The King’s Concubine: A Novel of Alice Perrers

by Anne O'Brien

“My dearest Lionel.”

  “I can explain.…”

  “I’m sure there were reasons.…”

  “But will my father listen?” He angled a sly glance from his mother’s face toward the King. As for the rest of us, we might not have existed in this complex throwing down of a family gauntlet.

  Ah…!

  The chill, that same strange sensation of awareness, brushed along my spine again. And again I shivered, an unpleasant prickle of cold on nape and arm. It fluttered over my skin, strong enough that it was almost a knowledge. Someone in this room was taking note of me, watching me. Someone had more than a passing interest in me. I looked around, over the men of Lionel’s entourage, but nothing came to snatch at my interest. I could see no face turned toward me. All were intent on the standoff between king and errant son. And why should anyone single me out? Here I was simply one of the damsels, anonymous, faceless, to serve and support the Queen.

  Yet the feeling remained. Someone had an eye for me.

  “Your father will listen,” Philippa urged, soothed. “But not now. Later. When we have celebrated your homecoming. Five years—it’s five years since I saw you last.” Her face was luminous with maternal delight.

  Edward expressed as little delight as he had admiration, but he exhaled on a grunt. “I suppose the recriminations can wait. Your mother’s glad to see you. You need some lessons in managing a difficult province—not everything can be solved with a show of force and sharp-toothed legislation. It needs…” He closed his teeth on what was about to become a lecture in high politics. “But we’ll feast your return first.”

  He gave the signal for the audience to end. As I began to help the Queen to her feet, I felt that same scrutiny, as if it were stripping away my skin to peer into my soul. But only Wykeham was interested in my soul, and he was still constructing battlements at Windsor. Quickly I looked up, around, determined to catch the culprit who dared to stare at me—and there he was. One of Lionel’s coterie, he pinned his gaze on me in a vulgar stare.

  I refused to return the contact. I would not be intimidated. I allowed my gaze to rove innocently over the ranks as if I sought someone I knew. And all the time I was aware that his gleaming appraisal did not waver.

  Who was he?

  How dared he!

  So be it. Without pretense, I returned his regard, stare for stare.

  He was a bold man, for sure. He neither looked away nor smiled in apology. He was older than the Prince but by no more than ten years, to my assessment. He had a harsh face, but was not unattractive—if it were not for the saturnine lines drawn from nose to mouth. No, he was not a handsome man. Clean shaven, I noted, not the usual fashion of the day, and his dark hair closer cropped than the prevailing mode. His eyes were unremarkable in color, dark rather than light, but direct and with no embarrassment at being detected staring at one of the Queen’s damsels. His jaw was disfigured by a faint scar that showed white against skin ruddy from recent campaigning. His clothes were of fine quality but functional, as was his sword, a good steel blade without decoration. As for the jewels of a courtier, alone of all the company he wore none, but I did not think that he lacked the means, rather the inclination. His mouth was set in an uncompromising line. I imagined he gave away no secrets—unless he wished to.

  He was a soldier rather than a courtier, I decided. And no, I did not know him.

  I lifted my brows, forcing him into a reaction, and he made a curt little inclination of his head. It pleased me to give no acknowledgment whatsoever; I turned my back on him to take the Queen’s missal into safekeeping as she made her slow progress to her rooms, Lionel beside her. I followed, feeling that stare continuing to stab between my shoulder blades until we had left the room.

  Well! I did not like Lionel overmuch. I liked even less this man in Lionel’s company who had had the impudence to single me out. He had too many dark corners for my liking.

  In regal style, the King ordered a celebration. Edward reveled in celebrations. It was his delight to glory in splendor in which he could play the central role. Was there ever a king to match him, one who could prance and flap with supreme confidence in the gilded costume of a gigantic bird, purely for the entertainment of his children? But not on this occasion. This was a feast with a scant nod in the direction of music and dancing but little else: barely enough of a spectacle to drain the contempt for Lionel’s failures in Ireland from Edward’s face. Edward handed a purse of coin to Andrew Claroncel, his favorite minstrel, to end the singing barely before it had begun. All in all it promised to be a long evening. I took my seat below the high table with a sharp glance at the man who had been placed beside me on my right.

  My companion for the feast was the insolent man from the audience chamber. And I would have wagered my sables that it was no coincidence he had the stool next to me. How had he achieved that? A bribe passed smoothly into the palm of Edward’s steward? His eyes that raked my face—dark gray, I noted now at far too close quarters—were as audacious as I had first thought.

  “Mistress Perrers.”

  He stood until I had taken my seat, and it pleased me to make him wait, shaking out my skirts and disposing them elegantly. And wait he did, forcing me to admit that his manners were excellent. With a bland courtesy and a neat bow he finally sat, his actions brisk and controlled, but with a surprising elegance. So he had not spent all his life in the saddle; he had absorbed some of the skills of the courtier, even in Ireland.

  “You know my name, sir.” I met his open appraisal with studied disinterest. “How is that?”

  “You are not unknown at Court, mistress.” His voice was smoother than I had expected, and his reply interestingly enigmatic. I thought he masked the full truth. “You are even spoken of in Ireland,” he added.

  So he hoped I would ask what was said of me. I would not. I picked up my cup and drank from it.

  “What I don’t know,” he pursued, imperturbable, “is what is your family?”

  And I remembered, the past suddenly stark and bleak in my mind. The gossip of my infancy. The abandoned child. The bastard of a whore and a common peasant. The purse of gold coins that might or might not have ever existed. And I shrugged. None of it mattered now. But I resented his stirring of the memories.

  “I have no family,” I remarked.

  And I turned my back, leaning over to exchange views with an elderly knight who sat on my left. It was astonishing, the range of topics I could find to discuss with this aging soldier, who looked askance at me and showed more interest in his food. I sighed, weary of his monosyllabic responses. And was unwise enough to glance in my silent companion’s direction. He was watching me with rare humor.

  “Well?” I should not have responded, but I did.

  “Have you finished at last?” he asked, showing his teeth in a smile that made me instantly wary. “I would not have believed your conversation could be so fatally dull, lady. Sir Ralph must have fallen asleep with the excitement of it. Even I could find it difficult to be enthusiastic about the length of time it takes the Court to transport itself from Havering to the Tower of London!”

  “At least I had the good manners to talk to my neighbor, sir,” I retaliated. “You have failed lamentably.” He had not exchanged one word with the damsel on his other side.

  How did I know? Well, I had listened, hadn’t I?

  “I thought you might wish to know my name,” he remarked inconsequentially.

  “Not particularly. But since we are trapped here together for the length of this meal…Who are you?” I could not resist after all. Oh, I knew who he was well enough—I had used my time effectively between audience and feast—but it would not hurt to dent his male pride. “Since you know my name, sir, it would be only common courtesy to tell me yours. And since you arranged to sit beside me…”

  With a glint of appreciation in his eye, he waited until a page had refilled both our cups with a smooth Bordeaux. He sipped slowly before placing the cup at his elbow. He would make m
e wait too. I might have smiled, but did not, suspecting that this man would be quick to detect weaknesses in friend and enemy alike, and be even quicker to make use of them. So far I had no idea into which category I fell.

  “I am William de Windsor, madam.”

  I gave an impertinent lift of my shoulder, a gesture I had watched Isabella employ with finesse.

  He was unimpressed. “I have worked in Ireland, for the Earl of Clarence.”

  Which told me no more than I already knew. He was looking at me, still smiling, and to my discomfort I found that my blood flowed warmly into my face.

  “Why were you staring at me?” I asked.

  “I find you interesting.”

  “Interesting? You make me sound like a new battle plan!”

  “I think we are very alike, madam.”

  “Are we? I don’t see it, William de Windsor. You are far prettier than I.”

  That took him aback. He gave a bark of a laugh. “And you are more forthright than I had anticipated. An unusual trait in a woman. In my experience women usually dissemble.”

  “I do not.” I imagined that his experience with women was as wide as the Thames at Tilbury. “Tell me why we are alike.”

  “Oh, I don’t think I will. Not yet.” He raised his cup in a little toast.

  And I turned back to make another dull stab at conversation with Sir Ralph, as if Windsor’s reply did not engage my interest. But it did. He knew it did. He waited until my knight buried himself in his platter of roast venison, and picked up the conversation as if there had been no hiatus.

  “I’ve changed my mind, Mistress Perrers. You are a woman worthy of my confidence, so I’ll tell you the manner of our similarity. We are both ambitious.”

  I stared at him.

  “We are both self-interested.”

  Again I kept my counsel, watching him over the rim of my cup.

  “We both come from nothing.”

  I would not respond. What was this man implying?

  “Have you not one acerbic comment to make to my observations, Mistress Perrers?”

  “Do we both come from nothing, sir?”

  “In the order of things, yes, we do. My father was a minor knight who made no name for himself in his long life. Windsor of Greyrigg, a poor backwater in Westmoreland with nothing to recommend it but sheep and rain. I abandoned Greyrigg as fast as I could and became a soldier, as any ambitious lad would. Fame, fortune, wealth—that’s what I wanted, and that’s what I got. I fought at Poitiers and made a name for myself. In recent years I have attached my star to Lionel. He may not be perfect, but I consider him to be the most able of the royal brood.” I found myself laughing at so flagrant a criticism, regardless of who might be listening, as Windsor’s eyes shifted to where Lionel sat next to the Queen, entertaining her with wit and sparkle. Then he came back to me.

  “We have both made our way in the world. You as a damsel to the Queen”—his remarkable lack of expression told me that he knew exactly the nature of my relationship with the King—“and I as one of Lionel’s counselors.”

  “And this is of interest to me, Sir William, because…?”

  He frowned. “I’m not sure, if truth be told. But for some reason I feel our stars might rise together.”

  Now, that intrigued me, but I raised my brows in some species of mild interest.

  “My skills are in fighting and hardheaded administration,” he pursued without self-deprecation. “What are yours? How bright will your star shine?”

  I flushed. The implication was obvious, his stare as sharp-pointed as Master Humphrey’s boning knife, but I refused to be needled into indiscretion. “I think my star shines very brightly without your intervention, sir.”

  “Not as bright or as fast as mine, mistress. Military service allows an able and ambitious man to build up a goodly fortune.”

  “Through embezzlement, corruption, ransom money, and loot?” I had done more than a little investigating of my own.

  He laughed, a cheerful note above the noise of the roisterers, causing a few eyes to turn in our direction. “You have been gossiping, Mistress Perrers.”

  “I have, Sir William.”

  “And you knew my name from the first.”

  “Of course.”

  “Well, I can’t blame you for it. It’s a wise man who knows who he deals with.”

  “And, undoubtedly, a wise woman.” I leaned a little closer to murmur in his ear, “But I will not deal with you.”

  He took the time to carve through a collop of beef, offering me some choice cuts from the platter. I shook my head.

  “What do you want, Mistress Perrers?”

  “I don’t take your meaning, sir.”

  “Well, I’m not speaking of the choice between the venison or the beef—the beef’s excellent, by the by; you should try some. If you are a woman of good sense—and I think you are—you should consider where you will be in ten years. It’s not a life position that you hold, is it? I’d say you could add up the years left to you at Court on the fingers of your two exceptionally capable hands. Life is finite, is it not?”

  And because I understood him perfectly, and it was not the length of my life he was discussing, I followed his eye to where the King sat, leaning back in his chair, listening to Lionel make his excuses. Edward looked well and at ease, but the creep of age was relentless. As for Philippa, her life hung by a fraying thread. William de Windsor was right, damn him. I had no security of tenure here.

  And had I not known it from the very beginning? The fear that was always present in me began to stir into life again, dull and nagging like the pain from a bad tooth.

  “He’ll not last forever, Mistress Perrers. What’s for you then?”

  My breath caught at this outrage, fear ousted by anger that this man should read my thoughts. “What is it to you?” I snapped. “You’re remarkably well-informed in Ireland.” A knot of resentment made my tone hostile.

  He was oblivious to it. “It pays to be so if you wish to make your way in life.”

  “Some would say you’ve done quite well enough for a man of little consequence.”

  “Oh, no. They would be wrong. My foot is barely on the ladder. I’ll climb higher yet.”

  Such arrogance! I was right in my first assessment: I did not like William de Windsor. I studied Edward, remembering his reaction to Lionel’s mishandling of Ireland, recalling the disdain that flattened his fine features as he had cast an eye over Lionel’s minions. It gave me pleasure to turn the blade in Windsor’s gut.

  “I think you’re wrong, sir. The King does not like you.”

  “He may not like me but he needs me.”

  I choked on a sip of wine. Would nothing put him down? “To do what?”

  “To handle Ireland. It’s not a task for a squeamish man. The King trusts my decisions. He may not like them, but still he’ll send me back to Ireland with even more power than I had under Lionel.”

  “You are so sure of yourself!” I mocked.

  “Am I not,” he replied, cheerfully unrepentant. “And uncommonly perceptive. Take heed of my advice, Mistress Alice! Look to your future!”

  And after that unwarranted familiarity, for the rest of the meal he gave his attention to the damsel on his other side, presenting me with a view of his perfect silk-covered shoulders, leaving me to the mercy of Sir Ralph, who gobbled the meat and bread as if the meal were his last. I yawned with boredom, until the trestles were cleared. William de Windsor waited for me as I stood to leave the chamber.

  “Will you take some more wise advice, Mistress Perrers?”

  “I doubt it.” I was ruffled, intrigued beyond good sense, and in no mood to be wooed by this wolf that did not even bother to adopt sheep’s clothing.

  “Who is your enemy? And don’t say you have none.”

  “You, probably.”

  “I’m no enemy of yours, Mistress Perrers! Think of some others who would do you ill.”

  “And if I do?”

&n
bsp; “Be aware. Be cleverer than your enemy. That’s the best advice I can offer. And if you ever need help to keep that enemy at bay, I am your servant. Don’t let your unaccountable animosity toward me sway you.” He bowed and kissed my hand, even as I felt an urge to snatch it from him. “And no, you are not pretty. But before God, you are the most striking woman of my acquaintance. How old are you?”

  Holy Virgin! “I am twenty-two years. And how old are you, sir?”

  “Thirty-seven!” he replied promptly.

  “And are you wed, sir?” I asked sweetly, on impulse, while his fingers enclosed mine, warm and firm.

  “Why?” He cocked a brow.

  “I wondered whether you had a son to inherit this great wealth you see yourself earning.”

  “No. I have not. I am not wed.”

  “Good. Or I would have to pity the poor lady you took to wife.”

  His grin was sharp and uncomfortably attractive.

  I remembered nothing of what I ate at that meal. The minstrels might as well not have opened their mouths for all the notice I took.

  My exchange with William de Windsor at Lionel’s feast was, it appeared, damnably on display, and I wished it undone. Not because I said or did anything amiss. On the contrary, I had guarded my tongue in the presence of this knight I considered to be more than dangerous. But I found that my reactions to him were unstable. I had no wish to talk about him.

  “What did that rogue Windsor have to say to you?” Eagle-eyed as ever for who said what to whom, Edward lost no time in interrogation, his growled demand taking precedence over any loverlike endearments when I sat in the middle of his bed. Perhaps there was more than a dash of jealousy in his unsubtle demand. The Plantagenet had an eye to his own.

  “Nothing,” I replied, hands folded neatly in my lap. “Nothing that was not to puff up his own self-aggrandizement. The man speaks of no one but himself.” Not quite true, but close enough.

  “Hmm.” Edward’s brow furrowed in familiar disquiet. He began to loose my hair from its neat braids, although I thought his mind was not on the pleasures of the flesh. Windsor had even infiltrated the royal bedchamber. Edward tugged persuasively against my hair. “What do you make of him?”