The King's Concubine. Anne O'Brien

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СКАЧАТЬ it up, I shut the creature outside in the scullery, ignoring its plaintive mewing, as I went to answer an enraged bellow from Master Humphrey. Virtue was a fine thing—but could be as dull as a platter of day-old bread. Now, ambition was quite another matter—as succulent as the pheasants that Master Humphrey was simmering in spiced wine for the royal table.

      And what happened to the monkey? Mother Abbess ordered it to be taken to the Infirmary and locked in a cellar. I never saw it again. Considering its propensity to bite, I was not sorry. Still I smiled. If I had the monkey now, I would set it loose on Sim with much malice and enjoyment.

      Then all was danger, without warning. Two weeks of the whirlwind of kitchen life at Havering had lulled me into carelessness. And on that day I had been taken up with the noxious task of scrubbing down the chopping block where the joints of meat were dismembered.

      ‘And when you’ve done that, fetch a basket of scallions from the storeroom—and see if you can find some sage in the garden. Can you recognise it?’ Master Humphrey, shouting after me, still leaned toward the scathing.

      ‘Yes, Master Humphrey.’ Any fool can recognise sage.

      I wrung out the cloth, relieved to escape the heat and sickening stench of fresh blood.

      ‘And bring some chives while you’re at it, girl!’

      I was barely out of the door when my wrist was seized in a hard grip and I was almost jolted off my feet—and into the loathsome arms of Sim.

      ‘Well, if it isn’t Mistress Alice with her good opinion of herself!’

      I raised my hand to cuff his ear but he ducked and held on. This was just Sim trying to make trouble since I had deterred him from lifting my skirts with the point of a knife and the red punctures still stood proud on his hand.

      ‘Get off me, you oaf!’

      Sim thrust me back against the wall and I felt the familiar routine of his knee pushing between my legs.

      ‘I’d have you gelded if I had my way!’ I bit his hand.

      Sim was far stronger than I. He laughed and wrenched the neck of my tunic. I felt it tear, and then the shoulder of my shift, and at the same time I felt the fragile string give way. Queen Philippa’s rosary, the precious gift that I had worn around my neck out of sight, slithered under my shift to the floor. I squirmed, escaped and pounced. But not fast enough. Sim snatched it up.

      ‘Well, well!’ He held it up above my head.

      ‘Give it back!’

      ‘Let me fuck you and I will.’

      ‘Not in this lifetime.’ But my whole concentration was on my beads.

      So was Sim’s. He eyed the lovely strand where it swung in the light and I saw knowledge creep into his eyes. ‘Now, this is worth a pretty penny, if I don’t mistake.’

      I snatched at it but he was running, dragging me with him. At that moment, as I almost tripped and fell, I knew. He would make trouble for me.

      ‘What’s this?’ Master Humphrey looked up at the rumpus.

      ‘We’ve a thief here, Master Humphrey!’ Sim’s eyes gleamed with malice.

      ‘I know you are, my lad. Didn’t I see you pick up a hunk of cheese and stuff it into your big gob not an hour ago?’

      ‘This’s more serious than cheese, Master Humphrey.’ Sim’s grin at me was an essay in slyness.

      And in an instant we were surrounded. ‘Robber! Pick-purse! Thief!’ A chorus of idle scullions and mischief-making pot boys.

      ‘I’m no thief!’ I kicked Sim on the shin. ‘Let go of me!’

      ‘Bugger it, wench!’ His hold tightened. ‘Told you she wasn’t to be trusted.’ He addressed the room at large. ‘Too high an opinion of herself by half! She’s a thief!’ And he raised one hand above his head, Philippa’s gift gripped between his filthy fingers. The rosary glittered, its value evident to all. Rage shook me. How dared he take what was mine?

      ‘Thief!’

      ‘I am not!’

      ‘Where did you get it?’

      ‘She came from a convent.’ One voice was raised on my behalf.

      ‘I wager she owned nothing as fine as this, even in a convent.’

      ‘Fetch Sir Jocelyn!’ ordered Master Humphrey. ‘I’m too busy to deal with this.’

      And then it all happened very quickly. ‘This belongs to Her Majesty.’ Sir Joscelyn gave his judgement. All eyes were turned on me, wide with disgust. ‘The Queen ill, and you would steal from her!’

      ‘She gave it to me!’ I was already pronounced guilty but my instinct was to fight.

      ‘You stole it!’

      ‘I did not.’

      I tried to keep my denial even, my response calm, but I was not calm at all. Fear paralysed my mind. Much could be forgiven but not this. For the first time I learned the depth of respect for the Queen, even in the lowly kitchens and sculleries. I looked around the faces, full of condemnation and disgust. Sim and his cohort enjoying every minute of it.

      ‘Where’s the Marshall?’

      ‘In the chapel,’ one of the scullions piped up.

      With the rosary in one hand and me gripped hard in the other Sir Joscelyn dragged me along and into the royal chapel, to the chancel where two labourers were lifting a wood and metal device of cogs and wheels from a handcart. There, keeping a close eye on operations, was Lord Herbert, the Marshall, whose word was law. And beside him stood the King himself. Despair was a physical pain in my chest.

      ‘Your Majesty. Lord Herbert.’

      ‘Not now, Sir Joscelyn.’ King and Marshall were preoccupied. All eyes were on the careful lifting of the contraption. We stood in silence as it was positioned piece by piece on the floor. ‘Good. Now …’

      Edward turned to our importunate little group. So I was to be accused before the King himself, judged by those piercing eyes. I shivered as the evidence was produced, examined, the ownership confirmed, and I shivered even more as I was tried, condemned and sentenced by Lord Herbert to be shut in a cellar, all without listening to a word I said. And the King? He could barely snatch his concentration from the contraption at his feet, whilst I suffered for a crime I had not committed. Within the time it took to snap his fingers he would pass me over to the Marshall. It must not be! I would get his attention and keep it. And the flare of ambition and fiery resentment that I had felt under the tyranny of Countess Joan once more flickered over my skin.

      I am worth more than this. I deserve more than this.

      I wanted more than the half-life in the kitchens of Havering. I would make the King notice me.

      ‘Sire!’ I discovered a bold confidence. ‘I am the woman the Queen sent for. And this lout …’ I pointed СКАЧАТЬ