by Hall, Ian
“I don’t know.” He cowered away from me, but I gripped him tighter, lifting him off his feet in front of me. “Maybe three thousand.”
“And Arthur and his court walk around in rags,” I chided. “Needing gifts to bolster their wardrobes.”
I did a quick mental calculation, I counted at least three or four thousand guineas a year that went straight into Harry’s pocket; hence the nice house and estate.
“How much cash do you have here?”
“Please, don’t…”
I cuffed his head, making him smart in pain. “Don’t underestimate me, Sir Harry!” I bawled. The servant cowered at the doorway. “I will report everything to the King if you are not honest with me.”
“I have perhaps two thousand guineas.”
I literally tossed him into a nearby chair. “Fetch it!” I roared.
Sir Harry waved at the servant, and he slipped off.
“Fetch it all!” I bellowed after the retreating figure.
I paced the floor. “I will let you off lightly, Sir Harry. I will not report to the King. But I need you to make a donation to the Prince’s new court. In fact,” I began to grin, “you are about to give a generous wedding present to the new couple.”
I grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, and trailed him round the house; every single room I could find. As I did so, I pointed out paintings, silver goblets, candlesticks, and a few tapestries I liked.
“These,” I said, “will appear at Ludlow within a week, or I will be taking my story to King Henry, and you, sir, will be cut into pieces. I have seen many heads swinging in cages on London Bridge. I wouldn’t want to see yours there, too.”
I left him inside and walked out into the courtyard. As well as sixteen nicely uniformed guards, two other men, and six women stood in line.
“You are all staff of Prince Arthur?”
They all chorused ‘yes’, or nodded.
“Then you will return to Ludlow. I will ensure you are paid; Sir Harry and I have just reached an agreement. Who’s in charge here?”
One of the soldiers raised his hand. “I am, sire. William’s the name. I was guard commander in Ludlow.”
“And why did you stay here?”
“Sir Harry told us to.”
And, of course, they had no reason not to do what Sir Harry had told them to.
“Well you, sir, for the short-term, now report to me. I need a guard in Ludlow, the Prince returns with his Spanish wife. You will guard the future King of England!”
To be honest, they all seemed kind of happy with the idea.
Sir Harry and two servants appeared with several small sacks, making a slight ‘chinking’ noise as they walked.
“William!”
“Yes, sire?”
“Sir Harry here has donated a few baubles to make the Prince and his bride more comfortable in their new home. Pick eight men to bring a wagon to Ludlow. The servants will accompany you.” I turned to a red-faced knight. “Isn’t that correct, Sir Harry?”
“Yes. I feel in a generous mood.”
His expression contradicted his words.
“Jethro! Get the men ready to ride.”
“Aye, sire.”
I had one task left, and it entailed a brief chat with the servant Sir Harry had sent for the money, a clerk called Charles Banner. Obviously already involved in the financial side of Harry’s undertakings, I ‘suggested’ that he send me a monthly report, detailing the Prince’s finances, and he shook so terrified in front of me, I had little doubt Charles would carry out my orders.
December 16th, 1501
Christmas in Ludlow
It took almost two weeks to get the gatehouse to a condition I felt happy with, and with carpenters assembling a new bed for the couple, I considered myself satisfied with the arrangement.
The renovations had literally taken over the whole trade of Ludlow town. With the addition of the tradesmen and servants who cleaned up the gatehouse, I had a team of seamstresses working on new tunics for the guards, an armorer making new swords, and had contracts for fresh daily delivery of bread, cake, milk, and eggs.
As I stood on the battlements, watching the scene below me, I felt that this is how it should have been; the town serving the castle, and making a living doing so, a true symbiotic arrangement.
And everyone being paid. On time. In cash.
Then the weather deteriorated, and dustings of snow began to be commonplace.
But as the temperature dropped, the comfort level of the gatehouse increased. The influx of materials from Haddon Hall were a huge boost for the premises, and with the fires now burning constantly, and enough staff to work the house properly, it felt like a home.
Sitting in the main hall with my mulled wine, warm fire, and attentive servants, I felt in the lap of luxury, and I quite envied the royal couple in their new home.
But I didn’t envy them the expedition to get here.
Travelling to London with Prince Arthur in the autumn had been an arduous journey, but now, returning to Ludlow, they faced the return leg in winter conditions. I shuddered to think how it would affect the Prince’s health, and wondered in what condition he’d arrive.
Sending messengers down the south road would have been such a waste of time, that I decided to run to London myself, and find precise details of the Prince’s timetable.
Yes, a bit of a run, along impossible roads, but surely I’d done worse.
I started off at first light, but had gone just ten miles or so, when I got horribly bogged down; and even running at vampire speed for such a short time tired me out considerably. The ground lay saturated with water and the cloying clay soil did little to help matters.
In dampened spirits I returned to Ludlow, my day wasted, my boots sodden wet and covered with thick, congealed mud.
So, with my plan of a quick trip to London foiled by the English weather, I settled back into my room to oversee the plans I’d set in motion.
And the days passed, and still they did not come.
And of course, the weather got steadily worse.
I never thought that the thick stone walls could have gotten any damper, but they did.
In the mornings, I had frost on the inside of the exterior wall of my bedroom.
I tried to disentangle myself from Eleanor, but with the baby in her belly being aimed at me, I couldn’t actually do much about her except go along with the arrangement. If the word ever got out that young Arthur had been responsible, her life wouldn’t be worth a penny. There’s always someone trying to make some kind of capitol out of a royal bastard, especially as he hadn’t made any legitimate heirs yet.
Two days later, Sir Gruffydd arrived, horse ridden into the ground, his face flushed red with the effort. “They are on their way, Richard. It’s going to be a very slow process; they’re only doing about four or five miles per day.”
We stood in the great hall, the fire burning bright before us.
“And the Prince?”
“Good enough to begin with.” Servants buzzed around, taking his overcoat, pressing warm mead and cake into his cold hands. “He suffers, of course, but I pray he’ll be fine.”
“Excellent,” I said. “We’ve got the gatehouse ready. I think you’ll be impressed.”
“Gatehouse?”
And I had to bring him up-to-speed with Margaret’s plan, and of course, our trip to Sir Harry Vernon.
“Looks like you’ve been busy, old boy. Never did like Vernon.”
By now we’d taken to chairs, pushed near the glowing fire, Sir Gruffydd’s feet propped up in front of him.
And I told him of Eleanor’s condition.
“And you’re certain that it’s not yours?”
I shook my head. “I cannot conceive a child, Sir Gruffydd. I had a riding accident when I was sixteen.”
“Ouch.”
I nodded, wallowing in his sympathy. “Yes, it wasn’t pleasant for a while, but I’m fine now. But I’ve sown wild oats in every d
irection since with no results. I’m almost certain that I don’t function… you know.”
“Yes, yes.” He looked slightly embarrassed.
“But, of course, that leaves me with the distinct possibility that Eleanor carries Arthur’s child.”
“But she thinks it’s yours?”
“I thought it better that she continue to think so. You know, for the time being.”
“Yes.” He looked deep in thought. “I think we need to remove her from the castle before Arthur arrives.”
Now, although the notion appealed to me, I wanted to know his reasoning. “Why?”
“We don’t want her ‘getting’ to the Prince right now. He’s got to concentrate on bedding Catherine. He needs an heir.”
“So where do you suggest?”
“Oh, I know a nice abbey in the Brecons, just over the border in Wales. I’ll take her there tomorrow. No time like the present.”
“So soon?”
“Just tidying up loose ends.”
So, the next morning, with tears in her eyes, Eleanor rode from Ludlow castle, with Sir Gruffydd and two guards.
And, with the Prince’s intended route gleaned from my favorite Welsh Knight of the Garter, I set off to rendezvous with the Prince.
Urged by Sir Gruffydd’s successful passage, I stuck to my task this time, keeping off the deeply rutted mud of the road, running on the verges, the fields, anything that my feet could gain purchase of.
Ten miles out of Ludlow, I encountered a lone traveler, and to my shame, I snapped his neck, and drank every drop of blood from his poor, slowly cooling body. I tossed him to one side of the road, his corpse landing in a deep clump of trees.
I set off again, refreshed and focused.
Well before midday, I reached Oxford, but no news yet of the Prince’s caravan passing through. I continued on my way, but travelled not a half dozen miles before I met the royal caravan, bogged down near the hamlet of Wheatley.
The drivers of the coaches gave no care that I arrived without a horse, they were so intent on getting their carriages out of the mud that I could have arrived on a rocket ship, and they wouldn’t have noticed.
I pushed with them, and yes, we made progress of sorts, but it proved almost fruitless.
I checked on the Prince, to find him huddled against his concerned young wife, covered in blankets. From the small piece of his face that lay visible, he looked feverish and sweating. Leaving the coach, I looked around, but found no house in sight.
I ran back and forth on the route, then off to each side, but again, nothing for two or three miles in any direction.
Then, I’m not sure if I lost my senses, or discovered them, and I opened the coach door.
“The Prince?” I began. I knew my face looked serious in concentration. “It’s too far to the next stop. I will take him.”
“But…”
I cut Catherine’s appeals short, and pulled the Prince from the coach, then tucking the blankets as best I could, I put him over my shoulder.
And ran.
As fast as my poor feet would travel.
Initially, in my mind I headed for the next town, Oxford, to install the Prince there. But then, as I sped along the deserted excuse for a roadway, something in me snapped, realizing that if I deposited him in Oxford, then we’d nurse him, and soon he’d get well, and he’d have to get back on the road yet again, rehashing his symptoms all over again.
Somewhere, between Wheatley and Oxford, I’d made the decision to make straight for Ludlow.
I’ve never ran so carefully in my life. Yes, my feet traveled faster than any motor car on American roads, but I chose my footing wisely, taking care not to jostle my Prince too much.
The sun still sat in the sky when I walked through the gatehouse door, shouting at servants, ordering hot soup, taking the boy upstairs to the newly made bed.
When I laid him on the coverlet, he still slept, and Phillipa pushed me away, rousing the servants to his attendance.
I stood to one side as they got him out of his damp clothes, and into the warm bed.
Then I nodded acceptance of my deed, and set off for the caravan once more.
Darkness approached as I met them again, barely half a mile further along the road. I made directly for Princess Catherine.
“What did you…”
I cut her short with a stiff hand in her face. “The Prince is safe. He is warm, and he is being cared for.”
“Where?”
“Not far from here,” I lied. I reasoned that Catherine had no idea of distances in England. Isabella gave me the dirtiest look ever. I ignored it, and held my hand out to Catherine. “Now, you must come with me.”
“What?”
“Come with me.”
She crossed to the door, and looked up at the blackening sky. “It is night.”
“And you will sleep here, in the coach, if you don’t come with me.”
I backed out of the doorway and stood in the mud. Catherine stepped down to the last step. “Where is your horse?”
I leant up and spoke closely. “Sleep, Princess, sleep.”
And she fell forward into my arms.
Now, carrying a blanket wrapped Prince, had proven relatively easy. I put him over my shoulder, fireman style, and jogged. A Princess, even if she’s fast asleep, proved a more difficult assignment. Once over my shoulder, her skirts billowed high, both blinding me and probably allowing a cold draught up you-know-where.
Yes, I could stop it, but gathering material in my hand, it now rested firmly on her upper thighs, and that brought on ‘other’ thoughts, not seemly at the time.
And boy did it get dark quickly.
I passed by Oxford, but found myself drifting off the road.
Even I realized the growing danger in continuing the journey both at speed, and at night.
The next village had a wayside inn, and I recognized the building from our first trip to London.
I changed my hold on Catherine, and now holding her in front of me, I kicked the door open.
“Rooms please!” I shouted into the crowded alehouse.
A man in an apron came scurrying.
“Only one room left, sire.” He motioned behind him. “Busy, see?”
I silently cursed, but realizing the possible alternative, I nodded my head. “Show me.”
He grabbed a lantern, and led the way upstairs.
Travelling sideways I could manage the narrow stairway and corridor, Catherine sleeping in my arms.
The room looked quite large, and he set the lantern on a chest of drawers, and as I lay Catherine on the bed, he proceeded to light more candles around the room.
“I’ll get a fire brought up,” he said. “Would you be wanting to eat here, or downstairs?”
“We’ll eat up here, if it’s no trouble.”
He shook his head, his eyebrows furrowed on his head. “No trouble, sire. I’ll see to it.”
Moments after his leaving, a maid entered, crossing the room with a huge shovel with burning logs. Smoke filled the room, but once she’d dropped them in the fireplace, it soon cleared. She curtseyed, and left.
I shook my head, but the fire now already roared, burning fiercely up the chimney, and I considered the quick heat worth the curious fire-starting method.
I looked down at the unconscious Princess, and wondered at her reaction to my spiriting her away from the caravan.
The maid brought two large bowls of a stew-like meal, and two bottles of wine.
In silence, I drank from one, then sudden waves of tiredness sweeping over me, I fell asleep on the chair.
December 24th, 1501
Princess Catherine
“So you catnap me?”
I squinted at her, silhouetted against the sun shining in the window. “Kidnap,” I said, sleepily.
“Kidnap, catnap, whatever!”
I blinked a few times, then remembered the circumstances, and made to rise from the chair.
Bam, Catherine’
s stiff hand hit me squarely in the middle of my chest, and I fell back onto the seat.
“Where is Arthur?”
“He is safe.”
“Safe?” She threw her hands up in the air. “Where? Here?” She looked around. “You sleep in my bedroom!”
“There was only one room left.”
“So Arthur is not here?”
“No, he’s in Ludlow.”
She stopped moving, but that darned sun still shone in my eyes.
“Impossible!” She leant close. “You lie!”
She stepped forward and raised her hand to strike. I met her wrist and caught her blow, inches from my face.
“Catherine!” I snapped. “Prince Arthur is safe. He’s in Ludlow, warm and happy, and probably having breakfast.”
“Ludlow is hundred mile from here.”
Okay, her English wasn’t perfect, but not bad for a couple of months. Talk about immersion.
“I will take you there today.”
“Today?”
“Yes.”
“Hundred mile?”
I sighed. I mean, I could always wash the trip from her memory. “Yes, a hundred miles.”
I leant forward, my bones tired from yesterday’s exertion, and from the night’s deep slumber in the chair. “Sleep, Princess, sleep.”
The things a vampire has to do for his Princess.
Yeah, over my shoulder, run to Ludlow. Even I couldn’t get excited about today’s trip. I’d brought Arthur, now Catherine. I mean, I couldn’t relay them all here, it’d take weeks.
As I approached the castle, realized how tired I felt.
And nothing nice to feed on; Eleanor lay in a convent, Lady Jane lay back in the caravan, and Abigail had still to decide what to do. From three women on the go, I now had been reduced to nothing, and life felt suddenly empty.
So, yes, Catherine made a great fuss on being woken up in a different house, but on seeing Arthur, she quickly calmed, and seemingly forgot about an explanation.
With the good food and warm surroundings, Arthur recovered in a day, no longer coughing, and even walking around the house in his dried clothes.
I thought I’d gotten away with everything, when Catherine caught my arm at the door.
“Where are my clothes?”
