Cicely entered the remembered first-floor room reluctantly. She felt Jack’s presence so keenly.
‘Tal, I would rather have simply walked around in the snow than come here.’
‘A king’s daughter cannot be expected to trudge the snowy streets.’ He began to help her with her cloak and hood.
She wasted no time on pleasantries. ‘Tell me what happened.’
‘Your husband has not told you?’
‘I would like to hear it from you as well.’
‘Please be seated, my lady, that I may sit too. I am old enough to be your father, maybe even your grandfather, so take pity, I pray.’ He indicated the only chair, which was by the smoking fire.
‘I prefer to stand.’
‘As you wish.’ He removed his outer clothes and placed them on a table, being careful to take what she took for a small book of hours from the pocket inside the cloak. It was bound with red silk, and embroidered in silver with a droop-eared hound that seemed familiar.
‘Is the hound your cognizance, Tal?’ she asked.
‘No.’ He placed his gauntlets over the book, to deter further questions.
She felt embarrassed, until he indicated the chair again. ‘Please sit, my lady, for I feel awkward talking like this.’
She sat on the edge of the bed instead, and on almost reaching foolishly for Jack’s hand, made herself concentrate on Tal instead. This was the first time she had been able to observe him properly. The snow reflected from rooftops outside, giving him a cool sheen, and she had a feeling he was connected with military matters. He wore a very plain leather brown tunic, belted low on his hips, and the gold chain and its religious pendants. She could imagine him at the gates of Jerusalem, holding Christ’s banner aloft and brandishing a sword.
From their first meeting, she had felt he subjected her to judgement, and so, rather childishly, asked him about the book again, because she knew he did not want to discuss it. ‘Your book of hours is very beautiful.’
‘It is a book of poetry.’
The answer took her aback. Now he was a Crusader poet?
He countered question with question. ‘Did you know that your husband considers the matter that led to Jack’s death to be treasonous?’
She was thunderstruck. ‘I—I know he considers it to be dangerous and does not want me to become involved in any way, but … treasonous?’
‘I agree with him. Events at Knole were—’
‘Knole? I only knew it was Kent. Jon would not say where, or why, but he did describe what happened.’ That explained Morton’s mess of feathers, she thought.
‘My lady, does Jon Welles believe he killed Jack?’ The question was blunt.
‘He does, but at the same time he questions it.’
‘Does he think I did?’
‘No. Neither of us does, unless it was to spare Jack from terrible torture.’
Tal’s eyes were bright. ‘I loved Jack de la Pole as if he were my son, and would have lain my life down for him. Instead, he laid his life down while I escaped. Can you imagine how wretched that makes me feel?’
She nodded. ‘I believe so.’
He recovered a little. ‘Your husband is right to doubt his sole responsibility for what happened.’
‘Jon told me that someone assaulted Henry and cut up his clothes. I imagine it was you.’
‘Why should I deny it?’
‘You did not kill him when you had the chance?’
‘And have the Tudor and Lancastrian wolves close in to devour England during Arthur’s minority? Filled with hatred I may be, but I still have my faculties. I want Tudor and his offspring hurled aside, so ridiculed and deserted, they can never take the throne again.’
She nodded. ‘I understand. So, you then took Jack’s body…?’
‘Body? Oh, he was not dead then.’
Her lips parted. ‘But Henry said—’
‘I would not believe a word that Welsh turd said, even with his hand on the Bible. Perhaps least of all with his hand on the Bible. All I know is that I went back to that room and saw the King of England standing over Jack, who was most certainly alive. By then he was not only wounded by your husband’s dagger, but his left shoulder had been almost wrenched from its socket, to cause him as much agony as possible. And Henry was reaching for the other shoulder. He was torturing the man he hated.’
‘Surely not even Henry would—’ she began, a little foolishly.
‘Do not be naïve, lady! Have you forgotten what he did to John of Gloucester?’
Cicely looked away. ‘So, if you had not returned when you did…?’
‘Henry would have murdered Jack.’
She fought against believing it, not of the Henry who could be so warm and gentle. But she knew he had another side, a deeply unpleasant side that he could not always control. And that he sometimes chose not to control. He could be like a dry plant pod, suddenly shattering so that its seeds catapulted in all directions. That was the uncertain temper of Henry Tudor. All could be quiet, until that sudden snap …
Tal continued. ‘Jack only remembered being in the great hall, but I know what happened after that. I managed to get him out of the house.’ He described the flight to the horses. ‘I thought he had got away. I do not know what happened after he left me, except that I saw his riderless mount and then the searchers leading a horse with his body flung over it like panniers.’
Cicely told him what Jon had told her. Tal turned away, his voice tight. ‘So, Jack de la Pole has had an even more humiliating burial than Richard?’
‘Yes.’ She swallowed. There was silence, until she asked, ‘What was so very important about that meeting? And how did you and Jack know?’
Tal drew a long breath. ‘We learned from an agent, since murdered. Henry has a bastard son, whose name has since been confirmed to me as Roland du Coskäer.’
‘If you think to surprise me about this boy, you do not. I know Henry has a by-blow, although that is all I know. The name means nothing to me. And I only know because Henry let it slip himself.’
As she spoke, a snatch of conversation with Henry returned to her, when she had asked about the woman he had once loved.
‘Who was she, Henry?’
‘No one I wish to speak of.’
‘Did she hurt you so much?’
‘She did not hurt me, Cicely, I hurt her. By leaving her.’
Tal spoke again. ‘Roland’s mother is a woman called Tiphaine du Coskäer, born de Rieux. Both families are Breton and noble. Her brother is now Chief Minister of Brittany, so she is not a serving girl.’ He described what he had observed at Honfleur, when Henry left to invade England, and then added pointedly, ‘She was consumptive, I am sure, so if Tiphaine passed it to Tudor, then he may very well pass it to you. You do understand that?’
‘Yes.’ She knew the danger.
‘We wander from the point. Suffice it that I identified the same boy at Knole.’
‘But the reason Henry has not acknowledged him may simply be that he is not his son,’ she pointed out.
‘Oh, he is Henry’s. Do you not see the connection between his name and Prince Arthur’s? They are called after ancient heroes, demonstrating Tudor’s dynastic ambition, to show he does, after all, have an ancient blood right to the crown. Even his choice of personal saint, Armel, is another reference to Arthur. Both are Welsh, and both mean “bear”. Tudor is steeped in it. Oh, he is clever, for who does not know the stories of Arthur and Roland? I imagine that if he has another son, the name Oliver might slip into the scheme of things.’
‘Perhaps it is simply that the boy was born on 16 June, which is Roland’s Day, I understand. And it is the date of Stoke Field,’ Cicely added.
‘My lady, if there is treason around this boy, you are probably in the best position to find out more.’
She became cool. ‘You wish me to make love with Henry and then make subtle enquiries in the fond aftermath?’
‘I would not put it quite like that.’
‘With all due respect, Lady Cicely, I am not puritan, and know well that you could draw blood from Tudor’s stony heart if you wished.’
‘You flatter me.’
Tal shook his head. ‘Even this miserably pious pilgrim can see your spell, as did Jack.’
‘Is that a subtle reminder?’ she asked.
‘Of what?’ He looked at her.
‘The night I first met you, when Jack took his horse Héraut to be stabled secretly at the tavern in Gough’s Alley. He drew me aside and said there might come a day when my closeness to Henry would be needed.’
‘Did he? I did not know.’
She wanted to disbelieve him, but knew he spoke the truth. In the silence that followed, she thought the faint scent of thyme drifted in the air. The scent of … Jack.
Tal saw the expressions cross her face. ‘Lady Cicely?’
‘The scent of thyme, when none is there, is said to indicate the presence of a ghost. Did you know that?’ Jack was all around her again.
Tal went to the fireplace and took a poker to the smoking coals. She could see that he was struggling about what to say next. ‘I must say something to you, because Jack told me to.’ He turned to face her, his hands clasped behind his back.
‘What is it?’
‘I know you have a son by King Richard, a boy now named Leo Kymbe.’
Chapter Five
Shock engulfed Cicely. Jack had told this man her greatest secret? How could he? How could he? She rose from the bed and went to the window to compose herself. The white rooftops and smoking chimneys were only partly visible through the falling snow.
‘How you must really condemn me now, Sir Saint,’ she said at last. ‘First I betray my marriage vows with Henry Tudor and then with Jack, and now you discover that my first lover was my own uncle. Incest and adultery aplenty, resulting in a child. And here I am, alone in an inn bedchamber with you. Maybe I am intent upon more unholy seduction, far beyond redemption in your pious eyes.’
‘Mock as you will, my lady, I can assure you that your honour is not in danger from me.’
‘And yours is even safer from me.’
A glimmer of a smile played upon his lips. ‘Yes, I am sure it is.’
It was not easy to convince herself that if Jack had trusted him, then she could as well, because there was something about Tal that continued to disconcert, not least that he was keeping something else from her, apart from his real name. And—always—there was that sense of being judged and found wanting.
‘Lady Cicely, it is none of my business whose bed you share, but Jack made Leo my business.’
‘Apparently, my cousin’s fingers were crossed behind his back when he promised not to even consider the Yorkist implications until Leo reaches his majority.’
‘He only told me because the circumstances were so extenuating. Jack was a man of his word. A man of immense honour.’ Tal spoke a little sharply, and then tried to soften the moment. ‘You are determined to dislike me, are you not?’
‘Because you are the way you are.’
‘Which is…?’
‘Sanctimonious.’
His lips parted in astonishment, and then he laughed. ‘Indeed? Oh, if only you knew how wrong you are. But think what you will, it is of no consequence, but I can be trusted.’
‘Then I expect of you what I expected of Jack.’ She drew a fingertip down the partly misted window, wishing Richard could return to guide her. ‘You want me to divulge what I learn from Henry, a man who trusts no one, and whom no one should trust. When I am away from him I see him truly, it is only when I am with him that he affects me in ways I wish he did not. I can want him so very much. Do you understand? There, now you will need to pray for me tonight, to save my wicked soul.’
‘Your soul is not wicked, my lady.’
‘Then it must only be my wicked body.’ She resumed her seat on the bed. ‘If I do happen to learn anything from Henry, how may I contact you?’
‘I lodge at Flemyng Court in St Andrew’s parish, near the King’s Wardrobe. The house has bay windows through three storeys, and faces the entrance to the court. It cannot be mistaken. Failing that, I will be found in Calais. To reach me there you must approach the skinner, John Pasmer.’
‘The man who owns Pasmer’s Place?’
Tal nodded. ‘He has tentacles everywhere, and is a very useful agent.’
‘So he does support York. I always felt he did.’ She recalled the fat merchant, with his mustard-hued clothes and too-tight leather bonnet with the badge of the Calais Staple. His beaming smile and affable nature made him seem unlikely to be involved in danger.
‘Pasmer joined the Staple when Richard was king, and acted for him on many an occasion. Then he aided Jack as much as he could, and will continue to support York. He has no time for Tudor or Lancaster and is a good friend. You may have faith in him.’
‘What if you and Master Pasmer are in Calais?’ she asked sensibly, wondering why Tal would be there at all.
‘The priests at St Andrew-by-the-Wardrobe are loyal. It is not only near Flemyng Court, but is where my mother and other members of my family are commemorated or interred, so I have connections there. But please, to safeguard yourself and everyone else involved, be very circumspect in your approach.’
She looked at him. ‘I know how to be discreet, sir.’
‘Yes, I rather suppose you do. However, if you need to see me in person, I will do my utmost to come to you. Please be assured of that.’
‘Why would you do that for me?’
‘You were dearly loved and trusted by Richard and Jack, and so my duty is clear. I will help and protect you.’
Yet when she met his eyes, she was still unsure of him. Why? ‘Are you a genuine Yorkist?’ she asked then.
He was offended. ‘Yes! I wish to overthrow Tudor and destroy his line’s chances of ever ruling again, and then I want York returned to the throne.’
‘And—?’ There was more, she could tell.
‘And my underlying cause, my reason for everything, is the restoration of a beloved sibling’s honour. Your father stole it, Richard gave it back, and now Henry has stolen it again. Of three kings, I serve and respect only Richard. And his line,’ he added.
That line being Leo, she thought, her heart tightening. ‘Richard would have put Jack on the throne, so your allegiance now should be to his brother, Edmund de la Pole,’ she said. ‘He must be fifteen now, and will therefore reach his majority soon enough. Is he not at Oxford at the moment?’
‘As I understand it, he is in London for the Christmas season. Have you met him?’
‘No.’ Edmund was her first cousin, as was Jack, but she had never even seen him.
‘Then let me enlighten you. He is very smooth-tongued and charming, but at times startlingly headstrong, coarse and oafish. His hair consists of very long, auburn curls that surround his head in a great mane, and he could be considered a beautiful youth, maybe even a devotee of folly bells, but is apparently only interested in women.’
She knew that folly bells were said to be the trinkets of fashionable men who preferred their own sex.
‘Jousting and other manly sports are his delight,’ Tal continued, ‘so he cleaves to others of the same inclination. He is very good at them all, but arrogantly so, and likes nothing more than to prance around on his new white stallion, showing off its paces and his own, and also proclaiming his ability to afford some of the costliest red leather and gold trappings in England. Perhaps his arrogance is what makes him so efficient and skilful, but there is a sordid and tawdry side to him that is alarming in one who would call himself the White Rose.’
�
��You describe Jack’s brother?’ She found it hard to believe. ‘Even so, Edmund has the bloodline, and with guidance might be moulded.’
‘Edmund is for himself alone, and I cannot bring myself to support his claim. No matter that he is Jack’s brother and Richard’s nephew, he will be bad for England.’
‘As bad as Henry?’ she asked coolly.
‘The point would be debatable, believe me. Richard chose Jack for more than just his blood. He would never have chosen Edmund, but would rather have raised his illegitimate son, John of Gloucester, to be his heir. Lady Cicely, I know you fear my ambitions regarding Leo, but neither you, nor Leo himself, has the right to decide about his future.’
‘That is not for you to decide, either.’
‘When you lay with Richard, you gave life to a boy of great importance, whether or not he is baseborn of incest. There are precious few royal scions of the House of York still living, and Henry will scythe his way through them until they are eliminated. Edmund de la Pole and his younger brother, Richard, will be high on his list, you may count upon that. Leo, too, should the facts about him reach royal ears. You have to confront the unpalatable truth, Lady Cicely. Leo will always be in jeopardy, but he may also become York’s last hope.’
‘Who are you to speak to me of this? And do not insist that you are Taleisin ap Gruffydd!’
‘It is my name, my lady.’
‘You think me gullible?’ She glanced at the book of poetry, but the silver hound was hidden beneath his gauntlets. She had seen that hound badge somewhere before. Maybe Jon would know.
Tal looked at her. ‘I have one last message from Jack,’ he said quietly.
‘Yes?’
‘I am to tell you he loves—loved—you very much.’
It was too poignant. Sorrow tolled through her like a funeral bell, and the pain was too great. She bowed her head and gave in to silent weeping.
Tal felt at a loss. ‘He asked me to tell you, Lady Cicely.’
She struggled. ‘Please take me home. Jon will return soon, I hope. I need to be with him.’
Cicely's Sovereign Secret Page 5
