While Beauty Slept (15 page)

“Elise,” she said, reaching out to clutch my forearms, and I was lost once again, lulled into obedience by her commanding voice. “You must go to the queen.”

“I will, as soon as I’ve seen you back to your room.”

“No, no, it cannot wait. Tell her that Ranolf has forbid me entrance but she must insist upon my presence. I am the only one who can assure she receives the proper dose.”

She pressed the vial into my hands, urging me on my way. I heard a sharp cry reverberate through the thick stone walls. It was Queen Lenore, screaming. I nearly cried out myself; the thought of my mistress in such pain made my stomach twist in sympathetic anguish. The concoction I held in my hand would relieve her suffering, but my offering it to the queen would only bring on another, far worse, confrontation with the king. Palms sweating, I hesitated by the door, miserable with indecision. Millicent stared at me, and the full force of her attention washed over me like a searing-hot wind, flushing my face despite the castle’s midwinter chill.

“Go,” Millicent said coldly.

Had she shown but a glimmer of kindness, of gratitude, I would have done her bidding. But she shot me a look of disdain, as if I were still spattered with country mud. In a flash of devastating insight, I saw her attentions toward me for what they were. She had not singled me out for special notice because I was smarter or more able than the other maids. No, she had flattered me into thinking I was exceptional so I would obey her under any circumstances.

Humiliated and betrayed, I buckled at the knees and pressed my face into my hands, pushing back the tears that threatened to overcome me. My collapse enraged Millicent, and her carefully maintained self-assurance cracked. She straightened her shoulders to stand at her full height, enjoying her advantage over me, then pulled her cane back and struck me on the shoulders with crippling force. I cried out and dropped to the floor, curling my arms around my rib cage.

“You wretched fool!” she shrieked. “How dare you defy me!” Again and again she struck me, her vile words as painful as the blows. “You would be
nothing
without me!
A dung-stained chambermaid unfit to lie at the queen’s feet!”

Dimly, through half-closed eyes, I was aware of thudding footsteps surrounding me. The beating stopped, and a footman wrested Millicent’s cane from her hand. As I slowly rose, my back throbbing, King Ranolf appeared before us.

“What is this madness?” he demanded, eyes blazing.

Millicent spat out her words. “This insolent wench must be dismissed at once.”

“Sir, I beg you,” I said in a rush. “She told me to bring this to the queen, against your orders.”

I showed him the vial, and he snatched it from my hands. Holding it up to one of the torches mounted on the wall, he swirled the contents with a flick of his wrist, then hurled it against the floor. Millicent gasped as a slimy green puddle oozed from the fragments of shattered glass.

King Ranolf stepped forward to stand directly in front of Millicent, his proud bearing the mirror image of hers.

“My tolerance is at an end,” he said, his voice rumbling with barely controlled fury. He motioned to the knight at his side. “Thendor, escort my aunt Millicent to her room and keep her there, under guard.”

“Perhaps you should consult your wife before making such rash pronouncements,” Millicent murmured.

“The queen obeys
me
!” the king thundered. “In this and all other matters!” He turned to the men hovering behind him. “Take her away! I can no longer stand the sight of her!”

Suddenly Millicent was grabbed on either side by two burly guards and pulled nearly off her feet. The woman whose majestic bearing had so awed me was reduced to a pathetic, shrieking crone, struggling futilely against her captors. Her white hair slipped from its fastenings and cascaded over her face as she hurled insults at the king, horrible words that lingered in the air like smoke long after she was out of sight. King Ranolf stood for a few moments in the hallway, silent and clearly shaken. Then he marched off past me, into his room, crashing the door shut after him.

Slowly rising from the floor, I saw that a crowd had gathered behind me. The queen’s ladies-in-waiting huddled together, uncharacteristically silent. A group of footmen muttered darkly, while a lone chambermaid stared at me in loose-jawed shock. All had witnessed my humiliation, as well as the king’s rage. The story of this confrontation would be spread throughout the castle within minutes.

Indeed Lady Wintermale took me aside not much later as I stood in the queen’s sitting room, gazing out as daylight crept over the garden, involuntarily shivering whenever I heard a cry from the bedroom.

“Is it true?” she asked, wide-eyed. “Millicent has been sent away?”

“The king has confined her to her room.”

“Thank heaven for that.”

“How is the queen faring?” I asked. Ursula, with the king’s approval, insisted that only she and Lady Wintermale be permitted at the childbed, and thus far the two women had shared little of the labor’s progress.

“Her spirits are good,” Lady Wintermale said. “Though she continues to ask for the potion.”

“Tell her it could not be procured,” I said. “She does not need to know why.”

“Poor dear. I fear it will be some time yet till the baby is born.”

She was correct in her prediction, for Queen Lenore fought through a day and a night of pain. Concern for my mistress denied me sleep, and I spent the evening drifting between the royal apartments and the Lower Hall, where a group of maids and footmen kept vigil along with Mrs. Tewkes. As I stood at the sitting-room window again the following morning, witnessing yet another dawn, I feared I could not bear a single hour more. Ominously, I had heard no cries or groans from the bedchamber for some time.

Ursula emerged from the room, summoning a weak smile. I could see from the way she held herself that her arms and legs ached. I had brought her a bowl of soup, but she pushed it aside.

“The time is near,” she said. “Come, I may need you.”

Inside, Lady Wintermale sat on a chair, limbs crumpled with exhaustion. Ursula leaned down at the head of the bed. Queen Lenore was a pitiful sight, with her usually lustrous black hair matted against her drawn, sallow face. Her eyes stared dully, showing no flutter of recognition when I entered.

“The time has come, my lady,” Ursula said. “You must push.”

Queen Lenore moaned, a sad, faint sound that made my heart ache. If I could have put myself in the bed and pushed for her, I would have.

Ursula’s voice took on a hectoring tone I had not heard before. “You must! Your baby is ready!”

Clenching her teeth and fists, Queen Lenore began to push. And God took mercy on her then, for the remainder was arduous but quick. Within no more than ten painful breaths, she had sent her child into the world.

For a moment that felt like hours, there was no sound. Then I saw Ursula rise, beaming, with the baby cradled in her arms. A firm slap on the child’s back was quickly followed by an insistent wailing. Relief flooded through my spent body, and I almost burst into sobs myself. Lady Wintermale took the baby from Ursula and wiped it deftly and expertly with a damp cloth, then wrapped the tiny creature in a wool blanket the queen had embroidered for the occasion. She opened the door to the antechamber, clasping her precious bundle.

“Summon the king,” she announced.

The king must have been pacing the hall outside, for he appeared almost immediately. The ladies parted to make way for him as he passed.

“A daughter,” Lady Wintermale said, extending the arm where she held the baby. “Healthy as can be.”

The excited whispers died away, and the room descended into silence. A daughter. I stared down at the floor, afraid to see the devastation on the king’s face. How quickly a moment of joy could be transformed into a scene of mourning.

I caught sight of Queen Lenore on the bed across from me and realized she was crying. Not the euphoric tears of a new mother but sobs of anguish and regret. I grabbed a fresh cloth and dried her face, then dabbed lavender fragrance on her neck.

“Hush, madam,” I whispered. “Your husband is come.”

“A daughter,” she moaned. “All this for a daughter.”

I brushed her hair smooth as quickly as I could. Ursula was removing the bloody sheets from the bottom of the bed in preparation for the king’s entrance. I wrapped Queen Lenore’s shoulders in one of her best shawls, doing my best to make her presentable for the king. But no matter how well she looked or how sweet she smelled, the king would not be able to see past the despair on her face. After all she had suffered, she still had not produced an heir. In a sickening flash, I thought of Prince Bowen. How he would rejoice at this news!

Behind me I heard Ursula say, “She is ready, sir.” I turned from the bed and saw the king hand her a bag of coins. Judging by Ursula’s delighted expression, it was larger than she expected.

“You have delivered a healthy child,” he said. “I will be forever in your debt.”

He walked over to the bed, standing on the opposite side from me. Queen Lenore did not meet his eyes.

“My dear.” He reached out and brushed his fingers along her cheek.

“I am so sorry for this disappointment,” she whispered.

“Disappointment?” He turned back to where Lady Wintermale stood at the door. “Bring the child to me.”

Lady Wintermale gingerly placed the baby in the king’s arms. He carried her to the bed, gently tucking her under one of the queen’s arms, and knelt beside them. “Have you not admired her?” he asked.

Queen Lenore glanced down without moving her head. The baby lay silently, her dark eyes and deep red lips peeking out from the swaddling.

“I prayed every day for a son,” Queen Lenore said.

“If my daughter proves as beautiful as her mother,” said the king, “will that not provide me with more joy than a loutish boy?”

Queen Lenore’s lips twitched in the beginning of a smile.

“I prayed you would be delivered of a healthy child, and those prayers have been answered,” the king said. “A woman may never have inherited the throne before today, but that does not mean our daughter cannot be the first.”

The queen began to cry again, but these were tears of relief, for I could see her smiling and looking at the king tenderly. I heard a sniff and saw that Lady Wintermale was struggling to hold back tears herself. The king rose and addressed himself to the crowd waiting in the antechamber.

“Send word throughout the land that my heir has arrived!”

The ladies clapped, and I could hear the exultation echoing through the hallway outside, where dozens of other courtiers awaited.

“I’ll have no one claim I didn’t welcome this child,” the king said, turning back to his wife. “We will have the grandest baptism this kingdom has ever seen. What do you think?”

Queen Lenore smiled and nodded, her eyes bright despite the dark circles of exhaustion that shadowed them. “Yes, we must give thanks.”

Elation melted the usual social barriers, and I found myself embracing ladies-in-waiting and servants alike, until my mouth ached with smiling. Queen Lenore waved me over to admire the baby, and I cooed with delight, falling in love with her instantly.

If the king had been moved by the spirit of that moment to surrender his pride, all might have been well. Thankful for the birth of a hearty child, he might have forgiven his aunt’s insults. But it was not in his nature. King Ranolf, benevolent and generous with those he loved, was an obstinate man, as obstinate as Millicent. Arrogance may confer certain advantages to a ruler, but it can also blind him to the benefits of diplomacy. It was the reason I was never able to shake a certain fear of the king, for who knows what a man convinced of his own infallibility might be capable of?

Two mighty forces had been set against each other. And such struggles can only end in disaster.

Six

A CURSE UPON US

T
hey named the child Rose, a tribute to Lenore’s love of flowers as well as the baby’s deep red lips. From the beginning she was welcomed with as much pomp as any son: Trumpets announced her arrival from the ramparts, and the queen held her, swaddled, in the chapel on the Sunday following her birth, so that members of the court could admire the new arrival. Her baptism, the king declared, would be held in the cathedral of St. Elsip, so his subjects could rejoice alongside him. Following the public celebration, noble families from throughout the kingdom would gather at a grand banquet in the Great Hall.

Only one person of rank was denied an invitation, for the king had banished Millicent from the kingdom on the day after Rose’s arrival. Queen Lenore’s pleas on behalf of his aunt only hardened his resolve.

“Look at yourself!” he barked. “Groveling for a woman who treats me with contempt. I never paid heed to gossip, but perhaps it’s true. Perhaps she
has
put a spell on you!”

“Stop!” the queen cried. “Don’t say such things!”

An unwilling witness to their confrontation, I moved discreetly from the bedside, inwardly scolding the king for berating his wife when she was still weak from childbirth.

“She has a hold over you, I’ve seen that well enough,” the king said. “I’ll not have her do the same to our daughter.”

“And the baptism?” Queen Lenore asked, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her gown. Months before, through her usual cunning maneuvering, Millicent had convinced the queen to appoint her the baby’s godmother.

“She is not welcome,” King Ranolf said firmly.

“She is your father’s sister!”

“I will never allow that woman guardianship over my child.”

“Please.” Queen Lenore’s voice was desperate. “She need not stand as godmother. Invite her as a guest, as a gift to me. It is all I ask.”

“Enough!” the king shouted. “Aunt Millicent may have kept my father under her thumb, but she will not do the same to me—or to you! I have sent guards to escort her from the castle, and I will not hear her name spoken within these walls from this day forward. As far as I am concerned, she is dead.”