My remembrance drifted back to Fred, John and Peter, their faces laughing in the flickering firelight of my last night in York.
I shivered, aware of the chill evening air now the sun had ducked beneath the far hills. The valley was hushed. Only the doleful note of the church bell in the village broke through the gathering dusk.
Then a scuffling on the gravel path made us swing round.
Elen was hurrying towards us through the trees, her skirts billowing above her quick feet.
‘Matt, there you are! You must hurry – you’re wanted by the Duke.’
‘Me?’
‘Is it about your meeting this afternoon?’
‘He probably just wants you to sing.’
But Alys’s glance was full of curiosity.
I would have to tell them soon that before long I would be leaving for good.
I had to stand back to let Masters Lovell, Ratcliffe and Kendall leave before I could enter the family’s chamber.
Master Kendall, clutching a fist full of papers in addition to his usual leather file case and writing tools, squeezed my shoulder as he passed, sorrow darkening his eyes.
‘A sad day, boy, a sad day indeed.’
The other gentlemen merely inclined their heads before hurrying away.
I had collected my lute on the way in case it was needed, but now propped it up against the wall outside the door.
As I stepped across the threshold, the scene was very different from all other such times. No business was now being done, and even the Duchess’s embroidery lay neglected on a small table.
Ed was curled up next to her on her great chair, his head in her lap. She was absently fingering strands of his hair while gazing up at her husband.
He stood, his back to the great table, staring into the fire, twisting and twisting the red-stoned ring on his smallest finger.
‘Richard,’ came the Duchess’s soft voice. ‘Matthew is here.’
The Duke turned to me.
It may have been the effect of the blazing candelabra overhanging the table – only lit when there was much work to be done – but he seemed to have aged many years in the few hours since I’d seen him. Lines had deepened on his forehead and around his eyes, and the pallor of his face was stark in contrast to the dark doublet he wore. But the faintest curve touched his pinched lips as he beckoned me forward to sit upon my customary stool.
‘Well, Matt, our talk this afternoon has been overtaken by greater events.’
I bowed my head, uncertain if or what to reply.
‘It seems my brother in his will has appointed me Protector of the kingdom. In a few days I must ride south again to escort my nephew Edward to London for his coronation. I will travel by way of York. It is in my mind that you could ride with us. Then you may remain with your family. Or if we have had word from Master Ashley, or if you wish to try your luck as an apprentice in the city, you may continue with us to London.’
I swallowed and nodded, unwilling to trust my voice to speak.
‘And, Matt, at the Minster we shall hold a requiem Mass for my brother. I would that you would sing for him again then. One last service for him – and for me.’
I slipped off my stool on to my knees, burying my face in my hands.
‘Aye, Your Grace,’ was all I could force out.
I felt his touch on my shoulder and raised my head.
There was an unnatural shine in his own eyes.
‘I was going to ask you to sing tonight. Perhaps a song to suit the moment. But I see now that would be unfair after the blow that you’ve received. Go to bed now. Take what sleep you may.’
I bowed my head again. But this time to draw in two or three breaths very slowly.
Then I pushed myself up to my feet, straightening my back, my arms stretching down at my sides.
Seeing his sorrow gave me strength to master my own.
‘Thank you, Your Grace, but no. What would you have me sing?’
*
I slept that night more soundly than I would have thought possible. And in the morning, after singing again for His Grace at a special Mass in the chapel, I was strong enough to tell Alys and Roger of my fate.
Lessons had been abandoned for the day as a period of mourning for the King began. We had taken the chance to leave the sombre atmosphere of the castle to walk with the dogs in the water meadows. Sitting now on the banks of the river, legs dangling over the slow-moving water, I related my sorry tale.
Alys was immediately up in arms, her eyes flashing and mouth spitting her anger at Hugh and his uncle, the Queen, even the Duke for not standing up to them.
Roger, though, took a different view.
‘But you’ll get to live in London.’
‘I don’t want to live in London. I want to stay here, with – with you all.’
‘But think about it, Matt. London’s the place to be. You can’t do anything stuck here. There you’ll be able to do anything you want. I’ve heard Master Ashley has contacts everywhere in Europe. You can travel, see the world, make your fortune.’
‘But – but I want to be a knight. This was my chance and now – now I’ve ruined it.’
They both fell silent.
I supposed I’d never said it to them before, not like that. Perhaps the only person I had ever truly spoken to about it was the Duke. And I remembered what he had said.
I gazed across the river at the cows quietly cropping grass on the far bank. Would I now have to give up my dream?
Alys was the first to speak again.
‘Matt, you’ll still be a member of the Order. We all will be. We swore our oath. The loyal knights of Duke Richard of Gloucester – Lord Protector of England. They can’t take that away from us. We’ll meet whenever we can, in London or – or here. You can come back when you’re able. And we can always write – now we have the code.’
The Duke had said the same last night – that I could continue to write to Ed and the others, and he would send the letters with his official post. Just like when I’d been in London before.
Except, then, I’d written expecting to return. How could I this time, knowing that my friends were going on with their lives without me, lives cut off from mine for ever?
On each of the following evenings, the Duke called me in to sing to him and his family, and every night was another step towards my final farewell. Lessons during the day were few and far between as mourning continued alongside preparations for the Duke’s journey. Even those few lessons I was excused if Sir William needed to coach me for my part in the requiem planned for the Minster.
Throughout I did my best not to think too much about what lay ahead. I astounded the chaplain with my energy in our rehearsals. He told me he had never been so pleased with my progress – and that he was sorry to hear I was leaving. As Roger once said, word did travel at some speed among the castle’s inhabitants.
Hugh’s smug delight radiated from the squires’ table at meal times. I was grateful not to come face to face with him in lessons or weapons training in those days. But as I laboured over my Latin translation or was bested once again by Ed with his chestnut sword, I was more bothered about when, if ever, I would have such chances to study or train like this again.
On the final morning before our departure, wagons arrived from York laden with mourning clothes. They had been ordered specially for the party who were to travel on the new Protector’s business.
As I stood outside the Duke’s chamber that evening, waiting for the gentlemen to leave, Elen said how fine and grown-up I looked in my brand new suit of sombre black.
Alys simply stared, before ushering me in and closing the door quietly behind us.
The Duke and his wife were alone in the room, he standing by the fire, his back to us, she in her accustomed seat. As Alys and I moved towards the pool of flickering candlelight, the Duchess spoke.
Alys’s hand on my arm made me pause.
‘Richard, I beg of you, take more men. If what Hastings says is
true —’
‘That the Queen and her family mean to ignore my brother’s wishes? Anne, Edward willed the care of the country to me, and the people and the old Royal Council will respect that. And God will protect me. Whether I take three hundred men or three thousand —’
‘Elizabeth will have expected to be regent to her son – and with her family, to control him and the country. You know that. What Hastings says about the fleet in the channel… Such decisions should not have been taken before you and young Edward arrive in London.’
‘Hastings will hold the old Council on the right course until our arrival.’
‘But if he cannot? If the influence of the Woodvilles is too strong? Oh, Richard, remember… remember what happened to George!’
The Duchess’s voice faltered, worry tearing at it like a storm rends a banner.
The Duke swung round, and knelt in front of her, taking her hand.
‘Do you think I can ever forget? Anne, you must not fear. The Queen won’t prevail this time. The question of a regency is not up to her. My brother has appointed me Protector until his son is crowned.’
‘Yes, but what then?’
‘Then young Edward will be King in his own right, and if his new Council so decrees, God willing I shall continue to protect the realm. Hastings and the other nobles will have no wish to see the Woodvilles rule through the boy.’
‘Poor child,’ said the Duchess. ‘To have this thrust upon him so young.’
‘Aye, a responsibility I would wish upon no one, still less a young lad. He has a deal of growing to do before he can fill his father’s shoes.’
Rising to his feet again, the Duke spotted us, hesitating in the shadows. He waved us forward.
I worried that we should be rebuked for overhearing so much. But his face, though stern, looked distracted, as so often in those days.
‘You have seen him, Matt, at Yuletide. Young Edward, the new King. We have been speaking of him. He is no older than you.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Younger, perhaps.’
‘Bigger, my lord?’
At that second, I feared I had taken a mis-step, joking about my size at such a solemn time. But after a heartbeat, Duke Richard laughed, a short bark of a laugh, and the tension that had shrouded the room was torn away.
‘Aye, perhaps bigger. Though I fear size is no sign of readiness to rule. Put yourself in his place, Matt – if you can, one of your small stature. Even if you had grown a hand’s span already this spring, tell me, would you wish to take on the rule of this realm?’
I shook my head without a word.
‘And if you had spent most of your short life far from London and your parents, and the intrigues of court, with only an uncle to teach you? And so soon after your country was racked by civil war?’
It was his turn for a shake of the head. Then his eyes cleared.
‘But come,’ he clapped his hands and scooped up the tray of cups from the table. ‘This is our last night here for… for who knows how long? Though there’s been much sadness of late, let us not dwell on what might be, but rather think of when we shall be together again.’
As he said this, he was bowing deeply to his wife and offering her the wine, before turning back to Alys. Then he took two of the cups and, passing one to me, with a faint smile said, ‘And of the glorious times that will come to those who are willing and work hard. Here’s to those just setting out on their adventures.’
He clinked his cup to mine, half-bowed and drank.
As I returned the gesture, he said, ‘And now, Matthew, a song if you will. Make it perhaps a merry one, that my wife can remember to cheer her through the days to come.’
As I sang again for him and his Duchess the songs I had learnt for his first homecoming all those months before, I wondered about all that Alys and I had overheard from the shadows. I had many reasons to think of it again over the weeks and months to come.
*
The morning dawned grey and overcast, but in every other way it was unlike the day of my previous departure from the castle. Now there was no tremor of anticipation or excitement, only a weighty dread within me as I walked towards Bess.
Hugh was among the crowd of squires and pages clustered around the horses, but I turned away before I caught more than the briefest glimpse of the triumph spreading across his face – still handsome despite its now crooked nose.
Alys, Roger and Elen were waiting there for me. With barely a word, I hugged each of them before mounting.
Elen, seeing the Duke and his family emerging from the keep, rushed away to attend the Duchess, but not before I spied tears starting in her eyes. Roger busied himself with enticing Murrey to dance for him one last time, but Alys came to stand close to Bess, her hand on my stirrup.
‘Farewell, Matt. I’m sorry to have brought this on you.’
I was bewildered.
‘You? But I was the one who attacked Hugh, who bloodied his nose. It’s me he despises.’
‘But if it weren’t for his cousin and – Oh!’
She screwed her face up and looked as though she would stamp her foot, as she had at Roger on our first meeting.
‘Oh, it’s all so unfair! But you will write, won’t you? And when the Duchess goes down to London, if I come too, you must visit us. Promise me?’
I nodded, uncertain again, both of my voice, and of whether I could fulfil such a promise.
A muted cheer rose from the gentlemen massing about us. We saw Duke Richard astride Storm, flanked by Sir Francis and Master Ratcliffe, his huge banner unfurling above them all – now with a strip of black cloth stitched along its length.
As the head of the party moved off, I grasped Alys’s hand and hissed,
‘Don’t let them marry you off against your will.’
She glanced back up at me, her eyes widening. For a moment, she seemed too surprised to speak, then came her quick laugh.
‘Oh, don’t worry about that. If I keep quiet, perhaps they’ll forget all about me.’
Bess stepped forward, following the other horses, but Alys didn’t immediately pull her hand away. She paced alongside, until Roger came bounding up with Murrey and Shadow leaping around his legs.
‘Take care of her, Matt. See you in London soon.’
He clasped the hand that Alys had just dropped, then leant down to catch Shadow’s collar, stopping her following her sister as Murrey sidled into her place at Bess’s heels.
I raised my hand to both my friends, but before I could face forward to ride through the inner gateway for the last time, a small figure hurtled towards me through the crowd of pages and servants.
‘Don’t go without saying goodbye, Matt.’
It was Ed.
I had bade him farewell the previous day, knowing this morning should be his father’s time. But now I reined Bess back and leaned down to embrace him again as best I could.
He patted Murrey’s head, then thrust up to me a small package wrapped in dark blue velvet.
‘It’s a gift from my mother, though I know it came from my father’s private shelves. She says it tells the story of a perfect knight. Don’t forget about the Order, Matt. And come back to see us soon.’
He dropped back. As Bess walked on again, I unfolded the cloth.
Revealed within was a small book, beautifully bound in deep red leather, with a boar device engraved on the front board.
I opened it. The title ‘The Death of Arthur’ was traced in a fine manuscript handwriting and I knew what a costly present it was.
As we clattered under the jaw of the gatehouse portcullis, I twisted in the saddle and raised my cap to salute my friends. They were standing now all together in a knot at the foot of the keep’s stairway. Then I set my eyes to the front, between Bess’s pricked ears, whistled to Murrey to keep up, and followed the call of the Duke’s standard across the outer courtyard and moat.
The early mist was lifting from the hills and the rising sun glinting off the far, winding river, stitching it like gold thread bet
ween the willows spaced along its banks, as we rode down through Middleham towards the road to York and – and were there glorious times to come?
Here ends The Order of the White Boar, the first book in the sequence by the same name. Coming soon: The King’s Man – follow Matthew and his friends’ continuing adventures as the momentous Year of the Three Kings unfolds.
Author’s note
Richard, Duke of Gloucester, born in 1452 and brother to King Edward IV, ultimately became King himself as King Richard III, perhaps England’s most controversial monarch. The second book in the Order of the White Boar sequence, The King’s Man, tells the story of his road to the throne and his reign through the eyes of Matthew and his friends. This story was distorted, twisted out of shape, by his enemies after his death, for their own purposes. I have gone back to the earliest writers of the history of those events to try to piece together a more accurate version of Richard’s life than is usually presented in traditional history books.
Since the discovery of King Richard’s grave in 2012, 400 or more years after it was lost, many more people have become interested in the real man, rather than the caricature that was created by his enemies. I have also drawn on the findings of the archaeology in my story. For instance, we now know that Richard suffered from scoliosis, a condition that affected his back, though not enough to prevent him being an active, successful warrior and general, as Matt discovers.
Matt and his friends, and many of the events in this first book, are fictional (see ‘Cast of characters’), but as in all historical fiction, they offer a way for us to see and interpret the ‘facts’ of history that we possess – which cannot always be fitted together to make up a single, complete picture of what ‘really’ happened. Perhaps there will always be at least one piece of the jigsaw missing – leaving us with some kind of puzzle. Maybe Matt is that missing piece – allowing us to see a full picture, if not the full picture, once he’s slotted into place.
The Order of the White Boar Page 20