by Diana Rubino
"Topaz, pray what happened to you! Are you hurt?"
"Nay, one of the mares at one of our neighboring farms gave birth to a beautiful white colt named Robin! I was the midwife."
She linked her arm in Amethyst's and walked up the staircase to the library, one of their favorite rooms to chat and browse through the books, write poetry and dream.
She removed the apron and tossed it into the garderobe outside the library.
"So why did you leave? Did the palace run out of food?" she asked, flaunting a smug smirk.
"My leave is temporary." She didn't want to discuss court or her relationship with the King until his divorce was final.
"Do you...have any plans yourself?" she asked Topaz, not really wanting to know, just fishing for some kind of hint. She'd heard nothing all these months, and for that she was grateful.
"Nay, no plans to date."
Amethyst breathed a sigh of relief, although she knew the longer her sister waited to carry out her plans, the more devastating it would be.
"So what is going on with Henry and this Night Crow? According to the tittle-tattle of the nobles who met Henry on his last progress, he forbade her to marry Henry Percy. I still know not whose loss that is," Topaz said breezily.
"You hear quite a bit, don't you?" Amethyst retorted, desperately trying to deny that her beloved King had any feelings for Anne Boleyn other than deep curiosity. "She is a fixture at court, nothing else," she replied, preferring to explore the bookshelves and run her hands over the thick dusty volumes, slide one out at random, wondrously scan each frayed page, fragile as autumn leaves, breathing in the ages of knowledge contained within the leathery covers.
"I think his taste is abominable."
Amethyst turned to face Topaz. "Come to think of it, you and Anne are alike in many ways. She, like you, distributes alms to the poor."
She's also a pompous bitch, Amethyst thought, but kept any further comparisons to herself.
"Ah, yes, she tosses an urchin a few guineas from her travelling litter when she's in a generous mood. Nay, I have never met her and I never wish to. None of those court people are worthy of my company."
How easily she dumped all the courtiers together, including the King, in that general category.
"When I become queen, they will love me," Topaz remarked.
Amethyst automatically shut off her ears and said instead, "Where are my nephews?" She turned to Topaz with an earnest gaze, just as eager to see the lads as she was to change the subject.
"At Kenilworth. I shall fetch them in the morning. They know you are here, and are equally eager to see you."
"How they must have grown."
"Edward is as handsome and noble as any king will ever be, and Richard George is coming along, not quite as tall and statuesque as Edward, a delicate lad, but he is not a big eater. I try to compensate with plenty of fresh vegetables and milk."
As Amethyst walked along the bookshelves, her index finger brushing the spine of each volume, she noticed several old books shoved off to the side and piled atop one another to make room for a set of what were obviously new volumes; the covers in bright reds, greens, and rich browns, gold lettering embossed on their spines glinting in the sunlight. She pulled one out at random and flipped open the cover. "Utopia" read the title page, "by Sir Thomas More."
"Utopia? What is this, Topaz?"
"It is an ingenious volume by Sir Thomas More, a brilliant London lawyer."
"I know who he is. He has just replaced Cardinal Wolsey as Chancellor. Of what does he write in this book?"
"Utopia is a whimsical little island in the New World where everyone lives together in harmony, and shares equal portions of everything, which is available in abundance. There is no greed, for no man asks more than he can possibly use, there is no money, therefore no profits, no extortion, no bribing, no stealing! The only use for gold is not as a measure of currency, but to craft beautiful objects, ropes to be worn about the neck and wrists, plates, goblets, and chamber pots."
"Chamber pots!"
"Aye! Gold at both ends! The communal storehouses maintain a healthy reserve, so there is no hunger. Each adult works but six hours a day on agricultural endeavors, to further ascertain adequate production. There are no lawyers, for each man is required to plead his own case. Those who violate the law are not simply tossed into a stinking dungeon, but are required to serve the community. There is no adultery and young people are permitted to inspect each other's naked bodies before marrying to avoid disappointment, and are permitted annulment if the spark does not fly. Even heretics are treated with respect and are accepted by members of the society, as long as they do not presume to judge the others' beliefs about the established religion. He wrote it many years ago. Surely Henry has a copy of it somewhere."
"It does not sound like the type of thing the King would find entertaining. It sounds too irrelevant," Amethyst replied, having read a few books belonging to Henry, a self-proclaimed theological expert, whose tastes of late ran to the new books dealing with the papacy that he seemed to enjoy reading and discussing with the more learned and outspoken courtiers. She looked further and noticed there were indeed a few books she'd seen on Henry's nightstand, in Anne's clutches, and in the hands of several of the courtiers.
"This is my favorite," Topaz said, sliding out a thin volume titled A Supplication for the Beggars. "Simon Fish wrote this while in exile, when he fled after ridiculing Wolsey in a play. It speaks out against the clergy, where the poor complain that they are dying of hunger because the clergy has seized one-third of the kingdom's resources."
Topaz flipped through the pages, her eyes brightening at certain passages, as if remembering them fondly. She could see Topaz identifying with the author.
"The monks and priests seize women in the dark corners of the confessional and seduce them. The monasteries are a hotbed of corruption in this book. Does it not bear a striking similarity to a kingdom we're all familiar with, Amethyst?"
"Aye, it does. And if I remember correctly, the King did read that volume, and liked it."
Her eyes lit up. "Ah! Perhaps he's coming to his senses after all. For I could have written this book myself. It expresses my sentiments exactly. Alas, poor Fish died last year. I would have loved to have collaborated with him on another book. Perhaps I shall simply write one myself."
"No book of yours would ever be allowed in print," Amethyst said.
"When I am queen, I shall write and publish and circulate any book I so desire," she answered defiantly, sliding the volume back into its slot and giving it a gentle shove until it hit the back of the bookcase with a thump.
"Heretics one and all will be welcome to write and argue anything they wish. I shall hold court parties where Catholics and Lutherans and heretics and anyone with a self-concocted religion will be welcome to speak his mind and acquire as many followers as he can carry on the tail of his robe!"
"Let me read this, if you do not mind," Amethyst said, sliding "Utopia" out once again.
After seeing nothing in the last few years other than these heretical and reformist books, and hearing Henry's incessant dinner hour debates at the high table on vernacular versions of scriptures and whether the Bible should be printed in English, she was in the mood for some easy, light nonsense. She only wished her sister could see that all she talked of was nonsense as well. The world was as it was, and they would just have to make the best of it.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
The lads arrived the next day, as delighted to see their aunt, as she was to see them. Edward was nearly as tall as she, and held his head high, his posture and carriage that of a true nobleman.
Richard George was smaller boned, lacking Edward's regal aura, but with Topaz's mischievous twinkle in his eye, a gleam that no one could decipher.
They were both dressed in identical brown velvet doublets trimmed with ermine, sleeves slashed and turned up to expose an ermine lining, tan hose and brown velvet shoes, richly embroidered with g
reen silk, sprays of tan lace at their collars and cuffs. They both sported the closely cropped French haircuts. They were the picture of miniature courtiers in every way. She wondered if Topaz always dressed them up like twins. Thought of them as people, rather than weapons of power.
Richard George sat beside her and asked her all about court, while Edward, the first-born, sat quietly and listened carefully, asking no questions.
What had Topaz been teaching him? she wondered, but dared not ever try to undo Topaz's dogma. It was not her place to. Still, she wondered, and tried to gain some insight from the impressionable adolescent mind.
"I would like to talk to you lads, Auntie to nephew, and keep this between us." She kept her voice low. "How do you feel about our King, Neddie?" she asked the lanky youth, old enough now to marry and have children and ride into battle, nearly the age of her beloved Henry when he had swept down the great aisle to his coronation and captured her heart.
Her nephews had not had the same experiences in life as young Henry had, and had perhaps been too sheltered. They had not seen as much as a boarding school. Topaz had educated them both with tutors to whom she paid great sums to come from Oxford and Cambridge to sit in the comfortable solar and teach the boys mathematics, natural science, music, philosophy, the classics, and of course, Latin, Greek and French.
They'd never shot an arrow at an archery target; they'd never been hunting or hawking—too dangerous, much too dangerous, and unkind to animals. All sports save lawn bowling were too threatening to their precious lives.
"Henry Tudor needs an heir and regrettably, Queen Catherine cannot give him one."
"Do you still believe the Princess Mary is a bastard?"
"It all depends on whether the marriage is valid, just like any other marriage," the boy replied disconcertingly.
"And do you believe it is?" she probed, wanting to know if this young man, already sporting a neatly clipped but light beard, still believed the words Topaz had introduced into his very young mind, that he'd once spewed off by rote.
"I shall never know if Catherine and Arthur consummated their marriage. No one will ever know. I say it would be cruel to bastardize Mary now, after thinking her parents were truly married. But once the divorce is final, it will be a moot point, will it not?"
"Very clever thinking, Neddie, but the King wants a male heir. Mary doesn't seem to count in his mind, for all she is clearly a royal princess."
"Once he is dead, it will not matter to him. I believe a queen can reign just as effectively."
She was so pleased for her nephew as she heard his words. Perhaps he was able to think for himself after all.
"What about his succession to the throne? The way King Henry's father had your grandfather killed so that he could eliminate him. The way his father killed King Richard at Bosworth. Neddie, you're old enough to understand all this now. Do you believe your mother should be Queen Topaz and you King Edward?"
Edward smiled, and she remembered Henry not much older than this age, the strong teeth, the look that spoke of sheltered privilege, never having lived the excesses of pain or passion—not quite yet.
"Auntie Amethyst, we know mother has her beliefs. She always made sure all our scholarly tutors never taught us English history past the crazed old Henry the Sixth and Margaret of Anjou. That is where she commanded them to stop abruptly because that was where she always picked up where they left off. Both Richard George and I do not think Grandfather Edward would ever have made a good king. He was a feeble and simple fellow. How can someone spending all his life in the Tower ever be a strong leader? He knew nothing of the world.
"Also, King Richard could have killed Henry at Bosworth but it happened the other way round because Richard had traitors. Henry Tudor was lucky, that is all. He went on to become a strong king. That is the way it was. Besides..." he chuckled and his voice cracked a bit, riding the cadence of the high-pitched laugh, "I would not make an effective king. I would let my subjects get away with murder! I would not fight for our borders. I would let the French come in through the front door and the Scots through the back door and the entire kingdom would be one big orgy!"
So relieved she was to hear her nephew talking this way, she reached over and hugged him tightly, bringing Richard into her embrace as well. "Oh, Neddie, I am so relieved you are not going to fight for this dubious claim to the crown. Your mother has made this quest her entire life's dream, but you must stay by her, help her, and always remember she loves you both very much."
Perhaps now that the boys were becoming proper young men in their own right, maybe they could talk some sense into their mother, to forget this lunatic cause, for their sakes, to continue helping the less fortunate citizens of the kingdom keep warm with full bellies, which even Henry admitted he appreciated.
"Tell me, Neddie, have you ever told your mother about your beliefs?"
Edward shook his head and grinned. "Never! She would have my head!"
"I enjoy helping Mother tend to the animals and feed the poor and go about the countryside distributing blankets and food and I don't even mind shelling peas now and then," Richard George piped up, "but I wish she would just forget about wanting to be queen. With her outlawing hunting and letting all the animals multiply and roam free, England would become quite uncivilized, wouldn't it, Ned?"
They all laughed and went off to the dining hall to enjoy a companionable meal together, Amethyst's mind at rest for the first time in as long as she could remember. All would be well, for her sister and her sons, and between she and Henry with no threat of family rebellion standing between them ever again.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Warwick Castle
A fine mist sprayed Amethyst's face as she stood atop Guy's Tower. This was her very favorite part of Warwick Castle, where no one ever came to bother her, for the climb up the circular stone steps was so steep and strenuous, people rarely ventured the ascent, even for the reward of the sweeping view.
As happy as she was to be back with her family, the only person on her mind—the only one who mattered to her rose above them all. She missed Henry, longed for him, with every beat of her heart.
In all the months she had been there, she'd heard nothing from court. No messengers came, no gossip wound its way up the rutted paths and worn roads to Warwickshire. Topaz's cronies had nothing to report. But she knew he'd be back.
She heard the sound of soft footsteps and turned to the staircase. Who would venture up all those hundreds of steps in the cold rain to speak with her unless it was important?
Her heart leapt in anticipation of her visitor. Finally a figure came into view in the shadows—a white head-dress, a slim neck, a graceful pair of shoulders covered in white fur and blue velvet.
"Emerald! What are you doing here?" Amethyst left the mist-shrouded view of the countryside behind to greet her sister.
"I just wanted to talk to you," she replied, her breath coming in rapid puffs of vapor that collapsed in the cold droplets swirling around them. "Why on God's earth do you come up here in the cold, Amethyst?" she asked. "You'll catch your death!"
"'Tis peaceful and quiet and I can see the world from a different perspective. It gives me a sense of immortality to see the earth from such a lofty perch."
"Please, we have enough lusting for immortality in this family already," she said, hugging her arms about her. "'Tis colder up here than I thought it would be. Come back down to the solar. There's a cozy fire there, we can sip some ale—"
"If you want to talk, we shall talk here," Amethyst replied sternly. "No one will interrupt us or hear us, you can be sure of that."
She returned to her spot overlooking the winding River Avon with the footbridge in the distance. "If William the Conqueror could have stood here in the most inclement weather to build this castle, then we can certainly stand here and merely talk."
"He built only that section down there," Emerald said, pointing to a mound way below them. "And they had their fires on days like this."
"Aye, a poxy central hearth with a hole in the ceiling. They must have frozen their culls off in winter. We are fortunate enough to have a fireplace in nearly every room. Imagine having lived during those primitive times," Amethyst mused, holding her face up to let the mist replenish the moisture that the dry fires had robbed from her skin.
"Amethyst, you have not been yourself since you've been home," Emerald said. "You were always so attentive of me, willing to teach me new things, singing, playing our music together. You have not touched your lute or harp since you've been back. Music has always been such a passion with you. Why do you not play anymore?"
"Because it reminds me too much of court, Emerald, and it depresses me so. I do not want to be reminded of my life there, I see it enough in my dreams, I do not need to hear it, too."
"Are you never going back?"
