The Star of Lancaster - Plaidy Jean - Страница 12

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'They say,' said another, 'that if a woman can conceive she's ripe for child bearing.*

'She's little more than a baby herself. They should have waited.*

She did not want to hear more. Such talk frightened her.

There came a day when the Earl and Countess of Buckingham were passing Kenilworth. They stayed for a night, and that was very unpleasant.

Eleanor was cold; Thomas was hotly indignant.

'By God's ears,' he said. 'I'll never like brother John again. He planned this, he did. He waited until I went away.*

'It was not so,' she cried.

'Married!' cried Eleanor. 'At your age. It shocks me deeply.*

'You were going to send me into a convent,' retorted Mary. *I was old enough you considered to make up my mind about that.'

'How could you have been so deceitful. The nuns are heartbroken.*

'The Abbess was most concerned that I should be sure I was doing what was best.*

*I wonder you are not ashamed/ cried Eleanor. *To go off like that and the next thing we knew was that you were betrothed!'

It so happened that Henry was at Arundel.. /

*So happened!' snapped Eleanor. 'It was arranged. And why do you think it was arranged? Because you happened to be an heiress, that's why. Do you think the high and mighty Duke of Lancaster and his romantic son would have been so eager to take you without your fortune?'

'Is that why Thomas took you?' retorted Mary.

'You wicked girl! You give yourself airs. How dare you talk to me thus. Oh I am so disappointed. After all we did. We went to Pleshy because you were so interested in the convent there.'

Thomas shouted, 'Stop bickering. The evil is done. Would to God I had not been out of the country at the time. I would have taken up arms against Lancaster. I would ...'

He spluttered on in his rage. It was all so ridiculous, thought Mary. He would not have dared to take up arms against his brother over such a matter. But perhaps he would. He was known throughout the country as a man who acted on impulse however foolishly.

She was glad when they departed. It was very upsetting.

Occasionally Henry visited her but he was in attendance on the King and could not be with her as often as he wished. She liked to hear about the King whom she suspected Henry despised a little. He was not as clever as Henry at any of the outdoor sports; Henry would always triumph over him.

'Does he mind?' asked Mary.

'Not he. He cares more about his books; and he will talk of his fine clothes for hours. He is very part^'cular about his food. Not that he eats a great deal; but it must be served in the most delicate manner. To tell you the truth, Mary, he is not what one thinks of as a king.'

Henry was often wistful when he talked of the King. Mary understood why when he said to her one day: 'Do you know, if my father had been the firsb of his father's sons, / should have been the King.'

'Would you have liked that, Henry?' she asked.

'It is not a matter of liking it,' was his reply, 'but of accept-

ing the fact and moulding oneself accordingly. You see Richard was not meant to be King. If his elder brother had lived he would have taken the crown; and then his father died and there he was aged about nine years old, King of England.'

A faint resentment was in Henry's voice.

She did not say so, but she was glad his father had not been the eldest for then she would in due course have been Queen and she knew that would have been rather alarming.

Henry's visits were so brief and she was left much to herself. She did a great deal of needlework, played her guitar, learned new songs to sing for Henry and awaited the birth of her child with some impatience.

She heard scraps of gossip from the women. She could get a picture of what was happening in the outside world from them. She discovered that there was a murmuring of discontent throughout the country. Some said the peasants were getting too big for their boots because of the land laws which enabled them to cultivate for their own use a portion of the land belonging to the lord of the manor and to pay for it by working for him. They complained that the lord took the best of their time and their own crops were spoilt because they could not deal with them in an emergency since at such a time the lord's own lands would need all their attention. They were slaves. They were bound to the land and so were their children. But the greatest grievance of all was the poll tax which was levied on every man, woman and child over fifteen.

She heard the name of John Ball which was mentioned frequently. He had been, she gathered, a 'hedge priest' which meant that he had had no church and no home of his own, but had wandered about the countryside preaching and accepting bed and board where he could find it. He had preached to the people on village greens at one time but when he began to be noticed by people in authority these meetings had been held in woods at night.

Not only had he been preaching religion, it had been said, but he was preaching revolution for he was urging the peasants to rise against their masters, to throw off slavery, and demand what he had called their rights.

It was not to be wondered at that a man who preached such fiery doctrines should be considered dangerous, and John Ball had been seized and put into the Archbishop's prison of Maidstone.

And now there was all this talk about the peasants' unrest; but no one took it very seriously.

Certainly not the household at Kenilworth where all were concerned with the coming birth.

It began one early evening when Mary sat with her ladies. She was playing the guitar while they stitched at their tapestry. The child was due in a few weeks and Mary was suffering acute discomfort. It was all very natural, said her women; it was the fate of all in her condition and all the inconvenience of the last months would have been worth while when her child was born.

Her pains began suddenly and they were so acute that her women took her to her bed immediately and sent for the doctors.

She was lost now in mists of pain; she had never believed there could be such agony. Vaguely she heard a voice saying: 'But she is only a child herself ... too young ... immature ...'

She had lost count of time. She just lay waiting for the waves of pain to sweep over her, to subside, to flow away and then flow back. It seemed as though it would never end. She lost consciousness and when she awoke the pain had gone. She felt completely exhausted and for some time was unsure of what had happened. And when she remembered her first thoughts were for the child.

'My baby ...' she murmured.

There was silence. She tried to struggle up but she was too tired. 'Where is my baby?' she asked shrilly.

One of her women came to the bed and knelt down. She was about to speak and then she bowed her head and covered her face with her hands.

'Tell me,' said Mary stonily.

'My lady,' said the woman, and there was a sob in her voice, 'the child was born ... a beautiful child ... perfect in limb .. .*

'Yes, yes. Where is it?'

'It was born dead, my lady.'

Mary sank back on her bed. She closed her eyes. All the months of waiting ... all the hopes and plans ... gone. The baby was born dead.

'There will be more ... later,' went on the woman. 'You have come through, praise be to God. You are going to get strong again and then, and then .. .*

Mary was not listening. Henry I she thought. Oh Henry, I have disappointed you.

She was unable to leave her bed. She lay listless wondering where Henry was, what he was doing now. He would come to her room, she was sure. She would not be able to bear his disappointment.

She was right. As soon as the news was taken to him he got leave of the King to ride to Kenilworth.

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