Then his breath was gone.

So England’s great King died in my arms, his head on my breast, light blazing around him as if he were already in heaven. And I had perjured my soul, denying any regrets.

“God have mercy.” Wykeham, still on his knees, made the sign of the cross.

“Farewell, Edward. Philippa will stand beside you when you approach God’s throne.”

I stood to perform my final tasks for him, removing the pillows so that he could lie flat. I combed my fingers through his hair, arranged his linen so that it fell gracefully against his neck before placing his hands palms-down at his sides.

And then…because he had remembered…I began to take the rings from his fingers. A cabochon ruby. A sapphire flanked with diamonds, heavyset with pearls. A trio of beryls. A magnificent amethyst, set alone. I took them all.

With a sharp oath of distress Wykeham sprang to his feet. “In God’s name! What are you doing?”

And I turned to look at him. The bright light illuminated the expression on his face, every deeply marked line making it clear exactly what he thought of my actions, and over all a contempt of me so deep as to coat me from head to foot. For a moment it shocked me into immobility. Did Wykeham, the best man of God I knew, truly believe me capable of robbing the dead? Of stripping Edward’s corpse of everything of value out of pure avarice? Would Wykeham of all men consider me guilty of such a final infamy? Do you have any regrets? Edward had asked, and I had denied it. But sometimes the reputation I had achieved was a heavy burden. Why should I alone be the one to deserve the world’s scorn?

Emotion raced across my skin to match Wykeham’s, and far more deadly. Combined with my anguish, bright anger melded to create a vicious brew. So Wykeham believed the worst of me, did he? He would damn me just as readily as Father Godfrey for my sins. Then let him. In my torment, a desire to hurt and to be hurt was born within me, a vehemence that would not be restrained. Fury was there, but also self-loathing. And an urge to destroy.

So be it!

I would destroy Wykeham’s so-called friendship. I would destroy any good standing I had with him. I would live up to the worst of my reputation. For who would care? The only man who had cared was dead.

Windsor cares!

I slapped the thought away.

Oh, I had an enormous talent for dissimulation. For self-mockery. I held up the rings on my palm so that they glimmered with a myriad of reflected candle flames.

“Don’t I deserve this for giving my youth to an old man?” I demanded. Never had I sounded so cold, so unfeeling.

“You are robbing the dead.” Wykeham was aghast, as if he could not believe what he saw. I drew a ring set with opals from Edward’s thumb, feeling the force of Wykeham’s stare as I did so. “It is an abomination!”

“Hard words, Wykeham!” I placed the ring with the others on my palm.

“Once, I thought you almost worthy of my friendship.”

Friendship? I had just seen the limits of friendship, to be condemned without trial.

“Foolish Wykeham. You should have listened to the common gossip.” I raised my chin, praying that the tears that had formed a knot in my throat would not betray me. “What do they say about me? What do the courtiers and the Commons say?”

“You know what they say.”

“But you say it. Humor me. Let me hear it spoken aloud.” How I wished to lash out, to cut and wound. And be wounded. I would hear anew the dregs of my reputation. In my grief and anger I had no control.

His lips were a thin line of disgust. “They say you’re an unprincipled slut…”

“Well, that’s true.”

“…and without shame.”

“Is that all?” I think I tossed my head. “I’m sure it’s worse than that.”

His eyes blazed as bright as the candle flames. “You’re a grasping, self-seeking whore.”

“That’s closer to the truth, forsooth!”

“Will nothing shock you?” His rage was suddenly as great as mine, his tongue unbridled. “They say you fucked the King to drain him of his power. You’re nothing but an adulterous bitch who betrayed Queen Philippa and—”

I struck him. I actually struck him, the hand that did not clasp the rings hitting flat against his cheek. The man who had stood as the closest I had to a friend at Court in recent years, who knew the truth behind all the Court scandals.

“My lord bishop!” I mocked. “So shocking! And for you to repeat such vulgar language!”

And I began to laugh.

Cheek aflame, he snarled, “You don’t like the truth, do you?”

“I didn’t think you’d actually say it to my face. I really didn’t.…But there’s your answer: Always believe the gossip of the stews and the whorehouses. Always believe what’s said of a woman who makes use of the talents God gave her.” I poured all the scorn I could into my voice.

For a moment he was speechless. Then he gestured to the rings in my hand.

“Are you proud of what you’ve done?”

“Why not? I’d be living in the gutter in London if I’d been less than an unprincipled slut. Or I’d be dead. Or a nun—which is probably worse.”

“God have mercy on you.” He flung out his hand, stabbing me with his finger. “You’ve missed one! He’s still wearing the emerald. Don’t let that one escape. It’s worth more than all the rest put together. It will keep you in silk and fur until the day of your unworthy death!”

The emerald. I made no move to take it.

“Why stop now? Have you suddenly developed finer feelings? You squeezed him dry of everything you could get out of him. You took what should have been Philippa’s. His company, his loyalty, his devotion into old age…” I flinched at the hard words, but recognized them for what they were. Wykeham’s own grief, lashing out at me. “Take it!” he hissed, and drew it from Edward’s finger, holding it out to me.

“I can’t.…”

“Oh, I’m sure you can!”

“It’s the royal seal.…” I took a step away.

“Since when would such niceties stop you?”

“The coronation ring…It belongs to Richard.…It’s not for me.…”

It was a mistake. I knew it as soon as I had opened my mouth. My deliberate construction was destroyed with those few careless words. Wykeham simply looked at me, the emotion draining to leave his face white and drawn except for the print of my hand. His hand with the emerald ring dropped to his side.

“Oh, Alice!”

All the fury leached from the room, leaving it still and cold despite the constant shimmer from the burning flames.

“Alice…”

“I don’t want your pity, Wykeham.” I turned my face away. “Good-bye, Edward. I hope I made you happy when you thought there was no happiness left in life.” For a final time I knelt and kissed his hand. “I loved him, you know. In spite of everything. He was always kind. I think he loved me a little. I was not Philippa—but I think he loved me.…”

“Where will you go?”

“To Pallenswick.”

“To Sir William?”

“Yes.”

“Let him take care of you.”

“I don’t need him. I don’t need anyone.…” Still I would punish myself.

“Alice…”

“Don’t—just don’t! If you’re about to bless me, don’t think of it!” I rubbed the sudden moisture from my cheeks with my sleeve. “Your God will rejoice at my sufferings. Perhaps you should offer up an extra Ave and a Deo Gratias for my ultimate punishment.”

Tears were streaming down my face.

“You can’t go like this.…”

“What will you do? Put the record straight? Paint me as a virtuous woman? No one will believe you. I will always be the King’s whore. And I was—I think I filled the role with superb competence.” I opened the door, looking back over my shoulder to the shining crown on the bed beside Edward’s hand. “Do you think the boy will wear it as magnificently as he did?”

“No. No, I don’t think he will.”

“Good-bye, Wykeham.” I knew I might never see him again. “He said I should take them, you know.…”

“I expect he did.” Wykeham bowed low. “Take care.”

I laid my hand on the latch, suddenly without the strength to lift it. I felt as empty as a husk. I knew there were things to do, but at that moment, I had no very exact idea of what they were.

All I knew was that I wanted to be with Windsor.

The horrors of that day were not at an end. Could they get any worse? They could. They did. When all I wanted was to escape from my own grief, from the unbridled excess I had indulged in to justify Wykeham’s censure, there in the Great Hall stood two figures just arrived. One had a high, piping voice, the other the mien of a public executioner.

The child King and his mother.

In a moment of sheer cowardice, I considered disappearing through the maze of rooms and corridors before Joan could notice me. She now had the power to draw my blood. In the aftermath of what had happened, I felt that I might bleed all too readily.

No! No! You will not retreat!

I had never avoided confrontation, and I would not start now. Gathering my resources, I took on a hard-edged veneer of arrogance, as if Edward had not just died in my arms. Thus I descended the staircase with a swish of my velvet skirts and swept a magnificent curtsy to the ten-year-old boy who now wore my lover’s crown.

“Your Majesty.”

Richard, God help him, clearly did not know what to do or say. His forehead furrowed and he gave me a nervous smile. “Mistress Perrers…” He looked up to his mother’s face for some idea of what he should do next. Then he bowed to me with quaint solemnity.

“There is no need to bow, Richard.” Joan’s painted face was brittle, cold as a winter’s frost. And unbearably calculating. “So Edward is dead, is he?”

“He is, my lady.” How scrupulously polite I was. She would never accuse me of ill manners.