The Spitfire

by Bertrice Small

  “I think, Sire, that I would consider long on it before making any decision. It is not that I question this knight’s word, but we really know naught of this matter but what he has told us. I think I would investigate it further, for your majesty would not willingly do Greyfaire’s heiress an injustice. Let this knight prove his loyalty to you first before you reward him. He was, I have heard, a staunch Yorkist.”

  The point was well taken by Henry Tudor. “I think, Sir Jasper, that I am not in a position to grant you Greyfaire Keep at this time,” the king began. “England has, as you well know, been but recently invaded by one Lambert Simnel, masquerading as the boy Earl of Warwick, the last of the royal Plantagenets, and an army of diehard Yorkists, Irish rabble, and German mercenaries. It is to be hoped that this is the last challenge made to my throne, but until I defeat this challenge, I cannot possibly consider your request. You were a trustworthy Yorkist yourself, I understand, Sir Jasper. Do you not desire to help those who would usurp my throne?”

  Jasper Keane felt panic welling up. Damn Rowena’s treasonous connections! Thank God she was dead. If he were clever he just might salvage his hopes. “It is true, Sire, that I supported Richard of Gloucester during his reign, and his brother King Edward before him. It is true that my late wife was Queen Anne Neville’s favorite cousin, but I have sworn my oath to uphold your rights, Sire, and I will not break that oath. There are none who can say that I ever broke my sacred oath. Let me prove my loyalty to you. I have knowledge of a great and secret nature that might be of importance to your majesty.”

  So, his late wife had been Anne Neville’s cousin, Henry Tudor thought. He had not known this, but obviously Sir Jasper thought he did. What else was this man not telling him? “What knowledge?” the king demanded.

  Sir Jasper looked nervously at the king’s personal secretary, but when the king made no move to send the man away, he spoke anyway. “Your queen’s young brothers live, Sire. They were hidden at Middleham Castle by their uncle Richard for safety’s sake.”

  “And they are still there?” Henry Tudor’s voice was almost afire in his excitement.

  “Nay, they were moved immediately after your majesty’s victory at Bosworth Field to the Tower, I am told. One of the two knights assigned to personally guard the princes is my relation. For obvious reasons, the princes were moved in secret with no fanfare. My late wife knew of this, and it was through her I first learned of it. That is how I was able to place my cousin in the prince’s train.”

  The king’s mind was reeling with the serious implications that Sir Jasper’s words intimated. Worse, how could his wife’s two young brothers be incarcerated in the Tower and he not know about it? One surviving York prince was bad enough, but three could bring the whole kingdom down around his ears. He chose his words carefully. “This is an interesting tale you tell me, Sir Jasper, but of course it is not possible that my wife’s brothers survived their uncle’s ill intent. It is equally impossible that Edward and Richard Plantagenet are currently imprisoned within the Tower without my knowledge. Nevertheless, I will investigate what you have told me, for I know you would not fabricate such a tale simply to curry my favor. You have divulged this in order to prove your loyalty to me, and I am pleased by your display of faithfulness. Go now and join with my army as we prepare to meet the invader. If we both survive this assault upon England, we will talk again on this matter regarding Greyfaire Keep.”

  Sir Jasper Keane bowed ingratiatingly several times as he backed from the room, thinking that all was not lost, even if he was not yet Greyfaire’s legal lord.

  When the door had closed behind him, the king turned to his secretary. “Find out!” was all he said.

  “And if it is true?” his secretary asked. “Is it not your purpose in life to solve such problems for me?” the king said coldly. “You will take care of the matter for me, but I do not ever again want to have it mentioned in my presence.”

  “Of course, your majesty,” the king’s secretary said tonelessly.

  “It is my son, Arthur, who will one day be England’s king,” Henry Tudor replied. “I will defeat these rebels and bring a lasting peace to England. There have been too many years of strife.”

  “God is surely on your majesty’s side,” his secretary answered.

  “Aye,” the king said with a smile. “I believe he truly is!” And all of Europe believed, when on the sixteenth day of June in that year of our Lord, 1487, Henry Tudor defeated the diehard Yorkists and the boy they called Edward, Earl of Warwick, but whom the king called Lambert Simnel. The boy, who was ten years of age, was taken into the royal household. Some of the rebels were punished and forfeited their lives. Others were forgiven and paid large fines. A three-year peace treaty was signed between Scotland and England, hopefully guaranteeing the safety of the north. It seemed that God did, indeed, approve of Henry Tudor and the dynasty he was founding.

  Scotland, however, did not benefit from God’s goodwill in that same year. Plague had broken out throughout the countryside. It appeared that another bad harvest was fated, portending another hungry winter. The highland earls and chieftains fought with one another for lack of a common enemy, and grumbled incessantly about the many weaknesses of James III. The weather was horrendous, and the Countess of Dunmor was feuding publicly with the Earl of Dunmor.

  “A month!” Arabella shouted at her husband. “You promised me that when Maggie was a month old you would go to your brother so that he might treat with his fellow king over my daughter’s rights to Greyfaire. She is nine and a half months old, Tavis, and you have not done it! You gave me your word and I accepted it, for you are an honorable man.”

  “Damnit, Arabella,” he roared back at her, “hae ye no concept of anything but yer own desires? Ye know the difficulties that Jemmie faces right now.”

  “They are difficulties of his own making this time, Tavis. You know it as well as I do. Seeking to divert the Earl of Home’s revenues from Coldingham Priory into his own pocket is certainly provocative, my lord, and your brother well knows it! The queen’s death has changed him, Tavis. He is not the man we once knew. In the first months after Queen Margaret’s death he cloistered himself within his own apartments, ignoring the business of his government. Now, suddenly, he has decided he needs another choir, but he does not want to pay for that choir out of his own pocket, so he has reached into Lord Home’s pocket in an act of petty revenge, for Lord Home has spoken out against an English match for Scotland’s royal house.”

  “An English match? ‘Tis nae one wedding Jemmie speaks of, Arabella. ‘Tis three! Himself, Jamie and Ormond, the other James. Three English women wi’ all their servants and personal attendants overrunning the Scots court. One we might accept, but three makes it seem like a conquering invasion of Scotland by England. Can ye nae see that?”

  “All of which has nothing to do with our daughter’s rights to Greyfaire,” snapped Arabella.

  “‘Tis nae a good time to reason wi’ Jemmie, lovey,” the earl said stubbornly.

  “And when will be a good time, Tavis? All hell is about to break loose here in Scotland over your brother’s highhandedness. I know you love him. I do too, but as a king he is not well liked. There are many who would overthrow him given the provocation. His whole life Jemmie Stewart has been indecisive, yet suddenly he has roused himself from his languor and is inviting civil war in the process. Are you aware, my lord, that the king has petitioned Pope Innocent to close Coldingham and divert its revenues to the Chapel Royal at Stirling?”

  “He is the king, Arabella. It is his right,” her husband replied.

  “Lord Home does not think so. God’s foot, my lord, those members of the Home family with a bent to religious orders have always taken those orders at Coldingham Priory. They consider it their priory. For how many generations has a Home sat in the prior’s chair in that religious house? Lord Home himself is the priory’s hereditary bailiff.”

  “The Homes have always been the one great border family who
hae given my brother trouble,” Tavis Stewart said. “He and Lord Home are mortal enemies. They always hae been.”

  “And so the king has taken it upon himself to come out of his stupor and bait them? ‘Tis madness, and again I say it has nothing to do with our daughter’s rights over Greyfaire Keep. You must go to Jemmie and ask him to speak with King Henry. Perhaps this matter will divert him from his path of self-destruction.”

  “It is nae the proper time, lovey.”

  “It is nae the proper time, my lord? There will never be a better time than now for King James to ask King Henry. There is peace between our two countries at this moment. You know as well as I do that if a civil war breaks out, England is apt to break that peace even as Scotland would have broken it had the Yorkists prevailed at Stokefield last June and caused a civil war in England. You cannot be so blind that you do not see that!”

  He was amazed by her grasp of the political situation. How his wee English wife had grown in intellect in the almost three years since he had stolen her from Greyfaire church and married her. It was, of course, his brother’s tutoring. Jemmie had opened the door to Arabella’s mind, and in doing so had lit a fire for learning in her that could not seem to be quenched. She read any and everything she could get her hands on, though God only knew his library was not a large one. While they had been in Edinburgh she had found a stall in the marketplace that sold volumes brought from France and Italy. She was correct in her assessment of the situation, and yet he believed that he was equally correct in his handling of the matter.

  “I cannot go to Jemmie now, lovey,” he said in a tone he hoped conveyed to her that the matter was closed for the time being.

  “If you will not protect our daughter’s rights, my lord, then I must, of necessity, do so myself,” Arabella told him in equally implacable tones.

  The Earl of Dunmor departed his castle to hunt down a wolf that had been terrorizing his villages. He had learned that when his wife was in one of her moods it was best to allow her the space of several days’ time to calm her temper. When he returned home four days later with the wolfskin as a gift which she might use to trim a gown and a cloak, he discovered to his shock that his countess had set forth for Edinburgh almost immediately after he had left Dunmor. The message she had left him was curt and to the point.

  I have gone to the king.

  With a smothered curse the Earl of Dunmor threw the parchment into the fire and glowered at Flora, who had been his wife’s messenger. “Did she take the coach?” he demanded.

  “She rode,” said Flora, “and she would nae hae gone had ye done yer duty by Lady Maggie, my lord.”

  “‘Tis nae the time to approach Jemmie,” he roared at the serving woman, who was not in the least intimidated.

  “There is nae a time that is quite right in this matter, my lord. The king is a good man, but ye’ve spent yer entire life worrying about his delicate sensibilities. If the king is as soft as they say he is, it is because everyone hae treated him so, yet he doesna treat others wi’ the same care. He hae always been like a great clumsy beastie where men were concerned, an ye know it. He offends those who could help him and favors those who but seek the advantage for themselves. He doesna hae any common sense. Yer lady was right to go to Edinburgh and seek yer child’s rights. In the spring the feuding will begin, and there will be nae time for the king to show kindness toward any.”

  “Indeed, Flora, and how do ye know this?” the earl inquired.

  “All the common people know it, my lord. Has it nae always been like this?”

  Her words gave Tavis Stewart food for thought, and upon reflection he realized the truth of those words. His nephew was almost grown, and if not fully mature, was certainly old enough to be successfully used against his father, though not old enough to rule alone without strong guidance. The Earl of Dunmor knew from where that guidance would come. It would come from Archibald Douglas, from the Homes, from the Hepburns of Hailes and other border families. It would become necessary to choose sides, Tavis Stewart knew, if an attempt was made to overthrow his half brother. And what would he do? He didn’t honestly know at this moment.

  He contemplated going after his wife, but then realized chasing after Arabella would make him look foolish, and she had probably considered that very fact when she decided to seek out the king herself. He was angry at her for going, and at the same time he worried about her reception at court. Since his sister-in-law had died, the court had been very much, and quite exclusively, a man’s world. Would Arabella, sheltered and so unversed in such a world, be able to cope?

  Arabella, however, by her very inexperience, had contended quite well. She had traveled up to the capital city with only Lona and a troop of her husband’s clansmen for protection in her train. She had gone immediately to Edinburgh Castle and sought an audience with her brother-in-law, who, for lack of anything else to do, was delighted to see a friendly face.

  “Arabella, lass,” the king said, beaming at her as she curtsied to him. “Where is my brother? Hae he nae come wi’ ye?”

  “Tavis is hunting wolves, my liege,” Arabella said sweetly, “and I have come up to Edinburgh alone to beg a favor of your majesty.”

  “I am deeply fond of Tavis Stewart,” the king replied, “and I would nae do anything that would displease him, lass, even for ye. Yer not at odds wi’ him in this matter ye would raise wi’ me, are ye?”

  “Nay, Sire,” Arabella said. “My husband and I are in complete agreement regarding this matter, but Tavis feels that we should not disturb your majesty at this time. I, on the other hand, feel that the matter, though important to us, will be such a slight thing in your majesty’s eyes that you cannot possibly be disquieted by it. So I have come to Edinburgh to beg a boon of you, Sire.”

  “ Wi’ out yer husband’s knowledge, madame?” the king gently inquired.

  “I left him a note, Sire,” Arabella said innocently.

  The king burst into guffaws of genuine amusement. In the months since his wife’s death he had not found anything so humorous. “She left him a note,” he cackled, poking his favorite, John Ramsey, the Earl of Bothwell, in the ribs. “Why, I’ll wager even now my brother is spurring his horse for Edinburgh! Hee! Hee!”

  “Indeed, my lord,” Ramsey of Balmain replied in a bored tone.

  “Well, lassie,” the king finally said, regaining control of his emotions, “what is it that ye want of me?”

  “You know the story, Sire, of how my husband abducted me from my home. If the truth be known, I have not been unhappy with my marriage, despite its unorthodox beginnings, but I was, Sire, the heiress of Greyfaire Keep. I am the last of the Greys of Greyfaire, and although Tavis has never complained, I brought him no dowry, for Greyfaire was my dowry. When my lord stole me away, the man I was to have wed married my mother instead. She died in childbed several months later, and now, I am told, this man is petitioning King Henry for possession of Greyfaire Keep. It is neither his right nor his heritage. He is a wicked man.

  “I would have my home back, your majesty. Oh, I know I can never again really possess Greyfaire, for I am wed to a Scot and King Henry is no fool to give an English border keep to a Scots earl, but if my daughter Margaret might have Greyfaire, I should rest content. I would allow King Henry to match my child with a bridegroom of his own choosing, and I should send my daughter into that bridegroom’s house to be fostered after her sixth birthday. Greyfaire Keep would then remain in the hands of a descendant of the Greys, which is as it should be, your majesty. Will you not intercede with King Henry for your niece, my lord? Surely he will listen to you, for I am of little importance myself.” Arabella looked up trustingly into the king’s eyes.

  “Och, lassie,” Jemmie Stewart replied, “‘tis indeed a slight request in the scheme of the world, but I can see how important it is to ye that ye would come through late winter weather to see me and ask my aid. Of course I will gie ye that aid! King Henry will see the advantage to such a match, even as I do. Having th
e current King of Scotland’s niece and the future King of Scotland’s first cousin in his power canna be but a pleasant thought to him. I approve of an English marriage. If I can but negotiate a match for myself and my lads, I will regain Berwick back as part of the bargain. What think ye of that, lassie?”

  “Ye will surely silence Bell the Cat, my lord, if you do.” Arabella chuckled. “What will he complain about then, I wonder?”

  “I’m certain he will think of something,” Ramsey of Balmain interjected sharply. He was dressed in garments striped yellow and black, and Arabella thought how very much the slender man resembled a wasp.

  “I think not, my lord,” she replied. “Rather he will be surprised to learn that diplomacy is every bit as successful as war, and far less damaging to both property, not to mention life and limb.” She turned to the king. “You will write to King Henry, my lord?”

  “Aye, lassie, I will, and this very day, I promise ye. Where are ye staying?”

  “At the house on the High Street, Sire. I will but remain the night, and then I must hurry home, for I have left Maggie with a wet-nurse, and she has never before been without me.”

  “Stay wi’in the castle, Arabella, until I hae had my secretary make a copy of the letter I will dictate to him for ye. Then ye may take it back to Dunmor to show my brother that ye didna anger me by yer innocent request. Tell me, lass, is yer bairn named in honor of my own Margaret?”

  “Aye, my lord, she is.” Arabella answered simply. Jemmie Stewart nodded silently, and then with a slight wave of his hand, indicated that she might leave him.

  Arabella curtsied to the king, and dismissed, backed from the room. In the antechamber she found herself face to face with the prince. He had grown even taller in the months since she had last seen him, and although she knew him to be somewhat younger than she was, he had all the appearance of a grown man now.

  His eyes raked her boldly. “Madame, it is good to see ye back at court.” He swept her a bow, catching her small hand up in his and kissing it.