‘Well, that wasn’t too bad,’ Alys said as we recrossed the court.
‘Too bad?’ I exclaimed. ‘I mistook him for one of his knights. I haven’t been so humiliated since…’
Into my memory swam the angry faces of the choir master, with his freshly blackened eye, and the master of the Minster School on the day I was expelled.
I fell silent. Perhaps it hadn’t been so long.
‘He won’t hold that against you. Anyway you should have taken notice of my warning.’
‘When I was already on my knees? Why didn’t you tell me before?’
‘I thought you knew who he was. How was I to know you’d be foolish enough to kneel to the wrong man?’
She had a point. How could I have been so stupid as to assume what someone would look like? No one had described him to me. Why should I suppose a valiant knight to be as large as his reputation? Perhaps there was hope for me if such a man could rise to become the greatest general in the land.
‘Anyway, I wish you hadn’t told him about Hugh,’ I said, voicing my main worry.
‘What was I to do?’ Alys’s green eyes flashed in the last rays of the evening sunshine. ‘Let you take the blame for choosing the wrong horse and letting it run away with you?’
‘If anything happens to Hugh because of it, if he is beaten for it, I’ll be blamed by him instead. He already hates me.’
‘Then you’ll just have to stand up to him. If nothing else, you’ll know that you’re in the right.’
‘I’m not sure that will be any comfort if he and his friends look for revenge.’
Chapter 8
‘Be Thou a Good Knight’
It’s safe to say I watched my back over the next few days – as did Roger and Alys – after we saw Hugh come to breakfast late next morning and sit very gingerly on the bench.
Roger nudged me and whispered to me under a pretence of quaffing from his cup of ale.
‘Edward told me this morning that his father spoke to the under-groom last night. He said Hugh had paid him money to give the old mare to Elen and saddle the young grey for you. Ed said it was likely Hugh would be beaten this morning.’
Despite our vigilance and the fact that Hugh seemed to be avoiding me, I was still uneasy. What he had said in the mews kept coming back to me.
A day or two after the Duke’s return, I asked Roger whether Lady had been given to him yet.
‘The falconer told me yesterday that the Duke wants to see her fly. He said perhaps we can ride out and test her soon if this good weather continues.’
From his carefree manner I guessed he had forgotten Hugh’s words. And, as the days passed, so did I begin to.
There was no change in routine after the Duke’s return as there had been with the Duchess. The only difference was that Edward was happier, and then, after my singing lesson on the Saturday, Sir William told me I would be singing in the chapel for High Mass the following day.
My stomach was fluttering when I rose from my mattress in the half-light of the early morning, and scared dark eyes stared back at me from the watery depths of the pail before I plunged my hands in to wash. But Roger helped me to ready myself, lending me his comb to drag through my unruly brown hair and brushing down my best doublet for me, talking nonsense to me all the while. By the time I met Sir William in the chapel, my nerves had steadied.
As the Mass began, it felt good to be part of a choir again, even if I was the only boy among just seven choristers. I joined in the alleluias as required in the service and sang descant to the men’s plainsong. Sir William had even rehearsed some polyphony with us all together that week, although a single boy’s voice was almost lost within the intricate tapestry woven by such songs. Then I sang alone the laude the chaplain had chosen to welcome the Duke home. My heart swelled with pride as my voice filled the little chapel, while the sun streaming through the windows stained the upturned faces of the congregation all the colours of creation.
After the service, in the vestry below the chapel, Sir William was so delighted he shook my hand up and down until my arm hurt.
‘Well done, Matthew, well done. You could not have sung better. I’m sure the Duke will be very pleased.’
Roger and Alys had followed us down. Their praise was not quite so fulsome.
‘You’d better be careful, Matt. The Minster School might want you back after that.’
‘Don’t be daft, Roger. There was far too much spirit in that final song – not enough discipline. I don’t think he’d fit in now.’
I wondered about the truth of Alys’s words as we made our way to the great hall for breakfast. It had felt different, for the first time singing alone in front of the altar. Perhaps these past few weeks had changed me.
Alys made her way to her own seat, while Roger and I stood waiting for the Duke and Duchess and the little procession of high officials. When they entered, the Duke broke away and came over to our table.
As all the pages bowed, he said,
‘That was well sung, Matthew. As fine as anything I have heard in London or Cambridge. If you are willing I should like you to sing every morning at Mass. I will ask Sir William to order vestments for you, smart though your doublet looked. Oh, and I haven’t forgotten my promise. Report to the horse master after dinner tomorrow.’
Nodding to us, he followed his family up to the high table. As I watched him go, I caught sight of Hugh staring at me with a scowl. I bowed my head quickly as Sir William began grace.
The next afternoon, Alys, Roger and Edward accompanied me to the stables. Edward had been excited all morning, hinting that he had a secret he couldn’t tell. We humoured him, knowing full well what it was about.
Master Reynold, the horse master, was waiting for us. A wiry, bandy-legged man, he was always gruff with the pages, but as gentle with his animals as if they were babies. As the four of us approached, he barked instructions to some under-grooms who took flight like startled birds into different doorways.
‘Wait here,’ he said to me and ducked into the nearest stable.
Hooves clattered in the darkness and he returned leading a bright bay pony, fully harnessed, with a pair of tall riding boots slung over the saddle.
‘His Grace says you’re to have the use of this horse while you’re at the castle, at least until you grow too big for her. Her name’s Bess. And as you have no boots, these are to be yours too.’
I stammered my thanks, but Master Reynold brushed them aside, waiting while I pulled the boots on, then bending to give me a leg up into the saddle.
I patted Bess on her sleek neck, and her ears twitched, but her hooves remained planted on the cobbles. Sitting there felt a world away from when I was astride Windfollower. The ground seemed a sensible distance beneath me and my legs hung comfortably in the stirrups.
Meanwhile the stable lads had brought out the others’ horses and soon the four of us were trotting out of the castle, down through the village and towards the water meadows.
I hesitated before leaving the road, embarrassed at the memory of what had happened here only days before, but Roger clapped me on the shoulder as he passed.
‘Come on, Matt,’ he called, kicking his horse into a canter.
With Alys and Edward following his lead, my Bess pulled at her reins, eager to join in. Another moment’s indecision, then I allowed her her head, pursuing the others along the river bank, feeling the thrill of speed, without the fear of destruction.
That was the first of many such afternoons, during which I came to know the local meadows, woodlands, and moors in the company of my now firm friends. The harsh landscape became less alien to me, though I was never quite at ease upon the moor tops. There the heather and bracken stretched for miles all around, and Roger and Alys appeared to navigate by the sun alone rather than any features I could recognize.
One afternoon, when we arrived at the stables, Duke Richard was there talking to Master Reynold. He was clad once more in an old leather jerkin and looped over his a
rm were the reins of the magnificent grey stallion he’d been riding the day he had rescued me. I now knew this to be his favourite, Storm, Windfollower’s sire.
As we bowed and curtsied to him – even Edward – he nodded to us, saying,
‘I find I have an afternoon free of other duties. As Edward tells me you ride out most days, I thought I would join you if I may. Your horses are being saddled. Roger, if you feel today would be suitable, you might go and prepare your hawk.’
Roger’s smile was broad as he headed to the mews. In a matter of minutes, we four friends were riding towards the riverside meadows with the Duke of Gloucester at our head, Lady perched hooded on his gauntleted fist. Who was happiest among the company, I cannot say: Edward riding his fat little pony at his father’s stirrup, chatting busily about anything and nothing, Roger at the prospect of taking possession of the hawk, or me – me, simply being there.
The afternoon was one of the last of that golden summer. The leaves on the trees fringing the river were taking on their autumn shades and in the valley the last fruits of the harvest were being gathered in. But my eyes and ears that afternoon were all for the beauty of that soaring, swooping falcon, for Edward's delighted shouts as his father launched her from atop his galloping horse, for the jewel-hued feathers of the swinging lure, the cry of the plummeting bird, the fire of Alys’s curls and in her eyes, Roger’s pride as he knelt to accept the promised gift as though being knighted by his liege lord, the Duke’s laughter as he hauled him back to his feet by grasping Roger’s only free hand, Lady now being perched lightly on the other.
At last we straggled back up to the castle for supper. Edward rode a little ahead with his father, while Alys, Roger and I talked of how much we had learnt from Duke Richard that afternoon about riding and hawking. As the three of us reached the stables, Edward was waiting alone, watching the grooms unsaddling both greys, the Duke’s mighty stallion and Ed’s little pony. All the happiness had been drained from him.
‘What’s the matter?’ asked Alys, as we dismounted.
‘My father’s speaking to the horse master,’ he told us. ‘About preparations for tomorrow morning. He’s leaving to go to York. The city’s giving him and his soldiers a reception for his victory in Scotland. I asked if I could go too. He said the journey would be too long for me and the day too boring, and then he has to stay for business.’
‘You should be grateful that he’s saved you, then,’ said Roger. But the frown on Alys’s face showed she was thinking the same as me. That Edward, having just got his beloved father back, believed he was losing him again.
‘We should do something special as well,’ I said.
Alys glanced at me as she handed her mount to a stable lad.
‘You’re right, Matt. Perhaps – perhaps we could ask permission to have a holiday. Maybe miss our lessons and spend the day on the moor? We could take our dinner with us – bread and cheese or cold meat. I’ll ask your mother after dinner, Ed.’
Edward brightened at that, and took her hand as we walked back towards the inner court. As they chatted about what to do, my thoughts were on the Duke travelling to my home city, being attended and feted there by my father and his fellow councilmen. In my mind’s eye I saw my mother, brothers and sisters among the crowds cheering His Grace for keeping the Scottish raiders away. My stomach churned with homesickness for the first time in many days. But perhaps, another time, if I continued my training at the castle, it might be me riding in with the Duke to such cheers.
After supper, Alys sought out Roger and me to give us the news.
‘The Duchess spoke with Duke Richard. They’ve given us all a holiday tomorrow. She said it was an excellent idea. We can celebrate both his victory and his safe return. She said why should it be just the people of York who do that?’
Next morning in the vestry I slipped on the surplice and collar that had newly arrived for me, and for the first time truly felt the part as I processed into the chapel for Mass. I sang for the Duke that day, aware that later my former fellow choristers would be doing the same in the airy, light-filled space of York Minster, crammed with all the worthies of the city. May the Lord forgive me my pride that he had chosen to hear my voice alone – while those of John Burton and his friends would be swallowed up in the sounds of all the other singers.
After breakfast, the whole household assembled in the outer courtyard to see the Duke and his party off on their journey. As when I had first laid eyes on him, he rode at the head of the company on Storm. But this time he and all his knights were clad in garments of the brightest hues and his standard of a white boar on a murrey and blue background was unfurled above them, fluttering in the early breeze. The Duke leaned down for a final embrace of his wife and son, then the household trumpeter sounded a clarion call and we all cheered as the riders clattered away over the outer drawbridge.
I and my friends rode out the same gateway an hour or two later, with less fanfare, but with the words of the Duchess ringing in our ears – a warning not to ride too far and to rest in the shade when we could. It was another sun-filled day, though there had been an autumnal nip in the air at first wakening.
As usual Alys and Roger led the way and soon we were cantering up the dale in the lea of Pen Hill, the river far down the slope to our right. When we slowed to a walk, I was riding alongside Edward, and before long we were chatting about my father, and about his, and about the countryside through which the Duke would now be riding, until the twin towers of York Minster rose up on the horizon.
From York, our conversation turned to my brothers and sisters and how much I missed them, even the baby.
‘She’ll be crawling by now, and getting under everyone’s feet. My elder brothers will be picking her up and tossing her to each other, like they did when my younger brother was a baby. It used to terrify my mother – but Peter was always giggling with delight.’
‘I have no brothers or sisters,’ Edward said, his face wistful. What his mother said to me on our first meeting slid into my mind, and I changed the subject quickly.
We halted for our dinner in the shade of some straggly hawthorn bushes on the river bank far upstream. As Alys laid out a rug, and I helped her spread upon it our meagre meal of bread and cheese, Roger pulled from his pouch a folded piece of parchment.
‘Look what I received from my mother this morning. She wrote because she’s so proud of my uncle. She says he is to be made a knight of the Order of the Bath. It’s for his service with the Duke in Scotland.’
‘That’s one of the greatest honours anyone can have from the King,’ said Edward, hewing at the slab of crumbly white cheese with his knife. ‘I know because my father told me. He was made a knight of the Order – oh, so many years ago. When he was only a boy.’
‘Really?’ I asked. I knew a little about the ancient chivalric orders. ‘I didn’t think they’d allow boys in.’
‘He was made a Duke at the same time,’ said Edward. ‘But I remember more of what he told me about the Order’s ceremony. I suppose it was because he was bathed by other grown-up knights rather than his nurse. Then he had to stay awake all night to keep vigil with them in the royal chapel.’
‘That doesn’t sound much fun,’ said Roger.
‘He said he could hardly keep his eyes open, but he had to otherwise they wouldn’t have thought him worthy. Then in the morning they dressed him in ceremonial clothes and took him to his brother the King. The King buckled a sword around his waist, kissed him, then struck him on the cheek.’
‘Wasn’t it painful?’ I asked.
‘Not really. He said it was just to remind him of his vow. The King said “Be thou a good knight” as he did it. He says he has always tried to be.’
We were silent for a few moments. Perhaps, like me, they were all imagining the spectacle. But in my mind also was whether I could ever dare hope for the honour myself.
As if echoing my thoughts, Edward said,
‘Do you think my uncle Edward will ever make
me a knight of the Bath? Or of the Garter?’
A dimple deepened on Alys’s cheek and Roger’s mouth twitched, but neither of them laughed.
‘I think you may have to wait a few more years, Ed.’
‘But my father was younger than I am when he was knighted – only eight.’
‘But your father’s father had been killed with many of his knights, and his brother had just become King,’ soothed Alys. ‘I think that counts as a special case. The King needed all the knights he could get.’
‘Perhaps,’ said Edward, but the corners of his mouth turned down in disappointment.
On impulse I said, ‘Why don’t we form our own order of chivalry, like the Bath or the Garter?’
Roger laughed.
‘You’ve been reading too many romances!’
But Alys said, ‘Yes, why don’t we?’
Roger opened his mouth again, but Alys nudged him with her foot.
‘Come on, Roger. It would be fun for Edward – for all of us. We could have our own rituals and symbols and everything.’
‘All right, but perhaps we should keep it secret.’
Was he thinking about Hugh and his cronies?
‘Even better,’ I said. ‘That way it’ll be just the four of us, no one else wanting to join and interfering.’
‘I’ll have to tell my mother,’ said Edward.
‘Why not?’ said Alys. ‘We won’t do anything she’ll disapprove of. But what shall we call ourselves? An order has to have a name.’
We all gazed around and above us, casting about for ideas from things that we could see.
‘The Knights of the Thorn?’
‘The Order of the Buzzard?’
‘The Knights of the Dead Sheep?’
‘Roger!’ said Alys sharply, and he and Edward sniggered.
All the talk of chivalry and ceremony brought to my mind the sights and sounds of this morning and the enormous standard that had streamed above the Duke as he left with his knights.
The Order of the White Boar Page 7
