Thwarted Queen (7 page)

I will tell Richard no, then stay here and take the veil.

I sit in my chamber when he appears. The windows face out onto Abbess Margaret’s herb garden. The scent of rosemary and sage fill the room. Audrey and Jenet sit in a corner, engaged in sewing. I read a book in Latin, making notes about it in French.

Richard stares at this scene while I turn to my book.

“How did you learn Latin?” he asks, sitting down beside me without invitation.

“While I waited for you to return, I decided to educate myself,” I reply. “My brother Edward was learning Latin, so I begged my lady mother to let me sit in on his classes. Eventually, his tutor Doctor Eusebius agreed to take me on as his pupil.”

“I see,” says Richard. His eyes strain to look at the title of the book on the table. I give it to him to examine. It is Boethius’s
Consolation of Philosophy
. He stares at me. “Do you like philosophy?”

“It makes you think hard about things,” I say. “It is very consoling in times of crisis.”

I put that book down and open another. Again, Richard cranes his neck. I hold it up for him to see.
The City of Ladies
by Christine de Pizan.

Richard’s eyebrows lift as if he’s never allowed that a woman could write a book.

“Christine de Pizan was a learned lady, highly regarded by the Queen of France,” I say. “This book is a retelling of history from a woman’s point of view.” I pause and turn to be sure I have his attention. “Have you noticed that history is always told from a man’s point of view?” I smile. There.

He stares back but does not recoil. “Cecylee, you are full of surprises,” he finally says. “I never would have guessed that the pert, contrary young lady I used to know has turned into a scholar and an ascetic.”

I lower my eyes. “You don’t have to marry me if you think it unseemly to have such a well-educated wife—”

I stop, because Richard is kissing me. On the lips. I shudder. No one has ever done this before. I close my eyes; I’m grasped firmly, yet gently; the warmth of his body penetrates my fine woolen gown. At the softness of his lips, I feel myself begin to swoon. “Cis. Don’t tease. You know more than anything I want to marry you. But you treat me so badly.”

“Don’t,” I say. “Don’t—”

But he kisses me again. I can’t help it. His kisses are gentle and respectful, and he holds me softly in his arms. To my surprise, I find myself melting into him.

“You see me for a few hours, then you take fright and rush off in that reckless way you have, forcing me to cool my heels for a week while I’m panting with impatience to see you—”

He sounds like a lover. Does he love me? Is there anything for me in this marriage, apart form an exchange of money and land? “Am I really so difficult?”

“Difficult. You’ve never been easy. If I weren’t madly in love, I’d be tempted to give you a good shaking.”

I gaze at him.

He gazes back, his eyes fixed on mine. He looks as if he might care how I feel.

“I’m sorry, Richard,” I find myself saying, now calculating. “But I did have to think. It was too much for me after so many years of not seeing you, of not expecting us to marry, of not expecting you to love me or even be very interested.”

He should be horrified by this speech. Instead, he looks hurt and—baffled. “How could you think that? I’ve always been intensely interested in you.”

I put my hand on his arm. “Now, Dickon, don’t be angry. When my lady mother gave me the girlhood which my sisters never had and I educated myself, many people told me that no gentleman would want to marry me and I’d have to spend my days in a convent.”

“But, Cis! You don’t understand! I love you! I want your company!”

I give him another hard stare. But he meets it without flinching. He takes my hand and brushes his lips over it. I shiver with pleasure. “Have I now proved to your ladyship’s satisfaction that I will be a good and loving husband?”

I come to. He hasn’t proved anything. I rise and search through my books. “There is just one more thing.”

“One more thing?” His voice mounts higher. “Cis, how much longer do you plan to torture me?” He moves closer and puts an arm around my waist. Again, I feel a pleasurable sensation radiating from his touch. I don’t understand it. Surely, after the mistreatment I’ve met with at the hands of men, I should be dead to amorous advances.

I ignore my feelings, find my book, and say, “Only until you’ve read this.” I hand him
The Wife of Bath’s Tale
. “It has some things to say about women, which I would like to discuss with you.”

Richard groans but does not lose his temper. Instead, he takes me in his arms and kisses me. ”And that will be all? You promise?”

“Promise,” I say. If he can swallow that, maybe I should marry him. But I am nearly sure it will enrage him. In which case, I shall refuse him.

Richard sighs. “I don’t know why I allow this, but I will read this ... tale and return tomorrow morning.” He strokes my cheek with his finger. I close my eyes at the unexpected intimacy of his touch.

The next day Richard reappears. “That’s a rather subversive story, Cis.”

I look straight at him. “Do you agree with it?”

“You mean that women want to have mastery over their lives in the same way as men? That is what you want me to remember?”

“Yes.”

Normally marriage negotiations are handled by my liege lord, my father or brother, without taking my views into account. Yet here I am, twenty-one years old, old enough and well educated enough to act as my own advocate. At this moment I know I have the makings of a ruler, just as Mama said.

I draw myself up. “Remember, Richard, I have a soul to keep. That is why the church allows women to give or
refuse
their consent to marriage. It is important to me that my soul be well matched to that of my husband. Women are not things. We do not want to be viewed as good only for making babies. It is insulting to our intelligence and to our feelings to be treated thus.”

Richard’s mouth opens, horrified.

I experience a moment of disappointment. But after all, he is a man. What did I expect?

“Cis!” he stutters.

I stare into the abbess’s garden as I brace myself for the tirade. I smile.

But Richard does not say anything for a long time. I had forgotten about these silences. I take a deep breath.

“We could make beautiful children,” he finally says.

I whirl around and glare at him.

He takes a step backward.

I fold my arms tight across my body. “I do not wish for a lord and vassal relationship. I want you to love me as your equal.”

“But haven’t I given you every reason to believe that?”

“I have to give up all my legal rights to be your wife.”

“You would be Duchess of York.”

“What would you do if I displeased you?”

“A marriage vow is a sacred obligation.”

“Women have the dice loaded against them.”

“Cis!”

“Every time a woman has a child, she goes to the gates of death.”

“What are you saying?”

“To please her husband, she is usually required to have one child after another, which is bad for her health.”

“Do you take me for a brute?”

“If she displeases him, he can take away her children and lock her up.”

“Do you expect me to ride roughshod over your feelings?”

I stare at him. Yes, I do expect him to ride roughshod over my feelings. But something about the way he looks at me prevents me from saying so. Instead, I merely remark, “I don’t know you.”

“We have known one another since childhood!”

“We have not seen each other in twelve years.”

“That was not my wish. I always wanted to see you.”

I twist my hands together. I can hear the longing in his voice.

“My love, I think you worry too much. No one could love you as much as I. You must know I don’t want a caged animal for a wife, but someone to love me.”

I finger my crucifix.

He kneels. “Don’t you want to experience the joy of having a husband who loves you?” He takes my hand. “Don’t you want to have children to adore?” He kisses my hand and puts it over his heart. “Are you telling me, Cis, that you would prefer to live out your life in your brother’s household when I am offering you my hand, my heart, everything I have?”

Unexpected tears come to my eyes. I realize I am wilting through lack of love. A life ruled by prayer now seems colorless and lifeless. All my life, I have spent in my head. The tips of my fingers resonate with each beat of his heart. He kisses each finger of my hand, front and back. The gentle pressure of his touch makes me tingle. I glance at him. He is attractive, lean, muscular, and well dressed. “Come to me, my love,” he murmurs, “I adore you. You would be safe with me.”

I look away. He sounds hungry for me. What would our wedding night be like? I shiver and close my eyes.

Richard gently kisses each finger. “Would two months give you long enough to get ready?”

Two months? That is not much time. On the other hand, I feel powerful sensations of longing I did not know I possessed.

“Yes—” I sigh out that word on the thread of a whisper, without looking at him, to hide my blushes.

“When?”

I pull myself together and stare at him. “The feast day of Mary Magdalene.”

But Richard laughs, his face warming with merriment. “Cis, you really are—”

“Mary Magdalene is much misunderstood,” I inform him stiffly.

“My love, of course, if you wish it,” he says instantly. He rises and takes my face between his hands. “But have I your promise that we will marry then, in two months time, on the twenty-second day of July,
in the Year of Our Lord 1437?”

“On one condition,” I say. “I wish to stay here another week. I need to prepare myself.”

Richard treats me to another one of his long silences. Finally he says, “I have a request also. Of course you may stay here for another week, but I would ask that you allow me to visit you every day, and then escort you back to Bisham.” He folds my hand into his. “It would be cruel to deny me the pleasure of your company.”

What am I supposed to say to that?

BOOK II: ONE SEED SOWN

As long as I am alive, in truth,

no one will have the joy and pleasure of my love

except for this flower

FROM PLUS BELE QUE FLOR

MONTPELLIER CODEX, 13TH CENTURY

Chapter 6

Rouen Castle, Rouen, English France

Feast of Saint Anne, Mother of Our Lady

July 26, 1441

On a day when hot winds carried the sharp scent of herbs, I was riding back from a visit to the merchants of Rouen—one of several—when I heard the thunderous sound of hooves galloping toward me.

I stopped my palfrey on the slope that led up to the castle.

Was it Richard? He’d ridden out with his army to relieve Pontoise only two weeks ago, and I did not expect him so soon. I clutched at the reins, causing my gentle palfrey to snort and arch her neck.

Life as Richard’s duchess was not as bad as I’d feared. I acquired a taste for gorgeous satin and thick velvet gowns of every hue, for fur robes, supple gloves, elegant boots, and jewelry. I grew to love the wink of precious gems, of emeralds, rubies, and sapphires, and in the summer months, I loved the subtle luster of pearls with lighter silks. Richard proved to be a considerate husband, sparing no expense to fit up his various residences for my pleasure. The only thing he would not tolerate was refusal when he wanted to bed me. He was gentle, but persistent.

And so I bore him three children in four years.

I hated the discomfort of pregnancy and the messiness and pain of birthing, but my children were lovely. My eldest, three-year-old Joan whom I named after Mama, was the apple of my eye. She was a charming child, already showing great beauty, and saying the funniest things. Her sister, two-year-old
Nan
, was a much quieter soul who glowed with contentment when playing with animals. Baby Henry, born in February, was only five months old and had yet to make his mark on the world. But Richard had been thrilled to have an heir.