The King's Mistress (18 page)

As we climbed the steps to the hall, my sudden painful awareness of the gulf between my status and that of the dowager queen added a terrible weight to my legs.

The size and magnificence of the palace interior awed me. We entered by a short corridor lined with beautiful hangings, gold and silver torches and lamps, then stepped into the echoing expanse of the great hall, where we walked on tiles such as I had seen only in the grandest
churches. Servants better dressed than most Londoners were stationed behind intricately carved screens or against the walls as if guarding the immense chests and cupboards. They moved quietly, spoke softly.

On a dais at the far end sat two men deep in conversation. A servant led us very close to them. I tried not to look, but my eyes seemed to have a will of their own, and I found myself staring into very blue eyes, wide and penetrating. They belonged to a man with high, prominent cheekbones, a long, elegant nose, and although a trimmed white beard hid it, I detected a strong chin. His handsome, well-proportioned face was framed by white hair that was luxuriant, wavy, and adorned with a crown.

It was the king. Sweet heaven, he was everything I’d ever imagined a king would be. From broad, straight shoulders hung a most exquisite blue silk robe powdered with gold-and-silver fleur-de-lis. He seemed to consider me for a few breaths, and then, with a nod, he turned away. I tried to hide my gasp as I sucked in air, for I had held my breath while King Edward’s gaze touched me. My steps faltered and Janyn put an arm around me.

“You are so weary, my love?”

With tender concern he assisted me as we followed the servant into another corridor just as beautifully decorated as the entry, and were shown into the queen mother’s parlor—a jewel of a room. The stone walls were three feet thick and therefore let in only muted light, but they were whitewashed and decorated with painted flowers and hung with rich tapestries. Woven mats and cushions in brilliant colors softened the imposing furniture and the tiled floor.

Isabella the queen mother rose from a small bed on which she had been lounging and greeted us warmly.

“You will rest awhile, and then meet our other guests at the feast in the hall. Tomorrow we rise early to hunt.”

I had managed to speak only a few words to her, dumbstruck by all the magnificence. We were shown to a small but luxuriously decorated chamber tucked into a corner of the upper story. Gwen undressed me, and I fell at once into a deep sleep. When she woke me later I was confused by my surroundings.

“Where is my baby? Where is Bella?” I cried.

Janyn and Gwen reassured me that all was well, and reminded me where I was. My confusion frightened me, but they both believed it was caused by the long journey, my first experience of traveling so far.
I wanted to believe them, but just in case my fear had been a premonition I asked if I might slip into the chapel to pray.

“First let Gwen dress you for the feast, and then I shall escort you there for a brief prayer. But we must not dally.” Janyn bowed to me and withdrew to a cushioned chair by the door.

Behind a tall carved screen that seemed to be writhing with fantastical winged creatures, Gwen had laid out a new gown of red silk shot with gold and a silk undergown in a blue as rich as lapis lazuli. My crespinette was gold. For the first anniversary of our marriage Janyn had given me a ring of silver, gold, and lapis. My shoes were a deep blue as well.

In the mirror I could see my dazzling self. I did so love to dress in exquisite clothes. Yet I stared back with frightened eyes. I did not belong in a royal household. I did not know how to behave.

Janyn’s expression when I stepped out from behind the screen reassured me. “What a beauty you are, my Alice,” he murmured, kissing my hand, my wrist, my neck.…

Gwen reminded us that we had little time to spare for the chapel. With a bow, Janyn escorted me from the chamber. We glided through corridors made quiet with wall hangings—I wondered how much of her fortune Isabella had spent on these trappings, for surely they had not been here when she arrived. They seemed to me to reflect a woman’s taste, stories from myth and romance, no battle scenes or even religious motifs. It was as if I were walking through a fabulous romance.

The chapel was a stark contrast, with a dance of Death painted on one wall, the skeleton figure at its center a terrifying reminder of our mortal existence. I crossed myself for protection. Yet the stained-glass casement behind the altar was quite peaceful, depicting the Blessed Mother and Christ child. I knelt at a prie-dieu before a statue of the Virgin Mary and bowed to my prayers. I prayed for my Bella, that she was safe and at ease with her nurse. I prayed for Janyn, that he would always enjoy God’s protection in his travels. I prayed that I might be a good wife, all that Janyn wished me to be. I prayed that I might not embarrass or disappoint him here at the court of Isabella of France, once queen and now mother of the king. I prayed that the king might not judge me to be a common, inelegant woman, and then quickly took back that prayer, embarrassed by my pride.

While I had knelt there someone had joined us in the chapel. I had smelled a sensual perfume from his clothing as he passed me and then
heard the prie-dieu creak as he knelt near the altar. He had paused near me but I had not glanced up, feeling safe in Janyn’s presence.

My husband, who had knelt behind me, whispered that we must go. As I rose, I turned toward the altar. It was King Edward who knelt there, head bowed and resting in his hands. I took Janyn’s arm and let him draw me from the chapel, my heart pounding. I had prayed in the presence of the king! Was that why I had prayed that he would not look down on me?

“We were in good company,” Janyn commented as we checked the condition of each other’s clothing. “That was King Edward himself.”

“I know,” I said. “The crown.”

We shared a nervous laugh and then continued to the great hall.

It was a grand company in which we dined that day, Isabella the queen mother, King Edward and his plump and vivacious queen, Philippa—I liked her at once; John, Earl of Richmond, whom I’d already met; Lionel, Earl of Ulster, the king’s second son, and his wife, Elizabeth, Countess of Ulster; and several foreign noblemen whose names Janyn did not yet know. Arriving just before us was someone I had not expected to see in such august company, Richard Lyons.

“What is he doing here?” I asked Janyn.

“I should think he is ever welcome, considering the loans he has made to both the queen mother and the present queen,” he said. “They both spend far more than they can afford. That is his wife, seated at the far end of the second table, Isabella Pledour.”

She was not a pretty woman, heavyset and sour of face, but tastefully and expensively gowned.

I was relieved that we, too, were seated at the second highest table with the less important folk—a merchant and his wife from St. Albans, two Grey Friars and another merchant couple from London, and best of all, my good friend Geoffrey.

“Alice! You look more beautiful each time I see you,” he exclaimed.

I noted how he had grown into his grand clothes, his bearing, speech, and gestures more refined and confident than before.

“The countess’s household suits you, Geoffrey?” I asked as I settled beside him.

“It would suit me better if I were better suited for it,” he said, then burst out laughing as I applauded his wit.

Reversed sentiments were an old game with us, and his playing it at once put me completely at ease. I’d begun to feel that, now I was
Janyn’s wife and Bella’s mother I had ceased to be fully Alice. As we talked I felt that older part of me awaken.

Janyn and Geoffrey exchanged a few words. Then, apparently relieved that I had someone to talk to, Janyn left us to catch up with each other and turned to the merchant from St. Albans.

“He is a handsome man,” said Geoffrey, “and courteous, well spoken, wealthy, successful. Has he a fault?”

“I’m searching for it, but I fear I search in all the wrong places, for I’ve yet to find one.” I blushed.

Geoffrey laughed. “No doubt you have yet to find a fault in my godchild, either.” He cocked his head and lifted a brow in query. “The Earl of Richmond is very open about his grand dam being your daughter’s godmother.” He sighed and shook his head. “My parents were wrong about your limited prospects, eh?”

I smiled but did not reply at once, adjusting to the news that our efforts to conceal the queen mother’s favor toward our family had been undermined by Richmond.

“Are you not pleased that he does not seek to hide your favor?” Geoffrey asked.

“I am puzzled why the earl would mention it to anyone. We are unimportant folk, so surely he was not bragging.”

“Perhaps he was. He is fond of his grandmother and fiercely defends her when the old rumors are repeated.”

“Is his brother Lionel also fond of her?” That was the brother Geoffrey would know best, being in his household.

“Less than John, more than Edward,” said Geoffrey. “Perhaps she has grown more affectionate with each grandchild.”

Leaning close, I confided, “In truth, I am uneasy about even our slight intercourse with the royal family. I do not think crowns bring peace and contentment.”

“That is not their purpose.”

“Nor does the royal family seem warm and loving.”

“Because they all want the crown!”

We laughed. My old friend was a most reassuring presence in this setting.

I was glad that Lyons was at the far end. Except for a few words overheard in lulls in the conversation, I was able to ignore him, though Geoffrey did find fault with the Fleming’s bright hat and mispronunciations.

“Surely he might better learn the language in which he trades day to day,” he muttered. “You see how even his wife winces when he speaks.”

“He is more fluent in French,” I said.

“But he lives in London, my friend, and please do not play the innocent with me. You despise him. I feel you bristle when he glances your way, or you his.”

“You know me far too well,” I said.

He shook his head. “I know you not at all these days, Alice. A guest of Isabella of France, mother of her most beautiful goddaughter, passionately in love with your husband, a Lombard merchant, your home filled with luxurious items I shall never afford.”

“He is not a Lombard but a Londoner born, Geoffrey.”

“I did not intend it in the derogatory sense, my friend. His mother is Milanese, is she not?”

“Yes, and his father and his father before him and his father before him were all born in London, as was Janyn.”

Geoffrey smiled and bowed to me.

“You are different as well,” I said. “Serving in the household of an earl, supping with the queen mother and the king and queen.…” I smiled and bowed to him. “We have both come far in a short while.”

Janyn suddenly leaned into our discussion. “We must find a suitable wife for you, eh, Geoffrey?”

“Do you have a handsome sister?” Geoffrey asked, his eyes alight. “I should like a pretty wife.”

“I’ve no unmarried sister, but cousins.…” Janyn’s eyebrows danced and his eyes twinkled.

I loved him so in that moment. I believed he had noticed the tension between me and Geoffrey and had come to my aid, lightening the mood. It was a loving gesture.

Later, as I walked in the garden with two of the merchant wives and one of the Grey Friars, one of the women said, “Is that not your husband speaking with Queen Philippa, Dame Alice?”

It was. My heart burst with pride to see how comfortable Janyn looked in such company.

“Yes, it is Janyn. Is he not the most handsome man?”

The women, both older than I was, teased me about being so in love with my husband.

“God is smiling down upon you,” the friar said. “May your union continue to be so blessed.”

We moved on to other matters—there was much gossip about King Jean of France being in London, held for ransom since his capture in battle in France. It was said that he felt honor-bound to live in exile himself rather than substitute one of his sons, and had proved to be a most gentle, courteous “prisoner”—as a king he of course lived in great comfort.

“The folk of London so adore him, it is as if they would prefer him to be their king,” one of the women said with clear disapproval.

The other woman quite obviously loved collecting details of the elegant life the French king led even in captivity. “Lady Isabella the queen mother has loaned him several of the romances of Arthur and Charlemagne she so enjoys,” she said. “And Queen Philippa herself has sent him household furnishings and rich foods. The king visits him. They play chess!”

I had heard much of this, of course, as many guild members were supplying King Jean’s household, but I was ill at ease discussing it in the garden of a royal residence. It smacked of disapproval of the king’s decision to ease King Jean’s distress. Yet all spoke of the French monarch as a kind, pious man.

“I think it most Christian of the king to treat his peer with such respect and grace,” I said. “And most courteous of Queen Philippa to ensure King Jean’s comfort.”

My companions did not respond, but gazed seemingly aghast at something or someone behind me.

“I am indebted to you for your kind support, Dame Alice,” said a woman behind me.

I turned and beheld Queen Philippa. Though she was smiling at me I dropped at once into the humblest bow I could manage, and stayed there until Janyn put a hand beneath my elbow and guided me upright.

“Your Grace,” I said for at least the second time. I could think of nothing else to say.

Janyn suggested that we walk, and the three of us, my husband, the queen, and I, drew away from the others.

“The queen mother speaks with such delight of her goddaughter,” said Philippa.

I was dumbfounded that she even knew of my sweet Bella. “I pray
each day that God shower Lady Isabella the Queen Mother with blessings for her kindness to my family, Your Grace.”

“As I am certain she prays for you and your little family, Dame Alice. Your husband has been telling me of the garden you are creating at your home in London. I have heard that my husband’s father found great satisfaction in digging in the earth, shifting soil. He said that it helped him find his feet and legs. Does it do so for you?”