“You are to come with me, Lady Wyndham,” she said.
Blaze followed her into the queen’s dayroom, where the other of the queen’s ladies-in-waiting, ladies of the bedchamber, and the maids of honor were clustered. Some were sewing while others worked upon a tapestry depicting the coronation of the Blessed Virgin. One woman read to the group from a book of pious meditations, while another girl played softly upon the virginals. Several of the women were simply talking, but they all looked up with curious eyes as Blaze was escorted into their midst.
These were women she did not know. Most she had only seen at a distance, and all knew of her past relationship to the king. A few nodded politely to her, for they understood that she was not the queen’s enemy. Others stared in a hostile manner, for they were extremely loyal to the queen, and suspicious of her presence. The younger maids of honor in the group looked at her, openly curious, for a king’s mistress, though honored by the king’s friends, was considered a bad woman by the queen’s adherents. The maids of honor could not remember ever having seen a really bad woman before. Secretly they considered Blaze a great disappointment for she did not look wicked at all.
“The queen will see you in her privy chamber, Lady Wyndham,” said Lady Essex, and she opened a door for Blaze to go through. Blaze took a deep breath and walked through into the small room. It was a square chamber whose walls were prettily paneled. A small bow window looked out upon the river, and in the fireplace a large fire burned, for the queen was always cold at Greenwich.
Catherine sat now by that fireplace in a high-backed tapestried oak chair with beautifully carved arms that was not unlike a throne. She wore a gown of black velvet whose low, squared neckline was heavily encrusted with a band of pearls, and jet and gold beads. The sleeves of her gown were full to the wrist and not slashed, but whereas the upper half of the sleeve was of black velvet, the lower part of the sleeve was of a rich gold brocade from which peeped fine lace at the wrist. She wore no jewelry upon her hands but her marriage ring, but about her neck were magnificent pearls and a second gold necklace from which hung a crucifix of rubies and pearls. Centered upon her bodice was a beautiful brooch of gold and rubies. Her hair was hidden beneath a richly adorned architectural headdress resembling a diamond that was studded with rubies and pearls, and to which was attached a black silk veil that flowed down the queen’s back.
Blaze curtsied low to Catherine.
“You may arise, Lady Wyndham,” came a deep male voice.
Startled, she stood, to see a tall, thin man in priest’s garb standing next to the queen. He had a narrow ascetic face and black eyes that seemed to bore right into her.
“I am Father Jorge de Atheca, the queen’s confessor, Lady Wyndham. Before you speak with the queen I must know whether you have made your confession regarding your previous adultery with the king, and if you have paid the full penance for your sin.”
“Aye, Father, I have,” Blaze answered, feeling very uncomfortable, which was, she thought, exactly how she was expected to feel. “I could not wed with my husband with the weight of my guilt upon me,” she finished, knowing it was just the sort of thing the priest wanted to hear.
He nodded, a small frosty smile touching his lips. “Now, madam, I ask you to swear upon this relic of the true cross,” and he held out a silver crucifix to her into which was embedded a splinter of dark wood, “that the answers you will give me to my next questions are the truth. Do you swear?”
Blaze kissed the crucifix, wondering what was so important that she must swear such an oath, yet she could not refuse.
“I swear,” she said.
“Is your son the king’s bastard?” the priest demanded bluntly.
The look on Blaze’s face was first shock, which was quickly followed by outrage. “No!” she snapped, and then her temper spilled over. Priest or no, he had no right to insult her. “How dare you ask me such a question, Father? Both my husbands have been earls of Langford, and I have too much love and respect for them to foist a bastard upon the Wyndhams.”
“Even a royal bastard?” the priest inquired slyly.
“Especially a royal bastard!” she shot back.
“Your son’s birthdate?” he demanded.
“All Hallows’ Eve of last year, and he was christened the following afternoon upon All Saints’ Day. You have but to look in the parish records. Do you think a priest would falsify such records? If you think that Philip is the king’s son, which he is not, then I carried him at least twelve months. Have you ever heard of a woman who carried her unborn child for
that
length of time?” Blaze was furious now. “I did not even sleep with my husband for three months after our marriage, to be certain that there would be no doubts to our child’s legitimacy when we were finally blest with an heir!” she blurted out.
“
Enough!
” The queen had finally spoken.
The priest bowed, and stepped back into the shadows by her side once more, but Blaze could see his eyes glowing with the light of a fanatic as he looked at her.
“You may be seated, Lady Wyndham,” the queen said, motioning her to a high-backed stool opposite her. “So your son’s name is Philip? I have a nephew named Philip. Is he your first child?”
“Nay, madam. I have a daughter by my first husband. Her name is Nyssa Catherine Mary Wyndham.”
“How is it that you came to marry two earls of Langford?” asked the queen.
“Anthony, who is my second husband, was the nephew of Edmund, my first husband. Just before Edmund died he requested that Anthony wed me to protect me and our daughter. As my second husband had no other match arranged, he agreed to his uncle’s dying request. A dispensation was arranged by our priest through Cardinal Wolsey, my lady.”
“Was your first husband very old? I expect he was, that his nephew was old enough to become your husband.”
“There were but four years between the two men. They were more like brothers, madam.”
“Where is your home?”
“In Herefordshire, madam, on the banks of the Wye River. It is very peaceful and very beautiful.”
“Do you love your husband, Lady Wyndham?” the queen said.
“Oh, yes, madam!” Blaze answered with feeling.
“Then I am curious as to why you have left a husband that you love, your two children, and your beautiful and peaceful home upon the banks of the River Wye. I am curious as to why my husband, the king, should have insisted that I speak with you; and certainly as to why you have returned to court,” said Catherine.
“I returned to court, madam, at the king’s specific request. I should not have come otherwise.”
The queen nodded. “Say on then, Lady Wyndham,” she said.
“The king has asked me to intercede for him with you, though I have told him that it is not my place, madam. He said that he thought you liked me, for during my time I was not forward in my behavior. He believes that you will at least hear me out, that perhaps my woman’s words will move you.”
Catherine’s lips had compressed themselves into a narrow, tight line. For a moment she closed her eyes, and Blaze thought she saw a spasm of pain cross the queen’s features.
“You do not have to hear this, majesty,” hissed the priest from his place at her side. “Send the bold creature away. Her presumption is not to be tolerated.”
“Where is your charity, Father Jorge?” asked thè queen, who had reopened her eyes. “Lady Wyndham has been practically dragged from her home and family to be thrust into the midst of something that does not concern her. Yet if I do not hear her out, my husband will complain loudly and publicly about my unreasonableness. Lady Wyndham, I give you leave to plead your case for the king, though it will do you little good. This country’s greatest lords have come to me on bended knee to plead the king’s case. I have listened to them also with courtesy. What harm is there in hearing one more plea, although I doubt you can bring anything new to this matter.”
“Madam,” began Blaze, “you know better than any other that the king must have an heir.” She was beginning to see how Catherine’s obdurate behavior was driving Hal to his wits’ end.
“I have given the king an heir in the person of our daughter, the princess Mary,” replied Catherine serenely. Her whole attitude was that of a woman who believed in the rightness of her cause.
“The king must have a son, madam. Can you give him a son?”
“I gave him three sons, and two other daughters,” the queen said. “Is it my fault that God took them from us? I am but a humble servant of God. As such, I cannot interpret his motives!”
“Nevertheless, the king has no legitimate son, and he must. The princess Mary cannot rule England alone. She must have a husband, and of necessity, that husband must come from another land. Our people will not accept a foreign prince as their king. They will not, madam. Therefore, the king must have a legitimate son to follow him as England’s ruler. How can you deny him that if you truly love him as you say you do?” Blaze said gently.
“My mother was Queen of Castile in her own right!” cried Catherine.
“Yet she wed with the King of Aragon, and together they strove to forge Spain into one land, madam. Neither was truly foreign to the other. It is different here in England. England is one land which is ruled by King Henry Tudor, who has no son to follow him. What will become of my country, madam, if that happens? The people, the high lords, they will not accept a foreign prince as their king, even if he is wed to your daughter. There will be civil war again, as there was in the time of my parents’ parents. This is the legacy your daughter will bring to England. Is that what you truly desire, madam?”
“What would you have me do, Lady Wyndham? I cannot deny my marriage to the king.”
“But you could step aside, madam, even as St. Joan of Valois stepped aside for Anne of Brittany in the reign of the twelfth Louis of France. That childless queen made a great sacrifice, for she loved her lord even as I know you love the king. Yet, madam, she put aside her own feelings, her own desires that France might have an heir, for the widowed Duchess of Brittany was a proven breeder of healthy children.”
The queen was rather fascinated by Blaze’s knowledge, for she knew the young Countess of Langford to be, as indeed the king had called her, a little country girl. Catherine would have been surprised if there were even many amongst her own women who had such a grasp of history, particularly the history of another land. “How came you by your knowledge of these facts?” she asked Blaze.
“My first husband, Edmund Wyndham, may God assoil his dear soul, found it amusing to teach me. I knew little but how to cipher, read, and do simple mathematics when I became his wife. We had an elderly cousin at Ashby, my childhood home, who had taught at Oxford. He felt that he repaid my father’s kindness in giving him a home in his old age by pounding some learning into us. When I wed with Edmund he taught me further, madam.”
“What?” asked the queen.
“Latin, for I knew only church Latin. Greek. Higher mathematics, philosophy, French, history.”
“And you liked your lessons?”
“Aye, madam! There is so much to know, and so little time in which to learn it,” replied Blaze.
“Poor Henry,” said the queen. “He knew you not at all, did he, Lady Wyndham? He saw only your youth, your lovely body, and your honey-colored hair. Henry is most fond of honey-colored hair. If I were ever to step aside from my place, it would only be for someone like you. You are not an ambitious woman, rather you are gentle and good. Aye, despite your adultery with my husband, I do believe you to be a good woman. Alas, you have not the family to be a king’s wife; but had you, you would have made a good mate for the king. You have charm, wit, and intelligence. These are the things that Henry values.
“It cannot, however, be. You are a happily married woman, and I do not intend stepping aside, Lady Wyndham. I am no Saint Joan of Valois. She had no children, nor was she ever with child. I have borne my lord six children, though only my Mary has lived. First the king would divorce me, and now he says our marriage is no marriage. That he has sinned in taking his brother’s wife as his wife, and that is why our children died. Yet he knows that though I was wed with Prince Arthur, our marriage was never consummated. He knows that I came to him a maid. My marriage to Arthur Tudor was a marriage in name only. That poor boy was far too sickly to do naught but brag about that which he could not accomplish. He died shortly after our marriage.
“What will happen to my daughter, Lady Wyndham, if I step aside, or if the king is successful in his attempt to annul our marriage? Will she still be the princess Mary, or perhaps only the lady Mary? What will her chances for a decent marriage be under the cloud of a suspicious birth? You are the mother of a daughter, Lady Wyndham. Would you want this kind of fate for your child?”
“Madam, your daughter’s fate rests not in my hands. These are things that you must speak with the king about. It is not my concern,” Blaze told the queen.
“And neither is what they now refer to as ‘The King’s Great Matter,’ yet here you are before me, Lady Wyndham.”
“Only because the king asked it of me, majesty. I would not presume otherwise, and I think you know that.”
“You care for my husband,” the queen said. It was a statement of fact, and not a question.
“Aye, I do, madam. You know I did not aspire to the position to which I was raised. You know that I never used my short term of power to enrich myself or my family. I will not grieve your delicate sensibilities with a pure rendition of the truth, but I sought to avoid the honor foisted upon me. I fought against it so hard that the first time your husband took me it was by force.”
The queen went pale.
“Still, madam, I quickly grew to understand the man we call our king. I found that I actually liked him, for though he be stubborn, there is much goodness in him. The people love him, madam. We all love him. Though what he has asked of me is foolish, I understand his deep and growing desperation. Surely you do too? The king must have an heir. You are past your childbearing. Oh, dear madam, you must step aside so the king can take a young wife.”