by Diana Rubino
Inns and taverns were tucked neatly between the towering warehouses and graceful mansions, their wooden signs swinging in the breeze. The aroma of fresh strawberries rushed by them as they passed a cook-shop, a gang of housewives converging upon it like a gaggle of geese, stuffing themselves through the door.
The barge veered to the left bank of the river, and the boatman eased it in between two weather-beaten fishing vessels. Well-dressed merchants, frazzled wenches and haggard seamen merged on the wharf, haggling, exchanging coins for bales of cloth and nets full of fish, their scales glimmering in the sunlight like heaps of silver.
Topaz disembarked and handed the boatman a few coins. She waited as Amethyst gathered her skirt and climbed from the barge, dragging her bag of offerings behind her, skinning her knee on the barge's jagged edge.
"We are going to Whitechapel," Topaz called over her shoulder as Amethyst slung the bag over her shoulder. The coins at the bottom smacked against her hip and she winced in pain. She would have handed it to the groom to carry, but he had two bulky sacks slung over his own back. They left the bustle of the Thames commerce behind and headed north up the Tower Bridge Approach.
The Tower loomed ahead of them, its thick eastern wall cut off at the end by a semicircular bastion. The yellow-white structure had blackened under centuries of soot and grime.
The sky above became a blanked-out pattern of blue patches as they headed up the narrow lane. The shabby timber-framed dwellings leaned over the street, the windows flung open, threadbare curtains tumbling out like ratty strands of hair. Merchants peddled their wares—meat pies, fruits, sheep's feet, pigs' trotters, ale, lemonade. Stalls on either side of the narrow street displayed more wares, and the stench of fish filled the close, hot air as they passed a stall hanging with gutted cod twirling on their strings like a grotesque puppet show. Merchants shouted out offers of their products in sharp, piercing voices: "Smelts an' salmon, flounder an' pike, fresh from the Thames!"
"Sides 'a beef!"
"Ale 'ere!"
"Pigs' feet, 'alf pence a pound!"
They made a left up Leman Street, where more dwellings huddled together, and the sun did not penetrate the peaked roofs here either. Chickens squawked and a group of grimy children, no more than four or five years old, dressed in rags, their matted hair coiled about their necks and shoulders, scampered past them.
One lad held out his hand to Amethyst and she quickly summarized his features, the already hardened face, the squinting eyes, never having known pleasure, only hunger and misery. She reached into the bag and tossed him a coin. He bit it with rotted teeth and scampered away.
More shops lined the streets, merchants calling out to the passersby, trying to lure them in to sample the wares. The odors of fish, meat and the stench of refuse began to turn her stomach as Topaz quickly yanked her out of the stream of a pail of slops coming from a second-story window.
"These people don't have garderobes, Amethyst. This is not Warwickshire. You will be very lucky indeed if you get through today without having to comb a turd out of your hair."
After that, she kept her eyes riveted to upper-floor windows for flying slops.
"The almshouse is on the corner of Whitechapel Road," Topaz called over her shoulder.
Amethyst was relieved, because the bag was getting heavy, and it banged against her side with every step. She nearly tripped over a pile of excrement in front of her as she witnessed two men fighting in a narrow alleyway between two shabby houses, tearing at each other's filthy shirts and breeches, the sound of bone cracking against bone sickening her. What could they be fighting over? There was so much poverty and starvation here, it could have been a piece of stale bread they were battling to the death for.
They reached the corner of Whitechapel Road and Topaz kicked open the door of a run-down timber-framed house. A bit larger than the others and freestanding, it still exuded that rancid air of poverty. The stench of unwashed bodies and urine hit Amethyst in the face as they entered the dark hall single file. Her eyes adjusted to the light and Topaz turned into a small room, Amethyst and the groom following.
They dumped their bags on the dirt floor, strewn sparsely with dry rushes, and in seconds a crowd of stinking ragged bodies converged upon them, tearing into the bags, stuffing handfuls of bread and cakes into their mouths with filthy hands, as if they hadn't eaten in weeks, which they probably hadn't.
It reminded Amethyst of Topaz's animal shelter—they were animals, having lost all human dignity and pride long ago, or never having known it at all, born within the confines of this pathetic squalor.
"Topaz, do they live like this?" Amethyst whispered, watching the scene all around her, people of all ages, from babies barely crawling, to the middle-aged and beyond.
"What do you think, you innocent little ball of fluff? They are born this way and die this way, with no hope for escape whatever, through the howling winds of winter and the searing heat of summer. They eat what they can beg, steal, or what I and those as kind as I bring them."
"But...there are so many farms in the kingdom. Why is there not enough for everyone to eat?" She knew how ignorant she sounded, never having known hunger, not even in the Tower. Topaz had told her of the hard straw pallets, the lack of firewood and the cold they'd endured, but somehow there had always been enough food at mealtimes.
"Because they haven't the money to pay for food, because they haven't the work to do in order to earn any money. 'Tis a vicious circle, Amethyst, and one which I plan to break. If they are lucky, they can be apprenticed to a chimney sweep or a blacksmith or scale fish for the fishmongers, but there is no steady work here. None of them can read or write. They live by their wits. The girls become whores around age eleven and the boys, well, they either kill or steal for their sustenance, or they die out in the streets, mostly in the winter. Do not be surprised if you see the corpse of an infant on a rubbish heap along with a dog or cat carcass. I told you it would be a shock."
Amethyst fought down the sick churning inside her at the sight of these wretched creatures. She watched a girl and a much younger boy smacking each other, rolling to the floor, kicking and gouging. "What are they fighting over, Topaz? Stop them!"
"You stop them! I'm feeding this infant here!" she shouted from across the room.
Amethyst glanced over at her sister, a tiny baby in her arms, gently spooning food into its mouth. She sprinted over to the children and threw herself on top of the girl, yanking her off the boy, his face beaten and bloody, a few teeth knocked out, on the floor beside him.
"What is your problem! Is there not enough for all of you!"
"'E took me jar 'a pickles, the bleedin' sod!" The girl rose to her feet. She was scrawny and emaciated, her ragged skirt was torn and bloody, and she wiped her hands on the hem. The boy sat on the floor, whimpering, rubbing his swollen eyes.
"Here," Amethyst said, reaching into the pocket of her robe, knowing she had some coins there. "Take this, go to the shops and buy yourself a decent meal."
Amethyst's heart cried out for this poor girl, and she would have given her the robe off her back if she'd had something else to wear. "Buy something to eat for your friend there, too, and no more fighting!"
"'E ain't me friend, 'e's me brudder," she mumbled, holding her hand out for the boy, who grasped it hesitatingly.
"Then all the more reason not to fight your sibling, but support him if you can," she said with feeling, looking over at her sister.
"Come on, Jack," the child said, turning back to Amethyst. "Ta, Lady, for the money."
The crowd by now had quieted down. Several more urchins had entered the almshouse from the street, and many had left, after Topaz had given them sufficient money to buy food or cloth or shoes or whatever they felt they needed most.
Amethyst crossed the room and found Topaz sitting among a circle of children, their grubby but captivated faces turned up toward her as if she were a princess right out of a fairytale.
She moved a bit cl
oser and crouched next to Topaz to hear the tale she was telling them. It was probably the tale of Robin Hood, one of her childhood favorites. It always brought her back to the magic and intrigue of the enchanted medieval forest.
But Topaz was spinning no tale. "...and we were born in that horrible dungeon, that place crawling with rats and bugs, the cries of torture echoing through the dark and musty halls. Then when I was four and my sister two, we went to visit my father, who was a handsome young man, a dashing lad indeed. I saw them dragging him, in chains, and screamed 'Where are you taking my Papa!' I never found out, for my mother never told me, but I never saw my Papa again.
"Then we left the Tower, and I had my first glimpse of the countryside. I did not find out until I was a big girl, what had happened to him. King Henry the Seventh had killed him! He chopped off my father's head!"
"Topaz!" Amethyst interjected, giving her sister's arm a slap. "What are you telling these children that blasted story for!"
"So they will know the truth! I am giving them a history lesson!"
"History lesson, my arse!" she hissed as the circle tightened, the curious ears poised for a juicy story. "You stop poisoning these minds right this instant or I shall never help you again! Do you hear me! I shall not plead your case before the King and I shall not give you one ounce of support! Ever!"
"Then I am sorry I brought you here," Topaz replied evenly, her arm protectively around a dirty little boy sucking his thumb. "If you have no compassion in your heart then I shall not seek your help."
"I am leaving," Amethyst announced, "for I am not getting mixed up in this. If the King finds out you are spreading these treasonous tales throughout the commons, he will have your head!"
"And who is going to tell him? My dear sister, his future concubine, if not his present one?"
"How dare you, Topaz! I am not his concubine! I shall not have you coming here spreading your treasonous beliefs round London and round court. As if I didn't know what you tried to do to me in Warwickshire. As if I can't see through your real reasons for coming here to see me! You are pure poison, sister, in every sense, and I want no part of this any longer."
Topaz glared at Amethyst and stared with narrowed eyes at the word poison. She turned to the children. "Children, I must go away and gather up some more food and cloths and coins for you, but I shall be back here long."
They gathered round her and tugged at her skirts, begging her not to leave. It was a touching, pathetic sight. Even the adults looked sorry to see her go, if they could ever look more forlorn than they ever did.
Amethyst emptied the contents of her other pocket and gave it to a middle-aged women who gave her a toothless grin and many blessings for her generosity.
They exited the almshouse and the air still carried the cloying stench of the streets. The odors clung to her robe, her hair, her body. She couldn't wait to get back to her apartments, burn the robe and slippers, and scrub her body down in a hot steamy tub.
The heat had given way to a cooler breeze as the sun began to sink, throwing long pointy shadows of the peaked roofs into the narrow street. The bustling pace of business hours had quieted down, but the gutter was still filled with refuse, and the denizens still trudged along, their eyes staring straight ahead, seeing nothing. It depressed her sharply, and she wanted simply to be alone with her thoughts, to talk to no one.
They turned back toward the Thames and waited for a barge to take them back to Whitehall, the sisters silent, neither giving an inch as they stood, convinced of their own correct opinion. They crossed over and remained silent until the barge touched down on the opposite bank.
Amethyst turned to Topaz and said quietly, "I am sorry we seem to do nothing but quarrel these days, but your blind hatred of the Tudors blinds you to all else, even proper family feeling. I am your sister and will always care for you and your family, but please do not come to visit me again if your only intention is to trick and deceive me, or spew poison."
"But, Sister–"
"You have heard me. Please respect my wishes. I hope one day to see you more contented, but not at the expense of all I cherish. Goodbye."
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The King and court returned a month after they had departed on their summer progress. The first night after his return, Amethyst sat up in the gallery with the King's Musick and played her much-practiced renditions of several of his own compositions as the King and Queen danced, surrounded by the admiring, fawning courtiers.
The King and Queen did not dance together all that much, however. She noticed the frosty distance he was keeping from Catherine but concluded that affairs of state were burdening him.
He challenged Amethyst to a game of tennis one afternoon and she accepted, having played a few times on Matthew's court at Kenilworth, for Matthew shared the King's passion for tennis.
He arrived in a light linen shirt and white breeches over white hose. He was a striking vision of athletic endurance, his thighs hard and muscled, his strong arm whacking the ball with a graceful, practiced swing.
She was no match for him as he had her running from one side of the court to the other, chasing the ball, barely able to return it. At the end of the match he wiped his brow with a linen towel, and laughed as she loped off the court, spent.
"So tennis isn't your game, is it, Lady Amethyst?"
"I scored but one point, and that was because you weren't looking!"
"You put up quite a fight, and as the only female member of court who dared challenge me, you must be rewarded."
Her reward was the seat to his right on the dais that evening at supper in the great hall. The Queen was absent, and Amethyst felt all eyes upon her as she self-consciously picked at the sumptuous dishes of pheasant, quail, partridge, steaming vegetables, and the luscious pastries and tarts, ten courses in all.
Proudly displayed around her neck was a three-tiered strand of gems, diamonds alternating with rubies, emeralds and sapphires with a pearl clasp. Circling her wrist was a bracelet of the same design, and on two of her fingers sat rings of fiery amethysts and diamonds set in gold, her rewards for having challenged him to tennis.
"I cannot imagine what you would have given me had I won!" she marveled at her new gifts, setting off the radiance of her new crimson velvet gown sprinkled with tiny pearls and diamonds. Her discomfort easing at having taken the seat of the absent Queen, she admitted Henry made her feel like the queen of his own heart.
Once again they danced together that night, and he leapt and twirled, not missing a beat of the lilting music from the gallery above. As the great hall emptied, he did what she had been waiting months for him to do: he invited her to his chambers.
This time she was prepared. This time, she was ready to say yes. But she would go to him on her own terms. With a fluttering heart, she dressed for him in her new pale blue silk robe, creamy chemise and matching white gown, slashed in front to show a frilly blue underskirt. She basked in the comforts he'd provided her, pinching herself to make sure it wasn't another of her girlhood dreams.
Aye, she would see him tonight, to have another of their delightful chats about astronomy and religion, to laugh with him, to enjoy his charismatic personality, but in the end she would not give in to his carnal demands. She was here for the King's Musick, but no more, especially when he already had a pretty blonde mistress. She'd finally encountered the elusive Bessie at a distance and glimpsed nothing more than the torches' light glinting off her platinum hair. But she was real enough and ensconced in his life. She would brook no rival, nor end up cast off like Mary Boleyn.
Every practice session of the King's Musick produced another wave of juicy items—he and Catherine were indeed estranged; he was becoming infatuated with a sister of one of his former mistresses, and he was bringing his and Bessie Blount's illegitimate son to court!
With all these thoughts swirling through her head, fueling her pride and determination not to yield to him as a lover, she spread her skirts neatly about her and waited
, for she did not want to seem too eager to see him, nor too teasing and coy. By now she knew if she continued to ward off his advances it would only be a matter of time before he banished her from court—according to the King's Musick, he'd dismissed many an unwilling maiden for leading him a merry dance.
Her anger and pride gave way to sadness as she gazed upon her opulent surroundings, the richly-paneled walls, the oaken carved bed with its richly-embroidered canopy and coverings, the glittering jewels about her neck, wrists and fingers.
Why did he pursue her? Didn't he have enough women? Even though he was the King, he was still a man—and how much could a man possibly handle?
Why couldn't things be simpler? Why couldn't Henry have been an ordinary country gent with whom she could enjoy the ritual of courtship instead of being another object of the King's desire?
As badly as she wanted to stay here at court and enjoy his alluring presence, his image still frightened her. She stood for several tense moments, her fingers clamped round the door handle, torn by her hesitancy and her desire to please the man she'd grown to adore. Her hesitancy won.
