The Jewels of Warwick (19 page)

 

 

They'd been corresponding regularly ever since her arrival at court.
She had written her first letter to him whilst the King was still on
progress, and recorded her immediate impressions, the polite yet
impersonal mingling in the great hall, the magnificent Windsor
Castle with its gateways and central round keep. Her chambers were
sparsely decorated yet tasteful, her bed soft and feathery, her
chambermaids cordial and sincere.

 

 

Matthew wrote back that Topaz was being cool and detached as of
late. He took it as an ominous oracle—she'd been distant and aloof
ever since that last revelation of her plans. She now spent all her
time either with the animals, with the boys, or locked in her
study—conspiring, as they both knew, and doing little to act as a
true wife.

 

 

She'd written back, telling him not to fret. But, God's foot, did
this stream of events go topsy-turvy! She now found herself telling
him of her relationship with the King, and the pen flew scratchingly
across the parchment, pouring out her doubts and fears as well as
her fervent desire to please the King in every way.

 

 

Now do not let this shock you, dear Matthew, but the King is
determined to free himself of Catherine by having the marriage
annulled...and has asked me to be his wife. Me! Amethyst, the
daughter of the murdered and martyred Earl of Warwick, the future
queen consort! He cares not about my background, but most
importantly he knows not of Topaz. I cannot in good conscience
consider marrying someone who engages in endless dalliances with
every maiden of his fancy, while still married to the Queen! No
doubt he would carry on the same pattern of behavior should I ever
agree to marry him...but does anyone dare refuse the King of
England? But dear God, Matthew, I do love him so! Please pray for
my soul!

 

 

She did not know what else to write, for already his news was old.
Who knew what would be happening by the time her letter reached him?
Oh, how she wished he were there for her, just as she had been there
for him that day in the rose garden.

 

 

She sighed and sealed the letter carefully with wax and her own
personal seal. How different her life was now, only a few short
months after her brush with death. Topaz, her own sister, had tried
to kill her. Now she was the King's mistress and had the prospect of
becoming queen herself being dangled in front of her.

 

 

Which made her, more than ever, her sister's rival.

 

 

Then there was Matthew. Images of her near death experience and how
she had been pulled back from the brink continued to haunt her. Her
brother in law's messages, gifts, all had been tokens of esteem more
lover-like than brotherly.

 

 

Was it possible that Matthew…

 

 

But no. What man who had ever loved her sister could look twice at
another woman, let alone herself. Nay, it was unthinkable.

 

 

And yet as their hands had touched that day….

 

 

She reached for the letter, suddenly ashamed. Almost threw it in the
fire. Instead, she went out in search of a servant to have the
missive dispatched at once.

 

 

She had become the King's lover. There was no going back. And so she
would remain, until he tired of her, or she was crowned queen…

 

 

 

CHAPTER TWENTY

 

 

Richmond Palace

 

 

"Sire, I simply adore being your personal musician..." Amethyst
declared truthfully, her fingers poised over the keyboard in Henry's
conservatory while he tuned his lute. "But..." She hesitated,
turning to him. He looked up and held her gaze, urging her on.

 

 

"Yes...but what?"

 

 

"I believe the other minstrels are a bit slighted. I do not want
them resenting me, too, for they are my closest companions...apart
from you."

 

 

"Oh, is that all?" He laughed, his voice touched with relief. "The
other minstrels aren't as gifted as you, dear lady. They cannot sing
like you, they cannot pour their hearts into the strains of my own
compositions as you can. You have what they do not—a feel for my
music, an understanding of why I wrote it, the emotion behind the
busy runs up and down the scale, taking the extra trouble to add the
pretty mordants, the significance of writing one piece in a major
key and another in the minor."

 

 

"Do I, sire?" She had noticed, lately, that his music was losing its
gaiety, its lightheartedness. It was transforming itself from light
entertainment to an expression of the King's deeper emotions,
becoming more sorrowful, more sullen. Lately his music was an
outlet, not only of his creativity, but also of his anguish.

 

 

"Indeed you do, my lady. What I've told you, I have not shared with
another."

 

 

When their eyes met once again, he smiled, and she noticed for the
first time a furrow in his brow she'd never seen before.
He is
troubled
, she thought.
We both are
.

 

 

A few weeks later, they were riding through the fields east of
Windsor. It was a perfect day for riding. The October breeze was
warm and dotted with pockets of coolness. The landscape was a rich
tapestry of vivid browns, burnt oranges and muted golds, bursts of
color in radiant rejoinder to the sun's golden rays, the sky a clean
blue backdrop. The wind sighed through the trees, and they obeyed
its command.

 

 

Their palfreys flew over the lush fields and Amethyst's mount
galloped alongside the King's, keeping up so perfectly that they
were able to engage in conversation all the way.

 

 

"Shall we picnic here?" he asked, signaling to the grooms and
servants that had joined them.

 

 

She nodded and he helped her down from her mount in a most
lover-like manner.

 

 

They settled under a sprawling oak, its burnished leaves fluttering
to the ground like fragile shreds of parchment, and spread a linen
cloth on the ground. The grooms busied themselves with their repast
out of earshot while Henry and Amethyst enjoyed a private interlude.

 

 

"I've told Catherine," he stated simply, flipping open the basket
lid and extracting a small drumstick, which he handed to her.

 

 

Her stomach churned and she licked at her lips, for her mouth had
suddenly gone dry. She'd dreaded this inevitable day. She tried to
keep her voice steady. "And...what did she say, my lord?"

 

 

"After an emotional outburst that quite unnerved me, she began
screaming and raving, half in Spanish, no less. Eventually, when she
became coherent, she refused to believe me. She looked at me as if I
were making the entire thing up, for my amusement, like I'm a bloody
mummer.

 

 

"I explained it all to her...how the Pope erred in issuing the
dispensation for us to marry. I told her how it was torturing my
conscience that we were not truly man and wife, and I explained that
all the theologians and canonists agreed that we were living in
mortal sin. She refuses to believe any of it. Catherine, of all
people, the one I thought would understand, all she has to do is
re-read the Scriptures for the millionth time. God's truth, she
rattles it off like she wrote it herself."

 

 

"Does she doubt the credibility of all the churchmen you'd
consulted, a woman a pious as Catherine?"

 

 

"That is what makes it all the more difficult, because she blamed
Wolsey for the whole thing, for instigating a plot, and for
influencing me into believing our marriage is not valid, for delving
too deeply into Scriptures and misinterpreting them, twisting them
to serve his own dogmas, and finding things that simply weren't
there.

 

 

"Then she accused him of wanting to cast her aside so I can marry a
French princess and produce an heir to reign over France and
England. I must say, her accusation on that point might have been
valid a few years ago. Wolsey has always believed that the King of
England should rule France, as in the past. But in the end, she
believes we are both victims of Wolsey's cunning devices.

 

 

"The truth is, Wolsey was as shocked as anyone when I first
approached him with the idea. I would suppose telling Catherine that
it was entirely Wolsey's idea would ease this strain a bit. But
Wolsey has been such a faithful servant to me, my naming him the
perpetrator would just turn him against me...and God knows, I do
need Wolsey more than ever."

 

 

"There usually is one partner who does not desire the annulment.
'Tis rarely a mutual break, my lord. But despite all her reasons, I
am sure she will see that it is best for both of you, and your
agenda can no longer include her."

 

 

She hadn't meant to sound vindictive towards Catherine. As a
reasonable person herself, she thought everyone should be
reasonable.

 

 

"When, Amethyst, when? I cannot see her backing down without a long,
hard fight. She is adamant. She insists she had never been married
to Arthur. She guards that virginity she maintained in their
marriage bed as if the crown jewels were 'twixt her thighs... Then I
tried to convince her we were without issue, that all our children
had died."

 

 

"But what of the Princess Mary?" she reminded him gently.

 

 

His handsome mouth turned down. "That is exactly what she said! What
of her indeed? A daughter cannot rule! She will marry into foreign
royalty, and with it goes the entire kingdom! Why cannot you women
see what a disaster that would be?"

 

 

"We women see certain things a bit differently, my lord," she said
regally. "We only see love and what we can do to secure a happy
future with the people we love."

 

 

He turned away and slapped his palms on his thighs. "Are you with me
or against me on this, Amethyst? What is your choice? I want it
before we go any further!"

 

 

Another demand. Why did every question have to be put this way?
"Why...I wish whatever will make everyone happy, sire..." Merely
telling King Henry what he wanted to hear wouldn't work in this
instance. It would catch up with her in the end, she knew it. "I
want you to be happy, as well as the Queen and Princess."

 

 

"That is impossible! That woman will never be happy!" he exclaimed,
shaking his head in exasperation, looking helpless, even mortal, in
a way she'd never seen him before. But of course—it was the first
serious dilemma he'd ever had to face in his life. "And she poisons
my daughter against me–"

 

 

"She has no need to do so. The child feels cast off by a father who
sees her as a mere girl and an obstacle to his desires."

 

 

"By God, you witch, whose side–"

 

 

"I take no sides. I wish no one to be unhappy, but you are right,
England must be safe. My own wishes have naught to do with the
matter at this point. I love my life with you and while it is not
perfect, it is more than I ever could have dreamed. So do what you
think is best. You will work it out, my lord. I know you will. You
have that special way of doing everything."

 

 

He always loved hearing that; he seemed to need the constant
reassurance. She always felt safe enough telling him that. He
reached over and embraced her tightly.

 

 

"I pleaded with her not to repeat any of this to anyone, lest her
nephew Charles stick his nose into it."

 

 

"Then surely you will not require my answer for quite some time, my
lord."

 

 

"Ah, you wish to keep me in suspense for the duration of the
untangling of this travesty of a marriage?"

 

 

"No, sire..." She shook her head. Why did he have that uncanny knack
of making her sound like the villain? She hoped to eventually master
her way round that. "I just meant that we should take one step at a
time. I still have a lot of thinking to do and if we go public with
our relationship at this time, well…."

 

 

"What is stopping you, Amethyst? You know how badly I want you, and
I daresay you want me. We are well suited for each other, we
appreciate each other's talents and beauty and style and grace," he
listed what sounded like his own virtues, easily lifting her to his
lofty heights with him. "Come, what is really stopping you? There is
something, I know it. Why do you not wish to be my queen?"

 

 

Escaping his impatient gaze, she turned to the beautiful day, the
pearly ribbons of clouds above her, the orange clusters in a distant
vegetable patch, felt the soothing shade of the graceful oak under
which they sat, their horses grazing contentedly beside them, the
servants at a comfortable distance. She placed her uneaten drumstick
on the plate and thought carefully.

 

 

"I want very much to be your queen, sire, but several things stop
me. You may not believe you are married in your heart, but in the
eyes of the Church and the kingdom, and most of all, the Queen, you
are still very much her husband. The Queen is much loved of the
people. And until this matter is solved, either by the Church or
whomever you must consult to end it, I do not feel you should expect
me to consider marrying you. And to ensure that I wouldn't bring
forth an illegitimate child to trouble things further, I've been to
a physician in Richmond. He inserted a pebble into my womb."

 

 

He looked surprised. "And it bothers you not?"

 

 

"Nay...I am not even aware of its presence."