Red Rose, White Rose

by Joanna Hickson

  Her nephew shrugged. ‘I would call it good fortune, Aunt,’ he declared without apparent guile. ‘With God’s help I will prove that it was fortune well deserved.’

  ‘My cousin pierced the quintain ring ten times in succession yesterday, lady mother!’ Edward spoke with the fervour of hero-worship. ‘I have done it twice running but Edmund cannot even do it once.’

  ‘Edmund does not have quite your reach yet, young Ned.’ I was pleased to hear Dick point this out. ‘Nor such a big pony, but he will catch you up like my young brother Tom caught me.’

  ‘How is Tom?’ asked Cicely. ‘We have all missed him since he left us after Anne’s wedding.’

  ‘He is fighting with our father on the northern march. They lead the Scots a merry dance I can tell you.’ Dick grinned at her and then back at me where I followed behind. ‘It is a while since you did duty on the border, is it not, Sir Cuthbert? My father says you are still considered cock o’ the north though.’

  I could not help feeling a little gratified. ‘I proved my worth more than once,’ I admitted. ‘But others must have eclipsed my efforts since.’

  ‘No, I think your reputation still stands. You are from those parts, are you not? Sir Cuthbert of Middleham. It is where I was mostly brought up and I am my father’s constable there now. Is it long since you were there?’

  We had entered the great hall now and I glanced at Cicely, who was looking impatient. ‘I will gladly burn the candles down talking about Middleham with you later, Dick, but now we are all in need of rest and refreshment. It is the end of a very long journey.’

  Warwick was suddenly all contrition. ‘Forgive me, your grace – my lady aunt – I am discourteous. As you see, the steward has prepared a meal and I believe hot water has been carried to the great solar. Will you dine in hall or in private?’

  ‘I will give the orders in my lord’s castle, thank you, nephew.’ Cicely was suddenly on her high horse. ‘Edward, Edmund, come to my chamber in an hour, when you can greet your sisters and your new brother. We will dine together as a family.’

  She swept out of the hall and up the inner stair like the duchess she was, trailing the procession of little girls and nurses behind her. I exchanged glances with Dick of Warwick, who gave me a slow wink, waiting until Cicely was out of earshot. ‘My father told me he used to call her Proud Cis,’ he remarked. ‘Now I can see why.’

  I was not prepared to let that pass without comment. ‘I think a certain impatient weariness is allowable in a great lady who has been travelling in some discomfort for several weeks,’ I said, approaching the two boys who were staring after their mother a little disconsolately. ‘I am looking forward to seeing this new skill at the quintain, Edward, and I hope you have trained that puppy of yours well, young Edmund. Tomorrow I would appreciate a demonstration of your progress in these matters.’

  To the older boy’s obvious delight, Dick immediately slung his arm around Edward’s shoulder. ‘I have been giving this young man some coaching, Sir Cuthbert, and I think you will be surprised by his improvement. He is becoming quite a prodigy at the jousting rail.’

  I looked at the pair of them bunched so close together. The top of Edward’s head was almost level with his cousin’s chin. However, it could not be many years before they would be standing eye to eye and I wondered if their relationship would remain the same then, or if the youngster might prove a rival to the young Earl of Warwick’s obvious ambition.

  ‘Well, tomorrow will tell.’ I turned to the younger boy. ‘And what of Orion’s progress, Edmund—?’

  A cloud seemed to pass over Edmund’s face. ‘He is a lovely dog but Edward says he will never lead the pack.’

  I cocked my head enquiringly. ‘And since when did Edward become an expert in that field?’

  ‘Since he took him out hunting without my permission!’ Edmund’s voice climbed high with indignation and I could see his lower lip trembling but he managed to keep the tears in check. Clearly the unequal competition between the two brothers continued unabated. Dick pushed Edward firmly forward to encourage him to respond to his brother’s accusation.

  He blustered a little. ‘I only took Orion out on a training hunt with some of the pages. He did not respond to the horn or to my call and he was a bit of a babbler, that is all. Edmund gets upset about nothing.’

  I patted Edmund’s shoulder consolingly. ‘I am sure you can get advice from the huntsmen about reaction to the horn and babbling is probably just because he is young and keen. He will grow out of it.’ Huntsmen used the term ‘babbling’ if a hound sounded on a scent when there was none. Sometimes they learned better and sometimes it put an end to the hound’s career. I crossed my fingers that with Orion it was the former.

  Dick could not refrain from offering his penny-worth. ‘But, Ned, you should not have taken Edmund’s hound out without his permission. A hound answers like a vassal to his lord or a subject to his king – his loyalty does not shift lightly to another.’

  Edward lifted his chin and showed that he was not completely overcome by hero worship. ‘You expect the vassals of Warwick to change their loyalty from the Beauchamp swan to your bear-with-the-ragged-staff – and they do.’

  Richard of Warwick shot his cousin an impish grin. ‘So they do, young Ned, so they do. But men understand an offer they cannot refuse, whereas hounds do not.’

  Edmund had the last word. ‘And you do not have my permission to take Orion out again, Edward, not ever!’

  22

  Ludlow Castle & the city of York, June 1450

  Cuthbert

  A letter reached me at Ludlow which had been several months in a courier’s bag, following the York household from Fotheringhay to Ludlow, Ireland and back again. It was probably the last letter I could have wished to be so delayed and as soon as I had read it, I brought it straight to Cicely’s notice.

  From Mistress Hilda Exeley, widow of York, to Sir Cuthbert of Middleham, greetings.

  It is with regret that I write to inform you of the death of my husband. As you know he was a wealthy and successful wool merchant and my widow’s dower that the law requires, viz one third of my husband’s estate, would provide for me but the truth is I have been deceived and defrauded by my eldest stepson, Simon, who insists that when his father died he was owed more than the value of the dower by my brother Sir Gerald Copley and therefore the estate is under no obligation to me. My brother declares himself unable to pay the debt and to make things worse he refuses to allow me to return to our family manor of Copley.

  I write to tell you this because you have always shown yourself to be my friend. I am still at present living in my husband’s house but I cannot tell how long that will be possible. I have certain funds put aside but these will not last long if I am forced to move out. Although I left her grace your sister at an unfortunate time, as you know this was beyond my control and I am wondering if you may be able to persuade her to accept me back into her household. It is my only hope.

  I am your loving friend,

  Hilda Exeley

  Written at Exeley House, York on the Feast of St Chad in the year of our Lord fourteen hundred and fifty.

  Having read the letter, Cicely immediately went to her breviary and consulted the list of saints’ days. ‘I should remember the feast of St Chad because he is a northern saint but – ah, it is the second day of March.’ She gave me a stricken look. ‘That is more than three months ago, Cuddy! Whatever can have happened to Hilda since?’

  We were alone and so we could talk freely. ‘I desire nothing more than to travel to York to find out, Cis, with your permission of course.’ I retrieved the letter and tucked it carefully into the front of my doublet. ‘I will write reports for Richard on the boys’ military training before I go in case he returns before I do.’

  ‘Be sure to bring Hilda with you when you do,’ said Cicely, an expression of deep anxiety clouding her face. ‘How can she think for one moment that I might not have her back?’

  ‘Her
perilous position may have caused her to doubt everything and everyone. I only hope she is still in York and has not thrown herself on the mercy of her appalling brother. If she is back at Copley I may have to fight Gerald to get to her.’

  Cicely sucked air through her teeth, then issued a stern warning. ‘She says he has cast her out! But I think Hilda will never forgive you if you kill her brother, Cuddy, under any circumstances. Remember that and keep your hand off your sword.’

  Her words stayed with me on the long journey to York which, undertaken in good weather, took only a little over a week. I knew she was right. Hilda had begged me for help but that would not include killing her brother, even in a fair fight. Yet that is the thing I yearned most to do, in revenge for his disparagement of me, and because I hated him for selling his sister to the merchant and ruining the life of the only one I had ever loved. I was forty and I knew I could never again allow any man to keep me away from Hilda. Especially I could not allow her brother to do so. As I rode, I prayed that it would not come to that.

  I had not been to York for many years and had almost forgotten what a large and bustling town it was. I fought my way through crowds entering through the Walmgate, thankful that there were no traitors’ heads displayed on its barbican, and made my way up the Fossgate, where I recalled that I would find the Merchant Adventurer’s Hall and therefore someone who might direct me to Master Exeley’s house. It was mid afternoon and both I and my horse were tired from our journey but rest and refreshment would have to wait. There was no time to be lost in discovering whether Hilda was still in the city.

  Approaching the Merchant’s Hall, I collared a passing urchin to guard my horse while pondering which entrance to use. People going in and out of the door on the ground floor were poor and shabby with the humble look of alms-seekers, whereas those climbing the outer stair had the sleek, prosperous appearance of wealthy merchants. Choosing to follow the latter, I found myself in an enormous high-beamed hall where twenty or thirty men were gathered in small groups, involved in earnest conversations. I paused, unwilling to interrupt, but my need was urgent and so I approached two middle-aged men in long gowns who stood near the entrance.

  ‘God give you good day, good sirs. Pray forgive the interruption but perhaps you can help me. I am seeking the house of Master Simon Exeley. I believe he was a member of your honourable guild.’

  They may have been on the verge of sealing a deal, for the younger man frowned and tapped his foot but the older of the two crossed himself and addressed me solemnly. ‘He was our Grand Master, sir, and a man of great worth. But since you speak of him in the past tense you are obviously aware that he died some months ago. His son of the same name is now running his business.’

  ‘I have come from the south and am not familiar with your city. Could you kindly direct me to the Exeley house?’

  ‘It is in Merchantgate, down by the Fosse Bridge but there is no need to go there. Master Simon Exeley the younger is here in the hall. May I introduce you to him?’

  This offer put me in a quandary. I really had no wish to confront young Master Exeley in public, owing to the impression Hilda had given me of his inexcusable obduracy over her dower and yet I was tempted to take the opportunity to give him a piece of my mind. But I also wanted to find Hilda as quickly as possible and so I backed off.

  ‘That is kind of you, sir, but my business is private. I will wait at his house.’

  It was not difficult to find. Quite the largest and most imposing house on a street full of merchant houses, it commanded a bend in the River Fosse where it flowed into its confluence with the Ouse and a view over nearby rooftops of the great round keep of York Castle on its steep motte. At its rear was a dock where the contents of a barge were being unloaded. Porters and stevedores laboured in the late afternoon light, manoeuvering barrels and crates from barge to warehouse with the help of cranes and cradles. It was a scene which suggested that the Exley business was one of the richest and busiest merchant-traders in York. I decided to stable my horse at a nearby inn and, slinging my saddle-bags over my shoulder, returned to the house on foot. To my intense delight, Hilda answered my knock in person.

  She was wearing a shapeless black gown and within the frame of her widow’s wimple her once fetchingly-plump face had become thin and hollow-cheeked but the expression on it told me all I needed to know about her feelings on seeing me. ‘By all God’s Holy Angels – Cuddy! I thought you were not coming.’

  There were tears of relief in her eyes but I did not want her to succumb to them in full view of the street and made what I hoped was an amusingly exaggerated bow. ‘How relieved I am that you recognized me, Mistress! Will you allow an old friend to enter?’

  At least she had not lost any of her spirit for she summoned a wicked little smile and cast a swift glance up and down the street. ‘And set the neighbours gossiping even more than they already do? Certainly not.’

  Then, in direct opposition to her words, she threw the door open and stepped back into the shadows beyond. In two strides I was inside and she was in my arms. As her lips met mine, I heard the door thud into its frame. I could have wished for much more but she gave me only the chaste kiss of friend greeting friend.

  She stepped back decorously and, with a sigh, the spirited Hilda vanished before my eyes. Her haunted look returned. ‘You are so well come, Cuthbert. You cannot know how much.’

  I dropped my saddlebags and looked around the conspicuously grand hall, noting its dark polished wooden tables and benches, carved stone chimneypiece and single spectacular tapestry hung behind the dais which ran along one wall, depicting a battle at sea between pirate galleys and big-bellied merchant ships. Predictably, and against all likelihood, the latter seemed to be winning. Gently I took Hilda’s hands, feeling the roughened skin and ragged nails of hard physical work even through the tips of my own combat-scarred fingers.

  ‘I have come to take you back to Cicely,’ I said. ‘She cannot wait to have your company again.’

  The tears which had been brimming before now flowed freely and she snatched her hands back to reach into the sleeve of her unbecoming black gown for a kerchief. Through its snowy folds came murmured words of relief and gratitude. ‘Oh Saint Hilda be praised – and Saint Jude too! I have prayed for months to hear those words.’

  ‘You are prepared to leave with me then?’ I asked.

  As I posed the question we heard the sound of shouts from the open inner door which apparently led to the domestic quarters. The flow of tears dried and Hilda suddenly became all businesslike and practical. ‘I would like to leave right here and now but it is growing late; Simon will be back soon and we would never get far enough away in daylight to be safe from pursuit. It will have to be tomorrow.’

  ‘Safe from pursuit?’ I echoed. ‘I thought your stepson could not wait to be rid of you, minus your dower of course.’

  Hilda darted to where my saddle bags lay and picked them up. ‘Come with me, Cuthbert. Things have changed since I wrote that letter. You must leave in case Simon comes home and finds you here. I will take you out the back way.’

  She scurried down a dim corridor and ducked out of a door which led onto an outside passage and I followed in her wake, listening to her gabbled explanation as we went. ‘My canny husband had left a copy of his will with his lawyer and so young Simon was not able to deny me my widow’s dower after all. However, he decided instead to make an arrangement with my unprincipled brother whereby I worked as his unpaid housekeeper, while the money he might have paid someone to do that job was set against the unimaginable sum of money Gerald owes to the Exley business. That way Simon could keep all the coin in his coffers.’

  She stopped for a moment in the passage and I gently took the saddlebags from her. ‘But you did not have to agree to that, surely?’ I asked, puzzled. ‘With the lawyer involved, you could have taken Simon to court.’

  Deep creases appeared between her brows and she shook her head. ‘Court cases take years, Cuddy! Me
anwhile I would have nowhere to live and nothing to live on. Simon said the only way he would release the dower money was to a convent, if I would take the veil, but that is the last place I want to go. He fears I will remarry and take my dower and the secrets of the business to a rival merchant. But I am not cut out to be a nun, as you know.’

  I smiled at that. ‘No – much too shrewd! You would never obey all those rules.’

  ‘So I will come with you and forget the whole nightmare. But it will not be easy. Simon likes to control people. He controls my brother financially and he is determined to control me. Besides, he will not be happy to lose his unpaid housekeeper. We have to be careful, Cuddy. He is a violent man.’

  I felt sure there was more to these remarks that she was revealing and the final one caused the hair to rise on the back of my neck. I made a snap decision. ‘In that case you must not remain here one more night. We will go now. Anything you need we can buy. My horse is at the inn around the corner, we can leave town before curfew and the road is dry. You can sample the freedom of life on the road with your own knight-champion to protect you. What do you say?’

  It was a test of how desperate she felt her plight to be and I soon had the answer. For a few seconds she regarded me like a bright-eyed blackbird, head on one side; then she nodded briefly. ‘So be it. Let us go now.’

  Suiting the action to the word she marched to the end of the passage which led into the warehouse yard. It was crammed with carts and bustling with sweating men struggling to load them with goods to be dispatched the following day. The Exleys obviously drove their workers hard for it was already the hour leading up to Vespers, when shops were putting up their shutters and most other working folk were wending their way home to a hot meal. We slipped between the carts, receiving curious glances on the way and finally escaped the noisy confusion through the wide open doors of the warehouse, dodging two porters staggering out under seemingly impossible burdens. Inside, as our eyes adjusted to the dim light Hilda suddenly froze and muttered one word under her breath.