The King's Man (The Order of the White Boar Book 2)

by Alex Marchant

  Edward winced as I repeated the tortured French, but laughed again. He reminded me then, not for the first time, of his little cousin Ed. A spark of recognition had also kindled in Duke Richard’s eye after supper the evening before when the new King had shaken off his usual melancholy at some quip of Lord Lovell’s. Did the Duke see in his new sovereign some likeness to his son too – or was it to his dead brother?

  Lord Lovell’s men were eyeing us with curiosity. Hastily I tucked the parchment scrap into my pouch. Edward sobered up.

  ‘Don’t tell my uncle Buckingham of that. He’d be shocked at someone mocking a member of the nobility.’

  I wouldn’t dare, I thought, casting my mind back to Duke Henry’s haughty words to me at Twelfth Night, when I had encountered him outside Duke Richard’s bedchamber in the palace of Westminster. A mere merchant’s son, riding with the King, let alone mocking a nobleman? Bricking me up like a rat would be too good for me.

  Late that evening, Duke Richard summoned me to his chamber in the Abbey guesthouse at St Albans. Lord Lovell and Master Kendall, passing me, bid me goodnight as I approached the door. The Duke was alone when I entered – the first time I had seen him so since we had left Middleham.

  He was sitting staring into the fire that was crackling in the hearth though it had been a warm May day. A flagon of wine and cups were untouched upon a table near his elbow. The guards who were always posted now outside his rooms had announced me, but he did not look up.

  ‘Your Grace?’ I said after a moment.

  He roused himself and waved me forward. The deep lines and shadows about his eyes, accentuated by the light of the flickering flames, startled me as I straightened up from my bow.

  ‘Your Grace, would you like me to sing? I have brought my lute.’

  ‘Please, Matthew. We have not had enough music in these past days.’

  I hadn’t sung to him since the night in the castle at Nottingham on our way south. Every evening since he had spent immersed in business which left little time for relaxation. Now, as I sang – the sad French chanson that was the first to come to mind – he tipped wine into a cup and sat nursing it for some time, before taking a sip. As the final notes faded away, he poured a second cup and pushed it towards me, with a tiny tray of sweetmeats.

  ‘No more, Matt,’ he said, to my surprise. He was rarely content with just one song. Had I made the wrong choice? ‘I would rather remember the cheerful songs of our last night at Middleham. For this will be your last evening as part of my household.’

  ‘Yes, Your Grace.’

  I needed no reminding. Through all the busy times of the past few days, that thought had never left me – excited though I should be at entering the service of a great London merchant.

  I propped my lute against the table and took up the cup he offered, gulping the strong wine. I was glad it burned as it went down, giving a reason for the smarting of my eyes.

  ‘And I wished to speak with you before you leave us.’

  He gestured to a stool nearby and I sat, Murrey wrapping herself around my booted feet. As I nibbled on a sweetmeat from the salver, I hoped the Duke would be talking rather than me. Now that I was no longer singing, I wasn’t sure I could trust my voice.

  ‘Master Ashley has agreed to take you as apprentice on my recommendation. I know I do not need to tell you this, but serve him well and he will look after you well. It is an opportunity such as few young men have.’

  I nodded mutely. I knew full well how lucky I was – even though luck such as this could never make up for what I had lost.

  ‘Though much has changed, Matt, since first I told you that you must leave my service, one thing has not. Though he is my nephew now, no longer my brother, our King will still need the loyalty and support of men such as Lord Soulsby. We must give him no further cause for complaint.’

  He paused to toss a tidbit from the salver to Murrey. Leaning forward, he cannot have seen the flame that touched my cheek at mention of the name. At the memory of Hugh’s uncle’s suspicions about me and Alys – his son Ralph’s intended wife, if Alys’s guardian Queen Elizabeth had her way.

  Sitting back again, the Duke took another sip of his wine, then continued.

  ‘However, it is likely that Alys will accompany my wife to Westminster for the coronation. Your fortunate move to Master Ashley’s household in London may allow you to meet with her from time to time while I am Protector. As I said before, you also have my permission still to write.’ He broke off, uncertainty upon his face, as though he were about to ask a favour. ‘And I hope also that you will continue to write to my son. His health I believe will keep him at home in Middleham.’

  ‘Of course, my lord. And thank you.’ I hesitated in my turn before saying more, but knowing it was my last evening drove me on. ‘Ed has become almost like a brother to me. I would not want to let him down.’

  His features relaxed into a smile.

  ‘I thank you for your loyalty. I know how good a friend you have been to him. To us all. And there is one more thing.’

  He took something from a purse lying on the table and handed it to me. It was a small badge, less than the length of my thumb, fashioned from silver in the shape of a boar.

  ‘Here is my token in remembrance of your valued service to us. If ever you have need of me, you may call on me and I will do my best to help.’

  Gratitude washed through me, carrying with it fond memories like flotsam on the tide. Before I could stop myself, I replied, ‘Thank you, Your Grace. And if you are ever in need, call on me.’

  ‘If I’m in need?’

  ‘Yes, Your Grace. We...’

  I almost wished I’d not started, but the amused interest on his face spurred me on.

  ‘We – that is, Ed, Alys, Roger and me – we’ve founded our own order – the Order of the White Boar – to be loyal to each other and to you. If ever you have need of us...’

  Now I said it out loud, to an adult, it sounded foolish to me. But the Duke showed more real pleasure than I had seen for days.

  ‘Then, yes, I thank you, Matthew – I shall call on you and your friends when I am in direst need. In these days, who knows when that shall be?’

  And he raised his cup to me, and I to him, and we drank a toast to seal the bargain.

  The wine flowed down and into my veins. Warming me throughout, it gave me the courage to ask a question that had been lurking for some time.

  ‘Your Grace, what has happened to Lord Rivers and Lord Grey? The King has asked me and I’ve been unable to tell him.’

  The Duke’s hand checked as he lifted his cup to take another draught.

  ‘The King has asked you?’

  ‘Yes, Your Grace. I think he trusts me. That was what you wanted, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, Matt, it was.’ He was thoughtful for a moment. ‘It’s a shame you are leaving us. Young Edward might have done better with you as a companion than his tutor, old Alcock. If he ask again, you must tell him the truth. That they have been taken to Sheriff Hutton and Middleham for safekeeping until they can be brought to trial. If they are innocent of any wrongdoing, they will be released. If not, then being uncle and brother to a King will not save them.’

  My face must have betrayed me as, with a slight frown, he asked,

  ‘Does that seem harsh to you?’

  Not expecting the question, I nodded without thinking.

  He laughed, but with little humour.

  ‘Perhaps it is true. Perhaps I seem a different man in these days to the one you’ve known before? But, Matt, I was bred in war. Before I was eight, my father and brother were killed and I was exiled from my mother and my home. At eighteen I led men and fought in my first battles. Since then I have served my brother in wars in Scotland and France. I would that I had no need for violence and that my life had been peaceful. It may be yet. I hope that my actions – here this week, today, whatever comes tomorrow – will lead to a kingdom where my son, you – and, yes, this boy King – can grow
up in peace – where cousin will never fight against cousin again for power. It may be yet.’

  He fell silent, cradling his cup and gazing into the fire again. And I knew it was time for me to leave.

  I dropped to my knee in front of him and felt his hand on my shoulder one last time.

  ‘Good night, Matthew. May tomorrow bring you all that you desire. And yes, I will remember to call on you if I am in need. It seems that you do indeed have the makings of a fine chivalrous knight.’

  I was used to his gentle mockery, but somehow now, although his tone was light, there was a seriousness about his words. Perhaps that was unsurprising after the events of recent days.

  All this raced through my brain as I rode with Master Kendall away from the procession in London, together with my last parting from the King earlier that morning.

  Edward had clasped my hand warmly, given a last treat to Murrey, and urged me to visit him when he was lodged at the Tower. There I could marvel at his menagerie of wondrous, exotic animals and his fabulous treasure – when it was returned to him. A momentary darkness had crossed his brow at that reminder of his uncle Sir Edward’s actions, before being banished by thoughts of the coming joyous celebrations.

  Perhaps I believed that I would one day pay such a call on the King about as much as I believed that Duke Richard would ever summon my aid. As I followed Master Kendall through the emptying streets on our way to Master Ashley’s townhouse, I told myself I had to put that part of my life – my brushes with nobility and royalty – firmly in my past and look only to the future.

  5 ‘A Bag of Snakes’

  The familiarity of Master Ashley’s house and many of the people within it were a great help to me over the following weeks as I adjusted to this second immense change in my life. My new master greeted me formally that morning, holding the apprentice papers ready for my signature, but the friendliness with which he and Master Kendall conversed reminded me of the strong links between their households. It gave me hope that I would still be able to see my friends in the Order.

  The two men spoke about the late King – ‘He was a good man, but would have done better to have spent more time governing than in pleasure’ – and of the dangerous times ahead – ‘Master Lewis – remember him? – he was talking of Westminster and its cliques as a bag of snakes ready and waiting to be opened – I do not envy the new Protector his task.’ And, of course, being Englishmen, of the weather.

  ‘It has been so fine these past weeks that the strawberries are ripening in the more sheltered part of my garden,’ Master Ashley said.

  Master Kendall shook his head in disbelief.

  ‘It will be another month at least before the Duchess will be eating them at home in Middleham.’

  At which my new master called at once for his steward.

  Master Lyndsey, whom I remembered well from my time here in the winter, entered carrying a covered basket.

  ‘Master Lyndsey has had some gathered to take back with you. I know how much Duke Richard enjoys them. And there are peaches for him too.’

  ‘Now you are jesting with me!’

  ‘Brought in from France this morning,’ Master Lyndsey assured him.

  They would have been nestled in straw in shallow crates for the journey as I now knew, having seen the arrival of golden oranges during the winter, shipped in by Spanish merchants from the far-off groves of Seville.

  Being reminded of the exotic sights and sounds and smells of Master Ashley’s house and store rooms at last rekindled my interest after the shocks of recent days. After all, many good things could come of my change of situation.

  Another presented itself almost at once.

  ‘Before I forget,’ said Master Kendall, ‘the Duke has requested that you arrange for Matthew to continue with his lessons in singing and his instrument. He will gladly pay for them. He believes the boy has a talent that should be encouraged.’

  ‘I will be pleased to,’ said Master Ashley, ‘at no cost to His Grace. I have no singer in my household at present. Although it may be some weeks before I can find him a suitable tutor. He will be accompanying my party to Flanders in a few days.’

  I was astounded that the Duke should have had time to think of music lessons, although I must confess that I would have preferred to keep up my weapons training. But mention of the journey drove all else from my head.

  ‘To Flanders?’ I asked without thought.

  Master Ashley glanced at me. His smile suggested not anger at the interruption, but rather amusement at my enthusiasm.

  ‘Aye, lad, to Flanders. I have cloth and printing concerns to attend to in Bruges, and you have much to learn about both. Will that suit?’

  The next few days were almost as busy as the previous ones as I settled in to my new household.

  I shared a small attic room with only one other boy, which was paradise after the cramped pages’ quarters at Middleham. He was a fellow apprentice called Simon, a year or two older than me. At first I feared he was avoiding me, but soon discovered that he assumed I would be too big for my boots, having been in the household of a royal duke. We rubbed along well enough after that. For both of us it was to be our first visit over the sea when later that week we packed our few belongings to prepare for the journey to Bruges.

  Before we left, mindful of my promise to the Duke, I wrote to Ed about all that had happened since last I had seen him, especially about my renewed acquaintance with his cousin, the King. I made sure to write much of it using the code we had created, so that it could not be understood if it fell into the hands of our enemies. Or at least those of Hugh or Lionel... I had been careful to bring my copy of the cipher away with me, although I had taken the sad decision to leave behind with Alys the sacred list of the Order’s rules. I had scribed them in my best handwriting during those glorious days of our early friendship last summer. I had to force my thoughts away before any pangs of homesickness crept up on me.

  Master Ashley told me to place any letters with his own.

  ‘They will be taken with mine to His Grace’s house, and from there they can be sent on to your friends in the north. And do not fret, lad. We will be back home again in London in time for the young King’s coronation. I hear the date has now been set by his new Royal Council.’

  Then we were on our way to Flanders.

  Though we stayed there four weeks or more, I have few clear memories of that first visit to the majestic trading city of Bruges. Important events were playing out back in London, though I did not know it at the time, and looking back, they colour the little that I do recollect. But remembrance of the churning stomach of my first rough sea voyage will remain with me all my life, the slapping of the white sails of Master Ashley’s ship cracking my tender head as I lay retching in my bunk, the salt taste on my lips as, on calmer waters, I stood on deck watching the thicket of ships’ masts and the bustling harbourside slide towards us. The ride through endless, flat, poplar-fringed fields that stretched towards every horizon, until I saw piercing the sky the slender finger of a bell tower, its roots at our destination.

  The town walls rearing up, the arched barbican over the open gates, traders, farmers, citizens, their beasts and wagons pouring through on to the cobbled streets, mirror-like canals hemmed in by high brick buildings, their gables crazily stepped up towards the clouds, their foundations deep beneath the heavy wooden barges cruising slowly past.

  The guttural voices of local stallholders as they hawked goods in their native Flemish tongue, the softer tones of French merchants in their fine robes striding on their way, the clopping of pack asses and mules laden with bales of cloth or sacks of unknown wares, the screeching swifts and twittering martins as they swooped for insects far above our heads, the clang of a single bell in a church on the corner.

  The warmth and sweetness of new baking wafting from windows, the earthy stench of dung from below, the reek of sweat amidst the mingling crowds, the smoky smell of meat roasting on a brazier that made the water sprin
g in my mouth, the fruity burst of my first bite of a lattice pastry offered up by a passing trader in exchange for a small unfamiliar coin.

  The greetings of my master in that strange local tongue to old friends and acquaintances from atop his slender grey mare, the laughing, waving responses, the immense carpet of paving as we rode into the expanse of the main square, the fine tall buildings jostling for space around its edges, topped always by that towering town hall belfry we had spied from afar.

  Master Ashley of course kept a beautiful townhouse close to this central square, though far enough away from the market bustle to be peaceful in the day as well as night. Its main doors opened straight on to the street, but at the rear its walls plunged into the depths of a canal. The window of the tiny room I shared with Simon gazed unseeing down upon the still, dark waters, and across them, into the fruit-tree-filled walled gardens of houses on the far side.

  Our days in the city were full of business, learning the ways of clothmakers and merchants, entering strings of numbers in giant ledgers, jotting notes to our master’s customers or suppliers, finding our way, hesitantly at first, around the dense maze of streets and waterways to deliver messages or order goods. Once, even, feeding my intense curiosity, having demonstrated to us the working of a printing machine such as Master Caxton now used to make books in his workshop crouched under the walls of St Paul’s churchyard.

  Tiny metal letters clutched in hands of iron, smeared with ink by apprentices like us, pressed down on immense sheets of paper or parchment, and lifted to reveal neat lines of words on page after page – again and again and again. So far from the painstaking work of copyists I’d watched in the scriptorium at York Minster – labouring all day with goose quill, knife, ink pot, scraper, to produce a single page or less of handwritten Latin text.

  This of all that I encountered on my first trip abroad excited me more than any other. With my brother Fred learning his trade as bookbinder at home in York, perhaps, one day, when I had served my apprenticeship too, we might set up in partnership with this wondrous machine. If ever we could gather the funds to afford one...