The Maiden and the Unicorn

by Isolde Martyn

  She gave a small, happy sigh, hugging to herself the sight of Ned with the great golden chain across his broad shoulders and the ring of England weighing upon his finger, grinning at her. The aroma of temporal power exuded from him but there were subtle enemies to greatness. He might still majestically dwarf the world around him but there was now an increased heaviness about his girth that was emphasized by the pleated red and gold embroidered brocade doublet, and even the hint of jowl beneath his jawline.

  Flinging himself into the chair opposite her with a smile, he sprawled in the relaxed way she remembered so well, his long legs stretched out to the hearth.

  "Do I pass examination, Meg?" he mocked.

  "Oh, dear," she exclaimed. "Am I that transparent?"

  "I am sure that ten years of being mobbed by scrofulous beggars, begetting princesses, and ruling a realm of willful lords has done its damage." He was right. Time had also chiseled cynical curves about his mouth and carved deep lines from the corners of his eyes.

  "To be truthful, you are looking heavier. Does it bother your horse?"

  The smile twitched at the corners of his mouth and spread until it mirrored her own teasing expression and his laughter filled the room. "No, only the Queen complains."

  The page scurried in like a little mouse, set the pot of mulled wine upon the hearth, and shifted a tray of chased silver goblets from the table to the royal footstool. Ned dismissed him with a wave and perused her kindly.

  "So now what do you want of me, Ned?" asked Margery softly. It was a risk to call him by the name he had once allowed her but she needed to remind him of her ruin. "Why am I here?"

  "You do not know?" He sounded surprised.

  "Your grace, acquiring information from your wretched Receiver is like trying to extract a healthy tooth from a dragon."

  The King lazily stretched his arms above his head, raising his eyebrows as if he were not sure how to answer before letting his arms drop and reaching out a nonchalant hand for the ladle. "Well, there are amends to make— Ouch!" He swore as the metal burned him. "But first your news."

  He gave her his full attention, waiting on her himself with wine and sweet cakes and only interrupting softly now and then as she told him how she had been swiftly sent away from Warwick castle in disgrace in case she was with child by him, of the time in the nunnery and how her exile had lasted until the recent Yuletide. With care, she explained how she had spent the time since then with the Countess and her daughters while Warwick and Clarence had provoked the rebellion in the north. Then her sentences grew superlatives. The King listened frowning to her narration of how Richard Stone had suddenly abducted her and his royal jaw slackened somewhat as Margery ended, reiterating, "Ned, I implore you if you send for me again, please do not have me abducted in a vegetable sack, trussed like a fowl."

  He once more offered her the plate of oatcakes before he answered. "Touching your honor, though?"

  She laughed. "My… my questionable honor has not been touched."

  "I am relieved to hear you say that."

  "But what I do not understand, my liege, is why you had me brought to you."

  The King did not answer at first. His chin slumped on his chest; he stared dreamily into the fire. The crackling of the logs dominated the silence between them.

  Eventually he raised his head. "Your present situation concerns me greatly. With the Earl a fugitive, you need a protector."

  "Why, I suppose that's true." She shrugged ruefully. "But at least I have no guardian telling me what to do."

  "Oh, yes, you have, my Meg. That task falls to me. It seems you need a husband, Margery of Warwick. A worthy respectable man to protect and honor you. You have worn a harlot's necklace because of me and that must end."

  "Oh, no!" she exclaimed vehemently. "Your grace is generous but I cannot accept."

  "Nonsense, Meg dear, you must allow me to compensate you for your ruined virtue."

  "Ned… my liege lord… please listen to me." She leaned forward, her hands twisting in her lap. "I would rather earn my keep than be in any man's debt. Is there a place for me as a servant in the Queen's household?" She knew the answer even before her king gave a deep sigh and shook his head. "Because of my ignoble birth?"

  "Let us just say that you are one of Warwick's household. My Queen is not overly fond of those who wear the Neville badge."

  Margery tried to hide her disappointment. "I suppose she knows of me as well."

  "Yes, I imagine she does. You see, it would not suit." He leaned back and regarded her thoughtfully. "I do have an office that you may perform. Something that you of all people could do better than any other servant we possess." There was the weight of kingship in his voice now. "If you can accomplish this successfully, we shall give you an annuity and the independence you so wish for."

  "I, your grace? What could I possibly do?"

  "Heal the breach between me and my treacherous kinsmen. I want you to find Warwick and Clarence wherever they are and give them letters. They have to be brought back into the sheepfold."

  "Surely, your grace, the situation is past my capability as a sheepdog. You have whistled and they have made away with half the flock. If the Countess speaks true, there is too much hurt between my lord and you."

  She remembered the Earl white-hot with anger a few weeks past at the mere mention of Ned's name.

  "Do you want them to remain in exile, Meg, or see another war?" As she shook her head gravely at him, he sat forward. "I need a messenger that no one will suspect to carry secret letters to my brother Clarence. All of us wish him to know we still love him well despite his treachery."

  "All?"

  "Yes, all the brood of York. Dickon, Bess, Anne probably, although she is too busy cavorting with her lover, and, of course, Mother." He jiggled his fingers, counting off his sisters. "And Meggy, too, no doubt. Her husband Burgundy will be watching events very carefully." He clapped his hands to his cream hose knees. "That's all, sweet heart. It is not too much to ask, is it? I want you to see my brother Clarence privily and tell the wretch I shall forgive him."

  Such a mission would be the answer to Margery's problems. She would be back where she belonged in Warwick's household. Stone's intervention would have been a mere hiccup. What she did not like was deceiving her guardian.

  "But what of my lord of Warwick? I cannot go behind his back. If it had not been for him, I should be scrubbing kitchen floors or starving on the street."

  "Oh, you may certainly bear an offer of a pardon to him but I doubt that he will give it credence. The die are cast, Meg. Warwick wanted to rule the kingdom through me but he mistook his man. He presumed too much. I am the anointed king even if he did help me to the crown." He leaned across to pat her knee. "Even you, sweet heart, were another quarrel between us. But my fickle brother is another matter. I am sure that he can be persuaded."

  "Ned, I doubt that the Duke will even listen—"

  The King caught her hands within his large graceful fingers. "Try. He knows that you and I are close, Meg. If you can be my voice and lure him back, then Warwick will be alone in Calais without allies and will be forced to make his peace with me."

  His flattery was as heady as firewater but she could not help asking, "And if I refuse?"

  Ned looked extremely surprised. "Why should you?"

  "Because I… you must forgive me saying this… to be honest, your grace, I am appalled at what I saw in the marketplace on my way here. Those poor wretches were only obeying their lord."

  Ned rose haughtily. "How refreshing you are, my dear Margery. It seems the nuns made no improvement to your manners." He leaned against the wall beside the hearth, scowling at the glowing embers for a moment before he turned. "We respect your sentiments—and your courage in saying such things to our face—but those men were traitors to us. The manner of their death was not to our liking either, if you desire the truth. But before you take us to task further, consider that we could have had old King Harry put to death instead of
keeping him alive in the Tower. As for my noble lord of Warwick, he had no scruples in ordering our wife's father and her brother slain to satisfy his jealousy. Do not preach to us of Warwick's purity!"

  She bit her lip, her eyes downcast, wondering whether she had best fall upon her knees. "I beg your grace's pardon." Jesu, Ned could order a painful death for her with a snap of his fingers.

  He stooped and tipped her face up to regard her sternly. The fury had faded from his voice. "Oh, Meg, your candid nature was a treasure I always appreciated. But, sweet heart, Worcester had to make an example of them. I must have an end to these constant rebellions. You can help me achieve this if you will go to Calais for me and there will be no more hangings. Say you will." At least he was speaking as a man again.

  Margery pulled back. "This is why you sent for me, is it not? Have I a choice?"

  "A choice, yes, of sorts. I am desperate enough to threaten you. If you do not wish to earn a reward by serving me then I must make other provision for you. You shall most certainly have a husband. We cannot have you unprotected in the world and we owe you that at least. How would an old man with bad teeth and a rat-ridden castle on the Scottish border suit you?"

  She was not sure how much he was in earnest. There was a ruthlessness in him that she had not glimpsed before.

  She rose and faced him, as much as one could face a giant. Her eyes explored his face, discovering no remorse. "You do not frighten me, Ned. I asked you for my independence. Six years I have served you on my knees."

  The King smiled sardonically down at her, like a great golden cat toying with a mouse. "I shall show some leniency then. You shall have the man who brought you here."

  That did touch her on the raw. Margery's bravado vanished and she stared up at him speechless. "He has prospects," purred Ned. '"From what you say, he has dishonored your reputation—far more than I have—by abducting you. So let him make amends by marrying you. We shall give him lands and offices to sweeten the bargain."

  "No!" She recoiled. The thought of being completely in Richard Stone's power for the rest of her life was unthinkable.

  "So vehement, my sweet?" Ned's finger reached out to stroke her cheek. "Come now, you must be realistic. He is a prize for a landless lovechild like yourself. What other prospect have you of making such a match?" His tone lightened. "I believe he is from Cumbria. It is beautiful in summer, they say, although I confess I have heard it rains more there than in the rest of England."

  He knew his quarry, Margery thought angrily. The threat had sunk into her as keenly as a shaft but she was not beaten.

  "And he is welcome to populate it but not by me." She stormed away from him. "I had as lief lie with a wet log."

  "Cruel one!" Shaking with laughter, he took a stride after her, pulled her around, swung her up into the air, and caught her to his great breast. "He is a proper man." He set her down and, bending his head, kissed her full upon the mouth. She made no resistance, her contrary mind wondering how Richard Stone would kiss.

  Raising his head, the King's gaze explored her eyes and lips. "That was a wondrous week we shared but what say you to a house in Chelsea, a few minutes by boat from Westminster?"

  It was like old times. Margery blinked at him in sheer delight that he should even suggest she become his mistress once again but as far as she was concerned the fire that had burned between them was cold. Smiling, she shook her head at him, her cheeks pinkening.

  "Ned, put me down." She laughingly raised her hands against his chest to push him away. "Remembering what we shared sustained me through those long years of punishment but we are both changed. I love you still but as a loving subject and I will go to Calais and do as you say for England, to make a peace between you and my lord of Clarence. I can do you better service there, believe me."

  "You are sure the thought of rearing little Cumbrians does not appeal?"

  She turned her head from side to side and looked at him now without fear or passion. It was as if the sea had washed across what was written on the sand between them and made it whole again.

  "Excellent." The chime of the hour bell distracted him. His manner became more businesslike. "Well, that is settled now. You shall take a ship on today's evening tide with a bulging purse of gold for your expenses. If any ask from now on, say you are rejoining the Duchess Isabella's household. Once you reach Calais, you must trust no one and put a guard on that warm heart and honest tongue of yours. I shall speak with you again before you sail. Go now and seek out my brother Gloucester. Blame him if you will for this enterprise for it was his notion that you should be our carrier pigeon." She curtsied. "And, Margery"—he set the wimple back over her head and tucked the fair tendrils out of sight—"if you succeed in this, console yourself that you will save many men's lives." Then with a swift kiss upon her fingers, he saw her to the door.

  Once more in the outer chamber, she stood still, both excited and apprehensive of the task that lay ahead. Stone was waiting for her. He detached himself from the group warming themselves around a brazier to take her arm, drawing her to one side with ill-concealed impatience. She assumed he was angered at being excluded.

  "What is decided?" he asked. "You look perturbed."

  "I am to sail for Calais after all to rejoin the Duchess Isabella."

  "What!" he exclaimed with an oath, letting go of her arm in amazement. His sudden lack of control astonished her. "That is too dangerous. To send you into exile when—" He strode away from her several paces, his face turned away, his shoulders rigid with fury. A royal page in the King's livery coughed politely at his elbow. The King's Receiver turned, disdain frozen on his features.

  "His grace the King commands you attend him, sir."

  "Does he now." His eyes blazed at her. "When are you to leave?"

  "Tonight."

  "Tonight!"

  The page tugged at his sleeve, "Now, sir!" but he shook the boy away.

  "That is outrageous. He might at least…" The page looked embarrassed and everyone in the antechamber became suddenly very interested in what Master Stone had to say next, but he rapidly swallowed any treasonous utterance. "Very well!" he snapped at the boy. "Mistress, you—"

  "Master, the King—"

  "Yes, I hear you." He started toward the doors of the King's chamber, then he swung around again to face Margery. "There is something you should know."

  "His grace is waiting!" The boy's voice was peevish. The men-at-arms opened the doors to the King's chamber.

  "Margery!" The voice of the Duke of Gloucester, Ned's youngest brother, made her spin around in delight.

  "Believe me, you have to know—"

  By the time she looked back to Master Stone, however, the doors had closed behind him. Margery, her cheeks pink as roses, was oblivious of the outraged petitioners. She was too pleased to see her old childhood friend, the Duke of Gloucester, to wonder why Richard Stone should be so angry and what he could possibly tell her that was so vital.

  Richard ran through the Water Gate onto Southampton's bustling south quay and paused, short-breathed, to gaze as if blinded. A dozen vessels of varying bulk were tethered at the wharves, like cows in milking stalls, and there were more out on Southampton Water.

  "Looking for someone, master?" A boy no higher than his belt planted himself firmly in front of Richard's boots.

  "You know everyone, do you!" he snarled as a flat, grubby palm rose expectantly. "The carrack Winchelsea?" Even as the coin left his purse, he guessed the answer. A dirt-clogged fingernail pointed to a distant sail well on its way toward the Isle of Wight.

  His finely clad shoulders lost their stiffness, his lower lip curled in bitter, silent fury against the King. So that was why the Keeper of the Privy Seal had been interrogating him as to the potential of every manor he had seized in the King's name. Whoresons!

  Flinging his flapping cloak up over his shoulder, he strode miserably to the water's edge and down the stone steps. His dark, vehement words notched up an extra week in Purgatory a
nd, overheard, would have sent him to oblivion in a Tower dungeon. Heedless of the indifferent waves retreating from his bootcaps, he might have stood beneath the bleak sky until the tide returned to douse him had Matthew not disturbed his misery.

  "I have saddled Comet, sir. I knew you'd want to ride." Richard tore his unseeing gaze slowly away from the barnacled piers and turned sourly. His servant eyed him with caution. " 'Cept you've grand company. His grace of Gloucester awaits you."

  It was no lie; a great white stallion danced proudly next to Comet at the eastern end of the quay and the slight youth who sat astride him, his fur collar risen against the bitter wind, was watching falconlike.

  The King's Receiver wanted no company. He wanted to drown his fury and wake in misery with the mother of all headaches gnawing at his temples, but the King's brother, heir to the throne now that George, the Duke of Clarence, was attainted, was not a man to disobey. Dully he started walking back along the quay.

  The white stallion and its rider separated from the retinue and disdainfully met him. The pale face of Richard of Gloucester looked gravely down at him. "I am sorry," said the seventeen-year-old youth, thrusting out his gloved hand.

  "As your grace pleases," answered Richard coldly, brushing the Duke's signet ring against his lips.

  "Come!" Gloucester dismissed his entourage with a wave and touched his spurs to his horse's flanks. Richard had little choice but to swiftly throw himself into the saddle and follow those hooves to where the quay joined the land and down across that cold glimmering left by the receding waves and through the meandering ranks of abandoned sea-weeds. If Gloucester wished to command his time, he was past caring.

  Spatters of sand tossed up before him, and his own horse leaped forward in chase. The Duke gave full spur and headed east through a scattering of trees to the coast road. Richard narrowed the distance, aware that two of the Duke's armed grooms were following him some twenty paces behind. The heady gallop helped some of the painful heaviness to disperse. The cold evening wind lifted his cloak and buffeted him so that by the time the Duke drew rein, Richard's face was wind-slapped and glowing.