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The 7th Wife of Henry the 8th: Royal Sagas: Tudors I

Page 29

by Betty Younis


  “First, I would like to know why you have kept Coudenoure a secret all these many years.” She pulled the pages from the account book from her bosom and threw them towards him.

  “I told Cromwell to keep no record.” Henry observed blandly.

  “Well, you must take that up with the great Cromwell, for he did, and this afternoon, I found them.”

  “Apparently you did.”

  She was getting nowhere. She wanted him to feel her anxiety and rage – to engage with the matter at the level she now felt it. But Henry parried her at every opening, and rather than leaving to retrench and reconsider her strategy, she continued on relentlessly, seeking a crack in his armor in which to pour her rage.

  “I believe I shall go and meet this Constance. I hear much about her.”

  Finally, she had his attention.

  “I hear she is you, Henry, every inch your bastard child. And I am ordering her to court so that the world will judge her not as your royal offspring, but as your bastard issue. There will be no question as to which child was born in wedlock, and which was not.”

  “She does not come to court because I have not decreed that she may do so, and I will not. She is a learned woman, unusual, and will not be sullied by serving you or Catherine before you as a mere maid.” He held her eyes and she knew instantly that this was a battle lost unless great care were to be taken.

  “What hold does the mother have over you?” she almost spit the words. “Does she have some secret of yours that you wish to remain untold? Does she bewitch you with her womanly charms? What is it, Henry? Why do you persist in your relationship with this whore?”

  Henry ignored the vulgarity of Anne’s language and thought for a moment before closing his eyes and answering slowly.

  “Only the hold the sky has on the sun, only the grasp of the gentlest of spring breezes upon a sprig of lavender, only…”

  Anne interrupted him.

  “You need give no more poetic responses. I have it now.” She left quickly and he listened morosely as her footsteps faded away beyond the door.

  “No good will come of this.” He drained his glass. “Steward,” he shouted, “…more wine. And guard…”

  A yeoman stepped into the chamber from the shadowy hallway.

  “Majesty?”

  “Keep post outside Queen Anne’s chambers this evening.” Henry paused. “We have had a warning from a local knight, and we must ensure our persons are safe. She is not restricted in movement, but should she choose to leave her rooms, you must notify me at once.”

  The man bowed and disappeared.

  “And I will deal with all of this tomorrow,” Henry finished in a mumble to himself.

  Chapter Forty-One

  The day broke cold and promised rain. Anne was up before dawn, pacing in front of the window in her chamber. The fire needed stoking but she seemed not to notice the chill in the room. Instead, her lips moved silently as though she were rehearsing some great scene yet to be played. She ignored her maids’ attempts to engage her. Confused and sleepy, they ordered a fire and a small repast from the kitchen, but nothing they did seemed to calm Anne’s anger and anxiety.

  The King had played another card last evening by posting a guard outside her door. Upon questioning, the man assured her he was there because of a minor threat to the palace revealed by a local knight. Anne had thanked him profusely and pretended both to him and her maids that she would be mindful of the threat and was grateful to the king for his concern. Nothing could have been further from her mind.

  So he would block her from taking action by posting a guard? At her door, the Queen of all of England’s, door? There was no fear in her, only anger and a rising sense of vindictive self-righteousness. Obviously, this woman, this witch at Coudenoure, had a power over the king that only a queen should have or exercise. It was her duty to the realm and to her husband to expose the evil which lay within the walls of that small manor. Before the sun was fully over the horizon, she had slipped away through the interior chambers assigned to her ladies. The rooms were interconnected and if one were familiar with their layout, one could easily avoid the main entrance to the Queen’s wing and enter, or exit it, from some other, less grand entrance. Clearly, the king knew this and was using the guard’s presence at the main door to send her a message. She would ignore it for his own sake.

  She was dressed in riding gear, and had seen to it that her horse was ready. A groomsman and several guards waited patiently on their mounts for her arrival at the stable but she dismissed them all.

  “I have a need for silence in which to think,” was the only reason she gave for riding out alone. It was the second time in as many days and her escort thought nothing of it; she would, after all, be on the king’s own property.

  Not daring to use the main gate, she walked the horse through the servant’s areas to a lesser known entrance used by tradesmen. Very few were about in the cold dawning of the day, and with her plain hood and dark cloak covering her garments she passed unnoticed. Once free of the palace, she rode north and crossed the main road well above the guard station. Looking behind to assure herself she had not been followed, she clicked her heels against the side of her horse and began to ride hard.

  Stray remnants of the somber gray of the pre-dawn mixed with a heavy fog give her ride an eerie quality. She shook off the sense of foreboding it suggested to her and was glad to finally reach the bend where she had directed her own men await her arrival. A sigh of relief and power escaped her lips as the fog lifted to reveal a barge with her own heraldic crest on its side – a white falcon resting upon a clutch of red and white roses. These were her men and would do her bidding. No time was lost in traveling on to Coudenoure. By the time they turned onto the long straight drive a cold rain had begun to fall. Elizabeth was at the library window sipping her cider and called out for Agnes when she saw them.

  “‘Tis Queen Anne, I would imagine.”

  Elizabeth agreed just as Constance and Prudence entered the room. They needed no explanation.

  “Did you send for Charles?” Elizabeth asked Agnes.

  “Aye, but it may be a moment for our man must find his location first.”

  They sat, almost paralyzed by fear as the queen rode on and neared the door.

  “Constance, you must go upstairs and hide.”

  “Why? Am I not the King’s child? Mother, you are the best in every way, but you are not strong-hearted. You must not shrink from such a woman as this. If we stand together…”

  “Constance,” Elizabeth interrupted her harshly, “We can discuss my failings at a later date. That woman…” she nodded at the window, “…has bowmen with her who are not of King Henry’s men. You see no Tudor rose on their livery.”

  “What does she want?” Constance asked. “Surely she understands that we are here at the king’s good grace.”

  “I do not know what the lady wants, but it is not our health and the continued quiet of our lives, you may be sure,” Elizabeth responded grimly.

  Agnes hissed.

  “You are right, Elizabeth, they are not the King’s men – they wear her badge.”

  Elizabeth’s breath quickened as the small procession continued its steady approach in the rain. The woman on the sole horse seemed oblivious to the weather and sat as though bolted to the great saddle of her mount.

  “Daughter, quickly, go hide upstairs.”

  “No,” Prudence interrupted. “No, you must go to my cottage. There is a small root cellar near the hearth – it is accessed by a door under the rug. Stay there, and we will come for you.”

  “Do not fret, mother, Agnes,” Constance kissed them both before she and Prudence disappeared. Even as they slipped through into the kitchen a loud rapping came from the front hall. Elizabeth took a deep breath and got up to answer the door.

  *****

  “Majesty,” Elizabeth repeated, bowing low, “My Queen you must know that the woman Constance you seek is not here.”

  Qu
een Anne’s black eyes blazed as brightly as the fire. She had been stunned into deep silence when Elizabeth appeared at the door. Even her men had stepped back, aghast. They were looking at the queen’s own shadow.

  Elizabeth had bowed and was about to welcome Anne to Coudenoure when the queen brushed past her and into the hall. Seeing the door to the library open, she entered and found Agnes knitting doggedly before the fire. With aid from her cane, she rose and curtsied before sitting back down. As she did so, a small, almost imperceptible grating sound from the brickwork of the wall reached her ears, and she looked closely at her knitting to hide a satisfied smile: Constance was indeed her father’s own daughter, recklessly brave in her support of those she loved.

  With an imperious turn, Anne spoke her purpose.

  “We are here for the Lady Constance.”

  “My good Queen, the Lady Constance is not here presently.”

  Anne’s fury continued to rise as she looked upon Elizabeth. She understood Henry’s ardor for her own self very clearly now. Indeed.

  “The king desires her presence at his court.”

  Anne watched Elizabeth but could detect no sense of fear within the woman. She had no linking of how often Elizabeth had stared into the very gates of hell or that the pallor of the older woman’s complexion was not her usual color. Elizabeth breathed steadily, knowing she must see them all through this moment despite her appalling fear. There was no question of Henry finding out and appearing, only a question of when. She must engage the queen and buy some precious time.

  “My Queen Anne,” Elizabeth began but Anne cut her off.

  “Did you not hear me? I stated that I am here for the Lady Constance.”

  Elizabeth fought hard to maintain a deferential attitude. At her continued silence, the Queen changed tack and a treacly sweet tone covered her words.

  “Lady Elizabeth, these bowmen are here to protect us as we ride back to Greenwich. Do not fear for your daughter’s safety. She is your daughter, is she not?”

  Anne could not stop herself so great was her jealousy and anger.

  “And the King’s daughter as well! Goodness, Madame, you must have a sorcerer’s brew to have kept my husband enthralled so long.”

  Elizabeth began to tremble.

  “Come, sit with me by the fire,” Anne continued, “…and let us talk of Henry, and Constance, and of you yourself, Elizabeth. I wish to know what manner of woman you are. I am sure the King desires you to tell me all I wish to know.”

  One hour later, she had to admit a grudging yet furious admiration for the Lady Elizabeth. The woman had a spine of steel beneath her trembling presence and shortness of breath. Despite her wheedling, demanding, imploring, screeching, and ordering Elizabeth had refused to give up any detail about her relationship with the King, or about the bastard child Constance. Finally, Anne rose and stared down at Elizabeth, now almost crippled by her fear.

  “Madame,” she began, “Because I am sure the King would wish it, I shall give you one last chance to tell me where the Lady Constance is.”

  “Majesty,” Elizabeth rose and bowed, “I tell you truly I do not know where she went or indeed, when she might return.”

  “You know ‘tis treasonous to withhold information from your good and gracious Queen, do you not?”

  Elizabeth said nothing, but again bowed deeply. Warming her hands before the fire, Anne spoke with an unnatural calmness.

  “Since you do not trust your own Queen Anne, I fear I must leave these bowmen here to protect you from your very self. They do my bidding, and when the Lady Constance returns, they will escort her to Greenwich, where I will present her to the King and to the court. After all, why should such a bright flower, and the King’s own blood, be hidden away here at this meaningless estate? Um? No, we shall show her to the world, and when we are done, we shall do the same with you.”

  She spoke sharply and quietly to her bowmen before leaving the room. Riding full tilt in what had become a driving rain, she returned to the barge which had delivered her men to Coudenoure. A canopy covered the seating, and she threw herself upon the cushions it protected as she pulled a nearby wrap around her. Even as her mind cautioned deliberation and thought her heart demanded action. There was no contest between the two.

  “Greenwich,” she ordered.

  The boatsman turned southward.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Henry woke with a blazing headache and an aching leg. He lay staring at the velvet tapestry which was draped over the tall frame of the bed. It depicted a hunting scene with him at its center as the hero. A great stag was being pursued through the woods and forest along the outer rim of the piece. As one’s eyes were pulled into the center by ever increasing color and intricacy in the forest panoply, Henry was revealed in his finest hunting regalia. At his feet lay the princely beast, representing England and the realms of the Continent. Near the stag sat a small squirrel, denoting the obedience of the nations to Henry’s will, and on one wrist sat a falcon as a symbol of his authority over both heavenly and earthly matters in his kingdom. He looked out from the tapestry boldly, as if questioning the beholder, and the old man in the bed sighed for his youth as he looked upon the great piece. A knock on the door provided welcomed respite from the melancholy he once again felt settling in upon his soul.

  “My Liege! A fine stag has been seen recently near the Thames’ edge – shall we bring him down?”

  Henry laughed as Charles entered his bedchamber.

  “I am laid up today, friend,” Henry said with a great sadness in his voice, “And I may not hunt until my leg heals.”

  “Ah, well, even if we cannot hunt, let us ride, for I am in desperate need of fresh air. I understand there is a new maid at court and I wish to discuss her attributes in private.”

  He continued to cajole the king until Henry in mock frustration with him rose and dressed.

  “Have them saddle my finest,” he shouted to a guardsman in the hall, “…for I shall ride out with my annoying courtier here, Lord Charles.”

  A simple tray of fruit – dried figs, plums and apricots accompanied by bread and cheese appeared on a table. The steward left a jug of cider and bowed before leaving in silence. Charles looked at the tray as Henry continued to be dressed.

  “What is this fare? ‘Tis a woman’s meal, it is. What are you thinking, my King?”

  Henry grunted as the servant began lacing his great vest. In true frustration, he slapped at the servant’s hands and dismissed him, tearing the heavy clothing off. Reaching to a nearby table he pulled a plain shirt over his head while responding to Charles.

  “That,” he pronounced, “Is what the good Physician Butts declares I must eat in order to allay the ulcerous festering which curses my leg.”

  “No meat?”

  Henry said nothing but pulled on another shirt over the first for warmth and picked up a handful of the fruit along with a hunk of bread.

  “Come, we will ride and afterwards I shall tell the good physician to look away while I eat a real dinner.”

  A stout cane was given Henry and they walked slowly down the hall and to the grand stairway.

  “When will the architects be finished with your new chambers? Surely these stairs cannot be healthy for his Majesty.”

  “Aye, but ‘twill be late in the spring of next year before my ground floor accommodations are complete. But I have ordered the tapestries. Perhaps when we return from our exercise I will show you the designs?”

  “I should be honored.”

  They were mounted and riding slowly towards the perimeter wall when a loud argument just beyond the gatehouse reached them. Charles pulled up short and listened intently, cocking his head to catch the conversation.

  “By God, that is Agnes’ boy. Let us see what he wants.”

  “And you ride the King’s own steed! Thief! You shall burn…” Two guards were dancing round the young stable boy from Coudenoure attempting in vain to pull him from his saddle.

  “
I must needs see Lord Charles Brandon. ‘Tis urgent! ‘Tis…quit clutching at me, man!” He beat at the guard with a switch he held in his hand.

  Henry appeared through the gated archway and all activity ceased. The stable boy jumped from his mount and bowed quickly before running to the side of Charles.

  “You must hear me in private,” he said loudly.

  “Can you speak louder? Lest anyone not hear you?” Charles laughed and indicated the boy should remount and follow the King and him to a quiet spot. Once aside, he spoke kindly to the young man.

  “The guard speaks the truth,” he observed. “For you ride the king’s own horse.”

  The boy’s eyes grew huge and he looked at Henry. Henry, in turn, said nothing, waiting to hear what urgent news came from Coudenoure. At last the boy spoke, his words pouring out in a torrential stream.

  “‘Tis Coudenoure, and the Lady Agnes says you must come at once!”

  “Why? Tell us, lad!”

  “I know not everything, but I do know that the young maid of the house, Lady Constance, did indeed see a woman upon the hill. But sire, I believe she saw a ghost, for the woman was like unto the great Lady Elizabeth! I hear she was dressed in finery and said many things to frighten…”

  Henry knew all at once.

  “Boy, ride through yonder gate and bring reinforcements to Coudenoure. Tell them you ride for the King.”

  The two horses cleared the road in two great strides before disappearing into the woods beyond.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Elizabeth kept her eyes focused on the page in front of her. She sat before the fire in the library. Opposite her, Agnes knitted furiously. The Queen’s two bowmen stood awkwardly at the window with their weapons by their sides. Not a word had been spoken in the hour or so which had elapsed since the Queen left. Only the fire crackling in the hearth gave evidence of activity in the room. Suddenly, the door from the great hall was thrown wide and back against its heavy hinges. Before them stood Prudence, drenched in sweat and pale as ice. She staggered into the doorway and leaned against its timbered frame. She spoke through a fit of violent coughing.

 

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