by Diana Rubino
"Oh, very well, Valentine, spare me the theatrics, let the curtain fall! I admire your tenacity, I truly do," Elizabeth's voice sweetened, but still sounded like wheels over gravel.
"But is it not enough her children will know who they are?"
"She wants to know, Your Highness. She has a right to know." Elizabeth held up a bony finger and raised her head, a spark of recognition lighting those dulled eyes. "Go to Bishop Stillington. He has access to all kinds of information.
That is all I can tell you. But for that you should be grateful!" she chirped, obviously pleased with herself. "He lives in a house at the foot of London Bridge on Thames Street. Feel free to use my barge. But you must wait until the morrow. They are making repairs to it."
"I am forever grateful! Thank you, Your Highness! I shall go to him straightaway! But I shan't use the royal barge. I wouldn't feel quite right, not being royalty. However, thank you ever so much for your generosity—and long live King Edward!"
He lowered his gaze and bowed out of the room, turning quickly so she could not see the smirk spreading over his face.
I've got the old witch now, he mumbled, practically skipping down the hallway.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Elizabeth watched him back out and sat staring at the guarded doors for a long time. "Now that ingrate bastard will never find out who she really is," she proclaimed to God, the only one listening. "Now she is about to become a widow, because that is the last anyone is ever going to see of Valentine Starbury who thinks he is so clever. No one delivers ultimatums to Queen Elizabeth of England! I shall hoodwink another subject into securing my son's inherited right to the throne."
She hastily summoned her lady-in-waiting and dug out several gold pieces she fetched from the hole they'd dug in the wall for the pilfered royal treasure. "This is for you," she told the wide-eyed maid. "Now get ye to my boatman post haste, give him these." She dropped five more coins in the maid's hand and they clinked delicately.
"Point out Valentine Starbury to him, and tell him to rend a hole in the bottom of whichever barge he takes to cross the Thames...small enough so that it will not start to sink until ‘tis halfway down the river to London Bridge."
She rubbed her hands in glee. Bishop Stillington was the last person that could ever help Denys. He was a deranged old man who could barely hear, much less remember who gave birth to whom. But it didn't matter—Valentine would never get to the old coot's house. This was one bargain he wasn't going to live to regret making.
He stood at the riverbank, among the crowd waiting for barges to take them down or across the river. He looked down-river at the massive structure spanning London's main thoroughfare, atop which was another street, clogged with more shops and crowded houses. From where he stood he couldn't see the traitors' parboiled heads upon spikes on the bridge, but he knew for certes that tradition would be abolished when Richard became King.
He approached the nearest barge and tipped his hat to the boatman. "Why is there such a backup here?" he asked.
"Ebb tide, my Lord. Currents are real strong an' nobody wants t' go ‘cross. Come back in a bit ‘n I'll take you over." He looked out over the river. The smaller boats were bobbing about as the current swirled round the bridge's arches.
Valentine went into one of the riverfront taverns for a draught of ale until ebb tide subsided.
A few hours hence, he exited the tavern, full of spicy meat pie and the bitter ale that sickened many a sailor's cast iron stomach, but he'd only imbibed a half pint; for this visit to the Bishop he wanted to be completely sober.
He returned to that same boatman who nodded disinterestedly and helped him embark. "To the home of Bishop Stillington at the foot of London Bridge," he instructed the boatman whose bulging muscles strained as he pushed the oars through the water. Valentine settled back to enjoy the ride.
It seemed to him after a few minutes that the water had risen a bit, but he attributed that to the high tide; he soon realized that ebb tide had just occurred and the tide wouldn't have risen this fast. Feeling moisture at the bottoms of his shoes, he saw they were soaked through and the drenched moss inside them was thickening round his feet like mud.
"Hey!" He signalled the boatman, who was still rowing with smooth even strokes. Valentine stood and could see water rapidly rising on the port side, just behind where the boatman sat.
The small hole broke open under the pressure of the gushing water and a wave smacked him like a deluge. He lost all sight of the boatman and could see nothing but a rush of white foam as the water swirled in a turbulent whirlpool, catching his body up in its vortex. The barge swayed and rocked like a cork and Valentine grasped onto the side, waves of water splashing up and hitting him in the face like vicious smacks of anger.
"Hey!" He bellowed to the boatman, who had fallen overboard and was immediately swallowed up by the churning rapids, screaming for his life as he plunged to his death.
The barge lost all control, caught up in the current that was sucking him down into the depths of the river. He could see one of the arches of London Bridge looming up ahead as the barge went smashing into the pilings of the bridge.
He felt a jolt as the force threw him face down on the barge's floor, the water rising rapidly. Gasping for air, he groped blindly for something to grab onto, to steady him, so that he could get his bearings. Another foamy rush of water surged through the gaping hole into the boat and it capsized under its weight, sliding bow first into the river. He sprang to his feet and could see the bridge's stone parapet only a few feet away. If only he could reach it.
The boat surged and tossed, smashing against the pilings with a violent thrusting force. Through a misty blur he saw someone atop the stone parapet reaching out to him.
He dived over the side of the sinking barge and swam, his muscles straining against the river's forceful current. His feet kicked like the fins of a mad fish escaping its prey, his head turning with each stroke to take in air. With the last trace of wind left in him, he reached the parapet, praying this blurry figure would catch him.
He leapt into open arms, chest smacked chest, and the force of the current dragged him back again, out of his rescuer's grasp.
Gulping precious air, he dangled from the parapet, gripping the stone surface with fingers about to break. He felt a tug on his arms, strong enough to easily tear them from their sockets, as the man reached down for one more desperate pull to safety.
Tumbling against him, Valentine sputtered, spitting the water out of his lungs.
He clung to his rescuer, who was grasping the parapet.
Someone dropped a rope from the drawbridge and it dangled before them. He looped the rope round Valentine's waist and, the sea and barge fragments twirling beneath his dangling legs, they hoisted Valentine to safety at the top of the drawbridge.
They lay Valentine on the ground, someone tossed him a blanket, and he curled up and blacked out.
When he again opened his eyes, he could see a shock of white hair, a concerned face bent over his, wizened old eyes fraught with worry.
"Wha...what happened?" Valentine croaked, for his voice seemed to be drowning in the fluid that had nearly engulfed him. He coughed, letting up some water. The man before him held out a cloth.
"You could have drowned, laddie. My physicians looked you over, declared you on borrowed time, and saved last rites for some poor sod who's not so lucky."
"Who...who are you?"
"Why, I be Bishop Stillington. Your barge fell apart right before me house."
"Your Excellency," he sputtered and spat out a gob of liquid.
"That's right, let it up, let it up." He gave Valentine a mighty smack on the back and pulled him forward, letting him spit onto cloths on the floor. "Now ye stay in bed and say not another word until your voice box dries out."
"Tell Dove..." He tried to say, but a new wave of exhaustion swept over him and he lapsed back into unconsciousness.
When he was able to sit up the following da
y, he implored the Bishop to get a message to his wife. He couldn't begin to imagine what was going through her mind.
But the messenger arrived after Denys left that morning to bring some food to the poor of Whitechapel and tell the story of King Edward to the children. She supposed Valentine was sitting up all night with Richard making plans and dismissed the troubling thought.
Valentine found his voice a few hours hence. After demolishing a meal of bacon, eggs, buttered bread and ale that the Bishop had sent up to him, he found renewed strength and went looking for His Excellency to discuss what he'd come to discuss.
He peered out the bedchamber window and saw Bishop Stillington in his walled garden, tending to his pear tree, twisting one off a branch, then gnawing at it with his few good teeth. He spat it out, tossed the uneaten pear on the ground and a small terrier came dashing after it.
Valentine rapped on the window and pushed it open.
"Your Excellency, may I have a word with you?" he called down to the stooped-shouldered bishop.
Stillington looked around as if he couldn't figure out where the voice had come from. He scratched his head, shrugged, and plucked another pear.
"Up here!"
Stillington finally looked up at Valentine with a note of surprise and headed inside the house.
When he entered the chamber, Valentine saw Stillington clearly for the first time.
His eyes were blue and trusting behind the filmy cataracts that veiled them, and the crinkly face reminded him of delicate cloth-of-gold stuffed in a trunk too long. He looked like a shy billy goat about to embark on his first mating experience.
"I want to thank you so much for taking care of me," he said as Stillington approached the bed. "I am the Duke of Norwich, the Lord Protector's closest advisor."
Stillington stood, nodding all the while, but Valentine wasn't sure he'd heard anything or knew who the Lord Protector was.
"His Grace the Duke of Gloucester is now Lord Protector," he verified.
"Well, hell's teeth, I knew that! Do you think I live on the edge of the world here, laddie?" His voice was scratchy but laced with mirth. "Ye had a bad time out there, ye are lucky ye take to the water so well. The other poor sod went right down to the devil."
"I am deeply grateful, Your Excellency, and shall do anything in my power to thank you."
"Teach me to swim like you, laddie."
Valentine laughed. "Your Excellency, I would tell you why I came here. My wife, Denys Woodville, has been searching for her true parentage and I would be forever grateful if you can provide a clue as to who may have sired her. She was given to the Woodvilles in infancy. Dowager Queen Elizabeth raised her as a niece."
"Woodvilles? Elizabeth? Well, I..." He snickered and wiped a stream of spittle from the corner of his mouth. "That droddum-faced catzo, I be glad to see her where she belongs, I..." Valentine blinked a few times, not sure he'd heard correctly.
"Is she aware of your contempt, Your Excellency? She is the one who sent me here."
"She is not aware of anyone's contempt. She thinks everyone is willing to bend over and kiss her fat corybungo.
"I have no information on your wife's parentage, nay, I never kept records of that sort, birth records and such. Nay, I had ‘em, lost ‘em, some I used for firewood to keep me bones warm. I have a trunk with some Patent Rolls and such; ye are welcome to search that, as soon as ye can walk."
"Can you bring them to me?" Valentine said. "It would give me something to do whilst I regain my strength."
The old man nodded and shuffled out.
Valentine sighed. He'd been conned by the cunning she-witch again but he had naught to do except rest. Might as well look through the rolls as long as he was here…
Denys appeared as soon as she received the message and could hasten to her husband's side. "Is he all right?" she asked the Bishop, looking over his shoulder for some sign of her husband. "What was he doing here?"
"Trying to find your parents."
"What?"
"He had a mishap in the barge. It sprang a hole and damn near sucked the whole Thames up into it," the bishop said, making a waving motion with his hands.
Denys felt her knees tremble. "Oh, Jesu! Is he all right? Where is he?"
"He is fine, sleeping like a babe. I would let him be."
"Let me look in on him, please!" She took the steps two at a time and peered into the darkened chamber in which he slept. She approached the bed. "Thank you so much, my darling. You get well soon now. I shall come visit you every day until you are better and I shall be waiting for you when you come home."
He stirred and soon the brilliant blue was peeking out from under his lids. They lit up in recognition as he became aware of her presence.
"Darling, how are you feeling?" She leaned over and planted a soft kiss on his cheek.
"Fine, just a bit woozy, that is all, like I imbibed too much cheer."
"Did a physician see you?"
"Aye, the Bishop summoned his physician. He said I needed a few days' rest. Are a few days up yet?"
"Nay, it just happened yesterday. Valentine...how did you arrive here? The Bishop said you were looking for my parents. Why...what were you doing?"
"Elizabeth told me to come here. It was during the barge crossing that the accident occurred. It had a hole in the bottom."
"Elizabeth!" she gasped. "What were you doing talking to her about that?"
"I went to ask her to finally come clean and tell me where she got you. I wanted to surprise you," he said, his words interrupted by a spate of coughs.
"Valentine, have I not told you time and again she knows something. She is harboring some information, and is trying her damnedest to keep it from me! I would be not a bit surprised had she deliberately rent a hole in that barge! Please, Valentine, she is ruthless. She will stop at nothing!"
"I know all that! And she knows I know! I did not go to her like a naive child expecting her to tell me who your parents were. Just as I'd expected, she proceeded with a list of bribes, Treasurership of the Royal Chamber, a vast sum, and my likeness struck on a coin if I'd procure the rest of the royal treasure and join the Woodville camp.
"I refused unless she provided something in return. I told her we would join Edward's faction in securing him on the throne, would remain loyal to him as our King, and would deliver the rest of the royal treasure only if she would give me the information she'd been keeping from you. She led me to the Bishop, but he says he does not have your birth records."
"Certainly she did not think you would accept any bribes—she must think the entire world is as greedy as she!"
"Oh, I care not what she thinks. I don't need anything she could possibly offer me—although I would look rather dashing on a thruppenny bit, now, wouldn't I?" He held his head high, showing off his razor sharp jawline.
"But Valentine, you almost drowned! She deliberately tried to kill you, I know her!"
"I came nowhere close to drowning. She did not stop to consider that I might be an excellent a swimmer, unlike the expendable boatman who got swirled away to his untimely death."
"That old..." She clenched her fists and stamped her foot.
"Stay away from her, Valentine, please! I almost lost you because of her! You almost lost me!"
"And she is about to lose everything. Now do you see why Richard does not want any son of hers to be king?"
"Well, as long as she lives, yes." She cradled his head in her arms until he fell asleep, then slipped out of the Bishop's house with a promise of returning right after vespers.
The Bishop entered Valentine's room later that night with a small wooden casket. Valentine sighed in disappointment as he flipped the lid open to a pile of torn and yellowed papers; what could possibly be of importance in here? But, with nothing else to do, and not having the strength to take his leave, he began leafing through them.
He scanned each document without interest, until his eyes landed upon the names Edward Plantagenet and Lady Eleanor Bu
tler. He scrutinized the document, again and again, not able to believe what he was reading. His mouth fell open. His heart lurched and began to thud recklessly.
He let out a ragged breath. Could it be true?
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Valentine pounded on the floor, summoning a server to fetch the Bishop immediately.
"What is this?" he exclaimed when the Bishop, panting and wheezing from exertion, entered the chamber.
