To Love A King

Chapter Two

Chapter TwoMarchington Manor, Buckinghamshire

Amethyst sat under her favorite oak tree strumming her lute. The clatter of hoofbeats approached and the instrument slipped from her hands as the messenger came into focus. Was that royal livery he was wearing? The red dragon of Cadwallader blazed on a field of white, and the same finery draped his horse. He dismounted, handing the reins to an equally startled stableboy. He approached her, looked down at her and gave her a smile that nearly melted her lute strings. “Is the Mistress Sabine about?” he asked.

Picking her jaw up off the ground, Amethyst stood and brushed the grass from her skirt. “Mother is abed, Sir, she's got a frightful summer grippe. May I deliver the message to her?”

“I suppose. It is from the king.” He handed her a roll of parchment embossed with the royal seal.

“Indeed.” Amethyst's heart gave a fluttering leap at the thought of holding in her humble grasp what had been touched by her great king. “I shall deliver it to her. It bears good tidings, pray God.” She looked into the messenger's eyes, wishing he'd stay a while. How seldom they had company such as this!

“I am but a messenger, my lady. I know not what news the parchment betells.” He tipped his hat and turned back to his mount.

“Uh—sir?” She dashed forward and faced him. “Would you like to stay for the evening meal? We have food aplenty.”

“Nay, my lady. I must be on my way.” He pulled on the reins and the horse turned and began trotting back down the path.

“Well, I bid you Godspeed then…” But he'd already galloped away.

She held the roll in her hands, stroking it with her fingers. 'Tis from the king, this actually came from the king…

She dared not open it, but headed back towards the house. Now her mother would recover a lot faster.

Amethyst met Topaz coming from the animal infirmary she'd set up in the south wing of the stables, wisps of dog and cat hair clinging to her skirts. “What is that you hold?” Topaz peered at it more closely, her eyes squinting upon the royal seal. “From court? From Henry?” Never had she referred to him—or his late father before him—as king.

“Aye, a messenger just brought it. 'Tis for Mother.”

“I shall read it then.” Topaz reached out to snatch the roll from Amethyst's hand. “She's ill and if it bears bad tidings, 'twill only serve to make her worse.”

“No!” She held her arm up out of Topaz's reach. “'Tis not yours! 'Tis for mother, and I shall deliver it unto to her. I'm sure it brings glad tidings. What bad would King Henry have to bring upon our mother?”

“You simpleton, it's probably our death warrants. He's planning to haul us back to the Tower just like Richard Humpback did to our poor little cousins.” She made another attempt to grab the roll. “Don't give it to her, Amethyst. Burn it, be gone with it. We shall say we never got it.”

“Oh, no, not again. Topaz, you're turning into a right lunatic.” Amethyst flattened her palm to her ear and turned to ascend the stairs. “I'm bringing it to her and 'tis up to her whether she would open it.”

“Take my word, Amethyst, when mother reads that note you will be facing one very disturbed woman,” Topaz called after her.

“No, I won't, because you are staying down here.”

* * *

Sabine sat up in bed, propped up against pillows, drinking from a pewter beaker.

Amethyst entered, approached the bed and fluffed her mother's pillows behind her. “Do you fare better, Mother?”

“Aye, but I would rather be out there enjoying the world.” She wiped her nose with a linen cloth.

“Well, have I got glad tidings for you!” Amethyst could never imagine a message from King Henry being anything else. She held out the parchment, the seal facing her mother. “From the king himself. Open it, Mother, pray open it, I'm dying to see what good King Henry has to say. Mayhap he would invite us to court for Christmas!”

“'Tis but August, my dear.” Sabine broke the seal and calmly began to unroll the parchment. Amethyst would have torn it to shreds. She sat on her hands in excitement. “Besides, why would the king want us…”

Sabine began reading, and just as Amethyst expected, a happy smile brightened her face. “Oh, Blessed Jesu!”

“What is it? God's foot, tell me before I scream!”

“Our great King Henry, our generous king, behold what he's given us!” She handed the note back to Amethyst and she read, in the king's own writing, the bestowing of an annuity of 100 pounds each to Sabine and to Aunt Margaret Pole to atone for the great injustice of his father Henry Tudor having had Edward Earl of Warwick executed. “In addition, he is…oh, Jesu! He's reversing the attainder against Father and…” She stopped to catch her breath, “full restitution is being made to the rights of the family! That means…oh, Mother!”

“Aye, my dear.” Sabine clasped her hands and raised her head to heaven. “Thanks be to our good Lord, Warwick Castle is ours!”

“Do you know what that means, Mother? Lands! Our very own Warwick Castle! Titles! You're Lady Sabine, dowager Countess of Warwick, I'm Lady Amethyst, dowries for me and Topaz and Emerald! I must tell them! Oh, I must tell them!” She was no longer the simple village girl doomed to the life of a plain wench. She was now a lady, titled and landed, bursting with gratitude for her generous king. Once again the misty vision of court life unfolded from the remote fancy of her dreams to solid possibility. “Oh, Mother, King Henry is so good, so kind! How could we ever repay him, how could we ever—”

“How, indeed?” Sabine spread her fingers. “What do we have, save a few nights to rest at Warwick Castle, that King Henry could ever want?”

“Oh, I know not, Mother! I'll think of something!” She held out her arms and twirled on her toes. “I would send him one of my songs!”

“Aye, he should like that.” Sabine nodded.

“I would give him something of myself…a part of me.” Amethyst danced around the room, fed by a rush of joy.

“Hah!” Topaz lingered in the doorway and Amethyst, overhearing her sister's grunt of disgust, shook her head in perplexity. How could Topaz be so ungrateful to the man who'd saved her family from the doom of poverty?

Topaz turned her back and scowled. “That hypocrite,” she spat. “I do not trust that wretch, his father's son down to the beady eyes.” A stab of fear replaced her anger. Oh, God above, what was Henry up to?

* * *

Warwickshire, September, 1510

On this sparkling autumn morning, wispy clouds scattered and the sun struggled to share its comforting warmth.

Two wagons pulled through sticky muck. The last days' rain had left the road to Warwick splotched with pools of mud. The thin wheel ruts streamed with mud.

The carriage followed the wagons, carrying Sabine, Emerald and Amethyst. Topaz refused to partake in the family's sudden recovery of their ancestral home. She chose to stay behind and tend her animals.

Amethyst so much wanted her sister at her side on that day, to share in this joyous occasion, for they were finally being granted a home that was rightly theirs.

They approached Warwick through Westgate, one of three ancient city gates. As they entered the dark tunnel, the horses' hoofbeats and squeak of the wagon and coach wheels echoed off the inner walls. They emerged on the High Street, in the midst of the bustling town. To the left stood a timber-framed house leaning into the street, a wooden sign reading “Leycester's Hospital” swinging from a chain, clanging against its post with each gust of wind. More timber-framed houses huddled against the hospital, their peaked roofs pointing towards the clearing sky.

They passed through the market square, where merchants displayed their wares on shelves under rolled-up awnings. Villagers bustled about, grabbing and squeezing fruits and vegetables, loading their goods into wagons. The doughy aroma of meat pies encircled them, and Amethyst breathed in the rainwashed air mingled with the scents of fruits and spices. A pig scurried across the road, followed by a parade of clucking chickens. They left the bustle of the marketplace and at the end of the curved road, she saw the top of a round tower rising over the trees.

As they followed the curve of Castle Street, Amethyst halted the party and jumped out of the carriage, wanting to finish the journey on foot, alone. She rushed ahead and broke into a run. At that moment the sun burst through the last veil of clouds.

And there it was.

It lined the riverbank, rising from its ancient mound, the stonework echoing the sun in an earthy yellow mingled with a rosy glow. Curtain walls connected a myriad of round towers inlaid with arched windows, majestically topped with crenelations. The imposing fortress extended farther than she could see, and as she approached, it loomed bigger still. She could discern even more towers, walls, and barricades—on and on, far as she could see.

She scrambled up the hill, tripping over her skirts, laughing and whooping in a frenzy of emotion, threw her head back and gazed up at the massive structure. It towered into the heavens, so imposing, so impenetrable.

She entered a gatehouse built into the side of the hill under the raised portcullis. Standing upon the dirt floor in the dark, she inhaled the dankness in the whistling wind that sang of centuries past. Her tears fell and seeped into the ground. She stepped back outside, taking another sweeping look. Opening her arms, she embraced the curved surface of the tower, letting the cold stones absorb her body's welcoming warmth.

“My home, my home,” she whispered, becoming one with her history. Finally, she knew where she'd come from. “Home, where I belong.”