Feast of Fools (Violent Delights Book 15)

Part 1: December 20, 1445 (morning)

According to Margret, Queen of England

"Here is what you must understand if you are going to survive the next two weeks. Are you listening closely? Very closely? Good. Now I have one very important job for you, to help your new queen," Somerset, gesturing emphatically to me as his unimpressed children stand in a ragged line glaring generally. There's eight of them so it's a reasonable line.
"Really I'm fine—,"
"You've never had Christmas with Lancasters, your majesty, you will not even recall the meaning of the word 'fine' let alone what it felt like," he says, holding up a hand, "Now. Are all of you ready for this very important job?"
"Is this why you asked me to come out and meet you?" I ask, folding my arms. It's cold.
"Yes they need visual aids—,"
"Let him get through it," Lady Eleanor, his wife, says, so affectionately, as her husband commands his small army of children. All dark haired like him, and currently scowling at their rather powerful father.
"Your one job, which I know you shall do beautifully, is prevent our former Lord Protector, the unavoidably malignant Duke of Gloucester, from speaking to myself, or the Queen, do you understand? You will do whatever is necessary to complete your mission. You have my full authority to attack one another. To kick a dog. To even pounce on the queen, if it would save her, from this fate of being subjected to that man's poisonous excuse for pleasant conversation. Do we have any questions—? Yes, Eddie," he points to one of his boys, who is raising his hand very seriously.
"What if the Duke puts a curse on us?" Eddie asks, frowning.
"That's a very good question and the answer is he can't, because curses, aren't real. Next question—yes Maggie?" He points at the little girl whose hand shot up.
"How do you know curses aren't real?" She asks.
"Because if people, could curse other people, simply, so many of our family would be dead. Starting with the Duke of Gloucester!" Somerset says, cheerfully, "Next question—ah yes Ellie."
Ellie is his oldest, she's nearly my age so we get on rather well. She's raven haired like her whole family and currently glaring, like everyone but her father.
"If you want us to use drastic measures to prevent you or the Queen from ever having to speak to the Duke of Gloucester, and you already said on the ride you'll pay us if we stop you from arguing with the Duke of York while drunk, and you can talk to your uncle or the king anytime—why are we even here?" Ellie asks, arms folded.
"Because my need for attention is deeper than any ocean. Thank you for asking! While I do prefer positive attention negative attention is also palatable and allows me to thrive. Now, if you have any more questions keep them to yourselves, go on," he says, clapping his hands. About half of the children instantly scatter.
"We are not just turning them loose," Eleanor says, smiling as her husband wraps an arm around here.
"Oh yes we are. I am using them as a buffer, as my step father and father did before me, a time honored Lancaster holiday tradition. Now your Majesty, you have quite the army at your disposal," Somerset says, dark eyes flashing in amusement. He and his wife have been like second parents to me since I came to England barely six months since. It's been, rather a long year and especially at the holidays I miss my family. The Beaufort family's merriment is generally infectious, however, and I find myself feeling better already that the Somerset clan has arrived. Somerset and Lady Eleanor in fact travelled with me back to England, they've been here through everything so far. From an illegitimate then legitimized family line they're staples in my husband's court and frankly I see more of them than my husband.
But I'm hoping that will change over this holiday. We're at Eltham, one of my husband's favorite estates apparently. I realize he's busy being king and he's been very polite about letting me get settled in and accustomed to my duties. I have found I enjoy them. But beyond the odd polite dinner I hardly see my husband at all. And he's a little, well I don't know, I feel like he's not letting me see who he really is.
"Has anyone else arrived?" Lady Eleanor asks me, politely.
"Cardinal Beaufort got in late last night he is having supper with me, please join us," I say. My husband's great uncle is a rather vibrant character, despite his old age. I can't help but be a bit fond of him though he's usually with my husband as a rule, not with me. He arrived late with a lot of luggage, and at least one illegitimate grandchild, carrying a cup of wine that he apparently brought from his own house which was an interesting choice.
"Most assuredly your Majesty," Somerset says, flashing a grin, "Will the king be joining us?"
"No, the king is busy," I say, simply. In truth I haven't heard from or seen him since we got to Eltham. He of coursed welcomed me said to let him know if I needed something he's always very polite, if polite in whispers. He never raises his voice.
"I am truly glad you came," I say, smiling quickly at Ellie, who is waiting to join my party, "I'll see you at supper."
"I'll call on you later," Lady Eleanor says, smiling warmly. She's been kind. On the journey to England I was quite ill, sea sickness and from the road, she was always gentle about it, never cross that I couldn't go on or didn't look my best. I'm a younger child it was only last year I learned my father might engage me to the King of England. It's been something of a whirlwind since then. And England is more complicated than one might suppose. I'm only just understanding my husband's unique family tree.
I join Ellie as we walk inside. She's the oldest of the Somersets, and while they're noble they haven't always been terribly important, so she's comfortingly normal. They're on the edges of the monarchy and always have been so they know things but they've not always done things.
"Well? How are you settling in?" Ellie asks, as I take her hand.
"Is it awful to say that I'm not yet?" I sigh, "It's been—a lot. And I am only half comfortable with my own household. And then I want to help the King. But he's often busy, I feel like I don't properly know my husband yet."
"I'm sure that's how it goes," she shrugs, "I mean, it must be a lot and King Henry's been King all his life."
"True, he would be settled," sometimes I wish we were doing it together. His parents alive and his mother to teach me how to be queen. But his mother passed ten years ago. "Well, I'm sure it's just a stage of settling in. And I'm hoping we'll have a pleasant Christmas."
She winces.
"What?"
"My father wasn't exaggerating, lots of nobles gathered together doesn't usually spell peace and quiet," Ellie shrugs helplessly.
"My plan is to go hawking with my husband, my spies say he enjoys it," I say.
"Your spies?"
"All right Exeter's Harry," I roll my eyes, "But he said the King is fond of hawking so I'm going to suggest we go together—with you, and anyone else in the King's party, if the Earl of Warwick is of the mind. I know the king is fond of him."
"Let's. It is the holiday I'm sure my father can be induced to distract the old people he loves distracting people," she rolls her eyes.
"Can I ask you something?" I ask, cocking my head, "I know you've been about court. Are the rumors true that King Henry shunned the company of women prior to marriage?"
"That's what everyone said. My father's never mentioned anyone and the King is very pious," Ellie says, frowning a little, "Why? Is he quite eager for your company?"
"No—no the opposite in fact, he's been very respectful, and kind," and chaste. He didn't even lay with me on our wedding night. Just tried to curl up on the floor like a dog saying that god would tell us when it was time to have a child and any other activity would be a sin. He nearly blushed at saying it. I won't say any of that, or that he's entirely absent from my chambers. But he's past twenty most men have mistresses by then. I'm sure the King is very kind and such so he's waiting as I am much younger than him. But my father had mistresses it's no real secret, though I can see how the english court would keep it from me.
"He's quite reserved," she says, raising an eyebrow a little, "How are you getting on with his Tudor relatives?"
"Oh—they're fine," I say. Owen Tudor was married to my husband's late mother. Together they had two sons my brother's in law. They're about my age. But as their father is a commoner there's some scandal to it. Owen was with the party that brought me to England he was very attentive and watchful, quite concerned for my well being. But they're common so they're not really anything.
"It was a bit of a scandal when King Henry brought them to court," she says, "My father has known Owen Tudor for years but as a rule it was a bit of a scandal. Didn't know how the King had explained that."
"His half brothers, that was all," I say, "Why?"
"No reason, I'm sure they'll be here," she says, "The King keeps those boys around like pet puppies."
"Oh probably," I say, as though I didn't see the Tudor boys running about earlier when we first arrived. I don't mind them, I have to pick my friends and my husband's relatives is a good place to start. Owen Tudor is a good knight and a quiet father in law, he's remained loyal and he's got no ambitions besides serving my husband. And his sons are charming, Jasper is my favorite of the two, but Edmund is kind as well. Besides which fact they remind me of my brothers, I miss my family. And it's nice to have young men about who can do the odd errand for me and my ladies.
"Well, York's party should arrive soon. My recommendation is get a good seat and watch the fun," Ellie says, "And—my father was sort of right. Don't try to talk to any of them. They like a quiet woman."
"I don't much care what they like," I say.
"You probably should. Listen you want to be left alone and out of the drama the men make for them selves. Just go quietly," she says.
I know the intention is good but the word's strike a nerve. Go quietly.
My mother's words to me, lecturing me on my wedding night.
"But he's old, he's a grown man," I said, twisting my hands, "I don't want to be married to a man eight years older than me."
"He's king. King of England and France no less. He likely already has a mistress by now, so he'll not want you besides having his children," she said, "He'll have you on your wedding night, then three days after. Go quietly to him, and he'll leave you alone quicker, and soon enough you'll have a child."
And I didn't want to. I didn't want to go quietly to this grown man's arms. I didn't know what I wanted but that felt so wrong. Like a prized mare and not a person. He was purchasing a womb and peace with France. But I could do very little. Ask him for peace. And go quietly.
And when my wedding night came I was entirely frightened. And that man simply walked into the room, and curled up mostly underneath a chair with his hands over his ears, like a sleepy child. He sat like that for some time, in his night things, blonde hair limp from water, rocking a bit. Finally I said something:
"Are you well?" I asked.
"It's been very loud," he whispered, voice husky and soft, "Do you mind how people sit in chairs?"
"What?" I asked, so confused nearly confused out of my fear of him.
"Any preference?"
"No," I said, slowly, wondering if this was some sort of test. He'd already tested me once observing me in disguise like some sort of madman.
He crawled up into the chair, hugging his knees and hanging his head over the back of it. A tall man, though lean, with muscles showing in his fine neck. He sat like that for some time, completely content.
"You're not ill?" I asked.
"No, I'm very tired as I'm sure you are," he said, finally looking at me. I was waiting for him on the bed. Waiting for him to come and take me as his own. But all he said was: "You should cover up you're likely cold."
"I'm well. Ah—your letter was kind," I said. The letter he delivered to me while in disguise, then watched me read it. It was a kind letter but the method of delivery was unusual.
"Good. I mean I'm glad you liked it—I mean I want you to be happy here in England," he said, still curled up in the chair, "You met my mother's second husband, Owen, I sent him to you he's very reliable. And my half brothers, they were about I will have them attend to you at Sheen should you need anything."
"All right," I said.
"Did you get to see Westminster? I suppose not it was too busy. It's very beautiful," he whispered, his soft husky voice so melodic.
"It was yes—ah—are you staying over there?" I asked, so confused. We were just chatting? That was polite I supposed. But I was nearly shaking. I wanted it over with.
"At the moment. I like sitting in chairs like this. I suppose I shouldn't sleep here though my neck will hurt," he said, tipping his head fully over the back of the chair, like I was offering him lodging and not his marriage bed.
"I—I'm sorry," I said, I needed to know, "Are we not going to consummate the marriage?"
"It is. We were wed," he said, comfortingly, "Of course I spend the night here, but afterward you'll live at Sheen as I explained, you should have your own household and get used to England."
"Yes, yes I got the letter and the lion—," I said, slowly, he'd explained all this. But he was supposed to take my virginity.
"Did you like him?" He asked smiling.
"After a moment—,"
"He likes Jasper and Harry that's about it. I think they were feeding him though, that's Jasper's Harry, there are several Harries so I don't recommend calling me Harry. Everyone calls me Rex, I'm sorry I should have said that earlier, I feel like I'm not doing this well at all and we've hardly had time to speak," he whispered, just crawling to the floor to curl up around the chair legs again like some sort of cat. He was long legged, and lean, a fine looking man with high cheek bones and when he bent muscles in his shoulders.
"No, you're doing well—are you not going to lie with me?" I asked, blushing. Watching him contort himself as he was and his soft sweet voice I suddenly didn't mind the idea of him in my bed.
"It would be sinful," he said, blushing fiercely then and not even looking at me, "God has not called us to have a child yet, I'd know certainly. And it is a sin to —have any—relations—if we did not wish a child."
"I see," I said, slowly, though I did not see at all. He was very pious, "You don't—wish a child?"
"Well when God calls us to be ready. My own father was thirty four when I was born there's plenty of time. And besides it would be a sin to lie with you during your time—and I don't know when that is—or on a Wednesday, Friday, Saturday, or Sunday, or a fast day or feast day, or during Advent or Whitsun, or Easter or of course Christmas—so all those days aside and then you'd know if it was your time or not. Then if none of those things were true and God was calling you to have a child. I suppose. But it doesn't really matter. As I said my own father was over twice your age when I was born. I don't need a child," he whispered it all, blushing fiercely and closing his eyes.
"All right," I said, just watching him.
"Well it would be a sin," he chastised.
"Yes, yes," I said, watching him lie there on the floor, I didn't mind the idea anymore of having him in my bed now that he'd so fervently denied it, "Do—lie on the bed though. For the night. I hate you down there on the floor."
"I'm well unless it bothers you. It sometimes bothers people that I sit in chairs how I do," he said, sadly, as though the chair was the issue.
"No, it's fine just, lie in a knot around the chair legs if you're comfortable—-actually no it feels awful come on up," I sighed, patting the bed. He was a King, and he was curling up on the floor like a dog.
He rose slowly, taller still than I'd expected and such a fine face, gentle and soft, he danced his hands about then crawled onto the other side of the bed so gently and as far from as possible. I pulled the covers over myself but he barley opened his eyes past slits.
"Is there anything else you wanted to talk about?" He whispered, curling up into a ball with his knees to his chest. And his voice was so sad, "I think—I know I'm different than other men. I used to think it was because I'm king. Now I think it's because of me."
"No. No, I'm glad to get to talk to you," I said, feeling bad, then. He is different. Very different.
And painfully I don't mind it at all. I like his soft voice and his quiet manner. And he's, terribly handsome. I like watching him curl up in chairs. And the one night he spent on that corner of the bed still fills me with an odd lack of reason. I will pretend he's there and try to remember the rhythm of his breathing.
Because. Much to my own surprise. I'm falling in love with him.
I re-read his letters to me. Good and faithful wife. Our beloved Margret. His neat script. That small smile he gets when he talks about things he loves like the church. If I'm lucky watching the way he folds himself up in chairs and hangs his head off the back. Ink smudges on his fingers. And I find my love isn't quiet at all. I won't be their timid queen, a quiet woman. I'll have my king, and I shall not be quiet.