"Tell her I am not in res..."
She paused and calculated rapidly, as thoughts of her mother and
Emerald entered her mind, once more, as they had every single day
and night since she'd arrived. Court life was a whirlwind of
activity, singing, dancing, feasting and heated discussion, and the
King captivated her to a point of breathlessness.
But there were times, especially the long nights in her dark
chambers, when she longed for the comfort of her own Warwick Castle,
her dainty boudoir, and the sweeping view of the countryside she
loved so much.
She decided on the spur of the moment to see Topaz. At the moment
her sister was her only link with home and she was eager to know all
about those she missed.
"Tell her I shall be there momentarily," she told the page and
entered her apartments to fetch her lute. Once Topaz left, she would
have some time to practice alone before the evening's rehearsal with
the King's Musick.
Topaz was sitting on the fountain wall, dipping her hand into the
pool of water, looking starched and formal, her hair tucked into a
white coif trimmed with daisies, her brows plucked, her pink gown
slashed in front over a richly embroidered kirtle. The sleeves
fastened back to show the white brocaded lining, her shoes plain
white. She looked cool and comfortable, polished as always. A sprig
of baby's breath was pinned to her bodice and a large satchel lay at
her feet.
"Amethyst!"
"Sister."
She rose and flicked the water off her fingers as Amethyst
approached her sister cautiously, knowing that behind the smiling
pink lips was a sinister temperament just bursting to be unmasked.
"What brings you to court, Topaz?"
"I trust you are enjoying court life?" Her tone was light and airy,
no hostility or sarcasm seeping through. Yet.
"I love it here at court making music. I can imagine no other life.
I am sorry I left without saying goodbye, but I did not want another
confrontation. It is what I wanted, Topaz, and I shall not listen to
your insults and—"
"Amethyst," she interrupted abruptly. "I am not here to condemn you.
I am no longer angry. If you wish to live with these...people, I
cannot stop you. We are all grown now, and must lead the lives we
choose. I understand your love of music has compelled you to choose
this course of action.
"But you must see that your presence here is short-lived. As soon as
you realize what that King is really after and get a glimpse of his
lecherous ways, you will flee in disgust. So keep your distance. He
is a Tudor. Trustworthiness does not run through Tudor veins."
"So what are you here for, Topaz, if not to persuade me to see the
error of my ways and leave? The King is not in residence. He is on
progress. You will have to save your tirade for another time, if he
will see you."
She laughed, rolling her eyes toward heaven. "I am not here to see
him. I've nothing to say to the man."
"For what, then? A tour of the palace?"
"Nay. I am going on a visit to Saint George's almshouse in
Whitechapel and wish you to join me."
Her quarterly progresses took her through the poorest parts of as
many shires as she could reach, where she distributed food and alms
to the beggars, offering any other help she could. Saint George's,
one of the most desperate, was one of her favorites because many
children lived there.
Any uneasy creep of fear chilled her spine. "Is that not a dangerous
area? Could you not just send them food or money and restrict your
travels to the shires round Warwick, which have poor aplenty?"
She shook her head. "Nay. Parts of London are poorer, more destitute
than almost any shire near Warwick, you naïve little goose.
Have you not seen any of it? God's foot, you've been here long
enough! Doesn't the royal barge float far enough down the Thames to
see the other side? Is Henry not even aware of the poverty and
starvation his subjects have to endure?"
"Aye, he is on progress as we speak, travelling through Ipswich and
Norwich, then up the coast of East Anglia to Kingston-upon-Hull.
These royal progresses are quite exhausting. He carries out his
royal duties as he travels."
"Aye, and then where does he go? To the royal forest for a few weeks
of hunting. To slaughter the innocent round-eyed doe and stuff its
young flesh into his chubby face. What good does that do the poor?
All those forests teeming with food, yet if one poor person dares
to–"
"Topaz, King Henry has done a lot for the poor since becoming king,
and so has Queen Catherine. You know him not. You have no right to
stand here and judge."
Topaz glared. "I know there is still much too much squalor and
hunger about, and I do my part to correct it. Now, go and change
into a simple frock. That billowy satin thing will never do. I know
you courtiers all dress pompously to impress one another but you
must look genuine when you visit the squalid slums or they will spit
on you and throw rocks."
So that was it. Her sister had made up her mind for her. Refusing to
accompany Topaz would be tantamount to refusing the poor. Giving
Topaz a few coins and a sack of food wouldn't be enough. She had to
physically accompany her, to see the hunger and filth for herself.
And she knew what her crafty sister had in mind. She did not merely
desire a travelling companion. She was going to try harder than ever
to sway Amethyst to her way of thinking, hoping to spread her
beliefs throughout court.
Oh, Amethyst knew her sister intimately. Now that Amethyst was a
courtier, Topaz was planning to use this to her utmost advantage.
She knew how convincing and persuasive Topaz could be. How else
could she have gotten an unassuming country gent like Matthew
Gilford to marry her?
She looked down at her robe, a simple garment cut square at the
neck, the large full sleeves pushed up unfashionably against the
oppressive heat. Her hair was pulled up and piled atop her head
under a coif, a few tendrils hanging loosely. She wore no jewelry.
She was far from the picture of the stylish courtier.
She turned towards the palace to change, but into what? The gown
she'd worn to travel to court was simple enough, but much too heavy
for a hot day like this. It was then she realized she had no simple
attire. Since living at Warwick Castle and especially since arriving
at court, her clothes were made for her by seamstresses, and the
King had generously provided her with bolts of rich satins,
cloth-of-gold and silver, delicate brocades, laces, and velvets from
which was created her sumptuous court wardrobe.
She dug through her chest of drawers, coming up with a simple linen
tunic which she pulled over her head and belted with a tie-back from
one of her curtains. It was green velvet, but it was all she could
find in a hurry. She bloused the garment to conceal her curves,
slipped her feet into her scuffy slippers, and went back down to
join Topaz.
She was already saddled atop Alice, her favorite mount, when
Amethyst went round the stables to fetch Blossom, her birthday gift
from Henry, a gentle gray palfrey that loved to breeze through the
countryside.
Two grooms she recognized from Kenilworth were with Topaz. One was
delicate and slight, the other a burly bully type, more than able to
guard them all against any adversary. All three horses were laden
with canvas sacks filled with food and coins.
"We are taking the mounts to the barge, and taking the barge to
Tower Bridge. Mitchell will watch the mounts at the riverbank and
Peter will come with us. Most of the folks know me there, but
poverty does bring out the worst in even the sweetest disposition.
Let us depart."
Amethyst was apprehensive, never having travelled to this side of
London before. For Henry's coronation, they'd entered the city
through the Ald Gate, the easternmost of the city gates, and had
ridden through narrow, shabby streets where she'd seen beggars in
rags with dirty feet.
But when entering London to come to court, they'd approached from
Highgate. It had been dark, and she'd seen nothing but the tall
structures leaning into each other and over the street, dotted with
flickering squares of light. It was a world unknown to her, and she
knew after today she would have a much different perspective on her
own situation. Perhaps she wouldn't need Topaz's convincing; she
would see it all for herself.
The barge glided down the Thames, and looking past the Gothic spires
of Westminster Abbey behind her, she could see the blue-green hills
of Hampstead and Highgate unfurling dreamily over the horizon. The
waterway was crowded with fishing boats, barges and ships, and all
wound their way round one another to their destinations like a
network of busy ants. Ships were anchored at either bank, their
cargo being unloaded into lighters. Hundreds of boats traversed the
river, each with a direction and purpose. The boatman of their barge
shouted and waved to his fellow watermen, their voices fading into
the industrious bustle of trade and negotiation. A tangle of masts
and tackle lined each bank. Great cranes swung to and fro, conveying
parcels of goods from ships to wharfs.
From the Tower in the distance beyond stood quays and warehouses and
the cluttered aggregate of the steelyard. It was a tranquil day, the
bustling commerce somehow mollified by the heat, but here on the
river the breeze was inviting and refreshing, the sun glinting off
the water peacefully.
She caught a glimpse of the shiny black skin of a pair of porpoises
as they leapt in and out of the water, dodging the barge playfully
and disappearing back into the murky depths, as carefree as the
spangles of sunlight glinting off their oily backs.
They passed under London Bridge, its two pinnacled towers flanking
them as the barge glided beneath it. The sunlight momentarily cooled
to a soft blue-gray as they passed under the vast drawbridge. She
looked to their left as they swept past the imposing Tower.
Topaz turned her head away abruptly and Amethyst gazed upward at the
unsightly fortress where she'd spent the first two years of her
life. The dusty spires rose into the sky like dragons, their pointy
flags fluttering in the breeze like forked tongues.
They rode parallel to the bustling Thames Street, past dingy
warehouses and cranes for unloading cargo, their graceful necks
swooping down. Along the bank stood the stately mansions of the
wealthy merchants and bustling wharves. Sailors and fishermen
strolled about, all moving in their own busy circles. She could hear
a cacophony of voices, the light lilting of French, the singsong
Italian, the guttural German.
Inns and taverns were tucked neatly between the towering warehouses
and graceful mansions, their wooden signs swinging in the breeze.
The aroma of fresh strawberries rushed by them as they passed a
cook-shop, a gang of housewives converging upon it like a gaggle of
geese, stuffing themselves through the door.
The barge veered to the left bank of the river, and the boatman
eased it in between two weather-beaten fishing vessels. Well-dressed
merchants, frazzled wenches and haggard seamen merged on the wharf,
haggling, exchanging coins for bales of cloth and nets full of fish,
their scales glimmering in the sunlight like heaps of silver.
Topaz disembarked and handed the boatman a few coins. She waited as
Amethyst gathered her skirt and climbed from the barge, dragging her
bag of offerings behind her, skinning her knee on the barge's jagged
edge.
"We are going to Whitechapel," Topaz called over her shoulder as
Amethyst slung the bag over her shoulder. The coins at the bottom
smacked against her hip and she winced in pain. She would have
handed it to the groom to carry, but he had two bulky sacks slung
over his own back. They left the bustle of the Thames commerce
behind and headed north up the Tower Bridge Approach.
The Tower loomed ahead of them, its thick eastern wall cut off at
the end by a semicircular bastion. The yellow-white structure had
blackened under centuries of soot and grime.
The sky above became a blanked-out pattern of blue patches as they
headed up the narrow lane. The shabby timber-framed dwellings leaned
over the street, the windows flung open, threadbare curtains
tumbling out like ratty strands of hair. Merchants peddled their
wares—meat pies, fruits, sheep's feet, pigs' trotters, ale,
lemonade. Stalls on either side of the narrow street displayed more
wares, and the stench of fish filled the close, hot air as they
passed a stall hanging with gutted cod twirling on their strings
like a grotesque puppet show. Merchants shouted out offers of their
products in sharp, piercing voices: "Smelts an' salmon, flounder an'
pike, fresh from the Thames!"
"Sides 'a beef!"
"Ale 'ere!"
"Pigs' feet, 'alf pence a pound!"
They made a left up Leman Street, where more dwellings huddled
together, and the sun did not penetrate the peaked roofs here
either. Chickens squawked and a group of grimy children, no more
than four or five years old, dressed in rags, their matted hair
coiled about their necks and shoulders, scampered past them.