The Order of the White Boar

by Alex Marchant

  Perhaps he saw the doubt in my face despite the dim candlelight.

  ‘But as I say, it is no matter. It has never prevented me serving my brother. I learnt well enough how to wield a sword and I gained in strength, if not so much in size.’

  ‘So there is hope for me yet,’ I blurted out.

  The Duke was mystified, as I sank to my knees in front of him.

  ‘For you?’

  ‘For me to learn enough to serve you well, you and His Grace the King. I may be small now, but… If I work hard at weapons training when we go home. If I can train when you’re in Parliament. Perhaps with the other pages at Crosby Place…’

  Silence followed my outburst.

  The Duke gazed at me for what seemed long minutes. As my blood cooled, I found myself unable to look away.

  Then he broke the hold, putting his cup down on the table.

  ‘You’re so like my son in some ways – in your eagerness to be a knight. I would that he had your ability with books and figures too.’

  ‘I would give them up, my lord.’

  ‘No, Matthew, never do that. Being a warrior is not the only way to serve. Brain work and book learning are as valuable to the kingdom.’

  ‘But not for a proper man!’

  ‘There are other ways of being a man than fighting. When my father died, I had no choice, but you don’t have to take that path. A brave strong heart and determination such as yours are more important for a warrior than mere physical strength, but they can be turned to greater things too. England is at peace now, thanks to my brother. The kingdom has a need for all different kinds of men.’

  He rose and stood with his back to the embers of the fire. As I scrambled up too, he stroked Murrey’s still-sleeping form with his foot. His eyes were in shadow.

  ‘I think you also have been too idle here at court, Matthew. You need to exercise not just your body but your brain. And I believe I know what to do with you this coming month while I’m occupied in Parliament. But you must promise me —’

  ‘Anything, Your Grace.’

  ‘You must promise me not to become so wrapped up with what you are doing there that you forget to return to sing for me.’

  Minutes later I was once more outside the chamber door, my mattress and blanket placed ready, Murrey cradled in my arms, whimpering in her sleep. All that had happened was replaying in my mind.

  But before I could gather my tired thoughts into any kind of shape, from around the passageway’s dark corner came the bustle of footsteps and the dim glow of candles approaching.

  I had time only to lay Murrey down on my bed and straighten up, my hand on my knife hilt, before a small party of men appeared. The first of them carried no lamp, but the flicker of candles held by others cast demonic shadows on the haughty features of the Duke of Buckingham.

  He halted, waving one of his companions forward to light my face.

  ‘Ah, the stable boy who was no stable boy. I saw you dancing with the princesses, my nieces – and talking with young Edward. So who are you?’

  The colour rose in my face, but I trusted that this mighty lord wouldn’t detect it in the gloom.

  ‘Matthew Wansford, Your Grace.’

  ‘And who, pray, is Matthew Wansford?’

  I drew myself up as tall as I could – though I still didn’t reach to his shoulder.

  ‘Son of Master John Wansford, Your Grace, merchant of York. And now in the employ of His Grace the Duke of Gloucester.’

  ‘A merchant’s son? Is that the company a royal duke keeps in these days?’

  His companions tittered at the disdain in his voice. He clasped his cloak to him as though afraid I might soil it and stalked away along the dark corridor.

  As he and his men rounded the next corner and the faint glimmer of candlelight faded from view, I relaxed my tight grip on my dagger pommel. The words of ‘my’ Duke came back to me: ‘The kingdom has a need for all different kinds of men.’ They gave me strength as I settled down to my rest.

  Chapter 16

  ‘A Singer for a Singer’

  ‘Master Ashley – this is Master Matthew Wansford.’

  I bowed deeply, eager to make a good first impression.

  The man before me was of middle age and middle height, richly dressed in the latest fashions from the continent. As he doffed his cap to me, his sandy hair was thinning, but there was a youthful glint in his eyes.

  ‘Master Ashley,’ continued Duke Richard, talking now to me, ‘deals in fine cloths from Flanders and beyond, but also in books. He supplied many of the volumes you have seen at Middleham and in my brother’s library at Westminster. He has agreed that you may spend the next few weeks on his premises, if you will make yourself useful in return.’

  ‘His Grace tells me you have a head for figures and for French and Latin, Master Wansford.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ I said, worried that the Duke had overstated my abilities. ‘I will do my best to serve you in any way I can.’

  And that was my introduction to my new master and the merchants of London.

  It was the first morning after our return from the palace. From Crosby Place the Duke had ridden into the heart of the city with a small group of companions, including me, grateful to be astride Bess once again. He had said little to me of our destination, only that I must treat our host that day with the deference due a master. My employment by Master Ashley was to be a favour, although I could scarce believe that even the proudest merchant would spurn any request made by the King’s brother.

  We were greeted at the door of a townhouse that rivalled Crosby Place in its splendour, and ushered as most welcome guests to a sumptuous meal of a type that was becoming familiar. The Duke and Master Ashley spoke of many matters as they dined, then retired with their secretaries to a private office. By day’s end, a great deal of business had been transacted, not just concerning my entry into this new household.

  From that day on, while I was in London, my time was divided between serving and singing for the Duke in one fine townhouse, and busying myself in the offices and library of another.

  Master Ashley introduced me to his associates and clerks and I willingly undertook whatever errands or small tasks of accounting or recording they requested. Any spare time I whiled away exploring his marvellous books, either in his own library or waiting to be bound or delivered to his many customers. I even met the renowned Master Caxton, first printer of books on English soil, and visited his shop in the shadow of St Paul’s.

  After the heady atmosphere of court, being back in the hustle and bustle of a working city was like a refreshing draught of clear, fresh water. In some ways it was far removed from my life in York, in others it brought home to me that merchants were the same the world over. I soon became accustomed to the babble of different languages and the variety of faces, from the fair-haired, sharp-featured Baltic traders to the darker looks of those from the distant south and east. But for all their diversity, their interests were identical: making money, enjoying money, the wonder of travel to far-flung places, the efficient hiring and equipping of ships and pack trains, the joy of hard bargaining, and avoiding the depredations of brigands and princes and city authorities.

  Despite the fascinations of my days, I never forgot to return to Crosby Place to sing and play for His Grace. Although Parliament met in Westminster, he preferred to spend the evenings quietly at his city home. He would be closeted for a while after supper with Master Kendall, Sir Francis or his London steward, but sooner or later would summon me from letter writing or games of dice or swordplay. I got along well enough with the other pages, though the younger ones held me in awe for my special service to the Duke.

  May the Lord forgive me if I ever flaunted my pride at the favour he showed me in those days. On occasion he would ask his gentlemen to leave him and, cradling a last cup of wine, would listen to me alone in the ruddy glow of the fire’s final embers. Sometimes he questioned me about my day and my impressions of London life. In turn he shar
ed snippets of the business conducted by the great lords and gentlemen in Parliament on behalf of the kingdom. I understood very little, but enjoyed his tales of the more colourful characters and their speeches in support of one cause or arguments against another.

  One evening well into February, the Duke returned later than usual. He had supped with his brother after a long day of parliamentary business and retired to his private chamber with no other company than me, my lute and Murrey.

  ‘Just a few more days,’ he said, as he sat nursing his goblet. ‘Then we shall be riding north with most welcome news for your home city, Matthew. Though first we must spend one final evening at the palace.’

  ‘Good news for York?’ I asked.

  ‘Aye. Because of its special service to the King in the late Scottish war, Parliament has decreed its citizens need not pay taxes for the next.’

  ‘The next war, Your Grace?’

  ‘The next war, Matthew. Whenever that shall be. Perhaps this coming summer. My brother agrees that now is the time to settle a lasting peace with the Scots. Too long have they brought us trouble on our northern borders. Perhaps your brother the archer will join us at the muster this time.’

  Though I continued to pluck the lute strings, I couldn’t suppress a pang of envy at the idea that Frederick might march behind the Duke’s banner so soon. I knew I was too young to join him, but maybe, in future years…

  Within a few days Parliament came to an end. To my surprise, I was called to Master Ashley’s courtyard that afternoon. There stood a servant in royal livery leading Bess in full harness, my best clothes in a bundle across her saddle. The merchant himself hurried to bid me farewell, telling me I had been summoned by Duke Richard to attend the King at the palace.

  ‘You have been blessed with royal favour, Matt,’ he said, as he helped me fasten my new emerald doublet with his own hands. ‘One day that angel’s voice the Duke tells me of will desert you, but mind you serve him loyally and your position in life will be secure evermore.’

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ I said, ‘and for your kindness to me while I’ve been here.’

  ‘Kindness to you? Nay, you have been useful to us – and your little dog a pleasure!’

  Once I was astride Bess, he handed Murrey up to me and I slung her across the front of my saddle. She had now grown too large to snuggle in my doublet, but was still too small to risk down among the thronging hooves and deadly cartwheels of the London streets.

  As I took my leave of Master Ashley and urged Bess on to follow the servant out of the courtyard, I thought back across the weeks I had spent here – and of how popular the pup had become. If I had been a willing helper, Murrey had been a quick learner. Everyone in the townhouse now knew that, for a morsel of meat, she would not only dance and pirouette as she had for Prince Edward, but bounce the length of a small chamber high upon her hind paws, or roll over and lie still as though dead until a sharp whistle revived her.

  It was a dull ride, all the way upriver to the palace. The servant was a surly fellow who uttered not a word to me, resentful no doubt at escorting a mere boy such a distance. On our arrival, I was ushered into the vestry of the royal chapel. To my amazement, waiting for me there was not Master Banester, who was in charge of the King’s adult singers, but the choir master from the Abbey, Master Cornish, with all his choristers.

  ‘This is most irregular,’ he muttered as my name was announced by the servant. But he hustled me into line behind his boy singers, thrusting a surplice into my hands and rattling off the titles of songs I was to sing.

  Moments later we boys were filing into position in the exquisite chapel. Every seat was already filled – a thing unknown during my stay at Christmas, when sometimes the singers outnumbered the congregation.

  The King sat in front, between the Queen and Duke Richard, with several royal children ranged about them. I also spied Sir Francis, the Duke of Buckingham and Lord Hastings among many another richly attired noble gentleman. I recognized several from court, though I tried in vain to recall their names.

  Two in the second row were whispering together as we entered. One leant forward to drop some words in the Queen’s ear. She shook her head sharply, a frown shadowing her face, and waved him away. Displeasure flitted across Duke Richard’s face at the disturbance, but the King appeared unaware. He stood as we singers finished assembling and addressed the gathering. This was to be a special Mass to offer thanks for the success of Parliament.

  I took little part in the service beyond the usual responses that were second nature to me after my years at the Minster. As the Abbey choristers’ treble voices soared upwards around me in unfamiliar songs, I wondered why I was there, having never practised with them. When I joined in alleluias or descants, I was just one among many – adding little or nothing to the swelling sound.

  With the end of the Mass nearing, Master Cornish crooked his finger at me. It was his signal for the first song that I knew – the laude with which I had welcomed Duke Richard home all those months before.

  As I readied myself, to my horror all the other singers melted away, leaving me alone to face the congregation.

  It was to be a solo.

  Before the royal family and the foremost men of the realm.

  My throat tightened and my chest felt as though a great weight lay within it.

  In my terror, my eyes sought out the faces in the front row.

  The Queen’s was impassive and Princess Elizabeth’s hidden as she leaned over to chide the younger children, who were squirming from sitting so long. Prince Edward, I remembered, had returned to Ludlow. Their father the King caught my eye, then bent his head to speak to his brother. But the Duke’s attention to the service had never wavered. Now he nodded at me, a half-smile, as so often, upon his face.

  I swallowed once. I knew I had to sing well and repay his faith in me.

  It may be that Sir William would have been rendered speechless by my singing that day, had he been in attendance. The royal chapel, larger than that at Middleham, but far smaller than the cavernous Minster, seemed the perfect place for my voice, as it took wing up to the painted vaulting far above. As it resonated among the gilded carvings adorning every wall. As it hushed the fidgeting listeners and drew even the Queen’s gaze in my direction.

  By the start of the second song, a Te Deum, my fear had fled. At the third, when the other choristers moved forward again to join me, I was disappointed that my time to shine had been so short.

  The final notes faded. There was a moment of stillness. Then we choristers were led by Master Cornish back to the vestry. As we passed through the arched doorway, out of the corner of my eye I glimpsed the Queen speaking to her husband, her bejewelled hand pointing towards me.

  In the vestry, as I struggled out of my surplice, Master Cornish bustled over to me. It ran through my mind that, for all my pride in myself, my performance hadn’t pleased him. But his face broke into a smile.

  ‘That was well sung, boy, though your pronunciation could bear some correction. I’m told that you accompanied my lord of Gloucester down from the north country. I think it would be possible to train that out of you if you were to join my choir. How old are you? Eleven? It might be worth the effort for a few more years of that voice.’

  The first stab of pleasure at the praise was parried by the pain I felt from his next words. Surely he didn’t think me so young? And was my speech so alien?

  I bowed my head to him, and to hide my confusion.

  ‘Sir, I’m the Duke’s man.’ Man! ‘I serve him only, and my home is in the north. But I thank you for your kind words.’

  Little regret showed in the choir master’s face. Maybe he was thankful to be spared so much effort.

  ‘Well spoken, boy. Continue to spread the word of God in that forsaken region. But should you ever be in Westminster again, come to see me. Perhaps we could find a place for you.’

  I was saved from thinking of a suitable reply by the entry of a palace servant, who spoke qui
etly to Master Cornish. The choir master turned back to me.

  ‘It seems I’m not the only one to admire your singing. The King has requested your attendance in his private chambers.’

  I had time only to straighten my rumpled doublet and run my fingers through my ever wayward hair before following the servant.

  We passed through a maze of passages on the way to a quarter of the palace I had never before visited. Four well-armed liveried men stood guard at the double doors at which we halted. One checked us up and down with a glance, took my name, then instructed two others to push wide the great oak doors.

  ‘Master Matthew Wansford, Your Grace.’

  The chamber into which I was waved, though large, was very different to the rooms in which I had seen the King and his family before. It reminded me more of the one to which the Duke retreated in the evenings at Middleham.

  Intricate tapestries covered every wall and a bright fire burned on the immense stone hearth. Finely carved chairs piled with plentiful cushions littered the wooden floor, and a long side table was stocked with flagons, long-stemmed wineglasses and bowls of nuts and fruit. Among them were the sun-like oranges that I now knew travelled so far in the ships of Spanish merchants.

  But what struck me most, as the hum of conversation of the people gathered there died away, was the brilliant song of birds.

  Hanging from hooks in the deep window alcoves, or on wooden stands scattered through the chamber, were scores of tiny wire cages. Each had a single feathered inhabitant. Some wore their drab brown clothes with humility, others sported suits of exotic plumage in red, purple, green, gold. A few I recognized from the city gardens or fields around York. More were as foreign to me as those merchants who must have brought them to English shores. All, it seemed, were striving to out-sing their fellows. But the beauty of their music was tainted for me by sadness that they were so imprisoned.

  Duke Richard was one of the small company – a friendly face among the unfamiliar.