Raven Queen Page 3

  “My father never raised his voice in anger,” he said. “And if I was angry, he always put a hand on my shoulder to quieten me. ‘Begin again, Edward,’ he used to say. ‘Words spoken in anger have no power.’”

  “Then you have a wise father,” I said, softening my voice. I looked at him, puzzled as I had been that first day.

  Who are you? I thought.

  Later, I stared at my reflection in my looking glass.

  Your eyes are beautiful.

  I blushed as I remembered. Were they? I leaned forward to look more closely. Did I look any different? Inside, I felt as if my heart was unfreezing, spreading a warmth through my body.

  There are five of us crammed in the cart and Thomas driving the horse: myself, Jack, two gamekeepers – Daniel and Will – and a girl of about my age who giggles and holds a bunch of buttercups under my chin. “Do you like butter?” she asks, and I laugh because it is the thing I missed most on the highway.

  Her name is Alice and she is from the next village, she tells me. Bradgate Hall is the furthest she has ever travelled. She is a new laundry maid. “Her Ladyship wants all the washing out to dry before breakfast.” She holds out her hands to me. “Look at my skin, it’s split already. I never knew life would be this hard.” She looks straight at me. “I want to get married. Get away from all this drudgery.”

  Her smile deepens, crinkling the corner of her eyes. They are bright blue and they hold me in their gaze. They are not as beautiful as Jane’s, but I enjoy pressing against her as the cart jolts, enjoy the scent of soap on her skin.

  Jack pulls her roughly towards him.

  It is strange to be out on the highway again. The last time I came this way, I was with Jane. I close my eyes as we pass the gallows.

  The alehouse is called The Maid in the Moon and it stands just beyond the crossroads. It is the first I have entered, although I do not admit it. A girl sets jugs of ale in front of us and the talk begins: of the coming summer, of the King and how he is making life difficult for the woodmen.

  “His Lordship wants to cut down some of the wood to make way for cornfields,” Thomas begins, “but if he does, he has to leave twelve trees standing in every acre.”

  Daniel yawns and looks across the table at Jack. Jack thumps the table. “God’s teeth, Tom!” he shouts. “I did not come here to talk about trees!” He thumps the table again. “Nay, I did not. What I want to know is this – is our young King saving himself for the Lady Jane?”

  “Hush, Jack!” Alice says. “You’ll get us all sacked.”

  Jack glances at me. “Our innocent Lady Jane,” he says.

  “What do you mean?” They all stop drinking and gape at each other in surprise at the sound of my voice.

  Jack grins. “I mean, Master Ned without a family name, that by this time next year, our sweet little Lady Jane’ll be the Queen of England.” He circles his fingers around his neck, “and she’ll chop off all us heads if we don’t behave!”

  A shiver runs through me and I want to be sick. In the back of my mind, I know that Jane’s father will arrange a good marriage for her. That is the custom. I have stopped myself thinking about it. But the King of England!

  The thought takes my breath away.

  Jack sneers as he grabs my sleeve. “Where have you sprung from, pretty boy? You speak soft like a gentleman. You read when everybody else is at sport. You’re more scarred than a fox’s face. Who are you? A spy?”

  The others, all except Thomas and Alice, pick up their ale and thump the table. “Who are you?” they chant. “Who are you?” Their faces blur in front of me, swaying and sweating. Panic rises in my throat. Jack puts up his fists. “Let’s see if we can beat the answer out of you.”

  They drag me outside. Thomas cannot stop them. I stagger in the dark, but the cold air sobers me, puts me back on my guard.

  I do not enjoy fighting, although if I have to do it, I will. My uncle taught me, for my father was too gentle a man and I had never known the rough and tumble of brothers. I was shocked at the time. “But you are a priest!” I protested. “You should turn the other cheek.”

  “I only fight to defend myself, Ned,” he replied.

  I let him teach me and now I am glad. Because I am fair-skinned and fair-haired, boys who do not know me assume that I cannot fight.

  Jack is brimming with anger.

  I stand still as my uncle has taught me, watching Jack jump and dance around me, fists in the air, trying to make me go after him and when he finally comes close, I can tell by his heavy breathing that he is already tiring. My first punch catches him on the nose as I intend and he howls with surprise at the sight of blood on his shirt.

  He lashes out at my ducking head, so hard that he falls over. It is all over in minutes: Jack squirming on the flagstones and Alice running to see what happened and Daniel telling him it’s his own fault and slapping me on the back.

  There is little talk on the way back. Alice and Thomas sing, and the others lie asleep at our feet. Birds are still flitting through the trees looking for their last supper, calling to each other before they find a spot to sleep.

  I watch a slice of moon behind the trees. If I had known that Jane was to marry the King, would I...? Vomit rises in my throat and I lean over the side of the cart and let it splatter into the wind.

  Ned was in my thoughts as soon as I woke up and this alarmed me because I was used to thinking only of God at such times. He had not come to the pool that morning and disappointment made me bad-tempered.

  When I came back, Catherine was sitting in my bedchamber window stitching her sampler. “I know something about Ned and Alice,” she whispered, watching my face carefully.

  “Who is Alice?”

  “The new laundry maid.”

  She took out a ball of thread. I did not ask her what she knew and she was bursting with impatience to tell me. “Alice likes Ned!” she said at last. “But she swims in the stream with Jack.”

  “Is that all? What a lot of fuss about nothing!” My cheeks burned. “You must not listen to gossip, Cate.”

  “It’s not gossip. Alice told me herself. I’ve just seen her.”

  “You should not have been talking about such things with her.”

  She ignored the disapproving look on my face and asked me if I knew how oranges grew, and when I did not reply she said that the female was pollinated by the male, just like people, but people did not need bees to help them. She stopped to bite off a piece of thread. “Do you not want to be alone with a man, Jane?” she asked. “Do you not want a man to touch you?”

  I shook my head. “Your thoughts are wicked!” I moved away from her and sat in the chair at the foot of my bed.

  “My thoughts are natural,” she replied. “That’s what a man and a woman are meant to do.”

  “Where have you learned such things?”

  “My body has taught me. We’re not animals, Jane. We’re meant to please each other.” She giggled. “Do you think Ned has such urges? Alice says that all men do.”

  Was she taunting me?

  My heart tightened. I did not answer, but opened my book. I tried to read but a memory flashed in front of me. Five years ago, my parents had sent me to live with the King’s uncle, Thomas Seymour, in London. I was to learn obedience. The King’s sister, the Lady Elizabeth, also lived there. One morning, as I was walking past Elizabeth’s bedchamber, I had glimpsed Seymour in his nightshirt and slippers, smiling stupidly, his face red. The Lady Elizabeth was jumping on the bed, her breasts bouncing, and he leaned over and pulled her down by her ankles. Then his hand slipped inside her nightgown, tickling and slapping her bare flesh until I had to look away.

  Catherine was stitching again as she spoke. “I can’t wait to be married. I shall have my own house. I’ll have gold everywhere, like this thread. Golden dresses...” She giggled. “...and golden curtains hanging around our marriage bed.”

  Her stupidity irritated me. “You will not be allowed to have a marriage bed for many y
ears. You are too young for childbearing.”

  “Spoilsport,” she said, pouting. She put her sampler on the cushion and drummed her fingers on the windowpane.

  I carried on reading Heinrich Bullinger’s book. He is a Protestant reformer living in Zurich and I have been writing to him for the last two years.

  “Doctor Bullinger says that parents must keep their daughters from lewd conversation. You should remember that, Cate.”

  “Do you like Ned?” she carried on. “Alice says that—”

  “Leave me alone!” I shouted.

  She ran out, slamming the door, and I picked up her sampler and pulled out the golden threads she had sewn. Then I sat in front of my looking glass and lifted my lips with my fingertips to make them smile.

  At the edge of the forest where the trees thinned, I heard a cry. At first, I thought it was a bird being hawked and I ran on. Then I realized it was coming from the ground, close to my feet. I looked down.

  It was a raven caught in a snare.

  He struggled at first, but then lay still as if waiting for death. I knelt beside him, trying to loosen the net, and he flapped his wings, afraid, and in his struggle he pecked the little finger of my right hand. When I held him at last, I saw that he was only a fledging and new to the world.

  “Throw him into the air.” It was Ned’s voice. I turned round to see him standing behind me. “That will force him to fly.”

  I threw him gently. The raven spread his wings, soaring above us and we laughed out loud as we watched him. As he disappeared from sight, Ned’s face darkened. “You did not tell me you were to marry the King of England!”

  “Does it matter?” I shivered.

  “Yes. I like being with you. I hate the days when I do not see you.”

  “And I want to be with you,” I whispered. “I have never felt like this before.”

  “And Edward?”

  I shook my head. “It is my duty; you know that, Ned. But I do not want to be the Queen of England. They always die, either on the block or in childbed.”

  “It will not happen to you, Jane.” It was the first time he had used my name. “I shall not allow it.”

  My heart pounded. “I would ask for the sword as Anne Boleyn did. She saw too many people suffer from the axe, twitching and crying out between each blow... They say that the executioner does it deliberately so that the victim can repent of their sins between each blow. How they must suffer!”

  He looked at me in horror.

  “One day, Ned, my life might hang by a thread. How many blows of the axe will it take to kill me?”

  He put his arms around me and stroked my hair. “Death is only a hobgoblin sent to frighten us in the night,” he whispered. “If we believe in everlasting life, we should welcome it with open arms. The body is only the place where our soul is held. Do not be afraid. I am here.”

  We did not see the hunters burst through the trees until they had surrounded us. My mother was leading them, her face fierce, her hair wild around her hat. They fell silent one by one.

  Ned stepped forward and bowed. “A raven was caught in the net, madam.”

  “You should have left it there,” she snapped. “They are only good for sniffing out dead bodies. Get back to your work!”

  “Go!” I whispered. “Or you will be dismissed.”

  Ned backed away, bowing until he was out of sight. My mother rode over to me and lashed me once with her hunting whip. Then she lashed the ground around my feet, raising a cloud of dust and I had to run backwards and forwards to dodge her whip. Mary began to cry. Catherine looked away.

  “We Greys are one of the most important families in England,” my mother shouted. “People look to us to set an example of how to behave. I did not raise you to run around the forest giggling with a woodman!”

  “Do not tell father, I beg you. Please. Ned will lose his job and he has nowhere else to go.”

  She leaned over towards me and I thought she was going to slap me. I stared back at her, at the spittle on her lips, at the spidery veins on her chin. “I shall not tell your father. But only because Dudley is here.”

  She turned her horse and led the hunting party across the deer park and I stumbled after them, rubbing my sore arm. The sun was colouring the windowpanes of my bedchamber, licking around its stone sill, and I wished they were flames that would burn my prison to the ground.

  He was standing in front of the fire in the Great Hall, his back stooped. As my father beckoned me towards him, Dudley straightened and turned round. He seemed so tall that I could hardly see his face above his ruff. His hooded eyes darted up and down my body.

  I shivered.

  Now he bowed, his eyes level with mine. I did not curtsy as I should. My legs were trembling too much. My mother came forward, took my arm and twirled me around.

  “You see, My Lord, she is becoming a young woman at last.”

  “Yes, she has a glow about her that I did not expect.” He put his hand under my chin. “You have a look of love about you, My Lady.”

  “Only for life, sir,” I said.

  He walked past me, to my mother. “Has she become a woman yet?” he asked. My mother flushed. “Sir, this is neither the time nor the place...”

  “Has she?”

  “No, My Lord. She is small for her age.”

  “She can only marry when she can bear a child.”

  My cheeks burned as I watched him leave us. How dare they talk about that most private part of me?

  “I thank God there are men like Dudley,” my father said. “There has been enough talking in the Privy Council. That is the trouble with the world today. Dudley is a man of action.”

  “Yes, he murdered men in Norfolk because they were protesting about losing their land,” I said. “He hunted them in the fields, killed them where they stood. The cornfields of Norfolk are stained with their blood.”

  My father was in high spirits that evening. I led Catherine and Mary into the banquet and knelt in front of him. He fingered his goblet of wine, his eyes bright. Then he rose to his feet and moved his hand above my head. “In the name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost.”

  “Amen,” Dudley said. The black feather in his cap fluttered as he spoke.

  I hardly spoke that evening. Let them see that I cannot be bartered, I thought. I was uncomfortable. I usually was in the company of men – except Ned. They remind me of the hunt.

  “Jane is tired after her studies.” My mother excused me, smiling at me until I looked away.

  The din of the trumpets drowned Dudley’s reply as the servants carried in silver platters: a boar’s head, its mouth stuffed with roasted apples; a peacock royal, its cooked flesh sewn inside its own feathered skin, and flocks of birds.

  A rush of wings filled the hall. Were the birds coming to life?

  It was a skylark.

  It had flown through a high window, terrified, and now it circled until it settled on an oak beam where it sang as we ate. I did not eat meat from that day.

  I longed for bed.

  My life was in my father’s hands. I could never forget that. Later, I lay my head on my pillow and begged sleep to release me from the world.

  And by dawn, Dudley had gone.

  The bruises on her arm gleam like buttercups. She is like a wounded animal and I cannot bear the thought. But she has dared to come to the pool and I am glad for that.

  “I am sorry, Jane. Mea culpa. It is my fault. I should not have spoken to you. But how could she do it! Does she treat your sisters like that?”

  “No. Catherine is pretty and knows how to please. And Mary, you saw her... My mother thinks it was because she saw a raven just before her birth.”

  “You should not have come here. It is dangerous for you.”

  “My parents have gone to visit my mother’s cousin, the Lady Mary.” She shudders. “The Catholic Mary. If the King dies, she will be Queen. She will restore England to the old faith.”

  “How will you bear t
hat?”

  “I shall have to, because she is the rightful Queen and it is everybody’s duty to follow the faith of their ruler, at least in public, and especially a royal family like mine.”

  “There are plenty who do not,” I reply.

  “We shall be drinking Christ’s blood in clouds of incense, surrounded by chanting priests and gilded statues.” Her voice becomes mocking. “The mystery of faith will come upon the common people again. They will not listen to the Latin Mass. They will perch on their pews like birds longing to be outside.” I pull back, revolted by her words, but she cannot stop. “They will no longer understand their faith, Ned, and that is the worst thing of all.”

  “Well, you must hope that the King lives a long life. Then you can both bring Protestantism to its peak of perfection.” I try to keep the bitterness from my voice.

  She gasps. “Oh, Ned, it is such a muddle. I do not want to marry the King. I do not even want to marry.” She grasps my arm and pulls me. “Let us walk. It will be safe. Charnwood Forest is so big that a bird can hop from tree to tree for six miles.”

  “I cannot be long. Thomas will be waiting for me as soon as he has eaten.”

  As we walk, I want to hold her hand, but I cannot. She is running ahead, laughing and spinning around. “We are nearer to God in a forest than anywhere else, Ned! I do not need priests to tell me what to think – at least, not priests dressed from top to toe in gold and silver, telling me what God means and filling my nose with incense. This is all I need.” She stops and smiles up at me. “Give me the new faith any day. It suits me.”

  I want her to stop talking. I have seen how religion divides people and already I know that I do not want it to divide her from me.

  “What do you want to do with your life, Jane?”

  She stands still, surprised. “Nobody has ever asked me that before.”

  “Tell me!” I insist. “You must know.”

  “I want to do whatever I choose!” she replies, her face serious. “I want to live where brightly coloured birds fly amongst trees that do not lose their leaves! I want to go to Zurich to talk to the Protestant reformers!” She giggles. “I want to go to Utopia!”