The Falcon and the Flower (18 page)

The first morning she was on duty, she arose at dawn. She sang happily as she bathed and dressed in a white silk underdress over which Estelle helped her don a tunic embroidered all over with pink and golden thread. She had been given strict instructions that the queen liked to sleep late and did not want to arise before ten o’clock. At that precise hour Jasmine took the queen’s breakfast tray from a servant, knocked lightly, and entered the bedchamber. She set the tray on a side table and drew back the heavy drapes from the tall windows. Light flooded in, revealing the untidiest room Jasmine had ever beheld. Clothes were strewn about everywhere and the bed was in tumbled chaos. A small, dark head emerged from the disarray to demand, “Who are you?”

Jasmine stared at the vivid beauty of the child-woman. Her eyes were large, black, with great fringed lashes, her head was a mass of tousled black silk curls, and her luscious mouth was red as a strawberry.

Jasmine curtsied gracefully before the young girl. “Queen Isabella, I am Jasmine, daughter of King John’s brother, William of Salisbury.”

The little girl clapped her hands. “Good! I like to have royalty about me.” She sat up and stretched like a cat. She threw off the bedclothes, totally unmindful of her nakedness, licked her fingers, and thrust them between her legs, manipulating herself furiously.

Jasmine was so horrified at the self-abuse she cried, “Queen Isabella, you must not do that!” as if she were addressing a naughty child rather than the Queen of England.

Isabella’s fingers slowed in surprise. She was torn between anger and amusement. Finally her sultry laughter bubbled out. “Why not? It feels delicious! I do it every morning. Aha, it must be true what they say about English girls being frigid as icicles.” She stroked herself again and said, “Don’t you do this, English?”

“No!” Jasmine gasped.

The girl laughed again. “Why not?”

Jasmine’s face was crimson with her embarrassment. How could she explain to the little queen that she would damage her maidenhead; that when she matured to womanhood and the king consummated the union he would think her unchaste if she did not bleed. Finally with Isabella’s dark, amused eyes upon her, she said simply, “It is bad!”

Isabella was off gasping and rolling about the bed, doubled over with laughter. “I love bad things. That is why John is insatiable for me!”

Jasmine ceased to think. A veiled curtain was drawn across her mind as stiffly she took the tray, laid it upon
the rumpled bed, curtsied low, and walked from the chamber. She walked rapidly, not caring where she went. All she knew was that she must get outside for some fresh air.

Gradually in the courtyard amid the bustle of castle life she became aware of her surroundings. The place was alive with merchants, servants, clergy, guards, dogs, horses, carts, and wagons. She walked on to seek a more secluded place to rearrange her thoughts and came to a herb garden with apple and quince trees. The color in her cheeks subsided and she reached up to pick an apple. Suddenly a hand was there before hers. It deftly plucked the fruit and held it out to her.

“Oh!” she said breathlessly.

“My lady, I did not mean to startle you,” said the polite young man. “You are Jasmine of Salisbury, I know your father William. Permit me to introduce myself. I am Will Marshal. As is yours, my father is rather important,” he said with a faint, deprecating smile.

“I am lady-in-waiting to the new queen,” she said quietly.

“Poor lady,” murmured Will. “I am one of King John’s squires. I’ve served him since I was a small boy and he was still Prince John. I take sanctuary in this garden also.” Their eyes met. Each knew the other had been besmirched by the one they served. She wanted to ask him so many questions, but of course propriety forbade her. He wanted to warn her of the corruption she must witness, but found it impossible to defile her ears with even a hint. Finally he touched her hand comfortingly, they smiled at each other, and departed.

Her father sought her out before he left London. Already the realm was in an uproar and he was deeply concerned, but he tried to look carefree as he bade the two women farewell.

Dame Winwood was too shrewd by half and soon had him voicing his concerns. “The King of France is ambitious to extend his power over the whole of that country and is naturally taking full advantage of the hostility to John of the barons of Normandy, Anjou, and Poitou.”

“The barons who wanted Arthur for their king?” asked Estelle.

He nodded. “King Louis has summoned King John to attend a feudal court made up of the dukes and counts of France. Naturally John has refused. I go now to recruit the northern barons of England for war.”

Jasmine asked, “Does de Burgh go north with you?”

“Yes, thank God. He’s the best leader of men I ever saw.”

“Does John go with you?” asked Estelle.

“No,” said William. “He needs money and he will go about the business of getting it.” He looked grim. “He’s the best usurer I ever knew. God help us all,” he murmured.

The vast dining hall at Westminster Palace was hot and overcrowded. Estelle and Jasmine joined the throng of diners and got their first glimpse of the new king. Jasmine was startled by her uncle’s appearance. Her father was a big, bluff man with fair hair who bore a slight resemblance to his late brother Richard, who had been a large man with red hair. John was under medium height and extremely dark. He was so handsome that his face was almost beautiful, but he was vain to a fault, strutting and posturing in an exaggerated manner. He was flamboyantly dressed in brilliant colors with many jewels and even wore his crown to dine. His voice was loud, his laughter bordered on manic, and his language was most profane.

He had surrounded himself by sycophants who laughed every time he said a filthy word. He taunted the
servants with his power and enjoyed their cringing. Isabella sat beside him, mimicking him in everything. It was plain to see she was a vain, self-indulgent, precocious
enfant terrible
who had fallen in love with herself at an early age and would never get over the infatuation. She carried a hand mirror on a long chain and glanced into it constantly.

Apparently both king and queen cared only for pleasure, as dozens of minstrels, jugglers, acrobats, and dancing girls performed continuously among the diners. Ribaldry and coarseness were the order of the day at the royal court of King John and Queen Isabella.

Suddenly King John stood and raised his goblet. “My father used to offer this toast to my mother after he had imprisoned her: “The pox, blue balls, and lice, I’ve had ’em all, by Jesus Christ. But there’s no soap this side of Hell to wash away that fishy smell. Gentlemen … the queen!”

Jasmine and Estelle exchanged glances of distaste. Estelle murmured, “I must find a vulnerability in him that I can exploit to give me some measure of control. It is certain we don’t want to be in his power. Remember, Jasmine, one of the tenets of witchcraft—in any encounter between two people, one is dominant, one submits. The difference is fear!”

Tonight the heads of all the great London guilds were being entertained, but the reason for King John’s hospitality became clear midway through the meal when he revealed that he expected a huge contribution from the guilds to the crown. The men became highly indignant at the sum suggested, and one even went so far as to voice his opinion that there was a difference between gifts or contributions and outright bribes.

Easily angered and always on a short fuse, King John gave vent to the infamous Plantagenet temper, which quickly rose to fury and rapidly escalated to violence. It
was a performance that outdid any juggler or acrobat. He went red in the face, shouted and gesticulated wildly, made insane threats, then fell to the floor and bit the rushes. His closest adherents closed ranks about him, though not too close, as those who were accustomed to King John’s rages knew there was nothing to do but wait them out.

Estelle clutched Jasmine’s wrist and whispered, “My God, the Plantagenet temper brings on fits. He has a form of epilepsy and doesn’t even know it.” She smiled with satisfaction. “Here is John’s vulnerability handed me on a silver platter!”

“A distillation of lily-of-the-valley taken in wine will control it,” said Jasmine, as if reading from her herbal.

“Exactly,” said Estelle. “Run quickly and fetch some from my medicine case, but tell no one the magic potion we use on him.”

Dame Winwood elbowed her way through the circle of attendants. Acting with supreme authority, with great confidence she took up a silver spoon from the table, knelt at the king’s side, and slipped the handle of the spoon crosswise in his mouth. The people crowding about were in awe of her for having the courage to touch John when he was in one of his rages. The whispers began that this was the witch with such strong magic powers they’d heard about.

Jasmine returned and emptied the distillate of lily-of-the-valley into the king’s wine cup and handed it to Estelle. After only one mouthful she noticed that John’s heels ceased to drum upon the floor and after the second his color receded from an alarming purple to a flushed pink. Suddenly John was on his feet as if nothing had happened. The London guildsmen hastily agreed to pay their tributes and the servants rushed in to clear the tables.

Though no words were exchanged, Estelle caught
John’s gaze and held it for a full minute. A small part of his mind was now hypnotically under her spell. Before he retired for the night, Estelle was summoned to his private apartments. When they were entirely alone he said, “My brother William has told me of you, Dame Winwood, and how you predicted that I would become the next king. You have the sight, and you have the knowledge and power that go with it.”

Estelle sent William a silent thanks and offered her services to the king. She dwelled at great length upon his favorite subject, himself. With the shrewdness of one who has lived a thousand lives and experienced everything all down through the ages, she held John’s attention. “I know your secret,” she said simply. This covered the gamut of sins he had committed since boyhood. She stripped him to the core of his black soul with those four words, and she did so with such total conviction he was left speechless. Having reduced him to less than nothing, she began to build his ego again. “Many great leaders and rulers of the world have been afflicted as you are. Alexander the Great—Julius Caesar—Charlemagne.”

He was riveted to her words now. She had her hook well into him, now all she had to do was make herself totally indispensable. “Your seizures set you apart … make you unique. There is, however, the danger of death everpresent with this royal affliction, so it is imperative you always have the distillate and someone who knows how to administer it.”

“Dame Winwood, you have wisdom that goes beyond the ordinary. I make you privy to my person at all times of the day and night, and of course you will always be part of my entourage when I travel.”

Estelle was satisfied she had convinced him that he could not do without her.

Jasmine made sure that she was not the one to awaken the young queen in the mornings. She arrived in time to aid with her toilet, help her to dress and to put the queen’s elaborate clothes away in an orderly fashion.

When she heard the little queen squeal, she came out of Isabella’s closet and once again received a great shock. Apparently King John had come to visit the queen’s bedchamber. The moment he had come through the door Isabella jumped upon him, squealing. She wrapped her legs about his back and he swung her about the room laughing until they were both breathless. They fell upon the great bed and Jasmine was stunned to see Isabella reach out to massage the bulge between John’s legs. “Mmm, is that big, hard weapon for me, your Highness?” teased Isabella.

John’s face was tight with lust as he pulled the little girl atop of him and said, “Come and fellate me, Bella.”

Jasmine left the room quickly and quietly. In her haste she almost bumped into young Will Marshal who was just quitting King John’s private apartment.

“Are you all right, Lady Jasmine?” he asked, concerned.

“Yes, no, I … oh Will, I had no idea they cohabited.”

He said quietly, “You are shocked because he is thirty-two and she is only fourteen, but really, my lady, age has little to do with it. They are voluptuaries; two of a kind. They are like two peas from the same disgusting pod.” He led her away from the royal apartments. “Let’s take a walk under the quince trees. There is little that is evil in a garden.”

“Will, what does ’fellate’ mean?” she asked quietly.

He shook his head. “I would not soil your ears with an explanation, my lady. But I am happy when he sleeps with Isabella for she cannot be corrupted. She is wiser than Eve in the ways of men. He likes young girls, virgins; he enjoys the fear on their faces. Their cringing and pitiful cries excite his lust.”

“He does these things with you as witness?” she asked, shocked again.

“That part he really enjoys. I was brought up so respectably. My father and mother set such store in strict moral conduct. The king enjoys my discomfort. It is his only way of getting at the great Marshal of England, even though he does it vicariously through me, his son.”

“Your father would run mad if he knew what you were exposed to,” she said.

“As would yours. Never be alone with King John, my lady.”

As Jasmine took leave of young Will, her mind was filled with Falcon de Burgh. He would be outraged when he discovered what this court was like. He would physically remove her from the place. The whole court was contaminated. The evil lurked in the collective consciousness, threatening, insinuating. There were subterranean undercurrents, the vibrations tangible enough to smell and almost taste. All seemed shrouded in shadowy mists of dread.

That night she visited Estelle in her chamber and finally summoned enough courage to ask, “What does ’fellate’ mean?”

Estelle looked long and hard into her eyes, then sighed. “Come and sit down while I explain these things. You know of the sex act that takes place between a man and a woman. I told you of it when you had your first flux. I did not tell you of other things men like. Probably the most erotic act a woman can practice on a man is fellatio.
You go down upon his shaft with your mouth and bring him to climax by sucking him and licking him with your tongue. It is a whore’s trick. Most men must pay a whore for this service because they wouldn’t ask it of their wives. Peasants and men-at-arms prefer their sex straight, it is only the nobility who indulge in these practices. There are many other perversions. I suppose I had better educate you for your own protection.”