Hysteria

by Lily Blake

Once the girls had washed their hands and faces, and swapped their mud-covered smocks for fresh white linen dresses, they found themselves seated among the nuns, their hands held together in prayer, bowing their heads over their meal.

  Mary was starving. She could have sworn the nuns were making her wait longer and longer between meals as summer went on and she was hungry all the time. And if that weren’t bad enough, all her clothes were becoming too small. Perhaps they were trying to slim her down, she thought, staring disappointedly at the meager portion of soup and bread before her.

  “Are you excited for your birthday, Mary?” one of the nuns asked, taking a spoonful of soup from Mary’s bowl before she could begin eating it herself. The young Queen of Scotland nodded.

  “My mother has sent word that she is coming to visit,” she said, glancing over at the mother superior to make sure it was still true. Her mother had promised to come before and canceled. Mary understood; things were complicated back at home in Scotland, and until she was of age, her mother held the throne. She couldn’t simply leave just to visit her child.

  “It must be some time since you saw her,” the nun replied, taking another spoonful of Mary’s soup.

  “Almost five years,” Mary said. She knew how important it was that someone test her food, but she did wish that meant she could have extra. Sometimes she could have sworn the nuns were testing more than they needed. “I haven’t seen her since we left French court when I was six.”

  The nun smiled at Mary, passing her the bowl of soup. It was green and thick and smelled dreadful but Mary was starving. Tearing off a piece of bread, all manners forgotten, she dipped the crust into the liquid and swirled. As she raised it to her lips, the nun at her side suddenly shot out an arm and knocked the bread from her mouth.

  “No, Mary!” she choked, collapsing sideways and clawing at her throat. Mary stared in shock as the girl’s face turned purple, her tongue protruding from her mouth and swelling up as she rolled around in anguish.

  “Protect the queen!” the mother superior shouted as the rest of the nuns jumped up in terror. “Take her to the safe room.”

  Mary felt two sets of arms pick her up from the bench and lift her into the air. She twisted and contorted against their hands, her eyes fixed on the dying nun, blood now pouring out of her nose and ears.

  “That was supposed to be for me,” she whispered. “Why would anyone do that?”

  “Because you are the queen, Your Grace,” one of the nuns replied while the other tried to conceal her sobs.

  “But it doesn’t make any sense,” Mary said. “Why do people want to kill me because I was born to be queen? I haven’t even taken the throne; I haven’t done anything wrong.”

  “And that’s what makes you so dangerous,” the nun continued as they ran into the convent. “You’re a much easier target now than you will be when you’ve come of age. A little Scots girl in a convent is much easier to kill than the Queen of France. Life often doesn’t make sense for those who are perceived to be in power.”

  “I don’t even want to be Queen of France.” Mary began to cry, the horror of the situation overwhelming her. “I want to go home to Scotland. I want my mother.”

  “Unfortunately, Your Grace”—the nun opened up a heavy wooden door and slipped Mary inside—“a lady in your position cannot always have what she wants. You must always think of your country and put your people first.”

  “But someone tried to kill me,” she wept. “And someone else died.”

  The nun looked at Mary with kind but heavy eyes and stepped back over the threshold of the safe room. “As I said, Mary,” she whispered, “life often doesn’t make sense.”

  Closing the door behind them, the two nuns left Mary alone with her tears.

  Opening her eyes with a start, Mary woke to find herself in her bed, covered in sweat. Francis lay beside her, sleeping soundly as the first shadows of the dawn began to slip underneath their curtains. Mary reached a hand above her head, pressing her fingertips against her ornate wooden headboard. She was here in the castle, she was here with Francis, she told herself.

  She was safe.

  The king’s guards bowed as Catherine approached the breakfast chamber that morning. She granted them an approving nod in return but held up a hand when they reached to open the door.

  “Just one moment,” she said, cocking her head to better hear the raised voices within. “One shouldn’t interrupt in the middle of a conversation. I should hate for them to think me rude.”

  Waving the guards away from the door, she stood quietly, holding very still so as not to give herself away with rustling silk skirts, and listened.

  “It’s not that easy, Mary.” Francis sounded frustrated. “Whichever way I rule on this, I’m open to an attack. Narcisse used Nostradamus against us in the past; what’s to stop him using this? He’s still determined to see me off the throne and he will use any means necessary. Do you think the life of one young girl means anything to him? ‘The King of France pardons girl found guilty of witchcraft.’”

  “These are the superstitions of old men,” Mary countered, her voice high and impassioned. “You can’t truly believe that girl has killed? She clearly isn’t a witch.”

  “Oh no?” he asked. “And how exactly do you know that? Because you spoke with her for five minutes? If she’s capable of killing, she’s capable of manipulating and lying. For all we know, this is all part of her… her…”

  “Her what, Francis? Her wicked plan? Had she cast a spell on me? And on Bash? And Kenna?” Mary slammed something hard on a table, making Catherine jump. And smile. “May I remind you that her parents were killed because they fought beside your brother?”

  “And if you hadn’t sent my brother to interfere, she would be dead and her parents would be alive and there wouldn’t be a little girl in this palace who no longer has a mother and father.”

  “Two little girls,” Mary corrected. “There are two new orphans under our roof this morning.”

  “And what would you have me do?” Francis asked. “Ride into Auxerre and condemn the entire village for following their faith?”

  The smile on Catherine’s face faded. Auxerre?

  “Alys isn’t a witch,” she heard her daughter-in-law insist, the fight still strong in her voice. “She is a healer; Bash told me everything.”

  “She was an apprentice healer,” Francis said. “And her master died. Who knows what that did to her? What if she was trying to heal people but made a mistake?”

  “That wouldn’t make her a witch,” Mary said. “And that doesn’t mean she should be burned at the stake.”

  Throwing open the door to the breakfast chamber, Catherine took a deep breath and reset her face. “Now, now, children,” she said, crossing the room to kiss her son on the cheek. “Must we bicker before breakfast? I could hear you three corridors away. We don’t want the servants gossiping, do we?”

  “If they aren’t already, it will be a miracle.” Francis’s face was sullen and there were dark shadows beneath his eyes. “Mary wants to keep a pet witch in the castle.”

  “Francis!” Mary’s equally tired-looking eyes flashed. “I’m sure your mother isn’t interested in hearing the story until it is resolved.”

  “On the contrary.” Catherine took a seat at the table in between Francis and Mary, cupping her hands around her hot tea. “I should very much like to hear the story. Perhaps I can provide some counsel. After all, there has to be some benefit of my advanced years.”

  Mary had lived at the castle for only a year, and only a few short months as queen, but she knew when to pick her battles with Catherine and Francis. Her husband was well aware of what his mother was capable of but still turned to her in times of confusion or crisis, especially when things were rocky between him and his wife. The queen mother’s presence in her life was something Mary had come to terms with, or at least tried to.

  “We were asked to intervene in the execution of a witch,” Francis explained while Ma
ry sipped her herbal tea. “Her parents came to us yesterday and asked that we stop the village elders from burning her at the stake until a proper investigation had taken place. But when Bash went to the village to speak with the girl, the villagers revolted and tried to burn her before he could bring her to us.”

  Catherine’s brow creased in comprehension. “And they knew that Bash spoke directly for you, their king?”

  “Yes,” Mary said. “And they killed the accused girl’s parents when Bash insisted she be given over to his custody. I have spoken with the girl, Bash and Kenna have spent time with her and her family, and we are quite satisfied she is not a witch, and yet Francis insists on delaying his judgment on the villagers. Bash seems to think one of the village elders, the leader of their council, has too much influence over the situation.”

  Catherine sipped her tea, looking contemplative. “What acts of witchcraft has she been accused of exactly?”

  “Several elderly villagers died of unexplained causes,” Mary said.

  “We should keep her around, then,” Catherine suggested. “There’s more than one old fool dithering around this castle that I could stand to be rid of.”

  “And she caused several expectant mothers to miscarry,” Francis added, looking purposefully at his wife.

  “So they say,” Mary said. “She claims to have no knowledge of any of this. She was an apprentice of a healer in the village, that’s the only connection.”

  “And might I ask the name of the village?” Catherine said. “And this council leader?”

  “It is the village of Auxerre,” Francis said, kneading his temples. “It’s a small village to the south. From what I’ve been able to find out, it’s nothing more than a small farming village, nothing special about it. The village elder’s name is Duquesne. I don’t know the name at all.”

  “Well, this is quite the conundrum,” the queen mother said, picking apart a flaky croissant. “Clearly action of some sort must be taken. The mere hint of a witch can be enough to set the people off. Trust me, I’ve seen it all before. My advice in these situations is don’t get the crown involved.”

  Francis settled back in his chair and took a huge bite of his sausage, triumphant eyes on Mary.

  “And yet, this Auxerre uprising business is equally as troubling. You can’t let the nobles see you ignore such a flagrant show of disrespect,” she continued. “And since we are involved, a simple solution such as chopping off the girl’s head and nipping it all in the bud is no longer an option.”

  “Catherine!” Mary exclaimed.

  “Oh, calm down,” Catherine tutted. “I said it is no longer an option. Would that it were… God forbid this gets back to the Vatican.”

  “What would you propose?” Francis asked. “The longer we wait, the weaker I look, whichever course of action we take.”

  Tilting her head from side to side while she deliberated, Catherine kept her attention on her breakfast.

  “Well?” Mary demanded after a seemingly endless silence. “What do you think we should do?”

  “The youth of today, always in such a rush,” the queen mother muttered. “Can’t I be allowed to finish my breakfast?”

  Mary rolled her eyes and pushed her plate away. Catherine never missed an opportunity to torture her, even when she and Francis were asking for her help. In fact, especially when they were asking for help, she thought.

  “My advice,” Catherine began, dabbing at the corners of her mouth with a silk napkin, “would be to find out as much as you can about this village elder, this Duquesne, and let me speak with the girl.”

  “You?” Mary said, not even attempting to conceal her surprise. “You would speak with the girl?”

  “I may no longer be the Queen of France,” she replied, turning to stare her daughter-in-law down, “but I have a great deal of knowledge that the two of you couldn’t even hope to comprehend. There are things I have seen with my own eyes that you wouldn’t even accept in a fairy tale. You both know Nostradamus had certain gifts and I’m certain I will be able to tell if this girl has any gifts of her own.”

  Francis glanced over at his wife, her face an unreadable mixture of emotions. She raised her eyes to meet his, wanting so badly to find peace. With extreme reluctance, she sighed and looked away.

  “Very well,” Francis said. “I will find out all I can about the village and its people. Mother, you speak to Alys. We will reconvene this afternoon and make a decision. I will not let the sun set on this problem; I want it resolved by nightfall.”

  With a firm nod, he marched out of the breakfast chamber, leaving his wife and mother to eat alone.

  “Sometimes he’s just the double of his father,” Catherine said, happily spreading preserves onto her croissant. “Don’t you think?”

  “Mary, there you are.”

  As quickly as Francis had disappeared, the huge wooden doors flew open once again and Bash bolted in, face flushed and hair in disarray.

  “Just when I thought I was going to be allowed to eat in peace,” Catherine said, unimpressed. “Now I’ve lost my appetite.”

  “There was an attack this morning,” Bash went on, walking right past the queen mother. “One of the cooks is from Auxerre and somehow heard Alys was in the castle. Word must have gotten out.”

  “Is she all right?” Mary pushed her chair out abruptly, sending it crashing to the floor. “Was she harmed?”

  Bash shook his head, studiously ignoring Catherine as she mimicked Mary’s concern. “She wasn’t harmed.”

  “And Ada?”

  “Miraculously, they are both fine. They managed to knock their attacker unconscious,” he said.

  “Miraculously, you say?” Catherine said. “The girl who isn’t a witch remains miraculously unharmed?”

  “Take me to her,” Mary demanded, leaving her meal uneaten. “And let it be known that both girls are now to be considered under my personal protection.”

  Catherine shook her head slowly, left alone at the table surrounded by food. “She will never learn,” she said out loud, to no one in particular. “And queen or no, if she isn’t more careful, it will be her undoing.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  I think you’ll be very comfortable in here,” Mary said as she guided Alys and Ada into the bright, sun-drenched chambers. “This used to be where my friends lived but now that they are married, they’re quite empty. Do you think you might like to stay here?”

  The girls looked at each other, a hint of a smile on their faces. “Yes please, Your Grace,” Alys said, nudging her little sister into a curtsy. “It’s very beautiful in here.”

  “And you’ll be quite safe now,” Mary said, painfully aware they had heard those words more than once in the last twenty-four hours. “The man who attacked you has been taken to the dungeons and my own guards will be outside this door all day and all night.”

  Ada rushed about the room, stroking the lavish silk bed hangings, jumping on the overstuffed armchairs, and pressing her nose up against the windows. Since the two of them had been cleaned up and given fresh clothing, all Mary could see were normal, sweet children. Even after all they had endured, their eyes were light and bright; there was no darkness about them.

  “Will our parents be coming to join us?” Alys asked, her voice still small and afraid. “Do they know where we are?”

  “Oh.” Mary pressed her hand to her chest, looking to Bash for a response. “Your parents?”

  “Alys, don’t be silly,” Ada said, her face still pressed up against a window. “Our parents are dead.”

  The older girl looked to Mary and Bash, stricken. Mary looked at the younger girl with fascination once again. Truly, she was an odd child. Sweet and loving but so strange sometimes.

  “I’m so sorry, Alys,” Bash said, squeezing Mary’s shoulder as he stepped forward. “Your parents didn’t make it last night but I promised them I would take care of the two of you.”

  “They’re not going to burn Alys, then?” Ada asked, leaving
the window to turn her attention to a huge bowl of fruit on the table. “Are you going to stop the men?”

  “The king is conducting an investigation into what exactly happened at your village,” Mary replied, taking Alys’s hand in hers and guiding her over to a chaise longue. Ada bounded across the room and leapt up beside them. “Until he reaches a decision, the two of you are my guests, under my protection.”

  Bash smiled at the sight of Mary sandwiched between the two girls. With one arm wrapped around Ada and the other brushing Alys’s hair, it was plain to see she was meant to be a mother.

  “And any guest of Mary’s is a friend of mine,” he swore. “And you’ve already met my wife, Kenna, so that’s three friends you already have at court.”

  “Are there any other children at court?” Ada asked, her huge blue eyes gazing up at Mary. The queen smiled at the thought of these two village girls playing with Catherine’s youngest sons. The former queen would rather have them running around with goats than fraternizing with Ada and Alys.

  “Sometimes,” Mary said. “But I think it would be best if you were to stay in these rooms for now.”

  “But I want to go outside,” Ada whined, kicking her legs against the frame of the chaise. “It’s boring inside.”

  Mary couldn’t help but sympathize. She had grown up confined to a convent, constantly aware of the threat of assassination. She knew exactly how it felt to be trapped, no matter how luxurious or loving your prison.

  “Hello, you two,” Kenna said as she opened the door to her former chamber, the scars from the night before covered up by a delicate rose-colored silk gown. The tips of the long sleeves reached all the way down to the tips of her fingers but when Kenna moved, Mary could see a large purple bruise blossoming on her wrist.

  “It’s nothing,” she said, covering it quickly. “I caught myself when I was getting Alys and Ada onto the horse. I wasn’t hurt, Mary. How are the girls this morning?”

  Bash smiled at the sight of his wife, as he always did. Today he felt especially grateful for her presence. All night long he had lain awake at her side, watching her uneasy sleep and thanking God that she had survived the fight. “Kenna, I was just about to go down and check on the horses. Do you think you and Ada might like to come with me?”