B0010SEN6I EBOK

by Worth, Sandra

  I struggled up to my side, my heart beating wildly. John would be there!

  “There’s more…. The queen has sent Somerset away to Wales on royal business. He is not expected to return until the council convenes in Coventry, when the Duke of York arrives. We leave London tomorrow. You have only a few weeks until you see your love again, and who knows what news he brings—or what the future brings? Now, sweet lady, eat your soup.”

  With wagons loaded, carts creaking, and horses neighing, the court departed for Coventry early the next morning. I was barely able to contain my excitement, but while the music of minstrels incited me to dream of love, there was no mistaking the mood of the people. They hated Marguerite. All along the way, they gathered along the roadside, staring at us silently with sullen faces. No daisies had been fashioned to adorn the women’s hair or the rude tunics of the peasants in honor of the queen, and their solemn expressions grew dark when she came into view, flanked by Egremont and the thick-necked, hard-faced Lord Clifford, another of Marguerite’s young favorites who had lost his father at St. Albans. The people blamed their foreign queen for the loss of their French lands, especially Maine, the richest and most important dominion of all, which she had personally promised to her uncle, King Charles of France, and delivered to him soon after her arrival in England. In addition, she had prevailed on her malleable husband, Henry, to cede Anjou to France. Yet she had brought nothing in return except a brief truce. Even her gown had to be provided by Henry before she could be presented to the people, so poor had she been. Now she arrayed herself splendidly—perhaps too splendidly—and her favorites enriched themselves at the expense of the treasury.

  She was blamed, too, for the death of King Henry’s uncle Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester, who had accused the late dukes Somerset and Suffolk of mismanagement of the war. The people had loved him as they now loved the Duke of York, but he had been arrested by his great foe Suffolk and lay dead within the week. Murdered, the whispers said, by the queen and her favorites. They never blamed the king. They loved him. He was a saint, deeply religious; he hated bloodshed and pardoned every crime. But he was soft as churned butter in the hands of his Frenchwoman.

  As soon as we arrived at Coventry, the queen dismissed me and all her ladies and, taking little Prince Edward, she went to join King Henry in his private apartments. The castle had been built in the eleventh century and rebuilt in the twelfth, and had fallen into disrepair. It was a gloomy place, surrounded by a great moat that ran red from the color of the soil. Its rooms had once been splendid, with embossed ceilings, inlaid stone floors in patterns of flowers and fleur-de-lis, gilded hammer-beam roofs, and much colored glass—but time had dimmed their beauty. Now the wind whistled loudly through the halls, moisture clung to the stone walls, and buckets stood in many rooms to catch the rain that leaked through the ceilings.

  “Why does the queen choose to stay here?” Ursula inquired as we unpacked our coffer and hung the dresses to air on a peg in the corner of the dismal chamber.

  From force of habit, I glanced around before I replied. “Coventry is Lancastrian, and London is Yorkist. She feels safe here.”

  Ursula placed her bright red head close to mine. “Yet she raised the taxes in Leicester fivefold in two years,” she whispered. “How can they approve?”

  I shrugged. Who understood anything anymore? It was all too complicated. “People see what they want to see,” I said.

  I spent my time in the queen’s company, but never when she was with the king. In the mornings I helped her dress, arrange her hair, and make her beauty preparations, rubbing sheep fat into her face, tinting her cheeks with rouge, and darkening her pale eyebrows with charcoal from the pit of a burnt peach stone. During the day I ran errands for her, carrying her instructions to the far reaches of the castle, and sorted through some of the more personal petitions that came from the female servants, settling what problems I could and laying the rest before her. The evenings she did not spend with King Henry were spent in the company of her ladies. There we sang and I played my lyre, and read to her from her collection of illuminated manuscripts, and worked on a tapestry King Henry had designed that he wished to be ready for Yuletide.

  I wondered about the queen. She had to know how matters stood between Somerset and me; yet she continued to show me favor. Not one to hide her feelings, she clearly enjoyed my company nearly as much as that of Elizabeth Woodville. Perhaps it was because marriage offers poured in for us both, and that pleased the queen’s romantic nature. Yet Elizabeth had never expressed interest in any of her suitors, whether they were young or old. One had even come from a well-born retainer of the Earl of Warwick, and Warwick himself had written Elizabeth to press the knight’s suit. It was a good match for a damsel of such low stock on the paternal side, the only side that counted.

  “Do you not wish to wed?” I asked Elizabeth one day as we worked on the king’s tapestry, unable to restrain my curiosity.

  “Of course I do,” she said with a throw of her haughty head and silver-gold hair. “What makes you think otherwise?”

  “You are eighteen, well past marriageable age, and no one is fairer than you.”

  She laughed, but with a softer note than usual. It occurred to me that she liked being flattered. “Well, you can be sure I won’t be going into a nunnery just to leave the field open to you.”

  When I recovered from my astonishment, I said, “’Tis not why I ask. I only marvel that you have evaded marriage so long. Surely many have bid high for your hand.”

  “Not high enough for my mother, the Duchess of Bedford.”

  There was some tittering from the girls in the corner. When Elizabeth pointedly glanced their way, they wiped the grins from their faces and bowed their heads over the tapestry.

  “Have you never been in love, then?” I asked.

  “Love? What has that to do with marriage?” she demanded. “Only a fool seeks love when it is power and money that matter.”

  I was astounded, and my expression told her so, for she gave a laugh. “I see you are one of those silly fools who disagrees. Let me advise you that if you wed for love, you will surely regret it.”

  “But why, Elizabeth?”

  “If Sir Lancelot lives long enough, he becomes Sir Fart-A-Lot, my dear. I thought even fools knew that.”

  MY ROOM AT COVENTRY CASTLE WAS SMALL AS a dungeon cell, and there was nothing to be seen from my side of the building except rooftops and walls. Yet I enjoyed Coventry more than I expected. The knowledge that I would see John again colored my thoughts and dreams, and Somerset’s absence cheered me immensely. He was gone through November, and it felt as if the sun had broken through the clouds. In my lightened mood, I found myself clapping loudly for the mummers after our suppers and humming merrily as I helped decorate the queen’s apartments with Yuletide greenery. The ugly bishop named Dr. Morton, who had startled me in the hallway at Westminster, frequented the queen’s court at Coventry, and though a strangely unpleasant sensation always came over me at the sight of him, even this could not dull my pleasure.

  “Only two more days, and John will arrive with the Duke of York!” I whispered to Ursula. The pealing of church bells through the day and the chant of monks at the holy hours kept tally of the passing time to remind me how joyfully near we drew to the first of December and the council meeting.

  On the eve of John’s arrival, as I took my customary leave of the queen in the royal chamber after Vespers, she said, “Seek out Simon the Toy Maker in town tomorrow morning and tell him we wish him to carve us an army of toy soldiers for our prince, Edward, as a Yuletide gift.”

  “Aye, my queen,” I replied, grateful that my meeting with John was not forestalled. He had sent me a message to meet him in the king’s sunken pleasure garden, near the dovecote, shortly after Prime, when no one else was likely to be there.

  I did not sleep that night, so anxious was I to see my love—so filled with hope and happiness that all would somehow be well, and we’d find a way
to wed! Morning finally dawned, heralded by the loud chirping of birds. I dressed with great excitement. Even dreary Coventry Castle, bedecked with lush greenery and holly and resounding with singing and laughter, had brightened to reflect my merry mood as I hurried to the sunken garden, laughing as Ursula ran to keep up with me in the light snow that had begun to fall.

  “You have fleet feet!” she called out, and I giggled at her jest, for it was as we had shopped along Fleet Street before we left for Coventry that a flower seller had flourished a bow and handed me a sprig of holly. Hidden in the greenery was a note from John, with instructions about where to meet him on the morning of the council meeting.

  Church bells chimed the hour of eight as I lifted my skirts and tripped down the worn stone steps into the garden, stepping carefully in the snow, my mantle flowing behind me. John was already waiting by the dovecote, his hound at his heels. Leaving Ursula to guard our privacy at the top of the steps, I ran along the path deep into the garden and flew into his arms.

  “My love, my dearest love,” he murmured into my hair, swinging me into his embrace as Rufus barked a greeting.

  I gazed up at him and fingered the noble lines of his handsome face, trying to imprint them on my memory. “I live for these moments,” I whispered, grateful for the knowledge that he was safe at my side, however short the time would prove.

  “One day we shall be together, my angel, never to be parted.” He took my hands into his own and looked at me with a tender smile.

  “Never to be parted,” I repeated. “How good that sounds, my lord.” I wondered whether John truly believed such a dream could come true. I wasn’t certain I did.

  A commotion by the garden wall startled me from my blissful reverie as Ursula cried out in loud warning, “My lords—”

  “Get thee gone, woman, if you know what’s good for you!” came the angry retort. Rufus leapt to his feet, barking fiercely, and I gave a gasp. It was Somerset’s voice. He clattered down the garden steps and and a moment later came into view between the hedgerows lining the path. His color deepened to crimson when he saw us, and a vein throbbed in his forehead. He stepped forward, a hand on the hilt of his sword. Rufus let out a low growl.

  “What have we here?” Somerset mocked, taking no notice of Rufus and exchanging a glance with a surly fellow at his side who had the look of a lawless ruffian. “I do believe we’ve caught lovebirds attempting to nest. What say you to divesting this cock of his feathers, Cockayne?”

  The man called Cockayne gave a lopsided grin and drew his sword. John pushed me behind him. In the same instant, though I didn’t see him withdraw his weapon from its sheath, the blade glittered in his hand.

  “Two against one, how ungallant of you,” John said, directing himself to Somerset. “Nevertheless, I thank you for the pleasure of divesting you both of your ugly hides.” The shock of steel against steel clanged around me, and the thin wintry greenery shivered in the blast of the currents they stirred as John exchanged blows with the two men.

  I pulled out the small knife I had carried in my sleeve since the night Somerset had accosted me. Awaiting opportunity, I edged back to the wall and made a wide arc around him and the ruffian until I stood at their backs. Rufus kept barking, but, like me, he dared not attack, for the men were moving too swiftly. While Somerset and the other man hacked at him, John parried their strokes expertly, but after a while the exertion of fighting two men at once began to tell on him. His movements slowed, and I heard his heavy breathing. I was preparing to lunge forward and thrust my dagger into the ruffian’s arm to buy John time when a shout rang out. “Halt!”

  I swung around; John and Somerset froze. The Duke of Buckingham and his armed retainers surrounded us, their sword points ringing the fighting trio. “Drop your weapons!” the duke commanded. “Disturbing the king’s peace in his own garden—have you no shame?”

  Warily, John lay down his sword. The other two followed suit.

  The duke turned his gaze on me, and I saw that he understood clearly what had happened. He returned his glance to John and Somerset. “And you both, take heed…. The queen will not suffer either of you toying with her property. Now leave. You have a council meeting to attend…. As for you, Cockayne, you’ll go before the magistrate.”

  At Duke Humphrey’s nod, his retainers stepped back, opening a path for John and Somerset, who had been separated by Buckingham’s men. Cockayne was rustled away with scant courtesy. John hesitated, ran a hand through his hair, and looked as if he would say something. Then he picked up his sword and, after a glance in my direction, strode off. Somerset straightened his jacket and retrieved his sword. He, too, threw me a look before he left, but one that spoke of loathing and anger. As John and Somerset disappeared from view, the Duke of Buckingham touched his velvet cap in farewell and, taking a different path out of the garden, departed at a rapid pace with his entourage.

  I rushed after John. As I wound along the path, I spied Somerset a distance ahead, through an opening in the yews. He drew to an abrupt halt at the foot of the stone steps that led out of the sunken garden.

  “We’re not finished, Neville!” he shouted. “Tonight, in the village square, let’s settle it once and for all!”

  John, who was halfway up the snowy steps, turned and looked down at him. “Fear not, knave. I’ll be there,” he said, and disappeared from view without catching sight of me.

  AS URSULA RELATED TO ME THAT MORNING WHEN I returned from running the queen’s errand, she had run into the castle courtyard in a panic, calling for help. Her cries had been answered by good Duke Humphrey, who was just then arriving for the council meeting. By the time I returned from my errand to the toy maker in town, the entire castle was buzzing about the fracas in the garden between John and Somerset. As I feared, the queen knew about it as well, and a royal summons awaited me.

  I hurried to her chamber, praying all the way and hoping she would not detain me long, for the matter stood unfinished and I had to warn Duke Humphrey of Somerset’s plans for a fight that evening.

  Seething with rage, Marguerite d’Anjou stomped to and fro before me. “Alors, this is how you repay me? ’Tis high time indeed that you were wed and we are rid of you!” I hung my head. She drew up sharply before me to glare before resuming her pacing. “Have you nothing to say for yourself?”

  “The duke’s attentions are unwelcome to me, my lady queen. I made that clear to His Grace.”

  She swung on me. “So he is not good enough for you?”

  Bracing myself, I raised my head and looked directly at her. “My queen, I am not good enough for him, and well he knows that, or he would not choose to dishonor me. Even were it not so, I would never repay your great kindness with such malice, and I informed him so.”

  “Indeed?” Her hard look softened, and she drew closer. “What was his reaction?”

  “He threatened me with rape.”

  The queen’s lovely features twisted in fiendish rage. “Sang dieu! He shall soon know the full measure of our displeasure!” She dropped into a chair and placed a hand to her temple. Tears sparkled in her eyes, and her lips trembled with emotion.

  So the rumors were true. She loved him. Had she also loved his father, killed at St. Albans? If so, then heartache and loss had proved themselves her steady companions for a great part of her life in England. I knelt before her.

  “My dear lady queen, men are weak creatures for all their strength. But we are strong…. Look what we must bear.”

  Dropping her hand, she gazed down at me. We were but two females united in womanhood and the sorrows of love. Then a bright light struck in her eyes. “He shall pay!” she said.

  I lowered my head so she would not see my smile of satisfaction.

  Following my interview with the queen, I fled in search of Duke Humphrey to inform him of Somerset’s plans to fight John in town that night. To my shock, his suite of apartments lay empty. “Where’s the duke?” I demanded of a servant sweeping the ashes in the hearth.

>   The man turned and looked at me, his face covered in soot. “He left after the council meeting this morning.”

  “Where is he gone?” I cried.

  “I dunna know. But fear not, lady, he’ll be back this evening.”

  “That’ll be too late!” My mind raced in a thousand directions. “Is there someone who can tell me where he’s gone?”

  “Maybe…but I dunno who. They left with him, all m’lord o’ Buckingham’s men…. Maybe one of the grooms—”

  But those in the stables who might have known had dispersed to attend other chores around the castle. I returned to Ursula in a panic.

  “What can I do, Ursula? Somerset will kill him! There was murder in his eyes—”

  Ursula made me sit down on the bed. “We’ll get word to the mayor. He’ll stop it.”

  I grabbed my cloak. Ursula laid a restraining hand on my arm.

  “Not you, dear lady. You’ve been through too much today. I shall go in your stead.”

  “But the mayor will never see you—”

  “The mayor is a friend of my father’s. He’ll see me,” she said firmly. “Now you must pray for Sir John. He is a valiant knight, and he’s not lost a fight yet, but he can use your prayers and God’s help. I’ll bring you news soon as I can.”

  As weary as I was, I made no protest. I took Ursula’s hand like a child and followed her obediently to the small castle chapel. Having deposited me there safely, Ursula left. I lit a candle for John. Falling to my knees before the wooden altar, decorated with ribbons and greenery for Yuletide, I fixed my eyes on the jeweled statue of the Virgin and Child standing in a niche flanked by holly and candles, and beseeched Heaven for his safekeeping. When my prayer was ended, I began my recitation over again, giving scant notice to the fading day or to the people who slipped in and out of the chapel, in search of God’s help for their troubles.

  Hours later, after darkness had fallen, Ursula returned. Fear and hope churning through me, I rose to my feet. She cast a quick glance around, then smiled. A cry of relief nearly broke from my lips as she whispered, “God in His almightly wisdom has answered your prayers, Isobel!”