans for the king to remarry?”

Wykeham grunted. “I pray you, forgive my choice of words. I have heard of no such scheme. It is my understanding that His Grace is content, and his sons see no need for … challengers.”

“You will tell me if that changes?”

He bowed, hand to heart.

“God watches over me with your friendship, my lord.” I put that worry aside … for the nonce. “Precisely
how
goes His Grace? What might I expect?”

“Much hawking, much riding, much drinking and gambling. As if he intends to outpace the sorrow that chases him. We pray that you help him embrace his grief.”

I watched a bee explore the rim of my own cup, then fly away. I wished I might fly away as well. I had begun to look forward to a quiet autumn working on my properties, enjoying my children, caring for my aging grandmother. Yet I missed Edward. “Someone from the royal family might be more appropriate.”

“With the Princess Joan in Gascony and Princess Isabella sulking I know not where, you do seem the obvious choice. You will remind him of happy days.” His eyes implored me.

“Of course, I am my king’s to command.” I touched my heart and gave Wykeham a little bow. “Shall I—may I bring the children?”

“His Grace suggested that they might follow anon. For the moment, he wants only you.” He set the mazer aside with a look of regret and rose with a sigh. Only then did I see how exhausted he was. “Richard Stury will come to escort you in two days. Where will you be?”

My possessions were scattered about. “Fair Meadow. My gowns are there. You might rest here awhile, my lord.”

He picked up his gloves. “God bless you, I would if I were at liberty to do so. But I have others to see before nightfall.”

He kissed my hand, blessed me, and was gone before I could ask how he proposed I help Edward “embrace his grief.” I was familiar with the mood he described, and though I had usually been successful at dispelling it for a time, in the present circumstance I did not know what might comfort him.

Bella reappeared before I’d had time to consider how to tell her that I would be leaving again in a few days.

“Will you be going to the king?” she asked.

She took my breath away, my beautiful child, so canny, so quick, so accustomed to her mother being summoned by the royal family.

I bent down—when had she grown so tall I did not need to crouch?—and hugged her. “Yes, my beautiful Bella. I shall send for you as soon as His Grace permits.”

“Sometimes I wish he would find a queen he liked as much as you,” Bella whispered in my ear. “Then I could have you all to myself.”

“Oh, Bella, has he not been good to us?”

“Not when he separates us.”

I could not explain to her my need to be with him.

A
S
I stood in the hall at King’s Langley, slaking my thirst with a mazer of watered wine before continuing up to my chamber to bathe away the dust of the road, I marveled at how long I had been with Edward. So long that I was at ease with ordering his household. I told a servant to remove the pack of hunting dogs snarling over a bone to the kennels.

“But His Grace brought them in, Dame Alice,” said the young man.

They reminded me of the growing factions at court, snarling over favors, choice posts, hoping to procure as much as possible while Edward yet lived, worried about what changes Prince Edward might bring.

“Where is His Grace at present?” I asked.

“In the bathhouse.”

He would be washing for me. Forgetting for a moment that lovemaking was not necessarily his intent, I smiled at the thought of him in the bath and was tempted to join him there. But I remembered myself, and my resolve to attempt propriety during this time of mourning so that no one might find cause to separate us.

“Tell the grooms to remove the dogs, and replace the rushes they fouled.”

I waited until the servant bowed and moved off before I climbed to the solar. There I allowed Gwen to undress me, wipe away the dust of travel with damp cloths, and soothe me with fragrant oils. Then I slept for a while.

When I woke, Edward, in a thin linen night shift, nothing more, lay beside me, just watching me.

“I thought you would never wake,” he whispered. He knelt and peeled back the covers, then entered me with such ease that I must have been dreaming of just this moment. “Would that my whole body might follow my cock and rest in your womb for all the remaining days and nights of this life,” he moaned with pleasure.

I felt the rush of his seed flooding me, and then we collapsed together. Unlike our customary pattern—he would fall asleep and I would lie beside him, listening to his steady breathing—I slept as well, a deep, comforting sleep. When I woke I turned to him and caressed him until he was aroused, and then, though he was only half awake, I mounted him and took him inside me so deep that my bones touched his. We were one, a swaying, breathing, pulsing being, needing no other, nothing more. Afterward, I washed him with a cloth soaked in lavender water, and then he washed me. He was no longer my siren, but now my anchor. He steadied me amid the storms of court, our very human love, our fond familiarity. I caressed his arms and back as he bent over me, my beloved.

We drowsed side by side until dawn.

When his manservant knocked, Edward sighed. “I must attend a Mass in memory of Philippa.” He shook his head in wonder. “I thought that a part of me had died with her, but I feel whole again.” He kissed my forehead, my breasts. “My love for you never diminished my love for Philippa, my queen. She was my succor and my salvation. She taught me how to win the hearts of all my subjects, from the common folk to the barons and archbishops. She bore me magnificent sons and gentle daughters, and I loved her with all my heart and soul. Now you are all to me, Alice.”

“And you to me, Edward.” I was in no wise jealous of his declaration of love for his queen. I could never take her place; no one could. I was content to have his love now.

My sense of profound union with Edward, of being his solace and
retreat as he was mine, was something that I clung to in the months and years ahead, when it seemed that all the kingdom condemned our love, refusing to accept it as that. I wished I might somehow prove to them our sincerity, but how one “proves” such a thing I did not know.

I was certain that I’d conceived that night, and I was glad. I pushed away Gwen’s concerns, her insistence that I drink the usual potion to stop whatever might have begun. If God had seen fit to allow me to conceive from that night of love and union, I felt only joy and gratitude that soon I might again have the intensely private and miraculous sensation of a child blooming within my womb.

My intuition proved to be right. Happiness brightened my world. I was grateful for the comfort I derived from the beauty surrounding me and the solace of the chapels wherever I abided with Edward, and rejoiced in his delight that we were to have another child.

The most difficult time was Christmastide. John, Duke of Lancaster, as well as Edmund and Thomas, Edward’s youngest sons, joined us at King’s Langley. I felt a fraud, a usurper, while present at the table in the hall or in Edward’s parlor. I had seldom been with the two youngest sons while Philippa lived. John welcomed me, but Edmund and Thomas were offended by my presence and made no attempt to hide their feelings. Thomas had seen little of me with Edward. Until his mother’s death he had known me only as one of her ladies, though he had surely heard gossip about Edward and me. At sixteen, he was less in control of his emotions than his older brother, so his was the most hateful voice and behavior. He made certain that I overheard him telling Edmund that he looked forward to his father remarrying, when I should be unceremoniously kicked out of his bed and his household.