The Court of the Midnight King: A Dream of Richard III (28 page)

“Oh, Raph, look,” Kate said suddenly. “Someone’s brought her an offering!”

He saw a posy of primroses in front of black figure. Kate’s eyes were bright sapphires.

“We’ve done some good, then. But we must be vigilant. Unless we tend the sacred places, they’ll be like ruined gardens, gone back to the wild. Their power will be lost to us. We must nurture the serpent power or we’ll lose it. There’ll be no fire to warm the land’s heart. It’s already happening. Will you help me?”

Torn flashes of memory. Priests and knights in white armour. His mother falling, his brother dying. He was afraid. He knew this was against the Duke of Gloucester’s faith, but he couldn’t refuse.

“Yes. You’re the wise one.” He sat up and rearranged their clothing, wrapping her cloak tenderly around her. “Katherine… Do you know how it feels to be utterly loyal to someone and yet have unbidden thoughts of disloyalty?”

She smiled impishly. “Have you designs on the village maids again?”

“I don’t mean my loyalty to you. I meant to Duke Richard.”

She looked shocked. “Well, I’ve sometimes been angry with my mother, but I still love her.”

“This isn’t anger. I don’t know what it is.”

“What are you talking about?”

He wanted to tell her. The dreams felt like tar, wouldn’t come out of him. It was unfair to inflict his vile imaginings on her. Eventually he asked, “What do you think of him?”

“Richard?” Her voice was mild, but he felt her shiver. “I’m not sure. He makes me afraid, sometimes. Oh, not as Clarence did, not afraid for my life. It’s less clear than that. Unease.”

“Why?”

She hesitated. “I don’t know. He can be cold. It’s so hard to know what he’s thinking.”

“He’s not cold, Kate,” Raphael said with feeling. “I’ve seen him like stone to the Woodvilles, but not to his friends.”

“Like stone to those outside the Church, also. I know full well he doesn’t approve of me. He avoids me because of it.”

“Are you sure? He’s always courteous to women, Kate. Not like King Edward, who’d put his hand up your skirt before he even looked at your face.”

Kate laughed. “I’ve met Edward. He was charming.”

“So they all say. What’s Richard done to upset you, then?”

She shifted, not looking at him. He sensed that neither of them was being honest, which unsettled him. “What’s he done to make you feel disloyal?” she countered.

“Nothing, truly. It’s not him, it’s some idiotic fancy of my own, born from the foul humours of the court. I’m not breathing that poison any more. He’s suffered so much pain in his life, you can’t expect him to be light-hearted.”

“The same pain as Edward. From what you say, it doesn’t stop the king making the most of life.”

“Richard takes his duties more seriously,” said Raphael. “If you ask me, he’s disillusioned with his brother. Not that he’d admit it, but I believe he lost respect for Edward when he made that disgraceful treaty with the French. Edward went to make war, but instead accepted a shameful bribe from them to take his army away. I’ve never seen Richard so angry.”

“Angry, that Edward averted bloodshed? That sounds perverse.”

Raphael paused, at a loss to answer. Eventually he said, “Well, he’s a warrior, with a great deal of pride. Perhaps too much: I can’t judge that. And he hates the dissolute behaviour at court; Edward seduces every woman he can lay hands on, then passes them to his friends. Hastings and Dorset almost came to blows over some of them. It’s funny to watch, really. Or it would be in an alehouse, but not in the royal court.”

“Richard doesn’t find it amusing, obviously,” said Kate.

“He thinks the Woodvilles encourage Edward’s depravity, and Lord Hastings, who should know better, is colluding with them.”

“You seem to know Richard much better than I do,” she said thoughtfully.

“Well, I’d hope so,” Raphael said, surprised. “I hardly know Lady Anne, and wouldn’t expect to.”

“Do you find it odd that he’s so straitlaced?”

He shrugged. “No. I find it reassuring. You know where you are with him.”

Her eyes widened briefly with a sceptical look he couldn’t interpret. Then she kissed him.

“Let’s not talk about our master. He can’t stop us being merry.” Kate grinned. “Richard may object to my beliefs, but I do my duty and spend as much time as anyone kneeling on a cold chapel floor. I’ll never leave the Motherlodge. After all, it’s not the sisters of Auset who make war or chop off people’s heads. What do they fear from us?”

“That you’re secretive, and not subject to the Church,” said Raphael. “If you did ride into battle and cut heads off, they’d understand you better.”

“Ah.”

“We should go back,” he said, looking at the rain. “Kate, I wish we need not be separated at night, and have to meet in secret like this…”

She made no response, only stood up and said, “Let’s go back.”

###

Anne lay with her head on Katherine’s lap, pale and drained by her monthly pains. She stared, dry-eyed, across the room, where Mary Bagott sat plucking tunelessly at a small harp. Nan sat at Mary’s feet, sewing. Kate stroked Anne’s long, fine russet hair and at last she admitted what was wrong.

“We were married five years before our son Edward arrived. I miscarried once before him, and twice after; and since then, nothing. He should have brothers and sisters. It’s not fair on him. One little boy, to carry all our hopes, and children are so frail. We’re all so frail.”

Katherine went on stroking her hair, keeping her own thoughts dark and close. She noticed that whenever Richard came home – from York or London or campaigns in Scotland – Anne looked drawn and anxious. Kate had jumped to the wrong conclusion at first. Now it was plain why Anne was worried; not because she was unhappy with her husband, but with renewed strain of wondering if, this time, there would be a child.

The knowledge sent a little strand of sourness through Kate. She couldn’t admit it to herself, but believing their marriage to be uneasy had appeased her jealousy. She never saw any sign of passion between them – only courtesy – but that might be simple decorum. They shared a bed.

Kate accepted this, and loved Raphael. However, the strand of pain sometimes pulled at her without warning.

She and Anne had grown closer. They had little in common, but the connection between them was their love for Isabel. Anne wasn’t like her sister; she was self-contained, rarely inviting touches or hugs. For the duchess to lie in Katherine’s lap like this was unprecedented.

“Kate,” she whispered, too faintly for the others to hear, “is there something you could give me?”

“Only good food, my lady, and advice not to ruin your life worrying.”

“I can’t help it. I feel like a dried-up stream.”

“Is it you who is so concerned, or your husband?”

“It’s all me.”

“Are you sure? Or does he blame you?”

“No, Kate, he doesn’t blame me. He says it doesn’t matter, we’re blessed to have Edward, and if others come it will be a gift, but if not, it’s the Creator’s will.”

“Perhaps you should listen to your husband,” Kate said evenly.

“I should, but it would so please him… I don’t want Edward to grow up alone. He needs a brother, a sister. I’d do anything. Kate…”

Her words were loaded with despair. Kate leaned down, kissed the high forehead where a vein showed blue through the fragile skin.

“What would you have me do? I can take you to the Dark Mother’s shrine and have you kneel before our black Madonna, and open your soul to her. She may grant your wish, but beware; her gifts come with lashing twists in the tail.”

Anne drew herself out of Kate’s lap and sat up, shaken. “Why do you say this?”

“How far would you go? What is your price?”

“Katherine, you look like an angel and talk like a demon.” Anne’s hand crept onto hers. “Shrine… what shrine?”

“You could offer your devotion in return for your wish; but if you say, ‘Send me a child,’ she may send one that kills you as it is born, or grows up to destroy his own family; or someone else’s child. What happens may not be outcome you intended.”

Anne’s eyes were wide, dark as blood. “Such power isn’t holy. I told you to turn away from it.”

“And you know I can’t. Yet you are wondering if it might work for you.”

“Sell my soul, for another babe?”

“Your soul is your own, and there are no guarantees. And there’s the reason I can’t help you: you believe our ways to be devil-worship. If you take this path, you’ll never have peace again. You might even worry the babe itself came from the Devil.”

Anne put her hands to her face. When she let them drop, she looked ghostly but calm. “Yes, you’re right. I don’t accuse you of worshipping devils, Kate, but I do fear for your soul. I can’t do it. There are prices too high to pay. I’ll pray to St Akelda, and leave myself in God’s hands.”

“Or appeal to Auset, and leave yourself in mother nature’s hands,” Kate said gently. “There’s little difference, except that one comes arrayed with raging priests, original sin and hellfire.”

Anne’s amber mouth formed a half-smile. “I know what you’re doing, Katherine, playing Devil’s advocate. I’ve been tempted, and I’ve passed the test. You’ve shone a clear light for me. Bless you.”

“You’re welcome,” said Kate, taken aback.

“I’ve decided to rest in God’s hands, and stop fretting.” She rose, cool as rosewater.

“Are you going to the chapel?” Kate asked. She would have gone with Anne, although she wouldn’t relish kneeling on cold stones for an hour.

“No,” said the duchess. “I’m going to the nursery, to play with my dear only son.”

###

The years passed, and no children came for Anne; none for Kate, either, since she used skills developed by the Motherlodge to prevent conception and the ensuing scandal. It saddened her that while she fed strengthening concoctions to Anne to help her conceive, she was taking others for the opposite purpose. Her own remedies worked; Anne’s did not.

Young Edward of Middleham grew into a handsome, serious boy. Although Anne and Richard doted upon him, he remained wonderfully unspoiled. Kate wondered what kind of childhood caused ruin. They’d called George of Clarence “spoiled”, and she wondered who had spoiled him, because Richard was his opposite. Spare, dark, honourable, and ridiculously self-controlled.

Whatever frail ice-bridge had once joined Richard and Kate had long ago melted away. His eyes upon her were frost. He showed her the reserved courtesy that any duke should show his wife’s lady-in-waiting. In return she gave him due deference. All as it should be.

She’d told Raphael she was afraid of him, but Kate did not fear Richard exactly. He carried something with him, like a great winged shadow, that both repelled and drew her. Every time she saw him, she still experienced a jolt as if she’d never seen him before. The darkness of his hair and eyes, the way his presence made the world go still around him: she wasn’t the only one who noticed. People reacted strongly to him; not merely to his wealth and rank, but to something intangible that inspired devotion or hatred, even fear.

Sometimes – when she knew full well he was away – she would see him in the distance on the battlements, or sense him behind her, only to turn and find no one there.

Raphael asked her a dozen times to marry him. She put him off with light remarks, laughter and kisses. Yes, but not yet. I like being as we are. You’re always away in your lord’s service; Anne needs me. We will, but not yet, not yet.

He was patient, but his face became graver each time. “You know Richard would give us a grant of land, don’t you?” he said once. “Our own manor.”

“What time have I to run a manor?” she answered. “The duchess relies on me, and the duke on you. Later, when the time is right.”

The truth was that Kate enjoyed being a lover, rather than a wife. She liked the subterfuge and the freedom. She feared that if she married Raphael he might change; grow bored and possessive, as husbands sometimes did, and turn elsewhere for pleasure.

Each time she came close to having to make the decision, something intervened to reprieve her. This time it was news Kate had dreaded: Dame Eylott, high priestess of the Motherlodge, was dead. Kate wept, remembering the sweet heart-shaped face and all the dame’s care through the hardest time of her life.

The news also meant that Eleanor’s time had come. She was to be invested as Mater Superior of the Motherlodge of Auset.

Kate went to York to attend her. Eleanor looked beautiful, her coppery hair long and loose on her shoulders. She wore a robe of dark blue silk, thickly embroidered with fruit and flowers, and over it a black mantle edged with gold. The cellar temple glowed in the flickering light of cressets. Wreathes of incense layered the air, peppery and fragrant. So many women packed into the small space – men too – that it was hard to breathe.

Kate and Martha acted as her mother’s handmaidens, washing her hands and feet. Bridget Marl conducted the ceremony, calling down the elements and the Goddess herself, anointing Eleanor with oil. On her hair they placed a coronet in the shape of a serpent, its raised head crowned with a sphere of opal for the moon.