“Kate, would you sing us a song?” Martin asked. Kate looked at George, who was quietly drinking, and spoke to him.
“Would it please you, husband, if I sang for the family?” Her anger of the other day had abated, and she had gone back to feeling sorry for George. She knew he was afraid of Martin and wished he would stand up to his father. She thought that her deferring to him might give him more confidence in front of Martin. George waved a dismissive hand and nodded. Philippa stared hard at her son’s profile and then busied herself with the poker resting under the Yule log. She pulled it out and plunged the red-hot iron hissing into the wassail bowl. Robert tried to mimic the sound and his mother smiled.
Kate ran to the solar to fetch her harp. The Hautes were too small a household to hire mummers and minstrels for their entertainment, as Richard Haute had done at Ightham. Martin had set the backgammon table between him and Philippa and challenged her to a game. But Kate’s offer was much more to Philippa’s liking, and she looked fondly at her daughter-in-law when Kate returned holding her precious harp.
“There is no rose of such virtue
As is the rose that bore Jesu. Alleluia.
For in this rose contained was
Heaven and earth in little space. Resmiranda.”
The delicate melody and intricate embellishments on the harp filled the hall. A few curious faces appeared round the screen at the kitchen end, and Martin motioned the servants to come and listen. Then Kate began a ductia, a lively dance tune that set everyone’s feet to tapping. One of the kitchen lads ran back to the bakehouse, where he kept his meager bundle of personal belongings, and returned with a tabor. He sidled close to Kate and began beating time on the drum. Martin jumped to his feet and took Philippa’s hand and led her out to dance. They were a handsome pair with their complementary height and blond good looks. They moved gracefully together, and thus encouraged, Walter, Martin’s bailiff, bowed awkwardly to Molly and sedately stepped with her to the music. Maud and Robert ran behind their parents and earnestly tried to copy the steps until a fit of coughing sent Robert back to his fireside seat. George watched without emotion, but from time to time he looked in admiration at his wife. Kate caught him looking at her at one point and raised an eyebrow. Then she turned her attention back to the dancers, who were all enjoying themselves, except for Simon, who spent the evening as far from the family as possible.
The festivities continued with a game of hoodman blind before Molly took the children to bed and Martin announced it was time for the short walk to the church. The old lad’s passing bell had been ringing for nigh on half an hour, signaling the death of the Devil and the birth of the Savior. Martin did not want the household of Haute Manor to be late for the midnight mass. Wrapped in their cloaks, their feet in clogs, the company moved silently on the white ground, their lantern lights creating diamonds in the snow.
George offered Kate his arm and drew her close to him. “Christ’s greetings, Kate. Think not too unkindly on me, I pray you. Not tonight. I shall be gone soon, and you may be tranquil again.” He paused. “I for my part am proud of you. Your music pleases my parents, I see. They think I chose well.”
Kate stiffened but did not pull away. She had been reminded of her unhappiness again when Simon had arrived, but George showed no indication that he had seen the groom, and she presumed this was part of her husband’s “mended ways.” Simon would be abandoned.
“Christmas greetings to you, too, George,” was all she could think to respond.
IT WAS THE SIXTH DAY of Christmas, and the kitchen servants at Tendring were in a frenzy of baking for the feast of Christ’s Circumcision on the morrow. Philippa was downstairs supervising the preparations so as to allow Margaret Howard time to be with her child. Margaret had been glad of the offer and had taken Kate upstairs with her. She allowed Rose to brush her hair while she rocked the cradle. The solar was warm, a brazier was set up on the tiled floor and Kate sat contentedly on a stool nearby.
Young Catherine was a healthy baby, although the swaddling made it hard to see if she had grown. Margaret put the demanding mouth to her breast and the child suckled hungrily. A contented expression settled over Margaret’s pleasant face.
“I am sorry you must share your bed with George here, Kate. But it would seem odd to have him on a pallet in the hall while his wife sleeps in a perfectly adequate bed for two. John will be dispatching him to Framlingham the day after tomorrow, so it is only for two more nights.”
“’Tis of no consequence, Margaret, I thank you. We are civil to each other, and the anger in me has gone. It is only sadness I feel now.”
“Are you happy at the manor? Philippa is a sweet soul. I would count myself lucky to have such a mother-in-law.” Margaret made a face, explaining how much she had disliked her first husband’s mother. “Mother Wyfold was a gorgon, I can assure you.”
Kate professed she was not unhappy and, in fact, had grown to love Philippa as her own mother. She was trustworthy and kind with a nice sense of humor, but Kate felt deceitful living there when she was no real wife to George.
“And if I persist in seeking an annulment, I shall hurt her deeply, I know,” Kate said, plying her needle in a piece of embroidery she intended to give to Philippa for a New Year’s gift. “Sometimes I almost want to tell her, but I cannot imagine what a mother would do, knowing she has borne a son who has unnatural lusts.”
When the baby had been fed and was lying contentedly in her cradle, Margaret called to Rose to rebraid her hair. There was a knock at the door, and Kate stood and curtsied as Jack entered. He waved her back to her stool.
“Let me see my daughter, Margaret. You are greedy with her. She needs to know her father, too, you know.” He kissed his wife and bent to the cradle. Cat was perfectly content, playing with her fingers and blowing bubbles. She crowed delightedly when Jack tickled her.
“She has your laugh, madam,” Jack teased his wife, as he picked the baby up and settled her in the crook of his arm. “The rest, though, is pure Howard.”
He was right. Her hair was black and her eyes were beginning to lose their newborn blueness and change to brown. The long Howard chin was unmistakable.
“She is beautiful, Sir John. That comes from her mother,” Kate chided him, squinting at a badly executed stitch. She almost said “God’s bones,” but remembered where she was. Why, oh! why had she chosen an embroidered kerchief as a gift? How she hating sewing!
Jack laughed heartily at her ribbing. He was happy Margaret had found a friend, albeit the wife of one of his youngest henchmen. He had decided to take George with him to France in the hope that the young man would comport himself well and be more deserving of Kate.
His new appointment as envoy suited him well: Jack Howard was a born diplomat. Whether dealing with politics at court or with a farmer over the sale of a cow, he was fair and spoke his mind. He was steadfastly loyal to the York cause, and through patience and a willingness to serve that cause, he had risen to a position of great importance in the king’s circle. Edward had made him knight of the body and more recently treasurer of the household. The chance to represent the crown at Louis the Eleventh’s court was a privilege indeed, and he was mindful of it. He was determined to discover for himself the extent to which the earl of Warwick was in league with the French king and what mischief that bold baron was hatching.
“THE KING IS AT COVENTRY for the season,” Jack answered Kate during a game of backgammon. And I heard young Gloucester keeps him company there. Which reminds me. Richard told me he met you and Philippa when he was lost hunting from here last September. He spoke warmly of you. Will you not tell me about it?”
Kate found herself blushing, she knew not why. She pretended to have fumbled a draughtsman onto the floor and bent down to hide her face. She was glad George had been sent back to Framlingham already.
“Aye, Sir John, we met him then. He found me in the wood not far from Chelsworth. He was with his friend, Rob . . . I have forgotten his name.”
Kate was nonchalant. “They were hunting.”
“So, tell me what happened.”
Kate rattled off the story, omitting her reason for crying alone in the woods. Philippa, who was within earshot, added snippets where appropriate.
“Gloucester is a fine lad,” Jack said. “He and I became acquainted when I was in the north a few years back and spent time at Middleham and York. Edward has a loyal brother in Dickon. Cannot say the same about the other.” He muttered his last comment under his breath.
“I beg your pardon, Sir John?”
“Nothing, Kate. Nothing. I misspoke, that is all. Aye, young Richard has proved a good student of arms. I do hear he wields a fierce sword.” Jack played his turn on the dice and blocked Kate’s reentry on the board.
“Sir John! Look what you have done. Oh, fiddle-faddle!” Kate complained. “Now I shall have to wait until you free up a line for me. ’Tis unfair of you, sir!”
Jack laughed. “Life is not fair, young Kate. As you will no doubt find out one of these days. Do you want to give up and pay me now, or do you want to draw out the agony of defeat?” Kate answered by putting down two coins, thinking she had lost.
“I was testing your skill, Kate. Let me show you how you could still win.”
But Kate was tired of playing. Her mind was busy. “Do you think Richard of Gloucester will ever come to Tendring again?”
“Aye. He is much at court these days, but I know he is not one for the fripperies and politics of court life. He would rather be hawking or tilting. He is welcome here at any time, and I daresay he will be back to hunt before long. I will be sure to let you know when he comes next, Kate. But you must not make your husband jealous of him, must you?” He winked at her. Kate glanced around and was relieved to see Martin and Philippa admiring a new hanging at the other side of the hall.
“Sir John! I was only curious, that is all. ’Tis not often one of my station meets a royal prince. I am only curious, merely curious.”
But Jack was no longer paying attention. He yawned and eased himself out of his chair. “Time for bed, friends. If Martin and I want to hunt tomorrow, we must to bed.”
Kate went to Martin and knelt by him. “May I go with you on the morrow, Father? I am a good enough horsewoman now, and I would dearly love to ride with you.”
She looked eagerly at both men. They could not refuse her. It was not such an odd request. Many women were expert with bow and arrow or with a falcon and were often seen out hunting with their menfolk. And so it was arranged: Philippa would stay and keep Margaret company while Kate went hunting with Jack and Martin. Kate was elated, and hurried up the stairs to tell Margaret, who had gone up before the backgammon game to wish the younger children sweet dreams.
“She is headstrong, is she not?” Philippa laughed. “I hope she does not offend you, Sir John.”
“Offend me? Nay, madam, I find her delightful. Your son is a lucky man.” Martin and Philippa could only nod in absolute agreement.
THE CRISP AIR RANG with the compelling notes of a hunting horn and the baying of hounds. Cornflower pawed the hard ground under the snow, blowing clouds of hot steam from her nostrils. Several of Sir John’s neighbors had joined the group, including two other women, and Kate was glad to see them, for now she did not feel so out of place. She masked her apprehension with a bright “Good day” and a smile.
Word was passed that a small herd of red deer had been spotted in the Bowerhouse manor woods, and one of the guest huntsmen had seen a wild boar in the same area. Boars had begun to die out in England, and to hunt one was rare sport indeed.
“A boar’s head is late for Christmas, friends, but ’twould not go amiss on my table for Twelfth Night!” Jack called. “Let us try and find him.”
The next two hours were spent getting to the hunting area and setting up a search in the woods, using the hounds. Kate tried to stay up with the leaders, but Cornflower was a small horse and more used to gentle trotting on beaten paths. Soon, they fell behind to the back of the train. Kate did not mind, for she did not think she would like to witness the kill. She simply wanted the experience of the hunt itself. A loud blast on the horn from deep in the forest told her that the dogs had picked up a scent, and she urged Cornflower in its direction.
“The boar, the boar! They have found the boar!”
She had never seen a boar but knew it was a brave and fearsome fighter. She hoped she would catch a glimpse of it before the dogs made an end of it. She could see Martin’s tall form topped by his emerald hat out in front. Onward they went, trampling the dead bracken and breaking the bare branches in their path. Kate was not surprised there were no deer about. Any sensible deer would have fled in front of all this noise, she thought.
Soon, the dogs’ yelps became bayings for blood, and the riders surged forward. Then came a hideous scream, a noise to haunt the worst nightmares. Cornflower stopped still in her tracks, trembling, her mistress rigid with fear on her back. The forest went silent for a split second. Then a shout of pain erupted from amid the sound of snarling dogs.
Someone cried, “Help him! Help Howard!”
Kate’s stomach lurched into her throat.
“Not Sir John. Holy Mother, not him,” she prayed, and kicking Cornflower’s flanks, she pushed her way through the brush and the company.
Jack was lying awkwardly in the snow, blood oozing from a deep gash in his leg. Martin bent over him anxiously, surrounded by a dozen onlookers. A few feet away, the boar lay dead, a piece of Jack’s leather boot still hanging from its tusk, two arrows in its back and a sword thrust through its noble heart. Its glazed black eyes still stared menacingly at its pursuers. The grooms were holding the dogs back from tearing the beast to pieces to give their injured lord some space. Kate slid off Cornflower and bent over Jack, whose face was contorted with pain. He tried to smile when she approached.
“Thought I would be brave, Kate. Thought I had it, but it charged again. Sweet Jesu, ’tis a valiant fighter,” he said between grimaces as Martin took off his boot and tried to stem the blood with a piece of cloth.
Kate tore off a strip from her underskirt, moistened it with snow and wiped his sweating face. She then told Martin to bind up the wound tightly. She would return to Tendring to ready a poultice to prevent festering, for a wound from a boar was prone to poison.
“And how’s this for excitement on your first hunt, Kate? I’ll warrant you will not be too ready to go on another soon, will you?” Jack grinned ruefully. “God’s bones, Haute, what are you doing with my leg. Are you cleaning it out with your knife?”
Once Kate was satisfied that Jack was not in too much danger, she took Cornflower’s reins from one of the attendants, who helped her mount. She spotted Wat and motioned to him to accompany her, and they cantered off towards Stoke. Martin gave orders for a makeshift litter to be fashioned to drag Jack by horse to Tendring.
Back home, a bevy of women began ministering to the invalid all at once. Margaret, Agnes, Edith and Rose fussed with the bedclothes, wiped his brow and patted his hand. Jack closed his eyes and groaned, all the while lapping up the attention. Kate applied a poultice of lad’s love, goldenrod, wintergreen and rue and brewed him an infusion to calm his nerves. A smile of contentment eventually curled his mouth. During the ministrations, Martin looked in on the invalid, guffawed at the scene and disappeared. Once in the hall, he was the only one to hear a knocking on the front door. He looked around for Tom Moleyns or a servant, but as no one was about, he opened the door and was surprised to see a messenger clothed in the royal livery.
“Enter, enter, sir,” he bade the man, then called back in the direction of the kitchens, “Ho, there! Is there anyone to attend our visitor?”
A lackey came running, bowed to Martin and the messenger and helped the man off with his cloak. Tom appeared from Sir John’s private office and hurried across the hall to greet the guest.
“Well met, sir. How can we be of service? My master has met with an accident and is in his be
d. I am Tom Moleyns, his squire, at your service.”
The stairs creaked as painfully as the old legs that were descending them, and John Braham made his way across the flagstone to address the messenger. Martin decided it was prudent to leave and went back upstairs to find Philippa.
The messenger took a letter from the leather pouch slung over his shoulder and handed it to Braham. The steward turned it over and recognized the royal seal. It was addressed to Sir John Howard, Councilor of England.
“Master Moleyns, pray take our guest to Sir John’s office and wait with him while I take this to the master.” Braham turned and struggled back up the stairs.
Jack waved away his nurses. When only Margaret remained, he broke the seal.
“Right well-loved Howard, greetings,” Edward wrote. Jack skimmed the letter quickly and then relayed the contents to Margaret, who was waiting anxiously.
“His grace commands my presence at Coventry. It seems he intends all his councilors to witness a reconciliation between Rivers, Audley and Herbert, and Warwick. By everything holy, that will be a miracle!” Jack ran his fingers through his gray-flecked hair and shifted his injured leg, wincing as he did.
“You cannot attend now, Jack.” Margaret was firm. “You will have to tell his grace that he must work his miracle without you.”
“Aye, wife. I cannot travel yet, you are right. But as soon as I can, I must go.”
“I will summon Tom so you may write a response to the king,” said Margaret.
It was all done within the hour, and the messenger was galloping away, his pouch filled with the letter for his master, and bread, cheese and cold pie for his pains.
* * *
“The Boar’s Head in hand bear I
Bedecked in bays and rosemary.
And I pray you my masters, be merry,
Quot estis in convivio.”
Jack Howard’s love of music manifested itself in his choice of personal musicians. Thomas’s expert playing, heightened by Nicholas Stapleton’s clear baritone, thrilled the company as the centerpiece of the Twelfth Night feast was borne into the hall. Apples and oranges encrusted with cloves were impaled on the animal’s curled tusks, a pomegranate sat in its mouth and a circlet of bay leaves adorned its brow. It had not long been out of the cooking pot, for it gave off an aromatic steam, and the great silver salver on which it was perched was mounted on a wooden board so as not to burn the bearers.
A Rose for the Crown Page 26