Free A Love Most Dangerous by Martin Lake

in the midst of this game and I barely knew
the rules. Even if I was conversant with them I suspected the King would not
abide by them, would assume that he could break and bend them with impunity. He
did with everything else.
    It was common knowledge that many men had grown
wealthy by favour of the King. What was less well known, or kept hidden, was
that many more had been beggared by him.
    Every noble dreaded that the King would invite himself
to stay at his home a few days, every gentlemen feared a visit of only a few
hours. For the King never travelled anywhere alone. He travelled with much of
his court: servants, retainers, courtiers, bishops and entertainers. Providing
only one meal for this vast entourage would devastate most purses. A stay of
two or more days would send even the wealthiest scurrying to the money-lenders
or selling land or daughters to the highest bidder.
    Some, the unlucky ones, had fallen like Icarus when
they got too close to the sun. One day they were the apple of the King's eye,
the next like cow-dung in the field. These men became something the wise kept
sharp watch for, to be shunned lest their new stench came to be associated with
them. Some of the fallen men fell still further of course, to the axe-man's
block.
    And for women? For young women without kin or
connections? My mind went over the ladies who had appeared high in the King's
favour and those few who were rumoured to have shared his bed. None, save Queen
Anne Boleyn had fallen to the sword. But once one woman had been forced across
that dreadful line, what safety was there for others?
    I reached my room and shut the door behind me, leaning
against it as if to block the outside world from entering. It seemed to me,
though I could not quite pin down the reason why, it seemed to me that the most
perilous dangerous course was to be a Queen, the next most dangerous to be his
mistress. Better that I remain his lover, a casual lover who would pleasure him
on occasion and rise a few steps higher in the Court because of this.
    And this, of course, must be a secret kept from the
world.
     
     
    The next morning I went down to the Great Hall for
breakfast and sat at the table. The maids near me shuffled away so that a space
grew between them and me. I glanced up. Philippa Wicks and Dorothy Bray looked
studiously the other way but they could not conceal the look of triumph upon
their faces.
    My heart quailed. I really had become like the
cow-dung in the field, shunned and rejected.
    My first thought was to act contrary to my resolve of
the night before. I would cry out: avoid me if you choose, do the worst that
you dare, for I am the King's lover and am high in his favour.
    But immediately I thought better of it. For I knew
that were I to say this I would be the King's Harlot in their eyes and as such
I would become vulnerable to their venom. Better, I thought, to practise
haughty disdain and scorn them even more than they did me. Better to keep my
counsel and plot their discomfort and downfall at my leisure.
    'This bread is delicious,' I said.
    My voice echoed in the silent hall. None of the others
so much as looked up. I feared to speak again for I felt my voice about to
tremble and break. Yet I knew I must speak once more.
    I took a sip of wine and a deeper breath. 'The
preserve, however, is tart. It is a shame to have things so tart and bitter at
the King's Court.'
    I felt some of the Ladies flutter as my words hit
home. A moment later a few nodded in agreement and one or two even muttered at
the table.
    I shot a glance at Wicks. The triumph in her face had
changed to bile.
    Susan appeared and glanced around. She pointedly took
a seat beside me. I breathed a sigh of relief.
    'What was that I heard?' she said brightly. 'Is there
something distasteful in the room?'
    'The preserve,' said Lucy Meadows. She held up the
dish of preserve nervously. 'Alice said that the preserve is tart and bitter.'
    'Then I shall take honey,' Susan said. She