Draft......
Chapter I, January 24th, 1532, England,
“She shall gaze into it upon the morrow before we are wed,” Henry announced, as he turned and walked away.
The next morning, the three men gently lifted the object vigilantly out of the antechamber. They held it reverently as the walked it through the Great Hall of the castle. The object echoed the light of the setting sun through the cut glass windows into diamond shaped prisms on the chestnut beamed ceiling. It was as if it were creating its own universe. The maze of wooden paneled rooms led to a small passage directly above her private apartments. A door at the end of the hallway led to a staircase. The staircase led to the foyer, where the three men were then announced. They entered her private dressing room, just outside her bedroom.
Her Ladies in waiting parted as they entered the room. Anne stood in the center tended to by a tailor and dresser. A silence fell as they entered. She pointed to area of the room against a wall draped with tapestry. A golden sheen bounced off object as it was placed in position. Its simple casing did not meet the grandeur of its occupant nevertheless she smiled at His gift and shifted her bodice in its reflection. She ran her hand along the outline of her mid-section with delight, “Our child will grow strong and see the fruits of my labor.”
Of all of the wedding gifts he had given her, this one delighted the soon to be Queen most.
Chapter II, May 18th, 1536, The Tower of London
They tried to make her as comfortable He would allow. The gray stonewalls were loosely draped with tattered tapestries held in place with brass hangers that were earnestly hid. The bed was set in the corner and lacked the splendor of its royal tenant. A small fireplace scarcely warmed the room and the women dressed in unseasonable attire. The air was stale and smelled of death. A single kneeler had been appointed for prayer in front of a simple wooden cross bolted to the wall. Three unmatched chairs were provided for the Ladies to attend to their comfort. A massive walnut door encased a small wooden window allowing it to be opened inwards prior to entrance of the guard. The door was locked from the corridor and could not be opened from within.
Once she realized there would be no dungeon, the condemned queen requested a few personal items for her final hours. He granted her request for three things, her favorite wedding gift, a bible and a crimson petticoat. (change order)
In the early evening Henry’s last gesture arrived. The footsteps of the guard echoed down the passage way and the clang of the dangling keys could be heard for what seemed to be hours. Their outspoken prayers ended abruptly as one of the ladies put her needlework to the side and proceeded to the door. She unlatched the wooden window and peered out. She quickly nodded and backed away from the door. As it opened the room’s occupants stood solemnly and fell into a small curtsey with their eyes in a downward position.
The two-year old princess was guided into her room by the constable of the Tower. He quickly turned back and stood in the shadow of the door. The ladies left her side as the petite redheaded daughter embraced her mother. The ladies bowed their heads again as a few brief whispers passed between the two on bended knee. In a moment’s time the princess was whisked away and the door shut with a painful throb.
Coldness fell upon the room as the queen remained on one knee. Anne’s breath lingered in the air as an inferno raged inside her soul. The Ladies took a step back cautiously as she rose from the floor. Her neck rolled up back bone-by-bone until her head held an upright position, her eyes smoldered. The queen gradually began to take a step towards His great gift. Step-by-step she drew herself closer. She gazed deeply into her reflection and a scream came from deep inside that sent them all to their knees. Her scream was followed by a hideous noise that split the air as if the earth had cracked open. Afraid to gather near, they buried their heads and wept.
Chapter III, May 19, 1536, Evening, Tower of London
In the early hours of the morning, the appointed place for the execution was changed. It would be a much more private affair. The queen was brave and steadfast as she walked up the stairs. It was the final stair and the figure of the ominous man in black that gave her pause. She gently touched her small thin neck as they removed her gray ermine lined cloak from her shoulders. A glimpse of crimson could be seen at her feet. Her last words were of her love for the King. The death was abrupt thanks to the French swordsman, courtesy of His Majesty. A slice cut the air and it was over. The queen’s head tumbled into an awaiting basket filled with yellow straw. But it was the blood, the thick never-ending oozing blood from her headless body that made one of the ladies wretch, and the men divert their eyes. The headless body was discarded into an arrow box and carried down the steps of the chapel. There would be no ceremony for the slain queen. Neither headstone nor marking would tell the story.
Of all that Mary Kingston witnessed at the Tower, the events of the day and night prior would never leave her. Mary knew she would never, ever feel warm again.
Her husband was constable of the Tower and she had seen much transpire within the Tower’s walls. Although she was a devoted subject, and well loved the King, it was dangerous for her to marry her husband, as she was a devoted Catholic. His duties included the imprisonment and for some death of many whom shared her beliefs. The King would tolerate no shared loyalty with Rome and Mary’s religion put the two in jeopardy. This was a burden that the once handsome man would endure for love.
When summoned to attend to the condemned queen, she knew that her fate was in God’s hands. She secretly held strongly to her beliefs and relied on her rosary for comfort. However, no amount of prayer would soothe her soul or allow affinity to her barren womb.
Her duties included returning the queen’s last procession not taken with her to her death. Afraid of disturbing the silence, she entered the small room in the Tower with great hesitation. Mary moved towards the bed and removed the ivory linen, with the embroidered initials AB, from where it had been discarded. She tentatively moved closer to His gift and gentle began to drape it over the gift. As the linen fell in place, she saw it. At first, she doubted her eyes and then moved in closer. In the corner was a crack in the shape of a pear or petal. It was the length of her thumb and its shape was It puzzled her mind as it appeared carved or etched in. She admired the object when it first arrived and thought that its perfection was unparallel. Surely this had been the horrible sound that they had all heard when the woman cried out. She clutched the rosary in her right pocket tightly in he fist and forced the crucifix into the palm of her hand. Could it be true the stories of witchcraft? Or had the atrocities it witnessed scarred the perfect object forever? Tears fell as she covered the object with the linen.
Chapter IV, June 1st, 1536, Whitehall
Mary Kingston had waited patiently for an audience with Him. He had been occupied with wedding yet another wife. But today, she would see Him and be able to complete her last task in service..
His gift had been stored facing a wall in her private chamber in the Tower until He had agreed to an audience. Sleep never came and she found herself re-visiting the ghastly vision of the woman’s final hours. When her eyes fell weary it was the excruciating shriek from the dead queen that shook her soul awake. But it was the consequential bone-shuddering crack that horrified her most. A panic filled her blood when she heard that sound ringing in hear ears. It was not a sound from nature or from any man made thing. It was fiendish and was the inception of something heinous. The mother’s knowingly last moments with her daughter vexed the queen’s soul. Her pain and agony surely altered this perfect object forever. Mary knew that no woman should ever look upon this gift again safely. With her trust in God what she must do.
Mary’s ivory bone beads of her rosary were wearing thin as she fell to her knees once her husband slept. She could not consume sustenance and found that her dresses, once full, hung on her shoulders as if they were closeted. No woman should ever look upon this gift or be caught in its nightmare.
Her eyes were red and her pale skin looked slightly translucent when word finally arrived.
A wagon arrived in the late morning as the sun attempted to break the clouds without success. Carefully the object was placed into position and the journey began. As they rolled forward she looked out on blank faces showing neither acknowledgement of her presence nor the daunting mission.
She watched the sun concealing itself and tried to anticipate their arrival. Her eyes felt heavy as the rocking of the wagon began to deaden her senses. Abruptly they stopped in front of the gate and she was startled by their arrival. The driver addressed the three men that were waiting as he jumped down to fetch her hand.
Whispers fell onto the small crowd near the gate wondering who she was and why she was so well met. She stepped down, lifted her skirt slightly and felt her body start to tremble as her foot touched the red muddy earth. Once the men had the object in place she followed in procession. Their steps led them through the courtyard to the side of the garden and into a large double door entry near the kitchen. They moved on through the Great Hall with its flags boastfully hanging like daggers and its walls covered with life size tapestries of a horrific hunting scene. The Great Hall’s verbose center table appeared harsh and unrefined yet set with grace and splendor. Forward they walked into a wide walnut walled passage with long upholstered benches running along its sides. The object’s linen shroud occasionally fell to the side revealing its heir. Mary’s eyes never left the opportunity for one last glimpse. They stopped in front of a red door that was attended to by two guards.
Mary was led into His antechamber followed by the three men who were gently carrying His gift that remained wrapped in its embroidered linen cloth. Silence surrounded her as she fell to her knees in His presence.
He knew every trinket, every piece of jewelry, and every gift that he had bestowed on His Queen. Months before His marriage, to the now dead Queen, he received an unwanted visit. The Spanish King dispatched ambassador Eustace Chapuys to delicately negotiate the security and position of the King’s first daughter. This Princess came by means of the King’s marriage to His Spanish Catholic Queen, whom He moved hell on earth to annul. The King’s intentions to marry again were well established and threatened the Spanish English alliance. The ambassador’s visit was intended to manipulate His ego. Chapuys was a master diplomat and the King provided a formidable playing field.
After the formal greeting, the two dinned together over a kill from the day’s hunt. Chapuys smoothly began to tell the account of the Spanish King’s acquisition of the infamous Constantine’s treasures from Egypt. Part of the bounty, including an object the Spanish King was offering in trade for His goodwill towards his daughter. The object had no equal. It was a legendary gift from Antony to Cleopatra on the night before they wed. It was said that the polished minerals reflected love’s true beauty and left its mark forever. It undisputedly bore the mark of Antony on the back of the object. No such object had been seen in its day or since. Chapuys had him in checkmate, a position of discomfort to the King.
The King knew that he must have this gift for His new bride. The ambassador promised the object to the King if they could come to an agreement of the position and treatment of the Princess. The King agreed under the condition the Princess would sign an acknowledgement the valid annulment of his marriage to her mother. The ambassador left and made arrangements for both the Princess and the delivery of the object.
After three long months, the object arrived on the shores of England and the King was armed with His gift, soon they would marry.
But on this day the King’s anticipation was daunting. He felt betrayed and felt beholden to Spain in the procurement of such a gift. The deed was done and he wanted the treasure back. He motioned to the young woman and she lifted her head.
Mary Kingston rose and addressed him reverently, “As instructed, Your gift is now returned.” His eyes never met hers as He nodded and instructed the men to remove the linen.
He stepped down from His great chair and moved closer to view the object alone. He leaned into the object to get a closer advantage then cocked his head. He pulled away suddenly and turned to Mary addressing her wildly. “What have you done with it? It is ruined.” He demanded.
“Majesty, I had no hand in this,” she pleaded. “It happened the night that the girl came to see her.” Mary trembled and fought herself not to continue yet something inside pushed the words out. “ The Queen let out a scream and there was horrible noise that split the air!”
He stared horrified and took an unstable step backwards. He tripped on his footing and caught himself against an unseen bench close to the object. Fear was not an emotion that he was familiar with and it repelled him. He screamed to the guards, “Take it away, send it to Hever! Let her family gaze upon her treachery.”
And so it was done.
Chapter V, Heaver, June 5th, 1536
The object arrived at Hever and was presented without ceremony to her parents. Thomas ordered his men to place the object in a room seldom occupied. The room held a few of the fallen Queen’s childhood items, including a petite four-poster bed and sad wooden rocking horse. It was nearly impossible to maneuver the shrouded object into the narrow room, as the doorway would not allow its breadth. After much deliberation, the door was removed to angle it properly through the opening in hopes of not damaging the tenuous casing of the object. The pressure caused the object to bow ever so slightly when an undiscovered nail hanging from the framework of the door shredded the once beautiful linen. Its height would not allow the object to stand upright so they gingerly leaned it up against the dark paneled wall. Departing the room, they were relieved the object had not shattered in their hands. Thomas locked the room with a slender key and never opened it again.
Thomas’ great plans of power for his family unwittingly led to the gruesome death of his only son and youngest daughter. Once he had the favor of the King and was deeply involved with all aspects of the Court. Now the shame to his family’s name and crest was unrecoverable. Thomas’ eldest daughter served as His majesty’s mistress and bore him a bastard child long before the doomed nuptials of her now dead sister. The gentle mistress fled Hever and settled with her son and husband before the scandal played its last bloody hand.
The father’s titles were now lost and their income forced their wealth to dwindle. Obscurity and poverty would soon come. The fields and livestock were first to be sold off in an attempt to maintain the manor. It sustain life for a few brief months, but by winter all was lost and the hopeless and despondent mother of the slain queen died quietly.
By spring the gift was sold with many other possessions of the Manor to settle the father’s debt upon his death. The gift was lost.
Chapter VI – Winter, York, 1672
Gibbons pulled the wick from the wax and lit it again. There wasn’t much time left he must work quickly. The room had filled with shadows and the moon had taken its low position in the sky.
His hands cramped as grasped the small chisel. His thumb brushed the edge of the blade and he quietly turned to the stone. The blade scraped and a small flash snapped as he moved to the soft smooth olive wood.
It would have to be matched together carefully to embrace the clouded object. For a moment the room appeared colorful as the light played on the object. At other times the object seemed to devour the light and pull everything into its soul. Music filled his thoughts and he dug back into the wood once again. The smell of the tree came back to life as he carefully started to chip out each of the five petals. A cluster came to life shortly and he moved on to the stems to tie them together. Each petal stood out sharply from its base and he smoothed their edges out until the wood appeared to be wondrously gnarled.
Gibbons rubbed his swollen eyes of the olive dust that floated endlessly around him. It had been a difficult road to his first significant commission. (Thought to be the bastard son of a courtier…..(more to follow)
His wick once again flickered and caught consideration for a moment. Four final clusters would form in the late hours before he woke to the sun glaring at him from the frame’s future tenant. His back slumped over the edge of the table as his arm cradled the side of the great frame. His body ached as he stretched for relief from the sleep that had interrupted his work.
The petals were complete and there was a single task yet to resolve. He chose a small device and grasped the corner of the great frame that was straddled across two stone tabletops. He dusted away the wood chips and dust to clear the last clear space available.
He dug into the wood with great care as a peapod began to grow out of the grain. The peapod was poised closed and filled with its secret fruit. He labored over it with more care than the gnarled periwinkles. He left space on either side to alter the peapod when the time came.
The peapod served as unspoken pledge. Once paid for his commission Gibbons would open the peapod for its owner as a symbol of the bond between them.
Chapter VI – Spring, Outside Paris, 1
“Careful, don’t tip it,” he whispered angrily.
“It’s way to heavy for me,” snapped the young man, as the two maneuvered it up the narrow church stairs.
“She’s been waiting for hours and the church is filled,” he said with stunted commanding tone.
“Why couldn’t she look in it at home….wait it’s slipping, Ouch, there’s a nail sticking out of the back.” With a thud, the great wooden frame sharply hit the young man’s left foot.
“Michael, I told you not to tip it. Now brace it against the wall. I’ll get help.”, he said as he pulled in his great stomach in and squeezed back down the staircase.
Michael leaned up against the cold wall holding the precious object in place praying that it wouldn’t topple. As he peered back down the staircase three men were making their way up. In an instant the four finally made the last turn to the dressing room of the bride and placed it up against the wall. The old man removed the old satin cover and smiled. He pulled a watch from his inside vest pocket and said, “You only have a few minutes, everyone is waiting.”
“Thank-you Uncle Gaston,” Marie said softly. “Do you know what is suppose to happen next?”
“No my dear, but I believe you have to be alone for it. Gentlemen, shall we?”
The room fell silent. Marie gently moved closer to the ornately framed object and breathed in deeply. Her back stiffened and she felt a shiver. She braced herself for what was to come.
The great frame had hung in her mother’s private parlour her whole life and it never gave her pause until now. (MORE DESCRIPTION – carved, ornate) The gold embedded leaves, delicate yet deliberate flowers and dark wood lent the room an elegance that would have otherwise gone unnoticed.
The tattered velvet settee and scratched walnut marble topped tables offered sanctuary. Marie would hide under the ancient rosewood desk, waiting to see the great ladies enter the room. Her belly flushed up against the soft worn rug as her hand clasped tightly over her lips suppressing a giggle.
