Duke George drank; wiped his eyes again; saw Duke Richard sitting opposite to him and eating a wafer.
“Are you restored?” he asked.
“It would draw anyone’s tears,” said Duke George defensively.
“Anyone might weep who was as injured and outraged as you think yourself to be, George, Duke of Clarence, first prince of the blood royal of England, Lord Lieutenant of Ireland. But you mayn’t. You aren’t injured. Oh, you silly man, why must you hate yourself and then blame Edward and me because you hate yourself, and so injure us and then hate yourself worse for having injured us? You’re not as tall or as old as Edward and — to speak the perfect truth you’re not as clever as I am. But you’re a man, and a very proper one. Leave it so. Stop putting yourself to the brake — someone told me that not so long ago — and remember our Lord Edward and I are your brothers.”
“You don’t trust me.”
“We would do if you would but allow us. I swear, as I hope for salvation at the high doom, Edward has no malice against you; and I have less than none. Can’t you be easy again?”
“You can talk.”
“By St. Paul, if you weren’t my respected elder brother, I’d do more than talk. George, I love you, and it sours my belly to see you turn into a wine-soaking, morose fool and a creature of grudges. Pure silly jealousy’s the root of it. Leave coveting what’s not yours — the crown you once aimed at, Kingmaker’s lands you want to swallow the whole of — and take pride in what you have and what you are. It’s ample, surely. Leave blaming yourself and then thrusting the blame into our mouths: and at least purge your soul of one thing now and feel easier for it.”
“What thing?”
“Tell me where is Anne.”
“There you’re at it again. There you’re at it. You won’t believe me. I’m a liar and a turncoat. The devil damn you black, I’ve told you till the words stick in my gullet, I don’t know. She was here and she ran away, and now I swear by God I don’t know where she is.”
He was aware of his heart banging like an armourer’s hammer, of Duke Richard’s stiff, white face, full of ambiguous expression, that conveyed nothing. It is half the truth, he told himself urgently: looked at one way, is the whole truth. I want understanding, want forgiveness from someone after they have known the worst. If he asks me why she ran away, I’ll tell him. It might be better if I did. Duke Richard’s dagger clicked three times in its sheath, at stretched-out intervals, before he said:
“Then God forgive you, George. You’ve made my life harder than it need have been. But let’s try even now whether we can’t wean you of these humours and jealousies of yours and teach you that we don’t call you ill names when your back’s turned.”
*
“No, it isn’t that I mind really. I only just thought that perhaps to-night … It’s silly of me. I feel lonely, I suppose.”
“Oh, aye; well, but you’ve got your women, haven’t you?”
“Women.”
“Well then, shall I send Will to keep you company a little?”
“Will: oh, you great stupid bear, when you can see quite plainly that it’s you I want.”
“My dear love: but I’ve told you how it is. Parliament’s prorogued, and I’ve ten hundred things to see to to-night.”
“Ten hundred hampersful of devils!”
“God’s blessed Lady, Elizabeth!”
Edward of England sat upright on the daybed where he had been sprawling and stared at his Queen. She, a stiff Madonna in purple velvet and ermine all flowered-over with arabesques of silver and pearls, stared back at him. She knew that she could stand inspection. Everything that decoctions of milk, turpentine, almonds and English herbs, unguents from the domain of the Grand Turk and the odd and rather evil-smelling preparations sent her in secret by Friar Bungay could do to preserve her figure and complexion had been done. Her hair, though hidden under her large coiffe, was powdered with gold-dust. Her cheeks were pink — not, just at present, altogether with fard — and her forehead white. Her greenish eyes under the plucked eyebrows were brightened by the cunning application of a black Egyptian earth and drops of a distillation of nightshade. She did not happen, at the moment, to be pregnant, but a padded stomacher gave her the fashionably forward and upward-thrusting belly. She was wearing several hundred pounds’ worth of jewellery and looking her best.
“What’s amiss with you?” asked the King grievedly.
“I forgot my duty for a moment. I ask pardon.”
“Nay, nay, nay” — Edward’s ringed enormous hand fumbled for hers — “tell me the trouble.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have spoken so. I want always to be meek and submissive to my Lord. But it’s hard sometimes when you’re so secret with me, as though you thought I wouldn’t understand, that I’d be jealous.”
“Jealous: I’ll renounce Mahomet if I know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, Edward; and do you really think I believe it’s State business that’s taking you away to-night?”
“Now listen, Elizabeth. I swear by …”
“You’re going to Jane Shore: as if I minded that. That’s what so hard to bear; you thinking I’ll be jealous.”
“God damn it, Elizabeth …”
“I know you are, and if only you understood how gladly willing I am you should take any pleasure anywhere. Jane Shore’s a decent little thing, if she was born in the kennel, and I’m sure it’s not her fault if she has such a coarse and rusty way of speaking. If she makes you happy, it’s enough for me, and I’ll be her bedeswoman as long as I’ve breath. But it does hurt me to my bowels that you keep secrets from me.”
“Now may God so help and save me, Elizabeth, I was thinking of nothing in all Christendom, but saving you a little ill-ease. You’re a kind woman, Elizabeth. You don’t grudge a man a little natural happiness of his body. But a good husband doesn’t tell his wife: I’m up and off now to say good-night to my leman.”
“So you were going to see her all the time.”
“Oh, hell and devils, I said no such thing.”
“You keep secrets from me. That’s what cuts the veins in my heart. You keep secrets. You’re not open with me any more.”
“My dear love, it was only for your own happiness. God’s blessed Lady, I’ll be as open with you as you want, then. Yes, I’m going to Jane to-night. A common woman would be angry if her husband told her that, but I do seriously believe you’d sooner I were open about it. Jane’s a good skin — the wittiest whore in my realm, I tell her. You understand, Elizabeth.”
“Yes, Edward, I do understand, and the blessed Virgin knows I try to take it all in charity. You so hard at work, ruling your England: what does it matter, I ask myself when at night thinking of her and you together, what does it matter where he gets his pleasure, so he gets it?”
“But look you, Elizabeth, you never lie awake at night troubling your dear head over me and Jane?”
“I try not to. Oh, I do try. I try to be dutiful and think only of your happiness. But when one loves as I love, Edward, God knows it’s hard.”
Queen Elizabeth put a kerchief of very fine lace in front of her eyes and turned her face away. Between the elaborate and fantastic structure of her coiffe and the furred yoke of her gown, her long neck, the colour of ivory, seemed almost painfully slender, and the brittle colour of the stones about it enhanced its touching appearance of fragility. Many hundreds of dead men whose quarters and heads had rotted upon public spikes or their bones been shovelled into pits on battlefields might not have recognised their butcher as Edward, in red-cheeked perplexity, came behind her and put his hands on her shoulders and mumbled into her ear:
“Oh, my dear love, you mustn’t cry. Nay, you mustn’t grieve like that. I can’t uphold it. Look, if this is how you feel, I’ll not go to her to-night. I’ll have no more dealings with her. It’s you I love best, Elizabeth. I love you with all my heart and liver. I’ll have no more of Jane. I swear I’ll not.”
The
Queen turned round to him very suddenly.
“Edward, beloved husband, I’m an ungrateful, wicked woman.”
“An angel, an angel.”
“I’m not. I’m a wicked woman and I’ve made you unhappy. Forgive me, dear, my Lord. Oh, I call all the saints to witness for me I’m not jealous. I’d rather be burned in a tar-barrel than rob you of the smallest pleasure. You shan’t give Jane up, never. I’ll not have it. You must take no notice of my woman’s nonsense. It wasn’t her that I was crying over. It’s only I’ve had so much to make me wretched these late times, so much to trouble over. Go to Jane, my dear, and give her my blessing if she makes you happy.”
“I’ll do no such thing. What’s this you’ve been troubling over?”
“No, don’t mind me.”
“God’s teeth, but I will mind you. What’s been grieving you?”
“Nothing, dear heart, only that I’m afraid people — people who hate me, people who say you married beneath your dignity”
“Passion of Christ, if any man’s so hardy as to say that, I’ll take such measure with him as’ll make him wish he’d been born dumb.”
“But your own brothers say it.”
“Not for their lives, they daren’t.”
“George of Clarence says nothing else.”
“You give me proof of that, and I’ll buffet George about the cheeks with my own hands so that he looks like a horn-lantern.”
“Then the saints forbid I ever give you any proof. I, stir up strife between you and your own brother: Edward, you must think ill of me if you think that.”
“Now, Elizabeth …”
“And all I ever said was that now my ill-wishers can laugh at me and giggle into their sleeves and point their fingers at me and say that you don’t love me now, and they’ll have proof, too. They’ll say, since you set eyes on that — on Jane Shore, you’ve ceased to honour my kindred, and I and my brothers and sisters and your poor stepsons are quite out of favour.”
“But God’s blessed Lady,” said the King, sitting down, “your kinsfolk are as close to me as my own brothers. I’ve exalted and lifted up the Wydvylles and the Greys as no house was ever exalted in England since William Conqueror.”
“Once, Edward, once.”
“Haven’t I sent Anthony as my orator to the court of Duke Francois of Brittany?”
“Yes, Anthony’s useful to you.”
“And married your sisters to half the old nobility of England?”
“Yes, my sisters; but you used to care for your stepsons too, for my poor darlings. Now I suppose they only remind you I was once nearly as common a woman as Jane Shore.”
“Don’t say that, Elizabeth!”
“But I can’t help but feel it, Edward, when you care so little for them.”
“Nay, but my love, I call that very hard. I’m as fond of your Thomas as if he were my own get: a good, gracious, well-mannered young man as you’ll meet.”
“Not gracious enough for you to find a wife for him.” King Edward’s blue eyes slowly widened to their full. His girlishly lovely mouth opened in company with them.
“So there’s where the shoe pinches,” he said in a hushed voice of self-condemnation and relief. “What a cuckoo-witted innocent I am. Oh dear Elizabeth, did you truly think I was neglecting you because I haven’t made a marriage for Thomas yet? Forgive me. I’m to blame. I’ve left the business too long. I see that now. Why, Jane herself — now this’ll teach you the kind of woman she is, Elizabeth — Jane herself said to me only the other — said to me not long back she wondered Thomas hadn’t found a wife yet.”
“Well, and if even she talks of it, it shows you what people think; shows how I’m mocked now.”
“I was a fool, Elizabeth. But it wasn’t as you think. I swear by the sacrament it wasn’t. I’ve had so much to busy me. Tell me, love, had you thought of a likely wench for him?”
“Not I, Edward: I don’t plan such things.”
“Now if match-making isn’t woman’s work, what is, in God’s name? Haven’t you thought of anyone?”
“Well, she’s young yet, and you might think her too good for him.”
“Never in this mortal world.”
“It was the old Lord Haryngton’s daughter, Cecily Bonville.”
“Will Hastings’ little step-daughter: excellent, Elizabeth, that’s an excellent thought! The chit’s young yet, but we could contrive it in a year or so. Baroness Bonville and Haryngton in her own right, and a very plump little heiress too: Thomas will be among the clover with her. Excellently thought of, love. And her father was a good white rose man; died by mine’s side at the ill day of Wakefield. He shall have her. If she weds any other, it’ll be across my body.”
“Oh, Edward, my dear Lord.”
She kissed him, holding her head sharply backward and pressing her breasts forward, so as not to disarrange her headgear. He patted her shoulders.
“Does that show you that you’re still my most special darling of all darlings, Elizabeth?”
“Oh, my love, you’re so sweet to me you can almost make me forget my troubles.”
“Forget your troubles? Look you, my dearest, what are these troubles you keep talking of? Tell me. Only tell me. I’m King of England, even if I am your bond-slave. What troubles have you I can’t put a stop to? I’ll not suffer you to have troubles.”
“I won’t stir up strife between you and your brothers. I’ve told you that.”
King Edward got on his feet again. His face took on a look of anger that suited it better than its previous sheepishness.
“George?” he asked gratingly.
Queen Elizabeth grabbed one of his hands.
“He means no harm, Edward. I’m sure and certain he doesn’t. But he does say such unkind things. He’s unnatural, I think, to call his own brother’s wife a yellow-haired upstart.”
“He said that?” shouted King Edward, his long back bending and his elbows and fingers flexing.
“Something like that, I heard.”
“The drunken, babble-tongued, insolent ribald, I’ll break his neck.”
“Edward, Edward, don’t say such things!”
“I will.”
“No, no, you mustn’t speak like that. Oh, I wish I’d held my peace about it all.”
“You should have told me long since.”
“I’ll be sorry I’ve told you now unless you swear not to be rash with George. Just because he was a traitor to you once, you mustn’t be hard on him. Only if he says such cruel things about me, I do think you might speak to him — only gently — and tell him how much he hurts me. I’m sure if you happen to take him when he’s sober he’ll understand and be very sorry.”
“He’ll be sorry.”
“No, Edward, don’t look like that. He’s your own brother. You must promise me you’ll be forbearing with him.”
“As you please: then I’ll promise.”
“God bless you, my sweet darling husband.”
“Happy now, Elizabeth?”
“Very happy, Edward. Nay, but look how I’m keeping you from Jane. You must make haste.”
“Elizabeth!”
“Yes, my Lord?”
“But you never mean I should go to Jane now, to-night, after what you said?”
“Oh, you foolish love, you foolish, foolish love, why would I not do? Go to Jane, poor creature. She’ll have joy of your body, but never such joy as I have of your goodness and your kingliness. That is my reserved special pleasure. Poor Jane the merchant’s wife, the wittiest whore in your realm, she may take what she can of you. I don’t envy her. Fm not jealous. I pity her with all my heart. She’ll never know the real Edward as I know him.”
“Body of God, Elizabeth, you’re a marvellous woman.”
“No, Edward, only a loving wife. Go to your pleasure of to-night now. Don’t keep her waiting, your witty Jane. I love you so much that I can even spare you from the bed of your royalty to lie in the gutter for a night or two, if you so please.
”
“Elizabeth, are you sure you want me to go?”
“Sure, sure, and sure. Go now: you mustn’t keep Jane waiting.”
“Elizabeth, I swear it, no man ever had such a wife as you.”
“Nor any woman such a husband.”
This time, as they kissed, Queen Elizabeth’s coiffe was pushed askew. She straightened it with one hand whilst she waved her husband, who seemed disposed to further talk, toward the door with the other.
“A happy night, Edward, and be kind to Jane. She’s deserved nothing else from you, whatever she has from her husband.”
“Good-night, Elizabeth, and God bless you for a kind, sensible woman and my dearest wife.”
One minute after the damascened lock of the door had clicked behind him, Queen Elizabeth tinkled a gold-and-crystal bell. A page appeared and, still busy with her coiffe in front of the mirror, she gave orders for her jewel-chest. Two pages carried it, their graceful bodies, skin-tight in silk, dragged inward and sideways by its weight. When they were dismissed again, the Queen fished a small key out of her bosom and unlocked the nail-studded, stout box. Kneeling, she disposed its trays around her on the floor. Her broad sweep of purple train made the right background for the loops and curves of glittering stuff that she pulled out and ran her fingers through. There were clusters and clots of diamonds like perpetually-sunned, unmelting ice, dull opals, blatant sapphires and emeralds, long lines of pearls that shamed the commoner ones upon her dress, unshining turquoises and bloody rubies. Many-coloured enamels seemed to purr with satisfaction as the light stroked them. Her whitened hands, themselves startling with jewels, delved in and out, hauling up entangled necklaces, chains, heavy gold bracelets, elaborate ear-rings, and splashing them round her on the silk carpet. She squatted back on her heels and trickled them through her fingers: the record, frozen into hard shapes and colours, of King Edward’s conjugal affection. She was picking out a really handsome present for her friend Jane Shore.
*
Mr. William Colyngbourne of Lydyard in Wiltshire, up in London during Parliament-time, was drinking an evening quart of ale at his favourite tavern in St. Botolph’s parish. He was a sober, comfortable yeoman in a black best gown over blue doublet and black hose. His companion, a sharpfaced Londoner whom he had met that evening, listened to him with interest and apparent respect when he told him how he had once held office as Serjeant of the Pantry in King Edward’s household and was now in hopes of getting himself appointed by the King’s mother, the great Duchess of York, as steward of her lands in Wiltshire.
Under the Hog: A Novel of Richard III Page 24
