The King's Mistress (55 page)

It was Edward who finally engaged their enthusiasm. He took it upon himself to appear in the sewing chamber at the end of each day, to examine our progress. The women would sit with eyes meekly cast down, listening while I pointed out the fine details of their work. He would lavish praise on it and urge me on to more splendid designs, more gold, more silver … more, more, more.

“We are proclaiming the glory of England,” he would declare to the room at large. “I would dazzle my people.”

On the morrow the women would crowd round me, eager to see what I had added to the design, that they might better honor their beloved king, still the king of their hearts. I could not help but be caught up in their excitement.

When all was ready I stood in awe of the robes, the sheer spectacle in which I was to be one of the central figures. My gown, like Edward’s, was cloth of gold. The background, or warp threads, were red silk and the foreground, or weft threads, were the most delicate gold wire. Red was for the rubies associated with the sun. Once cut and fitted, our gowns were embroidered with gold thread, sunbursts surrounding balas rubies and diamonds, which were also emblematic of the sun. Even my mantle was of cloth of gold, caught in back to free my shoulders and reveal the lining, the reverse of the gown, gold background with red foreground. From my neck to the low-cut top of my bodice, I wore gold tissue so fine as to be almost invisible, sprinkled with large rubies and diamonds set in gold sunbursts, as if even my flesh were transformed. For once I might feel like his queen as I stood by Edward’s side.

On the morning of the procession my heart beat so fast I felt faint, all my earlier misgivings returned. It did not help that the elaborate headdress, of gold tissue built up to create a sunburst around my head, had to be firmly fastened to my hair, which was coiled beneath, to prevent it from taking flight. I felt the pricks whenever I made a sudden movement. Gwen needed six assistants to dress me. My hair, skin, everything, was covered in gold cloth. Finally the women stood back
from me, their eyes wide. The sempsters, standing by to make last-minute repairs, applauded.

When Gwen held the long mirror up to me, I did not recognize myself. It was how I imagined the pagan goddesses to look.

Striding into the room, deriving renewed vigor from his own glorious costume, Edward spread his arms wide and proclaimed me to be every inch the Lady of the Sun.

“You are magnificent, Alice, my beloved!”

“As are you, my king,” I said, gliding toward him to take his proffered hand. Though my headdress was light enough, my robe was not. But I did not complain. I would not ruin Edward’s day.

The ladies of the court simpered over my costume as we moved into formation for the procession, but their eyes were cold. They were to walk behind me, all in silver cloth with simple silver veils held with silver fillets, leading horses on which rode their lords, also dressed in silver. Their only jewels were pearls. Cool moonlight trailing my blazing glory.

Our procession would move through the London neighborhood of Cheapside, not so far from where I had grown up. My golden self and the wake of silvery courtiers followed a goodly distance behind Edward, who had wished for a pure white stallion but had been persuaded to ride in a gold chariot as well, so that he might save his strength for the ceremonial ride on horseback to begin the tournament. Cheering throngs greeted their king, but as he passed and all eyes turned toward my advancing chariot the cheers faded. I shall never forget their eyes, first startled, then dazed, then shocked and quickly outraged as murmurs of protest gave way to jeers.

“Whore!” they called me. “Harlot!”

Though the sun beat down warmly, I was chilled to the bone. The Londoners did not see me as a symbol of England’s glory but as the usurper of their beloved Queen Philippa. I made manifest their suspicions that the monies for the war had been spent on the court’s excess, an aged king’s obsession with his young, greedy, common mistress. Though hot with shame, I held myself straight and proud. But I knew I did not belong in that chariot.

During the entire week of festivities, I felt the threat to me whenever I passed crowds of commoners. No one touched me, there was no need. I shrank from the hatred in their eyes.

“I pray that you will look back on these glorious days with joy, Alice, and remember our love,” Edward said as we watched a joust.

I squeezed his hand and gave him my warmest, happiest smile, for I had not seen him in such a gladsome mood in many a day. I could not bring myself to tell him what little joy I felt. That he did not comprehend he had raised me too high in naming me lady of the lists was evidence of his failing mind, his increasingly frequent inability to distinguish between what he might dream about and what was acceptable behavior in a king.

I feared for Edward that he could not see the dangerous mood of the crowd regarding his extravagance. He had thought to fool them with the appearance of being yet the Sun King, the glorious warrior, the young and vital monarch, and me as his young and vital queen. The illusion had failed as I had dreaded it would.

Princess Joan had once worried me by noting that I looked like a queen. Geoffrey had warned me that folk were appalled when I wore Philippa’s jewels. But this … this went far beyond it in hubris. I remembered his warning to me of long ago about those who fell prey to their own weakness for finery and flattery.

Yet when had I the choice to be other than I was?

A
S WE
withdrew from the banqueting hall the day after the tournament, Edward and I overheard a young cleric reciting to a pretty serving maid the names the Londoners had called me. Edward’s head whipped round. I grasped his elbow and called for his page.

“Slanderer! Traitor!” Edward shouted, and with his old strength he broke free of me and boxed the cleric’s ears. Never had I seen him attack one of his subjects.

Bishop Wykeham and Richard Stury hurriedly came between them, Stury taking the arm of the whimpering cleric while Wykeham admonished the foolish young man in a voice that reassured the gathering courtiers.

“Come, Your Grace. Let us leave the rabble to their sermon,” I murmured as we were surrounded by guards who escorted us to the king’s chambers.

When we were safely behind closed doors, Edward kissed my hands, then gathered me into his trembling arms. “They do not know you, Alice, else they would not abuse you so.”

“Your love is all I require,” I murmured, feeling his agitation.

He retired to bed for several days afterward.

“I must leave court,” I told Geoffrey.

“Perhaps Fair Meadow,” he said. “The city is the worst place for you. The people say it was you who insisted on parading yourself as Edward’s queen.”

No champion defended me, for who but the king could do that, and he was incapacitated, beyond caring about the mood of the crowd.

In the end I remained by his side at his insistence, though I felt myself to be a leper at court; all eyes watching me, judging me, all avoiding contact with me. Joan agreed that it had been a dangerous choice to make me lady of the lists and parade me in a robe so much more magnificent than those of my betters, though she had not attempted to convince Edward of his folly beforehand. I wondered now whether she merely pretended to be my friend.

In late summer a party of louts descended on my manor of Finningley in Nottinghamshire, stealing some cattle and mutilating or driving off the rest—destroying crops in their stampede and holding my servants and tenants hostage in the house until they swore an oath to leave my service. The violence of the attack shook me. I thought that if I did not respond with force they would feel free to repeat the action. In truth, I wanted vengeance. But Wykeham advised me to investigate the disturbance without calling too much attention to it. I sent Robert and Richard Lyons to look into the matter and assess the damage.

Edward began to experience his spells more frequently and developed painful boils that at first we feared were marks of pestilence. But his physicians were confident they were caused by something in his diet and his often-agitated spirits. That they remained by his side and cared for him reassured me more than their words had done. After a visit in which Bella proved a calming presence, Edward asked often for her, and with the permission of her abbess she came to help me in the long vigils in his chamber. I, too, found her a great comfort.

As my beloved succumbed to the toll of his years and his maladies, I felt increasingly helpless to draw him back to the present, to clarity. My paternoster beads and my sewing kept my hands busy when I was with him, and when I was away from him I knelt in the chapel or rode until exhausted, my tears a sacrificial offering to the wind, as if I believed the air so mingled with my essence might enter Edward and revive him. I wanted him back with me. I wanted our lives to be as they had been.

My sweet Bella was my succor and delight in those dark days. When
Edward slept, she and I would sit in my chamber and talk of him. Bella wished to know all about our years together, about the joys we had shared. She asked about her father as well. I had always hesitated to tell her the story of his family’s loyalty to the dowager queen and the tragedy it had wrought, fearing that she would hate Edward for his mother’s part in it and blame me for staying with him. Now it seemed the right time to tell her everything. I spun out the story over the course of several evenings. Her behavior toward me subtly changed during those days. She was watchful, curious, and in the end sympathetic.

When I had completed the tale, Bella reached over to me, putting one hand to either side of my face, and held me gently, looking deep into my eyes. After a while, she kissed my forehead. It felt like both a blessing and an absolution.

“I almost said that I did not know how unhappy you were, but that is not true. I have always sensed an unspeakable sorrow beneath your gaiety,” she said. “Why did you never tell me this?”

“I did not wish you to grow up beneath a cloud,” I said. “When I saw how frightened you were in Queen Joan’s household, I was determined never to send you back and to do all that I could to give you the joy Janyn and I meant you to have.”

Bella bowed her head for a moment, the veil hiding her face from me. I feared she was weeping and my old guilt was rekindled. Though I’d had no choice, I had felt then I should have insisted on seeing her more often. But when my daughter looked up, she had regained her equanimity.

“In truth, I have some happy memories of my life there. Few include Queen Joan, not because she was unpleasant or frightening to me but simply because she had little to do with her wards. The household servants saw to us, and most of them were kind. No harm was done by my being there, except that I missed you and Father.”

Later, as we lay side by side in my great bed, she said, “It was always painful to be parted from you. I feared you would disappear as Father and Grandmother Tommasa had.”

“Was I then wrong not to tell you?”

She rolled over on her side and kissed my cheek. “It was probably best that you waited until the king was so ill, since I cannot find it in my heart to condemn him.”

I found the courage then to explore my fears about her vocation. She was now Dame Isabella—she had taken her vows at fifteen. “Did
you choose to take religious vows because of my liaison with Edward?” I asked.

“No, Mother, I have told you over and over again—I was called, and have no regrets.”

My daughter had grown up to be not only wise, pious, and beautiful, but compassionate, too. I was grateful for it and terribly proud of her.

“What will you do when His Grace is gone?” she asked.

“I do not like to think of it, Bella. For a while I will allow myself to grieve—for Janyn and for Edward.”

My daughter nestled closer and put a protective arm round me. “May God grant you peace after all this.”

I prayed for the same, but did not dare to hope too much.

I believe Bella spoke to the king’s physicians, for without my saying anything about being exhausted or heavy of heart they came to me as a group to suggest that I spend some time away from Edward’s sickbed. I resisted the idea at first, but Bella convinced me that I would return to him with a lighter heart, which might do him good as well.

A
FTER A
few days of rest at my home in London, I invited Robert and Richard to discuss the repairs to Finningley and the reparation to be paid to those who had been injured or imprisoned by the attackers. Robert spoke with confidence about setting all to rights, but his expression was guarded. When he was finished, he and Richard exchanged a look. Richard nodded and sat forward, taking his turn to speak.

“A number of those who worked at Finningley wish to leave your service,” he said. “Some out of fear of further reprisals and some because they have come to believe the lies their attackers have spread about you.”

I had imagined the former but not the latter, having prided myself on being a caring and responsive landlord.

“What sorts of lies? You can tell me, Richard. I am not so fragile, and should know what people say of me.”

Robert interrupted. “Alice, perhaps—”

I shook my head at him. “Go on, Richard.”

It was a long and varied list. I had put a spell on the king and replaced his counsellors with my business partners and lovers. I’d prevented his wise counsellors from seeing him. Had weakened his
manhood with fornication. I was blamed for high prices, the loss of the Aquitaine, even the debilitating illness of Prince Edward.

“Dear God in heaven, they believe me to be a sorceress!”

Richard took my hands and waited until I looked into his eyes. “You will survive all this, my friend. We will make certain of it.”

I could not see how, but was moved by their loyalty and love. I thanked them and withdrew to my room, where I knelt and prayed that Edward might return to health long enough for me somehow to redeem myself in the eyes of the people. Foolish prayers.

O
NE EVENING
in London, after the children were abed, Robert found me silently weeping by the dying fire in the hall. He joined me on the bench and put his arm round me. I leaned against his shoulder and took deep, shuddering breaths. With his free hand he stroked my hair, and whether he spoke the words or I just divined them from his heartbeat, I heard his gentle reassurance that all would be well, that Edward could not have found a more loving companion for his last years, that I was yet young and would find love again. I felt my body and my mind released from grief for a while.