The King's Concubine. Anne O'Brien

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СКАЧАТЬ How naive I was. But how was I to know? He did not dress like a king. Then I looked up and saw him not a score of feet distant, and knew that he did not need clothing and jewels to proclaim his superiority. What a miraculous, god-like figure he was. A man of some age and experience, but he wore the years lightly. Handsome without doubt with a broad brow and a fine blade of a nose complemented by luxurious flaxen hair that shone as bright as silver. Here was no dry-as-dust dullard. The King shone like a diamond amongst worthless dross.

      ‘It’s the water supply!’ the King announced.

      ‘Yes, Sire. I have it in hand,’ Wykeham replied calmly.

      ‘The Queen needs heated water.’

      The King’s complexion might once have been fair but his skin was tanned and seamed from an outdoor life in sun and cold. What a remarkable face he was blessed with, with blue eyes as keen as those of the raptor on his fist, whose hood he was in the process of removing. And what fluidity and grace there was about his movements as he unclipped his cloak, one-handed, swung it from his shoulder and threw it to a page who had followed him across the Hall. How had I not known that this was King Edward? At his belt was a knife in a jewelled scabbard, in his hat a ruby brooch pinning a peacock feather into jaunty place. Even without the glitter of gems, I should have known. He had a presence, the habit of command, of demanding unquestioning obedience.

      So this was Queen Philippa’s magnificent husband. I was dazzled.

      I stood, my heart beating fast, aware of nothing but my own unfortunate apparel, the heap of the disreputable mantle at my feet. But the King was not looking at me. Was I not more poorly clad than any of the servants I had seen in the palace? He would think—if he thought at all—that I was a beggar come to receive alms from the palace kitchens. Even the raptor eyed me as if I might be vermin and worth the eating.

      The King swept his arm out in a grand gesture. ‘Out! All of you!’ The dogs obediently vanished through the door in a rush of excitement. ‘Will—I’ve been looking at the site for the bath house you proposed.’ He was close enough to clip Wykeham in an affectionate manner on his shoulder. ‘Where’ve you been?’

      I might as well not have been there.

      ‘I’ve been to St Mary’s at Barking, Sire.’ Wykeham smiled.

      ‘Barking? Why in God’s name?’

      ‘Business for the Queen, Sire. A new chantry for the two dead Princesses.’

      The King nodded. ‘Yes, yes. I’d forgotten. It gives her comfort and—before God!—precious little does.’ And at last he cast a cursory eye over me. ‘WhO’s this? Someone I employ?’ Removing the beaver hat with its brooch and feather, he inclined his head with grave courtesy, even though he thought I was a serving wench. His gaze travelled over my face in a cursory manner. I made another belated curtsey. The King tilted his chin at Wykeham, having made some judgement on me. ‘St Mary’s, you said. Have you helped one of the sisters to escape, Will?’

      Wykeham smiled dryly. ‘The Queen sent for her.’

      Those sharp blue eyes returned. ‘One of her waifs and strays perhaps. To be rescued for her own good. What’s your name, girl?’

      ‘Alice, Sire.’

      ‘Glad to escape?’

      ‘Yes, Sire.’ It was heartfelt, and must have sounded it.

      And Edward laughed, a sound of great joy that made me smile too. ‘So would I be. Serving God’s all very well, but not every hour of every day. Do you have talents?’ He frowned at me as if he could not imagine it. ‘Play a lute?’ I shook my head. ‘Sing? My wife likes music.’

      ‘No, Sire.’

      ‘Well, I suppose she has her reasons.’ He was already losing interest, turning away. ‘And if it makes her happy … Come here!’

      I started, thinking that he meant me, but he clicked his fingers at a rangy alaunt that had slunk back into the Hall and was following some scent along the edge of a tapestry. It obeyed to fawn and rub against him as he twisted his fingers into its collar. ‘Tell Her Majesty, Will—No, on second thoughts, you come with me. You’ve completed your task for the Queen. I’ve demands on your time for my new bath house.’ He raised his voice. ‘Joscelyn! Joscelyn!’

      A man approached from where he had been waiting discreetly beside the screen.

      ‘Yes, Sire.’

      ‘Take this girl to the Queen. She has sent for her. Now, Will …’ They were already knee-deep in planning. ‘I think there’s the perfect site. Let me get rid of these dogs and birds …’ Whistling softly to the raptor on his wrist, the King headed to the door. Wykeham followed. They left me without a second look. Why would they not?

      Sir Joscelyn, who I was to learn was the royal steward, beckoned me to follow him but I hesitated and looked back over my shoulder. Wykeham was nodding, my last view of him gesturing with his hands as if describing the size and extent of the building he envisaged. They laughed together, the King’s strong voice overlaying Wykeham’s softer responses. And then he was gone with the King, as if my last friend on earth had deserted me. My only friend. And, of course, he wasn’t, but who else did I know here? I would not forget his brusque kindness. As for the King, I had expected a crown or at least a chain of office. Not a pack of dogs and a hawk. But there was no denying the sovereignty that sat as lightly on his shoulders as a summer mantle.

      ‘Come on, girl. I haven’t got all day.’

      I sighed and followed the steward to discover what would become of me as one of the Queen’s habitual waifs and strays. I stuffed the rosary that I still clutched into the bosom of my overgown and followed as I had been bidden.

      The Queen’s apartments were silent. Finding no one in any of the antechambers to whom he could hand me over, Sir Joscelyn rapped on a door, was bidden to enter and did so, drawing me with him. I found myself on the threshold of a large sun-filled room so full of colour and activity and soft chatter, of feminine glamour, that it filled my whole vision, more than even the grandeur of the Great Hall. Here was every hue and tint I could imagine, creating butterflies of the women who inhabited the room. Ill-mannered certainly, but I stared at so beguiling a scene. There they were, chattering as they stitched, books and games to hand for those who wished, not an enshrouding wimple or brow-hugging veil amongst them. A whole world of which I had no knowledge to enchant ear and eye. The ladies talked and laughed; someone was singing to the clear notes of a lute. There was no silence here.

      I could not see the Queen in their midst. Neither, to my relief, could I see the Countess of Kent.

      The steward cast an eye and discovered the face he sought.

      ‘My lady.’ His bow was perfection. Learning fast, I curtseyed. ‘I would speak with Her Majesty.’

      Princess Isabella looked up from the lute she was playing but her fingers continued to strum idly over the strings. Now I knew the source of her beautiful fairness: she was her father’s daughter in height and colouring.

      ‘Her Majesty is indisposed, Joscelyn. Can it wait?’

      ‘I was commanded to bring this person to Her Majesty.’ He nudged me forward with haughty condescension. I curtseyed again.

      ‘Why?’ Her gaze remained on СКАЧАТЬ