The Woodville Connection

by K. E. Martin

  Since the climactic events of my last day at Plaincourt all thoughts of Yuletide had been driven from my mind but I now recalled how Dickon had tasked me with attending to the festivities before Will Fielding’s arrival had necessitated my employment elsewhere. I found it mildly galling that in my absence he would have assigned the role of lord of misrule to another of his retainers, for I knew that I would have excelled at all the disguisings and revelry. Now young Jack Conyers was perchance enjoying the responsibility, or Thomas Tunstall who was ever a merry fellow. Whomever he had chosen, loyalty to my noble friend obliged me to wish their endeavours on his behalf a success. In any case, I welcomed the thought of all the frivolities to come as they might serve to lift my sombre mood.

  All the way from Plaincourt I had been anxious to reach Middleham as quickly as possible so that I might inform Dickon of all that had passed and discover if he had yet received a visit from the King’s justices. Now I would have to delay a while longer for my friend took his devotions seriously and would not thank me for interrupting him during the Mass of the Divine Word, however pressing the reason. Curbing my impatience with difficulty, I saw that I would have to wait until the feast which would be held in the great hall soon after Mass had finished. Yet even then it could be some time before Dickon was free to speak with me for he would be fully occupied in exchanging Yuletide pleasantries with his retainers as befitted the King’s lieutenant in the north.

  Accepting the inevitable delay with ill-grace, I surrendered our horses to the care of a stable boy and led Matthew to the northwest tower and thence to my chamber, pausing only to cajole a loitering servant into bringing us hot water for washing and bread and ale that we might break our fast.

  “Do not become too accustomed to such luxuries,” I cautioned Matthew, “for soon enough it will be you fetching and carrying for me. I spare you these duties today simply because you are new here and would doubtless lose yourself searching for the kitchen.”

  I was jesting, of course, since I knew that like me the lad was far too travel weary to do aught but wash, eat a mouthful of bread and snatch a few moments of sleep. Nevertheless I expected him to make some sort of reply but when he made none I understood that he was in shock, awed by the scale and grandeur of Middleham. My apartment did little to lessen his astonishment since it was large, well-appointed and richly furnished. In truth, nothing I had told him about my personal circumstances could have prepared him for the grandness of my lodgings.

  In the centre of the chamber stood my massive bed draped with elegant blue hangings embroidered all over with white roses, the emblem of the House of York, and Dickon’s personal device of the white boar. In the corner of each hanging the outline of a small, one-eared fox had recently been added, the gift of the Duchess who knew it for the Cranley device. As a bastard I had no automatic right to use the device but the Duchess argued that since my father had acknowledged me as his son he would assuredly have granted me the right had he lived. When appealed to for his opinion Dickon had concurred, though whether from true conviction or a desire to please his cherished wife I could not say.

  Now Matthew gazed in wonderment at this bed which I confess I had long since learned to take for granted, and then back at me.

  “That’s where thee dost sleep?” he asked incredulously. “Just thee, and nay other? And thee’s truly a minstrel as thee didst say, and not a lord?”

  I laughed at his confusion and agreed that this was so. When his perplexity continued unabated I realised it was necessary to explain to him the special nature of my relationship with my lord of Gloucester.

  “Matthew, I have the rare privilege to be on very close terms with the Duke. In fact you could say that I am his brother in all but fact,” I told him proudly.

  “We were raised together from infancy and the friendship that was formed then has survived and strengthened. Since my lord of Gloucester is the most good and generous of men it pleases him to treat me kindly and spare me no comfort, as you see. Yet you must understand, Matthew, that though I am fortunate to stand high in my noble friend’s affections, to the world at large I am a nobody, nothing but the bastard son of an unimportant adherent of the House of York. All that I have, I have because Richard, Duke of Gloucester calls me friend. Remember, that is the only reason for all this,” I finished, gesturing at my snugly appointed apartment.

  Flushed with excitement, Matthew nodded his head eagerly.

  “Aye, master, I’ll be sure I dost remember that. But master, I’m that glad to be thy servant!” he exclaimed happily.

  We were interrupted at that moment by the arrival of our water and victuals. Having washed and then eaten sparingly of the soft white bread, not caring to spoil my appetite for the forthcoming Yuletide feast, I kicked off my boots and threw myself appreciatively onto the yielding softness of my bed. I was on the verge of closing my eyes when I recalled that I had not told Matthew where he was to sleep, so I pointed to the low truckle beneath my bed which was brought out whenever young Frank Lovell visited Middleham. The castle boasted chambers enough for him to have one all to himself but he and I had been on amiable terms for many years and though his rank placed him far above my humble status, it pleased him to pass his nights on the truckle at the foot of my bed so he might recall events from our shared past. Now Matthew arranged himself on Lovell’s truckle and with no further speech between us we drifted into sleep.

  We were snatched from our slumbers a scant few minutes later by a loud hammering at the door of my chamber. I was fuzzy-headed and still cursing the interruption when Matthew leapt to his feet and threw the door open, revealing the servant who had brought us the water and food. The diligent busybody had taken it upon himself to inform the Duke of my return the instant he had emerged from the chapel and now Dickon was demanding an immediate audience with me.

  Bidding Matthew to stay where he was, I pulled on my boots, ran my fingers through my hair in a largely fruitless attempt to straighten it and then made haste to my lord of Gloucester’s privy chamber. When I entered I saw that Anne was with Dickon and they both greeted me warmly, gently mocking my kneeling obeisance and directing me to be seated on the stool placed before them. When she caught sight of my battered face the gracious Duchess was much alarmed, so much so that I considered it well my other injuries were hidden from view. Dickon guessed at them, I was sure, for he frowned when I eased myself over-carefully onto the stool but refrained from commenting.

  At a signal from the Duke a page poured me a cup of wine and then softly made his way from the chamber.

  “So then, tell us everything,” the Duchess urged me without further ado.

  “Gladly, my lady, “I began, “but first if you will forgive me I would know if the King’s justices have been here already, demanding you give up to them a man they believe to be a murderer. If they have delayed their coming thus far they will not do so much longer so we must hold ourselves in readiness. I fear they have been primed to come by those that wish you ill, it is a part of the diabolical plot that I uncovered at Plaincourt Manor.”

  Dickon smiled grimly at these words.

  “My friend, the justices were here the very day you left.”

  He shook his head and stared glumly into the fireplace.

  “Had you delayed your departure by a few hours poor Will would have been discovered and likely hanged by now.”

  I had always known that the justices would likely reach Middleham before my return from Plaincourt but all the same I found myself disheartened by the rapidity of their arrival. I suppose that against the odds I had hoped they would allow their own Yuletide celebrations to delay them from pursuing their duties so assiduously. Now the knowledge that they had wasted no time in riding for Middleham drove home to me the seriousness of the charge against Fielding and the perilous predicament he was in. Moreover, the sombreness of Dickon’s tone was alarming me. Had things gone awry during the justices’ visit to the castle?

  The kind Duchess saw my anxious face a
nd took pity.

  “Look not so forlorn, Francis,” she instructed me, “Dickon teases you. It is true that the justices were here but my clever lord bested them without uttering a falsehood.”

  She looked admiringly at her husband as he took up the story.

  “With an outward show of apology and humility the knaves nevertheless had the impudence to tell me they had been given cause to believe I was harbouring a vicious fugitive, a fellow by the name of Will Yorke. Mercifully I was able to swear a solemn oath that no one of that name was being given succour within my castle.

  “I gave them leave to make a search if they doubted my word but being for the most part decent, stout-hearted northerners they accepted what I said with good grace. All but one cunning fellow who probed further, demanding to know if I had knowledge of the whereabouts of this Will Yorke.

  “This question did give me pause, for reasons you will readily comprehend, so I answered carefully that I had never known any man by that name. It is no less than the truth since my troubled friend’s true name is Will Fielding, not Will Yorke, yet even so I regretted the necessity to dissemble with those honest men.

  “At any rate they left satisfied that their quarry was not be found at Middleham and that at least was no lie. Now, Francis, I trust you are ready to tell me of your discoveries at Plaincourt Manor, for I fear I have annoyed the entire household by ordering the feast put back an hour that we might have this discourse.”

  Thus commanded, I gave a report of all the events that had unfolded at that blighted place, speaking succinctly as the Duke preferred but taking care to leave out no salient detail. The Duchess gave little murmurs of horror and sympathy at various stages of the story but Dickon made no comment and maintained his silence a long while after I had concluded my account. When finally he spoke his first words expressed his profound dismay at discovering the depth of immorality inherent in Rivers’ character.

  “Jesu, Francis!” he exclaimed softly. “Of course I have always distrusted him, as I distrust all his kin, but I never conceived of him being as black as this. His complicity in the murder of that pitiful boy is a thing that repels my soul. Anne, Francis, you will both say I am wrong yet I cannot shift the feeling that I bear a measure of blame for the lad’s death since we know that Rivers’ purpose in aiding his monstrous friend was to lessen my brother’s regard for me.”

  The Duchess cried out at this and implored Dickon not to say such a detestable thing nor even think it. I held my peace; I knew that in time his thoughts would clear and he would see that he bore no responsibility in the matter but for now he was hurting and no words of mine would help. Perhaps my silence reminded Dickon that I might be suffering guilt pangs of my own for he shook off his brooding and clasped an arm about my shoulders.

  “I must thank you, my friend, for your valiant efforts to save the life of that foolish woman. Witch or no, I cannot deny it would have been better had she lived for then she might have stood witness against Rivers and Plaincourt but Frank, I entreat you to feel no culpability for her death. I know you did all that you could to free her and put your own life in jeopardy in the process.

  “Now we must make shift without her as best we can. On the morrow I will write to the King and appraise him of all you have uncovered. It may be that he will not heed me but I must try all the same. It is perilous for him to repose such deep trust in Rivers now that the full measure of his poisonous character has been revealed. Truly, if I cannot shake my brother’s faith in his brother-in-law I do not doubt that one day we will all have cause to regret it.

  “As for Stephen Plaincourt himself, he must pay for his unnatural crime against his brother’s son with his own worthless life. I will ask the King to ensure he is brought swiftly to justice. And Will’s name must be cleared. I cannot suffer poor Will to pay for the actions of those evil creatures.”

  His flow of discourse was broken by a discreet tap at the door followed by the entrance of the chamberlain, come to inform the Duke and Duchess that the kitchen could delay the feast no longer. Dickon exchanged a fond smile with his wife and then took her hand and helped her to her feet.

  “So then,” he said firmly, “let us put these cares away for the nonce and surrender ourselves to goose and frumenty. Francis, summon this new servant of yours. I am agog to see him and fancy he will greatly relish the mummeries that Tom Tunstall has been devising.”

  ***

  My noble friend was right, Matthew did indeed relish the mummings, as he did the mystery plays, the carolling, the hot lambswool beer with apples bobbing on the surface and most particularly the swan roasted with butter and saffron. Every part of Christmas at Middleham was a new delight to him and it gladdened me to see his eager enjoyment of it all.

  For my own part, fatigue had caught up with me early on in the feast and near propelled me face first into my venison. As soon as was polite I murmured an excuse and slipped away to my chamber, catching sight as I exited the great hall of Matthew coaxing a buxom laundry wench towards the kissing bough.

  The following morn I watched as my lord of Gloucester wrote a letter in his own hand to the King, appraising him of the Plaincourt Manor affair. When he had sealed it he summoned James Metcalfe, his fastest and most reliable messenger, and instructed him to make haste to Westminster where he was to deliver the letter into none but the King’s own hand.

  This matter dealt with, the Duke and Duchess sat together in front of the enormous Yule log that burned brightly in the hearth of the great hall, awaiting with good humour the next piece of foolishness ordered by Tom Tunstall, our northern lord of misrule. Though I was mildly interested to see what diversion he had concocted, I soon absented myself as I had another more pressing matter requiring my attention.

  On a visit to York in November I had purchased a generous length of crimson flannel, intending it as a Twelfth Night gift for my old nurse. Now I fetched it from my chamber for I had decided to give it to the old dame a few days early in order to curry favour with her. Fat Nell was possessed of a famously uncertain temper. I was relying on the flannel to sweeten it since I needed some questions answered and only she could provide them.

  I found her as I had suspected, guzzling ale in the cosy den she had made for herself in a corner of the nursery. She greeted me warmly enough, especially when her acquisitive eye spied the bundle under my arm, and thanked me kindly for the flannel when I had unrolled it from its protective sacking and presented it to her. Thus far all had gone well but nevertheless I was feeling edgy and strangely reluctant to begin my questioning. Stalling for time, I asked her if she had yet broken her fast and without waiting for a reply, hot-footed it downstairs to the bakehouse from where I cadged two pastry-wrapped umbles.

  When I returned to the nursery Fat Nell accepted a pastry from me and then brusquely demanded that I stop playing the fool and tell her my business. As sharp of brain as she was of tongue, she had been set alert by the oddness of my manner and was primed for trouble. Even so, I took her unawares with my first question.

  “What was my mother’s name?” I asked her.

  Her fat-drowned eyes widened but as ever she was ready with a cutting riposte.

  “What nonsense is this? You great jackanapes, why in the Blessed Virgin’s name would you ask me that? That nasty trull abandoned you when you were no more’n a few weeks old and that’s all you need know of her.”

  “This I know, since you have kindly mentioned it to me many times before,” I told her, biting out each word clear and crisp so that she would understand I was not to be browbeaten by her this day.

  “And yet I find I am curious and do wish to know, so be a good nurse and answer me. You are the only living soul of my acquaintance that ever met her. I would know my mother’s name and I would know it now.”

  Though she heaved her colossal chest in evident disapproval, the fat old dame knew she must give me an answer for she could tell I would not leave off asking until she did.

  “Very well, lord hig
h and mighty,” she said mockingly. “Since you command it I will tell you though it baffles me why you need to know so sudden when you never thought to ask her name before today.

  “In truth I never knew her given name but your father called her Fayette. I once heard someone ask him why he called her that, making it plain it was not her real name. He answered that he did so on account of her being as tiny and perfect as a fairy or some such outlandish nonsense.”

  It was the name I had been both anticipating and fearing and it led me to ask a second question.

  “Did you ever hear word of her again? I mean, after she abandoned me, did you ever hear word of her again and if so, did you hear tell that she had borne another child?”

  “I did not,” Fat Nell replied quickly, much too quickly. “I never heard of the worthless baggage again and never wanted to neither. Any mother that runs off without her babe and leaves him like to die is not deserving of the name. Now be off with you, Francis. Leave me in peace. You were ever a bothersome brat and I see manhood has not changed you for the better.”

  “You’re lying,” I hissed at her, causing her chins to wobble alarmingly.

  “I know that you are lying. I have always found you an easy book to read. Your eyes turn meaner than ever and you fold your fingers and hide your thumbs inside them. You did it when I was a child, whenever you said you liked me as well as George and Dickon, and when you told George he was as handsome as the King.

  “So you see, dearest nurse, I am certain you are lying when you protest that you know nothing more about my mother. Well then, here is something else for you to know. I will not leave your side, I will be your shadow, badgering you day and night until you tell me what you know, you mean-spirited, mendacious old sow.”

  It was harshest I had ever spoken to Fat Nell and she crumbled in the face of my anger. Between sobs and insults, she told me what I wanted to know.