A Love Most Dangerous (44 page)

I had stood against the King's wishes and I had hurt
him. And now he was getting his revenge. And, as I gazed into his eyes, I saw
he was enjoying his revenge in a myriad of ways.

For as the act progressed the anger began to melt in
him a little. I felt his body relax a tiny drop from the rigid battering ram it
had been at first. His eyes, those cold, cruel eyes, began to soften. And then
he looked away, as if ashamed at what he was doing. At that very moment he
climaxed and he sighed.

I gripped him harder. We will see, I thought, we will
see.

I began to move against him, writhing with pleasure. I
moaned and crooned, making my breathing sound fast and shallow. I saw him blink
as if in surprise and then he stiffened once again inside me. I could barely
move for his bulk but still I managed to stir and wriggle. I threw my head back
and my eyes closed as if I were being catapulted to some far distant place. If
you will treat me like a whore, Henry Tudor, I thought, I will act like one.

I began to purr like a cat as it licks cream, and then
the purr became deeper and deeper, until it was more akin to the roar of those blasted
lions which had proved so much trouble for me. Somehow, with more than human
strength, I managed to arch my back as if in the grip of the most
earth-shattering orgasm, a movement which raised him in the air.

And then I collapsed and moaned. This was no
dissimulation. The act of lifting his monstrous bulk had nearly done for me.

But it had done for him as well. He gazed into my eyes
and now there was no trace of anger, no trace of vengeance, no trace of hatred.

Now he looked like a moon-struck youth, snared by calf
love, shot through with Cupid's arrows.

'Alice,' he said, stroking me on the chin. 'My
darling.'

I pushed back his advances for two hours that
afternoon. It was grim necessity for I thought my back would crack if I moved
it too soon.

But my sweet resistance had the added advantage of
heaping fuel upon the King's fire. Bit by bit I added more. A twig here with a
little kiss. A bundle of kindling when I allowed him to stroke my breasts. A small
branch when I lay upon him and kissed him deeply, my tongue exploring his
panting mouth. And then, an hour later, with more twigs, more kindling and a
strengthening breeze of murmurings to fan the blaze, I straddled him and threw
on charcoal, logs and sea-coal with rash abandon so that his fire exploded and
it was his turn to groan and shake, his turn to roar like a lion, his turn to
be in my control, at my mercy, his turn to be subject and my turn to be
mistress.

And to my surprise I climaxed at the same time as the
king. I was so shocked I could not speak. For, simultaneous with it, the
thought shot through me that I did, a little, care for this monstrous man. I
did, perhaps, even love him the tiniest bit. And that was when I knew I had
both lost and won. Lost myself a very little. Won the king, now and for ever.
And, if I was more careful than before, won far far more. Won the life which I
so very much desired.

'My darling,' he cried, 'my darling, my Alice.'

Immediately the doors crashed open and guards raced
in, swords drawn to find the foe who caused the king to yell out with such
desperate tumult.

'Get out, you fools,' he yelled, brandishing his fist
at the men. 'Get out and for once in my life, leave me in peace.'

And then I lay upon his breast and stroked his face
and calmed him and soothed him and crooned in his ear and all the while plotted
out how to milk every last drop of advantage from the situation.

The king looked stunned next morning when I told him
all that had happened to me since the day Sir Richard Rich bundled me out of Hampton Court Palace.

I told it in the calmest manner. This was partly
because I thought that this would have the greatest effect upon the king's now
melting heart. But it was more because if I did not say it calmly I might burst
into tears and then fall into a rage.

At length I finished and the King rose from his seat
and filled a cup of wine, swallowed it down in one gulp and poured a second
before returning to sit with me.

'Did you want one?' he asked suddenly as if shocked
that he had not already asked me.

I nodded and went over the table.

As I poured the wine I peered at the King. He cradled
his cup in his hands and stared moodily at the fire. I could see his mind
working. I knew him well enough to know that there was genuine anger there,
genuine pain at what I had suffered. But, at the same time, these emotions were
running in tandem with other considerations. His own position, his wealth, the
men who were most useful to him, the men who might be dispensed with.

'The Beast-Master, Tom Pepper,' he said as I returned
to my seat. 'Tom Pepper was good to you?'

'He was very kind, my lord.'

A shadow moved in the corner, picking up a quill. I
almost jumped out of my skin for in the hour I had taken to relay my story to
the King I had forgotten that the Lord Privy Seal was also in the room.

'A pension, Your Grace?' he asked in a matter of fact
voice.

The King nodded, once, and Cromwell decided how much
the pension should be and scribed it on a document.

'And the Waterman,' the King asked, 'the man who took
you in and housed you?'

'He was equally kind,' I said.

He glanced at Cromwell and with that glance Walter
Scrump and his family became richer than they could have dreamed, so rich he
did not have to work another day, could move from Offal Pudding Lane to
Islington and buy a fine house. With the scratching of Cromwell's quill
Walter's unborn descendants succeeded to a life of wealth and ease.

'And this man, the one who ran the brothel in
Southwark?' the King asked. 'You say he was called Timothy Crane?'

'He was, my lord.'

The King turned towards Cromwell who stirred himself
and glanced sideways at the king.

'Everything, Your Majesty?' he asked. 'Property,
liberty?'

The King did not answer.

'Life?'

The King did not answer which Cromwell took for
assent.

'And perhaps we should put him to the test,' he
continued. 'To see if he has more accomplices we need to find.'

The King opened his hand in a careless gesture which
would cause Crane to be racked, broken, hanged and eviscerated.

Cromwell looked at the King, a thoughtful look upon
his face. 'Bishop Gardiner has, perhaps, been remiss,' he said. 'He appears to
have continued to collect rents from the stews while at the same time
neglecting to inform my office and remit the monies owed to the Crown.' He
opened his hands wide as if to indicate all the monies which were uncollected
by the Royal Treasury.

'I do not like the idea of women being forced to live
like that,' said the King. 'If they choose to do so, then well and good. But I
do not want the existence of houses where innocents are kidnapped, assaulted
and brutalised into the trade.'

 'The Bishopric of Winchester's control of the stews
is very ancient,' Cromwell said. 'It's almost four hundred years since King
Henry II gave the land to the bishops. They continue to profit handsomely from
rents and from fines upon the owners of the brothels.'

The King looked away.  I imagined he was calculating
how much that profit might be.

'It is wrong that the church should benefit from the
weaknesses and corruption of man,' he said at last with a pious look.

He leaned closer to me. 'That is why the abbeys which
indulged in vile practices have been brought to book.'

Cromwell gave a little cough. 'We can move against the
stews, Your Grace, but we must be circumspect. Closing them would not be
popular with the husbands of London. And if we scare the Winchester Geese they
will just migrate. It may prove better to retain them all in one nest where we
can keep a good eye on them. Otherwise they will spread across the city and the
only ones who will benefit from the trade will be pimps.'

'A fine, then, on the Bishop,' said the King. 'One
which will remind him of his duty to the Crown and make sure he pays what is
due to the Treasury.'

Cromwell took up his quill, rubbed the feathers
against his lips for a moment as if pondering the size of the fine, then bent
to the manuscript and wrote out an amount with a decisive hand.

I turned my gaze from the minister to the King. They
understood each other better than husband and wife. I could not fathom whether
I had just witnessed a genuine debate about prostitution or a charade put on
for my benefit. A charade leading, inevitably, to the further enrichment of the
King.

'And what about the man who came to my chamber?' I
said in a tone of greater demand than I intended. 'Sir Edward Tint.'

The King nodded. 'Thomas,' he asked, 'what do we know
of Sir Edward Tint?'

Cromwell opened a book and scrutinised it carefully.
'Two manors in Essex, a larger one in Kent and one in Warwickshire. Annual
income, four hundred and eighty pounds, twelve shillings and ninepence.'

'Put him in the Tower,' the King said. 'Confiscate his
properties.'

As soon as he said this an idea popped into my head.

'I am glad of this punishment,' I said. 'It is right
that Tint loses everything for his crimes. It is also appropriate that the
King, who he wronged by his infamous conduct, should benefit in this manner.'

I left the words hanging in the air and waited.

The King turned to look at me. His eyes, still piggy
from his hard calculations, grew wider with understanding. For a moment I
detected real compassion for what I had suffered and then it was replaced by
wry amusement.

'It was not only I who suffered from Sir Edward Tint,'
he said, patting me on the knee.

There was a long silence, the only sound the shifting
of a log in the fire.

'Perhaps one manor could appropriately be given to Alice?' Cromwell suggested.

I held the King's eyes in mine. I did not blink. But
he did.

'Perhaps two,' he said, after a long silence. 'I think
that Alice would prefer two.'

Cromwell scribbled a note. 'I suggest the manor in
River, near to Dover and Luddington in Warwickshire.'

I gasped in pretend surprise, holding my hand upon my
breast. 'I am overcome by your generosity, Your Grace.' I rose and gave a low
curtsy.

As I did so I heard the low rumble of Cromwell's
laugh.

A few days later the King announced that I was to be
accommodated in my own quarters in Greenwich Castle.

'You shall have the whole of the east side of the
castle,' he said. 'From there you will be able to look down upon the palace.
And I will be able to look up to the castle and know that you are there; safe
and sound for me.'

'I am more than grateful,' I said. I spoke no word of
a lie. I was pleased to be the King's favourite once again but even more
pleased to find that I did not have to share his bed every night.

'It is better that you are lodged in the castle,' he
said, almost as if he had shared my thoughts.

'Whatever Your Grace's desire.'

He laughed. 'Oh my desire is for you, Alice, make no
mistake of that. But my advisers' desire is that I get myself a wife, someone
who will give me another son.'

He turned to me and his face looked troubled. He
reached out and took my hands.

'I have pondered whether to make you my Queen,' he
said.

My heart fell like a stone when he said it.

His eyes bored into mine and I struggled to find what
to say.

'But I am of humble birth,' I said. 'All of your wives
have been of exalted birth.'

'Anne Boleyn?' he said. 'Jane Seymour?'

'The daughters of gentlemen,' I said. 'And I am
certain that noble blood must have run in Jane's blood.'

'Her great-great grandfather was King Edward III,' he
said, with a shrug as if to dismiss such a distant connection.

'Well there, you see. My great-great grandfather was
probably a shepherd.'

The King laughed. 'You underestimate yourself, Alice.
He was probably a successful merchant. Or a money-lender.'

I laughed at his words but felt a little chill of
disquiet at their barbed nature. He understood me just as much as I understood
him.

'Well let us leave aside all talk of wives,' he said.
'For the present.' He sighed. 'My advisers would have me take a foreign bride.
To placate my enemies and friends alike.'

'I heard some talk of this.'

He sniffed derisively. 'Some would have me marry the
young Duchess of Milan, the Danish girl, Christina.'

'And would you have her as your bride, my lord?' I
asked, hopeful that he would.

He shrugged. 'It is academic. Rumour has it that she
is unwilling to wed me.'