The King's Sisters

by Sarah Kennedy

  “What is that you say?”

  “It is the poet. Chaucer. He speaks of freedom and the many faces that our God shows us. The ways we go about to seek what we must find. Mother taught it to me, when I was a small girl. William loved the poets, too, before he became a father. And then he was concerned with little beyond genealogies. Begetting and begotten. And then he was no longer my William. My children. What will become of them?”

  “Stand up,” said Ann. “Come, walk with me.”

  Catherine looked up at Ann’s outstretched hand. It was thin, and the blue veins rivered her knuckles. She grasped the fingers and let herself be drawn up to stand beside her friend.

  Ann said, “This may be all they will do.”

  “Is it not enough?” asked Catherine. The weeping threatened the backs of her eyes again, but she swallowed and retrieved her cup from the floor. “To murder girls for wanting a few shiny things?” She pulled the linen packet from her pocket and shook out the juniper, but Ann snatched away her cup.

  “Walk. Remember. Your children.” Ann curled her hand under Catherine’s elbow and began to circle the cell.

  Catherine walked, and the movement loosened her muscles. They went around once, then twice, and the third time she stopped at the window and looked out, but the night had fallen and there was nothing certain to be seen outside the circumference of their small world.

  30

  The door rattled and squeaked, and the gaoler squinted in upon them. The sun was beginning to stretch its grey morning fingers across the room. “You got a suitor,” he said, and withdrew.

  Catherine expected LaBranche and arranged her clothing, but in walked Benjamin Davies. “Catherine,” he said, “forgive me—”

  She thought he was a specter. Then an imposter. She let him gather her to him—he was real enough, and he was himself—but then she pushed against the embrace. His arms stiffened, trying to hold her, but she shook herself loose. She said, “I am very glad to see you. At last. Where have you been? We have waited and waited. There’s talk.”

  His eyes held a question, but he looked beyond her to Ann. “We must get you out of this place.”

  “How did you know we were here?” Ann said. Catherine could hear her shoving the blankets aside and getting to her feet.

  “A boy from Richmond. A companion of your woman, Agnes. He came to the house the day I returned. We rode up the lane almost as one. I have not even stopped to order my servants.”

  “You have not been to Richmond, then?”

  “No. Has the lawyer been to see you?”

  “Nor to see Margaret?”

  Benjamin said, “Your Margaret?”

  Ann said, “She claims that she is your Margaret.”

  “What? What is happening?” asked Benjamin. He shook his head. “Has the world gone mad?”

  “Sit, Benjamin,” said Catherine. “We have much to tell you.”

  The gaoler stuck his head in the door, and Benjamin shouted, “Get out, man, and leave us be or I will get you gone myself.” The man scuttled backward like a frightened beetle and pulled the door shut. Benjamin sat.

  Catherine placed her hands flat on the table to keep her fingers from trembling. She opened her mouth, but her throat narrowed, and she breathed deeply. Once. Twice. She was very tired. “You have been gone a lifetime. They have killed the young maids. For theft.” Benjamin was shaking his head and Catherine said, “We have seen them taken. They were brought past our eyes. For the benefit of our consciences, I have no doubt.” He put his face into his hands, then went to the door and stopped. Catherine looked at Ann. She moved her head sideways a little, a gesture of indecision.

  “They have not murdered those children,” Benjamin said. He was pushing at the latch. “Tell me they have not.”

  “We did not see the deed itself,” said Catherine, “but the priest was with them. Why else but to take them to hanging? Like a couple of scared rabbits caught with lettuces between their teeth, screaming all the while. It was most horrible. They have not returned.”

  “Why would they bother to hang them?” The latch would not give way, and Benjamin banged it with his fist. Still it would not move. The gaoler showed an eye, and Benjamin said, “Go off, man!” The eye retreated. “Where has your lawyer been in all of this? I knew his father of old. He was a good man.” He ran his finger behind the hook. “I have paid him well to protect you. He was to have his ear to the ground for you.”

  Catherine said, “Good fathers have had weak sons. We have seen him once and no more.”

  “Have you been questioned?”

  “Not since we were brought here,” said Ann.

  “I will kill him,” said Benjamin. “I will strangle him with my bare hands.” He went to the window and tried to open it.

  “I think the lock is broken.”

  Benjamin called for the gaoler, then he lifted Catherine by her wrists. “Look how thin you are grown. And how pale. You need food and sunlight. You need air.”

  “Margaret,”Catherine said. The name came up with a sickness beneath it, and Catherine swallowed some wine to keep herself from vomiting. “She says you are married.” She noticed the ragged edges of her nails. “She says that she carries your child.”

  “The whole of England has gone lunatic. She lies,” said Benjamin. “She will not maintain this to my face.”

  Ann said, “Her tongue does not know the flavor of shame.”

  “Then we will make her taste it,” said Benjamin.

  “What is the formal charge against you?”

  “Common theft,” said Catherine. The heat sparked in her cheeks again. “The same charge as was laid at the feet of those two girls now dead. The king’s men found the purse you gave me, and they say it is just the amount they have found missing from the Lady Anne’s accounts. And they found the list of names that you left for me. They claim that I aimed to flee the country with the money. And there is a ring missing. They claim that I have it, though I have never laid eyes upon it. And they know that I wrote to Father of our marriage.”

  “What about LaBranche? Has he done anything at all?” Benjamin punched the table. “I have paid him from my own pocket.”

  “Perhaps you should have bought him some brains while you were making your investment,” said Ann bitterly.

  “He will hear from me. You may depend upon that,” said Benjamin. He stood and called again for the gaoler. Then he turned. “Ann, Reg sends you his regards.”

  “I would give a great deal to lay eyes upon his face one more time,” blurted Ann. She pushed the cups and bottle around.

  “What is this?” Benjamin lifted the leaves crumbled onto the linen. “Catherine?”

  “The maid brought it with some other goods.”

  “I will return before the sun has made his circuit again. You stay here,” said Benjamin.

  Catherine laughed but the sound lay heavy on her tongue. “What else can we do?”

  31

  The next morning dawned warmer, and Ann did not scrape a line on the wall for the passing day. There were twenty now, and she had reached the corner. “What difference can it make how long we are here? I cannot recall when I began to mark the time.”

  “He will come back,” said Catherine. The gaoler opened the door, and she jumped to her feet.

  “What do you want of us?”

  He showed an iron bar. “The man says your window’s not workin’. I’m goin ta fix it.” He stepped across and laid the bar precisely behind the latch and pried it free. “You see?”

  “We are very fortunate,” said Ann.

  The gaoler coughed in his throat and walked out, but before he could shut the door behind him, he said, “You have visitors.”

  Catherine started forward, but it was not Benjamin. Nor was it their lawyer LaBranche. Martin David Martins waddled into the room, followed by
Ellers Chandler. Martins was wearing the hip weapon, and he struck his wide-footed pose with his right hand on the gleaming wheel-lock. Chandler placed his hands upon his own hips and trained his narrow eyes on the women.

  “Ladies. How do you? I am come to greet you and see to your well-being,” said Martins. Chandler grinned like a trained dog.

  “Where is your third?” asked Ann. “That flaming Barts? I thought the three of you were like the legs of a stool, unable each to stand without the others.”

  As though conjured, Ciaran Barts came smoldering through the door.

  “I have turned prophetess,” said Ann. She turned her back and walked to the open window. “And Sebastian? I suppose you have turned him loose on the Richmond girls again.”

  “What do you want?” asked Catherine. She wondered whether Benjamin had challenged the men. Perhaps LaBranche had finally done his duty.

  “I am here to converse, Christian soul to Christian soul,” said Martins.

  Ann spat, and Barts shoved her against the wall. Martins guided Catherine to the opposite corner, where her head almost grazed the stones. “Now, Lady Catherine,” he said. “You want to be free of this . . . this cold and dark place.”

  “This prison, you should say. This cell where your false accusations have landed us. We will be free, but not by your hand.”

  Martins’ hand slid up Catherine’s left side and stopped just under the pit of her arm. He squeezed gently and when she pulled away, he eased her back, close to him. “A man might find a way to see such accusations reversed. Things that have gone missing might be recovered. Papers that seem suspicious might be found to be innocent as the dawn.” He stood very near to her now, near enough that his breath warmed her neck. She could feel the hardness of his weapon against her hip. “I might be as good as a loving father to you. A woman needs a keeper.”

  “What do you suggest?” she said, loudly enough for the gaoler to hear, if he were outside the door. “Will you have me bribe you, sir?”

  Martins stepped back. The gaoler came into the room and said, “What goes on here?”

  “Nothing,” said Martins. “I have given the lady a chance to tell me where she has hidden the goods of the King’s Beloved Sister and she refuses, like the liar and thief that she is. I will help her no more. She’s a whore, as well, and cannot keep her thoughts from men.” He cast a look up and down Catherine and jerked his head toward the door. Barts and Chandler scurried after him. The gaoler gave the two women each a long look and left, locking up behind him as he went.

  Ann listened for a few minutes. “Why did he come now?”

  “I don’t know,” said Catherine. She sat at the table and put her face in her hands. “He knows that Benjamin has been here. But I don’t know what it means. You heard him bewhore me. Why now? Why? Benjamin. Where is Benjamin?”

  “Is that always the bargain?” asked Ann, sitting across from her. “They promise, they take, and then they leave us to ourselves again. It is not a world for women.” She drank a deep swallow of wine. “They might as well be done with it. I have nothing left in me to help me endure this.”

  They sat the whole day, waiting, waiting, but heard nothing except whisperings and boots going by their door. The sun slanted toward evening, and the gaoler put his face against the opening in the door. “You wanting out? Bit o’ the sun on your face before it disappears?”

  Ann said, “Would you?”

  “Yea, I would. Got to be one at a time, though.” He jangled the keys. “Got to leave my other man here with the lone woman.”

  Catherine said, “You go. I am going to shake out our things. Tell me if it’s too bright for your eyes.”

  “You should be first.” Ann touched Catherine’s forehead. “Benjamin is right. You need to be outside.”

  “No. You. I’m sleepy just now.” Catherine yawned broadly and went to the corner, where she laid her head down in the cold alcove, using a folded blanket for a pillow. “Go on.”

  Catherine heard the door open and the swish of Ann’s skirt as she went. As soon as the hallway was quiet, she opened her eyes. A dark figure sat at the table, his legs crossed. He was fox-faced and when Catherine sat up, he moved to the window. “Join me, Lady. The air is fresh.” Catherine got warily to her feet but stayed where she was. The man was tall and narrow as a strip of gristle. He put his face close to the glass. “There they go,” he said, and Catherine stepped over to see. No one. Nothing but a grey cat that streaked by. Catherine backed away, around the edge of the chamber. She took up the blanket and folded it. The man stared out the window and said, “You have much to keep you busy, Lady. You might rest your hands for a time.”

  There were still some scraps of food,and Catherine sat on the floor to sort through the newest basket. She pulled the paper twist that stoppered the wine with her teeth. “Will you offer me a drink, then?” the man said, and Catherine held the bottle out. He drank it to the dregs. Behind him the sun glimmered on the opposite wall, and Catherine watched its gold reflection on a window beyond hers. Heard the trill of a wren. It was likely searching for a mate to share its nest, tucked up in the wide eaves.

  “Do not,” she said. “I beg you.”

  “Ladies shouldn’t beg. It shames ‘em. Right good that there’s no one about but me ta hear it.” He set the bottle aside and it clinked gently. He smiled. His teeth were speckled. He reached for her. Catherine slid backward until her shoulder touched the wall. She said again, “Do not,” but still he came toward her, weighing her to the floor.

  The sun shot a ray into the far window. Catherine struggled to see that spot of radiance, but the man was upon her. He lifted her skirts as she said, “No, no,” and pushed against him, but he covered her face with the heavy cloths and then covered her with his body. The light went out. His hand traveled over her breasts and up her legs. Over her belly. Stopped there. “You are a whore in fact,” he said, “as well as a thief. In the company of the King’s Sister and carrying a bastard?”

  “I confess it. I’ve got a child in me.”

  The hand withdrew, and she heard the man get to his feet. A boot landed against her ribs. Then another. Catherine cried out and turned away, rolling into a ball. “The others will know of this, and I will be paid handsomely for it.”

  When she opened her eyes again, Catherine lay alone. The chamber was darker now, the sun tumbled far into the west, and she had to feel for her hose. Her hand touched the empty bottle and sent it flying. It smashed in the corner, and Catherine fixed her dress quickly before she pulled a full one from their basket to set on the table. Ann would be gladdened to see that they still had something to drink. Catherine sat and laid her head back upon the folded blanket, curled her feet under her skirt, and turned her face to the wall.

  She was in a dream of shouting, surrounded by women shaking kitchen tools and rosaries and screaming something in an unfamiliar tongue when she startled awake. “Ann?” Catherine blinked in the dim room. She heard the door creak open. “It is cold. Don’t take off your cloak.”

  “Indeed it is frosty,” said the gaoler. The door closed and was locked again.

  Ann Smith dropped to her knees and felt along the stones until her fingers found the basket. The shattered bottle. “How came this broken?” she asked.

  Catherine sucked the sore skin on the back of her hand. “I did it,” she said. “It is my fault.”

  “Is there another?” Ann asked.

  “On the table,” said Catherine. “You must have gone a mile.”

  Ann found the second cup, wiped it out, and poured. She drank deeply, poured another.

  “Tell me what has happened.”

  Ann drank. The light was blue and low, and Catherine could barely make out her friend’s bare head, bowed over the wine. Ann said, “There is no honor in the law. There is no honor in the whole world.”

  “What has he done to you?” Cat
herine asked into the dark, but she already knew the answer.

  32

  Catherine gently placed her arm over Ann’s shoulders. “Has he torn you?”

  A great sob wrenched Ann downward, and the cup hit the floor. “I have never been a sight for men. What hell do we live in?” She put her head on her knees and covered her head with her apron. “These men are wolves. I was not even given a glimpse of the sun.”Ann seemed about to lose herself in tears, but she wiped her face hard with a scrap of linen and poured herself another cup of wine. “The bastard whoreson yellow-livered coward.”

  “Sh,” said Catherine. “Quiet, now.”

  “I give not a half a damn if I am heard,” shouted Ann. “That vermin has laid his filthy hands upon me when I had no help. He forced me when I was desperate and alone. What man behaves so toward a woman given into his care?”A man’s wet hacking sounded for a second in the hall, and Ann turned her head. “Is that you, you villain? Ask a woman to come with you, innocent as a babe, then snare her? Is that what a man does?”

  Catherine said, “He has taken you when you had no defense against him. You were distracted. Helpless. They will not blame us.”

  “Us? What do you mean?” Ann cackled weirdly, as though her throat might crack. “And what has passed here, in my absence?” She lifted a spear of the broken bottle and held it to the dying light. Then she stared at Catherine. “Have they left you alone?” She threw the shard and it tinked against the stone wall. “They have forced you, as well. They have got us separate to use us.” She heaved herself to her feet and went to the door. “We will take it to law. Do you hear?”