She asked me a few more questions, about what we had eaten at the banquets, the entertainments and the fashions that the ladies had been wearing, especially the Queen and Mistress Shore. I answered as fully as I could, although I knew little enough about fabrics, what certain sleeves or collars were called, or the ingredients of sauces. But she smiled as I described in some detail the gowns that the two older princesses wore on Twelfth Night, and the fabulous gems that each had been given by their father.
The tips of her fingers brushed against a large jewel that hung on a chain round her own neck.
I had not seen it before and without thinking, I leaned forward to peer at it.
Framed in bright gold was a deep blue stone carved with tiny figures.
‘That’s also a beautiful gem, Your Grace.’
‘Isn’t it? It was a gift from my husband – for being far from us at Christmastide. His duty to the King and Parliament called him away – but at least he was able to choose from the finest jewels in London. At any rate, from those that had not already been chosen by the King for his daughters. You will have seen them close to, I suppose. Richard told me you danced with both Elizabeth and Cecily.’
‘I did, Your Grace.’ As ever the blood rose in my cheeks and I bent my head, hoping she wouldn’t see it in the candlelight. ‘I was shown great favour by the King – as I have been by His Grace the Duke.’
‘They both value good service and loyalty, Matthew. Any favour you’ve received has been well deserved. And I trust your father was pleased with you when you stayed at York. Has he forgiven you your troubles last summer?’
She was pleased to hear how my family had greeted me and been amazed by all that I had seen and done. As I told her of the farewell supper that my new mother had prepared – how she had persuaded my father to break open a cask of good wine to toast his son’s success – her smile was warm. Of a sudden my mother’s face swam before my eyes again. Or was it my new mother’s? The soft eyes and lips of all three blended for that brief moment as tears started to my eyes. Thinking back to the day of my return to the castle, I recalled my fear of losing all this – these people who had welcomed me into their lives, the new respect of my family, my chance to better myself. I vowed never to take that risk again.
Yet, as so often in my life, events – and people – conspired against me.
Chapter 20
Ill Tidings
The leaf buds were fattening on the trees and the first lambs appearing before the Duke returned from Pontefract.
He brought with him special sweetmeats from the local bakers to help us break our Lenten fast, after weeks of eating little more than fish from the river and castle ponds. Then, after the solemn Good Friday unveiling of the Cross and the Easter vigil, we pages begged eggs from the kitchens’ stockpiles, stored since Ash Wednesday. We boiled them hard in onion-skin dyes to roll them down the slopes in the Duchess’s pleasure gardens.
The squires looked on, with good humour or disdain, too old now for such childish pastimes. But, to my surprise, and to the laughter of the ladies who gathered to watch us, not only Masters Lovell, Ratcliffe and Kendall, and various other gentlemen, but Duke Richard himself joined us.
Each of the gentlemen had brought his own egg, except it seemed the Duke.
For a moment, there was disappointment on his face. Sir Francis declared, ‘Then this year I have a chance of winning.’
But the Duke called Alys forward from where she was waiting with the other ladies.
Her dimples showing, she stepped up to him, bringing from behind her back a small casket. As she lifted the lid, there, nestled in black velvet, was the largest egg I had ever seen. It was intricately painted with swirls of red, blue, green, gold, putting our home-dyed hens’ eggs to shame.
‘The swans of Pontefract obliged me,’ said the Duke, picking it up with a flourish.
He beckoned to his son, who had been fidgeting next to me as the scene played out and now leapt forward with sparkling eyes.
‘Come, Ed – help me. It is such a fine egg – we shall roll it together.’
So the Duke and his son swept all before them, not only racing the smaller eggs to the bottom of the slope, but surviving without so much as a hair’s crack.
That evening, after a magnificent feast almost rivalling those at court, we gathered as usual in the quiet privacy of the family’s chamber.
The Duke had no gentlemen around him, preferring tonight to sit back in his great chair and listen to me sing. His wife and son, Alys and Roger were playing the game with wooden counters at a table drawn up by the fire.
During Lent, Doctor Frees had taught me some new Italian songs, which I sang now in honour of the holiday. The Duke’s eyes were upon me throughout, I thought perhaps because they were songs he did not know.
When I finished, he strode as usual across to the cups of wine set ready on the table. After handing one to his wife, he brought the next to me.
‘Well sung, Matt. But enough for tonight. Come join the game. Ed will teach you how.’
He placed a hand upon my shoulder and squeezed it. For a moment his expression was unreadable, before he broke into a smile.
‘And make sure you try some honey gingerbread. It’s the finest I’ve tasted outside London.’
Days later I recalled that look as I rode out with the Order on the moor.
On my way to the stables I’d been caught by a serving man, who instructed me to attend the Duke in his office before supper. I had no idea what it was about. When I told the others, Alys’s sharp eyes flicked my way, but she said nothing.
Ed’s mouth twisted with a touch of petulance.
‘He’s going away again in a few days. To a council meeting. Perhaps he wants to take you with him. I wish he’d take me.’
‘What?’ asked Roger. ‘And be stuck in a dingy castle surrounded by old men arguing all day? When you could be here with us enjoying the sport?’
Ed glanced at Lady, perched ready on Roger’s wrist.
‘Father says the sport around Sheriff Hutton is excellent. And you know the castle isn’t dingy. It’s…’
I let their friendly squabble pass over me.
The moor around us was bathed in the glow of early spring sunshine. Trills cascaded down from a skylark silhouetted against the blue vault of the sky far above, and a pair of oystercatchers wheeled across the swathe of heather and bilberry. Their unearthly whooping for a moment drowned out the lark’s tumbling notes as they swept past our horses.
I breathed in the sweet scent of spring and wondered when I’d ever been happier.
When I entered the Duke’s office later that day, I found him alone, standing at his great oak desk. The surface was strewn with papers. He carefully chose two as he bade me sit down.
He perched on the table’s edge opposite me, his face grave.
‘Matt, I have received a letter about you from Lord Soulsby.’
‘Lord Soulsby, Your Grace?’
‘You know of him?’
‘Only as Hugh’s uncle. And —’
‘And as the father of the man Alys Langdown is to marry?’
The Duke was watching me closely.
‘Yes, I have heard that.’
I was puzzled. Why should Lord Soulsby be writing about me? Why should he even know of me?
‘It has come to his attention that you and Alys have become friends.’
‘Of course we are friends, Your Grace.’
‘But, Matt – he fears that friendship may endanger the betrothal.’
‘Your Grace?’
‘Word has reached him of certain letters between you. Letters in which you speak of love.’
And then it struck me – what this was all about.
Hugh. The letter from York. The silly, playful verses I’d copied out for Alys.
‘But, Your Grace,’ I protested, ‘it was nothing. Just one letter. We’d been playing at knights and ladies. I wrote something from a romance I’d found. It meant nothing.
But Hugh stole it and —’
I stumbled to a halt.
‘Was that the letter for which you were beaten?’
‘Yes, Your Grace. Truly it meant nothing. Alys and I – we’re just friends.’
‘Yes, Matt. You know that and I know that. But Lord Soulsby is a long way away and it’s a long time since he was a boy. And I suspect he is not a man who reads – especially not romances.’
The heaviness deep in my stomach began to lift at the sight of his familiar half-smile. I waited for him to continue.
‘Clearly he has also been misinformed by… someone who perhaps does not wish you well. He tells me that, as the son of a merchant, you are not a suitable companion for one of the richest heiresses in England, and certainly not for his son’s wife.’
‘They’re not married yet,’ I retorted. ‘And my father —’
He silenced me by raising his hand.
‘Your father has my greatest respect, Matthew, as do all his kind. But some of the nobility… well, some cling to the old ways and do not see that England’s strength lies in her merchants and their trade. Peace and commerce – they are what my brother desires. But sometimes such things come only at a price.’
He glanced down at the papers in his hand.
‘Lord Soulsby demands that you be sent away from our household.’
It was as though Hugh’s great boot had stamped on my chest again.
‘My lord!’ I beseeched him. In his eyes was that expression I had seen on Easter night.
‘Matt, I might perhaps have disregarded him, but… I have also received a letter from the Queen. She is an interested party. Alys is her ward and the Queen may bestow her hand as she sees fit. Lord Soulsby is one of my brother’s loyal retainers, and he and the Queen require the loyalty of such men at all times. We must not give Lord Soulsby cause for complaint. In politics one cannot always do what one would wish.’
He fell silent, watching me.
I held my head high, although my eyes were smarting. I dreaded being unable to hold back the tears.
‘Then I must leave?’
He nodded.
‘I’m afraid so. I know that you are no threat to this marriage, but the Queen and Lord Soulsby will not be told. I shall be sorry that you will no longer be a part of this household. Anne and I will miss your music, and Ed, I know, will miss a friend.’
I could no longer keep my head up. As I blinked and looked down, a drop of water fell and stained my boot tip.
‘Must I return to – to York, my lord?’
‘If you wish. Or – Matt, I will do all I can for you. You have been a valuable asset here. And I believe that, if you want to go back to London, Master Ashley would take you as apprentice. You were happy, those weeks with him, were you not?’
‘Not as happy as —’
There was a sudden commotion outside.
Hooves clattering on the cobbles, the stamp of booted feet, muffled voices, a rap on the door.
‘Your Grace!’
A man’s voice – Master Guylford’s? – urgent.
In two strides, the Duke was past me and at the door, pulling it open.
There stood the steward, his usually tanned face pale. Next to him, breathing heavily, a man in red livery, smeared with mud and dust, clutching a small leather bag.
Beyond, Master Reynold grasped the reins of a tall horse in full harness. It tossed its head, the whites of its eyes showing, lather flecking its neck, its flanks heaving and steaming.
‘Your Grace, a message,’ said Master Guylford. ‘From Lord Hastings.’
‘Lord Hastings?’
‘Aye, my lord,’ stammered the man in red. ‘From Lord Hastings. Your Grace, the King —’
‘Yes?’
‘The King is dead.’
Chapter 21
‘A Sad Day’
A moment of stillness.
I could hear the horse blowing and the jingle of its bridle, smell the sweat of man and beast, see the Duke silhouetted against the scene, the late afternoon sunlight tracing the outline of his dark, motionless form.
Then his hand, still clutching the two letters, clenched the door jamb.
‘How?’
The messenger grimaced as he caught his breath.
‘Apoplexy, they think, Your Grace. A week – two weeks ago, he caught a chill. He seemed to rally, then —’
The man doubled over with a spasm of coughing, and the Duke raised his hand.
‘Bring up a chair. And wine. He must rest before he speaks again.’
The man tried to protest, but the Duke waved his words away.
As Master Guylford, and servants who had now appeared, bustled to do his bidding, he swung round to me.
‘Matt, I must attend to this, but I will not forget you. Think on what I have said. If you wish to return to Master Ashley’s, I shall arrange it. Now go.’
He turned back to the knot of men clustering around the messenger, now seated near the desk, and I stumbled away, into the light of the courtyard.
Outside, people were running in all directions, and a groom was leading away the exhausted horse. It was easy for me to lose myself in the bustle.
I slunk back to the pages’ chamber, empty now as the trumpet sounded for supper. One or two boys passed me on their way to the great hall, but I kept my head down so as not to catch their eyes. I didn’t want to speak to anyone now, and the idea of eating was far from my mind.
I sat on the edge of my mattress, elbows resting on my knees, clenched fists forced into my eyes. Murrey, no doubt scenting the salt tears, nuzzled at my hands and whimpered when I didn’t move. But I was too wrapped up in my misery to heed her. Soon she curled up on my feet and slept.
Before very long, before I had even begun to think of what to do next or what to say to anyone, a few boys began to drift back into the chamber for their evening pastimes. Roger was one of the first. He flung himself down beside me on the bed, seemingly not noticing my hunched back and my hands shielding my face.
‘Matt, why weren’t you at supper?’
His too-loud voice jarred me, but he didn’t wait for an answer.
‘Have you heard the news? The King’s dead.’
I grunted, but didn’t move. These were momentous tidings, a sad blow for the kingdom. Yet I couldn’t think of any news beyond my own.
‘Master Guylford announced it before supper. We all had to sit in silence and pray for ever so long before he would let the food be brought in. I even saw tears on Master Fleete’s cheeks. They say he rode with King Edward when he was young, and even fought with him at Towton.’
He paused. As I released the pressure on my eyes, I saw his face out of the corner of one. His expression altered as he looked directly at me, perhaps for the first time.
‘Matt, what is it? What’s up?’
I scrubbed the tears away from my cheeks with the backs of my hands. Murrey, disturbed by the movement, reached up her long red muzzle to lick my face.
Roger’s hand, which I’d thought was about to pat me on the shoulder, changed course and moved to caress her ears.
I discovered I didn’t want to tell him.
I cleared my throat, afraid my voice might crack.
‘And the Duke? How was he…?’
‘Oh, he didn’t come to supper, nor the Duchess or Ed. I suppose if they’d only just received the message… Matt, weren’t you going to see the Duke after our ride? Had the news reached him then?’
I shook my head, glad to think about something else.
‘No. Well, yes. The messenger arrived when I was in his office. From Lord Hastings.’
‘Lord Hastings? Not the Queen? That’s odd.’
‘Perhaps she was too grief-stricken.’
‘Perhaps. Though I’ve heard she’s a strong woman, not one to stagger under a blow. But what did the messenger say? How did the Duke take it?’
I racked my mind to tease out what I could from my confused memories.
‘He was calm. B
ut his face went very pale. It was certainly a blow for him. Yet he attended to the messenger’s needs.’
And he had dismissed me gently, guessing how I felt.
‘I only heard the messenger say it may have been apoplexy.’
Roger shook his head in turn.
‘And yet the King was barely forty.’
He stood up abruptly, causing Murrey to twist away and caper on her hind legs.
‘Come on, Matt. Let’s go find Alys. Perhaps she’ll have more news.’
With some reluctance I followed him out into the courtyard. I would have preferred to keep to my bed with only Murrey for company. But, having missed her supper too, she happily bounded after Roger, knowing he always had a ready supply of table scraps.
At least the search for Alys among the stunned and silent inhabitants of the castle distracted me from my own troubles. As we wandered, Roger pointed to where the great boar standard on the tower had been lowered partway down its pole.
When we finally found Alys, she knew little more than we did, despite having been in the private chamber when the Duke broke the news to his wife and son.
‘They were very quiet,’ she said. ‘I don’t think it had really sunk in. The Duchess said something about the Duke telling her the King had put on weight at Christmas. But the Duke said it wasn’t enough to cause his death. Then they were silent again until I was called away to supper.’
I recalled my encounters with the King, on Twelfth Night in particular, and wondered that a man so full of life, larger than life even, so strong, so golden, could now be reduced to an empty shell. In my mind’s eye I saw him grey and cold and lifeless, lying stretched out like one of the stone effigies upon the tombs I had seen so often at York Minster.
The three of us strolled for some time in near silence through the orchard and kitchen gardens. The buds and shoots of new life and the gentle hum of the first bumble bees were all about us.
As the shadows lengthened in the primrose yellow light, it became clear that Ed wouldn’t join us this evening.
How long had it been since he had seen his uncle Edward? He had never met his cousins, I remembered. But I was sure his father’s grief would be raw from the way he had spoken to me in London about his brothers. He would want all his family close to him tonight. What must it feel like to have lost yet another brother?
The Order of the White Boar Page 19