Clement was constantly talking of the miracle and how the Abbey had changed and that the Child had the gift of healing the sick.
Even my father believed the rumors.
“But if it were so,” I said, “why had Bruno not been able to save the Abbey?”
“I can only think that he has been preserved for something even greater,” answered my father.
I wanted to think so too. But most of all I wanted him to come back. I could not understand my feelings for him. I thought of him constantly. I remembered how we had talked together in the days when there had been an Abbey and how elated I had been when I had claimed his attention for a while. I was obsessed by him. I remembered certain allusions Kate had made. Once she had said that Bruno was more important to either of us than anyone else in the world. She was right—as far as I was concerned, though I was sure worldly magnificence meant more to her.
Strangely enough after Bruno’s disappearance Keziah grew better. She mingled freely with the other servants and as they were afraid to speak of the strange affair of the child in the crib it was never mentioned.
I discovered that there was another reason for the change in Keziah.
She had been making butter in the dairy and came to me in my room. I was surprised to see her at that hour of the morning and she said: “It came to me, Mistress, all of a sudden that I should speak with you.”
“What is it?” I asked.
She smiled and said quietly: “I’m with child, Mistress.”
“No, Keziah!”
“ ’Tis so, Mistress. I’ve known a week or more and I’ve had that happy feeling that comes with it. Or so ’twas always with me.”
“It is wrong. You should not feel happy. You have no husband. What right have you to have a child?”
“The right that’s given every woman, Mistress. And I can scarce wait to hold the little ’un in my arms. ’Twas always a child of my own I wanted. But there was always the voice within me that said no. You can’t bring a bastard into the world, Keziah. You must go to your Granny.”
“You should think of this before….”
“One day you’ll understand. There’s no thinking before. ’Tis only after that you get to thinking. Three times I’ve been to Granny in the woods. And twice she has brought about that which I knew must be, though never wanted it. There was the first time….” Her face puckered. She had been trying to convince herself that she and Ambrose had never had a child. “This time,” she went on quickly, “I won’t go to her. I want this child. ’Tis maybe the last I’ll ever have for I am getting past the age for child-bearing. And this little ’un will be to me what I’ve never had before.”
“Who is the father of this child?”
“Oh, there’s no doubt of it, Mistress. It was him all right. It had to be. There couldn’t be a shadow of doubt. This little one belongs to Rolf Weaver.”
“Keziah! That man! That…murderer!”
“Nay, Mistress, ’twas the monk who were the murderer. My Rolf…he were the victim.”
I was horrified. I stared at Keziah’s expanding body. That man’s seed! It was horrifying.
I said: “No, Keziah. In this case it is justified. You must go to your Granny.”
Keziah said, “Hush you, Mistress. Would you murder my baby? I want this child as I never wanted a child before…and I’ve grieved for all of them. When I saw that boy my heart yearned for him. But he spurned me but when I knew that I carried this seed in my body it gave me comfort. I shall have this child.”
There was a strange exalted look about her and she would not listen to anything I said.
I could not forget that man with the hair growing low on his brow; I could not forget what he had done to Keziah, to our lives.
I had thought that was the end of him when he had lain lifeless on the grass. It was a shock to know that he lived on in Keziah’s body.
I missed Kate very much. Life had become dull as never before. I was aware of Simon’s watchful eyes; I knew he believed he was going to make me change my mind.
My mother said to me: “You’re growing up, Damask. It’s time you married. It would give me and your father such pleasure to see our grandchildren. Now Kate is settled it will be your turn next.”
My father was too close in thought to me to mention marriage again; but he would like to see me with a man to protect me. I had two to choose from—Rupert and Simon; I knew that no objection would be raised whomsoever I chose, although naturally they would prefer it to be Rupert, he being related. Neither of them had anything in great worldly possessions to offer me. Rupert had great skill with the land, Simon was gaining a reputation as a clever lawyer. Both of them would benefit by the wealth I should bring to them. Perhaps that was why I hesitated. I wanted to be chosen for myself, as Kate had been.
“I am of no great age yet,” I told my mother.
“I married your father when I was sixteen,” she told me. “I was in the schoolroom. I have never regretted it.”
“But then you married Father.”
“You’ve always idolized him,” she said, snipping at the stalk of a rose. Whenever she talked I always felt that more than half her attention was on the flowers she was either planting, cutting or arranging.
Kate came to see us, full of exuberant excitement. Married life suited her. The adoring Remus could not take his eyes from her; and I could see that marriage had made her even more attractive. For one thing she was sumptuously clad; she had a damask gown and a kirtle of velvet; her feet were in velvet shoes with garnet buckles and there were new jewels sparkling at her throat.
She had been to Court. She had seen the King. He was magnificent—enormous, royal and terrifying. He bellowed his wishes and everyone obeyed without a second’s hesitation. His temper was notoriously short, especially when his leg pained him. He sparkled with jewels and every square inch of flesh on his big body was royal. He had smiled on Kate; he had patted her hand. In fact if he had not been completely besotted by the young and giddy niece of Lord Norfolk who knew what might have happened? Kate was a little regretful but not much. It was a precarious existence, everyone realized, to be singled out for very special attention by the King. A pat of the hand and smile of appreciation were very welcome and by far more comfortable.
She was bubbling over with the joy of being the harbinger of exciting news.
He disliked Anne of Cleves so much that it was very likely Cromwell would lose his head for arranging the marriage, and it was said that the Duchess had no great liking for the King. It was said that there had been no consummation on the wedding night and the King was furious with Hans Holbein for making such a flattering picture of a plain woman for whom he could have no fancy. And there was Katharine Howard, fluttering her eyes at the King with a mixture of awed Oh-Your-Grace-can-you-really-be-glancing-my-way and a promise of all kinds of sexual excitements. She had secretive eyes and a certain wanton manner. It was said that Norfolk was pleased. One niece, Anne Boleyn, had come to grief soon after insisting on the crown; but the King was older now, his leg was a perpetual irritation and as Katharine was young and pliable it seemed possible that she might hold the King’s attention; and if she could give him a son, who knew he might be satisfied. Though it was not even of such vital importance to get a son now that there was Prince Edward in the royal nursery.
So Kate rambled on of the glories of Windsor and hunting in the Great Park; of a ball at Greenwich and a banquet at Hampton.
“Do you remember how we used to sail past Hampton, Damask, and talk about the great Palace?”