I hand it to her and begin to sink to my knees, but she pats the side of the bed, so I rise and perch awkwardly on the intricately woven coverlet.
‘Well, Your Majesty, he has made sure that his horse has very long legs. Long enough so he can see into her bedroom window.’
The queen giggles girlishly; and I am struck, as I often am, how young she is to rule. It defies belief that our country is resting in those pale hands, but as she reminds me, there have been monarchs much younger than she. Her father, Henry, God rest his soul, was just seventeen when he was crowned king.
I am about to continue with the story and have the knight remove his codpiece to give her a thrill when she places her hand on mine.
‘Today, it is the seventh of August, Hester. One month before my twenty-seventh birthday.’ She lets out a sob. ‘I doubt I will see it. I feel sure I will die before the month is out.’
I grip her hand tightly, fear prickling my skin. ‘Do not say that, Your Majesty. There is no one who wishes you dead.’
She laughs hoarsely. ‘There aremanywho wish me dead, Hester. Have you not been listening to me?’
I remain quiet, knowingit best not to argue with her. But not wanting to encourage her nightmares on the matter. ‘Let us speak of it no more. Pray, drink your wine, and I will tell you of the knight...’
The queen raises the cup to her lips and halts suddenly. ‘I cannot drink,’ she says. ‘For it may be poisoned.’ She gazes at me suspiciously. ‘Youmay have poisoned it.’
‘I?’ I say, astounded. ‘I assure you I have not, Your Majesty. I am your trusted—’
The queen shoves the cup at me so violently wine spills out onto the neck of my ruffled nightgown; red blooms on the white, like a blood rose. ‘Then prove it. You drink it first!’ she hisses.
‘Certainly I will and at once if my innocence is in doubt.’ I raise the cup and then pause. But what if it is poisoned? Anyone could have tampered with it on its journey from the wine cellar to her chamber. I could be drinking to my own demise.
But the queen is watching me carefully, and she has a glint in her eye that reminds me she has already sent a few people to the Tower despite her youth. So there is nothing for it: I must drink. Raising the cup to my lips, I swallow a mouthful of wine, choking a little when it travels awkwardly down my throat.
The queen draws the sheets to her chin witha gasp. ‘I knew it. The wineispoisoned.’
I place a steadying hand on the bed and breathe deeply, waiting for the poison (for I now believe it too) to take effect and murmur my final prayers, ‘God, have mercy on my soul. Know that I have died for my queen. I repent my sins and offer myself into thy kingdom.’
But after several moments pass and I have not collapsed to the ground in a convulsing froth, I suspect that the wine is not poisoned as it would have taken effect by now.
‘The wine is not poisoned, Your Majesty,’ I inform her solemnly. ‘You may drink it.’
The queen claps her hands together excitedly. Either for the reason that she can now have the wine or that I am not dead, I cannot be sure.
She takes the cup from my limp grasp and drinks deeply, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.
‘Most excellent, Hester.’
I incline my head. ‘You are welcome, Your Majesty.’
‘In fact, I think your services in this regard will help me greatly in sleeping peacefully each night.’
‘I beg your pardon, Your Majesty?’
The queen gives me a firm smile, her pale lips pressing together in accordance with her inner will. My heart sinks, for I know that look, and it does not bode well for me. It is the same look she gets when sending someone to the Tower.
‘Yes, I have decided. Hester, you will be my royal taster. Every morsel of food, every drop of wine will need to passyourlips first. Only then, when you remain unscathed, will I eat or drink,’ she announces.
I gaze at the queen in horror.Her royal taster!
But what can I do? My hands are tied. I am chief lady-in-waiting, the one whom she trusts most in her inner circle.
The queen yawns. ‘Tuck me in and wait with me until I am asleep. Then you may leave. One of my guards will escort you back.’
My hands shake as she snuggles down with her eyes closed, and I adjust the coverlet, making sure she is nice and comfortable. After an unendurable wait, the queen’s breathing evens out. Extinguishing the candle on her night table, I creep to the door and knock softly.
On the walk back to my chamber with a different hulking guard, I am silent, for I know the queen has signed my death warrant. But I cannot blame her actions. She has a kingdom to rule. If it comes down to her life or mine, mine is the more expendable. It may not happen tomorrow or next week or next month. But sooner or later, poisoned food or winewillpass my lips. For she is right: she has mortal enemies to the north who wish to put her in an early grave.God’s teeth!I am doomed.
