The King's Concubine. Anne O'Brien

it again,’ he said as he handed me back to sit at Philippa’s side.

      But he did. Even though I still fell over his feet.

      The Queen did not forbid me to dance with the King, but she appeared to find little enjoyment in the occasion.

      The Queen has given the King a lion. Ah, yes! The affair of the lion! Observing the damsels with scorn where they huddled, hiding their faces, retreating from its roars in mock fear, keen to find a comforting arm from one of the King’s gallant knights, I walked towards the huge cage where I might inspect the beast at close quarters. I was not afraid, and would not pretend to be so. How could it harm me when it was imprisoned behind bars and locks? Its rough, tawny mane, its vast array of teeth fascinated me. I stepped closer as it settled on its haunches, tail twitching in impotent warning.

      ‘You’re not afraid, Mistress Alice?’ Soft-footed, the King stood behind me.

      ‘No, Sire. What need?’ We had returned to formality and I was not sorry. Was he not the King? ‘The girls are foolish, not afraid. They just wish to …’

      ‘They wish to attract attention?’

      ‘Yes, Sire.’

      We looked across to where the fluttering damsels received assurance and flattery.

      ‘And you do not, Mistress Alice? Does not some young knight take your critical eye? Is there no one you admire?’

      I thought about this, giving his question more consideration than perhaps was intended, appraising the wealth of strength and beauty and high blood around me.

      ‘No, Sire.’ It was the truth.

      ‘But you admire my lion.’

      ‘Oh, I do.’

      The lion watched us with impassive hatred. Were we not the cause of its imprisonment? I considered its state, and my own past experience. Both kept under duress, without freedom. Both existing on the whim of another. But I had escaped by miraculous means. There would be no miracle for this lion. This poor beast would remain in captivity until the day of its death.

      ‘Does nothing fill you with terror? Other than horses, of course.’

      He had unnerved me again. ‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘But it’s a fear you’ll never know, Sire.’

      ‘Tell me, then.’

      Before I could collect my wits I found myself explaining, because he was regarding me as if he really cared about my fears. ‘I am afraid of the future, Sire, where nothing is permanent, nothing is certain. Of a life without stability, without friends or family, without a home. Where I am nobody, without name or status.’ I paused. ‘I don’t want to be dependent on the pity or charity of others—I have had enough of that. I want to make something of myself, for myself.’

      Holy Mother! I looked fixedly at the lion. Had I really admitted to all that? To the King?

      ‘It’s a lot to ask,’ he replied simply. ‘For a young woman in your situation.’

      Much as Countess Joan had observed, with far less courtesy. ‘Is it impossible?’

      ‘No. That was not my meaning. But it’s a hard road for a woman alone to travel.’

      ‘Must I then accept my fate, like this poor imprisoned beast?’

      ‘Are we not all governed by fate, mistress?’

      Aware that his attention was turned from lion to me, and that the conversation had taken a very personal turn, I sought for an innocuous reply. ‘I don’t intend ingratitude, Sire. I’m aware of how much I owe the Queen.’

      ‘I didn’t know that you saw your future in so bleak a light.’

      ‘Why would you, Sire? You are the King. It is not necessary that you either know or care.’ For that is how I saw it.

      ‘Am I so selfish?’ Startled, his fine brows met over the bridge of his nose and I wondered if I had displeased him. ‘Or is it that you have a low opinion of all men?’

      ‘I’ve no reason not to. My father, whoever he was, gave me no reason to think highly of them. Neither did my husband, who took me in a sham of a marriage to ward off his sister’s nagging. I did not matter overmuch to either of them.’

      For a moment the King looked astounded, as he might if one of his hounds dared to bite him on the ankle.

      ‘You don’t hold back with the truth, do you, mistress? It seems I must make amends for my sex.’

      ‘You owe me nothing, Sire.’

      ‘Perhaps it is not a matter of owing, Alice. Perhaps it is more of what I find I wish to do.’

      The lion roared, lashing out with claws against the metal, interrupting whatever the King, or I, might have said next. He led me away as attendants from his menagerie came to transport the beast, and I thanked God for the timely intervention. I had said quite enough.

      But the King was not done with me yet. ‘You are not justified in your reading of my character, Mistress Alice,’ he said with a wry twist of his lips as we came to the door. ‘I know exactly what you fear. I lived through a time when my future hung on a thread, when I did not know friend from enemy and my authority as King was under attack. I know about rising every morning from my bed, not knowing what fate would bring me—whether good or evil.’

      I must have shown my disbelief that a King should ever know such doubts.

      ‘One day I will tell you.’

      He walked away, leaving me dumbfounded.

      I have a gift. From Edward himself. I frowned at my gift, all spirit with a mane and tail of silk, as neat as an illustration from a Book of Hours, as she fussed and tossed her head in the stableyard.

      ‘You don’t like her?’

      ‘I don’t know why you should give her to me, Sire.’

      ‘Why should I not?’

      ‘And why do you always ask me questions to which I have no answer?’

      Edward laughed, not at all disturbed by my retort. ‘You always seem to find one.’

      ‘She’s never short of a pert comment, that’s for sure.’ Isabella had arrived to stroke the pretty, dappled creature. ‘When did you last give me a new horse, sir?’

      ‘When you last asked me for one, as I recall. Two months ago.’

      ‘So you did. I must think of something else, since you’re generous today.’

      ‘You have never had need to question my generosity, Isabella,’ the King replied dryly.

      ‘True,’ she conceded, with a final pat to the mare. ‘Get what you can, little Alice, since His Majesty is in the mood for giving. Here’s your chance to make your fortune from the royal coffers!’ And she wandered off, restless as ever.

      ‘My daughter is free with her opinions.’ He watched her go. ‘I apologise for her lack of grace.’

      It had been an unnerving interlude, leaving the King with less of his good humour, but still I asked, ‘You have not told me why you have given me the mare, Sire.’

      ‘I have given you the mare because you need a mount to take care of you when my son cannot. She will treat you very well, if you will be so good as to accept her.’

      His reply was curt, giving me a taste of his latent power, his dislike of being questioned, his very masculine pride. I set myself to charm and amuse, as I knew I could. King or not, he did not deserve that his open-handed magnanimity to a servant be thrown in his face.

      ‘I am not ungracious, Sire. It is just that no one has ever given me a gift before. Except for the Queen. And once I was given a monkey.’ He began to smile. ‘It was a detestable creature.’

      Edward