The Golden Widows

by Isolde Martyn

  But she would be punished with blisters on her heels for certain from Lionel’s boots, she reckoned, as she and the boys followed the others down the lane.

  The king and her father were discussing the organisation of tournaments. The king wanted to hold one at Smithfield in London and invite some of the French and Burgundian jousters to take part. Her father, a former tourney field champion, was full of helpful advice. He was also extolling Anthony’s accomplishments and the king was definitely interested. Then excusing himself, his highness dropped back to join Elysabeth and Tom.

  ‘You didn’t bring Lord Hastings, then, your highness,’ Elysabeth observed.

  ‘Lord, no, doesn’t want to fish at sparrow’s fart. Like a dancing bear in the mornings, all growls. Needs a good prod to get him going.’ She knew how that felt.

  ‘We’ve met Lord Hastings, your grace,’ Tom informed him, trotting at his side, no longer dazzled by the royalness but definitely keen to have attention. ‘Mother asked him if he would take me as a page.’

  The king gave him a friendly clout. ‘Obviously refused, eh, Thomas. Why was that?’

  ‘Because there was no profit in it, I think. I’m not criticising him for that, my lord. It was a sensible decision on his part but disappointing for Mother.’

  The king gave her the smile that she remembered from Kirby Muxloe and made no answer. They walked on happily with the two boys between them.

  Even kings could be single-minded. ‘So what’s it to be, gentlemen?’ his highness asked when they reached the riverbank. ‘Perch, chubb, bream, trout?’

  Elysabeth sighed and left the men discussing such niceties while she delivered the usual maternal sermon on being careful not to hook their companions, themselves or her, and to take care on the muddy riverbank because it was easy to slip and the river was running fast. The Tove had deep pools where the Woodvilles bathed in summer but Dickon could not swim.

  She had not fished since childhood and she shivered with the cold as she watched Tom bait her hook, wishing she had worn skirt and petticotes over the woollen hose. The water was dark and turgid but it boded well. The fish would be off their guard expecting worms and suchlike that always washed in with the spring rains.

  The morning was glorious with the promise of early summer. A swallow dipped and played in the air above the river and the buds of the hawthorn and blackthorn were bursting open.

  King Edward was clearly enjoying himself. For a little space, he could forget the rebels in Northumberland, the opportunism of the Scots and the continued existence of King Henry VI. That pleased her. She had only seen kindness in him and she was thankful that he had not been the enemy commander at St Albans. She could save all her resentment for Richard Neville, Earl of Warwick.

  She liked Edward Plantagenet, liked him very much. People said it was the Nevilles who made all the decisions in the kingdom and that the king was just their cipher. But she did not think so. Or if that was true, it would not be for long. People warmed to him. The Woodville household from her father to the youngest swineherd were already worshippers and it wasn’t because he was the king (well, maybe partly), it was because he made an effort. He wasn’t high-horsed with anyone.

  ‘Phff.’ She wasn’t concentrating.

  The king had heard her. He set down his rod and came along to her. ‘Cut yourself? Here, let me see!’

  ‘It’s nothing, my lord.’

  ‘Come on! Didn’t you know I have an Oxford doctorate in healing?’ he teased. ‘One of my many skills besides signing charters for horse fairs, forbidding merchants’ wives to wear cloth of gold, and buttering up my lord of Warwick and the King of France.’

  ‘No wonder they crowned you.’ Laughing, she let him take her hand and turn it over.

  ‘Need to keep it clean.’ He carried her finger to his lips and sucked it. ‘Best way,’ he said, eyes gleaming. ‘I’m sure you’d do the same for me.’ The wicked charm in his eyes would have melted stone angels. ‘And if being mortally wounded brought me the touch of your lips, my lady, there’s no lengths to which I’d not go.’ Then the flirtatious man changed once more to the earnest fisherman. ‘Would you like me to cast for you? Make it go further.’

  ‘I can cast, my lord.’

  Yes, but it would be a delight to put my arms about you and show you, his face told her. What woman would or could resist?

  Smiling, she nodded, allowed him to stand astride behind her and take her arm between his hands and cast.

  ‘Hey, be at ease more and let me, whoops.’ Because the float had landed too near the bank, his grace seemed compelled to keep his arms about her as he reeled in her line to try again. Oh, she could have let her head rest back against his shoulder and sighed with delight but her children were watching.

  ‘Thank you, my lord. Perhaps I should try on my own now.’

  He released her. The grin was dimpled, scurrilous. Not on your own if I have any say, his hazel eyes informed her but the splashing along the bank made him swing round to look and then, boys and men, they were all shouting and advising as one of the esquires reeled in a goodly sized chubb.

  The king was like all men, capable of diverting his entire concentration at an instant. Now all his attention was on casting.

  Elysabeth was happy to watch him. She would keep this moment of perfect brief happiness in the pages of her memory until the day she died. The joyful shouts of the men, that early swallow darting and playing above the shimmering river, sunlight, warm upon her back as she—

  —screamed and fell backwards into the water with a resounding splash that had her children roaring with laughter. Her brother, apologising for barging past, a concerned father, not to mention the King of England, too, hauled her out to drip amongst the nettles on the bank.

  ‘You clumsy—’ Elysabeth bit back the words, glaring at John, as she dashed the water from her lashes. This was her mother’s scheming.

  ‘Never mind, my lady,’ exclaimed King Edward. ‘I’ll escort you home before you take a chill. I have to be back at Stoney Stratford by ten o’ the clock.’

  Elysabeth took a step but her boots were aslosh. The king laughed, bade her sit down then he pulled off one boot and John pulled off the other. The hose was clinging to her body like a second skin except skins didn’t threaten to slough off in an instant.

  You conniving cur, she told John with her eyes. Nor was her father’s expression as pure as newfallen snow. Had her brother been closer, a kick on the knees would have whacked him into the water. Meantime, the king was gazing down at her with a male look she remembered from her married days and it wasn’t a hunger for breakfast.

  ‘If you can get that doublet off, you can borrow my mantle,’ he was offering. He and John had to tug hard at the sleeves to rid her of it. But then with Lionel’s shirt clinging tightly to her breasts, she might as well have been naked from the waist up.

  ‘You can’t keep that on,’ muttered John. ‘There’s a bush over there or we can turn our backs.’

  ‘I’ll manage,’ she said, gritting her teeth.

  ‘A moment, my lady,’ the king ordered and he strode swiftly along the bank to his attendants. ‘We’re finished here,’ she heard him say. ‘I’ll see you at the stables. Have my horse saddled and waiting.’ Then he returned to her, grabbed Lionel’s boots and held out his free hand to assist her to her feet. ‘Come on, you stubborn wench. Let’s get you to some dry clothes.’

  He slowed his pace to match hers as they returned up the track. She picked her way along the edge to avoid the stones and the churned muddy bits. He held out his hand but she dared not take it because she needed both of hers to keep the sodden hose decently round her waist.

  ‘I’m sorry that put an end to your fishing, your highness. My brother is a clumsy fool.’

  ‘Hey, revenge is sweet, my lady. Tip some of the leftover worms into your brother’s bed tonight or how about a large, frozen cowpat?’

  She laughed, despite her shivers. ‘I can tell that you don’t eve
r do the laundry, your grace! A cowpat? That’s cruel!’

  ‘Pah, there’s far worse. Had my share of falling into moats and a brother like John. We were inseparable.’ He dragged a hand across his mouth. ‘God keep him, he died at Wakefield beside my father.’

  She looked up at him with sympathy. ‘Edmund, Earl of Rutland?’

  He nodded. ‘By heaven, I miss the knave. Of course I’ve two more brothers but they are much younger. I’d like to take them fishing but they’re up in Cousin Warwick’s household at Middleham. Besides, there’s never time. Today was an exception.’ He gave a deep sigh. ‘Your family is happy, Elysabeth. Be glad of it.’

  The King of England had called her Elysabeth. Maybe she had just slept the night in a toadstool ring! Large, exuberant, handsome, striding along beside her as if they were old friends, dear God, her heart was full.

  ‘Tom was so cheerful this morning,’ she remarked. ‘You bring out the best in him, your highness.’

  He halted and they stood facing each other. ‘I’ll reverse the attainder somehow, Elysabeth. If it needs an act of parliament, it could take longer, but it shall be done, I promise you.’

  She seized his hand and carried it to her lips, the happiest she had been since that dreadful day at Groby. ‘I thank you with all my heart. Oh hell!’ She quickly grabbed her ebbing hose.

  He laughed. ‘I’m happy for you to do that again,’ he said mischievously. ‘Hmm, one thing about being king, I get my hand kissed by beautiful women.’

  The King of England had called her beautiful and—

  For a moment she thought he might indeed embrace her but she was still oozing water and probably smelled of wet wool. ‘Keep going!’ He set a hand about her shoulder and urged her forward. ‘Unfortunately, this matter of Thomas’s lands isn’t so straightforward as you might imagine.’

  Ah. She braced herself for a wriggling out from his new-laid promise.

  ‘Difficult.’ He waggled his palm. ‘I don’t want to annoy the Bourchiers. Mind, we could be canny and do it all through Hastings. Make him Tom’s guardian.’

  We?

  ‘My lord, he’s already refused once. Do you remember, I spoke to him about it two years ago at Kirby Muxloe?’

  ‘Oh, I thought it was only about having Thomas as a page. Well, I’ll have a word with him. He’s in a much stronger position than he was then. See, I’m trying to build up a loyal barony in the heart of England – Hastings especially and my brother George when he’s older. Ha, a pity your father doesn’t have more power.’ He was looking down at her in a strange way, as though an idea had just burst open in his mind.

  ‘What are you thinking, your grace?’ she dared to ask.

  ‘Hmm, that Thomas could become one of my Midland barons. I’ll put it to Hastings that way.’

  ‘Wouldn’t my lord of Warwick object?’

  ‘No, why would he? I am the king, after all. Hey now, what about you?’ he asked, with a squeeze of her shoulder. ‘Are you intending to marry again?’

  ‘I shall have to, I daresay.’

  ‘I should think every eligible man in Northamptonshire has lost his heart to you.’

  ‘No, not at all, I’ve no riches to attract anyone.’

  ‘That’s good news because I’d not like to think of anyone but me taking you in his arms.’

  ‘My lord.’

  He stopped again and looked down at her. ‘Elysabeth, if your mother invites me back to stay this night, will you come to me?’

  She looked up at him in astonishment at his directness but, of course, he was only twenty-two. An older, stealthier man might have hunted in a circle before moving in with the net.

  ‘You can’t be surprised, my lovely Elysabeth. Ever since I saw you at Kirby, I haven’t stopped thinking about you.’

  ‘Nor I you, my lord,’ she answered honestly.

  ‘Ned. I insist you call me Ned. So what are we to do about this? Meet tonight by moonlight.’

  She laughed but shook her head. Oh it was such a pleasure to laugh with him.

  ‘Why not, Elysabeth? You and I, we would be good together and I wager you haven’t—’

  Lain with a man since her husband’s death?

  ‘No, I haven’t but I’m not going to become your mistress, Ned.’ Ned, she tasted his name. ‘Besides, it’s impossible to do anything here without someone in my family knowing.’

  ‘Would they mind?’

  Is the Pope a woman? ‘I would mind, Ned.’

  ‘Really?’ He looked so disappointed. ‘I could command you as your king.’

  ‘You could try. But do men not say that in King Alfred’s day a woman might walk from Cornwall to Scotland without being ravished? Wouldn’t you like the chroniclers to write that about your reign, too?’

  ‘Hey, I bet I could seduce you.’

  ‘I’m sure you could.’

  ‘Thomas can have his lands back.’

  ‘Now, you are being cruel. If you can’t seduce me without bribery that doesn’t say much for either of our characters.’

  ‘But there has to be a way out of this impasse, Elysabeth, my sweet. You can’t have a king die of longing?’

  She laughed. ‘You look extremely healthy to me. No, my lord, I have to stay respectable. The nobility have always sneered at my parents. Maman is seen as a foreign woman who slept in the gutter in marrying her steward.’

  ‘King Hal’s widow married her Master of the Wardrobe.’

  ‘Yes, to the disgust of the English. “These foreigners, you know”.’ She imitated Catherine Neville’s dialect and the old lady’s way of sucking her cheeks in and raising her eyebrows.

  Ned chuckled. ‘Hey, that’s my Aunt Catherine.’

  ‘Yes, yes! I’m afraid so,’ she exclaimed, fingers to her mouth, embarrassed that he’d fathomed her. ‘She stayed here recently.’

  ‘Hey, you are good. You are very good. A pity I can’t employ you as jester but Master Woodhouse would be insanely jealous. Can you do old Hastings?’

  Elysabeth managed the lord chamberlain’s concerned look. ‘Excellent! Ever met his wife, Kate Neville?’

  ‘No, I haven’t.’

  ‘Ah well, no matter.’ Then he added, ‘She’s had a difficult time of things, like you. Lost her first husband, young Will Bonville, slain at Wakefield.’

  And her brothers’ soldiers slew my beloved John.

  ‘But we gave her Hastings for consolation and she seems happy enough. I think you need consoling, too. I’m very good at it.’

  ‘Perhaps when I’m feeling less like a frog. Ouch! A frog who needs horseshoes.’

  Realising that he was carrying her boots, he looked sheepish.

  ‘Only one way to deal with this, Lady Grey.’ She squealed as he slid an arm behind her knees and hoisted her up. ‘I’m admiring the view at the same time.’

  ‘Put me down. I’m almost twenty-seven, dripping wet and a respectable mother of two.’

  ‘And I’m an unrespectable father of three!’

  ‘Three!’

  ‘Well, maybe four – and a half.’

  There had been no farewell kiss but a swift formal parting beside his horse with his attendants watching and the hour bells of the church reminding him of his duties. But her livelihood must have been foremost in his mind because to both her and her parents’ astonishment, they received a message at noon brought by a royal courier to inform them that Lord and Lady Hastings would call.

  It blew the household sails into a gusty but efficient spin. By the time the king’s chamberlain and his wife rode in with their retinue, everyone at Grafton Hall – above and below the salt – could be seen scrubbed, shaved where relevant, pleasantly perfumed and in their best clothes, all lined up on the steps of Grafton Hall like a gaudy rosary.

  Jacquetta had lethal elbows and she made use of one now. ‘Voilà, zeez Katherine is not as beautiful as you, mignonne.’

  Beauty was no matter; it was the knowledge that Lady Hastings was Warwick’s sister that perturbed Elys
abeth. Dismounted and more closely observed, the baroness proved to be a short young woman a decade younger than her husband. Wisps of springy sandy hair showed at the sides of her perse velvet cap, and she had intelligent blue eyes and a sprinkling of freckles. Hastings, surprisingly, had a little girl astride his saddle, a child with her mother’s complexion.

  ‘My lord, my lady, welcome!’

  If her father cared to remember that he had been a prisoner after Towton when he had last encountered Lord Hastings, he made no sign of it but shook his guest’s hand with a smiling face and greeted Lady Hastings with great courtesy as though everyone had been on the same side.

  The formalities took a while but with all the introductions complete, Elysabeth’s parents escorted their guests to the solar.

  Hastings set his hat and gloves on the settle beside him and passed his child’s doll to its small owner. The little girl, shy of the Woodville brood, sat upon her mother’s knee until John seduced her to giggles by hiding behind the opposite settle with a fox and goose puppet on either hand. While Jacquetta sailed into safe waters with a discussion on children, conversation between the two barons was veneered with courtesy for a few minutes longer until Lord Hastings’ hand found his lady’s and he came to the purpose of their visit.

  ‘Lord Rivers, your grace, you will be no doubt pleased to hear that our sovereign lord the King has decided to reverse the attainder on your grandson’s father, Lord Ferrers. If parliament agrees, of course.’

  ‘That is most gracious of the king and welcome news, my lord.’ Elysabeth’s father sent her a triumphant smile.

  ‘I am much beholden to the king’s grace for the restoration of my husband’s honour,’ she murmured, reminding Lord Hastings that it was John Grey they were talking about.

  Their guest turned to address her. Reluctantly, she thought. He still seemed extremely wary of her as a seductress even though she was wearing a sober, silvery grey gown and a black cone cap. Did he think she was going to knock him to the ground and ravish him – in his wife’s presence?