The King's Concubine

Chapter Fifteen

Leaving my baggage to be unloaded, I stepped into Eltham’s Great Hall, good memories of this palace, which Wykeham had renovated, sweeping back and lifting my spirits. But as I walked purposefully, absorbing the atmosphere, I was forced to accept that much had changed. It was, as Windsor had said, as if the heart had gone out of the Court. It had, as I had imagined, the still, dust-laden quality of a stone coffin. The servants I passed looked at me askance. All bowed or curtsied as they had in the past, and no one stopped me, but one man, his hand half-hidden against his hose, curled his fingers against the power of the Evil Eye. I saw it. My reputation as a witch had sunk deep.

That was not all. It would be no easy task to return to my old position. Legs braced, arms folded as if to repel a troop of invaders, Roger Beauchamp, Edward’s new chamberlain who had replaced Latimer, stood foursquare before the door to Edward’s accommodation, drawing himself up as his eye lit on me. I had come so far and so fast, and now this paid minion would keep me from Edward’s side. I knew from the set of his mouth that it would take little for him to draw his sword and drive me from the palace. I might know that my banishment had been lifted, but the speed of my arrival had preempted the news. The word had not yet reached Eltham. Or perhaps it had and he would still deny me.

Here I would discover how much power remained to me. Not much, I thought.

Beauchamp regarded me like one of the vermin that could never be exterminated from even the public rooms of the palace. “You should not be here! The law forbids it.” No respect, all denial, Beauchamp’s challenge confirmed my fears.

“I wish to see the King,” I replied without heat.

“I say you will not.”

“And will you stop me?”

“I will, madam!”

“My banishment is lifted.”

“And you have proof?”

No, I had not. I had not brought the letter. In my urgency I had not seen a need. Not that Beauchamp would have accepted anything less than a royal declaration, stamped and sealed.

“The decisions of the late Parliament have been declared null and void,” I stated calmly. “By his grace of Gaunt himself.” Surely the name would have some power.

“I have no knowledge of it.” Beauchamp’s stance and reply remained implacable.

How I wished for Latimer’s return. And how had this monster escaped Gaunt’s purging? I gestured to the door at his back.

“Let me pass. The King will see me.”

“The King will not.” Beauchamp drew his sword.

I retreated not one inch. “If you intend to stop me, you will have to use that, sir.” I pushed the flat of the blade away with my hand. “I wear the Queen’s jewels. I have borne the King’s children. Will you deny me?”

And I hammered with my fist on the door to Edward’s chambers.

No reply. However confident I appeared, I was far from it. I hammered again, anxiety building layer upon layer so that I could barely breathe, as Beauchamp’s fingers clamped peremptorily, unforgivably, around my wrist. I thumped again on the door with my free fist, raising my voice.

“Sire! It is Alice.” I tried to wrench my wrist free, but Beauchamp held on, and in that moment all was blackness in my mind. I would be cast out. Gaunt’s promise was nothing but a charade.…

“Majesty…!” I heard my voice, harsh with terror.

The door opened.

“What’s all the noise and fuss, Beauchamp? It’s enough to wake the dead. Be still, man.…”

My wrist was released.

Once, I would have gone to him, touched him, spoken with him, no matter who stood between us. But now—considering our parting words, I could not. Yet, to see him standing alone, unaided, to hear him speaking without difficulty, his words with clear meaning—the impact clenched around my heart. Edward, still King, still regal even with the stooped shoulders and hollowed cheeks of old age, was standing in the doorway. Not robust but steady enough with one hand clawed around the edge of the doorjamb.

I sank into a deep curtsy.

“My lord. I am here.” I waited until the faded blue eyes tracked across my face; only then did I rise to my full height. “It’s Alice. I have come to you. Let me in, to be with you.”

Would he turn his face away? Would he reject my return? Would his wayward mind recognize me? The moment when Edward looked at me seemed to last a lifetime. And to my relief the focus sharpened with recognition. And there in that acknowledgment was an astonishment that held unmistakable joy.

“Alice…I asked for you. I was told that you could not come to me.…” And then he held out his hands to me and I placed mine there.

“Now I am here. Let us go in,” I said, my confidence surging back. And I stepped inside the room.

Moisture glistened in Edward’s eyes, but his command was still strong, and so were his memories. As he would have done in the past, he bowed and raised my fingers to his lips, first one hand, then the other.

“I have missed you.”

“I couldn’t bear that you should be alone.”

“They kept you from me.…”

“It was not my choice. But your son has rescued me. I am free to be here with you.”

“Then come.…We will talk.”

And it was impressed on me how harrowing the intervening months had been for him. We were forced to walk slowly, Edward’s right foot dragging a little with every step, his arm beneath my hand tense with the effort to walk unaided. But he was determined, and we reached the great chamber.

“Alice…” Before he could say more, I sank to my knees before him. “What’s this?”

“I need to ask your pardon, Sire.”

“A minute ago you called me Edward and demanded admittance. Now you are on your knees. This is not the Alice I recall.” The ghost of a laugh was tragic on the once-fine features, the muscles on the right side of his face refusing to obey the demand to smile.

I bowed my head. I could not laugh. “I hurt you. I betrayed you.”

“So you did. You should have told me. I think I would have understood.”

“What man could understand that I had married another in secret?”

“Ah, well…What I don’t understand is why Windsor? Why such a man?”

I could think of no reply that would explain the call of blood, one to another. “He will care for me,” I managed.

“Yes. I expect he will.”

“My loyalty to you has not changed, my lord.”

“But you are a young woman, and I…”

“My lord…I am so sorry.…”

“We must have the courage to face our limitations. My flesh ignores the demands of my heart.” Again that heart-wrenching smile. “How many old men have said that when their young lover looks elsewhere? I am not the first. I won’t be the last.”

His candor overwhelmed me. Nor could I explain that my attraction to Windsor wasn’t solely physical, but a meeting of minds.

“It was not my choice to leave you, my lord. Will you forgive me?”

“You know I will. But only if you call me Edward again. Come; stand. It’s too exhausting looking down at you.” And he raised me to my feet with a remnant of his proud grace. “Have you come to stay?”

“I have. If you want me.”

“Do I not want the sun to rise tomorrow? You are mine and I have a need of you, if you can tolerate the weakness of an old man.”

“This is where I wish to be.”

Edward’s brow creased, for which I was sorry. “They—those who have no love for you—say you have no heart, Alice. That you are as cold as stone. As hard as flint. What do you say?”

I regarded him gravely as I swallowed against the press of tears. “What I say has no weight. What do you say, my lord?” Enclosing his cold hands between mine, in a deliberately intimate gesture, I placed them, flat-palmed, between my breasts where my heart beat. “What do you say?”

“I say that you are never cold to me.” Leaning a little, he pressed a kiss between my eyebrows. “You are as gentle as a blessing, as warm as the sun in summer.”

We both knew that Windsor would not be spoken of between us again. It was a tacit agreement that for the length of Edward’s life, my husband did not exist. Edward turned from me to shuffle toward his bed with its embroidered heraldic hangings. “I am weary, Alice. I have not slept well since you went away. Or at least I don’t think I have.…Memory plays tricks on me.…”

“Then you must sleep now. I’ll stay with you.”

I helped him to lie down on the magnificent bed that we had shared. And I sat beside him, curled against the pillows, his hand in mine as his eyelids began to droop.

“Do you know?” he murmured. “When they told me that you were not allowed to come to me, that we would be parted forever, I was destroyed. Not an emotion appropriate for a king, is it?”

“No. But it is the emotion of a man of honor and courtesy. Of a lover.” I folded his hand between mine.

“I thought I would never see you again.…”

“But I am here now.”

“And all will be well.”

“All will be well.”

I sat with him until sleep claimed him. I would have liked to have told him that he would grow strong, that he would resume the mantle of kingship. I would have liked to assure him that his present clear understanding would remain; that he would know my love and care of him for all the remaining days of his life. But I could not. This lucidity, I suspected, was transient. I tucked the memory away for the difficult days.

Did I weep for him?

Not now. He would not have wished it. I would do what I could for him. I would stay until the end. Windsor would understand.

For that I was surely blessed.

Despite my fears, Edward’s grip on life proved to be ferocious, his mind set on one final magnificent gesture. He was in no fit state to travel, but his resilience was a fine thing.

“I will do it. I will not be gainsaid in this! Do you hear me, Alice?” I heard him. Saw the flash of the old imperious Plantagenet regality. But so brief, so painfully brief. His head lolled forward, his chin against his chest, and he dozed. But on his awakening, the thought was still firmly lodged in his unsteady mind.

“I will sit at the table in Wykeham’s Round Tower at Windsor, even if I have to be carried into the chamber in a litter.”

This would be the last St. George’s Day that Edward would ever see, whether he went to Windsor or no. His physicians warned against the exertion. I shrank from the bathos of the scene that would ensue if I consented. I could not bear it for him.

“Arrange it for me, Alice.” His twisted mouth could still issue orders. “Would you stop me from doing something that will bring you such personal joy? I don’t think you’ll refuse me.”

I flushed at the accusation, but held my ground. “Your health is of prime importance to me, Edward!”

“I know. But I also know you’ll allow me to see this through.” His speech was slurring as his energy waned, but he could still grip my hand. “Do it, Alice!”

How could I not? Edward dragged himself through the days with sheer willpower. He wanted to do it—and so he would.

“I will arrange it. But you know what I will ask,” I said.

“Yes.” His sigh acknowledged the burden I had put on him. “Do I not know you like I know my own soul? A difficult request, Alice…”

“Simply to be there, to watch? Is it so difficult?”

“Unorthodox…” His tongue struggled a little over the word.

“You have the power to make the unorthodox the most acceptable thing in the world.”

Oh, I wanted to be there more than I could express. This occasion to mark St. George’s Day meant as much to me as it did to Edward. I did not expect the flood of vitriol that was to be unleashed against me. Or perhaps I did.…

“It is not appropriate, my lord! She will not be admitted!” Princess Joan, whose nose for Court intrigue had sharpened with her widowhood, was haranguing Edward before the week was out.

“But on this occasion…” Edward might regret the onset of a battle royal with the Princess, but he was still prepared to argue my case.

Except that Joan rolled over him like the English cavalry destroyed the French at Poitiers. “She is not a Lady of the Garter. Only those of royal blood qualify for such high recognition. Only Philippa and Isabella. You yourself would have it so, my lord. Would you put a lowborn woman on the same footing as your wife?” She willfully ignored my role as Lady of the Sun, when Edward had done just that. “Even I am not allowed.…”

“I hear you, Joan.” Edward raised a weary hand. “Tradition weighs heavy—and since I was the one to create it…” He smiled apologetically at me.

Since you created it, you could claim the right to change it! But seeing the fretfulness in him, I closed my mouth on any counterargument I might make. I allowed Joan her little victory, for did I not have one that was even greater? It would be for me a moment of pure joy.

“You will come with me,” Edward ordered, gripping my hand.

“I will come to Windsor with you,” I agreed.

“But not to the ceremony,” Joan added for good measure.

Well, we would see what we would see.

We arranged it most carefully, traveling by river to arrive on the day before the ceremony so that the inhabitants of Windsor would not see Edward lying on a litter rather than riding on a warhorse to their gates. I would at least guard him against that ignominy. But would he be able to walk into the chamber? Would he be able to lift the great sword of state?

It was in God’s hands.

And so the day dawned. Edward broke his fast, a cup of wine driving color into his cheeks and strengthening his sinews. I withdrew into the background as his servants clothed and prepared him for his celebration and his ordeal. With lambskin and fur to protect him, fine robes covered his wasted body, giving him a semblance of majesty. I stood aside as he lifted his head and walked slowly into the chamber, his hand pressing hard on the shoulder of one of his knights, to take his seat at the vast circular table.

What was he thinking? I knew the answer. Of his first inaugural ceremony, more than thirty years ago, when he was in the full strength of his youth, attended by the flower of Europe’s chivalry and Philippa, who presided over the subsequent festivities. There would be no festivities to preside over this year—Edward could not maintain his strength for more than an hour. At least Joan would not have the excuse to lord it over the proceedings. And I, the whore, the mistress, would be shut out of the sacred ceremonial. The solemn rituals had no role for the King’s Concubine, and unlike my splendor as the Lady of the Sun, Edward could not make one for me. All I could do was imagine.…

My eye was taken by the approach of young men clad in scarlet robes at the end of the procession, and all my desire was centered on the one fair face in their midst.

I would not be shut out! I would not be absent from this most glorious acceptance of what I had done in my life. I slipped inside the door and stood to the left in the shadow of a great curving tapestry, unmoving, my breathing shallow. I would simply be there. A silent witness.

There were twelve youths, the new generation of England’s rulers, royal blood flowing through an impressive number of veins. I recognized them all. Edward’s two grandsons were the first to kneel and feel the kiss of the sword on one shoulder, then the other: Richard of Bordeaux, slight and fair at ten years, and Edward’s heir; Henry Bolingbroke, Gaunt’s son of similar age; followed by Thomas of Woodstock. Then the young men: Oxford, Salisbury, and Stafford. Mowbray, Beaumont, and Percy. All the great names of the kingdom receiving Edward’s final gift of a knighthood. I had been right. So weak was his arm that the great sword of state quivered, but his will was as strong as ever. I knew he would see it out to the bitter end.

They knelt to receive the honor of knighthood, stood, stepped back. There was only one face I looked for, only one who made my heart bound. And there he was at last. The final youth to kneel before his King—and his father.

John. Our son. My son!

Pale, with nerves chasing across his features, John sank to one knee, his hair bright in the light through the high windows. At thirteen years, he still had the uncoordinated limbs of youth, but he had been well schooled for this day. I held my breath as Edward raised the great sword for the final time, and our son lifted his head to receive the accolade. Pride warmed my blood. Such public recognition of what had been vilified—my place in Edward’s life. I slipped out. I had seen all I needed to see. My son, a Knight of the Garter. Emotion choked me.

“Take me to Sheen,” Edward ordered when the young men, released from their ordeal, had toasted themselves with relieved laughter. “I’ll die there.”

I was afraid that he would.

“What is it?” I asked, seeing the shadow of grief on his face as we began the journey.

He shook his head.

“I shall nag at you until you tell me!”

“There’s one regret I have.…”

“Then it can be remedied.”

“No. It cannot. I allowed matters of state to step in front of friendship. It was a grave misjudgment, and I don’t think it can be forgiven.”

He closed his eyes and would say no more. And however much I worried about it, I could not think what it was that disturbed his rest. And if I could not decipher it, how could I put it right?

And then in the night it came to me. I knew what I must do. And quickly.

* * *

Edward lay on his bed, his chest barely moving, his skin so thin and pale as to be almost translucent, like a pearl from the Thames oyster beds. Occasionally his breath fluttered between his lips, but that was the only sign of the life that remained to him. The day had come. That long, courageous life, lived to the full for the glory of England, was drawing quietly to its close.

The last time I had kept vigil beside the dying had been with Philippa. I smiled a little at the memory of her amazing duplicity born out of compassion. Then my smile faded, for who could have believed it possible that Edward’s loss of his most dear wife should place his feet firmly on the path to deterioration. Every day for the past eight years he had missed her keenly, until his mind could bear it no more. I was second-best. So I had always been. I had known it and accepted it. Today Edward would lay the burden aside.

And so would I.

At the foot of the bed knelt Edward’s confessor, Father Godfrey de Mordon, a man of erudition and superior oratory, of morals as narrow as his unfortunate ferretlike features. I disliked him as much as he disliked me, but I let him pray. I did not pray, but simply sat and watched as Edward’s life ebbed, until the priest’s voice broke into my thoughts.

“His Majesty needs to repent.”

“Later.”

A pause.

“It would be better if you were not here.”

I turned my gaze on him, noting the deliberate absence of respect in his address. “Yet I will stay.”

“You have no place in this final confession of the King’s sins.” The priest’s scowl informed me that I was the source of the most virulent of them.

As he made the sign of the cross and launched into yet another Ave, I reflected how Father Godfrey had revered Philippa as a saint, while he regarded me as the worst of Eve’s daughters. I folded my hands, one over the other in my lap. What would this priest say if I announced that I was innocent once? Who did he think had arranged that the King of England should take a girl with no background, no beauty, and no breeding as his mistress?

Edward sighed, his hand clutching convulsively against the bedcover. That was all in the past. This priest would not want to hear my justifications. Here we were at the end of that supremely difficult road. It was in my heart to pray that Edward might keep hold of the thread that bound him to me, but I could not. He wanted to let go. He had had enough of weakness and forgetfulness, of lack of dignity. So I prayed that death would be quick now, and painless, that he would slip away into soft oblivion.

And when it was over?

I would go to William de Windsor, of course, but with the King’s death, the wolves might be howling at my door again, and Gaunt might not consider it politic to hold them at bay. The thought of Windsor settled me. He would strengthen me. He would hold me in his arms and keep the nightmares away by the force and heat of his body against mine.

In the shadows beyond the bed, John Beverley tidied and arranged with his usual quiet competence, having done all he could to make the King comfortable.

“Go now,” I murmured. “You can do no more.”

We were alone, the priest and I, and Edward was sleeping, the precursor of death. I closed my eyes, suddenly very weary.

The priest’s voice scraped along my nerves as he stood. “Mistress Perrers! His Majesty must confess before God.…”

“Of course.” It would be necessary, but my eyes gleamed. It was in my mind to reduce this pompous cleric who despised the ground I trod on. “Now that you’ve got up off your knees, make yourself useful and light more candles. It’s too dark in here.”

The palace might be silent, but Edward would die with light and power surrounding him.

“It’s not fitting.…”

“Do it. Why should he not die in the light? He lived his whole life in it.”

Reluctant to the last, Father Godfrey obeyed, until the chamber shone as if for a royal feast. I touched Edward’s hand, unsure even now that he would wake, but his lids lifted slowly. He turned his head toward me. “I’m thirsty.”

His voice was labored and low, his breathing heavy. I poured a cup of wine and held it to his lips so that he could sip, then banked the pillows behind him, lifting him so that he might be aware of his surroundings. And his eye fell on the crown that rested, by my orders, within his vision on the bed beside him. “Thank you.” Stretching out his hand, he touched the jeweled gold.

The priest stepped up to the bed. “There are more important things for you to face now, Sire.” He held up the crucifix around his neck. “Your immortal soul…”

“Not yet. My soul can wait.”

“Sire—I urge you to make your last confession.”

“I said not yet. Talk to me, Alice.”

So I would. Without sentiment or pity. We would pretend that there was all the time in the world, and I would entertain the King as I had always done. Edward would die as he wished. I sat on the edge of the bed, turning my back on the priest. It was as if we were alone, as in the days of our past together.

“What do we talk about?” I asked.

“The glory days. When I was the mightiest King in Europe.”

“How can I? I didn’t know you when you were the champion of Crécy.”

“Ah…! I forgot. You were a child.…”

“Not even born.”

“No…It was Philippa who was with me then.”

“So she was. And loved you for every moment of your marriage.”

“Sire…!” The priest hovered at my side.

“Let him be…!” I snapped.

“Talk to me about the last day we hunted the deer at Eltham,” Edward said.

“Your hounds brought down a tined buck. You had a good horse and rode as well as any man.” It had been one of his better days. My throat clenched hard.

“I did, didn’t I? Despite the years…”

“No one could match you.”

“It was a good day.” Edward closed his eyes as if he could see imprinted there the memory of his greatness.

“It is sacrilege that you speak to him of hunting,” Father Godfrey hissed at me. “That you encourage him.” He turned to Edward. “Sire…!”

The tired eyes opened. “I’m not dead yet, Godfrey.”

“You must make your peace with God!”

“For what?” Suddenly those eyes were unnervingly keen. “For all the dead on the battlefields of France? Will He forgive me for those I sent to their deaths, do you think?”

“He will if you repent.” The priest held his crucifix higher.

“How can he repent of the deeds that made him the great King he is?” I challenged the priest.

“Leave it, Alice!” As ever, Edward was more tolerant than I. “Do you remember the day we flew the falcons from the battlements at Windsor? Now, there was a sight.…” Edward breathed laboriously through a long silence. And then: “Alice?”

“I’m still here.”

“I’m…sorry it’s ended.”

Father Godfrey swooped in like some form of venomous insect. “He’s slipping away. Get him to repent. He mustn’t die unshriven.”

“He’ll do as he wishes.” I stroked Edward’s hand, careful of the fragility of his skin. “He always has. He has enough favor notched up with the Almighty to get him into heaven whether he dies unshriven or not.”

“Blessed Virgin! Get him to make confession!”

It was too much. I stood, making the priest step back. “Get out!”

Father Godfrey held his ground, but his eyes slithered away from mine. “I will not.”

I strode to the door and opened it. “Bring Wykeham as soon as he arrives,” I ordered the nameless squire outside, and saw Edward’s face light with joy. Edward’s one regret, his alienation from Wykeham. I had been right to send for him. If anyone was to shrive Edward, it would be Wykeham.

Father Godfrey stalked out. “When the King is dead, who will save you then, Mistress?” he snarled.

Which unfortunately echoed my own thoughts.

Wykeham arrived and Edward rallied, with ill grace and a delicious levity that completely failed to rile the imperturbable Wykeham.

“Wykeham? Is that you? You were almost too late! Let’s get it over with.…I ask your pardon for a dismissal you did not deserve. And I repent of all my sins. Will that do?”

“For myself, I’m deeply grateful.” There was the shine of unshed tears in Wykeham’s eyes. “As for the Almighty, I think He might need rather more than that, Sire.”

“Intercede for me, damn it.” A spark of the old fire. Edward’s lips attempted a smile. I stood, silent, content with the much-desired reconciliation. “Why did I make you bishop if you won’t speak for me at the feet of God?” Bold words, but his voice was failing.

“I doubt God will accept intercession by a third party for fornication.” Wykeham’s harshness surprised me, but then, he was a priest, after all. “And adultery,” he added. “You must confess your sin if you hope for forgiveness.”

“Then I’m condemned to the fires of hell. I’ll not betray Alice in repentance. Nor will we argue witchcraft. I was not bewitched. The decisions and actions were all mine, and I’ll answer for them.” Edward’s hand closed around mine as his breath caught. “Sooner rather than later. I can see death waiting beside the door.” Edward looked up at me, but his sight was blurred now. “Do you suppose Philippa will be waiting for me?”

“I expect she will.”

“Yes…It will be good to see her.…” It hurt me, a blow delivered without intent, but one I should have expected. But still it hurt. “Hold me, Alice.”

I knelt on the bed and stretched to put my arms around him, horrified at how thin and insubstantial he had become.

“You never were a witch, were you?”

“No. I never was. You knew what you wanted without my intervention.”

“So I did.” He drew in a breath. “Take them.…” A ghost of a laugh shivered under my palms. “Take them, as I said you must. I can’t do it…but you can. They’re yours…your final insurance against dreaded penury.…”

“I will.”

“You were the light of my final years. The joy of my old age.” His breath caught again on a harsh intake. “Do you ever have any regrets, Alice? For what we did?”

“No. I regret nothing.”

“Nor I. I love you.…” His voice died away. Until the final whisper: “Jesu, have pity.”

Then his breath was gone.

So England’s great King died in my arms, his head on my breast, light blazing around him as if he were already in heaven. And I had perjured my soul, denying any regrets.

“God have mercy.” Wykeham, still on his knees, made the sign of the cross.

“Farewell, Edward. Philippa will stand beside you when you approach God’s throne.”

I stood to perform my final tasks for him, removing the pillows so that he could lie flat. I combed my fingers through his hair, arranged his linen so that it fell gracefully against his neck before placing his hands palms-down at his sides.

And then…because he had remembered…I began to take the rings from his fingers. A cabochon ruby. A sapphire flanked with diamonds, heavyset with pearls. A trio of beryls. A magnificent amethyst, set alone. I took them all.

With a sharp oath of distress Wykeham sprang to his feet. “In God’s name! What are you doing?”

And I turned to look at him. The bright light illuminated the expression on his face, every deeply marked line making it clear exactly what he thought of my actions, and over all a contempt of me so deep as to coat me from head to foot. For a moment it shocked me into immobility. Did Wykeham, the best man of God I knew, truly believe me capable of robbing the dead? Of stripping Edward’s corpse of everything of value out of pure avarice? Would Wykeham of all men consider me guilty of such a final infamy? Do you have any regrets? Edward had asked, and I had denied it. But sometimes the reputation I had achieved was a heavy burden. Why should I alone be the one to deserve the world’s scorn?

Emotion raced across my skin to match Wykeham’s, and far more deadly. Combined with my anguish, bright anger melded to create a vicious brew. So Wykeham believed the worst of me, did he? He would damn me just as readily as Father Godfrey for my sins. Then let him. In my torment, a desire to hurt and to be hurt was born within me, a vehemence that would not be restrained. Fury was there, but also self-loathing. And an urge to destroy.

So be it!

I would destroy Wykeham’s so-called friendship. I would destroy any good standing I had with him. I would live up to the worst of my reputation. For who would care? The only man who had cared was dead.

Windsor cares!

I slapped the thought away.

Oh, I had an enormous talent for dissimulation. For self-mockery. I held up the rings on my palm so that they glimmered with a myriad of reflected candle flames.

“Don’t I deserve this for giving my youth to an old man?” I demanded. Never had I sounded so cold, so unfeeling.

“You are robbing the dead.” Wykeham was aghast, as if he could not believe what he saw. I drew a ring set with opals from Edward’s thumb, feeling the force of Wykeham’s stare as I did so. “It is an abomination!”

“Hard words, Wykeham!” I placed the ring with the others on my palm.

“Once, I thought you almost worthy of my friendship.”

Friendship? I had just seen the limits of friendship, to be condemned without trial.

“Foolish Wykeham. You should have listened to the common gossip.” I raised my chin, praying that the tears that had formed a knot in my throat would not betray me. “What do they say about me? What do the courtiers and the Commons say?”

“You know what they say.”

“But you say it. Humor me. Let me hear it spoken aloud.” How I wished to lash out, to cut and wound. And be wounded. I would hear anew the dregs of my reputation. In my grief and anger I had no control.

His lips were a thin line of disgust. “They say you’re an unprincipled slut…”

“Well, that’s true.”

“…and without shame.”

“Is that all?” I think I tossed my head. “I’m sure it’s worse than that.”

His eyes blazed as bright as the candle flames. “You’re a grasping, self-seeking whore.”

“That’s closer to the truth, forsooth!”

“Will nothing shock you?” His rage was suddenly as great as mine, his tongue unbridled. “They say you fucked the King to drain him of his power. You’re nothing but an adulterous bitch who betrayed Queen Philippa and—”

I struck him. I actually struck him, the hand that did not clasp the rings hitting flat against his cheek. The man who had stood as the closest I had to a friend at Court in recent years, who knew the truth behind all the Court scandals.

“My lord bishop!” I mocked. “So shocking! And for you to repeat such vulgar language!”

And I began to laugh.

Cheek aflame, he snarled, “You don’t like the truth, do you?”

“I didn’t think you’d actually say it to my face. I really didn’t.…But there’s your answer: Always believe the gossip of the stews and the whorehouses. Always believe what’s said of a woman who makes use of the talents God gave her.” I poured all the scorn I could into my voice.

For a moment he was speechless. Then he gestured to the rings in my hand.

“Are you proud of what you’ve done?”

“Why not? I’d be living in the gutter in London if I’d been less than an unprincipled slut. Or I’d be dead. Or a nun—which is probably worse.”

“God have mercy on you.” He flung out his hand, stabbing me with his finger. “You’ve missed one! He’s still wearing the emerald. Don’t let that one escape. It’s worth more than all the rest put together. It will keep you in silk and fur until the day of your unworthy death!”

The emerald. I made no move to take it.

“Why stop now? Have you suddenly developed finer feelings? You squeezed him dry of everything you could get out of him. You took what should have been Philippa’s. His company, his loyalty, his devotion into old age…” I flinched at the hard words, but recognized them for what they were. Wykeham’s own grief, lashing out at me. “Take it!” he hissed, and drew it from Edward’s finger, holding it out to me.

“I can’t.…”

“Oh, I’m sure you can!”

“It’s the royal seal.…” I took a step away.

“Since when would such niceties stop you?”

“The coronation ring…It belongs to Richard.…It’s not for me.…”

It was a mistake. I knew it as soon as I had opened my mouth. My deliberate construction was destroyed with those few careless words. Wykeham simply looked at me, the emotion draining to leave his face white and drawn except for the print of my hand. His hand with the emerald ring dropped to his side.

“Oh, Alice!”

All the fury leached from the room, leaving it still and cold despite the constant shimmer from the burning flames.

“Alice…”

“I don’t want your pity, Wykeham.” I turned my face away. “Good-bye, Edward. I hope I made you happy when you thought there was no happiness left in life.” For a final time I knelt and kissed his hand. “I loved him, you know. In spite of everything. He was always kind. I think he loved me a little. I was not Philippa—but I think he loved me.…”

“Where will you go?”

“To Pallenswick.”

“To Sir William?”

“Yes.”

“Let him take care of you.”

“I don’t need him. I don’t need anyone.…” Still I would punish myself.

“Alice…”

“Don’t—just don’t! If you’re about to bless me, don’t think of it!” I rubbed the sudden moisture from my cheeks with my sleeve. “Your God will rejoice at my sufferings. Perhaps you should offer up an extra Ave and a Deo Gratias for my ultimate punishment.”

Tears were streaming down my face.

“You can’t go like this.…”

“What will you do? Put the record straight? Paint me as a virtuous woman? No one will believe you. I will always be the King’s whore. And I was—I think I filled the role with superb competence.” I opened the door, looking back over my shoulder to the shining crown on the bed beside Edward’s hand. “Do you think the boy will wear it as magnificently as he did?”

“No. No, I don’t think he will.”

“Good-bye, Wykeham.” I knew I might never see him again. “He said I should take them, you know.…”

“I expect he did.” Wykeham bowed low. “Take care.”

I laid my hand on the latch, suddenly without the strength to lift it. I felt as empty as a husk. I knew there were things to do, but at that moment, I had no very exact idea of what they were.

All I knew was that I wanted to be with Windsor.

The horrors of that day were not at an end. Could they get any worse? They could. They did. When all I wanted was to escape from my own grief, from the unbridled excess I had indulged in to justify Wykeham’s censure, there in the Great Hall stood two figures just arrived. One had a high, piping voice, the other the mien of a public executioner.

The child King and his mother.

In a moment of sheer cowardice, I considered disappearing through the maze of rooms and corridors before Joan could notice me. She now had the power to draw my blood. In the aftermath of what had happened, I felt that I might bleed all too readily.

No! No! You will not retreat!

I had never avoided confrontation, and I would not start now. Gathering my resources, I took on a hard-edged veneer of arrogance, as if Edward had not just died in my arms. Thus I descended the staircase with a swish of my velvet skirts and swept a magnificent curtsy to the ten-year-old boy who now wore my lover’s crown.

“Your Majesty.”

Richard, God help him, clearly did not know what to do or say. His forehead furrowed and he gave me a nervous smile. “Mistress Perrers…” He looked up to his mother’s face for some idea of what he should do next. Then he bowed to me with quaint solemnity.

“There is no need to bow, Richard.” Joan’s painted face was brittle, cold as a winter’s frost. And unbearably calculating. “So Edward is dead, is he?”

“He is, my lady.” How scrupulously polite I was. She would never accuse me of ill manners.

“Mama…” The boy tugged on his mother’s sleeve.

“You are King now, Richard,” she told him.

Still, it meant nothing to him. He turned back to me, his pale face alive with anticipation. “Will you take me to the royal mews, Mistress Perrers, to see the King’s falcons?”

Your falcons!

The realization nipped at my heart. “No, Sire,” I replied gently, although my greatest wish was to be away from there, away from Joan and her son. “It is too late tonight. Shall I send for refreshment, Majesty?”

“Yes. If you please. I’m hungry.…” He almost danced on the spot with impatience. “Then can we go and see the hunting birds…?”

Joan’s hand descended on her son’s shoulder like a metal lock. “Mistress Perrers—or is it Lady de Windsor? How does one know?—Mistress Perrers will not be staying, Richard.” And to me, her lips curled with vicious pleasure, her eyes suddenly hot with satisfaction: “You have no role here. Your reign, Queen Alice, is over.” She had the upper hand at last and would revel in it. “I will give orders for your chambers to be cleared forthwith. I expect you to be gone before—let me see, I suppose I can afford to be magnanimous—before sunrise.” Smoothing her hand over the fair hair of her son, she tilted her chin in a smile that showed her teeth. “You will ensure that you take nothing with you. If you do”—her teeth glinted—“you may be sure that I will demand recompense.”

So, she would strip me of all my personal possessions—it was not unexpected. Nor, I suppose, could I blame her after a lifetime of disappointment. But I would fight back.

“I will take nothing that is not mine, nothing that was not given to me,” I replied as I clutched the rings tightly in my hand so that the settings dug into my flesh.

“By an old and besotted man who could not see you for your true worth.”

“By a man who loved me.”

“A man you bewitched by who knows what evil means.”

“A man I respected above all others. Anything he gave me was of his own free will. I will take what is mine, my lady.”

So I curtsied to her, a deep obeisance, as if she were herself Queen of England.

“Get out of my sight!”

I turned and walked away, the clear voice of the child carrying down the length of the hall. “Can we go and see the falcons now? Why will Mistress Perrers not take me…?”

It would be hard for him to be King. It would be impossible for him to step into Edward’s shoes.

I left Sheen. It was in my mind that I would never return there, or to any of the royal palaces that had been my home. Joan was right, however malicious the intent behind her words. My reign, if that was what it was, was over.