The King's Mistress (52 page)

“You must make an effort to use it more, my love, else it will wither.” One of his physicians had so advised us. He thought it was the result of an old wound that had been reinjured while the king was hawking.

“Mother the child in your womb, not me,” Edward would growl.

W
HEN IT
was time for my lying in I moved only so far as a pretty house on the river at Windsor. Grandmother did not bide with me for that birth. Even such a brief trip was too much for her to contemplate. But Felice the midwife was with me, and Gwen, Mary, and Joan.

In November I gave birth to my beautiful Jane. Little Joan was excited to have a companion. Edward was disappointed.

“You do favor the female sex, my love. Perhaps we should consult an alchemist about turning females into males in the womb.”

“You have been too much in the company of your son the prince,” I said. “Your witticisms lack humor and grace.”

Edward glared at me and departed, but within hours he returned, assuring me that he had been teasing. He showered me with pearls, rubies, and diamonds and insisted I be with him at King’s Langley for the Christmas court. John and his new duchess were to be there.

Edward’s rejection of Jane both chilled and offended me. Even the arrival of my dear Robert bearing gifts for Jane and me could not
entirely warm me. But my steward’s gentle presence was, as ever, a great comfort.

• Christmas 1371 •

I
N GOWNS
of cloth of gold and headdresses with ships at full sail—the rigging fashioned from the same gold wire that was the weft thread in my long surcoat and his robes—Edward and I dazzled the guests at the Christmas court. The headdresses symbolized Edward’s intention to sail to France in summer in order to win back the Aquitaine. Emeralds and diamonds set in gold powdered our robes and headdresses. The warp of our cloth was green, and the livery of his household was green cloth with gold embroidery. Prince Edward and Princess Joan wore similar robes and headdresses, and many courtiers wore headdresses in maritime and martial themes. Edward and his daughter-in-law Joan both saw the gold and green as the sun on the stormy waters of the Channel; it pleased them to imagine how the assembly might look from the ceiling of the hall—a fleet setting sail across a sun-dazzled sea.

Though I could not deny the effect of our attire was breathtaking, I regretted that Edward had prevailed in the mission, for it seemed certain that it would end in defeat. King Charles of France had proved
unexpectedly effective in wooing back the lords of the Aquitaine. Many believed it was already too late for Edward or anyone else to influence events there.

I feared as well the court’s censure of my part in the spectacle. Neither part of the royal family nor of noble blood, I should have been less prominent.

“I am the king,” Edward argued. “They expect magnificence from me. And you are the mother of my youngest son and daughters. The court dare not criticize you.”

He would not betimes have believed the commons would coerce him into asking Wykeham to step down as chancellor, either. His refusal to see how much control he had lost frustrated me. I feared it would prove our downfall. And indeed, in hindsight, this was perhaps our first grievous error.

I
N EARLY
February, the city of London and all the court welcomed Duke John’s new bride, the Duchess Constance. She was dark, angular, not unattractive yet not pretty. There was a stiffness in her movements and her character did not generally please, her dark eyes full of censure.

When I was introduced to her she did not even glance my way but changed the subject of conversation and wandered away. I was shaken by her hostility, unexpressed though it was.

Princess Joan assured me that all felt the sting of her Spanish arrogance.

“You do not need her approval. Duke John is your friend, as is the prince,” said Joan. “You know that, do you not? They are well aware of their indebtedness to you for your care of their father.”

“I know all this, Joan. That does not mean I am easy in my mind.”

She patted my arm and remarked that the king was gazing our way, apparently requiring me by his side. “You look more of a queen than Philippa ever did,” she said as I made to walk away.

That chilled me. I prayed that no one else thought so. Joan looked like a queen and it was most appropriate for her. She would make a magnificent queen in due course. I prayed that her husband recovered enough to rule wisely and without the bitterness that had darkened his character of late.

I wondered what would become of me when that time came.

• • •

I
N LATE
winter, only months before Edward planned to embark for France with the prince and a large fleet, he had several memory lapses so alarming that I begged him to consult his physicians. He resisted my entreaties at first, though I knew he was as frightened as I was.

The first event I had initially taken as a slight to our youngest daughter, Jane. She was in my chamber with me. When Edward arrived, he seemed taken aback to see her.

“Whose child is this?”

“Whose? Edward, this is Jane, our daughter.”

He gave me a sharp look, as if I had dared to insult him. “Do not dissemble, Alice. We have a son and …” He hesitated, his mind quite visibly confused or blank. “Have we a daughter as well? Yes, I believe—but older than this poppet. Who is she?”

I handed Jane to the nurse and gestured to her to withdraw. Edward, seemingly dressed for hawking, now sat down beside me and began to talk of his plan for new baths at Eltham, a project that had been completed several years earlier. I did not correct him, listening and nodding as appropriate. Suddenly he slapped his thighs, rose, and exclaimed, “Why are we speaking of this? We have enjoyed those baths for a year or more.” He glanced around the chamber. “Was Jane here?” He rubbed his temples, then seemed to notice his clothing. “I meant to hawk.”

As he left the room I followed, pretending to have some small item to discuss as I escorted him safely to the stables. He seemed more his usual self now, puzzled by Jane’s nurse whisking her away before he’d had a chance to greet her. Yet there was a wildness in his eyes.

“I should like to ride out with you, my lord,” I said, trying to sound light and ready for an adventure.

“I need no nursemaid,” he growled and waved me off.

Though I regretted having irritated him, I had learned that he realized something was wrong and was uneasy, perhaps even frightened. I prayed that would make him more approachable if I suggested he speak to his physicians.

Similar incidents occurred a few days later and a few weeks after that. Fortunately, Duke John witnessed the third occasion and supported my encouragement that the king’s physicians should be told of events, in the detail only I could provide.

Edward’s shoulders seemed to sag as he listened to our advice and
studied our expressions. But I had guessed correctly—he was aware that something was wrong, and grudgingly agreed to do as we requested. Old age, too much wine, insufficient activity, too little sleep, too much sleep, too much food, too little of the food that would balance his humors … in the next several days Edward was subjected to so much conflicting advice that he threatened to exile all three physicians, but in the end he chose to heed the advice of the one skilled in soothing his headaches, reasoning that memory resided in the head. His was the diet appropriate for the king’s unbalanced humors, with more activity and less wine.

I prayed he was right, but feared that soon Edward must accept a quieter existence, perhaps allowing his sons to participate more fully in governing—as he had planned but not fully implemented. He clung yet to governing his own isle. I urged him to look to his sons rather than Latimer and Neville and several other courtiers and financiers, including Richard Lyons, who crowded around him. Edward found it amusing that I cautioned him against men with whom I myself chose to do business.

I did not in fact do business with all of them, but that was not the point. I did not argue but focused on my purpose. “They are suitable for commerce, my love, not for ruling a kingdom.”

When he laughingly disregarded my opinion, I felt I had lost my voice. Long ago I had worried that, in loving a man, I might lose myself. But this was worse. Nothing I said seemed to count anymore. I was chided for expressing an opinion even slightly contrary to his.

Duke John and Prince Edward instructed me to stay by the king’s side when neither of them was present, guiding him if his memory should fail, making excuses if he needed a respite from courtiers other than his most trusted men.

“They will resent me. What if the courtiers and barons turn against me?”

“Have faith in us, Dame Alice,” said Prince Edward. He had been kind to me of late and far more courteous, at Joan’s prompting, I imagined, although it might have been the result of a sudden improvement in his health. “John and I will shield you from harm,” he assured me.

Of course they would say so. They would say anything to coerce me into staying. But the truth was, I had no choice.

My life was by no means completely bleak at that time. No matter the troubles and disagreements Edward and I might have by day, our
evenings were loving and affectionate, sometimes still passionate, and we often rode or hawked in the early morning. Despite his wrinkles and complaints in his joints, Edward always dressed to look his best, and still sat his horse with elegant grace and command. We played more chess than in the past, and often of an afternoon I would read to him—letters, documents, but mostly sermons and poetry—or we would sit arm in arm, listening to a minstrel or watching a tumbler.

When I could, I went for more challenging rides than those with Edward, setting off without a goal, wishing simply to experience the joy of being one with a magnificent animal, challenging my body, drinking in the air. It helped me forget for a little while my fears for my beloved, and for my own future.

W
ILLIAM WYNDSOR’S
name had been on all tongues at the Christmas court, regarding controversy surrounding his execution of his duties as Edward’s governor in Ireland. He had stubbornly enforced an unpopular statute requiring the English landlords to provide for the defense of their Irish properties under pain of forfeiture to the Crown, thus angering the Earl of Pembroke, the Mortimers, the Despensers, and other powerful families. Edward did indeed take many of the lands into custody, which to my mind indicated complicity, for he needed the income to fund the force he was gathering to attack France. But he eventually bowed to the growing clamor among the baronial families, summoning Wyndsor to Westminster to answer to their accusations.

It was Geoffrey who informed me of much of this. Edward and I did not speak of William.

“He is expected to return in spring,” my friend told me. “It is good that you did not heed my advice to wed him. He seems to be a man destined to make enemies.”

I had been too confident that William would remain in Ireland, for no one else wanted the post. They wanted the glory and plunder promised from a French expedition.

“Deus juva me,”
I whispered, crossing myself. “I pray that something happens to cancel this summons.”

“Why? Surely he has forgotten you.”

“No, he has not, and it is partly my fault, my insistence on repaying what I felt was a debt I did not wish to owe.”

“To repay a debt is a worthy deed,” Geoffrey said, “but I am amazed that you would have risked owing Wyndsor aught.”

“He solved a dispute with a neighbor that had long weighed on my mind. Months later he wrote from Ireland seeking my assistance in selling some land he held near Winchester, needing the money. Owing him a favor, I obliged. His letters since have grown more and more importunate. I have ignored them. But coming here … I do not trust him. I fear what rumors he might spread.”

Geoffrey shook his head. “The gossips have more interesting rumors to digest. They are saying that His Grace has given you the late queen’s jewels.”

I instinctively touched the jewels on my sleeve, rubies surrounded by pearls. “These were not Her Grace’s.”

“The gossips say you wore familiar pieces at the Christmas court.”

I felt myself tempted to lie. I had never questioned the source of the jewels Edward gave me. Of late he had given me fewer pearls and more precious stones, which he urged me to wear. I usually ignored him. I feared reprisals if I outshone my betters, and told him so. But at Christmas he had insisted that I would ruin his design with my modesty.