Isolde Martyn - Mistress to the Crown

Me? My first thought was that he was gulling me; the second that he meant it.

‘I prefer a red, fuller-flavoured wine with beef, my lord.’

The answer satisfied him. He settled back watching me still and at last I retrieved my appetite. It was part expedience. I could hardly sit opposite him idle. Later, I would laugh to myself that King Edward had sat on the floor to dine with me like some itinerant tinker. In fact, I suppose it was in deference to my sensibility that we were not seated in comfort upon the bed and I was grateful.

On the same level, without his great height towering over me, I found him less daunting. His complexion was pale with a sprinkling of freckles and he had a Cupid’s bow mouth, narrow but full-lipped. I reckon his worst feature was his chin – too dimpled – and his neck might thicken with age – but he had intelligent eyes, hazel with flecks of green gold, which reminded me of sunlight shining through a meadow pool. Hastings’ eyes were more handsome, possessing translucence like clean-sheared crystal, yet there was a playfulness in the King’s that was very charming.

‘Is he in good health, old John, your father?’

‘Yes, I thank your highness. A touch of stiffness in the knees but otherwise quite hale.’

‘And your mother, Anne … no, Amy, yes?’

‘Anne. Very well, I thank you. Father has bought some land in Hertfordshire and is gradually letting my brothers take over the business. Robert is in Calais and Jack runs the shop.’

‘Jack? Ah, John Lambard the younger. Doing well?’

I nodded. ‘Yes, your highness.’

‘I’m not surprised. Robert Cousin, my Master of the Wardrobe, bought some Florentine sarsynett from your brother this week for seven shillings a yard.’

‘That’s ridiculously high,’ I exclaimed and then clapped my hand to my lips mortified.

The King’s face hardened. ‘Are you saying my officer was fleeced?’ A glimmer of humour that did not quite flatten the corners of his mouth replenished my courage.

‘Shorn might be a better word,’ I replied demurely, shaking some crumbs from my skirts.

My audacity amused him. ‘So what should he have paid?’

‘No more than five shillings and sixpence.’

‘Hmm.’ He swished his mouth sideways. ‘I’d better have a word with Rob.’

‘There are some really beautiful summer brocades due in any day now. I saw the samples a few months ago. The Queen has—’

He grinned. ‘Ah, gotten an order in already, has she?’ He took a gulp of wine and waved a hand while he swallowed. ‘Separate household, see. ‘Course being in business, you’d know how it all works. Can I have another of your cakes, if you please?’ I reached up for the basket and passed two across.

He demolished one and took a bite of the other. ‘So how long have you been married?’

‘Since I was twelve.’

‘Any whelps?’

‘Whelps?’

‘Children. I have five princesses, two princes and at least two bastards.’ He thought about it. ‘No, more, I daresay.’

‘I haven’t any, your grace.’

‘What, none?’ He thumbed the crumbs from his lips. ‘No … no …’ A languid flourish of fingers sufficed as though the word for stillbirth was only for a woman’s use.

‘No, your highness, I believe I was wed too soon.’

He frowned, his eyes sympathetic. ‘Happened to Lady Margaret Beaufort, the Countess of Richmond. Not even fourteen when she birthed her son, Henry Tudor. Tudor, heard of him, yes? Lives on crumbs from the Count of Brittany’s trenchers. She never had any more progeny, thank the Lord.’ He had a most heartrending smile, I discovered, and he was using it on me now. ‘Does it sadden you, Mistress Shore?’

It? Being barren?

‘Not any more, your highness. I am happy to go down on all fours and play bears with my friends’ children, but at the end of the day I am content to hand them back.’

‘All fours?’ he echoed wickedly, laughter breeding with speculation in his expression and I could see he was imagining – O Jesu!

‘I growl very fiercely,’ I said quickly, hoping that he could not see my blushes. He really was sinfully attractive.

‘Oh, do you?’

The neighbourhood bells tolled six and I was still in the lion’s den. Children would have been a useful excuse to leave.

The King of England read my mind. ‘Curfew is three hours hence.’ Wriggle out of that , his expression told me.

‘Yes, your highness, but it is later than when I met Lord Hastings before and my husband—’

‘Is of no consequence, Will tells me.’

‘I am sorry,’ I murmured, rising to my feet, and again shaking the crumbs from my skirts. ‘I have the cakes to deliver … to the poor, otherwise …’

His highness stood up as if out of courtesy but his lower lip betrayed displeasure. Then he twisted, retrieved the bolster and, holding it against his body with one arm, sensuously slid his other hand down it. ‘I thought we might …’ A jerk of his head towards the bed finished the question. At least it was a question.

I shook my head treasonously and Lord knows what else of me shook. Oh yes, my senses were stirred. Not just his handsome looks but the aura of power had me wondrously thrilled.

The bolster was flung aside with a deliberate menace. I briskly picked up my basket and hugged it to my waist. There was no way I could withstand him if he chose to stop me leaving so I stood there, my chin raised defiantly. It was his decision.

Tight, calculating tucks appeared in his cheeks. King Edward was watching me as though I was his assailant in the combat yard; all I had was basketwork. I clasped it tighter to my waist and stared up at him defiantly, my heartbeat frantic.

A woman shrieked playfully outside. The floorboards creaked lightly as she ran across them. Heavier footsteps chased her. A guffaw of laughter. A door opening. No one would care if I screamed, and what difference would it make? The hawks outside were probably royal servants on subtle sentry duty.

At a loss in this impasse, I primly pulled the napkin back over the remaining cakes like a diligent housewife, without taking my eyes from my antagonist, and suddenly, mercifully, the swords between us were lowered. The King’s cheeks grew full again, a smile grew and grew and then he laughed.

I took one step towards the door but his voice snapped out like a whip. ‘The King has not given you leave, Mistress Shore.’

I looked around. ‘Does he need to?’ I chided gently.

‘By the Devil,’ he murmured, but it was amusement not arrogance that graced his face. ‘Yes he does. Before you utterly devastate me by leaving, let us just get matters straight.’

I swallowed, glanced at the door, and then back at him, put down my basket and gave a shallow curtsy.

‘Thank you,’ he said sarcastically. The large gems on his pale hands flashed in the candlelight as he made a steeple of his fingers. ‘Now let me understand this aright. You will lie with Will but not with me?’ Even though I am your king, younger and better looking , the lift of eyebrows seemed to be saying.

I nodded, more apprehensive than ever. Apparently the bell had sounded for the second bout.

He swayed forward slightly but I did not dare recoil. I was not going to let him close me in with the bed at my back.

‘You do confound me, Mistress Shore,’ he murmured. ‘I understood that your liaison with my chamberlain is for the purpose of … education?’

These two men had discussed me? Curse it! As what? A silly hen ripe for plucking?

‘Th–that is t-true, your highness. I wanted to find out …’ I bit my lip, horrified at what he must believe about me. ‘It is most … most generous of you to offer to … to further the tuition but thank you, no.’

I curtsied, trying to hide my hurt. It was as if God had tipped burning oil upon my soul. Hastings had betrayed me. I was nothing but a jest.

‘Kings rarely make offers except to other royalty,’ he replied with hauteur. He strode from me and turned, his voice growing dryer with each syllable: ‘Kings tend to make commands.’

How should I escape him? Sweet Mother of God! I could hardly argue that I was virtuous.

‘It shames me that Lord Hastings told you of my circumstances, your highness.’

‘But you have signed an indenture with him and must keep loyal. Poor Mistress Shore, alas, how terrifying the consequences if you disobey. No doubt Hastings will slap my face with his glove on his return and slit my throat in fury. You’ll probably be hanged in one of your pretty garters.’

It was belittling.

‘I thank your grace most honestly for supper.’ I curtsied deeply.

He inclined his head haughtily. ‘Go, then.’

‘Please,’ I said to the King of England, and proffered my basket. ‘Would you like to take these back to the palace for your children?’

‘Where have you been?’ growled Shore, as I came in through the yard door.

‘Taking cakes to the poor.’ To a man poor in humility! God have mercy! What a fool I’d proved. I must be the laughing stock of Westminster.

‘Without a basket?’

‘Oh bother, I left the cursed thing behind.’ Was my face scarlet?

‘Tell me where you left it and ah’ll send one of the boys.’ By his tone, he was determined to make a liar of me.

‘Lordy, I cannot remember.’ I turned away, tucking my waistcloth into my belt.

‘Like that, is it? ’

I closed my eyes, knowing the lid was off the seething pot. Was truth the best way, slid in cleanly like a dagger rather than administered in a slow poison? But it was he who astonished me. I knew all week that he had something on his mind and here at last came confession.

‘There’s summat ah have to tell you, wife. There was this cherrylips came into the shop last week when ah was serving on my own. Tricked out in finery she was like a real lady. She swished abaht in her furs and trinkets, and when she’d made her choice, she offered to pay for t’cloth by spreadin’ her legs. Ah said, yes, but she’d better be quick. Anyroad, ah locked the door and led her to t’stairs so as no one could see us from the street. She bared her breasts and eased her skirts slowly above her thigh. Had me in a raight sweat …’

Please Heaven, it never rose, I prayed, imagining my argument for a divorce evaporating with Shore’s resurrection. ‘Did you …’

‘No, No, damn it, ah could not manage it, even with her! Christ!’ He smote so hard upon the board that the inkpot jumped and then he grabbed the alejack and hurled it furiously at the wall. I stared open mouthed at the liquid, pale as urine, trickling down the whitewash.

He was breathing hard, staring at me like a cornered beast. I feared he might strike me. His mouth arced into an ugly loop of pain and tight slits of skin swallowed his eyes. ‘O Jesu, Jesu, Jesu!’ He sank to his knees, cradling his ribs and began an anguished keening.

I flung myself on my knees and drew him to me. ‘There, there!’ I soothed, stifling his howls against my bosom. I rocked him until the shudders ceased.

‘Ah’m so sorry, Elizabeth,’ he sobbed. ‘All these years. Ah’m so sorry.’ He tried to pull away but I held him fast.

‘There is more to a man than his prick, William Shore. The whole world knows that. You should not judge yourself so cruelly.’

‘But ah’m no true man. I am cursed by God.’

‘Then we both are, William.’

Still reeling from Hastings’ betrayal, I needed a few moments to grasp the implications of Shore’s confession. He was no longer blaming me for not giving him a child. I was unsaddled at last. No more guilt to carry like a weary packhorse.