Walter drank with me, and after a while, we forgot the whole affair and started laughing for no apparent reason and all of a sudden, a fight started again, but this time it was a fist fight, between the drunks and us. It was there I lost track of time… I suppose the combination of a large amount of ale in my body with a few good punches, had knocked me off for the night and I had ended up outside the alehouse where I had slept until dawn…
*
The overwhelming recollection of the previous night’s events made my dizziness worse. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the strange man's twisted face, saying over and over again: Your judgement. For the past two years I had in no account felt safe, but at least I had considered the possibility of some enemy from England finding me here in Rome, slim. Apparently, that was not the case. Someone had discovered my whereabouts and my hidden identity. Was it the one who had meant to kill me along with my family? Was King Henry, my own brother behind all this, looking to secure his bastard son the throne by getting rid of any other potential candidates? I could not answer that question for certainty. What I really knew, though was that by killing that stranger would provoke a response from my enemy, that they would not rest until I was dead. So, what were my options? Flee again? Run? I was sick of running away, it was past time I took matters into my own hands, it was time for revenge, and so I went to find Belfrigh…
He was in his usual place, practising archery. It was one of the first things he did in the morrows, and he always liked to scold us for our lack of practice with the bow. He said that the English had once conquered half of France with bows and arrows and it was the best weapon a man could ask for. I personally preferred the sword rather than the bow, although I had always been a fair archer. Some say that to shoot your enemy from a distance is cowardice play, however, to be able to aim so precisely, often from incredibly long range, is a skill that only men that have trained since they were children can accomplish. One of those men was Belfrigh, who had grown up in Surrey and had for an unknown yet to me reason emigrated to Rome when he was twenty-six, eighteen years ago.
I reached Belfrigh’s clearing after an hour of agonising, slow walking, but I knew that even though I would have arrived at my destination faster by riding, the speed of the horse and the vibrations would have made me sick again. I found him shooting with his massive longbow, which was at least six feet long and was made of yew.
‘Belfrigh!’ I greeted my captain and dare I say, my friend, as I always felt affectionate for him and thought that we were closer than he was with the rest of the band. We certainly talked more, and I knew I could confide in him whatever I wished without the fear of compromising myself.
He eyed me with his peripheral vision but did not respond, he was too concentrated upon drawing his bow. He took a deep breath and released. The arrow was shot with immense power towards a target that was not even visible. However, after a few seconds, we heard the characteristic sound of an arrow heating a straw target. I narrowed my eyes trying to distinguish it in the distance, but the sun was too bright that morrow. I returned to reality rather abruptly after Belfrigh had slapped me hard in the face. Touching my inflamed cheek, I turned and retorted: ‘What was that for?’
‘You were dreaming, boy!’ Belfrigh answered matter-of-factly. ‘I had to wake you up somehow,’ he said half-laughing. He turned on the other side and approached a wooden table, on top of which was a big flask and next to it a cup. He grabbed the goblet and took a big sip from its contents, which I would wager was full of either ale or wine. ‘You are a mess!’ he said at the end looking at me.
I was slobby, my clothes were dirty and full of dried vomit, whilst my face had several scratches and bruises from last night’s fight; my shoulder-length hair was unwashed, and my beard felt itchy. ‘Thanks!’ I answered sarcastically and took a few steps backwards, as his breath reeked of wine as he spoke, and my stomach gave another turn.
Belfrigh himself looked considerably better than me; even though, one would always have the impression when they laid eyes on him that he had just been fighting. His clothes, whilst clean, were reaped in various places. He wore a weather-worn black leather jerkin over a white shirt, black trousers and an ancient pair of boots. I often asked him why he would not purchase better clothes and the answer was always the same, that it would be a waste of money given that they would be ripped again soon enough. He preferred to spend his coin to other more pleasurable substances, like wine or women…
‘Did you walk here?’ he asked looking around apparently for my horse. When he did not spot it, he turned and looked at me more seriously. His blue fatherly eyes gazed upon mine. He scratched his grey beard and motioned towards the table and the two chairs. ‘Sit!’
I did without objection. I put my palms on my eyes and rubbed them hard. I was sure he was staring at me, waiting for an explanation for my sudden appearance. We usually met when he called us, and that was before an assignment.
‘Federico told you about our next assignment, did he? That lad talks a lot… I’ve said a million times that I’m the only one who’s supposed to inform each and everyone one of you. I don’t like you lot going around in the city blubbing,’ he took another sip. ‘Anyway, I know I can’t trust this bloody Florentine, no more than I can trust a cat, but he’s a good fighter…’ he paused waiting for me to say something, but when I did not, he carried on. ‘So, as I was saying,’ he started and lowered the volume of his voice to the minimum, trying to avoid any unwanted eavesdropping, even though we were in a deserted clearing in a forest. ‘We’ve got ourselves a new assignment,’ he said enthusiastically. ‘This time, it’s in the outskirts of the city, in the North… A very wealthy estate, it’s a-’
‘I’m leaving, Belfrigh!’ I said cutting him off. I had made my choice after the events in the alehouse. It was something I could not ignore…
My companion was taken aback. ‘Already?’ he said. ‘Have a cup of wine at least. ‘Besides, I’ve got to tell you the specifics about our upcoming raid.’
I was moving my head from right to left indicating that I meant to say something different than he had understood. ‘I mean I’m leaving for good,’ I explained myself.
‘D’you want another slap, lad? You still seem to be daydreaming,’ Belfrigh barked, half-amused, half-angry. ‘What exactly d’ you mean, when you say you’re leaving?’
‘I’m leaving Rome,’ I said flatly.
‘To go where?’ Belfrigh asked extending his arms so violently that he spilt half his wine on the ground.
‘Isn’t it obvious? I’m going back to England, of course!’
‘You crazy, Ed? They’ll kill you! What in Hell would you want to go back for?’
‘It’s complicated…’ I said cautiously, not wanting to confide too much.
‘You bloody tell me, or I swear to God I’m going to gut you here and now on this table,’ Belfrigh snarled and made a motion towards his sword.
I was thinking hard. What harm could it do to tell Belfrigh? He was, after all, my most trusted companion.
‘There’s a conspiracy,’ I started, eventually deciding to tell him the truth.
‘What sort of conspiracy and what d’you have to do with it?’ Belfrigh asked loudly now. ‘Com’on, spit it out? Tell me why in God’s good name you want to abandon us and your good fortune to go back to a land where you’re an outcast?’ Belfrigh shouted starting to lose patience. It was a good thing that we were speaking in English, that way even in the unlikeliest of events someone was eavesdropping, there was a good chance they would not be able to understand us.
I sighed. ‘There’s a conspiracy against me.’
Belfrigh looked at me for a few moments in silence keeping his face straight, then suddenly he burst into laughter. ‘There’s a conspiracy to kill you? Yes, yes, very dramatic.’
There was no escape, if Belfrigh was to take my words seriously, I had to explain to him the whole story. Of course, he knew of my family’s massacre, but I had not told a soul about
my mother’s final words and who I really was.
After what seemed like an hour of storytelling. Belfrigh was looking at me transfixed, and when I reached the most crucial point…
I sighed heavily and eventually said, ‘He’s my brother!’
Belfrigh looked at me in disbelief. ‘Henry? King Henry of England is your brother?’
‘Yes! He is. King Henry the Seventh had an affair with my mother, twenty-eight years ago,’ I elaborated.
Belfrigh, who seemed to have quickly recovered from the initial shock of my revelation, said: ‘So, you’re a bastard!’
‘I’m not a bastard,’ I answered angrily, I hated that word, although I knew very well it was true.
‘Were your parents married?’ Belfrigh asked him.
‘No! But-’
‘Then you’re a bastard!’
‘My father was the King of England!’ I said firmly and felt a pinch of pride inside me, a feeling that I was experiencing for the first time.
‘I’m sorry, Your Grace! You’re quite right, I misspoke,’ Belfrigh said, his ironic tone reaching its climax. ‘You’re a royal bastard. But if you don’t mind me saying, a bastard all the same.’
‘Don’t you understand what’s happening, Belfrigh?’ I said exasperatedly. ‘King Henry wants to divorce Queen Catherine because she’s incapable of providing him with a male heir and he’s hoping to get that heir from his lover Anne Boleyn.’
‘So, let me get this straight, lad.’ Belfrigh started. ‘The way I see it, you don’t give a rat’s arse for your brother as your family, but rather as a king. You hope to go there, take your brother’s life and your long-awaiting revenge, but with the ultimate hope that you will be named the next King of England!’ Belfrigh seemed to be very close to my ambition.
‘I just want to find out who killed my family,’ I claimed. ‘If that was indeed my brother, be it king or not, I will kill him,’
‘Horseshit!’ Belfrigh said plainly. ‘You want to be the bloody king!’
‘You’re missing the point here!’ I said trying to remain calm. My memories had seemed to reawaken so vividly like it was only yesterday that I had watched my house burn and my family being murdered…
‘Am I?’ he said and then paused. He drained his cup of wine, hit it on the table with a thud and looked at me in the eye. ‘What you’ve got to understand, lad, is that the king does as the king wills,’ his voice was calmer now and sounded more sympathetic as if he felt pity for me. ‘Tis the only rule of the monarchy in England and everywhere. The king has his queen and his lovers. He fucks the queen, he produces heirs. He fucks lovers, he springs bastards. Simple as that. No king’s bastard is entitled to inherit his father’s throne or any other titles whatsoever. That’s the royal law, Ed. You cannot change it, no matter what you do. Even if you do manage to get close enough to kill him, you’ll be charged for high treason and executed in the blink of an eye and then his daughter will take his place, and you’ll be passed in history as a nameless traitor of the crown.’
I looked up at my friend and fellow warrior and said: ‘I am Edward of York and I will take my revenge whatever the cost, whatever the consequences…’
‘Then you’re a bloody fool, that’s what you are,’ Belfrigh said. ‘I totally understand your need for revenge, I’d feel the same, lad; but in this case, you’re as powerless as an archer in battle with no remaining arrows in his quiver. If indeed the responsible for your misfortunes is the king himself, you’ve no chance of getting your revenge alone. He’s too well protected…’
Then I had a stroke of brilliance. Belfrigh was right, it would be a near-impossible task to touch the king if I were alone, but what if I had the right assistance… I smiled: ‘Would you come with me, Belfrigh?’
‘What did you say, lad?’ Belfrigh froze, his eyes transfixed on mine.
‘I asked whether you would come with me back to England, because… I need your help,’ I elaborated with way too little hope. Belfrigh owed me nothing, why would he risk his life to assist me to a potentially suicidal mission?
He laughed hard and then said: ‘Of course I would!’
CHAPTER III
Il Saco di Roma
6th May 1527
Belfrigh’s decision to accompany me back to England was a pleasant surprise and something I had not anticipated. I did not want to linger on the thought of why he had taken that decision. Maybe he thought after my departure others would follow, and eventually, our little band would be completely broken, or perhaps he just wanted a new adventure. In any case, I was glad, and I felt confident that his help would be invaluable.
Our preparations began the very same day, with the biggest issue being that we needed more men. Belfrigh suggested that it would be foolish to expect the whole band to come with us to England. However, we should speak to them anyway, as there was one or two who might be willing to follow us, Aeron for one, a Welshman, who had previously expressed his desire to return to Britain. There was also Federico, who was from Florence but always liked to travel and raid foreign parts of the world; on the other hand, he was not to be trusted, as his only allegiance was money itself and whoever possessed it. Nevertheless, he was a good warrior, and I might have had no choice but to take him with me, as we needed more manpower and I was sure very few would be willing to undertake this treacherous journey…
As such, Belfrigh gathered our band of eight that same evening under the Roman sky, on the very same clearing we had been that morrow. The night was chilly, despite being spring. I was wearing my travelling cloak over my clothes and as the wind whistled I clutched it around my neck to keep me warm. We had lit a fire, and we all sat around it, drinking ale, as we always did the night before a raid, to make our plans; this time, though it was different…
The men did not look happy with our decision to leave Rome and protested straight away. Even though, Belfrigh always inspired respect and even fear amongst us, it was not enough as a persuasion technique. They were suspicious, mainly because we would not tell them the absolute truth, it was apparent Belfrigh’s words were hiding something. He tried to set the case that he wanted to move our small group to England where presumably there would be more opportunities to raid estates and farmsteads with richer plunder. It was a poor attempt, we knew it, but we could not tell the truth. Belfrigh reckoned they would mistrust me if we told them I was a son of a king.
‘And don’t forget lad,’ Belfrigh had said that morrow. ‘That men, all men, are greedy… They crave for more and more no matter if they’re the richest in the world. So, what d’ you imagine they’ll say or think when you tell them you’re the son of a king and that you’re wanted dead by your enemies? They’ll have you in chains before you’d even try to resist, and they’ll deliver you to your brother hoping that he’ll reward them!’
‘What do you suggest, then?’ I had asked.
‘I say we don’t tell them a thing about your heritage and when we reach England and make our plans for the assassination of the king, we tell them it’s a heist to the Royal Palace. Imagine how they’d react only to the possibility of laying their hands on the king’s own gold…’ Belfrigh elaborated.
‘’Tis too risky. Why would they do that? If they’re caught they’ll be charged with treason and will be tortured to their last breath,’ I argued.
Belfrigh shook his head. ‘Our men are not cowards, Ed. They’ve taken similar risks in the past, life-threating risks. They can handle the pressure, they just need the right incentive…’
But it did not work, the men did not want to leave Rome and embark on a journey through the war-lashed continent. They preferred to stay here and keep fighting for the easy plunder. Belfrigh seeing that it did not go his way he decided to play his secret card…
‘I want to attempt a heist on the Royal Palace of Whitehall, King Henry’s own residence and home to incredible riches,’ Belfrigh spoke in Italian and waited for the reaction.
Silence. No one spoke for a few seconds, they all looked
transfixed.
Then one of them said: ‘Are you mental, Belfrigh? You’re bored with your life and want to end it?’
Which caused a reaction from the rest of them… ‘Seriously, he’s right,’ another one said.
‘It’d be easier to run your sword through your neck yourself,’ said a third one.
I turned and looked at Belfrigh, and he gave me a formidable glance, which was saying: You’d better worth it because I’m tearing my credibility apart for you!
I stood up and looked at them all. ‘I’m with Belfrigh!’ I declared loudly, my voice echoing in the clearing.
‘Then you’re mental too!’ said the man who had spoken first before.
‘Am I, now? I asked, still standing. ‘When has Belfrigh ever let us down? He has always looked after us, like a father we never had. He found us one by one when no one else would take us. Exiled we all are, unwanted in our homes. Yet in this band of warriors we have found friendship, even family I daresay. We have fought together, bled together, our bond is powerful. All because of him,’ I extended a finger pointing at Belfrigh. ‘All because his ambition has brought us here and has provided us with our fine armours and weapons and made our pockets heavy with coin. So, I ask you, my fellow warriors…Nay, my brothers… Where would you be today if it wasn’t for Belfrigh?’ I paused waiting.
‘Your speech is very inspiring, Ed,’ spoke Federico for the first time that night. I had expected him to interrupt me earlier. ‘But it doesn’t answer our most important question…’
‘Which is?’ Belfrigh said this time.
‘Why?’ Federico said simply. ‘Why did you suddenly decide to move us to a different country and attempt such a dangerous heist? I cannot help but wonder whether there is a personal motive that drives you towards England and your old hometown. No one here knows why you fled your country and I’d wager everything I own that you want to go back to revenge the ones that hurt you and doomed you to the lawless life of a bandit.’
The Illegitimate Tudor Page 5