Meetings

February 1413

At a merry celebration of a truly forgettable cause, everyone I have and had not met yet gathers at the Palace. There are more meat pies, wine and ale than I have ever seen in the great hall and nearly every single person are on their feet, dancing like there is no tomorrow.

Life has improved much since I sent for my tutor. By some miracle my husband has allowed him to stay and I am deep into my Latin studies which I find captivating. I would probably enjoy tonight's fest more if I sat next to anyone but my husband. Tonight he has decided to only drink ale and some more ale on top of that. He is waving his large arms around, screaming at the top of his lungs about something I do not understand. In a way I envy the liberty he posses in how he can drink and swear during a fest without anyone looking at him strangely.

I cannot imagine the shame I would bring on my husband if I behaved in anyway similar. All I can do now is sit next to him and smile politely to anyone who looks at me, which luckily are not that many people. Most of them are busy actually enjoying themselves.

After what feels like the tenth cup of ale, foam starts to gather in my husband's beard and I want nothing more than to lock myself in my bedchamber and never let him in again. Two ales and more foam down his shirt later, my husband decides that now is the time to be cordial.

We greet all the important people whose names I never seem to remember, and yet again, I smile, nodd and remain silent since nobody is interested in talking to me. They all want to spend their time conversing with the charming drunk Duke of Suffolk.

"William!" someone calls out and then hurries over to shake my husband's hand.

"Harry long time, long time", my husband staggers out.

They appear to be around the same age except from the fact that Harry, whomever he is, looks like he's been handsome once upon a time. He is still standing tall while my husband is slouching and Harry does not look like an old drunk, but a man who has taken care of himself. His face is covered in wrinkles but his dark hair is barely grey and he has a firm gaze that makes him look very much alive.

They keep talking for a few minutes without anything registering with me, except from the fact that this Harry appears to be the Duke of Gloucester, which explains why he would be acquainted with my husband. All of the sudden the Duke's eyes turns to me and he smiles. It looks sincere enough.

"This must be your new wife."

My husband glances at me with a look that tells me that he once again has forgotten that I am standing right next to him.

"Yes, yes, this is the Duchess", he says while his gaze begins to wander, probably in pursuit of more ale.

"It is a true pleasure to meet you Your Grace." The Duke kiss my hand and laughs. "You are a precious thing aren't you? No need to curtsy dear. This is my son Edmund. I think you are about the same age."

Edmund has been standing mute next to his father just like I have been standing silent next to my husband but now he steps forward to kiss my hand.

"Pleasure to meet you Duchess."

He is still holding my hand, now getting warm from his tuch, and staring into my eyes. He looks like a younger, more handsome version of his father. He has short dark hair, brown eyes that looks so very kind, and a big mouth with full lips that now smiles at me.

"So how long have you been at court?" he asks.

His father laughs and patts my husband on the back.

"Let's leave the young to their talking. I think we both need more ale."

My husband nods and staggers next to the Duke to the nearest table where ale and women with large breasts nearly falling out of their dresses await.

After some polite small talk with Edmund I have found out that he is not so close to my age but seven years my senior. I smile and even laugh in the right places but I find his company dull and more than once my eyes are drawn to the King who appears to enjoy himself as much as I am.

"May I have this dance?"

Edmund reaches out his hand and I hesitate for a moment before taking it.

"I'm not a good dancer."

Edmund simply laughs at my statement.

"Don't worry Your Grace, I will help you."

When he takes me out amongst the other couples I look over to my husband's table and see that he already has a woman on his lap. Perhaps tonight, fortune will be on my side and my husband will spend the night in another woman's bed. I keep praying for a child and the strength to endure the nights with my husband but it is getting more difficult to hide my pure disgust at his touch.

Edmund is nothing like me on the dance floor. He is light on his feet and keeps smiling as he moves effortlessly and after a while I can feel the impact of his presence. I let the quick, cheerful music take over and suddenly I do not notice anyone else. My husband's drunken face fades away and all that is left are my strong feet moving rapidly and Edmund's firm lead.

As the second dance begin the spell is broken when I feel the burning sensation of someone's eyes upon me. When Edmund turns me, I realise that it is the clear blue eyes of the King which do not leave me for even a moment. I suddenly feel so very exposed out on the dancefloor, so provocative in my gown and close to his gaze. But a part of me enjoys the attention and I do not want him to look away. My head starts spinning from the excitement, or perhaps the actual spinning on the dance floor.

When the song is over I excused myself from Edmund and thank him for the dance. My plan is to sneak back to my chambers but as I am leaving the hall the Duke of Somerset appears out of thin air.

"The King has requested that you come to his chambers tonight. I will personally escort you there when the celebration is over. Do you accept Your Majesty's invitation?"

At first I cannot believe my own ears. The King inviting me to his bed? This must be a wicked joke. But somehow I know that even though the King has a great sense of humour, he would not see this as a laughing matter.

"If Your Majesty wants me there of course I will come."

Without another word the Duke bowes and then he is back in the shadows. Back in my chambers I sit down on the nearest chair and jump when I hear one of my maids approaching.

"Your Grace," Catherine says with an excusing curtsy.

I hardly take notice of her. The thought of getting ready for the King himself feels surreal. I am only a girl in so many ways but I had heard the stories like everyone else and seen things with my own eyes during my months at court.

The King enjoys his share of female company and he often brings new women to his bed but seldom anyone was invited back, or he tires of their company very fast. The whispers around court also says that he enjoys his women foreign and skilful. I am neither so why did he ask me of all women to share his bed?

After remaining still on the chair for a while the shock starts to wear off. I ask my maid to pour me a bath since I know the King wants his women clean and at least that I can do. After letting the hot water embrace me long enough for my fingertips to prune, I get up and already know what to wear. The only nice enough nightgown I own is the one my mother gave me for my wedding night.

I have not worn it since and when I hold it in my hands I suddenly feel like that 12-year-old lost girl again. I had been standing next to the bed while my husband since only a few hours stripped without a word.

"Take it off", was all he said when he was finished.

My hands were shaking and even though my mother had told me all I needed to do was lay there, I had a hard time keeping the tears away. When I couldn't unlace the nightgown my husband came over and pulled it over my head and left me exposed and cold. After giving me an uninterested look he simply commanded me to lay down. I did as he said and closed my eyes. It hurt more than once when he entered me the first time and even though I cried quietly, I'm certain he noticed but did not care. At least it was over faster than I expected.

Putting the gown on all these years later for the King of England fills me with a strange sensation but I do it anyway. Nothing else I own will be acceptabel.

Catherine is still in my chambers folding sheets when my husband barges in.

"You are mine!" he screams as he rush towards me. "You will give me an heir and not a King's bastard! "

His voice is trembling and his face twisted beyond recognition. How did he know about the King's invitation? Should I deny it? That would be worse I realise as I try to remain calm. He grabs my shoulders and shake me hard. His breath reeks of vomit and ale.

"Your Majesty has summoned me. No one refuses the King of England. Not even you husband."

His face turns several shades redder and before I know what is happening he has thrown me down on the bed while his hand over me left cheek pins me down. I cannot see and all I hear is him screaming:

"You obey me", over and over.

From experience I know there is no point in struggling when he is intoxicated if I do not wish to be beaten as well. He continues to press me down but nothing happens even if I can feel that his trying something. Suddenly I feel him roll off me and finally I can breath again. Thankfully wise Catherine had stormed out as my husband became violent. The poor thing is probably getting as used to this as I.

Over the years, as no baby appeared, he had gotten more violent and his behaviour did not shock me like it once did. I now expected it from him and am almost surprised if he does not leave me with a new brand when leaving my bed.

My husband puts his trousers on and as I remain on the bed with a pounding cheek there is a firm knock on the door.

"Your Grace?"

He is watching me like I am one of his whores but at least he's silent. He knows that my words are true and as much as he hates me for it, he cannot stop the King from getting what he desires.

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