A Secret Alchemy (15 page)

He pressed me toward the bed; I pressed my hands to his chest. “No, my lord, not yet.”

He stopped as if I had struck him, then blinked. “Not yet?”

“No.”

“But we are not married until I have you…Ysa, are you frightened? You are not a maid, but I would not frighten you.”

“No, I am no maid,” I said, and began very slowly to unlace his cote. “And I am not frightened, except that…that I am bedded by a king.”

“Think not of that,” he said, “but that you are my queen. And that we love one another.” I could not answer honestly, so instead I kissed him, then drew a little away, to run one finger from his lip, down his chin, his throat, and the warm breadth of his chest between the open edges of his cote. The hairs were like the finest goldsmith’s work. He shook his head as if to clear it, and shrugged off his cote.

He in his shirt was no more clad than I in my smock, and thus we were equal: man and woman, Adam and Eve.

When his gaze returned to mine I held it, then reached up and pulled the pins from my hair. It fell heavily about me with a breath of chamomile and feverfew; he caught at the locks with both hands and buried his face in them so that they overflowed between his fingers. Then he let it fall and put up a hand to stroke the strands away from my face, and kissed me, not greedily now, but as if in a trance.

He raised his head, and looked toward the bed. “You have Melusina to guard you,” he said, seeing the hangings. “Melusina the dragon, not the snake, with her wings and her double tail.”

“Yes. My mother bespoke it of the Sisters at Lincoln for my…my first marriage, to help get me with child.”

Even as I said the words I wished them unsaid. But he smiled. “You are beauty itself as you are. But you must have been more beautiful still with a great belly.” He pressed a hand there. “God willing, I will fill you with a fair prince. Would that your ancestress could know how her task is fulfilled in us, that golden sun and silver moon should unite in the
secretum secretorum
, and bring forth peace and prosperity. For you are my lady moon.”

“And you are my lord the sun,” I said, of course. I said it well: the words rang like a charm in the ever-brightening quiet, like a
spell I did not know I could cast. I slid my smock off one shoulder, and slowly he reached and slipped it off the other so that it dropped to my feet.

“So fair,” he murmured, and at that I made to slip his shirt off his shoulder. The sword-cut on his neck was like a crack through the gold. He stepped back to draw his shirt over his head, then flung it to the floor. Before he could reach for me again I went toward the bed, turned, and held out my hand. The linen was cool, and smelled of lavender and the bitter apples that keep it sweet.

He handed me onto the bed like a courtier, then lay down on his side next to me, so tall and broad that he seemed to stoop over me, his skin smelling of ambergris and musk. My head began to swim. He laughed and reached for me, but slowly, so that I could feel him holding his strength, his desire, in check: his eagerness was not, after all, a boy’s simple ignorance. I began to move in the hot waters of my own desire and I heard him laugh again. “See, my Melusina? You have cast your spell and I do as you will. You make me as patient as an alchemist setting his fire, watching and waiting.” My body reached for him, wanting him now as he had wanted me.

Then we were swimming together and apart, drowning in gold, and when I opened my eyes beyond his bright hair I could see Melusina with her wings wide, and her parted double-tail. Then I could see nothing at all. With a great cry he came, deep inside me, and for a heartbeat I knew that I had won—that the King was mine—before I, too, reached the secret of secrets.

Elysabeth—the 8th yr of the reign of King Edward the Fourth

As the highway narrowed toward Bow Bridge, such was the press of
horses and men-at-arms that my escort was mixed with the King’s, and I found Edward himself riding no more than a head before me.

“My lady!” he cried, and reined in to ride on my nearside. “I trust you are well. I am sorry that business has kept me from you for so many days.”

From the corner of my eye I saw our two escorts tangle, then, with a nod from the captains, range themselves properly about us. I turned to the King. “Your Grace! Yes, I am well, and happy to see you in good health. As for business, it is only to be expected with so great an occasion to arrange.” I hesitated, but my ladies were still close about us, so I said merely, “Yes, it is a great occasion, your sister’s wedding. And yet I know you are sorry to bid the Lady Margaret farewell.”

“Aye” was all he said. I thought of his brother Edmund, murdered at seventeen. But that grief was long since past, or so he said and I believed. Surely he could not grieve much for a sister given to the embrace of a great duke, and no further abroad than Bruges? Charles the Bold of Burgundy was a fine, clever man by all reports, well into the years of wisdom. He had even made Edward a Knight of the Golden Fleece, the greatest order of chivalry in his gift.

“But still, to have made such a match for England’s advantage, and your—our—sister’s too, is no matter for sorrow,” I said.

“It is true.” He lowered his voice. “But Margaret is not easy. I think she is afraid to leave England when—” He glanced about him, but we had reached the bridge. Only my own sister and Mal rode close by, and our voices were well cloaked by the clatter and echo of our hooves on the stone and the rush of the Lea below us as it forced its way through the piers of the bridge. “—when we have even Sir Thomas Cooke in the Tower. He and Margaret are old friends.”

“So may they be, but Cooke is a traitor. Those men arrested named him as clearly as the rest, as helping Henry of Lancaster’s cause. That he has guaranteed your sister’s dowry is as nothing by comparison.”

“But it is not always easy to get a conviction when the evidence is gathered as it was in their case,” said Edward.

It was but two days after Corpus Christi and the day hot and bright, yet, as if a cloud had blotted out the midsummer sun, I saw a dark chamber deep in the White Tower, stone-cold but for the sting of a brazier’s heat. There would be the creak and grunt of machinery, the stench of burning flesh, shit on the floor, the screaming voice spewing forth names, places, plans, treason. The dry scratching of pen on sheet after sheet of paper, quiet voices
demanding more—more names, more places, more treason—and yet another report sent off to the Council. Late at night the Council met, and on Sundays and other secret times, for none must know just how close we stood to open rebellion.

Edward shook his head. “I would not have her people carry a tale into Burgundy of desperate measures in England. Or mar her happiness with fear that her dowry will not be paid, if Cooke is arraigned. She knows I cannot pay it myself.”

“But—”

“Only until Margaret has sailed. Then he will be rearrested. I have already arranged for the commission to try them all. Your father will search Cooke’s house.” He nodded toward the blur of scarlet and gold ahead, where Warwick rode as the chief member of Margaret’s escort, with my brothers Antony and Edward. “My cousin Warwick, too, is of the commission.”

“Will he do it?”

“Well, it seems wise to make him sit in judgment on such fellows.” Edward raised an eyebrow that told of more than one way I might take his words. “He will have no truck with rebels, any more than my brother George will. And Hastings will sit with them, and the Mayor, so that London may know what treason its own may do.”

“Will an assembly of so many great men not draw attention to itself too much?”

“It cannot be helped. I must have only men I may trust to make the jury understand how this canker has spread. It will appear no more than the usual matter of
oyer et terminer
, as the clerks write it.”

Oyer et terminer
. To hear and resolve was the order, though none knowing what I knew could have much hope that all would
indeed be resolved, however much was heard.
Da pacem, Domine
, I prayed.
Give peace in our times, O Lord, because there is none other that fighteth for us, but only Thou
.

The road was widening now that we were past the great sprawl of the abbey mills. The walls of Stratford Abbey itself were ahead, and once more we were surrounded by men and ladies. Soon we must part, so as to enter its magnificence clad in our own, in silence and glory, as King and Queen of the land.

“And how are my little girls?” said Edward.

“Bess has a cold, sire, and with the hot weather on its way we were fearful that she was in a fever, or worse. But it does seem to be no more than a rheum, and we have kept her from Mary, though she cries for her.” My own arms ached for the want of my babies, and though it was months since I had given Mary suck, my breasts prickled as if her hungry little mouth still gaped for my milk. But I said only, “Mal has shortened Bess’s coats, for she runs everywhere, and Westminster is nothing but cobbles to fall on when she trips on her skirts.”

“It is indeed. Would that I could be there more often, for a kiss and a sweetmeat will set most such woes to rights.” He grinned at me. “You must tell her nurses most straitly to take care she does not knock out a tooth. We cannot have the heiress of England gaptoothed. And what use will she be when I get a son of you, if no prince in Europe will have her?” He laughed, then said, “Ysa, I am minded to go, after all, with Margaret and your brothers to Mar-gate. I would do all I may to send her off merrily, and to show the world that I have no qualms about leaving London at such a time. Meanwhile you must make haste to get the girls away from Westminster.” Then he shifted the reins into his left hand, and stretched out the right to take mine. “If you go to Eltham, shall we meet there
on my return? I shall want much comforting for the loss of my sister. And I would comfort you for the absence of your brothers.”

When he raised my hand to kiss it, I smiled at him, slowly.

By the time we heard that Antony had seen Margaret of York safely married at Damme and entered into Bruges with processions and pageants the like of which, it was said, had never been seen before, not even in Burgundy, Edward had sent commissions to array the West Country. I knew that for every such public act a dozen nameless, faceless spies were sent out privily. And yet, for all that treason was creeping through his kingdom, for all that men secretly sent promises and even gold to France, for Marguerite and the cause of Lancaster, and others watched how the wind blew, ready to turn their coats, Edward’s temper in those days was hard to understand. It would do our worship no good to appear anxious, he said. We must not show that Lancaster’s treason was hydra-headed, that for each man caught there seemed a hundred more to find. We must live the life of a merry court, he said, and a hardworking one: a court without a fear or a care or a debt in the world. It was good policy, and yet I thought it was more than policy that made him speak thus. When he sat at meat, with the jongleurs tumbling before him or a company of singers filling the air with a sweet new song, he would stare blindly at the shafts of dusty sunlight, pulling a manchet to crumbs before calling for yet more wine. I thought a kind of accidie had crept over him, so that he would not trouble himself to do more work than was needed, though that he did do, as ever. He pored long over beautiful books, and spent more on scribes and limners than was wise. But as I watched him read, I saw in the set of his shoulders that even this pleasure was marred by the knowledge that too soon it would end.

So we played bowls on the green and threw quoits in the dry moat. We rode out to dine in silken pavilions pitched so high on Avery Hill that, looking out over the Downs, we fancied we might see into Normandy. He would ask for his daughters and tickle them till they squealed, then were overtired and fretful for the rest of the day. I might straighten my back from overlooking my household’s accounts, and see that he had paired my sons Tom and Richard Grey with Warwick’s daughters Isobel and Ann, and set them to shoot against one another at the butts. He often spoke of hunting roebuck, which was all the game that the season allowed; he would even call for horses, but as often as not would decide it was too hot, and set the dogs to race one another instead, with money on his favorite. He was seldom sober after noon; if he dined at the Palace, he would shout to the band to play glees and catches that he and a squire might sing, and the ladies dance. Nor did he often arm and fight with Hastings or my brother John, or perhaps one of the Pastons. Even if I did hear the clang of steel and the grunt of men in the great court, when I looked out from my chamber window I saw that they did but play, more like bored lads in the village street than great knights and warriors on whose fighting strength the safety and peace of the realm depended. When I asked good Archbishop Thomas of Canterbury if Edward’s soul was in danger, he shook his head. “The King may not—saving your presence, madam—live as quietly and godlily as the Church would wish. But he is shrewd, and wise, and when the time comes he will do his duty, and God will send him the strength he needs to make all well.”

Edward came often to my chamber at night. My sister Margaret or whichever ladies were in waiting that day would curtsy and slip away. Sometimes he liked to talk, or play chess, or drink
wine, but more often he would lead me straight to bed, and I never denied him. There were times when he was so drunk I could not be sure he knew it was I whom he took. There were times when I was too weary from the business of the day to do more than lie and let him do what he would. But we knew each other’s bodies and minds almost as well as we knew our own, and there were yet nights when we pleased each other well, tumbling together like new-found lovers half our age, until he came with a shout of delight that ignited my own joy.

On the nights that he came not to my bedchamber, I tried not to think of where he lay instead, or with whom. There were few women at Eltham, for the Palace is small, but it is no great ride to Deptford. Even the stews of Southwark are not so distant, and the country between is well stocked with blacksmiths’ daughters and innkeepers’ wives.

On one hot, stuffy night I lay for hours, feeling my sister Margaret’s quiet breathing beside me, then got up from my bed. I could not bear to be closed in, for all Mal’s warnings of the rheums and miasmas that the night air carried. I unlatched the casement and pushed it wide, sitting on the window-seat to breathe the cool, green air and listen to the small night sounds: the murmurs of the guard, the shift and shuffle of sleepy dogs and horses, a snore from somewhere below, the hoot of an owl. From beyond the walls came faint hoofbeats and then the call of “Who goes there?” was answered. I heard the rumble of the gate, hoofbeats now on the wooden bridge that Edward planned to make stone, and into the court a few men rode, sitting slackly on tired horses. The yellow light from the cressets splashed across their disordered dress and faces blurred with drink and whoring. Between the King and Lord Hastings rode my son Thomas.

I was not surprised when my courses did not come, and then on Saint Mary Magdalene I woke to feel my breasts swollen and aching. The days advanced; I grew giddy with sickness once again. Many a day I went with my women to sit in the privy garden, for the sun’s warmth, beating on the arbors, seemed to steady my stomach and ease the queasy aching in my bones. And if it failed, at least there were hedges to hide me when I could not forbear to spew. I was hanging over the basin my sister Margaret held, and just as I retched she began to giggle.

Having puked, I felt better. “What is it?”

“It may be a silver bowl that was a gift from the Milanese ambassador, and you may be carrying the Prince of Wales, and I may be Lady Maltravers”—she peered into the bowl, which was shaped like a shell and bore my arms—“but puke is puke, and a baby in your belly’s the same as any village brat back at Grafton.” She handed me a cloth that I might wipe my chin, and then a cup of rosemary water to rinse my mouth. I spat into the bowl, then straightened up and looked her in the eye. Even Margaret had learned enough in the last five years to have the grace to blush. “Your pardon, Your Grace, if I spoke too freely.”

But I could never be angry with Margaret for long, for she said what I might not, and said it with merriment that I too rarely felt. “No, it’s well, sister. Just take care none beyond my chamber hears you speak so.”

I was sicker with this baby than I had ever known. However much I rested I felt weary, yet sitting or lying down made the sickness worse, at least until I fell asleep. Even stitchery made my head swim. Never had the ruling, ordering, housing, feeding, paying, and journeying of a hundred or so men and women seemed so
like a labor of Hercules. In these disturbed times it had never been more urgent to husband my revenues: dower lands, customs dues, queen-gold, wardships, and rents must all be looked to, and every extra groat that might be squeezed from them collected, but never had I felt so little desire to do it. It took all my strength to hear a petition or receive an embassy with the due ceremonies. Some fluent-tongued noble from Madrid or Salzburg would bow and scrape, reel forth compliments and demand friendship, and I would stare at him, wordless. When Sir Thomas Cooke appealed against the queen-gold added to his fine, I heard the plea, and forgave him, though he was a greedy, grasping man and guilty of far more—we knew as well as he did—than he had been convicted of. The King protested to me that so much more gold in my coffers might have done great good. I wrote back most reasonably, saying that since my father had perforce sacked Cooke’s house for evidence, I had determined that a good name for clemency was worth more than even that much gold or covetable tapestries. But the truth was rather that I desired only to be done with the matter.