The King’s Concubine: A Novel of Alice Perrers

by Anne O'Brien

“Philippa would not be proud of you now, Edward.”

  “No…”

  “She would be horrified. She would berate you! Philippa would order you to look forward, not back.”

  At last his eyes lifted from whatever images he saw in his wine and slid to mine, and I saw true recognition there, and a flash of resistance. Good. Excellent.

  “Have you come to berate me too?” he asked. “It is not your place.”

  “No. How should I? I am the lowest of your subjects and no longer have a claim on you or the Queen. I have come to say good-bye.”

  “I suppose you wish to be reunited with your sons.”

  “Yes. Our sons. Sons are very important. They are the only family I have. So, will you drink to my safe journey?”

  He sipped the wine absentmindedly, his thoughts still far distant.

  “Edward…!” How difficult this was. Was the only way to get his attention to empty my cup over the royal head?

  “My son. My heir, the Prince. He is so ill.…” His words were spoken with difficulty as if he had to search for each one. “When I was his age I rode at the head of my army. What a sight we were.…But my son cannot ride. He is carried into battle in a litter. All I have achieved, destroyed…”

  Panic fluttered, rapid wings beneath my heart. I was losing him again between the victorious past and the unpalatable present. I stood up, placed the cup on the coffer. I had to throw the dice with callous disregard, and risk the outcome.

  “It seems I must leave without your good wishes after all.” I walked to the door. My hand reached for the latch, and still there was no response. I would have to admit my failure. To Wykeham and Gaunt and the rest. I would have to leave my king, even though every sense urged me to stay.…

  “Don’t go.”

  It was quietly spoken, yet firmly. I exhaled slowly, but still I addressed my question to the smooth grain of the wood under my hand. “Give me one good reason why I should not.”

  “I want you to stay.”

  I held my breath.

  “I need you, Alice.”

  I held still, eyes closed tight. I heard the brush of his tunic as he stood, the click of metal on wood as he placed the cup beside mine, his soft footsteps. I felt his body fill the space behind me, but he did not touch me.

  “I was wrong, Alice. Don’t go.”

  Against all my inner compassion, I kept my back to him.

  “God’s Blood! Look at me! I would rather not be addressing the back of that excessively unattractive hood you’ve chosen to wear!”

  There it was. The command was back. But I would not succumb too quickly. I was not a fortress driven into surrender by a light threat and a call to parley.

  “Two months—and you haven’t once asked to see me. You feel lost without Philippa—I understand that”—I resented the quick flame of old jealousies—“but you must know how unloved and unwanted I have felt,” I said. “I see no future for myself here if you don’t need me.” His hands were on my shoulders, turning me around so that I must face him. He was really looking at me, seeing me. At last!

  And Edward tilted his chin. “Is that why you’ve clothed yourself as a drab? Like some penurious widow about to enclose herself into a convent and fill her life with prayers and good works? Perhaps I should send you off with some new gowns. How will you catch a man’s eye otherwise?”

  And there was the humor I had missed, a glint of it as the sun struck obliquely across his features.

  “The only eye I wish to catch is yours!” I remarked with the slightest lift of my chin to match his, some would say with arrogance. I would not smile yet.

  Edward bent his head and kissed me, my brow, then my lips, at first as if it were a difficult thing for him to do, to make this contact with a woman, like revisiting an old memory, uncertain of what he would discover on the half-forgotten journey. But then his mouth warmed against mine as his hands slid from my shoulders and closed around mine.

  “Why is it that you make me feel renewed?” he asked.

  I could feel the growing strength of his intellect as he sought my face for the answer. And as if he had found it, he raised my hands, still cupped in his, and pressed his lips to each palm, to the tip of each of my fingers, reacquainting himself with me after a long absence. Yet still we had a way to travel.

  “How I have missed you, Alice. Why did I not realize it?”

  “Because you closed yourself off to all but grief.”

  “Will you change your mind and stay here?”

  “You too might change your mind. Tomorrow you might banish me!”

  Temper flashed in Edward’s face. “I order you to stay! Your King orders you! I need you to remain here.”

  The temper. The possession. The authority. They were all returned in good measure. I hid my smile but stood on my toes to kiss Edward’s cheek.

  He was already stripping the maligned hood from me so that my hair, unbraided beneath it, fell over my shoulders. He clenched his hand in it, into a fist.

  “What lovely hair you have. Why do I feel that I have been outmaneuvered? You have never worn anything half so ugly as this.” He dropped the hood to the floor.

  “I have not needed to,” I replied. “I had to do something to catch your attention.”

  And Edward laughed softly. At last he laughed. I led him over to the settle against the wall and pulled him down beside me. I would not let him go quite yet. I didn’t trust his mood sufficiently. Reaching for the platter on the tray, I offered it.

  “Eat one of these. You must be hungry.”

  “I suppose I must. If you eat them all, you’ll lose your figure.”

  The final attack, the lethal thrust against which I prayed he would be helpless.

  “I will anyway, my lord, with or without the sweetmeats.” His stare was instant and knowing, on my face, my waistline. “I am carrying your child. Are you pleased?”

  The King abandoned the sweet delicacy and turned his face into my hair. “I didn’t know. You have to stay with me. I’ll not have a child of mine raised without my knowledge. Stay, Alice. In God’s name, stay.”

  I kept my incipient victory close as I unraveled another skein of my plotting. Edward must return to his people too. “Only if you’ll take me hunting tomorrow. Please do,” I invited, leaning against his shoulder. “I have no one to ride with who does not damn me as a daughter of Satan. Wykeham has taken to praying over me. And my mare needs exercise. She’s eating her head off in the stables.”

  “You have been lonely.” How clever he was at reading between my words. “I’ve neglected you, haven’t I?”

  He was mine. Color stained his cheeks; the years dropped away. Inwardly I rejoiced as I saw that the Plantagenet had returned. “Yes, you have,” I said solemnly. “And now you must make recompense.”

  He stood and pulled me to my feet. “As I will. What is it my lady wishes?”

  “Call a hunt, Edward. Let your Court see you. Let them know that the King is come again. Promise me.” Still the slightest hesitation. “Promise me! Soon it will be too late—I will be too large to climb onto a horse!”

  “I promise. Stay, Alice. I have missed you.”

  So I did. His kiss was long and deep with relief and an awakening of passion. “Come to bed, Alice. It’s been a long time.”

  And so we returned to the vigor and heat of past days in the royal bed, where we could pretend that all was well. Edward took me with mutual satisfaction, confirming Gaunt’s crude assessment of his male powers, and I could make the King forget the encroachment of age.

  “You are a pearl of great price, my beloved Alice.”

  “And you are King of England. The country needs you.”

  “I shall rule.” The self-regard was restored. “With you at my side.”

  Triumph surged through my blood as I gave my body to him once more. I will look after him, Philippa, I vowed. I will care for him, nurture him, and love him. And I kissed his mouth for my own pleasure, even as I acknowledged with
in my heart: Edward was no longer the man who had first taken me to his bed, the man who had first commanded me to his bed. But for now I had pushed back the shadows.

  The hunt met in the courtyard, the denizens of the Court clad in velvet and furs. Horses stamped in the cold and sidestepped at the delay. The huntsmen swore as the hounds swarmed under everyone’s feet. There was a sense of anticipation in the air that had been missing for a long time.

  We waited. Would the King come?

  We shuffled and puffed clouds of mist into the icy air. Squires brought ’round cups of spiced ale. We began to shiver at the delay.

  Dark and saturnine in the middle was Gaunt, astride a glossy bay that resented the lack of action more than most. Beside him in the hands of a groom was the rangy gray that Edward loved. Deliberately Gaunt’s eye found me in the crowd. No need for him to voice his concern, his blame at what he obviously saw as my failure. I returned his stare with a stony expression. I had done all I could.

  Time passed.

  Expressionless, Gaunt motioned to the groom to lead the gray stallion away. He drew on his gauntlets. “We’ll go.”

  He raised his hand to draw the attention of the crowd, for the huntsman to blow the stirring note to move off. I sighed and admitted defeat, turning my mare’s head toward the stables. I had no belly for the hunt without Edward.

  “You’ll wait for me, Gaunt.”

  He always was the master of surprise, of display and self-aggrandizement. The King strode down the steps and across the courtyard, taking the reins from the groom and swinging into the saddle with all the agility expected of him. By chance—or was it royal command!—a shaft of sunlight broke through to gild his leather and fur, sparking glints off the ruby that pinned the peacock feather to his cap and the jeweled chain on his breast. He smiled at the expectant crowd.

  “An excellent morning. My thanks for waiting for your King—and my apologies. You need wait no longer.” He was self-deprecating, with the same formidable charm that had won him more friends than enemies during his long reign. There were murmured greetings from all sides.

  The huntsmen began to move from the courtyard, Edward riding beside his falconer, taking a hawk onto his wrist as if he had never been absent, except perhaps for the first moments of stiffness in his posture as he settled into the saddle. The air of melancholy had vanished with the donning of the handsome wolfskin cloak against the cold. As I hung back to take my habitual place at the rear with the women, I felt a warmth spread through my chest and my belly where the child lay. And I heard what I had prayed I might hear as Edward turned his head to address his son.

  “After the hunt, come and see me. We must make plans—for our armies in France. It’s more than time.”

  “Yes, Sire.”

  Gaunt, in his swaggering arrogance, which was as much a part of him as his raptor’s face, gave me no recognition, but I could see the depth of his gratification as the brisk wind whipped color into his cheeks. Father and son exchanged a handclasp, reunited and set to enjoy the occasion. I tucked my skirts securely beneath my legs and nudged my mare forward to follow the rest. I too would enjoy the hunt. When the huntsman lifted his horn to blow the gone-away, I gathered up my reins.

  The huntsman did not blow, his action arrested by Edward’s hand on his arm.

  “Mistress Perrers…”

  All eyes fastened on the King, who had called the halt, and then shifted to discover me in the crowd. My hands closed sharply on the reins, causing my animal to jib. Never had the King addressed me so openly in public.

  “Sire.” I sounded breathless even to my own ears.

  “Ride with me.”

  I hesitated, but only for a moment before I pushed my horse through the brightly clad melee to Edward’s side.

  “Sire…”

  “You said you wanted to hunt. So you shall.” He grasped my bridle to pull my mare closer, took my hand in his, then leaned over and kissed my temple. “You were right. It’s good to hunt, and I have been remiss.” His voice fell to an intimate whisper. “You will not be lonely today.”

  Around me there was a general intake of breath. To single me out in so obvious a fashion! The Court was astounded. Hot blood rushed to my face so that my cheeks flamed with it. To be kissed so wantonly in public…! But was this not what I wanted, this acknowledgment in the face of lords and commons alike?

  “Will you ride with me?” he prompted, forcing me to make a statement of our relationship. No one was to be allowed to fail to understand its meaning.

  “I will, Sire.”

  As I fell in beside him, my hand still in his, the courtiers streaming out into the water meadow, the huntsman blowing the gone-away at last, I could do nothing but smile as brightly as the fitful sun that chose that moment to bathe us in gold. Edward had given me recognition in public. I was the acknowledged royal favorite.

  I suppose my enemies multiplied that day. Did I care? I did not, for the flame of my ambition burned fiercely. It was a momentous day. The hounds ran to ground a particularly fine and royally tined buck. Edward’s features sharpened and glowed with the exercise as his body relaxed into the familiar demands of the saddle. His laughter rang out, and the Court breathed a concerted sigh of renewed confidence. Even Gaunt looked content, despite my having replaced him at the King’s side.

  I rode beside Edward for the whole of the hunt. When the hounds picked up the scent and the riders spurred into a gallop, he restrained his mount to stay beside me, conscious of my state of health. He could not have made his choice plainer if he had ordered the Chester Herald to announce the news with a blast of his trumpet.

  Alice Perrers was the King’s Concubine.

  I had to ponder this reversal of my fortunes, and did so in my room, where I stripped off my hunting finery and ordered my maid to fill the copper-bound tub with hot water. I sank into it with a sigh. I had not hunted for some weeks; my muscles complained, but not beyond what was tolerable. In the herb-scented water I inspected my belly that was rounded with the growing child: It would not be possible for me to hide it, and nor did I need to. For the first time I could display my increasing girth brazenly.

  My name, in one form or another, had been on every pair of lips that day. Edward’s very public showing of what all the Court knew, but pretended not to, had seen to that. No longer secret, no longer hidden, no longer a source of shame for the Queen, my position was exposed naked for all to speak of. It was Edward’s gift to me, his recognition before the whole of the Court, with a generosity I could never have imagined. Made public and acknowledged by all, I was secure under the King’s protection.

  I repeated the epithets I had heard as the hunt pursued the hapless deer.

  Alice the whore: not one I would choose.

  La Perrers: better—but it had been said with a sneer.

  Royal mistress, royal paramour: a ring of authority here, perhaps.

  But this one I liked much better: King’s Concubine. Official. Untouchable. Powerful. My sharing of the King’s rooms and the King’s bed was an undeniable fact; it lacked legal sanction, but the King’s stated preference gave me status. No one, no one, would dare slight me, the King’s chosen companion. Even Gaunt had managed to honor me with a deep obeisance as the hunt dismounted. I had never dreamed of such a gift, made in the face of the great and good, of which I was neither.

  “Thank you, Edward,” I whispered, my hands protective over my belly.

  I let my head fall back on the rim of the tub and closed my eyes, enjoying my achievement.

  Chapter Ten

  Edward went into immediate conference with Gaunt. I knew nothing of the discussions, always the preserve of men, but I saw the results. The King was once more at the head of affairs, the reins firmly in his fist: Gaunt was ordered to Gascony with an army to give the beleaguered Prince some aggressive support against French incursions. Even more impressive, Edward ordered a second attack from Calais under a tough old campaigner, Sir Robert Knolles. If I had needed any
evidence of Edward’s recovery, it was this: a two-pronged attack from north and south that he had used in his early campaigns to good effect. At the same time a whirlwind of envoys was dispatched to the Low Countries, to Germany and Genoa, to enlist allies against the King of France.

  Edward’s nights were spent with me, where anxieties still gnawed at him.

  “I should be leading the attack,” he fretted. “Am I not strong enough?”

  “Of course you are.”

  But the depredations of Philippa’s death had dug deep. His strength was much restored, but however much I might not like to admit it, Edward’s mind had lost its incisive edge. While he was playing chess, reading a book of favorite poetry, enjoying the music of a well-played lute and sweet singing, his concentration could vanish, his awareness of his surroundings drifting away like high clouds under the strength of a summer sun. Even his confidence waned. And as it faded, my fears for him grew. He would never lead his troops with the same superb flamboyance, if at all. And yet I gave thanks: The isolation was over and Edward was reunited with his Court. A victory at Gaunt’s hands in France would in some measure restore Edward’s confidence in his ability to make well-balanced decisions. I poured two cups of fine Bordeaux, a wine symbolic of Edward’s possessions.

  “To England’s victory!” I raised mine, and drank.

  “To England! And to you, my love.” Edward kissed me with all the passion of a mighty king.

  I celebrated too soon, of course. The news that trickled in over the coming months was not good. In the north King Charles of France had learned from past mistakes and refused to be drawn into battle against a major force. Knolles, increasingly vilified, lost impetus and authority, his troops becoming separated and easy meat for the French vultures to pick off. In the south we fared better. Limoges was sacked and burned, which put a stop to the French cause in that vicinity, but all we heard were tales of the Prince’s being forced to return to Bordeaux, abandoning the attack, defeated not by the French but by his own pain-racked body.

  Edward’s convictions drained away.

  “Gaunt is there,” I soothed. “He will take control. There is no need to worry.”