The merry mistress, p.9
The Merry Mistress, page 9
I had seen him before when he had ridden through the city, bowing graciously and waving his hands to the cheering multitude, and he had seemed then like a golden god in his satins and velvets. Now he wore merchant garb that he might come unrecognized; yet unmistakably, he was the king. So tall he was, being over six feet three inches — for once I measured him — that when he tossed back the hood his yellow head brushed the rafters and he had to stoop to enter; and he was bigly built, with broad shoulders and stout legs, although the belly was beginning to sag over the gold-buckled girdle after years of idleness, drinking and lechery. Under straight brows, the blue eyes were large, eyes that moved swiftly in their slots, a soldier’s eyes, wary of treachery or a sudden assault; the nose was long and straight with delicate nostrils, the mouth red and shapely as a woman’s with curled underlip. Only the chin, now that the red-veined cheeks were slackening, seemed to project too sharply.
Swiftly I sank into a curtsey, bowing my head.
“Nay, lady,” said his highness, “I come amongst you as a fellow-merchant, a trader. To prove it, we will forget the royal We. I, Mistress Shore, am merely Edward Plantagenet now that I am under your roof.”
Gently — and how I trembled at his touch! — he caught me under the armpits and swung me to my feet and, still holding me, looked long into my eyes as though to read some secret there. Shyly, I smiled at him and did not lower my lids, being, to my own surprise, not very frightened of this giant. Then he kissed my mouth and lingered on it, moving his lips, and still smiled into my eyes; and, boldly, I looked back at him.
“Hey! but a child,” said he tenderly after the kiss of greeting, and he held me off in both hands that he might see my body’s length. “Not five foot high, I warrant, yet shapely. Rumour for once blabbed truth. I would see your hair, for I love women’s hair.”
“Some wine?” wailed my husband, bobbing beside him; “your highness, wine?”
The king did not glance at him but expertly slid his long fingers under my red headdress and slowly pushed it back. In the light from the window, the gold plaits, slowly uncoiling, seemed to flare to silvery gold banded with blood because of the red ribbands; and complacently I watched them slide down and curve over my bosom.
“With that light behind you,” grinned the king, “you look a saint in a window. I pray you be not one.”
I could not help but laugh, so proud and happy was I. “Whatever your highness pleases to have me,” said I, curtseying.
“True woman,” he smiled, showing his bright teeth. “Be to each man what he desires and you’ll not fail in life. What age are you?”
“Not quite fifteen, your highness.”
“I’d have thought you younger were it not…” His eyes rested on my full bodice. “So you are near fifteen,” he mused; “and married. Wife… and mother?”
“God has not blessed us yet, your highness,” I whispered.
“Wine?” croaked my husband, dancing about us as though the floor were hot. “‘Tis the best wine, your grace, ‘tis Malvoisie; but I have others… clarey: what you will.”
“What you will,” said the king carelessly, turning from me to smile down at my husband; and godlike indeed he looked when he smiled. “Master Shore,” said he, “you own good merchandise. I’ll not forget you. In future, I trade here.”
“Thank you, your highness,” mumbled my husband miserably. I noticed when he poured out the wine that his hands so shook that more splashed on to the table than into the cups.
“Let me see some of your goods,” commanded the king. “Get you gone and bring up here your most expensive fabrics. There is to be feasting soon at Windsor and I would have my household look its bravest.”
My poor husband stood with hanging arms, looking from me to the king, then back at me. He tried to speak but could not, only he gave me a look of such agonized entreaty that almost was I sorry for him; but how could I pity him when I felt this feeling of lightness within me as though I walked tiptoe, my body seeming to expand until I forgot how small I was and believed I was the equal of the king? I smiled, my heart singing, and looked into the king’s gay eyes and I scarcely noticed my husband, with bowed back, steal from the room, leaving us alone.
“Be seated, lady,” said the king, himself taking the only chair in the room and stretching out his long legs while I, with a sense of disappointment, returned to the window-seat and half-reclined on it in a posture which I knew showed off my crossed legs and my bosom in the pale sunlight. After a long pause while I remained still, uncertain what to do or say, and the king gazed at me, he said softly: “Yea, a saint. I have seen such in painted glass and never thought to meet one, not in England: those yellow-headed angels that watch one steadily in church and seem alive with light behind them. Nay, I never thought to meet one… I have known many women, Jane” — I thrilled to hear him use my name — “I do not lie to you, but never a woman to equal you. You would have made a bonny queen.”
“A commoner a queen, your grace?” I tittered.
“Whom I chose would be my queen,” he said firmly. “I risked my throne once for a woman, my queen that is. Do you think I’d not have doubled the risk had she been you?”
“You’ve only met me, sire,” I murmured.
“And is that not sufficient?” he cried. “I have small patience with this boys’ love that sighs and thinks a month must pass before a woman can be bussed. Amor has sharp eyes and sharper darts. I had only to see you, Jane… And I am yours. All yours.”
What woman would not have flushed with glee to have a great king tell her that he was hers? I knew, of course, that he was lying, that he had said similar words to countless women; yet, such is female vanity, I wondered if for this once he might not be sincere… I lowered my lids. “You forget, sire,” I whispered, “that I am married.”
He snapped his fingers. “And so am I,” said he. “Let us thank God for that sacrament, else there’d be few lovers, maids being locked away and scarcely worth the labour. Why! ‘tis through marriage that courage comes, and love; for what woman is there so meek-stomached as to love her husband?”
“I,” said I, dimpling.
He laughed, and merry was his laughter. “Your eyes wink a different tale,” said he. “And he so tiresome, so half-dead, for such a sprightly bellibone as you! You must not tell lies to your monarch, girl. That is a kind of treason. To me, you must be ever obedient, loving, like a loyal subject. Ah! you are wasted here! that beauty, that shape, that golden hair, squandered on eyes too dull to squint beyond the day’s takings of a paltry coin or two. At Westminster and Windsor there are jewels, Jane, rubies as big as eggs, pearls to be shamed by your thigh’s whiteness, there are garments beyond counting, all any lady could desire…”
“If she be lost to honour,” said I primly, puffing out my bosom. “You cannot tempt me, your highness; I have jewels enough, and garments more than I can wear. My husband grudges me nothing. I warn you: I am an honest woman.”
“So are all women,” he laughed, “until they’re tested.” On the stairs we heard my husband stumbling, making more noise than was necessary, as though rather than catch us together he would give warning of his approach. There was no need for that. Far apart we sat, the king on the chair, I on the window-seat. And when at last my husband entered, carrying a pile of bolts of cloth, I saw him glance sharply at me as if to note whether my gown or my hair were disarrayed. On the table he laid the bolts, then bowed to the king.
“What is it your highness desires?” he asked humbly. “I have brought my best. Here be velvets, plain, pinked and wrought. And here be my warmest satins. Here silks. Here damasks and taffeta. Or would you have cloths-of-gold or -silver? I have many below.”
“Yea,” said the king, scarcely glancing at the pile of stuffs. “Bring me your cloths-of-gold and -silver.”
“What colours, your grace?” quavered my husband, darting at me a terrible glance.
“All colours. Any colours. Let me see what you have.” Head bowed, my husband shuffled off as though he were suddenly very old; and even in my happiness at a king’s wooing, I pitied him and swore I would be true.
“You are wasting my poor husband’s time?” I cried with feigned indignation.
“And using mine,” said the king. “That is true, mistress, but he’ll be well paid. I’ll not leave here with a full pouch, and I’ve yet to meet a merchant who did not value coin above… yea,” said he, sighing towards me, “above even heaven itself.” I strove to appear annoyed, looking down my nose at him. “You do not know my husband,” I said. “He is a good man and has great trust in me. No woman has a kinder, more generous husband, or a truer one. If you come seeking things other than cloth, your highness, you waste your time. I warn you: I am honest.”
“Yea, yea,” he laughed, rolling in his chair, “so say they all, even while they unbolt the door to your scratching. Not that I think you wanton. God’s splendour, Jane, a man would be blind who thought you wicked. You are all honesty, modesty, and honour. That is why I love you. See! I’ve not fingered you, have I? Here lie my hands idle in my lap although they itch for action. All I want is to look at you. I could look at you day-long, night-long.”
“And what should I be doing?” I shrugged.
“I care not what,” he sighed, “so long as I could look at you.”
I knew that he was lying, yet I smirked, such, I felt, was the honour of having a king, and so magnificent, so beautiful — even though he was growing fat — a king, sigh and roll his eyes at me like a boy in love.
“You make me blush,” I said, pulling forward my plaits to hide my cheeks. “I am a merchant’s wife, not used to talk like this. We are blunt folk, we Londoners.”
“Then will I be blunt,” he cried. “Will you come with me to Westminster?”
So sudden was the request that I was furious. This was the offer a man might give a harlot, not a married woman. “You may be King of England, your grace,” I cried, “and I merely your poor subject, but I’ll not listen to such talk! You are so used to wicked women, you have forgotten that there is virtue in the world. All women are not the same, your grace. I have heard tales of you…”
“My subjects are all traitors,” he laughed.
“I’ve heard tales,” I continued, not heeding his interruption, “and if you think I am ready like your hawk to come to your whistle you are much mistaken. Were you not my king I’d not stay here another moment.”
“Yet some day, some night, you might feel otherwise.” From his finger he slipped a ring. “Take this,” he said.
“I want no gifts from you,” I cried, “or any man, your grace!”
“Take it,” he said. “‘Tis no precious jewel, but should you weary of the city, come to Westminster. Show that to the porter.”
“I want no gifts, I say!” and I shrank back from his outstretched hand with the ring, a flare of gold, on the palm.
“It is a magic ring,” he said, tossing it on to the window-ledge beside me, “for it opens royal mansions to her who wears it.”
Chin in air, I shrugged aside, ignoring his ring; but when I heard my husband again on the stairs I was careful to cover it with my skirt lest he see it and suspect evil.
My husband entered, seeming but a pair of thin legs under a body of cloths, so highly piled were the bolts which, sighing, he let tumble from his arms to the floor.
“These are all my cloths-of-gold and silver, your grace,” he panted, not looking towards me. “They are the best, I warrant you.”
“I am certain of it,” said the king, turning languidly to examine them while my husband unrolled them one by one.
Nor did the king turn again towards me while he talked of prices and examined textures. It seemed that I was forgotten and I must confess I felt piqued while I shuffled to sit on the ring before my husband noticed it. Not that I would ever want it, I said, or would dream of using it to get into Westminster Palace, but it would only have brought on a violent paroxysm if my husband knew I had accepted any gift. Hard it felt beneath me and I shifted, wondering what I should do when the time came to curtsey and to kiss the king good-bye. Impossible now for me to reject it. I swore that I would have thrown it at him had I had the opportunity; but he was certain to come again, so plain was his desire for me. Then, I decided, I would give it back to him.
I groped for it under me, found it and slipped it down into my bosom. Yea, I swore, I would throw it into his face the next time that he came.
*
For the short while he stayed, the king ignored me and seemed interested only in the cloths while he chaffered with my husband, and my husband’s long-faced misery lessened as he talked. Only when the moment came for farewells did sorrow return to make him blink when the king kissed me. But the kiss was so slight I barely felt it, and he did not even look into my eyes.
He left me startled and angry and had I not felt the cold ring against my flesh I would have believed I had imagined that scene when he had flashed his blue eyes at me and had grinned and talked of love. Withdrawn, scarcely aware of my presence, he strode down the stairs with my husband, still chattering about cloths and prices; and I was alone.
My annoyance was such that I even considered throwing the ring out of the window after him. He had treated me like a whore, trying to lure me with offers of jewels and garments, then he had tossed at me a cheap gold ring, telling me to come to him when I felt inclined… It was his change of manner that perplexed me. I could understand that before my husband he should pretend disinterest; but he had carried it beyond pretence, insulting me. My vanity, recently so high, was humbled and I wanted him to return that I might say what I thought and tell him how I despised him, considered him an ill-mannered boor for all that he was king, and a man that I’d not bed with for a thousand pounds, were he to beg me to bend to him. But he was gone and only to myself could I enact that brave scene with the king at my knees while I spurned his offerings and would not listen to his pleas to be forgiven…
Not the king, but my husband hurried back and he caught me in his arms and glared into my eyes.
“What did he say to you?” he cried.
“Nothing,” I said, “nothing of importance.”
“He tempted you. Don’t lie. I know the king. He cannot keep his fingers from a woman and he came here for one purpose, not my cloths. What did he offer you? Tell me. Jewels? Gold? Clothes? Palaces? I can give you jewels and gold and clothes, but not palaces, alas! What more do you desire?”
“Nothing,” I said. “I told him nay. There, sir, that is the truth. He is a wicked man and I pray I never meet him again. Traitor am I if it is treachery to despise your king. Don’t leave me alone with him again. Not that he even touched me. He didn’t dare! He just sat down and talked and talked and I stayed silent, despising him.”
“Before God, is that truth, my moppet? Did you say him nay? And did you despise him, eh? did you? Tell me: did you?”
“I am still here,” I said.
“May God be thanked! A thousand blessings on you, Jane,” he gibbered, fondling me, running his hands along my sides and up my back. “And did you say him nay?” he giggled. “And tell him you were honest and you loved me? Did you, eh, Jane?”
“Yea,” I said, “I do despise the man.”
Then I was startled when my husband let go of me and slid down on his knees. Blubbering, he took up the hem of my gown and kissed it, rubbing it over his face.
“My Jane,” he whimpered, “my moppet, my Jane.” Lifting the skirt-hem, he kissed my feet in the long pointed shoes which, stuffed with tow, bent in his hands as though he maimed me; and I put my hand on his head to steady myself, being grateful for the once that I had so good a husband, while I thought of the insulting things I would say should the king ever come near me again.
Chapter 7: Caught
No matter what the king might offer, let him come with handfuls of rubies, sapphires and amethysts, diamonds and emeralds, let him bind me in ropes of pearls and dress me in silks like gossamer, I’d not go to him after the way he had behaved; thus I swore, lying stiff in bed and thinking of the coldly insolent things I would say to him were he to woo me again. I had begun to believe all men to be my vassals, so easily had I managed them, from the frenzies of my husband to the hankering of Simon; and now here was one who could shut me out in a blink, who, from being the lover, could turn into a man of commerce haggling about the price of stuffs. Had he changed again into the lover, had his farewell kiss been more than a touch of lips, I could have understood that he had acted to deceive my husband; but to the end he had remained aloof, scarcely seeming to see me when he left, giving me but a blank-eyed look and a curt bow. It was inexplicable, exasperating and frightening. Yea, frightening. For the first time since my subjection of my husband I doubted my own beauty and wondered whether there were men beyond its power, men able to remain calm when my lips were pouted for their lips, or when my skin brushed theirs…
These doubts of my sovereignty turned me towards my husband, made me cling to him at night, to his gibbering ecstasy. So long as he was my vassal; I had naught to fear. In this house I was safe and could eat and drink till I was sick with sweetness, could have the finest garments and many jewels; and I was a fool, I told myself, to lust after great folk who could not be trusted. To go to the king would open me to dangers. He had proved his fickleness, forgetting me in an argument about textures and prices, and he might tire, this many-womaned monarch; then indeed would I be lost, my good fame gone, and with no future other than the brothel.
The abruptness of his wooing proved how little I meant to him. Urged on by Hastings seeking revenge for being tossed from the shop, he had come to inspect me, had liked me a little, had tossed me that ring and then, in his arrogance, believing the bargain made, had dismissed me from his mind as though I had been some beggar-lass content with a tawdry gift for the loss of my self-respect. Yea, just one more woman to be notched as a number on his bed-post, one more pillow used and forgotten, one extra triumph to put in his cap; such men did not love a woman but all women and therefore could be dangerous, difficult to hold. I would stay where I was, I said.
