Her busy words ran to a halt as Alys accepted the proffered wine-glass and gulped gratefully. Shadow sidled up and sat down, alert, at her side, as Alys replaced the glass on a nearby table.
‘Thank you, my lady. It has been a long day, and a long ride. We have come all the way from London.’
‘London! But —’ Lady Tyrell drew back a fraction. ‘But isn’t Tudor...?’
‘He had not arrived before we left. We have been sent with a message.’
‘Then I’m only sorry that Sir James is not here to greet you. He is on the continent in service for...’ She hesitated, her eyes again flickering over Roger and me, ‘for King Richard.’
‘That is why we are here, Lady Tyrell,’ said Alys. ‘On the King’s service. The true King.’
‘Indeed? And who are “we”?’
Alys shrank back from a sudden sharpness in Lady Tyrell’s words and her own voice wavered.
‘This – this is Matthew Wansford, my lady, and perhaps you remember Roger de Kynton?’
My lady inclined her head as both Roger and I bowed our most courteous bows, but her face was still suspicious. When she didn’t speak, Alys stammered on.
‘Matthew was sent by... by King Richard from the battlefield with a message to Master Ashley.’ A flutter of recognition in Lady Tyrell’s eyes, but it was blinked away in a moment. ‘Master Ashley – he has been prevented from coming here himself by agents of Henry Tudor. So... so we have come instead.’
‘Why?’
The force of the word finally bludgeoned Alys into silence. She took another gulp of wine, her free hand reaching across to fondle Shadow’s ears.
Her ladyship’s glance darted from her to me and back again.
Roger stepped forward into the breach and bent his knee in a flouncing, ceremonious fashion, whisking off his cap and sweeping it to his heart as he was used to do in dancing classes at Middleham.
‘My lady, we have travelled far to bring you greetings from —’
But Lady Tyrell cut him off.
‘Not you – the other boy. Speak! Why are you here?’
As Roger retreated, I seized my courage in my hands and took a pace forwards, sensing Murrey hugging close to my thigh and drawing strength from her presence.
Now was a moment for plain speaking – and our task was urgent.
‘To take Edward and Richard, the – the princes to safety, my lady. If it will help you trust us, I have this.’ I thrust my boar badge, outside my doublet once more, towards her, and then reached inside my pouch. ‘And also this.’
She took the scrap of parchment I held out, that I had hoarded since the road to St Albans.
After peering at it, she said,
‘That is indeed his signature – the King’s I mean. And,’ she looked again at the parchment and up at me, ‘And Edward’s too. Do you know him?’
‘Yes, my lady. At least – we have met. I – I was his page once – when he was newly King. On his journey to London. Before...’
‘When he was King?’
‘Aye, my lady.’
‘And yet you are King Richard’s man?’
‘Yes, my lady.’ My voice sounded firm, though my insides roiled. ‘More recently I was apprentice to Master Ashley. It was he who sent us.’
‘And what do you intend to do with the – boys?’
‘King Richard said they were to be taken to his sister in Flanders. Master Ashley told us we should go by boat from Lowestoft – that would be the nearest seaport and the safest crossing to the continent.’
Much of the tension in Lady Tyrell’s features seeped away, but doubt still shaded her eyes.
‘And you say you know young Edward?’
‘Aye, my lady. We rode together one Christmas-tide, and then again towards London. We became friends – almost.’
For so I had believed.
She motioned to one of the old servants, all of whom were standing silently nearby, and in a few moments two figures appeared in the doorway.
Alys and Roger exchanged glances, and for the first time it occurred to me that my friends had perhaps never met these boys.
But I knew them of course.
Edward and Richard. The boys who had been princes.
They advanced a pace or two into the hall, their faces pale, fear in their dark shadowed eyes. I smiled, hoping Edward and I could pick up our friendship across the distance of those two long years. But of a sudden my dream on the morning of the battle burst into my mind – with a shock as powerful as the blast of one of those monstrous cannons that had bombarded the armies facing each other that day.
I quavered inside at the memory, but I stood my ground. It was just a dream after all, nothing solid, nothing that would sway Edward’s reception of me. Surely, if he recollected me at all, he would recall our closeness during those days at Northampton and St Albans, how we chatted, joked, laughed together amidst the cares of his uncles’ business – how he had clasped hands with me warmly as we took our farewells and urged me to visit him in his royal apartments at the tower. Yet so much had changed in the days and weeks that followed. And now, as though I was being put to a test, the boys and I stared at one another across the cold grey width of the hall.
Would I pass? Would they remember me and know they could place their trust in me and my friends?
After an eternity waiting, to my surprise Edward dropped to one knee, dipping his hand into his pouch.
‘Murrey?’
My hound’s eyes beseeched me and I gestured to her to go. She bounded across the stone-slabbed floor and, as Edward drew out his hand, performed her usual perfect pirouette for the scrap he held. He threw it to her, waited till she had wolfed it down, then clapped his hands. She fell to the ground, unmoving, as though she had been shot, and stirred again only when he whistled.
Laughing, he slipped her another morsel, ruffling the fur on her head.
Then he glanced over to me and his expression changed. He drew himself up, looking very much like my memory of his father, the old King Edward.
‘Matthew? Murrey has not changed, but you – you look – older.’
So he had recognized me – if only through the antics of my hound. Would it be enough to persuade him to trust me?
Crossing the expanse of cold stone flags, I knelt before him.
What should I call him? Two years ago he had insisted on ‘Edward’. But now...?
I lowered my head.
‘Your Grace, it has been more than two years since last we met.’
‘Oh, yes, it has. And a great deal has happened in that time. Then I was King. Now...’ He paused. ‘And you were ever my uncle’s man.’
What was that emotion in his voice? Was it fear, scorn – or anger?
Whatever it was, the greeting I had hoped for would not be mine. Perhaps I should not be surprised after all that had passed. I brushed away the stab of disappointment. The matter at hand was too important to dwell on my own emotions.
I got back to my feet and looked him in the eye – though he was still taller than me.
‘Aye, Your Grace, I was and ever will be. And now I have come to take you to safety with his sister, your aunt.’
‘Safety!’ He spat out the word as though it brought evil tidings. ‘And I’m to believe you? After what my uncle did? And now that Henry Tudor has come to restore us? When I was lodged at the Tower, Lady Stanley said he —’
I raised my hand. Whatever he saw in my face caused his words to fade away.
‘Listen to me, Edward.’ Now was no time for niceties. ‘No matter what you may think of your uncle, of what he did, Henry Tudor is the more to be feared. He wants the crown for himself – he won’t restore it to you or your brother. The moment he stepped ashore in Wales he called himself King. He has issued proclamations from Leicester in the name of King Henry. He swore to marry your sister and if he makes her legitimate, it will mean you are too – and therefore the rightful King. But he will not bend his knee to you. He won’t rest until yo
u are dead.’
Little Richard gasped and his hand crept to clutch his brother’s. Edward was silent, but shock was scored across his eyes. Yet I had to go on, to tell them the truth.
‘No matter what she said to you, Lady Stanley is Tudor’s mother. And her husband, Lord Stanley, betrayed his anointed King on the battlefield. Who would you rather trust?’
I fell quiet myself at last, amazed at the words that had forced their way out. I had perhaps never uttered so many all at once before.
Then, as the boys remained motionless, I drew cool air deep into my lungs and, releasing it slowly, bowed my head to them both.
‘We will take you to your aunt Margaret and your friends in Flanders. They will keep you safe. One day, if you wish it, maybe they will help restore you to the throne.’
.
24 A New Morning
‘Matt. Wake up.’
Tap, tap, tap.
Someone knocking.
‘Matt? Did you hear me? Wake up. We must be off.’
Alys.
Groggy from sleep – the first sound, dreamless sleep for days – I grunted without words. Her quick footsteps faded away along the passage.
I swung my legs off the feather bed, splashed myself awake with the basinful of water placed ready and, dragging on my doublet, went to the window.
Outside a grey dawn was breaking. Threads of mist were floating across the flat fields beyond the stables, the wide fishponds, the chapel, its cut-flint walls lustrous in the half-light.
Something tugged inside me. The sun would be rising soon over the familiar moors high above Middleham, clothed now in the purple velvet of heather. Dew would form chains of sparkling diamonds on cobwebs adorning the golden bracken. The mist would linger in the dale perhaps for hours yet.
I turned away.
Upon a chair were my cloak, my new bundle of things for our journey, and Lord Lovell’s sword. I had kept it closely hidden since that first day at Leicester, had not even unsheathed it.
I drew it from its scabbard now. It was a fine-wrought weapon, well balanced, its hilt a simple cross bound with lightly worn leather.
I weighed it in my hand, then skipped to one side, whirling it about me as I had learnt, to parry the blow of an invisible enemy and turn the defence into my own attack. It felt comfortable in my hands, though I had never wielded a true sword before.
As I slid it back into its leather sheath, my eye was caught by some dark red specks where burnished blade met hilt. Lord Lovell had cleaned his weapon after the battle, but in a hurry. I rubbed the stain away with a corner of my cloak.
Downstairs, in the main entranceway, a slender figure was silhouetted against the growing daylight. It was Alys, staring out across the countryside, with Shadow a pale statue at her side.
Hearing the clicking of Murrey’s claws and the hesitant scrape of my footsteps on the stone flags, she swung to face me.
Something about her had changed.
‘Alys – your hair!’
She threw me a quick smile as her hand crept up to her head.
‘Lady Tyrell cut it for me. She says, if I must go, it may be safer if I travel as a boy. In case we are followed. They will be searching for two boys and a girl, not three – or five – boys.’
She gazed back out over the waving fields of corn and barley, touched to gold now by the first shafts of sunlight.
‘And if I’m not to be married soon, no one will notice if I don’t have long hair just now.’
We stood side by side in silence for a few moments. Then she said quietly,
‘Matt, will you tell me all that happened? There was no time to ask at Master Ashley’s. All we heard was that Lord Stanley...’
I turned to her, as she stood upright in the pinkish twilight, her ragged hair sticking out all-ways out from under her boy’s cap, her eyes catching the rays of the sun and melting into liquid emeralds.
But my heart seemed to force its way into my throat. All I could croak out was ‘No – not today’, before I buried my face in the shoulder of her doublet, and let out all the sobs I had held in for days, and all the tears.
She embraced me for some minutes, wordless herself, her arms tight around me as my body shook in distress. Then, as the sobbing died away, she loosened her hold and pushed me a little away from her.
‘We must carry on. We must finish this.’
Her voice, though broken, was fierce, determined.
I nodded and, wiping my face with my sleeve, followed as she led the way back into the great hall, the two hounds trailing behind.
Roger hailed us from where he was helping himself to bread, cheese and ale at a long trestle table, cheerful as ever, despite all our troubles and the early hour of the morning.
Sitting a little way along from him, and similarly dressed in rough travelling clothes, Edward and Richard were also breaking their fast. They didn’t speak as we joined them, but again in Edward’s face was that mixture of anger, fear and defiance I’d seen last night. But also perhaps a new respect. Richard, as I discovered, followed his brother in most things, though there was still more of fear in his younger eyes. I neither knew nor cared what they could read in mine.
I had hardly time to chew a first mouthful of bread and cheese, and drop some down to Murrey, before Lady Tyrell came hurrying in.
‘You must leave at once. Strangers have been seen in Stowmarket asking questions. There’s no time to waste. Horses are being saddled in the yard.’
As we each swallowed a last draught of ale and snatched up our bundles, she carried on, addressing me apparently as the leader of the party.
‘Remember what I said last night. Cut across country until you reach the River Waveney. It may be slow going, but safer than the roads. Follow it until you come to the sea. The town there is Lowestoft. You should be able to buy your passage in the harbour there.’
She ushered us out to the stable yard where five lean ponies were waiting patiently while grooms finished harnessing them. As Alys and the boys went to sling their packs across the ponies’ withers, Lady Tyrell’s hand on my shoulder held me back.
‘Be careful who you show your badge to, and don’t tell anyone who you really are. The ships’ captains are fiercely independent like all men of the sea. They may not want to become entangled in affairs of the English crown.’
I nodded, but she didn’t release her grip on my arm.
‘And, Matthew, my husband does not know the boys were here. He is so often away on business. To him they were just two new pages – he was never at court with them and they have been sworn to secrecy. It was thought safest. If you should meet him abroad...’
‘Of course, my lady. I understand.’
At last she let me go. A minute later the five of us and two hounds were trotting along the lane away from the hall, turning east towards the rising sun.
25 Lowestoft
Our journey that day might have been a pleasure in less troubled times. For all my yearning to be home in Yorkshire, even I could have found beauty in the slow-moving, meandering river, fringed by gracious willows and warm sunlit water meadows. As herons leisurely took to flight on their great grey wings at our approach and flocks of geese paddled honking away from the river bank.
But as we drew nearer to the sea, the trees thinned and the lush grassland became scrub, and the feeling crept through me that we could be seen for miles across this flat, almost featureless landscape.
Lady Tyrell had assured us that she and her people would tell any pursuers that we had headed north-west, as though towards King Richard’s northern strongholds. But how long would that keep them from our trail?
Darkness was falling as our ponies’ hoofbeats echoed along the main street of Lowestoft. There was little more than this one paved way, with scatters of houses along alleys climbing on our left-hand side and tumbling downhill towards the harbour to our right. The swell of the sea reached my ears from far below and lights twinkled on the masts of ships and from lanterns on the
quayside – a black mass now against the dark grey of the water. A mist was rising in the cool of the evening, carrying the salt tang of the sea to my nostrils.
Roger and I left Alys and the boys with the horses and made our way to the tavern on the corner where Lady Tyrell had said sea captains might be found. I glanced up at its swinging sign as we entered and nudged Roger. The sign of the silver lion. We were in the country of the Dukes of Norfolk and I took it to be a good omen.
The first two or three captains only laughed at the sight of us, despite the coins we offered, but within minutes we had made a down payment on a passage across to Friesland, the rest to be paid on our safe arrival.
‘It’s a boat called the Falcon, though its master is Friesian,’ Roger told the others on our return to the dark, misty corner where they had waited. ‘It sails just after midnight on the ebb tide.’
‘Can we go aboard now?’ asked Richard.
Of all of us, he had found the day most tiring, though his complaints had been few. I was sorry to have to shake my head.
‘Not until an hour or so before. The crew are still loading their cargo of wool and we’d just be in the way.’
‘Let’s get some hot food,’ suggested Alys. ‘Shall we try that tavern?’
‘We passed a quieter one on the way back – the Fleece. It might suit us better and there was stabling.’
The Fleece laid on a fine stew of lamb and aromatic herbs and mugs of good ale, and we arranged to leave the ponies there until Lady Tyrell’s people could claim them. At last we were closing in on our goal. I almost began to relax.
Richard was nodding in the corner of the settle and the rest of us were in the middle of a spirited debate about the latest French romances when I realized Alys had fallen quiet.
‘What’s wrong?’ I asked.
Her usually clear eyes were troubled.
‘I’m not sure anything is. But... a few minutes ago a man came in, talked to the serving man and left again almost straight away. I noticed him because he seemed familiar. He’s just come back in and I think... I’m not sure, but I think he’s watching us. No!’ The word came out as a squeak as Roger began to turn round. ‘Don’t look his way. That will just alert him – if it is anything to worry about.’
The King's Man (The Order of the White Boar Book 2) Page 23
