by Anne O'Brien
‘By the Rood, Joanna.’ He covered his face with his hands. I had never seen him so distraught. ‘Sometimes the pain is beyond bearing.’ It was a cry from the heart.
‘We will remedy that.’
‘I doubt that you can.’
It was in my mind to cover the space between us, to take him into my arms, to smooth away his doubts with kisses and soft words but we were far beyond that. Henry was walled up behind the implacable stones of his failure to fulfil his duty and physical suffering. All I could do was wait, and react. Preserving a calm countenance against all the odds, while my soul wept for him.
It was Henry who broke the silence. ‘I have acknowledged Hal as my heir.’
It struck as nothing else, as I realised where his mind was going. How could I have known that his fear had become so deep-seated, so final? I could in that moment have shrieked my frustration at this man whose strength I could not break. Whose determination to suffer alone, a burden on no one and nothing other than his own resources, was without flaw, like tempered steel. Instead I braced myself, becoming predictably brisk and managing.
‘You will live for many years more. We will be together and we will overcome this. You will ride into battle again and put paid to Northumberland and Glyn Dwr.’
‘Do you say?’
He turned, at last he turned to look at me. There was strength there in his face. But also fear.
‘Lock the door,’ he said.
I tilted my head in surprise.
‘It is time that you knew.’
And as I obeyed, slowly he began to unfasten his belt. With awkward movements he drew his short houppelande over his head, followed by the linen of his under-tunic, dropping them to the floor.
‘Stop…!’ I said, aghast. Seeing his intent.
Henry continued, stripping off the linen undershirt with inexorable purpose.
‘You don’t have to do this…’
‘I do. I must. I was wrong to hide it from you, and I can hide it no longer. Here is the extent of my affliction. Can it be anything other than God’s punishment?’
There it was, revealed for me to see, Henry standing, arms loose at his side, making no attempt to hide the hideous disfiguring. For Henry’s skin, once so firm and smooth, so tactile under my hands when physical love held us in its wanton grip, was fouled by lesions. His body was a landscape of abrasions, of ulcerations and contusions, transmuting his skin into a thing of horror. Of nightmare. His face and his hands, his forearms, had been spared, but his body was inflicted with the most terrible wounds.
Nor had I noticed that he had lost so much flesh from flanks and thighs. But then how would I? Henry had not allowed me to see.
‘Look at me, Joanna.’
If I needed any sign of his courage, it was in those four words. Henry’s body was ravaged, but he had allowed me, at last, behind the screen that he had erected for so long.
‘Is it worse?’ I asked, striving to appear unmoved when my throat was full of tears. The lesions that leapt and cavorted down his torso continued beneath the drawstring of his braies, which Henry had not removed. ‘Was that why you would not come to my bed?’
‘Yes. It is worse. I could not inflict this ruin of my body on you. I did not want to read disgust in your face when you walked away from me. Would not any woman lock her door to keep such as monster as I have become at bay?’
‘I am not any woman, Henry.’
Risking a rebuttal, I stepped close, placing my hand, soft as a whisper, on his shoulder where the wounds were less angry, slowly so that he might retreat if he wished.
‘I wish you had told me, but now you have. You do not disgust me. You never have, and you never will. The man beneath this terrible affliction is the same man I left Brittany to follow here. The same man I wed. You must not shut yourself away from me. My dear love, you must promise.’
And I thought he would but, eyes darkening with what could only be fear, Henry stepped back to break the contact. ‘I think you should not touch me. I have heard it called leprosy.’
If he expected me to run from the room, he was wrong. I pursued him, placing my hand once again where it did least harm, to keep his mind in tune with mine.
‘Would you forbid me to show my love, my faith in you and your inner strength? Master Recoches swears that it is not leprosy, of which he has some experience.’ I spoke the dread word out loud again between us. ‘I have talked with him. He is hopeful of a cure.’
Henry was not convinced. ‘He seems to have run out of ideas. But I have dipped my hands in the waters of the Holy Wells. Perhaps the Virgin will have mercy.’
I stooped to recover his under-tunic and cast it lightly over his head. Together, we replaced all his clothes as if I were a squire aiding his knight to ready for the battle ahead, a prescient thought I decided grimly, until at last Henry was restored, looking little different from the man I had kissed and who had kissed me at Nantes.
But the mind of this man was not the same, rather full of dire foreboding.
‘I see death. I see death reaching out to me, Joanna.’
I would not consent to such bleak anticipation. ‘No. There is still hope. It is not leprosy but some lesser contagion and we will fight together for your life. There are pilgrimages to make, other remedies to try. I can help with the pain. I will not beckon death and darkness onwards, Henry.’
That night, at my insistence, and since I confiscated the key to the monkish room, we shared Henry’s bed and I held him in my arms. There would be no need for fragrant leaves of lemon balm. Instead:
‘Drink this,’ I ordered, having sent Marie to discover the contents of Walsingham’s extensive kitchens and talk with their skilled nuns. The juice of the mystical mandrake root, may the Virgin be blessed, had a reputation for deadening the worst of pain and dispensing the gift of forgetfulness for at least a few hours. ‘It will dull the pain.’
Too weary to resist, he did not demur but drained the cup. And I thanked God that we had reached an understanding, as I prayed for Henry’s deliverance.
He slept through the night in my arms, while I kept vigil. Until eventually I too slept.
When he awoke to find me awake beside him, we shared the blessing of the morning sun and our unity once more at the beginning of a new day. Henry looked rested, his features relaxed and smooth.
‘Thank you, most beloved of wives,’ he said. ‘You are my light and my hope in this dark corner of my life.’
It was as moving to me as any declaration of love.
‘We will fight to keep both light and hope alive, most beloved of husbands,’ I said. ‘You will not be alone in this battle. We face the foe together.’
He rose and stood, straight and tall, as if strength had been renewed. The gift of sleep was a gift of grace from the Blessed Virgin. As for his tarnished conscience, I would polish it to gleaming silver.
*
From Walsingham Henry and I travelled together to where we bade Philippa a slightly tearful but happy farewell on her part at King’s Lynn, on her way to her marriage to make her Queen of Denmark. No one would have guessed that the King’s mind was not wholly on the splendid alliance for his daughter, master of outward appearances that he was. His body might betray him but his mind still had the force of a battering ram. Philippa was dispatched with gifts and garments that would have been the envy of any Valois princess and, steeling himself, Henry was able to embrace her as a father would embrace his beloved daughter. That he needed copious draughts of a decoction made from the bark of the White Willow, no one needed to know but Marie who once again commandeered the kitchens and the herb garden of the Benedictine Priory where we stayed in King’s Lynn. After which we made our plans, with reluctance on my part but acknowledging Henry’s need to take control of his life. The disfigurement was no worse, his leg was stronger and the draughts of White Willow kept the agony in manageable proportions.
‘Where will you go now?’ I asked.
‘Westminster. And Parliame
nt in October.’
‘Then I will ride with you. Can you ride?’
‘Yes. My leg feels more at ease.’
‘There.’ I kissed him, not the first of kisses we had exchanged that morning. ‘I told you that you needed me.’
‘The solace of a good wife.’
‘And, even better, a dose of White Willow.’
‘I’ll not deny it. You have given me hope. You have all my gratitude.’
Clothed as he was, restored to some suppleness of movement, it was hard to believe his affliction. Henry looked rested and alert as I handed him belt and sword, allowing him to complete the task.
‘Remember that no one will know of your weakness. All your subjects will see is their King, a man of power and royal presence.’ He was placing a gold coronet on his head, in preparation for a formal leave-taking with the worthies of King’s Lynn. ‘There is no shame, Henry. All I see is the courage you display in bearing it without complaint. God is merciful and will not punish a King who only desires good for his country.’ It was all I could do to ease his conscience, a monumental task all in all that sometimes I thought might be beyond my capabilities. ‘You must remember to eat well and sleep well once you are out of my sight.’
‘How would I dare to do otherwise?’We touched hands, fingers linked. ‘I swear you have spies behind every pillar, to report my every action. And now we must go.’ With the old agility he strode to the door, so that my heart lifted as he stretched a hand to lift the latch.
He never did lift it.
Without a word, without any element of warning, with no sense of distress, Henry crumpled to the floor at my feet.
‘Henry!’ I was kneeling beside him in an instant, turning him, turning his face which was as pale as the death he feared. His body lay inert, heavy. Through the thickness of his garments I could not even feel his heart beating. Bending over him, I tried to feel his breath on my cheek. It was barely a whisper. Perhaps I was imagining it, and he was not breathing at all. Was this it? Was this the death he had feared, stalking us without mercy, separating us for ever? How could it have struck so fast? There was so much that I still had to say to him.
‘Holy Mary, Blessed Virgin.’
I gripped Henry’s hand urging Her to listen. But I must do more. On my feet, I dragged open the door and shouted.
‘I need help. I need Master Recoches.’ One of the household servants fled at the urgency in my voice, and there was the physician kneeling beside me.
‘What is it?’
He shook his head, going through the same motions with ear and fingers that I had done over Henry’s lifeless figure.
‘Well?’
‘Patience, my lady!’
I had no patience. My belly was cold with fear.
‘It is une grande accesse, Madam. A sudden and totally debilitating attack.’
‘Is he dead?’ I forced the words out loud. My lips were stiff with terror.
‘No, lady. Despite appearances, the King lives. He will recover.’
His calm assurance shocked my suspicions into wakefulness. ‘Has he suffered these before?’
‘He has, Madam. On two occasions.’
‘You didn’t tell me about this.’ Abandoning any pretence at dignity, I punched his arm with my fist. ‘How could you keep silent? Is there anything else you have conspired not to tell me?’ Fear leapt to conquer all my new-won hopes.
‘No, Madam.’
I did not believe him. I no longer trusted him.
‘We must have the King moved. Immediately.’ And the thought came to me. ‘Do his servants know?’ How would Henry bear the degradation of his household seeing him in this state of complete helplessness? But I could see no alternative. We needed help. We were long past the days of careful discretion. Anointed King Henry might be, but we had need of physical help. As I made my decisions, I read Master Recoches’s silence as one of guilt.
‘So they know? Have they seen him in this condition?’
‘Yes, Madam. They know.’
I was the only one who did not. But no time now for anger.
‘Then you will arrange for the King to be carried to his bed. And while you are doing that, you can consider any other details of this affliction that you have not seen fit to tell me.’
*
Henry lay on his bed, as unresponsive as the dead, while I sat and counted every tiny, shallow breath, dreading that every one might be his last. In recent months I had feared so often for his life, at the hands of assassins, on the battlefield. I had prayed for his skill and insight to avoid the weapons of his enemies. Now his life hung in the balance and not all his skill or insight—or mine—could protect him. I was helpless. Hopeless.
‘Will he recover?’ I demanded for the second time, or perhaps it was the third, when the hours passed and there was no change except for the movement of the sun, the lengthening of the shadows. Would Henry’s life ebb away with the onset of darkness? I feared it. I could neither eat nor drink, only sit in a vigil of terror.
‘When will he recover?’ I persisted, my composure all but shattered.
‘I cannot say, Madam. It was never as long as this.’ Master Recoches hovered at my side like a bird of ill-omen. It was clear he knew as little as I.
‘How long before? An hour? Two?’
It was now more than double that. Quadruple indeed. The morning had passed into afternoon and evening drew on.
‘Do something!’ I was beyond politeness.
‘I pray, Madam.’
‘We all pray. I had hoped you could do more.’
I had never prayed so hard, my fingers counting the beads of my rosary. Dismissing the physician, who was not sorry to escape me, I sank to my knees. Paternosters and Aves, again and again I counted them in prayer as I sent petition after petition to the Blessed Virgin.
‘Blessed Virgin, hear me.’
This was no ailment that could be assuaged by the cooling draught of White Willow or the soft hand of forgetfulness from the mandrake root.
At last as dusk merged into the dark of night I leant my forehead against the edge of the bed in growing despondency.
‘Have mercy on us, Holy Mother. Intercede for us in our sin, now and in the hour of our death.’
There. I could do no more than commit him to the care of the Queen of Heaven. I must make penance for my intolerance of Master Recoches. I must attend to the needs of the rest of the household who would be waiting, like me, to hear of a death…
‘Joanna.’
A breath of a voice stirred the warm air. I looked up, hardly daring to move, the rosary falling onto my skirts, before sliding to the floor with a little clatter.
‘Henry.’
His eyes were open, aware.
‘I feel as if I have just returned from battle.’
‘I think you have.’
‘Am I still at King’s Lynn?’
‘Yes.’ Relief surged as it became evident that his mind was crystal clear, his thoughts lucid. ‘Do you remember? We sent Philippa off to her marriage.’
‘I remember. How long ago was that? I am thirsty.’
‘Only two days.’ I rose to pour a cup of wine, sending the page who was sleeping outside the door for Master Recoches as I did, before returning to lift him, pressing the cup against his lips, and he drank.
‘How long have my senses failed me?’
‘Not long,’ I lied. Were we both capable of subterfuge, one to protect the other?
Henry swallowed the wine, painfully. ‘This is not the first time,’ he said.
‘I know.’
He pushed to free himself from my support, to sit unaided, swinging his legs to the floor, as if to prove that his weakness was a temporary thing. And it seemed to be so, for with the wine, colour had returned to his cheeks, dispelling the grey pall.
‘We will stay here,’ I said,‘where you can rest for a little while.’
He looked at me. ‘I know what I wish to do.’
‘Then tell me.�
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‘I will go to Bardney.’
It was not what I had expected. ‘Where is that?’
‘To the north. Near Lincoln.’ He acknowledged my astonished regard. ‘There are relics of St Oswald there,’ he explained, ‘his bones, which are said to work many cures for those on the point of death. Perhaps he will have mercy on me.’
‘I will come with you.’
‘There is no need. I have work to do there.’
It hurt. And he must have seen it.
‘I am not incapable, Joanna. These attacks on my body, it seems, are momentary things. I can’t control them, but when they leave me I can still work.’ I saw as he gathered his strength of purpose around him once more, as if he were donning breastplate and basinet, cuisse and sabaton, for battle. ‘Will you help me stand? I am the son of my father and my grandfather. I have a duty to my kingdom, and an honour to uphold my name. I must be worthy of my forebears, and of the position I hold. I will not sit, cosseted and blanketed like an old man for death to claim me. There is much for me to do in this kingdom and I will accomplish it.’
With some little effort, he was upright, his innate regality once more restored.
‘Is there nothing that I can do for you? How will you travel?’
‘I have a brass saddle to support my limbs, that allows me to sit upright and ride as if I was a young knight at the joust again.’ His smile was heart-wrenching. ‘I have to be a man amongst men.’
Which did nothing to remedy the hurt even though I knew he had hoped to comfort me.
‘What about Glyn Dwr? And Northumberland?’ Not that I cared greatly at that moment, but the affairs of state would not stand still.
‘They must wait until I put myself right with God and gain salvation. Only then will I have the strength to face them and bring them to submission. Until then I trust my sons to hold the peace in England. Hal and Thomas will stand for me.’
So there it was, written in Henry’s hand. He would go to Bardney and I must allow it. All I could do was to make a final plea. Henry had enough to bear without my weeping in despair on his shoulder. He had more faith in St Oswald’s relics than I had. St Oswald had not sat for hours beside Henry’s inert body.
