Anne needed a wash and to sleep, but she needed information even more. Anne needed a wash and to sleep, but she needed information even more.
By the light through one high window, she could tell that a night and a day and some of another night had passed, but with the exception of food she’d been given nothing else. Certainly no news, though she’d tried hard to get the guard to talk to her.
He was young, her guard, little more than a boy, but his fear was plain when he brought coarse bread and a porridge of barley and flaked stock-fish to his prisoner. He’d never met with a witch before and when Anne tried to thank him, the youth backed away, silently crossing himself as if the Devil himself had addressed him personally. Anne would have laughed at the memory, except it made her anxious. How could anyone look at her, a girl with tangled hair and, no doubt, a dirty face, wearing a slept-in dress, and think she was a servant of darkness? Surely selling your soul to the Devil should guarantee cleaner clothes, for a start!
Anne paced up and down, skirts swishing. It was time she took a hand in her own fate, instead of waiting for help that might not come. That thought squeezed her heart, but she banished it. She would not allow panic to cloud her judgment. It was just a matter of time. To calm herself she recited, almost like a prayer, the things she knew. Margaret and Charles of Burgundy were her friends, and she was in their castle. Margaret had gone to get help. Margaret would not desert her—she was certain of that fact. It was just taking a little longer than they’d both thought.
Also, Edward was somewhere in the city even now; she’d heard the clamor of the bells this morning at his entry. She’d tried to climb up to the one high window to see the procession, but even by putting the stool onto the seat of the cathedra and balancing on the very ends of her toes, it had been impossible to see out. But Edward would know of her situation by now. And Edward loved her. Yes, certainly, he would know where she was and was just waiting for the right time to…
She might be an optimist, but there was another voice in Anne’s head also, a companion born of fear and lack of sleep that she tried to ignore, tried not to hear. He won’t come, said that voice. He’s had what he needs of you. Once he’s with Charles, and making plans, why would he bother what happens to you or your son? He’s forgotten you already. Why wouldn’t he? He’s got a proper, legitimate boy of his own now, a real prince—
“No!”
The guard outside heard the girl shouting in the empty room. It gave him the creeps. Was she raising spirits in there, yelling like that? Unwillingly, he stepped a little closer to listen, but her voice had sunk to a whisper. What was she saying now?
“He’ll come. He’ll come. You’ll see.” Tears choked Anne’s throat. “And I’ll see you soon, too, my baby. Very soon…”
Women are such foolish creatures, said the voice in her head. Hoping, believing, where a man would have courage enough to face the truth. You have been deserted and will die here, Anne de Bohun. Alone. Duke Charles knows everything; he has prevented Margaret from coming back to you because she’s told him about the death of the bishop. He’s sent her away, to a convent, just as Odo said he would. And Agonistes is, even now, dropping poison for all to hear. Listen carefully. Can you hear? They are building your pyre in the Markt Square. The king of England and the duke of Burgundy must support the burning of witches. That is their duty.
“No! Get away from me. I will not hear you. I will not die here. They will never burn my body!”
The guard clapped his hands over his ears and marched away to the end of the passage, the farthest point of his post. He would not listen to the witch’s ravings any further. He was too frightened of who she was talking to.
Anne, in her cell, ran to the door and pounded upon the bare, unyielding wood. She had to have news! “Guard! I must speak with the duchess.”
But the guard was reciting the Pater Noster, fingers stuffed in his ears.
“I know you’re still there. I can hear you!” Anne shouted the words, but then she broke. “Answer me! Oh, please answer me. Have pity.” Anne slid down to the floor of her cell. Her prison was in an old and remote part of the palace, high up beneath the battlements. Did they mean to keep her here until she went mad, or died? Was that what the future held? Was that better than burning?
Tears fell before she could stop them. “Deborah. Can you see me? I can see you. And my baby. My little boy. Mummy’s watching over you, my darling. I’ll be home soon…”
You’ll never go home… your cause is lost and you are abandoned. You’ll never, ever see them again in this life…
And there, on the floor of her cell, terrified and alone, Anne cried herself to sleep like a child lost in the night.