The Uncrowned Queen (58 page)

First, however, she should dress. It would not be decent to remain naked and in bed for the whole day, though it was a tempting and luxurious thought. Anne sat up and wrapped one of the delicate sheets around her body. She was surrounded by beauty and opulence such as she'd never seen before; it was intoxicating. But luxury was a close companion to sin, was it not?

Stretching to banish the thought, Anne stood and walked to a latched casement, the sheet trailing over the rushes behind her. But the glass panes were thick and leaf green and the outside world was oddly distorted when she tried to look through them. What did the garden truly look like from this height? Pushing the casement open as widely as she could, Anne looked down on her secret realm, the sun shining full on her face like a blessing.

The garden beneath and around her tower was thickly wooded and contained within it a high wall though, on one side, it appeared to finish at a natural rockface half hidden in trees. It was a
lavish amount of otherwise empty land this close to Westminster; almost a nobleman's park.

Directly below her window there was a small building with a sharply pointed roof, from the highest part of which a thread of smoke arose, wavering, into the still air. A kitchen?

Anne yawned. And laughed. If she was to be the lady in the tower for a day while she awaited the return of her lover with the sunset, surely she must wash and dress suitably? But she would need help. And clothes. What about clothes? All she had was the dress she'd worn yesterday, now lying abandoned on the floor.

The white dress, the dress embroidered with pearls. Where was that? As she thought about it, and remembered what had happened when she'd arrived the previous night with the king, Anne blushed, though there was no one there to see her embarrassment. Ah yes, that dress also, that beautiful, enchanting garment—it, too, had been abandoned.

Then something caught Anne's eye: a delicate silver hand-bell was beside the bed she'd lately left. Curious, the girl stooped down and lifted it; rang it experimentally. It took only moments after the clear sound shivered through the air for light, hurrying steps to be heard outside the tower room: a woman or a child, perhaps? A hesitant hand knocked at the door.

“Enter.”

The door opened slowly and a woman's black-veiled head peered through. A moment, and the body of the owner of the head arrived behind it, bowing.

A nun? For one mad instant Anne thought a professed sister had been sent to her, but when the stranger raised her head, Anne saw the truth. A widow: that explained the black dress, the white wimple. Swallowing her embarrassment, Anne smiled pleasantly. “I should like to wash and then to dress. Can you help me?”

The woman nodded enthusiastically and smiled, though her eyes remained respectfully fixed on the floor.

“What is your name?”

The woman opened her mouth and pointed; there was only a wriggling red stump of flesh where her tongue should have been. She was mute.

“Oh. I am so sorry.” Anne was shocked, but the woman smiled at her readily enough. She pointed at the bell in Anne's hand and mimed washing and dressing.

“Yes. Yes, I should like that, if you can help me? I need to find a dress: it's white and…”

The woman nodded vigorously and hurried from the room. A moment later, she returned with the lovely garment laid reverently over her outstretched arms. Carefully placing it on the disordered bed, she led Anne to a stool near the window and, leaving her there, mimed that she was going to fetch water.

Anne watched her go and shivered, though the sun streamed through the window, bathing her in warmth. Was this woman's guaranteed discretion part of the price of her love for Edward Plantagenet, and his for her? Perhaps kings thought differently about the human cost of love. Perhaps they did not count the cost at all.

“I don't remember you.
When were you at court?”

Elizabeth Wydeville was back in control. And not especially impressed by what she saw. Bone-thin and pale, the monk standing before her Presence chair was dressed in the robes of a Dominican, but robes so elegantly made, from such fine wool dyed a deep and lustrous black, that Brother Duckshit himself would not have disdained to wear them. The man raised haunted eyes.

“I was your physician, sister-queen. I brought you the blessed Girdle of the Holy Mother of Christ when the pain was too great at the birth of your eldest daughter, the noble Lady Elizabeth. And when it seemed that you might die, I helped the princess out of your belly and watched you cry when you saw the baby was a girl-child.”

The queen, already astonished at being addressed as “sister-queen,” choked on an indignant breath. “How dare you! Guard!”

“No, Your Majesty! Let him speak. Please. For the sake of the king. And your kingdom.”

That stopped Elizabeth Wydeville. She lowered herself into the chair once more, alert. Very alert.

“Well, Hastings? Why must I listen to this… to this creature?”

“Because what he says is true. He was your physician. Moss was his name then. But now, Your Majesty, this man, our holy brother as he now is, can deliver the king from the sorceries of Anne de Bohun, with your help.”

“Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.” The monk murmured the words softly, his eyes fixed on the queen's.

Acid rose high in the queen's throat. How did he know? “These are pernicious rumors. The court is full of envy at the restoration of my husband. They slander me to wound him.” The queen's voice shook and her hands gripped the arms of her chair. If she had to stand now, she would fall; of that she was certain.

Hastings was aghast. “No, Your Majesty. This man accuses the Lady Anne of witchcraft.”

The monk nodded with great solemnity and signed a cross in the air between himself and the queen. “Foul enchantment has made the king blind to his mortal sin of lust. This woman, who calls herself Anne de Bohun…” His face twisted and he wiped his mouth as if he'd fouled it by saying the name. “This succubus in a girl's shape has attached itself to your husband's soul. She will destroy him, as she destroyed me, and the kingdom also, unless…”

He was ghost pale and so sincere the queen's terror bled away. Relief took its place. “Unless what, Brother?”

Spittle had gathered at the sides of Brother Agonistes's mouth; unconscious of protocol, he wiped it onto the skirts of the fine new habit supplied by the chamberlain, the man who'd also insisted he wash before talking to the queen. Vanity. Vanity! But soon, all such things would pass away in these end times.

“Unless she is given over to the Church. With your help, and that of the chamberlain, I shall remove her from this kingdom. Remove her to France, where, this time, she will be burned, most assuredly. To save her soul.” He added the last with great certainty.

“Amen,” whispered the queen. A brilliant solution. If only she, herself, could be kept out of it.

“Amen,” echoed the chamberlain, without even a twinge of concern. In the end, he was a pragmatist.

“Let it be done, Lord Hastings. Let her be taken away. For the good of the kingdom and the salvation of its king. This woman has broken the terms of her exile.”

Impulsively, Elizabeth pulled from her finger a large, square-cut emerald ring set among pearls. “Sell this. It will buy the help you require to escort this woman from our kingdom.”

And, thought William Hastings, it would buy an excellent set of false documents as well.

The queen stood as she gave the monk her ring. “You are about God's holy work, good Brother. It is my duty to assist you by all means possible.”

Brother Agonistes bowed. Surely his master, Louis, his brother-king, would be glad when he presented the woman to him for judgment. At one stroke, his will would be accomplished on Earth as his master's was in Heaven. Edward Plantagenet would suffer greatly for his sins in the woman's absence. The English king would be mortified by grief—especially once he heard of the woman's fate—and yet his soul would be exalted in the eyes of the Lord by this suffering. Righteous punishment, righteously endured, was the path to salvation. That was God's will for all his creatures.

On a signal from the chamberlain, the monk bowed with the remembered grace of a courtier and backed from the Presence chamber. But before Hastings could follow, the queen beckoned him closer.

“I'll not be associated with this, will I, Hastings? Not in any way?”

The chamberlain shook his head, his face carefully neutral. “Associated with what, Your Majesty? As far as I know, we have been greatly edified by the prayers of a very holy man. A great sinner who has surrendered his will to God. To the very great profit of all our souls.”

The queen waved her hand, dismissing the king's high chamberlain. She sat in the empty Presence chamber, silent and, for that
rare moment, entirely alone. Would it really be over? Could Anne de Bohun be dismissed from her life, and Edward's life, so very easily? Quickly, she kissed the crucifix that dangled between her breasts, seeking reassurance. Her anxious breathing slowed. Yes. She was sure of it. She
was
about God's work—saving a Christian marriage. Her own. She was the reconsecrated queen-consort of England. She had a right to defend what was hers. And God was on her side. Why else would he have sent her the monk?

The queen curtsied to Edward Plantagenet and spoke sweetly, her face a smooth, unreadable blank. “Does my husband the king want for anything?”

Edward's response was airy. He could be as charming as she, when required. “Nothing at all, wife. I am graced by your presence.”

Elizabeth Wydeville curtsied again, deeper, bending her elegant head engagingly. She had picked the ground for this contest—the king's own private working closet. A tiny room, seen by very few, it looked down on the river and was the king's special retreat from the court. No one entered it except by invitation from the king himself. By her unannounced arrival, the queen signaled she had serious things to say. “Well then, that is excellent news. I have been so concerned for Your Majesty.”

It had to come, of course, the meeting he had dreaded. This was just preliminary fencing between well-matched opponents. “Concerned? There is no need, my dear.”

The king took the queen by the hand, conducting Elizabeth to a delicately gilded stool in the shape of an X, the only other seat in the room besides his own carved working chair. Graciously, the queen sat as he indicated and bestowed the folds of her gown to maximum decorative advantage. She was wearing pale pink velvet and cloth of silver today, a ravishing combination with white-blonde hair. Pink diamonds in a simple coronet and a skein of blush-pink pearls around her neck completed the picture.

Delicate innocence and delicious youth, said the colors of her clothing and her jewels. The king, however, while admiring the carefully composed picture as a connoisseur, was wary. The queen's eyes shone crystal blue and cold when he chanced to glance into them. “Are you thirsty, Elizabeth? Or hungry?”

The queen laughed delightedly. She shook her head, smiling. “I will not make the obvious reply, husband, though it might amuse you if I did.”

He smiled, too, to show he remembered. It was a joke from the beginning of their marriage: they used to say that the only thirst, the only hunger they ever felt was for each other. But those were the early days.

“Well now, what is this concern you have for me, my dear?” He cast one discreet glance toward the papers, the scrolls, piled up on his desk.
I'm busy, of course
, that glance said,
though never too busy to talk to you
.

“I thank you for this time, husband. There is much to do, I know; so many wait on your command. As do I.”

The king raised his eyebrows. “Command, Elizabeth? In what should I command you?”

In a startling, theatrical instant the queen tumbled to her knees, clasping her hands and raising suddenly tear-drowned eyes to his. “I love you so much and I live only to serve you and our kingdom. You must tell me it isn't true, lord and husband.”

“Elizabeth!”

The queen shed enchanting tears: it was a gift to cry drops that fell like crystal beads. Still, tears of any kind terrified Edward; he was now seriously alarmed. Elizabeth, beneath lowered lids, saw his bemused discomfort. It was a precious advantage.

“I have heard it said you will lock me up in a convent of silent nuns until I die, because I have displeased you. Dear Lord and husband, do not send me away. Please God, not that. What would our children do, deprived of their mother? Our precious son…” She sobbed heartbrokenly. Now the king was truly confused. The situation between him and Anne and the queen was complicated and difficult to be sure, but he hadn't thought of such a thing. The
queen was now the mother of a legitimate prince. He couldn't send her away, even if he might like to. The country would not accept it.