The Lord of Greenwich (The Plantagenets Book 5)

by Juliet Dymoke

  I know how it must be, but only trust, my lord,' Beckington guided him to a bench and they sat down together. Men were asleep in the hall. Humfrey's own followers gathered in a knot by the door. The truth will come out and then –'

  Don't you see?' Humfrey leaned his head on his hand. 'That is what I fear.'

  Tom drew in his breath. You cannot mean that you think she is guilty? My lord, over all these years we have been acquainted you have always looked in horror upon heresy, Lollardy, any such blasphemy against Holy Church. You would not surely have countenanced such things in your lady, in your own house?'

  Humfrey shook his head. 'No, not that, but I . . . I doubt her discretion in some lesser matters. She did attend to Bolingbroke when he came to Bellacourt or Baynards.' He found himself shivering, and Beckington, horrified by what he had heard, set an arm under his. 'Come, my lord, you are exhausted. Come to my chamber and have my bed tonight. You need sleep and it is too late for you to go even to your City lodging.' He beckoned to Elys and John Patrick who were watching uneasily and ten minutes later Humfrey lay in Beckington's bed, the welcome silence about him. He could not think, nor grasp what had happened, only that the blow had struck him utterly unawares. How his enemies would exult. And tomorrow he must go as a suppliant to Suffolk's house, the King's order in his hand. How Suffolk would enjoy his humiliation! Yet it had to be done for see Eleanor he must. But, Holy Mother of God! He beat his fist into the pillow, how could she have been so mad even to have toyed with what was black, dangerous and mad and what could be her ruin and his own. He tossed in Beckington's bed, unable to rest, torn this way and that by the thought of Eleanor arrested, facing trial and to what end he dared not contemplate. Towards first light he fell into the heavy sleep of exhaustion but only to dream of a Black Mass at which Eleanor danced before a profaned altar.

  William de la Pole, Earl of Suffolk, was in his bedchamber when told of Duke Humfrey’s arrival. One of the King's clerks had already brought him the order bearing the royal seal and he read it coolly before bidding his servant to request Duke Humfrey to wait. He dressed slowly and then went down the stair so that Humfrey, pacing the hall, saw the deliberate lack of haste.

  'My lord Duke,' Suffolk bowed, 'forgive me for keeping you. I was but just from my bed and did not expect you so early.'

  Humfrey glowered at him. 'How so, seeing that I know you are to be away to Kent today?'

  'Ah yes, we should leave in time to reach Camberwell by nightfall, though,' Suffolk added, 'I should have preferred to sleep at Eltham which by the King's goodwill we had leave to do, and would have done but for the delay.'

  Humfrey refused to be drawn. Instead from his height he looked down at the stocky Yorkshire earl. How dared he take such a tone with a royal Duke? In a voice of ice, he said, 'then we waste time talking, nor do I have anything of moment to say to you. Pray conduct me to the Duchess.'

  'I will send to see if she is ready to receive you.' The Earl beckoned a page and despatched him up the stair. Then he called an usher and bade him offer wine to the Duke.

  'I thank you, no,' Humfrey said. He glanced round the room, aware of the richness of the hangings, the gleaming silverware on the table, the fine tapestries hanging on the wall – enough state here and all flaunted by a man of no birth, he thought contemptuously. And the place teemed with servants. Outside a window filled with stained glass of the best quality he saw vague shapes of men coming and going in the courtyard, preparations in hand no doubt for the coming journey, and it was quite obvious that Suffolk meant to go with a large escort. Humfrey wanted to laugh in his face, mock him for his caution, his fear of one woman.

  After what seemed an interminable time, a waiting woman came down, curtseyed to the Earl and then to Humfrey, and then aware that she ought not to have put her master before the Duke, stood scarlet-faced, murmuring to the ground that the Lady Eleanor was ready.

  'Then take me to her,' Humfrey said sharply. 'I do not need your escort, my lord of Suffolk. I'm sure you have much to do.'

  The Earl had moved forward, determined to accompany the Duke to the prisoner, but Humfrey was equally determined he should not and at the bottom of the stair stood in his path, his eyes fixed on the Earl's face.

  Suffolk hesitated and was lost. No hint of blame had so far attached itself to the Duke and he was wise enough to see that a confrontation now might one day turn against him. He bowed and stepped back and Humfrey alone went up with the woman.

  Outside a door were two men-at-arms, leaving no doubt that it was indeed a prisoner that they guarded, but they made no move as Humfrey approached, staring stonily at the wall opposite. The woman opened the door and he went in. Eleanor sat in a chair by the empty hearth, dressed for the journey, her cloak and gloves lying on the neatly made bed, a small travelling chest on the floor. She was wearing a yellow dress he had always liked, her dark hair bound about her head and without her head-dress as yet. He shut the door in the serving woman's face and leaned against it. For several seconds they stared blankly at each other, neither moving to cross the space between them. Then he said, 'Eleanor – Eleanor, what in God's name possessed you?' And realized at once what an unfortunate word he had chosen for a dark colour rose in her cheeks.

  'Do you too think I am bewitched?'

  'No, no! God forgive me, I did not mean that.' He crossed the room and taking her hands, drew her from her chair into his arms.

  She came obediently but with a strange apathy. His kiss was urgent and long, though without passion, too much hanging over them for that, but she did not respond to it, nor did she weep as he had expected, nor cry out nor beg his help. Instead when he released her she sat down again looking at him out of eyes that were dulled and yet determined.

  'Tell me,' he said, 'tell me how it all came about or I shall go out of my mind. Did you do what they say?'

  'What do they say?' she asked in a voice that matched her expression, utterly unlike her usual tone. 'That I am a witch? What do they say in the taverns? Burn the witch? Light the fire for the sorceress?'

  He could not suppress a shudder. 'How should I know, seeing I only came to London last night? But no, I swear not. I am too well loved in the city for that.'

  'You are,' she agreed, 'but not I. Perhaps I was too proud for your city friends – I never liked them as you did. So now I shall make a holiday for them.'

  'Christ's Cross, no! Not while I have breath in me. It shall never come to that.'

  'Your brother burned the Maid because he believed her a witch, and witches guilty of treason receive no mercy. Did you know, Humfrey, they try to find green wood sometimes so that the smoke may suffocate the victim before the flames get to work. That is kind, is it not?' She stretched out her arm. 'I have such fair flesh, it would be a pity to see it blister and burn.'

  He got up and stood over her, unable to bear the sound of that lifeless, monotonous voice. 'Stop! Stop! Eleanor, for God's sake!'

  She gave a shudder and seizing his hand held it hard, her nails deep in his flesh, the sight of him stirring her at last out of the despair, the horror that had stupefied her mind. 'If I am proved guilty –'

  'But you cannot be!' He knelt by her chair. 'My heart, tell me, I beg you. What have you done?'

  'So little.' She gave him an odd look. 'Only ask simple questions. I wanted to find out –' she broke off. 'Humfrey, we know so little of the ways of reading the stars, learning our destiny. Ancient rhymes and runes can tell us more. You know how I have searched your books in my studies.'

  'Yes, yes, but all that was innocent enough. There must be more else you'd not be here. What of Master Bolingbroke? It was he who led you astray, eh? By God, I wish I had forbidden him the house. And that evil woman, Jourdemayne.'

  'She's done no harm,' Eleanor said sadly. 'As for Roger, poor wight, he had gone deeper in than I knew at first. And I only wanted him to read the future for me, I only wanted to hear if you, if I –'

  'I know.' He could have groaned aloud. 'Oh Eleanor, you d
id more than you realized. It was your pride that drove you. We spoke of it once before, don't you recall? And I told you I would only want the crown if it came honourably. I never wanted Henry's death and he knows it. I had opportunity enough when he was a babe had I desired it, but he was Harry's child and thus I always saw him.'

  'He may be your brother's son,' she retorted with something of her old spirit, 'but he is not fit to be king, a simpleton for common folk to laugh at. How much better a King you would have been! And if I could have wrought it I'd not have repented, not for an instant.' He got stiffly from his knees and sat down again on the bed. It was true then, she would have gone to any lengths to see him wear the crown and uneasily wondered how far she had been impelled by her own desire to be Queen at his side. 'What did you do?' he asked in a goaded voice. 'Henry told me last night that among Bolingbroke's instruments and charts was a waxen figure, representing himself – or so he says. That is devilry indeed, blasphemy as everyone knows.'

  'Master Roger said it was needed only to divine the truth. There was no evil intent.'

  'No? Yet that villain would see himself high in the world if he had made you Queen.'

  'Perhaps.'

  'Jesu!' he said. 'Can you not see that smacks of treason? Were you so bemused by your signs and spells that you could not smell the stink of treason? And that leads to the stink of the fire! Eleanor! Eleanor!' He had both elbows on his knees, his head sunk in his hands.

  She was sitting rigid, her face even paler, but still she did not break. 'As God Himself sees me, I did not plan treason. I am innocent of that, but as to the rest, I'll not deny I tried to read the future. There's no harm in that and poor Master Roger and Master Southwell did no worse than aid me. Have you never wanted to know, Humfrey, to see what is to come?'

  He raised a haggard face. 'We are not meant to know. Eleanor, they will bring you to trial – you must deny it all.'

  'I will deny only that I have done anything evil, I will deny the charge of treason, or sorcery. I will swear I am no witch, but as for the rest –' she gave a shrug, and he stared unbelievingly at her.

  'You will condemn yourself.'

  'I can throw myself on Holy Church's mercy.'

  'As the Maid did once.'

  'I have not claimed to hear voices, nor blasphemed.'

  There seemed to be an abyss of conflict between them such as they had never known before. He felt he could not reach her and a sense of weariness, of defeat, of the waste of life came over him. That she should plunge them both into this horror, this grim danger was hard enough to endure but even worse was her obduracy, her refusal to abjure what she had done. Hardest of all was the strangeness of her behaviour.

  He rose and in desperation tried the only way left to reach her. He took her once more in his arms and this time she pressed herself close to him, though her face was turned from his. 'It was for you,' he could scarcely hear the whisper, 'for you, Humfrey.'

  He put one hand to her chin so that she must look at him. 'Then you have not understood me at all,' he said. 'But we cannot think of that now, only what is to be done. For Christ's sake, deny it, Eleanor. They must believe you – you are my wife. I have at least some standing left.'

  'I will tell what I did and why,' she retorted. 'They cannot frighten me into lies and God will protect me.'

  'Will He? When they will say you have blasphemed Him?'

  For a moment they stood silent, close to each other and yet, or so it seemed to Humfrey, apart. And the precious moments were slipping away.

  There was a discreet knock on the door and Elys came in.

  'My lord, the Earl says he wishes to leave within half an hour.'

  'Damn him,' Humfrey said, 'damn him, he's enjoying this and I could slay him for it – though I'll not give him or the rest of the wolf pack the satisfaction of knowing it. Go down, Elys, say that I am coming.'

  When they were alone again he turned to Eleanor and then at last all the argument, the conflict was forgotten. They embraced, holding each other close, youth gone but love remaining.

  'Dear lord,' she said and for the first time she trembled and her voice seemed near breaking, 'only believe me – whatever they say, whatever happens.'

  'Always.' He kissed her again and again with something of his old fire. 'Why did we waste so much time in talk? I want you now and there's no time. Oh God, I can't leave you like this.'

  'If it pleases Him I'll soon be free,' she tried to make her voice sound light, 'and home again at Bellacourt.'

  At Bellacourt! He had beautified it for her and now he must go back to it alone. He covered her face with kisses and rage rose in him, rage mingled with the passion that had always ruled him, rage that his enemies had come at last between them, forcing them apart. Abruptly he released her, put her hand to his lips and then turned and left her standing there, unable to look back or see again that wretched blank look on her face, belying her words. He went down the stair and across the hall. Suffolk waited by the door and with him now was Richard Neville, Earl of Salisbury, grown into a great bull of a man and not troubling to hide his satisfaction in this moment. Humfrey had a sudden memory of Neville as a sulky boy at Bores-Jesu, how could a man bear a grudge so long? It sickened him that they should both stand there, smugly enjoying their triumph, and ignoring Suffolk's bow and Salisbury's 'Good-day, my lord', he went out to where Arthur and Elys waited with a groom holding his horse. He mounted and rode away under the arched gate.

  They had not gone the length of the street before Arthur burst out, 'Father, are we to do nothing? If the Duchess is to be taken to Leeds Castle it is several days journey – can we not surprise the escort, take her to safety?' And seeing Humfrey shake his head, his whole body slumped in the saddle, Elys added his own plea, 'My lord! All these years I have served you I have done nothing out of the ordinary. Let me try at least to do this for you. We could ride for the coast – you are still warden, you could command a ship.' His own antipathy was lost now, his concern for Humfrey such that he would free Eleanor himself if it would take that look from his lord's face.

  Humfrey gave him a melancholy smile out of weary bloodshot eyes. 'You have been the best of friends, Elys Foxton, and that is enough. And where should we go? What should we do? France won't welcome us, nor Flanders, though Jacqueline, God rest her, is dead.'

  'Father!' Arthur broke in desperately, 'listen to us, we have been preparing a plan, Elys and I, and it could be done. We want only my step-mother's safety and yours. Could we not at least take her as far as Dover Castle until the matter is settled? You can hold that against anyone.'

  'I know you would attempt it for me, both of you, and maybe it could be done, but I cannot let you. It would put us all in the wrong, nor do I want to leave England and my place here unless I am driven to the final extremity. We will stay quiet and God willing we will all ride out this storm.' But as they turned across London Bridge, where so long ago he had defied his uncle Beaufort there was a heavy foreboding in Humfrey that would not be stilled, and it was Eleanor's own words that had laid it there.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Lady Westmorland was well into her sixties and not given to rising much before noon but she astonished her maid on one particular morning by calling for her at nine o'clock and ordering her litter to be brought to the door.

  'I am going to Greenwich,' she said.

  'To Greenwich, my lady? In your litter?'

  'Yes, foolish girl. Should I walk to the river? Hurry now.'

  She dressed in pink velvet, aware that it no longer suited her as it had once done but Humfrey liked bright colours and it was for his sake that she was making this unusual effort. She sent a message to Master Hoccleve to meet her at Hay's wharf and took one last look in the mirror. Holy Mother, how wrinkled she had become, and thin – at least the present warmth eased the pain in her joints.

  Master Hoccleve on the other hand had grown obese and climbed into her barge with much puffing and panting to sink thankfully into a seat beside
her. She had long been his patron and he had dedicated a book to her.

  'We go to see the Duke of Gloucester,' she said, 'And I rely on you, Thomas, to speak only pleasant verses that will distract him from his present troubles.'

  'Yes, madame,' Hoccleve answered obediently. He longed to ask her what she thought of the impending trial of so great a lady as the Duchess of Gloucester but he did not dare to do so nor did Lady Westmorland offer any comment.

  Humfrey welcomed them gladly, kissed his aunt's hand and then her cheek and ordered dinner for them. Afterwards the poet recited simple verses of the countryside and seemed not to notice when Joan, having enjoyed Humfrey's well-spread table, fell gently asleep.

  When she woke, however, she said, 'Thank you, Master Hoccleve, a good choice. Now I am sure, if the Duke permits it, you would be glad to look into his library.'

  'Of course,' Humfrey said. 'Thomas is familiar enough with it to find anything he chooses, are you not, my friend?'

  The poet bowed and departed, aware his companionship was no longer needed, and Humfrey gave Joan his arm for a walk in the gardens.

  'I know why you brought him, my aunt,' he said with a sad smile. 'It was kind of you. I have little enough to cheer me these days.'

  'Do not tell me your friends do not visit you?'

  'Oh, they come. In fact,' he gave a deep sigh, 'they have rallied to me in a way that touches me deeply. Our good London citizens may throw their rotten eggs at Master Bolingbroke but they have not forgotten their "Good Duke". They still cheer me, more perhaps to show how well they love me. Whittington and Coventry both came to dine with me last week. Cobham spends most of his time here, and even Roger Courtney came though he has to be carried in a litter since he fell in the tournay at Windsor.'

  'I am glad,' she said and pressed his arm. 'Dear Humfrey, how beautiful you have made this place. These gardens are a joy to see.'

  He looked about them at the bright colours, the orange of marigolds, the pinks and reds of the roses, the blue of cornflowers and pansies. 'Yes,' he said, 'I made it all I ever dreamed it could be and now it is empty.'