by Diana Rubino
"Lady Topaz," he continued, "I have been informed by the council that you have been imprisoned in the Tower since your rebellion to overtake the throne from my father King Henry the Eighth."
"Aye, sire," she replied, thinking it was probably the first he'd heard of it. How old had he been? Four, five? Barely walking? "I live these, the remainder of my days, in great remorse and regret for having betrayed such a kind and thoughtful king. I greatly mourned His Majesty's passing, and wish to appeal to Your Majesty for mercy. I have realized the error of my ways, have lived with the grief and torture of having my sons torn from my arms, and I plead with your majesty to have compassion for me and to let me live out the rest of my days in freedom."
She wanted to add more; this would be her only chance. Her life depended on her choice of words, her mannerisms, her ability to convince this child, this babe who had spent his pitiful brief life enclosed within castle walls, being groomed for life as a king. It was up to her, a woman who had seen the birth and death of two sons, had led battles to capture the throne of England, to convince a nine-year-old baby to let her live.
"I shall confer with the Council and relay my decision within a fortnight," he stated flatly, his eyes darting from this wall to that, from the ceiling down to the shoes slipping off his feet. "Remove Lady Topaz back to the Tower," he called to the guards, and they lunged forward to seize her.
"Your Majesty..." she shouted over her shoulder, struggling out of the guards' grasp, to run back to the throne, to throw herself at this boy's feet, to beg for her life, to plead some more. But it was over.
"Let me go!" she spat at the guards, twisting her arms that they held fast in their grip.
They ushered her out of the chamber and back to the waiting barge, where she would pass once more through Traitor's Gate.
Hampton Court Palace, Christmas, 1547
Amethyst and Matthew along with Harry received an invitation to spend Christmas with His Majesty King Edward VI at Hampton Court Palace. She was overjoyed for Harry to meet the King, and accepted readily.
As they were readying their household for the journey to Hampton Court, another royal messenger arrived. Amethyst broke the seal and read the contents of the letter. Its subject matter concerned King Henry's will.
She hadn't expected him to bequeath her anything; she'd passed on all the jewels he'd ever given her, with the exception of the teardrop pearl necklace, to his daughters Mary and Elizabeth. She needed no more manor homes, no lands, no titles. Her eyes filled with tears at the beautiful, simple, but most meaningful bequest.
He'd granted her and her family the honor of interment in Westminster Abbey, to lie in eternal rest with the immortals of history, to come full circle with her own history and to repose in her beloved shrine.
It meant more to her than all his other gifts combined, but sobered her as well. Henry was truly gone, but once again, he was almost commanding her fate, even from beyond the grave.
The palace was ablaze with lights that shone through the clear cold night as they rode through the gates of Hampton Court. The stars were strewn about the heavens, twinkling over the kingdom, the North Star like a glittering jewel paving the way for the rest, bringing the earth to the close of another year.
It was Christmas Eve, and festivities filled every corner of the palace, as revelers sang and danced past them. Many carried cups of ale and wine, spilling them on the gleaming floors. Fires blazed in every hearth and all the tables were heaped to overflowing with food.
A heavy cloud of sadness hung over Amethyst as they headed toward their apartments. She wiped back tears she didn't want her husband and son to see. It would be too tedious to explain what she was feeling, and she didn't want to spoil this most special Christmas for Harry, who was bubbling with excitement.
She knew her first Christmas without Henry would be a sad occasion, but there had been no way to prepare for it, especially here in Hampton Court Palace, where they'd spent so many happy times. It all came rushing back to her, those many evenings with him at the high table, the nights of love in his chambers, chambers that she would never set foot in again, which now belonged to his son.
Matthew sensed her sadness as they changed out of their travelling clothes. "Do you want to talk?" he asked, holding her gently, stroking her cheek with his knuckles.
"Nay, Matthew. 'Tis just...being here, that makes me sad, that is all."
"Perhaps we shouldn't have come."
"I could not disappoint Harry. Besides, I wanted Harry to meet King Edward. Who knows when he will have another chance to meet him, with us living at Kenilworth and Pendennis..."
She was trying to tell Matthew that this chapter of her life, of her years in royal company, of her royal surroundings, trumpetings and fanfare, were now over. Pendennis and Kenilworth were her true homes, and that was where she belonged with her family. She wiped away a final tear and they headed for the great hall.
Among the courtiers was Mary, her face strained, and Amethyst could tell she was trying to hold back the bursting dam of sadness she felt. It was a sad time for her, too. Although her succession and Elizabeth's had been restored, nothing would ever be the same again now that Henry was gone.
Amethyst embraced the princess warmly, giving her a final squeeze of the hand, knowing they would probably never meet again.
"Mary, do come visit us at Kenilworth whenever you wish."
"I would like that..."
A hopeful gesture, an empty promise, but it would hang in the air nonetheless.
Next she saw Kate Parr, who had recently married Tom Seymour, the true love of her life.
Princess Elizabeth was at her side, at the brink of womanhood, her red ringlets bouncing in time with her jaunty step, a cornet dangling from her hand.
She embraced Elizabeth and turned to Kate. "Is all well with you, Kate?"
Kate glowed radiantly, and Amethyst did not begrudge Kate her happiness. She had not loved Henry, just as Amethyst had not loved Mortimer. One did not willfully choose whom to love in this life, she'd realized long ago. Kate had done her duty by the King, and he'd set her free.
"Everything is superb, Amethyst! I believe I am expecting!"
She glanced down at Kate's tiny waist, no bigger than Elizabeth's.
"Are you sure?"
"Tom and I want this baby so badly. I so enjoy caring for Elizabeth and Edward, but to have your own..."
She understood Kate's every word. To be reunited with Matthew and to share their son had been the one joy in her life to which nothing could compare. She wished Kate a safe and healthy birth.
They finally made their way to King Edward, Amethyst taking her first glimpse of the boy as her new king. He was but a tiny dot among a retinue of advisors and councilors clamoring about him, wanting to serve his every need, and she could tell the boy simply wanted to enjoy the music. He'd had enough of being king. This was Christmas and he wanted to revel in it like any other child. He looked hot and uncomfortable in his regalia of robes and furs, gold and gemstones dripping from his neck.
She remembered Henry's words—Edward should have been theirs, the product of their love, the life they should have created together, their prince, their living legacy, Edward. But the boy knew nothing of her many years with his father, the special bond that held them close, the unspoken vows that had bound them together, although they had never exchanged any pledge before man or God.
She did not want to see Henry in his eyes, but he was there, in the dark gold sparkle, in the red-tinged hair, along with Jane's delicate build. Edward would never be the sturdy athlete his father was, and she wondered if he'd inherited the Tudor mind.
What kind of king would this boy be, she wondered, glancing over at Elizabeth, who was laughing merrily with other youngsters, playfully slapping one across the cheek. And what kind of queen would Mary or Elizabeth be?
She presented Harry to the King and the two boys looked at each other with that shy, blank but curious look peculiar to children; H
arry knew this boy was his king, but his young mind still didn't comprehend quite what that meant. Perhaps Edward wasn't quite sure of his new and uncomfortable role, either. To Harry, he was a boy in fancy robes, and to Edward, Harry was the only person in the entire palace younger than himself, and one he could play with if only he were allowed…
The music played on, the mimes and masques came out, the banquet began, and King Henry VIII was all but forgotten as the court played on, and the kingdom lived without him.
They rode a royal barge to the Tower for Amethyst to visit Topaz and her nephews, Matthew fulfilling his promise at last to see his sons.
"I shall go see the lads, you can go see Topaz."
"Nay, let us both visit her together. She has not written in so long, I fear that she really has not forgiven us for marrying."
"I do not care to see her, Amethyst."
"She granted you the divorce so that we could be together. Be big about it, Matthew. What harm can it do? She is the mother of your children, after all."
"I know, but I would not have you upset for all the world. If she has not even written you, her own sister, I fear that no good can come of this meeting."
"She is still my sister, no matter how angry she might be at us having found love with each other at last."
"Very well, then, I shall do it for your sake. But if she starts to vent her spleen against you, we will leave, is that clear?"
"Aye. So long as you understand that she is my sister and I will never abandon her while there is ever even a hope that we can all be reconciled."
"Very well," he reluctantly agreed.
The guard led them across the green to the quarters where she was lodged. They approached her cell and could make out her slight figure hunched over a writing desk.
"Topaz," Amethyst called, and she turned.
Amethyst's hand gripped Matthew's arm in reaction to the sight of her sister. She was even more drawn than before, her eyes two dark pools of pain sunken into gray sockets. She had to grab on to him for support as she stared.
Topaz weakly heaved herself to her feet and made her way hand over hand along the furniture and walls for support. She squinted her eyes and cautiously approached her visitors, a shadowy haze behind the iron bars.
"It is Amethyst, and...Matthew. You are here? Here at last?"
"Aye, Sister. We are here. We had not heard from you and thought, well...but we are here to see how you fare, and—"
Topaz approached them, clutching her shawl around her bony shoulders. She shuffled up to them, slowly, unsteadily on her feet, and stopped, staring at the floor. "He killed them." Her voice was a weak echo of her frail body.
Amethyst wasn't sure she'd heard correctly. "Killed whom?"
"Your stinking rotten dead king, he killed my babies."
"What?" she gasped.
Matthew slapped his palm against the cold stone wall in impatient fury. "What are you talking about, Topaz? Where are the lads?"
"Dead. He killed them, he..." Her voice broke into a rash of sobs and she turned away, scurrying back to her writing desk where she laid her head in her arms, sobbing, babbling incoherently.
Matthew grabbed Amethyst by the arm and ran up to the guard. "Where are the two boys, the Gilford boys? I demand to see them at once, I am their father!"
The guard took a breath and looked away. At that second Amethyst knew Topaz had been right. A numbing shock tore through her and she clutched at her heart. She barely heard the guard's words.
"They died a natural death, right before the death of His Majesty the King."
"Natural!" Matthew shouted, his anguished cry echoing through the depths of the stone walls. "Where are they?! Take me to their place of burial!"
"I know not where they are buried. They expired quite suddenly and were interred somewhere, I know not where."
"Who would know?" Matthew exclaimed, flailing his arms helplessly. "Does King Edward not know?"
"Nay, King Edward knew nothing of this. I know not."
Matthew buried his face in his hands, shaking his head in quiet despair. Amethyst grasped him and they clung together in shared grief.
"This is why we have not heard from you then," Amethyst demanded of Topaz.
"I have written, almost every day. I knew it. I knew it. He tricked us all, old Fat Harry. Lied to all of us and has kept us apart. Because together, we would have been strong, strong enough to be queen, with two sons to…"
Amethyst shut her ears to the rant she knew all too well. But this time, she could not help but admit that in some ways, her sister might have been right. What better way to diffuse the power of the Plantagenets than to seduce her…
But no, she would not think of Henry in that way. There had been real love between them, she was sure of it. His dying words had been to her and her alone, she was sure of it. No, there had to be some mistake, some explanation…. And she and Matthew would find it together.
She promised she would be back to see Topaz and led her sobbing and raging husband away.
They approached every Yeoman within the entire fortress, from the sentinel at the White Tower to the guard at Traitor's Gate. No one knew where the boys had been interred.
"I do not suppose King Edward would know," Amethyst told her husband as they boarded a barge to take them back to the palace. "He was not even king yet when they died. He never even knew the boys. If only we knew where their bodies were..."
"Topaz said King Henry killed them," Matthew said, wiping away a tear as the barge slipped into the stream of traffic running down the busy waterway. "Mayhap the secret has died with him."
Amethyst shook her head, slowly coming to terms with the truth. "He could never have done it himself. Oh, Lord Jesu... How could he have done this to two innocent boys? How could he?"
"Simple. He ordered one of his henchmen to carry out the atrocity, just like his father did to your father. Regard for human life does not seem to run in Tudor hearts." Matthew's voice was tortured with bitterness and pain. "The question is, who did it? And what will we have to pay to get their bodies back?"
She took his cold fingers in hers and warmed them between her hands, bringing his hand to her lips. Her warm tears splashed into his palm. He drew her close to him, and she could feel his desperate need for comfort. Bodies…. Oh, dear God. It could not be true.
Yet as they rode along in the barge, she had the sinking feeling that it was all too true.
The Tower receded into the black mist of the night, fading into the distance, a hideous monster retreating, sliding into the blackness of the past, further and further away. Amethyst took one final look at her birthplace, the site of so many deaths, the deaths of all the claimants to the throne, the flesh of her flesh, the same blood that spilt forth from their bodies running through her own veins.
Finally she turned her back and let the memory of the great yellow monster fade into the clouded void of her past, to die with her past, to leave her in peace forever. She couldn't help but wonder if Henry had taken the boys with him to his grave just so he would not have to die alone.
The feelings she'd once had for Henry slowly became tinged with horror as the Tower and all the ugliness it represented now came to the fore even as she tried to distance herself from it. She knew he'd committed acts of mindless cruelty in the past, but now the shock was her own as she grieved over the deaths of Matthew's sons, her nephews.
She'd once believed Henry to be infallible, perfect and without sin. But now, looking over at her husband's face and the unspeakable pain it wore, she hoped one day she would know the answers... Why had Henry done this?
Within the promised fortnight, a guard stopped by Topaz's cell to deliver a message from King Edward. Her heart leapt, for she knew not what the boy king had planned for her. She wondered what Edward's advisors were prompting him to do about her; for she was the only remaining threat to the crown.
She tore at the royal seal, her hands trembling, her heart throbbing. She gasped gulps of air a
s she unfolded the parchment and said a silent prayer that the child would uphold his father's word and keep her alive.
Her eyes widened as she first scanned the page looking for the fatal words, death or execution. Her eyes zigzagged down the page, taking in each individual word, not yet putting them together to comprehend the message.
She started at the beginning again, and read it through once more. It slipped from her fingers and fluttered to the floor. She clasped her hands to her breast and heaved a heavy sob that came from deep within her.
Tears sprang from her eyes and ran down her cheeks. She looked up, at the patch of blue beyond the panes of leaded glass, coated with years of dust. She glanced down at Tower Green, at the cobbled square marking the scaffold site where queens and traitors had met their deaths, and the church beyond, where Anne's and Catherine's remains now lay.
