by K. E. Martin
“Dickon has told me something of your mission, Francis,” she said in her gentle, low-pitched voice, “and truly it seems to me that if you are to get this Will into hiding, with none aware of his connection to us here at Middleham, then you had better travel incognito. My lord is unkind to tease you for your finery, which you know becomes you greatly, but I feel you would be remarked much less in something more, well, in something rather more commonplace.”
I loved the Duchess Anne well-nigh as much as I loved my lord of Gloucester. Even as a tiny child she had been able to bend me to her will with her tender reasoning and funny little smile. Too frail and wan for any claim to beauty or even prettiness, nevertheless those that knew her well revered her as though she were the fairest of her sex in all the land.
Gloucester at once dropped his jesting tone and touched his wife’s hand in a gesture that was both protective and approving.
“Anne as ever speaks with wisdom, Frank. You cannot hope to escape notice dressed like that. I suggest you fly back to your peacock’s nest this instant and return in something more akin to the woodcock.”
The Duchess kept her face a study of tranquillity but her shoulders gave a gentle heave and I thought I heard her stifle a gulp of laughter as I turned on my heel and made an undignified exit from the hall. It would have been too much for my prickly hide to bear had Fielding also been present to witness this humiliation but the uncouth gawk was nowhere to be seen and that I counted as a blessing.
In my own chamber once again I disrobed in haste, muttering to myself all the while about the duplicity of princes who encourage a man to dress himself finely on the one day and mock him for so doing on the next.
My anger was fuelled by the knowledge that the Duke and Duchess had the right of it. If I was to go unremarked upon the highway it would be best for me to dress as plain as I could contrive. Rummaging through my coffer, I selected an old black fustian doublet that had decidedly seen better days and this I surmounted with the dun-coloured, hip-length gown I customarily wore for sword and archery practice. The tall boots I kept but the jewelled girdle I removed, albeit with no small regret. After a moment’s reflection I determined that the splendid blue cloak would also have to go. In its place I reluctantly selected a dingy brown affair at least twenty years out of fashion, with a thick rabbit fur lining that was moulting but had the advantage of being warm. At the last, a spirit of rebellion moved me to conceal a spare linen shirt and breeches within the folds of my cloak.
Fielding was with the Duke when I returned to the hall and I took comfort from the knowledge that however plain my appearance might now be, I would be several months dead before I looked as grim as he. I greeted him with a curt nod and summoned a hovering page to serve me bread and ale. As I ate, my lord of Gloucester explained to the sour-faced fellow the plan we had devised thus far.
“It is unsafe for you to bide at Middleham until your innocence is clearly shown, so until that can be achieved you must of necessity go into hiding. I have many friends in these parts who have reason to be grateful to me and it is to one of these that I am entrusting you. I have writ a letter here that will ensure you are kept in comfort and in safety. Master Cranley will ride with you to this place, staying only to see you settled, and then will journey on to Plaincourt to uncover the truth of this sorry matter. What say you to this plan, Will? Does it not put you in mind of another adventure many years since?”
Pretty Will scowled in a manner most unpretty as the scheme was unfolded before him and I tried to guess which part of it displeased him. Of course, I should have known.
“My lord,” he growled, “I appreciate right well the trouble that you take for me and if you say I must go into hiding, then so be it. But damned if I need this grinning coxcomb to coddle me along the way. And think you that Plaincourt will unburden his evil heart as soon as ever this mincing fool rides though his portal? My lord, I beg you not to underestimate Sir Stephen. He is as cunning as a dog fox and as merciless as a hawk. If he suspects Cranley of having aught to do with me he’ll not hesitate to destroy him.”
I kept my countenance bland but made a notch in my memory to repay him some day for his kind description of me. Grinning coxcomb was pardonable but I felt a burning resentment for the mincing fool part. It seemed I was not alone.
“I’ll thank you to hold your tongue, Fielding!” Gloucester barked. “You’ll be well advised to learn some respect for Francis Cranley. Do not be deceived by his light and easy manner for I warn you, if you fall foul of him you’ll have reason to regret it.”
My lord passed a weary hand across his brow and moderated his voice a little.
“Will, think you that I’d entrust your life to some lady-pleasing good-for-naught? To know a man, you must learn to look below the surface. In a fight, there’s none I would sooner have at my side than Francis Cranley and be very sure of this, his wits are every bit as sharp as the keenest blade you ever used to smite a foe. Francis will ride into Plaincourt Manor disguised as a passing minstrel. If his charm is as steady as ever, he’ll be invited to stay on awhile and if that happens, you may be sure he’ll tread as lightly as a moonbeam in a forest.”
I endeavoured to appear menacing and charming all at once but mayhap just succeeded in looking as if my morning ale had turned sour inside my stomach. As it did, just a short moment later.
“Now you must go,” the Duke instructed. “Here, Francis, take this letter and give it to Master Pennicott by way of explanation.”
I stared at my friend Richard, Duke of Gloucester, in absolute dismay.
“Master Pennicott?” I repeated dully. “Master Pennicott, the wool merchant of York?”
“Yes, yes,” my lord replied, “you know him well. Old Pennicott whose sister’s boy fell foul of my brother of Clarence and would doubtless have ended badly, had I not intervened and seen justice done. The old man has a goodly house near the Micklegate, with space aplenty in which to conceal our Will. What ails you, Francis? You look as if you wish to puke.”
With great difficulty I composed my shattered thoughts and made a stern attempt to pull myself together. In company with the Duke and Duchess, Will and I quit the hall and strode across the courtyard to the stables. My mind was still in turmoil and it was some seconds before I noticed that the Duchess was tugging furtively at my sleeve.
“Your lute,” she whispered when once I turned my head in her direction. “You forgot your lute but you will need it for your disguise. I picked it up as we were leaving the hall,” she smiled, retrieving the concealed instrument from under her cloak and passing it to me in one deft movement that went unnoticed by the others. How I blessed the little Duchess then, for I would have reaped a rich harvest of scorn from friend Fielding had I forgotten to bring the lute with me on the journey.
“So much,” I imagined him jeering, “for the much-vaunted sharpness of your wits.”
With her gentle intuitiveness, the Duchess had somehow perceived my sudden distress and although she was unaware of its cause, she strove to protect me from the damage it was at that moment inflicting on my troubled mind. A wonderful lady, Anne of Gloucester, and never better loved by any than she was by me on this occasion.
At the stables, my lord of Gloucester spoke a few more words to Will and to myself but for the most part we mounted in silence and rode away from Middleham with the minimum of farewells. This abrupt leave-taking was in keeping with our plan to draw as little attention as possible to our undertaking but it also suited me right well for once to remain close-mouthed.
Had my temper been fairer I might have bid farewell to Fat Nell, formerly Fair Nell, my old wet-nurse who was recently arrived at Middleham to help with the Duchess’s lying-in when the time came. Aged about five and forty, Nell had long since lost the pink-cheeked, flaxen appeal that had once earned her the accolade of being fair. Nevertheless, since she was the closest thing I possessed to a mother I chose to ignore her alarming girth, multiple chins and irascibility and concentrated in
stead on the childhood memories that her warm, musky smell evoked. Since her arrival at Middleham, it had become my custom to visit her lodgings once or twice a week, taking her a basket of apples, a skinned rabbit or some other trifling gift.
Not that she had ever shown me all that much affection, ever seeming to save her caresses and honeyed words for my noble playmates. Yet it had been she who patched up my boyish injuries, mended the rips in my linen and on one gloriously memorable occasion, lashed out at George when he jeered at me for being a bastard nobody. It was not much of a substitute for motherly love, to be sure, but the starving man gobbles up crumbs as eagerly as comfits.
Knowing I would be gone from Middleham for an unknown period, I did briefly think about calling on Fat Nell to tell her I was heading abroad on the Duke’s business, just in case the greedy old dame was counting on me to keep her stewpot full. I was prevented from doing so by imagining the scorn Fielding would heap on me if I delayed our departure in order to visit my old nurse. In any case, my spirit was too subdued for me to care overmuch about anything save the awkward fact of my current destination. For me, the adventure had lost all its spice since I had learned of Gloucester’s intended hiding place for Pretty Will.
My problem was simple. Old Master Pennicott had an attractive young wife whom I had hoped most fervently to avoid for the rest of my days. Margaret was her name, a joyful and vivacious creature whose laughter had once caught at my heart and brought sunshine to my soul. Margaret, whose kisses tasted of the sweetest wine and whose body intoxicated me as no wine ever has done. Margaret, the girl I had loved with all my heart but known it not until she was lost to another.
Fielding and I rode for the best part of that day in a cold, uncompanionable silence. We did not bother to stop for a noonday meal and paused only once to water and rest our tiring horses. It was well that we left Middleham when we did for I discovered later that the King’s men had arrived at the castle a scant few hours after our departure.
When asked if he knew aught of the whereabouts of a fugitive named Will Yorke my lord had been able to answer with perfect honesty that he had never been introduced to anyone of that name. I frequently had occasion to reflect that if the Duke had not been born of royal blood he would have made a first rate lawyer since his sharp wits and keen grasp of affairs made him a formidable opponent in an argument. He rarely used this talent to his own advantage, believing it beneath the dignity of his position to engage in petty disputes on his own behalf but he would not hesitate to do so for any common petitioner seeking justice.
Since the integrity of the Duke of Gloucester was known throughout the land, the justices saw no reason to question my master’s word when he avowed that the fugitive they sought was not at Middleham. They apologised profusely for their presumption but excused themselves on the grounds that they had been given strong reason to believe they would find Yorke at the castle. It was not made clear who had led them to this conjecture and my lord deemed it wisest not to press the point but after the men had ridden back towards Lincoln he became most uneasy in his mind. As he later told me, he had wished then for some means of sharing with me the intelligence that someone at Plaincourt had been certain Fielding would seek shelter with him. Most of all he feared it augured ill for Will’s lady love since it was she who had suggested Middleham as a place of safety.
Will and I were unaware of these developments as we rode towards York. He was likely engaged in sombre musings of his own while I, try as I would to deflect the thoughts, could concentrate on nothing other than the bitter-sweet memory of the last time I had held Margaret in my arms. My skin still tingled with the thrill of her silken cheek pressed against my own, her shapely form warm and yielding in my embrace. When her soft, sweet lips had brushed the nape of my neck the downy hairs there had sprung up in astonished delight. They did so again as I relived the moment in my mind, surrendering to the blissful recollection like a love-struck imbecile.
Lost in these thoughts and awash with trepidation at the prospect of encountering Margaret once again, I did not immediately hear Fielding as he started to address me.
“Your pardon,” I said with polite disdain when I realised he had been speaking to me for several moments. “My thoughts have been elsewhere this last while. I did not hear what you said.”
My companion shot me one of his wolven stares and I tried to conceal the tiny shudder of repugnance that his countenance summoned from the base of my spine.
“I was saying, Cranley, that I must ask you to forgive the rudeness I have shown you. ‘Twas not meant personal against you, you understand, I just have a natural aversion toward your type. ‘Tis more than likely born of my own foul looks and manners. Whatever the cause, I have never been able to stomach pretty looks and fancy ways in a fellow, they rob him of all manliness in my eyes.”
He paused for a second and coughed mightily, ejecting an impressive stream of steaming green phlegm onto the ground. May the good Lord preserve me for all time, I prayed, from such exhibitions of manly behaviour.
“But I’ve been pondering,” he continued “and must say in fairness that ‘tis hardly your fault how you look. I am glad of your help and regret I have behaved churlish to you. I’m a mean and surly fellow and in general do not care too much for the company of others but I’m willing to try for friendship with you if you’ve a mind.”
It was an awkward little speech and I wondered how two such disparate characters as Fielding and I could ever hope to forge any semblance of a friendship but the sentiment behind the words was honest enough. I leaned across and placed my hand unflinchingly upon the man’s greasy shoulder.
“I’ll gladly be your friend, Will,” I replied, “for my lord of Gloucester values you high and his opinion is good enough for me.”
It was exactly the right thing for me to say, as of course I had known it would be. Fielding’s face broke into a delighted grin that was even more repulsive than his habitual scowl. Fortunately, I was spared further familiarity with my newly acquired friend by the advent of the city of York. It was nearly dark by this time and I needed to concentrate in order to negotiate our way into the city before the gates were shut for the night.
“Best remain silent,” I hissed to Will from the side of my mouth. “If you say nothing there’s less chance of some curious soul recalling you later on. And muffle your face with your cloak,” I added carefully. “Looks such as yours are not easily forgot.”
I feared I might have offended Fielding with these words but apparently his hide was tough enough to rebuff any such hurt. He nodded his head in cheerful acquiescence and followed me as I steered my horse along the cobbled streets of York until we reached the Pennicott’s house. There, without pausing for further thought I flung myself from my horse and rapped my knuckles sharply against the massive iron-studded door. A slight commotion could be heard from within and then there was a brief delay before the door opened slowly and candlelight flooded out onto the street. A thick waisted serving wench stood in the doorway with an irritable look upon her broad peasant face; behind her, picked out from the shadows by a halo of flickering light around her loose hair, stood the mistress of the house, Margaret Pennicott.
I lay that night in the small loft above the Pennicott’s stable, listening to the whickering of the beasts and the song of the wind as it beat against the wooden structure of the building. My stomach was warm still from the delicious fish stew I had devoured with Will, and my body was encased in a snug fleecy blanket loaned by Master Pennicott. The first part of my mission was now complete. After reading and then most carefully burning the letter I brought from my lord of Gloucester, Pennicott had shown us every hospitality and had readily agreed to conceal Fielding for as long as would be needful. He accepted that Will was an old and trusted friend of the Duke’s, forced by unhappy circumstance to flee from those that wished him ill. He forebore to pry into the exact nature of Fielding’s problem and I was grateful for his discretion.
Indeed, I had much
for which to thank good Master Pennicott. Aside from feeding me and assuming responsibility for Will’s safe-keeping, he also offered to provision me for my forthcoming journey, an offer I accepted with alacrity. Pennicott kept a handsome table and I looked forward with relish to consuming the victuals that had been wrapped and placed carefully in my saddle bag. The honest merchant was quite unaware of my erstwhile relationship with his bride and accorded me much greater honour than my modest position as the Duke’s minstrel necessitated. He was in truth an admirable old fellow and I wished that I could like him. Instead, I yearned to close my hands tight about his scrawny old neck and squeeze with all my might until his face turned blue and his rheumy eyes bulged from their sockets.
I wanted poor, harmless Pennicott dead so that never more would I be haunted by the vision of Margaret’s beautiful, clean white limbs lying alongside his withered, ancient frame. I had been offered a cot in the guest chamber that Fielding was to stay in for the duration of his visit but I declined abruptly, maintaining that as I intended to depart at first light I would be more sensibly billeted in the stable from whence I could leave without disturbing the rest of the household. It was a flimsy excuse but Pennicott and Fielding accepted it readily enough.
Only Margaret suspected my real reason for choosing to bed down above the stables. I knew she understood that I could not stomach to lie under the roof she shared with her decent, decrepit husband. She gazed at me long with her deep, dark eyes and I tried to read her inner feelings but if she still retained any store of tenderness for me she buried it deeper than a miser hides his gold. I slept little that night and quit the Pennicott house before even the meanest skivvy was astir. Forget Mistress Pennicott, I told myself as I took the Lincoln road, and turn your wits to Plaincourt and the adventure that awaits you there.
Chapter 4
A Useful Encounter
Plaincourt Manor lies in a rural backwater some twelve leagues north east of Lincoln. I was mounted on a fine smooth-gaited palfrey, strong and well cared for as were all the horses in the Middleham stables, but even so the journey took longer than I had anticipated. It rained incessantly, the cold, dispiriting December rain that chills the bone and depresses the humours. In truth, the foulness of the weather was in perfect harmony with my temper.
