The Uncrowned Queen (40 page)

Strangely, as he took the basket from her and rocked it in his arms, the crying stopped and le Dain found himself gazed upon by four blue eyes. Were they—was it—really watching him? Perhaps this was proof of Devil-born powers, or was it just the accidental focus of the newborn? Le Dain, himself a father, was unsure. If this was a demonic creature, perhaps it was the former. But having held his own newborn children in his hands, he felt some certainty it was the latter.

Nodding to the door-wards, he motioned for the girl to follow him into the Presence chamber. “Come. The king is most interested in your monster.”

The girl winced and blushed with shame. She was not used to it yet—being the mother of a minion of darkness. Joining her hands together protectively over her breasts, an unconsciously touching gesture, the girl hurried after the great official. She longed to cross herself, but was confused. If she was the Devil's creature, perhaps she would be turned to ash by the power of a disgusted God if she sought His comfort and protection?

The king watched the odd party approach with dread and fascination. If this girl was Satan's own infernal Madonna, why did she not look more impressive? She was humble and small and terrified. But perhaps this was a cunning disguise, a glamour?

“Show me.”

Le Dain put the now-silent monster's basket on the lowest step of the dais and signaled for the girl to come forward. She was so frightened it seemed entirely right that she should crawl toward the Presence throne on her knees, the rustle of her dress the loudest noise in that chilly room. Reaching into the basket, she lifted out
her child, wrapping it tenderly in its woolen covering. Once the baby was in her arms, she cuddled it against her chest, without thinking, and the smell of the leaking milk started the two little mouths mewling. Both small heads turned toward her, desperately seeking to suckle. Helpless tears dripped down the mother's face, as, ignoring the cries, she held her child away from her body so the king could inspect what she carried.

“Sit. Show me how you feed it.”

The young woman scrambled to do as she was ordered. Daring to whisper comfort to her baby, she plumped down onto the step and unlaced the front of her dress as fast as she could while both little heads wailed vigorously.

“There now, there now, not long. Here, here it is…”

Modestly, she turned away from Louis de Valois and the crying subsided into urgent snuffles when she placed the body of the baby across her lap and directed one budlike mouth to one nipple. Then, with greater difficulty, she succeeded in offering the other breast to the second head at the same time. Like most healthy babies, this one settled in to nurse vigorously, gulping the milk from the marble-white breasts, both heads suckling.

It was a sweet sight, despite the poignant oddness of the little pink “lobster claws” that crept up to rest near the mother's nipples and the added surprise of the third arm, its claw now resting in the valley between the girl's breasts, opening and closing in unison with each suck the two-headed child took.

Peace stole over the face of the harried girl as she watched her baby feed with all the tenderness any new mother feels. She rearranged the child's covering carefully, making certain the strange little thing was warm.

The king beckoned le Dain forward until the man stood beside the Presence chair. He found himself whispering when he spoke. “What is it, do you think?”

Le Dain, as fascinated as the king, replied without thinking, “God alone knows.”

Louis looked at his advisor sharply. “God, you think? Not…?” He would not say the name, instead crossing himself
and fervently kissing a silk bag of holy bones hanging around his neck. “Should it be killed?” the king continued.

The girl heard him and her eyes were sudden terrified saucers, the pupils so huge the blue was drowned. Simultaneously, the child opened both mouths and screamed. Had it heard the king also?

The two men looked at each other fearfully as, with shaking fingers, the girl persuaded first one head, and then the other, to reattach itself to her nipples. Four small eyes closed as the mouths suckled once more, and the mother rocked back and forth, back and forth, to comfort her baby. Or herself.

“Perhaps, Your Majesty, this… child is a symbol?” Le Dain heard his own words with surprise. He'd called it a child.

The king nodded as he gazed at the domestic scene in front of him. “The war. God has sent us a sign about the English war. I see that now.”

Le Dain smiled with relief at his master. “I am certain you are right, Your Majesty.” Nodding vigorously, always the courtier, he bowed. “I, of course, do not have the power to see. But Your Majesty, anointed by God, knows well those things that are mysteries to the common people.”

The king inclined his head with magisterial gravity, acknowledging the compliment. “It is very clear, le Dain. See, two heads: this signifies the two kings. Myself and Edward Plantagenet. Three arms: these are the armies that lie between us—the joint army of France and England; the army of Burgundy; and his army, the army of York. Two are mighty and one is smaller.” Louis waved to each of the little limbs in turn; the third, attached at the chest, was certainly smaller. “The army of York—see how powerless it is, trapped between the two others. Also these arms symbolize the three states that are at war: France, England, and Burgundy. Burgundy is the smallest arm, of course.”

Le Dain allowed a certain breathless rapture into his voice. “Of course! And the… hands?” He had nearly said “claws.”

The king frowned. This was more testing.

“They are not as mortal hands, it is true.” Each man contemplated the strange little flippers. “And yet, there is a message here
also.” Unbidden, le Dain dropped to his knees and bowed his head reverently, as if to receive the host at mass.

Gently, the girl detached one little mouth from her breast. The head's eyes were closed; it was asleep, like any normal baby after a feed. Strangely, the other small head still suckled, its eyes glancing around the room while its mouth was busy.

“Yes. The hands are as mighty weapons. See, they have the shape of claws. Claws can snap shut and crush their prey. Now see, also—one head sleeps and the other does not. It is very strange, but this is what God has told me. Behold, the true king anointed by God must never sleep, must never be lulled, or destruction awaits. I am the true king of France. Edward Plantagenet is a usurper! I must be unsleeping. And I will crush my prey, the false king, while he sleeps!”

Le Dain had never heard Louis so elated and had certainly never heard him happy before. He was awed. This was a miraculous day. He forbore to point out that the likelihood of Edward Plantagenet actually sleeping at this time of national danger to his realm was unlikely. Louis de Valois stood and pointed at the girl below him. Instinctively, she huddled herself over her child, shielding its tiny body from the gaze of the king.

“Do not fear, girl. Your child is a sign from God! It will be protected by your king, for it has much to teach us.”

Louis waved his hand over the girl's head, which le Dain took to mean dismissal of them both. He clapped his hands and suppressed a spasm of irritation as the girl looked up at him fearfully, like a sheep about to be slaughtered but accepting of its fate. Bowing, he backed down the steps of the dais as quickly as he could and hissed, “Be quick.” Trying to oblige, the girl handed him the child as she fumbled with the lacings of her dress. This informal, human moment was an affront to the status of the advisor, but the gratitude of the girl salved his dignity. She was really very pretty, and quite plainly she saw him as her savior and the savior of her child. That might be useful. A symbol always had value and he would control access to this particular symbol. And its mother.

Le Dain meditated on this fact as he, the girl, and the child approached
the door of the Presence chamber, both walking backward as fast at they could.

The king's voice stopped them. “What is the sex?”

The girl looked at the chamberlain in mute terror. He smiled as kindly as a parent, which confused her, though hope sparked in her eyes. “It is a girl, Your Majesty,” she whispered.

The king looked puzzled. “A girl? A girl…” Then enlightenment brightened his eyes. “Ah, I see. A girl: the weaker sex. Yes! The army of God will subdue that which is weaker. An excellent omen for our cousin, Queen Margaret of England. This is very clear!”

“But, this is marvelous, Lord King. A wonder!” cried le Dain. “Perhaps I may repeat these revelations—to comfort the court, and the country?”

The king nodded in gracious assent. “Yes. Comfort my people. Let it be published throughout the realm. And guard this child and her mother well. There is much for us to ponder upon. God wishes this child to flourish as a marvel for us all. She shall be called Louisa. That is our command.”

Overwhelmed, the girl, previously Satan's minion, fell to her knees and knocked her head on the floor with gratitude. When she finally looked up, dazed, she saw a speculative light in the advisor's eye as he gazed down upon her swollen breasts. Tentatively, she smiled at her new protector as he picked up the basket that contained her daughter. Slow certainty replaced fear. She would live. And so would her child. And her husband would just have to get used to the situation.

Their two-headed monster might prove a blessing after all.

“But how much aid and support will Duke Charles give the king?”

It was late, and at Blessing House in London—Mathew Cuttifer's home in the capital—the fire in the solar was burning low. Mathew, Lady Margaret, and Anne had spent the night discussing the situation in Burgundy but Anne was so weary it was hard to focus on the conversation. She blinked and rubbed her eyes; it felt as if there were sand beneath her lids.

“I'm sorry, Sir Mathew, but all I know is that the duke met with the king on the day after the Christ-mass. And Ed—the king was hopeful that he would get what he needed. We left in a hurry you see and…” The girl tried in vain to stifle a yawn.

Lady Margaret stood up decisively. “Mathew, we can continue this conversation in the morning. Anne is exhausted. She's been on that boat for days, what with the contrary winds.”

“Ship, my dear. Your ship.” Mathew liked people to get their facts right.

Margaret flashed him a glance. “Anne needs sleep more than correct terminology, Mathew. We can talk again tomorrow. At least she's safe and so is little Edward. Everything else is of secondary concern.”

“And Leif.” Anne stood slowly, yearning to stretch the ache from her bones but feeling she must suppress the urge. It was odd. Automatic respect for her former master and mistress took her
back to the constrained role of servant; the body-maid she'd once been in this very room. She must be tired to be haunted by such thoughts.

“Leif?” Mathew looked confused.

“Leif's safe also. As is the
Lady Margaret
. Thank God.”

Margaret put her arm around Anne's waist. “Leif served you well, my dear. And he has served the house of Cuttifer most faithfully also.”

“About time he did some actual work!” Mathew muttered, but he caught his wife's eye and closed his mouth with an audible snap. He had a somewhat different view of Leif's service to Anne.

“Do not be angry with Leif, Sir Mathew. He was very torn between his duty to you and getting little Edward, Deborah, and me back to London alive.” There was much else Anne could have said, but did not.

“And we're very glad he did, but now it's time for bed. I'll find Jassy—she's given you our newest chamber. You'll like it: it's big and it's even got a fireplace. No more smoky braziers in this house! Deborah and the child are there now, I think. Stay here, Anne. I'll return in a moment.”

Lady Margaret hurried out of the solar, but not before casting one more glance at her husband. Be nice, said that look. Be kind.

Mathew cleared his throat. “Leif did well, in the end. And I'm glad to have him back. There is much to do with our ships and not much time. I want them taken out of the pool and around to Bristol. If the rebels get as far as London, they'll loot and burn everything as they come—on land and on water.”

Anne said nothing. Leif had said a hasty good-bye earlier this evening and hurried away to do Sir Mathew's bidding. He'd caught Anne's glance just once before he left, but she'd lowered her eyes from his, shaken by the intensity of his gaze. Now he was gone and she felt hollow.

Mathew interrupted her brooding thoughts. “Aren't you hungry at all, Lady Anne? You must eat.” There was food placed on a coffer but Anne had eaten almost nothing throughout the evening. “It's not good to go to bed on an empty stomach. Let me give you a little of the egg cream at least? You'll sleep well on that.”

He was as anxious as an old hen; Anne did that to him, even now. He well remembered when she'd come as a servant to this house all those years ago, just an ordinary girl—but with an extraordinary smile and something different about her manner. Different, all right. To think they'd harbored a princess—baseborn, but still the daughter of a king—under their roof and not known it. And she'd once been their servant!