Anne O'Brien - The King's Concubine

I became a willing slave to the Fair Maid of Kent whose grace and beauty were, she informed me, a matter for renown throughout the land. When she needed me, she rang a little silver bell that had remarkable carrying quality of sound. It rang with great frequency.

‘Take this gown and brush the hem—so much dust. And treat it with care.’

I brushed. I was very careful.

‘Fetch lavender—you do have lavender in your herb garden, I presume? Find some for my furs. I’ll not wear them again for some months …’

I ravaged Sister Margery’s herb patch for lavender, risking the sharp edge of the Infirmarian’s tongue.

‘Take that infernal monkey—’ for so I learned it to be ‘—into the garth. Its chatter makes my head ache. And water. I need a basin of water. Hot water—not cold as last time. And when you’ve done that, bring me ink. And a pen.’

Countess Joan was an exacting mistress, but I never minded the summonses. A window into the exhilarating world of the royal Court had been unlatched and flung wide, through which I might peer and wonder.

‘Comb out my hair,’ she ordered me.

So I did, loosening the plaited ropes of red gold to free them of tangles with an ivory comb I wished was mine.

‘Careful, girl!’ She struck out, catching my hand with her nails, enough to draw blood. ‘My head aches enough without your clumsy efforts!’

Countess Joan’s head frequently ached. I learned to move smartly out of range, but as often as she repelled me she lured me back. And the most awe-inspiring revelation, to my naive gaze?

The Countess Joan bathed!

It was a ceremony. I held a freshly laundered chemise over my arm and a towel of coarse linen. Countess Joan stripped off all her clothes without modesty. For a moment embarrassed shock crept over my skin, as if I too were unclothed. I had had no exposure to nakedness. No nun removed her undershift. A nun slept in her chemise, washed beneath it with a cloth dipped in a bowl of water, would die in it. Nakedness was a sin in the eye of God. Countess Joan had no such inhibitions. Gloriously naked, she stepped into her tub of scented water, while I simply gaped as I waited to hand her the linen when her washing was complete.

‘Now what’s wrong, girl?’ she asked with obvious amusement at my expense. ‘Have you never seen a woman in the flesh before? I don’t suppose you have, living with these old crones.’ She laughed, an appealing sound that made me want to smile, until I read the lines of malice in her face. ‘You’ll not have seen a man either, I wager.’ She yawned prettily in the heat, stretching her arms so that her breasts rose above the level of the scented water.

‘Wash my hair for me.’

I did, of course.

Wrapped in a chamber robe with her damp hair loose over her shoulders, Countess Joan delved into one of her coffers, removed a looking glass and stepped to the light from the window to inspect her features. She smiled at what she saw. Why would she not? I simply stared at the object with its silver frame and gleaming surface, until the Countess tossed her head, sensing my gaze.

‘What are you looking at?’ I shook my head. ‘I have no more need of you for now.’ She cast the shining object onto the bed. ‘Come back after Compline.’

But my fingers itched to touch it.

‘Your looking glass, my lady …’

‘Well?’

‘May I look?’ I asked.

She took me by surprise, and I was not fast enough. Countess Joan struck out with careless, casual violence, for no reason that I could see other than savage temper. An echoing slap made contact with my cheek so that I staggered, catching my breath.

‘Don’t be impertinent, girl!’ For a moment she considered me. Then her brows rose in perfect arcs and her lips curved. ‘But use the looking glass—if you really wish to.’

I took it from where it lay—and I looked. A reflection, a face that was more honest than anything I had seen in my water bowl, looked back at me. I was transfixed. Then without a word—for I could not find any to utter—I gently placed the glass face down on the bed.

‘Do you like what you see?’ Countess Joan enquired, enjoying my humiliation.

‘No!’ I managed through dry lips. My image in the water was no less than truth, and here it was proved beyond doubt. The dark eyes, depthless and without light like night water under a moonless sky. Even darker brows, as if drawn in ink with a clumsy hand. The strong jaw, the dominant nose and wide mouth. All so forceful ! It was a blessing that my hair was covered. I was a grub, a worm, a nothing compared with this red-gold, pale-skinned beauty who smiled at her empty victory over me.

‘What did you expect?’ the Countess asked.

‘I don’t know,’ I managed.

‘You expected to see something that might make a man turn his head, didn’t you? Of course you did. What woman doesn’t? Much can be forgiven a woman who is beautiful. Not so an ugly one.’

How cruel an indictment, stated without passion, without any thought for my feelings. And it was at that moment, when she tilted her chin in satisfaction, that I saw the truth in her face. She was of a mind to be deliberately cruel, and as my heart fell with the weight of the evidence against me, I knew beyond doubt why she had chosen me to wait on her. I had had no part in the choosing. It had nothing to do with the antics of her perverse monkey, or my own foolish attempt to catch her attention, or my labours to be a good maidservant. She had chosen me because I was ugly, while in stark contrast this educated, sophisticated, highly polished Court beauty would shine as a warning beacon lit for all to wonder at on a hilltop. I was the perfect foil—too unlovely, too gauche, too ignorant to pose any threat to the splendour that was Joan of Kent.

I think, weighing the good against the bad, I truly detested her.

Without warning it all came to an end, of course. ‘I am leaving,’ the Countess announced after three weeks, the most exciting, exhilarating three weeks of my life. I had already seen the preparations—the litter had returned, the escort at that very moment cluttering up the courtyard—and I was sorry. ‘God’s Wounds! I’ll be glad to rid myself of these stultifying walls. I could die here and no one would be any the wiser. You have been useful to me.’ The Countess sat in the high-backed chair in her bedchamber, her feet neatly together in gilded leather shoes on a little stool, while the business of repacking her accoutrements went on around her. ‘I suppose I should reward you, but I cannot think how.’ She pointed as she stood with a swish of her damask skirts. ‘Take that box and carry the Barbary.’

With difficulty, at the cost of a bite, I recovered the monkey, but my mind was not on the sharp nip. There was one piece of knowledge I wanted from her. If I did not ask now …

‘My lady …’

‘I haven’t time.’ She was already walking through the doorway.

‘What gives a woman …?’ I thought about the word I wanted. ‘What gives a woman power?’

She stopped. She turned slowly, laughing softly, but her face was writ with a mockery so vivid that I flushed at my temerity. ‘Power? What would a creature such as you know of true power? What would you do with it, even if it came to you?’ The disdain for my ignorance was cruel in its sleek elegance.

‘I mean—the power to determine my own path in life.’

‘So! Is that what you seek?’ She allowed me a complacent little smile. And I saw that beneath her carelessness ran a far deeper emotion. She actually despised me, as perhaps she despised all creatures of low birth. ‘You’ll not get power, my dear. That is, if you mean rank. Unless you can rise above your station and become Abbess of this place.’ Her voice purred in derision. ‘You’ll not do it—but I’ll give you an answer. If you have no breeding then you need beauty. Y our looks will get you nowhere. There is only one way left to you.’ Her smile vanished and I thought she gave my question some weight of consideration. ‘Knowledge.’