What would the Lady Margaret be feeling in London now? Was she happy for this marriage?
And when she came to Brugge, would Duke Charles be patient with his new bride? He’d had three previous wives so he must be well experienced with the handling of highly bred young women. The Lady Margaret would also become stepmother to Mary of Burgundy, sole heir of her father, the duke. How would that be, to find yourself a bride and a mother in the same moment?
The sky was lightening in the east now — the air flushed with pink and a pearl-like glimmer deepening to incandescent silver as the sun began to rise. Slowly, colour travelled through the world beneath her window — the bricks of the house turned rose and madder, and the new leaves showed brilliant green with the light behind them. Green and silver! That is what she would wear today, to salute the change of season!
Suddenly Anne was happy, happier than she’d been for months.
There was so much to look forward to, for she’d heard yesterday that the impossible was nearly accomplished — the goods that had been bought for her in Italy would be safely landed at Sluis this morning. Hurriedly she crossed herself at the thought. It was pride to believe something before the reality existed — please let her not be punished for it! But it was true — the Lady Margaret and another ship that Maxim had found in Venice had been sighted down the coast last evening and messages had been brought to her on horseback. They would dock this morning — God willing — ahead of any that the more timid merchants of Brugge had sent once they’d heard Mathew had committed the house of Cuttifer and its resources to Anne’s venture.
Their boldness had made enemies for them, no doubt about it, and Mathew had been very worried indeed. He’d tried his best, so had Lady Margaret, to persuade Anne to accompany them home to London — he was certain Anne’s formal exile from the court could be bribed away — but his ward had refused. For her own good reasons; she wanted to meet Edward again, if meet him she did, on her own terms.
In the end, with many cautions and yet more security added to his house in Brugge, Mathew had been talked around and agreed to let her stay. Secretly he was proud of Anne, proud of her courage and her spirit, as was Lady Margaret. Mathew’s wife had far fewer fears for Anne than her husband did and, in the end, her support and endorsement of the girl’s practical good sense had won Mathew around. He’d agreed to go, just as he’d planned.
Stretching by the window, Anne laughed grimly when she thought of the drama of the months since Mathew’s departure as the English trading community faced up, reluctantly, to the unexpected competition offered by the house of Cuttifer. After scrambling to send joint orders for trade goods to the Italian city states, the so-called ‘Merchant Adventurers’ had waited until they’d collected a sizeable fleet and escort in Venice against the sea-pirates before they trusted what they’d bought to the spring gales.
Normally, of course, they would all have preferred to import their Italian goods much later in the season. Each year, the regular June fleet left the ports of Italy and the Levant in the early summer to bring luxury goods to Europe, thus they worried deeply before hazarding expensive goods on the seas so early, but, finally, Anne’s bold example had shamed them into trying. But now she’d beaten them home!
In a sudden ferment to begin the day, Anne hurried over to the door of the little chamber that adjoined her own: Edward’s nursery, which Deborah shared with him.
Very quietly she pushed the door open to find her son regarding her steadily, wide awake — and sitting up! Her heart lurched; suddenly he looked much more like a little boy than a baby. Of course, as all fond young mothers, Anne had always been convinced that Edward was an unusually strong baby, and very advanced for his age; not much past six months. Let scoffers say what they liked, here was proof!
And the little boy was as delighted with his achievement as she was, for with a huge smile he held out his arms to be cuddled. One fluid movement and she had him clasped tight against her chest, his face nestled against her own as he nuzzled her with a delighted sloppy gurgle of baby laughter.
Then she plumped herself down beside his cradle and kissed his soft, sweet neck, making him squeal with delight. She loved the smell of him, the softness of his skin, the purity of his mouth and eyes.
‘You’ll spoil that child, Anne.’ Deborah was trying to be severe, but Anne knew that tone. Deborah loved this little boy just as much as she did and played with him as happily when she thought no one saw them.
It was most unusual for Deborah to wake after Anne, but she’d been superintending the cleaning of the house for some days so that it was fit to receive whoever Anne’s guests would be as the royal marriage approached, and every one of her muscles ached.
She’d driven the staff and herself hard, so that every corner of Mathew Cuttifer’s handsome house was properly scoured with hot water, finely ground cold ash from the fires and good fat soap she’d made herself. The windows had been polished with vinegar and three-day-old urine until they winked and flashed in the pale spring sunlight, and the expensive collection of silver chargers in the hall, and the pewter vessels in the kitchen, had been carefully buffed with a paste of the finest river sand, pounded hard in a pestle to make it finer still, before it was mixed with alum and more vinegar.
All the room hangings, had been beaten outside in the heber, the linen in the bedrooms boiled and blanched and hung out over the budding hedges in the kitchen garden — just coming into leaf — to dry in the last of the blustery weather; and the fine Turkish carpets were scattered with dampened sawdust before being vigorously shaken and beaten in their turn and hung back up on the walls.
Now the whole house smelled sweetly of beeswax polish and the fresh spring flowers placed in all the public rooms, and Deborah had gone to bed the previous night with a satisfied feeling that much had been accomplished. This house, their home until Anne could afford another, was ready to face whatever chance might send their way.
Deborah struggled up out of her truckle bed — her bed was beside Edward’s little carved oak cradle — but Anne pressed her back against the bolster. ‘No, Deborah — I’ll find Jenna. She can help me. You rest, I know you’re tired. Come, Edward, let’s find your breakfast.’
Scooping the little boy up against her body, she wrapped them both more securely in the fur wrap and, talking quietly to Edward about all the excitements the day held for them both, walked quickly to the door of her room.
‘Ivan?’
‘Yes, lady, I am here.’
There’d been no more attempts to kidnap her, but perhaps that had been because of the added security Sir Mathew and Ivan had insisted upon. Now, when she went out in public, she was accompanied not just by Ivan but by two other men he’d selected as well, veterans of the ongoing conflicts between the city states in Italy. Besides, it did no harm to the credit and importance of the house that Anne now had her own men-at-arms. All three, dressed in Mathew’s livery and walking calmly beside her litter when she went out in public, signalled that the prosperity Mathew enjoyed was growing apace. But what none knew, outside a chosen few, was how much Anne’s circumstances were likely to change if the cargoes landed safely.
And, like a jewel that was enhanced by its setting, Anne’s beauty and desirability shone more brightly for the fact it was fenced around by good Spanish steel.
Ivan scrambled up from his palliasse and pushed it away from the door of Anne’s room as his mistress asked him to find Jenna. As he pulled up his hose and laced them to the points of his jerkin whilst hauling on his boots, he could hear Anne singing to the little boy, a low, breathy song which told how the wind, in spring, liked to chase the birds across the sky because they were both free and enjoyed the game. There was a haunting, wistful sweetness to the words and Ivan could understand, none better, how dear the thought of freedom must be to Anne on such a day as this. He could help her be free, would help her, if she needed him to. That was his job, but he liked her; it was his pleasure too ...
Soon th
e household was in a bustling stir as Jenna dressed Anne to go to the mass. Today, as she’d promised herself, Anne was wearing a new dress bought with almost her last stock of silver. Figured leaf-green brocade with a veil of silver silk-tissue flowing from a low crowned cap of purple velvet — the colours sat well with her russet hair and matt-white skin.
Anne was very grandly dressed for a working day and there was a reason for that, for after the mass, she would see Duke Charles at the Prinsehof, the Burgundian Ducal palace; that is, if her trade goods made it ashore to Sluis and could be brought to her in time.
But now, as her stomach contracted with a fizzy mix of pride, excitement and terror, she clasped her hands together tightly, praying silently for strength and courage: the duke was the key to her future now.
Chapter Twelve
Duke Charles was restless as he strolled out of his chapel in the Prinsehof on his way to the breakfast. Magnificently dressed in a tight jacket of green velvet, in honour of the season and because green, as all the world knew, was the colour of young love, he too was impatient this morning.
He was fretting to be away to the hunt because very soon the season would be over. Winter’s ending always made him unaccountably sad because he lived for the chase — of many kinds.
The chase. That made him think of Anne de Bohun. He had promised to meet her after the court finished its meal this morning and he was looking forward to that — she was intriguing — though it would cost him a little time outside the walls of Brugge in his hunting preserve. For someone so young, Anne seemed very self-possessed and so well connected it was a puzzle, and a scandal, that she lived alone, except for servants, in her guardian’s house.
The duke frowned as he thought more. He did not like his merchants, even the foreign ones, to be unhappy because that was bad for trade and therefore, bad for his peace of mind. Perhaps the time had come to listen to William Caxton and use his influence to intervene in the matter of this girl’s marriage. Caxton, it seemed, had been rebuffed. He’d heard too of the attempted kidnapping earlier in the year — perhaps her very presence was bad for public order, then?
No. The timing was not quite correct. And this moment, he was not expecting Edward Plantagenet to bring his sister to Brugge for their marriage, but that might change; and if it did, he would seek advice from his new brother-in-law. Perhaps there was someone amongst the many English courtiers who would accompany the bride who might be suitable for Anne, especially if it pleased King Edward to arrange matters. Anne could hardly object if her own king willed it so, and that would solve the problem. In the meanwhile, he would enjoy his breakfast and then await, with interest, what Anne had to say ...
Anne had one nervous habit that would have been clear to those who knew her as she waited for the duke in a small anteroom to the presence chamber in the Prinsehof, the townhouse in Brugge of the Dukes of Burgundy. Mechanically, without being conscious she was doing it, she smoothed the precious brocade of her dress first one way, then the other.
She knew that her green dress was something of an affront as it was the fashion at court for ladies to dress in scarlet and black — the red coming from the expensive imported dye, grana.
Anne did have one red dress, it was true; she’d worn it for the portrait because red always caught the eye, but her tastes ran to more subtle colours generally, like the lustrous, changing green of today.
‘It seems we think alike, Lady de Bohun.’ Her thoughts had been away, far away, so she’d not heard the duke enter the room, but as she looked up at him, startled, she was struck, as always, by his charisma. And the great good luck of his also wearing green today.
Duke Charles was not very tall, it was true, but his energy, the vigour of his movements and the quick flash of his still-sound teeth in an alive, brown face was very attractive.
Anne dropped her head respectfully as she curtsied, thinking how lucky Princess Margaret would be to have such a husband. She sighed as she rose and the duke picked up her hand to kiss, in the French fashion.
‘You sigh, lady? Come now. How can there be secret sadness on such a wonderful day as this?’ He was leading her into the presence chamber, followed by several of the courtiers he would share the morning meal with. All of them pressed as close as they dared, discreetly intent on gleaning all they could from the duke’s conversation with this unusual English girl.
‘Ah, Your Grace, I am not unhappy, but spring is a strange season, is it not? It makes the blood restless. I feel certain you understand that. But how fortunate we are both wearing green. I thought to honour your new bride to be — and I see that was your thought as well.’ The duke laughed delightedly. It was said the English were governed by a phlegmatic humour, but this girl was warm and sparkling. She made him laugh and that was a charming quality. Charming!
Ceremoniously he conducted his guest to a small x-shaped gilded Italian stool which was placed for her in front of his own Cathedra under its Cloth of Estate. Having handed her into it, he waved away his few attendants and sat as well, allowing himself to look at Anne frankly. As always with this girl, he liked what he saw. After a moment Anne grew uncomfortable, a warm flush mounting up her neck and into her cheeks as he examined her face feature by feature.
‘Tell me why you are not married yet, Lady de Bohun?’ His directness shocked her, but she gathered her wits quickly for there was an opening here.
‘Because, sire, that is my choice. I have no family to dictate where I should marry and I am minded to independence, which luckily my guardian, Sir Mathew Cuttifer, is happy to allow.’
The duke smiled. He liked Sir Mathew. ‘Ah yes, your guardian. I believe he has returned to London?’
Anne nodded quickly. ‘He has, sir, and Lady Margaret, his wife.’
‘But please continue, Lady Anne. Why do you not wish to marry? Many of your compatriots worry for you, and that makes me concerned.’
Anne blushed, but somehow kept her voice steady. ‘Sir, it is my observation that ladies when they marry become absorbed into the lives of their husbands and their children. That is not my wish at this time.’
‘But perhaps you have not yet met the man who could change your mind, Lady Anne.’ He was interested to see a strange expression chase over her face briefly — a yearning? ‘That was well said. Forgive me. And sufficient answer to my impertinent curiosity. But I am curious, Lady Anne, why did you ask for this audience today?’
‘To wish you joy of your marriage, sir and, if you will permit me?’ Anne rose and clapped her hands and the doors of the duke’s presence chamber were opened once more to admit a small procession. At its head was Ivan, magnificently dressed in a sweeping coat of many-coloured furs, a pointed fur-trimmed felt hat on his head and soft, baggy breeches over red leather boots. They were the clothes of his country, which was still inhabited by fierce tribes of roaming horsemen, tribesmen, of which he’d once been part.
Ivan was carrying a large curved sword across his open palms sheathed in a scabbard of embossed gilded leather. Behind him marched Maxim, ceremoniously carrying a tiny silver box nestled on a velvet cushion, whilst beside him strode Leif Molnar, Sir Mathew Cuttifer’s own Norse sea-captain, the tallest man in the room by several hands’ breadths. Leif too had a box, but his was made from black wood, ebony, patterned with a white inlay of African ivory.
And behind them both walked Deborah, proud and straight, bearing a bolt of peacock-blue silk and another of tissue of gold.
At a signal from Anne, her servants bowed low to the duke and then, one by one, brought forward the gifts they carried to lay at his feet.
‘Duke Charles, these poor gifts are for you and your bride. Allow me to show you.’
Anne lifted the scimitar and carried it to the duke. ‘This, is from the Holy Land. It is reputed to be the very sword that one of my country’s kings, Richard, the first of that name, used in the battle of Acre, even though it was a weapon of his enemies.’ Carefully, she slipped off the embossed, gilded leather scabbard to
expose the beautifully chased, gleaming blade of white-blue steel. ‘It was forged in Damascus and my people tell me it has a name. It is called “Smiter of the Faithless”, and the legend of its making says, “He who bears this blade into battle will always be invincible”. It is reputed to contain a bone from Elijah’s hand in the pommel, under the great turquoise. King Richard had it put there.’
She curtsied low and carefully placed the magnificent weapon across the duke’s knees, beckoning Maxim forward.
As the steward advanced, the duke gently fingered the edge of the blade. It was marked like certain kinds of silk: a gift more than fit for princes.
‘And here, Lord, some poor stones from the Levant, with which to adorn your bride.’ Maxim knelt before the duke as Anne opened the tiny silver box in front of him. Nestled inside, gleaming with their own bloody light, were two square-cut rubies.
‘“A price above rubies,” I believe that is the quotation? You surely have surpassed even what the Bible might expect with these stones, Lady Anne. I am overwhelmed.’
‘To hear your gracious words for such trifles fills me with happiness, sire. Rubies, Your Grace, are a symbol to me of heart’s blood: one drop for you and one for your bride.’
As Maxim rose and backed away, Leif took a step forward and placed the black-and-white wooden box within reach of the duke’s hand. Carefully, Charles lifted the lid of the little coffer and immediately the room was filled with the scent of roses and the heady smell of jasmine.
Inside there was a nest of tiny, stoppered bottles made from dark blue glass, and as Anne opened each one in turn, scent drifted like smoke. ‘Here, Your Grace, is ambergris from the Euxine sea. And this, attar of roses from the Lebanon. Jasmine from Palestine, gilly flower essence from France, myrrh from the Holy Land, and finally, this: the scent of violets, distilled from flowers that grow in our heber.’
When this last stopper was removed, the cool, green smell of violets wove through the air like music as Anne scattered drops of the intense perfume around the presence chamber.
The Exiled Page 9
