“I remember you,” Alysson glared back. “You’re that odd little boy that hid under the table months ago. So why did Ludovic send you to me?”
“His lordship,” Clovis informed her, “trusts me.”
“Well I don’t,” said Alysson flatly. “I’ve no idea who you are. And what am I supposed to do with you anyway?”
“You’ll not do nothing wiv me,” declared Clovis, straightening to assert dignity. “His lordship – wot’s not here no more, so’s there’s no bloody arguments no how – ‘as been and done and made me his page. Working for his lordship mind – and for a whole penny a day wot’s more – to do wot he says. Not wot you nor nobody else says. And wot he says is to watch you, Mistress. And see wot goes on, being as he ain’t here to do it hisself.”
Alysson listened with some impatience. “Watch me do what?”
The boy wore a somewhat mismatched assortment of clothes. He so obviously did not resemble a page of the Sumerford estates that Alysson hoped he would not make himself too evident. A grimy and salt encrusted shirt showed little more than a coarse and unbleached neckline beneath a doublet so worn and rubbed that it wore a sheen more resembling satin than the untreated wool it truly was. The colour was indeterminate, but the outer surcoat, trimmed with moth-eaten sheepskin, was a virulent green, reminiscent of verdigris. The hose were knitted blue, with holes in both knees and ladders disappearing beneath the doublet’s ragged unhemmed peplum. His ankle boots were tough brown leather, badly scuffed and brine stained. He had doffed his small orange cap, complete with wilted partridge feather, and had stuffed this through an old leather belt lying rather loose about his middle. He was clearly wearing his best.
Their lordships were all absent. Within only two hours of the terrible news being relayed by the galloping, sweating, and exhausted messenger, his lordship the Earl of Sumerford, his second eldest son Brice, and his youngest son Ludovic, had all left the castle at full speed. Apart from one saddle bag apiece, they took neither luggage nor escort, but were accompanied by a groom and two of the castle guards. They had swirled out through the stables and across the drawbridge as if the devil himself was on their heels and the echoes of their departure remained hanging like great black clouds beneath the portcullis.
Alysson stood staring at the unwelcome child, and presumed that the only three remaining Sumerfords, being the countess, Humphrey and Jennine, would view this newly come apparition with considerable distrust. She sighed. “And how will I explain you to everyone else?”
“You’ll not be asked to do no such fing,” announced Clovis with growing animosity. “I knows my place and will do wot I does best. I’ve introduced myself to you, wot his lordship done asked me to, just being polite as is proper. And now that’s done, I’ll be off quicker’n spit. You won’t be seeing much of me from now on, Mistress, and them others, well, they won’t be seeing me at all. But I shall see them, and I shall see you, sure as piss in the privy.” He bowed rigid from the waist, turned to leave, but managed one last complaint over his shoulder. “Nor I ain’t so little neither, nor you ain’t so mighty big, Mistress. I reckon there’s a fair bit o’ respeck due both sides.” Alysson watched his affronted departure and wondered, not for the first time, just what Ludovic was up to.
Many miles away, Ludovic was leaning, damp shouldered, against cold stone, and the slap of the moat against the outside wall echoed within. The Tower was a place of icy shadows, even in summer.
Gerald was sitting. He was not shackled and his pallet, where he slumped, was well padded. But there was little else in the room except condensation, with neither window nor brazier, but one guttering candle stub on a shelf made the shadows dance. “So Father got you in,” Gerald sighed. “But wasn’t interested in coming himself.”
“Father’s still with the king,” said Ludovic. “He’s more interested in getting you out than getting me in. Assurances of family loyalty, reminders of proven valour at Exeter. It was Brice got me in, truth be told. Seems Brice has some influence, having evidently met the king before.”
Gerald looked up, surprised. “How? Brice always avoids court, even avoids London. Too busy on secret business.”
“Which, being secret, we have no idea what or where. Perhaps it brings him to London, perhaps to court. Who knows?”
Gerald shook his head. “No matter. It’s his grace, and poor Roland I cry for. Not myself.”
Ludovic paused, watching his brother’s expression. When he finally spoke again, it was very softly. “Roland is in Newgate, my dear, and will stay there until his execution. We can do nothing for him, which you know. You must not try, or it will bring your own immediate death. I am sorry for it, but he knew the risks he took. In the meantime, we believe we can ensure your pardon and release within the week, but you must try a little diplomacy, and remember we speak of Piers Warbeck, not of his grace the Duke of York. You gain nothing by obstinacy, and help neither yourself nor your family who will all sink under royal suspicion. Perhaps more importantly for you, you do not help Master Warbeck. He is here in the Tower you know, and will remain. He has lost his freedom forever, but he has not yet lost his life. Tudor still prevaricates. But now any overt support for Warbeck’s claims from England’s nobility will send the boy to the gallows, not to the throne.”
“They put him in the stocks, after he was captured this time.” Gerald’s eyes were bloodshot and it was clear he had not slept. Apart from his own discomfort, Richard Plantagenet’s misery had kept him awake. “The stocks, Lu. The rightful King of England, chained and hauled up on public view as a trickster, first at Westminster, and then, God save him, at Cheapside like any common criminal claiming false charms, devaluing his customers or selling rotten meat. His grace stood there with as much regal dignity as he always shows, head bent as the wooden frame was locked around his neck. Said not a word when they announced his crime to the crowd, and they say he never spoke during all six hours he was kept standing there. The people jeered him, ignorant fools. They believe Tudor’s lies and stories. Don’t they remember how Tudor stole the throne? It’s Tudor should be chained in the stocks.”
“Dear God.” Ludovic sighed. “Use your head while you still have it. Your words can be heard here, my dear, we are in royal custody and the guards constantly patrol the corridors outside. What good will it do your Richard of York if you die for him now? He’s already been taken from the stocks and is imprisoned in the Tower, in the Lanthorn I’ve been told. So comfortably housed, at least, which is more than can be said for you.”
“Yes, another absurdity.” Gerald glared at Henry Tudor’s invisible shadow. “I’d be better housed if I’d paid, but my coin’s all spent. My prince has not a farthing either, and he’s being called a fraudster and counterfeiter of false identities, a lowly boatman’s son from Flanders who’s had the gall to name himself a long lost prince and claim the throne of England. Yet dragged to the Tower itself, he’s not slung in some dungeon cell as any common born traitor would be, but royally housed, I hear, just like the prince he says he is. These are double standards indeed.”
“Enough.” Ludovic heard the rattling of the keys outside. “Time’s up. But we’ve paid for a week’s comfortable board and expect a warrant for your release before Saturday next. I doubt I’ll be back for they won’t allow it, but I’ll be here to meet you and bring your horse as soon as you’re freed. Keep cheerful if you can.”
“Cheerful? I hear the lions roaring from the menagerie as I close my eyes at night. It’s a bizarre world, Lu. What does Richard Plantagenet hear? And Roland, chained in Newgate and facing imminent death?”
The door creaked open and the gaoler poked his nose around the iron braces. “One hears the tides of the Thames,” Ludovic said softly, turning to leave. “And the other is courageous enough to listen to his own heartbeat in peace. A man with confidence in his righteousness, must be confident also of the glory awaiting him after death.”
“I may not be freed in time to visit Roland,” Gerald whisper
ed, one eye on the open door and the gaoler now waiting out in the corridor. “But he must have some comfort before the end. He’ll be hung as a traitor, and you know what that means.” He dropped his voice lower. “Lu, I beg you. You – understood – before. See Roland and do what you can for him. Pay for some ale, some meat and a blanket. He’ll be chained in the pits, no doubt. See him for me, at least once – before it’s too late.”
“You ask me to openly visit a condemned traitor?” Ludovic stared down at his brother, their faces diminished by the lightless gloom. “Do you realise what you’re asking, Gerald?”
Gerald hung his head. “I’m desperate, or I wouldn’t ask. Roland was the bravest of us all, you know. But there’s no wife to visit him, no father to pay his keep in prison. He’s penniless and alone.”
Ludovic paused one moment, staring. Then nodded in silence, turned and strode from the tiny room. His boots echoed on the damp stone as the cell door clanged shut behind him, the key grating in the old iron lock.
Outside Ludovic collected his horse and his weapons and rode out through the mighty gates of the Byward Tower and across the drawbridge. A strong wind swept up the river, agitating the surface of the moat. The sky was grey clouded and a spit of rain hung in the air. Ludovic twitched up the trim of his surcoat, and headed into London’s cluttered streets. The stench of sewerage, steaming with a summer’s warmth however cold the wind, clogged the gutters. Ludovic turned from the riverside, avoiding the wharfs where his usual business lay, and aimed instead for the cheaps. It was sleeting when he arrived at The Poultry. The bloody gizzards and intestines were heaped beneath the stalls like battle strewn remains, awaiting the ravens, the dogs and the scrummaging rats. He rode on. With the rain now sliming the cobbles and the markets busy and crowded, there was no possibility of speed. It took two hours to pick through the Shambles and reach the Newgate portcullis. Ludovic sighed, and dismounted.
“Your business, my lord,” demanded the gaoler, eyeing Ludovic’s sable lined coat and his fine impatient horse.
Ludovic held out his purse. “I’ve coin both for the man I intend visiting, and for the man who opens the door for me, but no sealed appointment,” he said. “Take your choice.”
“You’d better come in, my lord,” said the gaoler, bowing at once. “The rain’s getting mighty bad, and ‘tis warmer inside.”
“I doubt it,” said Ludovic.
Five days later they met in an upstairs private solar at the Rose Tavern, set back in fashionable Leadenhall Street, as the sun was shining through the wide unshuttered windows. His lordship the Earl of Sumerford sat facing his son Gerald. Behind him stood Brice. Ludovic sat to one side, taking no part in the conversation. He was looking out through the windows over London’s uneven tiled rooftops. He appeared almost absent, but he was listening.
The Earl of Sumerford spoke directly to Gerald. He sat at ease, his legs stretched to the slanting sunbeams, but his eyes remained cold. “You will receive no second chances from this king,” said the earl, “for he is not a man of mercy. He has pardoned you once, but would not do so again. Tomorrow morning you will therefore retire immediately into silent seclusion in Somerset, and you will not leave the castle nor take part in any manner of public action for many years, unless it is in support of your anointed monarch. If you are obedient until the end of the season when I imagine this business will be concluded, I shall then endeavour to settle your marriage. Perhaps watching the inevitable misdemeanours of your own wife and children will satisfy your yearnings for danger. Until then, my son, your behaviour will be at all times circumspect, loyal and diplomatic. Otherwise his majesty will find no need to arrange your execution for I will have you imprisoned under guard myself. The dungeons at Sumerford are less spacious than those at the Tower, but will suffice, I believe.”
Gerald stared back at his father. “Tudor pardoned me,” he said, teeth clenched. “How gracious. But there was no evidence against me, and no crime for which I could be pardoned. When the Duke of York was dragged out of sanctuary by Tudor’s guards, Roland was arrested with him. This placed me under immediate suspicion. Roland has long been my squire, but in truth he is more friend than servant. Each of us has played a part and he chose that of my squire. But nothing is known against me personally, nothing can be proved and my own arrest was utterly unsupported.”
The earl regarded his son with contempt. “Does the king need evidence? He executed his own Lord Chamberlain, his mother’s own brother-in-law, on evidence of little more than rumour. The king will fabricate evidence if he wishes, or will choose to overlook its requirement entirely. Have you no more sense than to seethe about justice when speaking of kings? Do I have a son who can do no more than rave and ramble against his fate? Or will you remember your responsibility to the Sumerford name, and swear loyalty to your family, if not to your king?”
Gerald nodded, looking first away, then up at Brice. “The Sumerford pride? Yes, I’ll swear. I know exactly what I owe to my name and title. A title and estates stolen from their rightful owners, just as Tudor stole his. And you, big brother? Do you know what’s due to our family pride?”
“Me?” Brice laughed, hands to the back of the tall chair where his father sat. “Yes, I understand very well, my beloved. Very well indeed. I helped in your release from the executioner’s block, though you don’t seem particularly grateful. A little bribery, even in royal circles, is mighty useful if well-handled and cleverly directed. And bribery, you know, has always been my forte for I also understand the love of money so – remarkably well.”
“Then I am naturally grateful, and naturally I thank you.” Gerald sat rigid, his face expressionless. “With bribery? But enough left over, I see, for a new surcoat. Cadmium muslin damask, lined in black marten. How lucky there was sufficient remaining from the – business of bribery.”
“Indeed.” Brice smiled extravagantly wide. “But then, I am invariably lucky in such matters. A particularly beautiful coat, I hope you agree. And you may not have noticed, but the shirt is fresh tailored, with a neckline cut in the new lace cutworks. And I hesitate to brag, my beloved, seeing the sad state of your old boots, but my shoes are also new, and the latest Italian fashion.”
Gerald blinked. “Indeed, you must have impressed the king,” he said quietly, “when you helped arrange my release, and the permission for Ludovic to visit in the Tower. How fortunate that you had such beautiful new clothes for such an occasion.”
“I always have new clothes, beloved.” Brice dimpled, his smile remaining benign. “And I am always fortunate. But then, I have always chosen such innocent pastimes, and make my coin without recourse to conspiracies, or by dabbling in treason.”
Gerald started to rise, his eyes narrowed. The earl interrupted. “No further immaturity Gerald, I beg you, the youthful belligerence of your nature already exhausts me. Having clearly inherited your mother’s facile banality, you are now doubtless unlikely to remember either your duty or your dignity, so informing you how much you have to thank me for would now appear pointless. But in my presence at least, we will indulge in no petty squabbles. Kindly contain your simplistic naiveté a little longer, my son. I intend resting before dinner, and retiring early to bed since we have a long ride tomorrow. Brice, you had better come with me. Ludovic, you will keep Gerald company and ensure his utter and complete obedience to my requirements.”
Ludovic remained sitting as his father and Brice left the room. He was watching, morose and unblinking, the plunge of a hunting kite, the squirm of abandoned kittens in a rubbish dump below, the kite’s claws piercing the wriggling scrap of fur, then the flash of feathers disappearing into the bright blue distance.
Gerald said, “Did you go?”
Ludovic turned reluctantly. “I went.”
“Won’t you tell me? Is it so bad?”
Ludovic sighed. “It’s a message I would sooner not carry. But a dying man has a right to be heard, and his last wishes respected.” Ludovic stood and came slowly over to sit
where his father had sat before, facing Gerald. “I went to Newgate,” he said quietly. “I paid for Roland to have food, ale and blankets supplied for the week, but all requests to unshackle him or move him to a better position were refused. He is reckoned a dangerous prisoner of some consequence, and there were orders to keep him securely chained in the depths of the limboes. I could not change that, however much I paid the guards.”
“What did he say?” whispered Gerald.
“That he has no fear of death. That he believes what he did was right, and that he obeyed God’s will, even though he failed. That he prays for the Duke of York, and for you, every day. That he loves you both, and will gladly die for you.”
Gerald nodded, blinking back tears. “Go on.”
Ludovic paused a moment before continuing. Then shook his head and said, “He asked only, if you were free to do so, you would come to witness his death. To show yourself to him, so that he knows you are free, and alive. And that amongst a jeering crowd he will see one loving face before he sees only his own blood.”
“Dear God. When?”
“If you intend fulfilling this last request,” Ludovic said very softly, “then I believe we have a little over one hour.”
Gerald jumped up. “You mean this morning? And you’ll come with me?”
“He asked me to,” said Ludovic, “and I will go, though I would sooner go alone. If you are recognised by anyone in authority, you may be arrested again, and then if I am not arrested myself, Father will certainly kill me.”
“Of course I have to go.” Gerald’s words faded into whispers. “And is it the full penalty, do you know, Lu? Or has it been commuted to – a lesser sentence?”
“The full penalty,” said Ludovic softly. “A traitor’s death. And we have an hour to get to Tyburn.”
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