by The Raven
“Roseanna, thank God,” breathed Bryan, slipping from the cell.
She could not get out fast enough. If she didn’t get the stench of the place out of her nostrils soon, she would faint. They crept to the stables, and in the dim light she handed him the paper. “Ravenspur took you prisoner because he found this paper among your things. Tell me truly, Bryan. Did you mean to imprison me at Middleham?”
He laughed shakily. “Nay, Roseanna. The paper refers to the King,” he swore fervently.
She was stunned. Ravenspur was right! Bryan was involved in treason—and what of her brother?
“Goddamn it, he’s locked up my horse,” swore Bryan.
“Take Zeus. Leave him at Castlemaine.” She knew that she was doing an insane thing in letting him go, but she had loved him once, and she would never be happy if his blood were on her hands. He went to take her in his arms, but she recoiled in horror. “Go quickly before someone cries the alarm.”
He needed no second urging but threw a saddle onto Zeus and secured the belly strap. Only seconds after he rode off, old Dobbin ambled up with a lantern. “What do you want, my lady?” he croaked.
“The Arabian. What have you done with Mecca?” she asked.
He cackled. “As soon as ye brought them mares in, he began screaming until I give them to ’im. I’ve put them in the small stable behind this one. Come on, I’ll show you.”
“Go back to bed, Dobbin. I’ll see for myself,” she said with regal authority. He knew the tone and shrugged. When Lady Roseanna was up to intrigue, it was best to look the other way. He touched his forelock and ambled off.
She found the Arabian in a roomy, loose box stall with the three mares. One of them had a bite on her neck from when he had forced her to his will. Roseanna washed the wound and disinfected it as the young mare stood trembling beneath her ministrations. She muttered a low oath at the stallion as she saddled him: “By God, if you’ve got so much energy, I’ll run it out of you.”
He snorted and tossed his head, but she made him take the bit with determined hands. She had no plan yet except to go to her father. But as she rode toward Middleham, she knew the Abbey of Jervaulx would be close enough to shelter her until she found a way to see him.
Roger opened his eyes; the emptiness of the chamber was tangible. His eyes flew to the table where the keys had lain, and he knew. He sprang from the bed and pulled on his clothes. He ran down four flights until he was beneath the castle, and he saw for himself that she had freed his prisoner. Fear was a stranger to Roger Montford, but it snaked through his belly as he ran to the stables. Fitzhugh’s horse was still locked in its stall, but a quick search confirmed that his fear was justified. Zeus and Mecca were missing; they had gone together! He turned on young Dirk, his temper in shreds. “Who guarded Fitzhugh?” he demanded.
“I gave the only keys to you, my lord. No guard was posted,” he said, shamefaced. He was saved from a tongue-lashing by Tristan and his men clattering into the yard at full tilt. Roger could see Tristan’s agitation. Roger’s heart sank as his brother shouted, “They’ve taken the King!”
“Come upstairs where we can be private,” Roger bade him, “Kelly! Ready a hundred men and horses.” Grim-faced, Roger led the way to his chamber and slammed the door. The sight of the tumbled bed was like a knife turning in his breast. Quickly, he poured two goblets of wine and handed one to his brother.
“Two weeks ago, Ned left York. But instead of going straight to London, he decided to visit Nottingham Castle to see the extensive building renovations that are being done there. He got word that Warwick was going to move against him, and he was caught with his feet up on the table. He had only his Court with him.
“He foolishly delayed at Nottingham over a week trying to raise an army. He got Pembroke and Devonshire with their armies of Welsh archers, but Warwick’s forces were too great. Warwick has Ned at Warwick Castle, and he has had the gall to summon a Parliament for York. He has called on all subjects to join him in arms against the King. His war cry is ‘Death to the Woodvilles.’ Warwick says if the King won’t take action against them himself, he must be made to do so by others!” recounted Tristan.
“You’re certain they took Edward to Warwick Castle?” asked Roger.
“As certain as I can be. He’s more a guest than a prisoner, according to Warwick. They have made Warwick Castle their headquarters.”
Roger paced the bedchamber like a caged animal. He was wracked with indecision. The scrap of paper had said the prisoner was to be held at Middleham, yet Warwick Castle made more sense. It was close to Coventry, where the Queen’s father, Lord Rivers, held sway. Edward had made his father-in-law his chief military officer, and he held the exalted rank of Constable of England. It was Lord Rivers whom Warwick intended to bring low.
Roger made his decision. They would go to Coventry and swell Edward’s army. There was strength in numbers, and they would join Hastings, Herbert, Stafford, Pembroke, and Devonshire. He would try to influence Norfolk and as many others along the way as he could. If it meant bloody war again, then so be it! He ground his teeth over the little creeping louse who had escaped from his own dungeon; he should have gutted him while he had the chance.
Roseanna used every excuse she could think of to stay at the abbey. She told them she had come to look at more horses; she also wanted to buy some sheep; and she had decided that Jervaulx should provide Ravensworth with their famous flakey white cheese year round. She hoped God would forgive her for lying to men of the church but wasted no more thoughts on the matter.
She needed to figure out how she could get close to Edward if she saw him around Middleham Castle or on Middleham High Moor. She concluded that a monk’s white robe would be her best camouflage. Holy men came and went everywhere almost unnoticed. She hadn’t been inside the Abbey of Jervaulx two hours when she stole a robe from a clothesline outside the laundry.
She rode out onto the moor and put the large white robe over her other clothing as soon as she was away from the abbey. The Arabian blended in with the other white horses grazing on the moor. Roseanna decided she would ride in close proximity to the high walls of Midhung around all afternoon; then just at dusk she couldn’t believe her luck. A large troop of men-at-arms came riding over the ridge with King Edward at their head. She rode slowly toward them, hoping and praying that her father would recognize the Arabian.
He did! Edward held up his hand for the troop to rein in. He felt inside his purse for gold. The King was famous for his generosity, so when he asked if he could approach the monk to give him alms, it raised no suspicions. Edward spurred his horse the few yards toward Roseanna. His own gentlemen who had been allowed to attend him while he was a “guest” at Middleham rode up close behind him to partly screen him from his captors’ vision.
Roseanna whispered hoarsely, “How can I aid you?”
He shook his head quickly. “I am in no danger. But oh, my Rosebud, I beg you to ride swiftly and get the Queen into sanctuary. Warwick means to destroy them all!”
She nodded quickly and took the money he proffered. Then she slid from her horse and knelt with bowed head until the cavalcade had passed on its way into Middleham Castle. As the enormity of the task ahead of her dawned, she began to panic. London lay hundreds of miles to the south. She didn’t know how far exactly or in which direction exactly, and she was a woman alone. Should she go to her husband, beg his forgiveness, and lay the matter onto his strong, capable shoulders? He’d raze Middleham to the ground to free Edward, but what of Elizabeth Woodville? She knew he would never allow her to ride to London, and her father was counting on her. The Arabian certainly had enough heart for the journey; the question was, had she? Should she spend the night at the abbey and start out at dawn? No, she would set out now; even if she only rode twenty miles or so, she would be that much closer to London, and the Queen’s life depended upon her.
She kept the monk’s robe on for safety’s sake and was glad of the extra warmth it lent her. Though s
he was cold and hungry, she kept going until she saw lights from a town in the distance. As she got closer, she realized with joy that it was York. She was elated that she had done so well and on impulse sought out The Fighting Cocks, where Ravenspur had caught her.
No skulking about this time! She removed the white robe in the inn yard and brushed off her traveling cloak. She turned Mecca over to a stableman with a haughty warning: “This horse is a priceless Arabian. See that he is well fed and watered, and I want a warm stall for him with a blanket.” She fished a coin from her belt and walked regally into the inn. It was hot and smoky as before and was filled with drinkers who seemed noisier than last time.
“I am Lady Roseanna Montford, Baroness of Ravenspur. I’ll need your best room and a good hot meal.” She looked the innkeeper straight in the eyes, daring him to offer her insult or even excuse because she was a woman alone. But he remembered her from when she was there with Ravenspur; no other woman in England had hair like that!
No sooner was she safely in her room than a loud fight broke out in the taproom below. When a chambermaid brought her half a capon and some hot apple pie, she questioned her: “What’s amiss tonight?”
“Oh lawdy, feelin’s is runnin’ high. There’s rumors thicker than whores in York on a Friday night! They say as Warwick has taken the King prisoner an’ is goin’ to set up George, but England wants none of the likes of ‘im. I tell you, they’ll be riotin’ in the streets if these rumors have any truth to ‘um.”
“I must be away at first light. Knock very loudly until I answer; no later than five, please,” instructed Roseanna.
The long, cold day and the hot food made her very drowsy. She felt buoyed by the report of the public opinion, but the sooner she got to London, the better. She crawled into bed in her shift and was asleep between one thought and the next.
The next day at Doncaster and Newark, the streets were filled with milling crowds that looked and sounded angry. She was very close to Castlemaine but decided that she could not afford to take the time for a visit home. Joanna would be distraught at the news of Edward’s capture, and she might also not be in favor of her daughter riding pell-mell for London to save her hated rival, the Woodville woman.
The next day she hoped to get as far as Cambridge, for the weather held good and Mecca was a strong steed. But in the late afternoon she noticed the Arabian had a loose shoe. As she bent to look closer, it seemed to Roseanna that the stallion’s shoes were wearing thin. She picked up a hoof to inspect it and blinked in disbelief. The horseshoes were made of silver! How extravagant of the King to gift her with a horse with silver horseshoes!
She stopped at a blacksmith’s shop and had him remove all the shoes and replace them with iron. Enough silver had worn away that this sprint to London had already cost a fortune. She put the silver shoes into her saddlebags. She’d probably need the silver in London before she was finished. Darkness was falling fast on that winter’s night by the time the job was done, so Roseanna decided to stop at an inn at Buckden.
In the morning, when she lifted her head from her pillow, a wave of such nausea hit her that she had to reach for the chamber pot beneath the bed. She vomited twice, cursing fate that she had perhaps caught something and wouldn’t be able to continue. But miraculously, after the second time she was sick, the nausea passed off as quickly as it had come. She nibbled dry biscuits and sipped a little wine, for she knew she had to keep up her strength if she were to reach London this day.
She was within sight of the great city of London when her luck with the weather ran out. The heavens opened, and great sheets of freezing rain were flung from the sky. All light had vanished from the day by four in the afternoon. She rode into the stables attached to Westminster Palace and paid a royal groom handsomely to rub down and feed her horse; then she ran into the palace and asked a palace guard to direct her to the Queen.
Roseanna looked like the sole survivor of a shipwreck, as if the sea had spewed her up from its depths. She stood streaming water onto the magnificent red carpet. The palace guard was insulted by her very presence: “Get out before I have you arrested.”
“You don’t understand. I have a message for Her Grace the Queen. I have been sent by the King!” She said it with all the regality she could muster, but the guard poked his halberd at her until she retreated. In frustration she sat on the floor, refused to budge another inch, and began to scream. A covey of palace guards arrived, along with the chancellor.
“This beggar woman wants to see the Queen,” said the guard indignantly.
“The Queen is at Greenwich. Put her out,” ordered the chancellor.
“You pompous ass, why didn’t you tell me the queen wasn’t here?” cried Roseanna. Drooping with fatigue, she went back to the stables. No one noticed her. She finally found Mecca in a stall, so she crawled in with him and huddled in the hay. So close, and yet so far. She had to get to the Queen. It was her last thought before she sank down into dreamless exhaustion.
She awoke with a start and jumped up to find Mecca nuzzling her feet. She wished she had not moved so quickly, for she then found herself on her hands and knees vomiting into the straw. The morning sickness was repeating itself. “Morning sickness!” she cried aloud. She groaned. “Oh, Ravenspur, what have you done to me?” She pushed the thought away. She had no time to waste in foolish speculation about whether she was or wasn’t with child. She had to get to the Queen before her enemies or she would be dead, and from what she had heard, enemies were all that Elizabeth Woodville had.
She wiped her mouth and staggered to her feet. Bits of straw clung to her as she emerged into a London street. It was crowded with citizens and hawkers selling every imaginable need. Milkmaids with cans and ladles cried, “Sweet milk”; fishwives outdid each other offering “oysters, cockles, mussels, winkles, and ’errings.” Old women hawked bunches of lavender, and old men offered “dead men’s boots.” Carts and barrows held fruit, coal from Newcastle, hens, and hares. She bought a spiced custard, then wondered if she could keep it down. She went into a silversmith’s and exchanged the horseshoes for coin of the realm.
On the next street she found a ladies’ dress shop. They bought and sold used clothing. Roseanna swallowed her distaste and chose a presentable crimson velvet gown. She would never gain audience with the Queen unless she made some show of wealth. The shop owner assured her that the clothes came from the royal ladies-in-waiting; when Roseanna departed, she left behind her own clothes and considerable coin in exchange for a rather gaudy cloak of what could only be described as blue cloth of silver upon satin. But more important, she departed with directions to Greenwich.
The fastest route was by Thames barge. The oarsmen called out the waterstops along the way. The river, though wide, deep, and fast flowing, stank. It stank of Billingsgate Fish Market and of public latrines. Roseanna shuddered and wondered what it was like in the hot months of the summer.
On the barge, a group of gaudily dressed young men were returning to the Court after a night of carousing on the town. They tried to be familiar with her, first by leers, then by suggestive remarks tossed her way. Finally one swaggered over, doffed his jeweled cap, and said with double meaning, “May I serve you, mistress?” They were absurdly young to be so dissolute, and she suspected that they had not quite sobered from the previous evening. Though they were of an age with her, she felt like a mature woman among boys. She smiled tolerantly and quipped, “I don’t believe you’re up to it!”
His fellows were helpless with laughter, and she brought a blush to his young cheek. The barge pulled up at the waterstop; she allowed the young men to leave first and then followed them up the incline to Greenwich Palace.
Lord Hastings was the chamberlain of the Royal Household, but he was in the North, supposedly with the King. His deputy, Montague, served in his place. It took Roseanna the rest of the day to gain an audience with him, let alone the Queen. He was a small, officious man, and he informed her in a lordly manner that when the Q
ueen dined, she was welcome to observe. Apparently, every evening Elizabeth Woodville and her Court dined “on display.” Foreigners and visitors were invited to watch the magnificence of the meal as if it were a play— and in very truth it was a theatrical event.
The Queen was fast becoming one of the sights of Europe, like a shrine. Foreigners could gawp at her while she gave them neither a look nor a word.
Roseanna was awed by her first sight of the Queen. She was slim and beautiful and shone luminously like the inside pearl of a shell. Her hair was silvery-gilt, and she wore shimmering cloth of silver sewn with crystal drops. She looked to be as hard as a diamond. Roseanna was surprised to discover that she was great with child, although the cut of the gown was designed to hide the pregnancy. Toward the end of the meal, Roseanna approached Lady Margery, one of the Queen’s ladies-in-waiting, and asked if she could speak to the Queen. She was a rather plain-faced woman, as all the Queen’s ladies were. It was evident that Elizabeth Woodville wanted no competition.
Lady Margery looked doubtfully at Roseanna, so she pressed her case more urgently and said, “It is a matter of life and death! I have a secret message from the King!”
In the face of such urgency, Lady Margery quickly drew Roseanna over to the Queen’s table and repeated her message to Elizabeth.
The Queen’s gaze dropped to Roseanna, and her eyes narrowed. She assessed every inch of her with glittering eyes. Who was this woman the King had sent with a message? She was far too beautiful for her own good, Elizabeth decided. She was also young, and that was unusual, for Ned usually preferred his women older and more experienced. Although he thought that having many bed partners was his natural prerogative, he was no ravisher of innocent virgins. Still, in spite of her tender years, this one before her stood out as a woman among girls. Yes, she was all woman, Elizabeth decided with her shrewd gaze.
It seemed to Roseanna that the Queen was not going to speak with her, so she did an unheard-of thing and spoke first. She dropped one knee in a curtsey and said, “Your Grace, I beg you to allow me to speak.”