Rising from the fine lady’s chair she had been seated in, she wandered over to the lancet window that faced the small river that dumped into the Thames. In the corner of the solar, tucked back in the shadows of the room, sat a woman wrapped tightly in brown robes. In fact, her entire body, including her hair, was wrapped in the same rough brown fabric. This older woman sat and carefully stitched thread into the fabric in her hand. Her gaze never left her project even as she spoke.
“Thou art restless,” she said softly. “Sit, Anna. Sit and put thy restlessness to good use.”
Annavieve glanced over her shoulder at her nurse, the one who had been with her as long as she could recall. She was a nun, and a very pious and strong one in spite of her small size. Sister Joseph Magda could move mountains by sheer force of will, but she often had trouble motivating her young charge to do her bidding. Annavieve looked at the needlework that her nurse was indicating and shook her head.
“Nay,” she replied, her attention returning to the grounds beyond the window. “I do not feel like sewing, Magda. I simply want to… think.”
Old Magda eyed her charge. “Of what, child?”
Annavieve sighed heavily as a gentle breeze lifted tendrils of her long, dark hair. A tall girl with long arms and legs, she was slender of torso with a full bosom and hips. Her figure was quite heavenly, something that hadn’t gone unnoticed by the men at Westminster since she had arrived. With big hazel eyes that were golden in certain light, she was an exquisitely beautiful creature, now promised to the king’s cousin in marriage. It was an unwelcome contract as far as Annavieve was concerned. She had no desire to marry an old man.
“Of my life, I suppose,” she finally replied to Magda’s question. “My entire life has been rigidly controlled by the king. It was a curse to be born of a Welsh prince only to find myself bottled up as a royal English ward for my entire life. I have never traveled nor have I seen anything other than Sempringham Priory. The very first time I saw the world was when we traveled from the priory to London, and now I find myself bottled up again, used as a pawn for a man who hates the very image of all things I stand for. I am Welsh.”
Magda shook her head, returning to her needlework. “Thou are half English,” she said softly. “That is why thou have not suffered the same fate as your cousins, children of Llewelyn and Dafydd. You are a daughter of Rhodri, their youngest brother, and one who has supplicated himself to the Crown. Thou art different.”
Annavieve thought of her Welsh cousins, shut up in priories all over England because of the English king and his determination to destroy the Welsh royal family. Women of Welsh royal blood that would live and die boxed in by the massive walls of their sanctuary because Edward would not see them released or, worse yet, bred to perpetuate the Welsh royal family and destroy England’s claim over Wales. It was all so very complex and tragic. Confused, embittered, Annavieve turned to Magda.
“But why me?” she asked the old woman. “Until two months ago, I thought my fate would be much as my cousins– that I would be confined to Sempringham for the rest of my life. But now I find myself betrothed to an English duke and I do not understandwhy.”
“Thou feel the guilt that thou have left thee cousins behind. Thou shalt know a husband and children whereas thee cousins will not.”
“It is true. I feel a great deal of guilt.”
Magda continued sewing. “Thou art of fine stock, Annavieve ferch Rhodri,” she said quietly. “Thou art young and beautiful and strong. Edward has seen for himself thou art a fine prize and he hopes to breed the Welsh out of thee. Thee will bear strong English sons for the monarchy.”
It was the truth. Sickened at the realization that she was, in fact, nothing more than noble breeding stock, Annavieve turned back to the window struggling to keep the tears from her eyes.Be strong, she told herself firmly. Never let the bloody English see that they have made you weep!
“But why not Gwenlian or the others?” she questioned, referring to her other female cousins confined to the hell of the English convents. “Why not them? Why me?”
“Because thou art the finest.”
It was a simple answer to a complex question. Frustrated, Annavieve leaned against the stone windowsill, practically climbing onto the sill itself. How she wished she could jump out and run. But run to where? She had nowhere to go, no one that would hide her. The only home she ever knew was buried deep in the remote Norfolk countryside. She was a woman without a country, family, or friends.
“I am nothing,” she complained. “I am Welsh but I do not know my native tongue or my native soil. I was born in England and raised in England. I do not even know my motheralthough she is living. She gave me up long ago because the king demanded it. I was educated, fed, and treated as a prize. The only affection I have ever known has come from you, Magda. Now, I am to marry a duke and become his broodmare. What a soulless existence I lead. It would be better had I never been born.”
Magda looked up from her sewing. “Thou were born with a purpose, Annie,” she said softly. “I believe thou shalt do great things someday. Thou shalt commit great acts.”
Annavieve turned to look at the old woman. “Do you truly think so?”
“I do.”
Annavieve thought on that prospect a moment before shaking her head, turning back to the window. Nay, she was not destined for greatness. She was destined to be a possession, a captive married to her captor and nothing more. There was nothing more for her. There were birds outside, swarming in the sky above, and she watched them pensively.
“Oh, to be a bird and fly from this terrible place,” she wished. “To be free… I have never known what it is like to be free. I wonder if I ever will.”
“You will if your husband allows it.”
Annavieve had to grin at the irony of that statement. She snorted ironically. “Men govern and women obey,” she said, mocking the finality of it. “I can only hope my future husband is understanding and generous. Mayhap he will allow me a small amount of freedom to travel and see the world.”
Magda didn’t reply, mostly because she didn’t know what to say. A nun all of her life, all she knew of men was that they controlled women. It was never the other way around. Annavieve was wallowing in guilt and apprehension, and she didn’t want to add fuel to that fire. Therefore, she kept her mouth shut. Annavieve was a dreamer, anyway. She had oftenbeen scolded for it at the priory by the Mother Prioress. But it didn’t stop the beautiful young woman from her thoughts of a better and happier life, far from the walls of Sempringham. As Magda pondered the free spirit of her sad young charge, the young lady she viewed as a daughter, Annavieve seemed to find interest in something beyond the window. Her focus shifted.
“Riders are approaching,” she said, her hazel gaze riveted to something in the distance. “Knights, Magda. I can see the glint from their weapons. We have seen no knights approach today, only courtiers or nobles going about their business. These men are heavily armed for battle. I wonder where they have been fighting?”
Magda didn’t get excited about it as she continued with her sewing. “Who can say?” she replied. “Knights fight wherever they are ordered to do so. Hold no romantic notions about such men, Annie. They are akin to the devil more than to God at times.”
Annavieve watched the men as they approached. The city of London was off to the north and east but fingers of habitation had spread out to the west, clusters of huts along poorly kept avenues. Sometimes she could look to the west and see children playing in the filth of the streets and for the past two months, she had watched these children and silently lamented the fact that she had never had such a childhood. Her upbringing had been strict and pious, with time only to work and pray. She’d never run in the streets with others, laughing and playing. But the children were gone on this day as it neared sunset and the trio of knights came up from the south, heading into the south entrance of the palace.
Annavieve watched the trio until they disappeared from sight near the gatehouse of Thorney Island. Thorney Island itself was a massive complex of sanctuary and royal residences, so once the three men entered the gatehouse, she lost interest becauseshe knew it would be the last she would ever see of them. Thoughts of the knights quickly faded, as did thoughts of the children who usually ran in the streets, as she returned to her chair and collected her sewing. It was what was expected of her and she resigned herself to it; sewing, being obedient, and never knowing anything other than a polite and captive life. That, as far as she was concerned, was her destiny in spite of what Magda said. There was no greatness on the horizon that she could see.
