The Lord of Greenwich (The Plantagenets Book 5)

by Juliet Dymoke

  Humfrey's gaze wandered round the room, at the rows of shelves, the fine leather bound books. Outside the river ran by his door, his park and gardens were beautiful to ride or walk in. How long had he waited for his Bellacourt! Yet suddenly in this quiet room it seemed as if in the very achieving of it Fate had snatched away other things in reparation, in the very balance of life.

  So much he had wanted, so much he had striven for had eluded him and now at nearly fifty years old he sensed a sword of Damocles hanging over him, awaiting only the moment for it to fall.

  He stretched his arms along the carved rests and gave a deep sigh. 'Sometimes I think,' he said, 'my enemies only wait to destroy me.'

  'They would not dare,' York retorted. 'You are the first man in the Kingdom after Henry.'

  'When has high place ever brought security?' Humfrey asked and Richard thought he had never seen him look so melancholy. 'And I am lord of nothing – excepting only Greenwich.'

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Elys had been in the saddle all day under a hot July sun and pausing only to change his horse at Basing he galloped on as twilight began to fall. The coolness of evening was a relief but he did not pause in his headlong pace, his body aching, his eyes sore with the flying dust. And as he thundered by the quiet farms and villages, through a small hamlet and on again, with every hoofbeat his anger pounded in his head. But with the anger, and more urgent, was his need to find Humfrey. God knew where he would be – somewhere in Wales, where he had gone after the business of Orléans's release ostensibly to settle some disturbances there, but in reality to be away from his enemies for a while. The Duchess – by what ill fortune? he cried out to the night – had elected to remain at home and he had stayed with her in charge of the household at Bellacourt. He had asked that he might do so for Dorothy had only just been delivered of their sixth babe; a healthy boy, but for a while her life had been in jeopardy. He thanked God she was now in a fair way to recovering, and at least the circumstance had given him the chance to be the one to ride so urgently to Humfrey. It was no comfort at all that the cause of their one quarrel had now from his point of view been fully justified. Now that it was he who must inflict a wound for which Humfrey was utterly unprepared.

  At midnight his horse was blown and he himself swaying in the saddle. He turned into a copse where he could hear a stream running and tying the horse loosely beside it knelt to drink the clear water. Then he rolled himself in his cloak on the dry ground and fell instantly into a deep sleep. He woke to find the horse lipping his face and the sun shining once more out of a clear sky. He was very hungry but the stream water would have to serve for the moment. He drank and splashed his face with it before mounting to ride on. He would have to find an inn to eat at soon and on the morrow should reach Pembroke.

  He was only a few miles down the road however, the hooves kicking up a volume of dust when he saw a much larger and similar cloud ahead as a cavalcade of riders rounded a corner and came towards him. A banner hung limply in the still air but even at this distance he recognized the figure beneath it. With a feeling at once of intense relief and almost equal dread he dug in his spurs for one last leap forward and then as he reached Humfrey drew rein so swiftly that the horse reared.

  Humfrey had flung up a hand to halt the column. 'Elys?' And then he saw Elys's face and the very breath seemed to be stifled in his throat. 'What is it? Where are you going? For God's sake tell me.'

  'To you, my lord,' Elys cried out hoarsely. 'I was riding to find you.'

  'Oh God!' Humfrey said sharply. 'Is it the Duchess? She is ill? For pity's sake, speak!'

  'No my lord, she is not ill. She's well . . . she's . . .' Elys put up a hand and pushed the hair back from his forehead for his hood had fallen off such had been his speed. He did not know how to break the news but it had to be done.

  Lord Berkeley, at Humfrey's side, said sharply, 'Speak, Sir Elys. Can you not see the Duke waits?'

  'As well as you,' Elys retorted, 'but you do not know . . . My lord,' he turned to Humfrey, 'the Duchess has been arrested.'

  'What? Elys, you must be out of your wits. What in God's name for?'

  There seemed to be a brief indefinable pause in the dusty roadway under the hot sun, the horses flicking their tales against the flies, Humfrey's men gaping in astonishment.

  In a low voice Elys said, on a charge of sorcery, witchcraft . . . against the King's person.'

  A shiver of horror went through the waiting men. Almost all crossed themselves, Humfrey among them. The very word conjured up evil, a blackness, a depth of sin that opened up an abyss, the path to hell, the ultimate in sin. For a moment Humfrey was too astounded to speak and Elys went on, the words tumbling out now he had begun. 'Master Bolingbroke and Master Southwell of St Stevens – you know them both, my lord, for they have often visited the Duchess – they were both arrested. At first we didn't know why and then we heard what the charges were. The Duchess seemed very pale and anxious, but we thought it only because she knew them both and then,' Elys paused, recollecting the afternoon two days ago when the thunderbolt had fallen, 'then three of the King's officers rode out to Bellacourt. I was with the Duchess when they came, headed by Sir Thomas Stanley, my lord, and he told your lady that Bolingbroke had sworn that it was she who had urged him to practice his evil spells for . . . for the purpose of bringing about the King's death so that you . . . you might wear the crown.'

  There was an audible gasp behind Humfrey and his son urged his horse forward. 'Lies! What lies! As if my father would countenance such horrid work.'

  'No one has accused him,' Elys said sharply. Now that the telling was over his own indignation rose as it had done when he began his headlong ride. 'But all London is ringing with the tale. I came as fast as I could, my lord.'

  Humfrey's mouth felt so dry that he found it hard to speak, fear turning his stomach. 'What happened then?' He was trying to see Eleanor standing in the hall perhaps, facing such an appalling accusation. She would surely have denied it all, told them to go, to repeat their vile calumny to her husband.

  'They bade her present herself the next day at Westminster to answer the charges, my lord, but –'

  'But?' Humfrey queried sharply, 'you cannot tell me they took her? Surely they did not dare, in my absence?'

  'No, sir. But after they had gone she ran upstairs and came down a little later with her cloak and a small bag. She made me order the barge but she would not let me go with her.'

  'Go? Where?'

  'To Westminster, my lord, not as they wanted to the Council chamber, but to sanctuary.'

  'Christ!' Humfrey smote his hand against his saddle and for a moment felt the bright day darken about him. Why had she done that? If she had stayed at home, waited for him to come to her! Who would really believe two insignificant priests? But now – it was almost a confession of guilt. He shouted to Elys, 'Why didn't you stop her, tell her to wait while you sent for me?'

  Elys sat very still on his restive horse. 'I did, sir. I begged her – but to no avail.'

  Humfrey believed him. Eleanor had made up her mind, nothing would have stopped her but his own express command, and he had not been there. 'Clear the road,' he demanded, 'let me through! We must ride for London – at once.'

  He dug in his spurs and forced his horse forward, Elys himself turning to gallop by his side with Arthur on the other. All through the long summer afternoon they hastened on, scarcely stopping but to rest the horses when necessary. Humfrey's head was reeling in horror. That Eleanor, his beloved, should be in such mortal danger seemed incredible and yet he could not deceive himself either as to the enormous consequences of any dabbling in witchcraft nor banish the memory of her words on the subject of her 'rhymes'. He had a sudden vision of her, bent over the table with Roger Bolingbroke. Could she have gone so much deeper than he knew? Before his tired eyes jumped awful visions of the punishment for heresy, he saw the flames, heard the crackle of them, remembered the screams of a Lollard he had condemned to the stak
e in Wales. Could he live, if that happened to Eleanor? Once he groaned and swayed in the saddle and Elys caught his arm to steady him.

  'Where do we go, my lord? To Greenwich first?'

  'Nay, to the King. He can save her if I assure him of her innocence, and if she is in sanctuary he'll not allow anyone to touch her.'

  'But,' Arthur broke in, his body bent forward over the saddle, 'I thought sanctuary did not hold for people accused of –' his voice trailed off.

  'Nor does it,' his father muttered, 'but if we can get there before anything can be done to force her to leave –'

  They all fell silent, only the hooves sounding beneath them. Humfrey would have ridden all night if Elys had not persuaded him to rest, that if he exhausted himself it would not benefit his lady.

  Before Elys himself slept William the herald came and sat down beside him on the bench Elys had chosen for a bed.

  'If we'd been at home they'd not have taken her.'

  'No,' Elys said. 'But there was nothing I could do with the Duke away.'

  William leaned his back against the wall, his eyes on his friend's face, noting the black shadows under the dark eyes, the pallor, the utter weariness. 'Or would? You've never liked her, I know, but do you believe it?'

  'Oh yes, I believe it!'

  'Jesu!'

  'Of course it's true,' Elys was roused into sudden violence. 'Surely you understand now? She's always schemed to be Queen, that's all she wants and she'd go to any lengths for a crown.'

  'On his head as well as hers.'

  'Maybe so, but now she will be the ruin of him.'

  'And so you are proved right! You always said –'

  Elys turned on him passionately. 'Do you think I have not thought that a dozen times on this ride? I wished her gone, yes, but never like this. Never in a way that would so hurt him. God forgive me,' he added, 'for what I did wish.'

  William watched his face for a moment, shadowed in the light of a dying rush. 'Go to sleep,' he said at last, 'and may God have mercy on us all, especially on him,' and he nodded towards the stair and the upper room.

  It was ten o'clock on the following evening when they reached Westminster, pounding headlong into the courtyard. Humfrey threw himself down and without pausing to tidy himself strode through the hall where already the lights were dowsed for the night. Startled officials saw him, but he ignored them and made for the spiral stair to the King's apartments. He brushed a page aside, an usher who stepped forward to say the King had already retired found himself twisted unceremoniously out of the way, and Humfrey flung open the door to see Henry kneeling before a crucifix, a chaplain beside him.

  Without turning his head the King said, 'Am I to be so interrupted by night as well as day that I may not be about my prayers? Begone, whoever you are.'

  Humfrey's irritation rose but he forced it down. 'Pardon me, nephew, I would not have come had the matter not been so urgent.'

  Hearing the familiar voice Henry turned and signing himself reverently as if to excuse himself from God's presence, rose and stood, looking at his uncle. He was ready for bed, wearing a plain shirt for he had a horror of nakedness, and as he saw Humfrey's drawn face, the dust-spattered hose and shoes, he gave a heavy sigh.

  'It is indeed a serious matter, uncle. Sins against Holy Church are the gravest of all.'

  'Eleanor is innocent,' Humfrey said. 'I swear it before God.' He crossed the room and seized the crucifix, 'I swear it on this.'

  'Be careful, uncle. Do not add blasphemy to what already hangs over your lady.'

  'Blasphemy! Jesu, no such evil has ever touched me or mine. I am a devout son of Holy Church. So too is my wife.' Humfrey added vehemently, 'I know her. The priests are lying, trying to ease their wicked consciences, shifting the blame.'

  'If that is so,' Henry asked, 'then why did she hurry into sanctuary?'

  'Because she was afraid,' Humfrey knew he sounded desperate, 'Surely, your grace, young as you are, you can understand? Eleanor and I are no longer in our youth and I was from home. Being a woman she feared more than she need. She should have come to you, trusted in you. As it is, I am come to ask you to let me bring her from sanctuary, here, to speak to you herself.'

  Henry gave a heavy sigh and motioned his chaplain to replace the crucifix. 'I cannot do what you ask for she is no longer at Westminster.'

  Humfrey stared blankly at him. 'Then where? She has gone home, to Bellacourt?' For one moment hope illumined his face.

  'No, uncle, not to Greenwich. I see you have not heard. She was to appear before the Archbishop and before our Uncle Henry and the Bishop of Salisbury – all willing to hear her plea – but she proved her guilt even further by leaving sanctuary last night and taking a boat down the river. Perhaps she meant to go to Greenwich but my officers brought her back.'

  'She is here then? Thank God!' Regardless of ceremony Humfrey sat down on the King's bed for his knees were threatening to give under him. 'May I see her, at once?'

  Henry shook his head. 'Uncle, I am sorry for you, for I see you still do not comprehend. The charges against your lady are so dreadful that the case must be properly prepared, and until she is called before her judges, she is to be held in strict confinement. Heresy and sorcery are terrible enough but when treachery is added to them, no more awful accusation can be imagined. I deeply regret it should be so high-born a lady that must face the judges but I cannot alter the law for her.'

  'Then where is she? For God's sake, tell me.'

  'At my lord of Suffolk's house. Sir Thomas Stanley takes her to Leeds Castle tomorrow.'

  'By what right –' Humfrey began and then forced back the words. He looked up and saw the smug, pious face, not indeed unkind but wearing an immovable expression. 'I can see what it is,' he burst out. 'My enemies have been at work. They have struck at me through her, they have turned your mind against us. For God's sake, nephew, be your own man! Listen to me, not to the Cardinals, or Suffolk, or Salisbury. And Edmund Beaufort has been here, I'll warrant, with his wicked, sly tongue –'

  'Stop!' The King held up his hand. 'You do not help your lady by such counter accusations. And it is not they who accuse her. It is her own creature, the priest Bolingbroke. You don't deny he was often in your household.'

  'No, no, but only in his proper office.'

  'You cannot be certain of that. He admits that the lady Eleanor asked him to divine to what estate she might rise. That is plain enough, isn't it?'

  The room was warm yet Humfrey felt suddenly very cold. He said defensively, 'Where is the harm in that? Fortune tellers at a fair will read the future in your hands for a penny.'

  Henry's look was now equally cold. 'The harm is in what it implies. She sought to know if by my death you might be King and she Queen.'

  A silence fell, lasting only a few seconds, but seeming long to Humfrey. All hope that he might assuage the gravity of the situation had now left him. He saw, more clearly perhaps than his nephew, that Eleanor could be guilty, at least in some measure, and he wondered now at his own blindness in not putting a stop to what, however innocently begun, had been pursued to so dangerous a level.

  'I am your heir, Henry – all men know that,' he said at last. 'And her desire is no worse than any simple wife wanting to know her husband's destiny. As for any wickedness designed against you, that is nonsense and if Bolingbroke says it, the torture must have wrung it from him.'

  'No torture,' Henry said indignantly. 'I would not permit that. He made a free confession and has done penance at Paul's Cross where, may God pardon him, his instruments of magic were laid out before him – evil signs and drawings and – other things –' the King shuddered and crossed himself. 'There was even a waxen image of a man. And judging by what she wished to know the Cardinal swears it must have been made to represent me – and that is treason.'

  Humfrey sat crumpled on the bed. It was all too damning and he could not deny to himself at least that Eleanor had indulged in dreams of the crown and if Bolingbroke so publicly confessed
, involving her in his story, the result must be black indeed. He raised a grey face to the young King. 'Am I accused too?'

  Henry shook his head, 'No, indeed,' he said austerely. 'I know you for a devout son of Holy Church and I do not think you would ever turn against me. If you had wished that, I would not have lived to manhood.'

  'Thank God at least you believe that,' Humfrey said. He got heavily to his feet. 'I ask only one thing of you – permission to see her before she goes in the morning.'

  Henry opened his mouth, obviously to deny the request but before he could speak Humfrey burst out, 'Oh God, sire, don't deny me that. If you have had anything of kindness from me, remember it now. You can't be so cruel as to refuse me one glimpse of her. She is my wife and I am your uncle, next to you by blood, Henry!'

  'You wish to go to Lord Suffolk's house?'

  'Aye,' Humfrey said and his mouth was twisted, 'if I must.'

  The chaplain, hiding in embarrassment in a corner, thought he would never forget the faces of the two men confronting each other, the one with the cool severity of inexperienced youth, compassion as yet unlearned, the other older, lined, desperate enough to induce a proud nature to beg.

  At last Henry said, 'Very well. My clerk will write the order in the morning.'

  But you said –'

  Henry sighed. I will send a messenger to delay her departure by one day. Now go, uncle. I advise you to get some rest. I will pray for you.' He did not hold out his hand to be saluted but turned back to the crucifix and knelt, his wide-eyed chaplain beside him.

  Humfrey left the room. It was dark on the stair and he stumbled once towards the bottom. A hand came out to steady him and he saw Tom Beckington gazing at him with great concern. Beckington was now a Canon of Wells Cathedral and the King's secretary, but still very much Humfrey's friend. My dear lord,' he said in great concern, I have heard it all and I am so very grieved for you. I do not know what to say except that God's mercy is above all else.'

  Humfrey gave him a wry, weary smile. I suppose we must believe it. At the moment I am in darkness.'