by Jean Stubbs
When they were signed and sealed Stanley weighed them thoughtfully in his hand.
‘Here lie our fortunes or our heads!’ he observed, and was even now thinking of ways to explain them if they were found by the wrong readers.
‘Shall I summon Master Brereton, my lord?’ Elizabeth asked, putting away her writing materials.
‘Not at this hour of the night, madam! Else we shall have a hornet’s nest of gossip about our ears. Tomorrow, before daybreak, will be soon enough. Bring the gentleman to me yourself. I do amaze myself, madam,’ he said quizzically, ‘to trust to such a scheme and such a messenger! Yet the king will not look for treason in such a quarter. And those that are hunted dare not stay overlong in one place. So I shall move outside London, near the inn where we shall meet. And, meanwhile, madam, we shall cause King Richard no discontent.’
He bowed, and kissed the hand extended to him, and saw that in her mind she was already queen. And he smiled a little sourly to himself, because he had lived nearly fifty years and knew the cost of queenship. She knew so little as to imagine that she had set the scheme in his head. Yet had not he and the Lady Margaret, with a network of messengers and good friends, cast about them these last months? Had not Sir Richard ap Howell of Mostyn Hall in Flintshire turned his house into a meeting-place for the Welsh lords who favoured Lancaster? And were they not already decided that Wales should be attempted at the second try, and the banner of Cadwaladr raised to bring all Welshmen under it? Only, this time, they had kept the weathervane Woodvilles out of it.
But King Richard had made him keep the Lady Margaret under close watch in a different part of the country, and set another close watch on Stanley himself. So they had been puzzled how to move, with every move doubly checked on both sides. It had not occurred to him that the girl had a head and mind of her own, though she was trusting to a green lad and a green dream.
Well, thought Stanley comfortably, if Humphrey Brereton falls into the wrong hands those letters were written by the princess. It will go hard with both her and her esquire, but such a wild attempt may be set down to youthful folly. They must look to themselves if I am to keep my place at court.
Humphrey Brereton was as innocent of guile as the princess, and the sight of her standing by his pallet before dawn brought only a determination to die in her service.
‘Madam?’ he stammered, clutching the fustian blankets to his chest.
‘Arise and dress and come with me to the Lord Stanley, Master Brereton. We have need of you,’ she whispered.
Even the sight of Lord Stanley’s unshaven face could not blemish his happiness.
‘My life, my trust and my land — all this lies in your keeping, Master Brereton,’ said Stanley gravely. ‘You may make and you may mar. You may undo me.’ He saw that Humphrey did not give a groat for him, except as an accessory, and touched on something that would. ‘You may undo this lady!’ he said sternly, and the lad’s smile disappeared. ‘So take these six letters in your hand and bring them unto the north country. It is written on the back of each where they should be delivered. And if any man waylay you, for God’s sake destroy them. And keep a sharp knife about you, Master Brereton, for it is better to die quickly by your own hand than slowly by rack and fire!’
The boy was as pale as the girl now, and Stanley smiled grimly. For if they played at queen’s games they must know the price of losing.
‘My lord,’ said Humphrey, bowing, ‘I shall die sooner than betray the Lady Elizabeth — or you,’ he added, out of good manners.
Outside the chamber the princess beckoned that he should follow her to her own quarters. They crept through the silent house, whispering to the dogs who rose and growled softly from their places by doors and hearths.
‘Master Brereton,’ said Elizabeth, shaken by the prospect of torture, ‘I would speak with you a moment. God has sent me a little wit. When you ride into the north I beg you to seek no company but such as is the best. And — sit not too long over your wine, lest in heart you be too merry and say words that shall be thought on.’
She untied the thong from a leather pouch and shook it open on the bed. The sudden flush in her cheeks hurt him, for he knew there was less than she wanted or needed.
‘A poor reward I shall give you,’ she said beseechingly. ‘It is but three pounds. But if I am queen you shall be better rewarded.’
‘I want nothing, madam. Nothing, I beg.’
But she put the coins in his hands, folding his fingers over them and smiling. They would be with him, honoured and unspent until the day he died.
‘And now, sir, a cup of wine for you have not broken your fast. And I pray you hasten, and stop for nothing until you are beyond the city!’
He drank to her health, kissed the outstretched hand worshipfully, and was clattering over the cobbles before another winter day could begin.
Sir William Stanley was inspecting a fish-pond when Humphrey Brereton arrived, and he greeted him somewhat abstractedly.
‘Why ride so hastily?’ he asked, looking at the spattered clothes and exhausted face.
‘Break that letter, sir, and you shall see!’ cried Humphrey, annoyed at such a reception of the future queen’s messenger.
Sir William read the letter, tore it in three and threw the pieces into the pond. As the last tatter sank he said, suddenly brisk, ‘I’ll give you a hundred shillings to ride to Latham now!’
‘Sir, I cannot ride now. My horse is tired, and I came from London with the sleep in mine eyes!’
Sir William looked at him closely, to make sure that it was fatigue and not a faint heart, and satisfied himself.
‘Then lie down, Master Brereton, and sleep well for the space of three hours. I’ll get a fresh horse to bring you to Latham. And I’ll give you a hundred shillings besides.’
Humphrey was too tired to know what he ate or drank, and fell upon the pallet in his muddied clothes to seek a brief oblivion. Within four hours he was heading for Latham and Stanley’s son, Lord Strange. By nightfall he had hammered the porter awake — who came grumbling and sorting his keys — and two stout servants who lifted their torches high to see the messenger’s face, and then preceded him. Up stone stairs they trod, and down echoing passages and past heavy doors. A regiment of flames burned from iron holders along the walls. A guard of dogs rose and whined and padded to inspect them. Then draughts and damp and echoes became comfort and candle-light, and the warmth of a log fire.
‘How fares my father, Master Brereton?’ George Strange asked courteously, and called for mulled wine as he opened his letter. Then looked gravely at him. ‘This world is not as it should be,’ he observed, and thought for so long that Humphrey had drunk his first cup and was beginning on the second. ‘Commend me unto my father,’ said Lord Strange at last, ‘and ask his blessing. For if I live I shall keep this appointment. How weary are you, Master Brereton?’
And he held the paper to the candle-flame until it was consumed.
‘Weary enough, my lord. Yet strong enough to do your lordship’s bidding.’
‘Will you rest and eat for a space, and then ride on to Manchester? You could be there by daylight.’
‘Aye, my lord,’ said Humphrey as willingly as he could, though his bones begged for sleep.
They had spiced the pork well and it warmed and wakened him a little. Then off into the dark to another house and another place; across this wild country of rock and hussock, whose trees were bent by the wind in arthritic prayer. He tumbled rather than dismounted, from his horse, and was led into the presence of Edmund and James Stanley.
Two at a blow! thought Humphrey wearily, delivering both letters.
Now James was a priest and had been saying matins with his brother before Brereton arrived, but when he read his letter he slapped his thigh and laughed aloud. And Edmund joined him, throwing one arm round his brother’s shoulders. They were young, and the prospect of war pleased them. Humphrey even had to remind them to destroy the letters.
‘May
good befall our father, that noble lord,’ said Edward. ‘The old eagle as he is called, begins to stir and rise!’
‘Buckingham’s blood shall be avenged! That which was spilled at Salisbury,’ said James, his face radiant above the black cassock.
‘And good befall the Lady Elizabeth,’ said Edward, admiring the elegant handwriting.
‘We trust in God to bring her lord over the sea,’ James added, smiling.
‘Here are forty shillings, Master Brereton, in gold. What may we do for you?’
He was swaying on his feet, unable to answer, so they put him to bed.
Sir John Savage took a different view, and saw a fresher Humphrey.
‘Woman’s wit is wonderful,’ he said, raising his eyebrows, ‘and so is woman! I think my uncle Stanley’s head has been turned by the Lady Elizabeth. But whether it comes to weal or woe I am at my uncle’s bidding. Now, good Master Brereton, here are forty shillings for you. Are you weary?’ — putting the letter on the fire and watching it burn.
But by this time Humphrey knew the right answer, and was almost at the end of his mission.
‘No, my lord. Grant me three hours’ sleep and a fresh horse and I’ll to Sheffield Castle in all haste.’
To Sir Gilbert Talbot he gave the last of the letters, and Talbot smiled first at the message and then at the messenger.
‘Commend me, I pray you, to the Lady Elizabeth — who has no peer in all the land. Tell her she chose her esquire well. And give my greetings to the Lord Stanley. He may count on me.’
Humphrey sighed, and the sigh turned into a yawn.
‘Here are three pounds,’ said Sir Gilbert, ‘though a soft bed and a long sleep will serve you better! Do you return to London at once?’
‘No, my lord, for the Lord Stanley counselled me to stay away some little time, and to visit my family at Malpas in Cheshire. So that it would seem I sported among my friends.’
‘Then God go with you, Master Brereton. You have earned your sport.’
King Richard was strolling with Lord Stanley in the garden as Brereton approached, and Stanley turned to Humphrey and closed one eye meaningfully. Then aloud, in a surprised voice, he cried, ‘Welcome, Humphrey! But where have you been? For I have missed you these three weeks.’
The messenger knelt before them both and gave his answer.
‘I have been in Cheshire, sire and my lord, visiting my old friends.’
‘Master Brereton was born in Malpas, your grace, in the county of Cheshire — from whence come the finest of your grace’s bowmen,’ said Stanley. ‘Tell King Richard, Humphrey, how fare all in that county? How fare King Richard’s faithful commons?’
‘They will be trusty with their bows, when the king commands them, sire and my lord.’
‘We thank you, Master Humphrey,’ said Richard gravely, ‘and you also, Lord Stanley, that are chief of these commons. If we have Yorkshire, and you Lancashire and Cheshire, we divide the north of England between us, my lord, and yet unite them for we are friends.’
‘Your grace is kind enough to say so,’ Stanley murmured.
‘We swear by Mary that we know no such good friends beneath the sky,’ said the king, lifting his dark face to the sunlight.
A fair May wind blew Master Brereton and his retinue to France, and he was glad to get there, for all that Lord Stanley’s eagle flew from the top mast. He had spent one half of the voyage vomiting over the side, and the other half guarding the mules’ saddle-bags which were sewn full of gold.
‘No man in France durst come near that ship,’ Stanley had assured him. ‘And if any man ask whose ship it be then say it be the Lord Stanley’s vessel.’
‘This is the Lord Stanley’s vessel!’ Humphrey rehearsed to a black vision of pirates. They would all fall back amazed. He only hoped they did. He had tried to excuse himself from the trip, but the Lady Elizabeth begged so sweetly that he was unmanned.
Neither robbed, scuttled nor drowned, they led their three mules ashore peaceably enough — though the animals tended to hold ideas of their own as to pace and distance — and made their way by degrees to Bigeram Abbey. Thundering upon the gate, Humphrey demanded in his best French a speedy entrance, and the promise of gold for a fee. A shrewd eye peered through the peep-hole, and a broad English voice replied to him.
‘I’ll none of thy gold nor none of thy fee. But I’ll open’t gates for thee, Master Brereton, for I was born but three miles from Malpas and knew thy father!’
Somewhat dashed, Humphrey rode in and accepted a cup of rough red wine in memory of old times.
‘I have a message of great import from England, for the Lord Henry,’ he said, as though he and the Earl of Richmond were old acquaintances.
‘The earl is at the butts, sir, yonder.’
Humphrey approached, humble and curious, and dropped upon one knee.
‘My lord,’ he said, to the grass and two scarlet linen legs, ‘my name is Humphrey Brereton, and I bring you a letter from the Lady Elizabeth, King Edward’s daughter, and three mules that bear good gold in their saddle-flaps, and,’ he felt in his doublet, and his fingers closed in farewell upon her token, ‘this rich ring set with a precious stone.’
‘I thank you, Master Brereton,’ said Henry pleasantly, and Humphrey dared to look up.
The earl stood quite still with the ring in his hand, then lifted it three times to his lips. Then he read the letter, pondering, and Humphrey’s opinion of him fell.
What manner of man was this that did not cry out with joy, and leap straightway upon his horse, shouting ‘God for Elizabeth!’ Why did he not pale or flush up or tremble? Were his knees shaking? No, steady as his countenance. The paltry fellow! Did he breathe fast? No, he breathed like the unfeeling bastard that he was. Bastard on both sides, let it be well remembered! And now he was folding it as though it were an ordinary letter.
Humphrey could bear no more, and the grass was wetting the knee of his best hose.
‘My lord,’ he cried, leaping up, ‘why stand you so still and give me no answer? I am come from the Stanleys to make you king of England! To give you a fair princess, a king’s daughter, such as there is none other in Christendom!’
Henry looked at him, startled, then repressed a smile.
‘Her name is Elizabeth,’ cried Humphrey, very red, and did not care if they brought him down with their damned arrows. ‘A lovely lady to look upon — and well can she mark by prophecy.’
The comprehension in Henry’s eyes nearly stopped him, but he floundered on manfully.
‘I may be called a poor messenger if I get no answer of you, my lord. Must I sail from here with a heavy heart? What shall I say when I come home?’
‘One moment, sir,’ said Henry kindly. ‘This matter needs some counsel.’
He drew aside with the Earl of Oxford, Lord Ferrers and Lord Lisle, and came back smiling.
‘Master Brereton, I can give no answer for the space of three weeks. But when three weeks are come and gone I’ll answer you right well. You shall be a welcome guest, sir. And now let us look at your mules.’
Humphrey could have run him through with his sword. Silent, he led the awkward beasts into the privacy of the stables, and cut open the saddle-bags. Gold ran into the straw. Gold from the Stanleys, from Savage, from Talbot, from the Lady Margaret, from a hundred sources small and great. The four lords smiled on one another.
‘We can set out at daybreak, my lord,’ said Oxford, ‘and buy arms from Paris. But we shall need more than this.’
Brereton stood by the slashed saddle-flaps, his dreams tumbled into the straw with the money. The story he had composed in his head for the Lady Elizabeth would not now be told. Certainly, he had exaggerated a little here and there. A man rarely swooned with love, but one expected something more than a smile and a few thanks. Three weeks to wait! Good God, the fellow was hewn from stone!
So he sulked, and kicked his heels, oblivious of the details that must be settled before a date was given. Of ships to be fitted,
of men collected and fed and armed, and paid to stand idle or fight. Of holds to be packed and clothes and horses purchased. And of ten thousand things attendant upon an invasion so momentous that failure meant death and success the throne of England.
The earl that returned was another man, open and smiling, sweet in his apologies.
‘Master Brereton,’ said Henry, walking with him in the garden, ‘commend me most humbly to the Lady Elizabeth and speak to her loving-wise on my behalf. Tell her that I shall come, and that I trust in the might of God to make her my queen. And give her this letter, I pray you. Commend me also to my lady mother, and to my father Lord Stanley, and to these other gentlemen. Here are their letters also. I have conferred with my commanders, Master Brereton, and we shall land at Milford Haven in August, God willing. They may expect us then. We shall bring the Welsh to our standards along the coast, and meet our friends on the road from Shrewsbury.’
Humphrey bowed and took the letters, seeing them as so many hours’ sleep lost and horses wearied; but proud, nevertheless, to be so trusted.
‘And Master Brereton,’ said Henry smiling, ‘I fear I seemed too deep in thought to show the honour that I felt when I received the lady’s letter — and that you judged me tardy in reply!’
‘Nay, my lord,’ said Humphrey, reddening. ‘I know nothing of princes’ hearts.’
‘A prince is a man, Master Brereton, and has a heart like any other. Yet must a prince’s affairs command him first. The Lady Elizabeth is the daughter of a king and knows this well. She will not blame me that I made sure of the means ere I sought the end. Yet tell her that of all the riches that she sent these are the richest.’
