A Secret Alchemy (13 page)

I could not mistake his meaning. But I was as shocked as if he had said he would set me to work in a brothel. I could not lie with a man who was not my husband! My sworn-knight father could not dishonor himself thus, and his family. True, I was three years widowed, Tom was nine years old, and more than once my father had tried to arrange a match for me, but the times were so unsettled that a family which was one week a good ally might by the next be an enemy. Nor was my own estate much to tempt a man of worship, for it was brought low by the dispute with Lady Ferrars, and my father could spare nothing to make up the difference. None of our plans for another marriage had come to anything. But how could my father think I would do this? I tucked the bloodied cloth into my sleeve with some care. Then I said, “If he comes here tomorrow, he will be in my company.”

“Daughter, you know what I would say.”

“Yes, sire, but I think…I think I do not wish you to say it. If it please you, my lord.”

He was silent for a moment, as if he were judging how best to persuade me. “You do not wish to become the King’s mistress?”

“No, sire. It is not an honor that I would seek.”

“Ysa, why not? It
is
an honor, for all a priest might feel obliged to deny it. For a man—a king—such as Edward Plantagenet to want you…And he does want you, that I know. At every meeting he speaks of your eyes and your countenance; he asks me how you do and when you will next come to his court. Think of it, Ysa. He’s a fine young man, and has all the ease that his father lacked. You are lonely; widowhood is poor comfort for a young woman. And for our family it would be a means of advancement beyond all hoping. Think of it! The King is not a vengeful man. But we have not been supporters of the House of York for long enough that we can well go against him in any matter.”

“But you are on the Royal Council, sire, and Antony has his command at Alnwick, and will be well placed to win more favor with the King there. He is well married, too, and with the times more settled we may easily get good husbands for my sisters. Please do not ask this of me. We have no need of it.”

“I do not think only of the Wydvils, Ysa. What of your boys? Would you struggle for the rest of your days to keep them out of poverty and maintain the position their birth deserves? You owe them this chance, I tell you.”

“But Lord Hastings is putting my case against Lady Ferrars to the King, and by the contract Tom will marry his daughter, when he has one. All will be well, I am sure. Lord Hastings has been most kind, and you said yourself that his word may be trusted better than any other in the kingdom.”

“William Hastings is the King’s greatest friend, and he has an eye for you as well. But you could be more than a friend to the King.”

“But for how long?” How might I make him understand? “Sire, I am five years older than the King, and a widow. He has a son, and I have two. It is said he takes a new woman every day, married or maid. For how long would he want me? I have no mind to become another of those women, or for my boys to know me as such a one. I pray you do not ask this of me.”

I might as well not have spoken. “If you were like your sister Margaret I would not think of it. But you are clever and discreet, and when Warwick finds him a wife there is no reason that you should not keep your position in his affections. Do you not desire him? There cannot be a woman in the kingdom who does not.”

I shook my head. “No more than I desire the sun. If I go too close I am like to be burned.”

“There’s little fear of that. He would be generous, I have no doubt, and you would be set up for life. Tom and Dickon too, and all our family.
You
would have no need of the favor of such as Hastings, and the King would be assured of
our
fidelity. You could again be mistress of your own estate. And then—afterwards—it would be easy to find you a good husband.”

“For soiled goods? The man who would marry a royal castoff is not a husband I could esteem. I may have little enough of the world’s wealth, but I have my good name, my honor as a woman. And I have Sir John’s good name too. He was a worthy knight. How could I do such dishonor to him? I tell you, Father, I would rather marry a plowman honestly than be a king’s mistress.”

His mouth and hands tightened with anger, but he did not strike me; he was a knight, after all, and not a man quick with his hands. After a moment he said, “Ysa, I had thought you wiser
than this. I shall speak to your mother. Perhaps she will be able to knock some sense into you.”

“Worshipful father,” I said, and bowed my head while I shaped the right words. “I pray you understand that I am only a woman, so my honor is all the worship I have. But I
am
a woman grown and widowed, and a mother. My womanly weakness needs a husband, not a lover, though he be the highest in the land, and a husband as wise as my womanhood is foolish, and as strong as my body is weak.” I was silent, peering up from my downcast eyes, and only when I saw him smile did I venture to raise them.

“Where did you learn your cunning, Ysa?” He reached out and flicked my cheek. “I shall speak to your mother, and you must think more on it. You understand what it would mean for us, I know you do. It is a pity that I must go again into Cambridgeshire even before he goes north. Perhaps if you know him better…We will speak anon.”

There was little ceremony about the King’s arrival after the hunt. Each of the handful of nobles that rode into the yard was more plastered with mud than the last, and the King most of all. Nor did he accept my mother’s offer of a chamber and hot water for washing, but glanced about him, spied the well, commanded my lord Hastings to draw a bucket of water, and pulled off his cote and his shirt. I had known him for a big man, broad-shouldered as well as tall, but I had not known till that day how well-made and muscled he was. He was fair, but I thought he must often ride in his shirt and hatless, for his face was ruddy and his collarbones and breast too, so that his body looked to be made of red gold. Under the stream of water he shook himself as fiercely as a dog, laughing at the cold and rubbing his face and arms, and when he straightened
up, his hair was a thick tangle of gold as dark as copper. Then he grabbed the bucket and soaked my lord Hastings with the last of the water, clothed though he was, and Hastings pretended to cuff him by way of revenge. The rest of the party then washed in their turn, though I wondered how many relished the cold water as the King did. Meanwhile, he pulled his damp shirt back on and shrugged himself into his cote. Then he ran up the steps to where I stood with my mother and Margaret, waiting to greet him.

He took my hands in both of his to raise me, and held them. “My lady Grey, I am glad indeed to see you.” I willed myself to keep my eyes downcast and my thoughts on the courtesies proper to greeting His Grace my lord the King of England. But my father’s words rang in my ears.
For a man—a king—such as Edward Plantagenet to want you…And he does want you, that I know
. It was true: try as I would, I could not be deaf to his low-voiced compliments, or blind to the heat of his gaze.

We were to dine in the Great Chamber, and I found myself next to him against the rules of precedence: my mother had ordered her own place removed to the far side of the table next to Lord Hastings. I could look for little help from her. Now everyone would know what was afoot: for a king, no meal is without meaning.

“This is a happy reward for a hard morning’s sport, Dame Elysabeth,” the King said, when grace was done and he had been served. “I hope you will grant me the right to call you by your name.” I made a sound he could understand as he pleased. “Your father told me that you were here at Grafton still, but I had not dared to hope we might sit together.”

I kept my eyes fixed on my dish. It was a fast day, and I could not imagine how to swallow the collop of tench that lay there in a thick sauce. “Did you have good sport, Your Grace?”

“We found, straight away, a big buck that gave us a magnificent run. And then another, but that the hounds were too winded to catch. I am minded to hunt again tomorrow. You give us good sport here in Northamptonshire. Will I find it in Salcey Forest too, do you think?”

“My father or one of my brothers would know better than I, Your Grace.”

“You do not hunt yourself?”

“In my girlhood I was used to, Your Grace, but of late years I have not had the means, or the time.”

“A pity. It is as meet a sport for ladies’ health as it is for men’s. It would put color in your cheeks; a good glow becomes a beautiful woman.”

As I had feared, and he, I thought, had intended, I instantly felt scarlet heat wash up from my breast into my face. I said, “I marvel that Your Grace can spare the time, with so many Lancastrian rebels abroad in the north.”

The King turned away to take more sauce for the tench that he had already half eaten. For a moment I feared I had offended him. Lord Hastings caught my eye, as if pleased by my words. But the King was too quick, and saw his smile and raised eyebrows. “So you agree with her, do you, Hastings? That I ought to forgo such knightly exercise to hunt down instead a parcel of troublemakers who fancy themselves loyal to a usurper’s line?”

“Sire,” said Lord Hastings patiently, “you know I do, the rebellion in Yorkshire being a more grave affair than mere troublemaking. But it takes a lady of Dame Elysabeth’s mettle to say it in such a manner that you hear it.” He grinned at me, and suddenly I realized that he, too, had a purpose in this conversation, and was telling me he had not forgotten his part in our contract.

“Oh, I hear Dame Elysabeth very well.” The King turned so far toward me that I could not without frank discourtesy escape his eye. “And see her, too. I’m told Henry of Lancaster was wont to say that my good friend Rivers and the Duchess were the handsomest couple in his kingdom. I ought not to be surprised that they have sired the most beautiful children in mine, but still it astonishes me. Your brother Scales is a fine man too, and learned with it.”

“My brother Antony? Oh, sire, have you had word from him lately?”

“Nothing that your father would not also have heard.” He hesitated, then smiled. “You must miss him.”

“How can I grudge him his man’s business? He writes when he may, and often with a poem, which I may treasure, or some thoughts on philosophy. But, yes, I would have him with us.”

“You are fortunate in having such a brother.” His voice was low. “I sometimes think there can be no friendship so close as that of siblings, when they are of an age and have been raised together.”

He said no more, but I knew that he spoke of his own brother, Edmund. As if he murmured a spell, my mind’s eye conjured a fair young man, not unlike him about the mouth and eyes but lacking a man’s weight and strength, his skin unscarred and his brow yet smooth. A beloved brother of seventeen, his body crushed in battle far away, and his boy’s neck cut.

My fears for Antony never wholly left me, any more than my fear for John had; the King’s silent grief touched it and made my voice tremble just a little. “Such a sorrow is hard to bear. And perhaps the more for those not granted time to mourn.”

He said nothing for a long time. Then I felt him stiffen his shoulders, and he beckoned a server for more wine. “My lady
Duchess—” My mother looked around from where she had been making what conversation she might with the Earl of Oxford, for he seemed to disdain my sister Margaret, sitting on his other side. “Madam, you have a very pleasant demesne here. Perhaps we might take a turn outdoors when we can eat no more of so excellent a dinner? Perhaps even as far as the chapel. With Dame Elysabeth, if she has nothing better to do?”

With all the will in the world I could not prevent the broken meats being blessed and carried away. By now it was long after noon, and such sun as there was made the air heavy and warm. Few seemed to have much desire for honey cakes and hippocras, though the King liked his wine as much as any man. Lord Hastings excused himself, for he had matters to look to on his own estates at Kirkby before they all rode north. As he rose from his bow to the King, he winked at me, as if he trusted me to continue our contracted task. Then my father begged permission to withdraw and do business with some others of the King’s party about the commission in Cambridgeshire, and within the time you might say
Pater Noster
and
Ave Maria
, all that were left to take a turn outdoors were the King, a few gentlemen, my mother, Margaret, and me.

The heavy air made the scents in the walled garden seem to cling to my skin: sage and rosemary, hyssop and early lilies. The brick-laid paths of the garden were narrow, and if the King chose to walk with me, no other could be near. We spoke as we walked of ordinary things, of farming and grazing, of holding household and dealing with neighbors. The mill at Astley needed rebuilding, and I had some thought of working one of the farms directly when its lease was up. The King told me of the Ludlow mill where the Teme ran fast and deep, and that he was trading in wool that he might not ask the Parliament for money but live of his own. Did I run
sheep at Astley, or my father here at Grafton? From what he said on this and other things I judged him shrewd in such matters, and he listened to what I had to say with an attention I thought more than mere courtesy. Then from beyond the wall I heard squeals and running, and through the far gate burst Tom and Dickon, brandishing sticks. My heart sank, and I started forward to catch them, but they saw us just in time, and stumbled to a halt before the King. Tom, bless him, caught my eye, uncovered his head, and dropped to his knee. After a puzzled look at him, Dickon knelt, but forgot to uncover. I breathed a little more easily and reached forward to pluck off his cap and push it into his hand.

“Are these your boys, Dame Elysabeth?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Thomas, is it not? And the small one is Richard? Up you come, lads!” They stood, properly, and I wondered that the King remembered such little things as my sons’ names. “Oho, not so small, then! Madam, I recall William Hastings speaking to me of your Tom’s inheritance. We must see what we can do about Lady Ferrars.” Out of the corner of my eye I saw Mal kneeling, scarlet in the face, and I knew that she, too, was holding her thumbs that the boys should not forget their breeding. The King must have seen my head turn, for he nodded to Mal that she might rise. “Well, Master Thomas Grey,” he went on, “are you minded to learn to be a faithful and true knight as your father was?”