“If you could have one thing above all others, what would it be?” “If you could have one thing above all others, what would it be?”
Edward of England and Anne de Bohun were sequestered together in the great barn among the summer hay, avoiding the household in Anne’s now overpopulated farmstead.
“We have spoken of this before, Edward.”
The king rolled over onto his back and laughed. “Perhaps. But tell me again, Anne. Humor me.”
Anne sucked pensively on a piece of straw and didn’t answer. He glanced at her.
“Very well, since you are so stubborn, I shall tell you in one word what I want. You. I want you, lady. No more parting. Ever.” It was said seriously, without emphasis. The words fell into silence.
“And this is the part where you say, ‘Edward, that’s what I want too.’” The king propped his head on one hand, looking Anne directly in the eye. “Or, rather, that you want me. That I am your dearest wish and always will be.”
Anne closed her eyes. He was far too near to her, his own warm musk competing with the green smell of summer from the straw they lay on. “I have no need to speak since you know my thoughts.”
“Do I, Anne? Do I know your thoughts…” One hand crept out to circle her waist, and suddenly hauled her body to his so that they lay against each other. “…as I know you?”
Anne tried to sit up. “You are dangerous, Edward Plantagenet. Very dangerous.”
He released her. “I cannot believe you’ve turned into some kind of tease in the time we’ve been apart. Tell me, Anne. Tell me you feel nothing for me!”
“Do not torment me, Edward!” She was suddenly furious, and then came terror, for the mote-filled light of the barn was suddenly gone. Ink-black dark lapped her close. “Edward?” Was that her voice? Or someone else’s? “Edward!” No, she was calling out. But there was no answer. And then she felt something move, close by. Very close. Her skin crawled and, though she could see nothing, nothing at all, she stumbled to her feet and tried to run from that sound, the dry insistent rustle of someone, something, moving toward her in the dark. But her legs, her feet, were so heavy she could not make them function.
Her senses, all her senses, strained to understand what was happening. Then a thing like a feather touched her cheek. Soft, smelling of dust, faintly sweet. And she understood, as she was meant to. Grave clothes—that was what she felt against her skin. She could not see them, but the picture was there: a pale, fine shroud filled with formless dust. The dust of the dead.
She tried to scream, but an object brushed against her throat and the sound stopped.
Look.
No voice spoke that word, but a light burned in the dark and Anne saw it. Saw what it was. A disembodied hand, each finger flaming at its tip.
See.
The burning hand beckoned, once, twice, and then a third time. Anne felt herself pulled forward and her legs jerked, trying to move of their own accord. She did not want to approach that flaring, sulfurous-smelling thing. But she was walking, closer and closer to the hand. It was beckoning, beckoning her closer. Now she could smell the fingers as they burned and smoked. Like a pig on a spit, like pork meat.
Anne’s belly heaved and vomit filled her mouth. She stumbled, nearly fell. She willed her legs to stop; they disobeyed her. The hand crackled as the flesh of its fingers was consumed before her eyes. She felt the heat on her face. Now there was only bone, held together with glistening, blackened, twisted sinew. Then the bone itself was flame, a bunch of twigs, cracking and popping.
At the last, what was left revolved in space and pointed at her. Be warned. Then it was gone, the fire extinguished, though Anne could still smell the greasy smoke.
“Why be warned? I do not fear you, Anne.” Edward was lying in the straw, amused, confident. Waiting for her to come to him. Anne collapsed against Edward’s chest as if her own bones had been consumed in the flames. She lay there, heart bruising her ribs, breathing like a forge bellows, but grateful, so grateful, to be out of the dark. She could not speak.
“Tell me, my darling. What am I to be warned against? This?” He slipped one hand down the bodice of her dress and found her breast. “You burn me, Anne,” he whispered into the hollow of her throat. “You burn my hand where it touches you.”
His words shocked her, but then she heard her own voice respond. “Oh, my love.” Her mouth spoke her mind.
“We’ll get through this, together. Charles will help us because he must, and when it’s all over, you’ll come back to England with me. For good. Promise me that. I want your word. No prevarication.” Edward gazed at her, both hands gently cupping her face as he spoke, soft and low. “Am I still your king? Will you obey me in this?”
She was saved from reply by a man’s cautious whistle. Then his voice. “Liege? Are you there?”
Putting a finger to his lips, Edward kissed Anne once, hard, then laid her gently back on the straw.
“Your Majesty?”
Edward wriggled forward to the edge of the loft. “Yes, William. I hear you.” It was a large barn and the threshing floor was fifteen feet below as Edward looked down on his shabby chamberlain.
“Lord King, you must come at once. An important development.”
“So mysterious, William. But first, do you know how dirty you are? My chamberlain looks like a hayseed.”
William looked down at his filthy boots and muddy breeches. The king was right. Somewhat fruitlessly, he slapped at his leather jerkin, raising dust. Edward, meanwhile, descended the hayloft ladder with the unnerving speed of a cat.
“Have you seen Lady Anne this morning, William? Is her presence also required for this ‘important development’?” William, apparently engrossed with stamping mud off his boots, kept a miraculously straight face. “Most assuredly, Your Majesty. Mistress Deborah is searching for her now.”
Above, in the straw, Anne felt terrified still by the burning hand, but embarrassment now blurred the edges of that grim vision. Then such a gust of laughter swept up from her chest she had to stuff fingers in her mouth to stop it. How would she exit this barn unseen?
“Let us go then, William. I see my criticism of your clothes could as well be applied to my own. I must change.”
As the two men hurried out of the barn, William’s words floated off into the morning breeze. “There’s also the matter of the straw, Your Majesty. In the hair…”
There was silence for a moment. Then another voice: Deborah’s.
“Anne? Anne, you must come down. Immediately. We have a visitor.”