Day of Wrath
Page 30
The Sheriff was the first to arrive. He looked relaxed and cheerful and thumped Nicholas heartily on the back.
‘Well you got the devil, I hear.’
‘News travels fast, it seems,’
‘Everyone in Marchester knows how you saved the King. You know, I nearly beat you to it. Father Hubert, we can release him now, admitted to the Archdeacon that Brother Michael had covered for him in the sacristy last week after he’d been blooded. That’s when the devil must’ve helped himself to the wafers. Also, it seems, Brother Michael regularly went up into the woods to gather herbs. That’s when he must’ve seen you and decided to lie in ambush. He didn’t reckon on the hardness of your head, did he? But by this time, it was too late to send a message to Portsmouth. I reckoned you’d caught him. By the way, Father Hubert says he’s hidden the chalice. And what’s more he’s not telling anyone where it is until those two Commissioners have gone. You’ll have a job extracting the information out of him because we can’t.’
The Prior arrived, accompanied by Wagstaff and Laycock, dressed in suitably sombre clothes, as befitted the King’s servants.
‘My God, Lord Peverell, am I glad to see you. All my monks are as dozy as a lot of dormice. Take them days to get over this. It appears Brother Michael, may his name be cursed, laced their drinks yesterday with a tincture of opium. Mistress Warrener found out from Agnes Myles, who can be released now, I suppose, that Michael bought up most of her supplies of the stuff so he must’ve been planning this for some time. We think he might well have come down to her shed and cleared out all the bottles of the stuff before Bovet and Perkins set fire to the place. I should’ve known, of course. He always was a sullen devil. Hated wine, by the way. Never trust a man who doesn’t drink wine, eh, Wagstaff? By the way, I’ve sent my coach back to pick up Mistress Jane and that surly devil of a father. Benedict says he’ll come with them.’
Nicholas was glad to see the Prior looking so happy. He’d sit him next to the King. The King liked robust conversation at mealtimes.
Then Jane arrived looking dazzlingly beautiful in her green velvet dress, heavily embroidered with gold thread, and her long hair loose down her back. She wore a garland of flowers in her hair, marigolds, wild white roses and sweet-smelling pinks. Brother Benedict, with his dark looks, made a perfect contrast. Her father, not the slightest bit overawed by the grand surroundings, shook Nicholas’s hand enthusiastically and offered Nicholas his congratulations.
As Nicholas went to greet Jane, she dropped him a curtsy. ‘So, you’re safe, Nicholas. What a relief! Now Agnes can go home.’
‘My dear Jane, it was entirely due to you that we caught him. Without your speedy intervention this morning we would’ve been living in a fool’s paradise.’
The King’s trumpeters blared out the arrival of the royal couple. The King, resplendent in his new doublet, Queen Anne, elegant in dark-blue velvet cut very low in the front, her dark hair covered by a head-dress studded with seed pearls. The baby she was carrying hardly showed, and her face was pale and drawn with fatigue.
The King was in expansive mood. He signalled for the Prior to say grace, the musicians to start playing, and the first course to be served without delay.
Course after course arrived, from steaming vats of beef soup laced with beer, through fish and game and the royal swans. The King was in fine form, repeatedly putting his arm affectionately round Nicholas’s shoulders. Finally, a great shout went up as the surprise pie was carried in by four servants. Then a hush descended, and the King looked at Nicholas.
‘So, you’ve made me a surprise pie. I didn’t expect it of you, Peverell. You’re too much of a worrier, not enough imagination. Now what’s in it? Come along, Pierre, chop it up, let’s see its innards.’
As the steward plunged his knife into the first compartment, rich smells wafted up into the rafters. There was venison, cooked in red wine, in one compartment, rabbit, cooked with baby onions and wild mushrooms in another, tiny song birds cooked in madeira in a third, larks’ tongues in another, and finally he came to the last section. Pierre asked the King to raise the cover. King Henry leaned forward and lifted the pastry lid. Two doves, indignant over their last-minute imprisonment, flew out and upwards, where they came to rest on one of the roof beams. Amidst the laughter and applause, Nicholas signalled to the musicians to start up a lively galliard.
But the King had other ideas. He stood up, forcing Nicholas to stand up with him. Then, with an arm round Nicholas, he called for silence.
‘Come, a toast. To Lord Nicholas Peverell, who saved my life today. From now on he is my friend, my Companion of Honour, and I shall treat his house as my own.’
Nicholas, thinking this sounded a doubtful honour, turned to the King. ‘You honour me with your praise, your Grace, but the real honour should go to Mistress Jane Warrener, my friend and accomplice, without whom, had she not acted so promptly this morning we would not be here now to celebrate this occasion.’
Jane stood up, and, urged on by her father, approached the King, and blushing, dropped him a deep curtsy. ‘Great Heavens, Peverell, you’ve got a good-looking lass to act as your accomplice! Come here, my dear, and sit next to me. Out of the way, Peverell, Mistress Jane can tell me herself why I must be grateful to her.’
After a few minutes, Nicholas decided that enough was enough. The King was getting a bit too enthusiastic, and Queen Anne’s eyes were shooting daggers at him. He extracted Jane away from the King’s clutches, and led her towards the stage which had been erected at one end of the hall. Then, oblivious to the fact that all eyes were on them, he held on to her hand and gently turned her round to face him.
‘Jane, you’ve been my loyal friend for so long, now will you honour me by becoming my wife? Just think of it, you will be the mistress of Dean Peverell.’
She looked startled, withdrew her hand, and dropped him a curtsy. ‘Lord Nicholas, I’m overcome. But just at this moment, the King is looking at us, my father is glaring at me, and Brother Benedict is waiting to sing with me. Besides, being mistress of Dean Peverell means nothing to me. I would only ever consider marrying the man I love and who, I know, loves me. Ask me another time, when we are not so public.’
‘Jane, don’t be so contrary. You know I love you. Just say “yes”. The King’s in the mood to give us his blessing.’
‘First things first, my Lord. And just at this moment, music is my priority.’
She turned to where Brother Benedict was waiting for her on the stage, and took her place beside him. Then they sang, to the delight of the guests. They sang songs about love and happiness and the pleasures of the countryside. When Jane sang one of the King’s own compositions called, ‘Pastime with Good Company’, the King rose to his feet in delight.
‘By God, Prior,’ he said, ‘Tell me, who’s the good-looking monk singing with Mistress Warrener? Don’t they make a fine couple? Tell him to pack his bags and I’ll take him back to Court with me. He can entertain the French Ambassador.’
The Prior looked the King straight in the face. ‘Sire, you have every right to govern your kingdom as you think fit. Allow me to govern my Priory in my own way. Brother Benedict stays with me until his abbot recalls him to France.’
‘Well said, Prior, you’ll make a good diplomat. You’re quite right, of course. None of my business what you do with your monks. Now, Peverell, come and take a turn with me in that garden of yours. I want a word in your ear. Let the dancing commence,’ he said as they went out, ‘if the Queen’s got a mind to it.’
He linked his arm in Nicholas’s and strolled outside into the garden, where the night air was warm and velvety and, in the background they heard the sweet sounds of the lutes and shawms coming from the house.
‘You know, Peverell, I’m damn grateful we’ve put an end to all these treasonable goings-on down here. I love this place, and I’ve much work to do in Portsmouth. I can see that I’ll be a regular visitor here in the future. I could appropriate Mortimer house, but I do
n’t fancy it, somehow. Treason contaminates the atmosphere. Also I’ve a mind one day to reinstate Lady Mortimer there with her children. I’m a merciful man, am I not, Peverell, when the occasion demands it?’
‘Of course you are, your Grace; I’ve never doubted it.’
‘And you’re a good friend, Peverell. Now, why not marry that lass of yours? Don’t mind the father, he’ll come round to you when you sire his first grandchild. The wench will agree, I’m sure, and it will be good to see her at Court. She can sing to me when affairs of state get me down. I could compose some songs for her. Matrimony’s a fine institution. I can heartily recommend it. Mind you, the Queen’s not well at the moment, not well at all. I hope she can stand the journey tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow, your Grace? You leave so soon?’
‘There’s work to do, Peverell. I’ve got a kingdom to govern. And the Queen’s baby could arrive at any moment. Pray God it’s a fine son to carry on my name.’
‘Amen to that, your Grace.’
‘Now, Peverell, what are we going to do about you? You’ve got a fine house, a fine wench – I know, you want your Priory, don’t you? Well, this time next year, Cromwell will have got the legislation through Parliament, and the monks will have to go. Don’t worry, I’ll fix that Prior of yours up with a good position somewhere. By the way, he’s a nice fellow. I could do with someone like him around at Court. He could make a second Wolsey. But no monks. No monks at Court. I’ve had enough of them. But you can have your Priory, then, and get yourself buried, when the time comes, in that chantry chapel you were telling me about. Mind you, it’ll cost you something…’
* * *
N.B.—Nicholas bought his Priory off the King for £125.13.4d, of which £40.00.0d was paid immediately, with the balance due the following Michaelmas and Easter.
The proceeds from the Priory brought £276.10.11d into the King’s coffers. It was the most profitable disposal of ecclesiastical property in West Sussex. There was no mention of the chalice in the inventory.
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DAY OF WRATH. Copyright © 2001 by Iris Collier. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
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ISBN 0-312-29020-9
First published in Great Britain by Judy Piatkus (Publishers) Ltd.
First U.S. Edition: May 2002
eISBN 9781466848962
First eBook edition: June 2013