The Beggar's Throne

by David Francis

  *

  Emma and Sally huddled in a corner as Sir Hugh tossed tables and chairs around and ripped down door covers. When finally it became clear that his quarry was not anywhere to be found, he walked slowly to the women and pinned them both against the wall.

  “I think you both know where the wretched deserter is. Now why don’t you tell me?”

  As strong-willed and defiant as Emma could be, the sight of this man with his leering smile filled her with dread, and Sally was simply too frightened to speak.

  “We have no knowledge, sir,” Emma was finally able to whisper.

  For that answer, Sir Hugh sent her sprawling across the floor with the back of his hand. Sally screamed but could not break free of Sir Hugh’s grip. Emma lay still on the floor.

  “Now will you tell me where he is?” he said, putting his face closer to Sally’s with each word. She could only look at him in terror, as words were simply not possible.

  “Sir Hugh?” a voice came from the door.

  He looked angrily to see who had interrupted his interrogation. Sir Toby was standing just inside the door, regarding Emma with obvious disapproval.

  “Yes, what is it?” Sir Hugh was clearly annoyed.

  “The men think that they may have found something.”

  “Very well,” he said, then turned back to Sally. “We’ll continue our discussion later.” Releasing her roughly, he left the house with Sir Toby.

  Sally ran to Emma and tried to support her as she struggled to shake the dizziness out of her head. Within a few more minutes, John Miller and Christopher came running up to the mill house. Christopher shouted Emma’s name and ran to her.

  “What happened?” He was almost hysterical. Emma struggled to her feet with support from her husband and managed to sit up in a chair. She surveyed the damage to her home and tears welled in her eyes.

  “This is Samuel’s fault,” spat Christopher, gritting his teeth. “I’m going to tell them where he is.”

  Sally grabbed her brother’s arm. “No, you can’t!”

  Christopher shook himself loose. “How can you still defend him? Look at what he’s done to Emma,” his voice broke as he said his wife’s name.

  “You will not betray your brother,” John Miller said. Christopher stormed from the house.

  “Father, stop him, please,” cried Sally. John Miller put his arms around his daughter and gently stroked her hair.

  “Your faith must be strong, daughter. In the end, it’s the only thing we truly possess.”

  *

  At the first sound of the horsemen riding into town, Samuel and Oliver gathered up their few belongings, tried to erase any sign of their presence, and went into the woods to a place that Samuel remembered from his youth. Samuel had seen the livery of Lord Clifford on three of the riders and knew that capture meant certain execution for them both.

  Samuel remembered a pair of large boulders between which a small cave had been worn away by a stream over centuries. The cave was secluded behind one of the boulders and made a good hiding place. While the two of them were quite cramped, it would do until sunset.

  *

  As the last light faded over Northwood, Stephen, the smith’s son, waited at the river just below the mill. He knew that Sally always came out for the evening’s supply of water about this time. When the door finally opened, he watched as Sally came down the path with her bucket. When she was several steps from his hiding place behind a large willow, he stepped out.

  “We meet again.” Sally, who had already withstood enough horrors for one day, jumped at the sound and clutched at her breast. Stephen was immediately sorry that he had surprised her so. “I’m sorry, Sally, I really didn’t mean to frighten you.”

  “Stephen? How dare you sneak up on me?”

  “I said I was sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

  “What are you doing here anyway?” She grabbed her bucket and proceeded to the river bank for the water, knees still weak and wobbling.

  “I want you to marry me.”

  Sally could not find words to respond. She was furious with Stephen for behaving so oddly, and for being so insensitive to what she had been through that day. On any other day she might have been delighted with his offer of marriage, but at this moment she did not even want to speak with him, much less discuss the possibility of spending their lives together.

  “Have you taken leave of your wits? Can’t you see what’s happening to my family?”

  “I think that given your brother’s behavior, you’d be better off as my wife.”

  Sally was stunned, then livid. “I’ll not marry you now or ever, Stephen.”

  He stood before her for a moment as his face turned red with embarrassment and anger. Abruptly he turned to leave.

  “Very well, if that’s what you want,” he said over his shoulder. “I have a deserter to report anyway.”

  “What do you mean?” A hard lump of fear rose in her throat.

  “Did you think that I was too stupid to see where you were coming from this morning? I think that the seneschal will be interested to hear about your little morning errand, don’t you?”

  “Stephen, please don’t!” Sally grabbed his arm in a desperate attempt to slow his pace as he continued to climb up to the road. Stephen turned and shoved her back down the hill. Watching as she tumbled and sprawled into the mud near the river bank, he thought for an instant about going down and helping her. She was crying hysterically and still begging him not to go.

  “You made your choice,” he said coldly. He looked at her for a moment longer, then turned and ran down the road to seek out the seneschal.

  *

  Though the stars were out in abundance, it was a moonless night that fell as Samuel and Oliver squirmed to find some comfort in the little cave that had been their hiding place for several hours. When the sun set, it left a cold night, and Samuel knew it would only be worse when they left the cave. He wondered if the soldiers had given up their search. He did not want to leave without saying his farewells to the family, and he was not provisioned for an hour’s outing, much less a long journey. In fact, they had between them only Samuel’s battle pack, which contained no food, his bow and quiver of arrows, and the clothes on their backs.

  He had made up his mind that when it was late, he would slip back into town and try to see his father one last time. It was clear that he could not spend any more time in Northwood. They would have to be on their way. He decided that he would be safe enough if he stepped outside the cave to get a breath of fresh air. Trying not to disturb Oliver, who had somehow managed to drop off into a fitful slumber, he pulled himself out of the cave and onto one of the boulders. His legs were cramped and it took several moments to get the circulation back. He stepped from behind the boulder and looked up at the night’s canopy through the leafless limbs of the trees.

  He wrapped his arms around himself in a vain attempt to ward off the cold, and decided that it would be safe enough to go back to the shed to find the blankets that they had left in a bundle behind the building. There was an almost imperceptible path toward town that started a few yards away. Since it was only a short distance back, he felt certain that he could find the way there and back without getting lost in the dark. He made his way slowly along the path. When he saw a faint light coming from somewhere ahead, he breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Here it is, my lord. This is where they’re hiding.” The voice came from the shed, not more than a hundred paces away. He listened over the sound of his heart thumping as several soldiers broke down the door and entered. “There’s nothing here, Sir Toby,” a voice called from inside.

  “I swear to you, my lord. This is where they were this morning.” Samuel recognized the voice of the smith’s son, Stephen. He wondered how he had known where they were.r />
  “Look here, Sir Hugh. They were here all right.” The new voice came from behind the shed. Samuel knew that they had found his bundle of blankets and leftover bread. He began to creep back into the woods, taking only four steps before tripping on a raised root and falling with a crash.

  “There’s something here, Sir Hugh! Something moved right back there.”

  “You men spread out. The noise came from over there.” Samuel did not have to see to know that he was pointing right at him.

  “We’d be lucky to find him in this dark, Sir Hugh.”

  “I’ll have him this very night, by God. He won’t get far.”

  Samuel jumped to his feet and bolted down the path, crashing into trees and low growing junipers. “There he goes!” he heard someone yell. After that, he was oblivious to any other sounds except that of his own thrashing through the deep underbrush. Falling or crashing into trees at almost every third step, he was already badly bruised and cut. Finally, not having any notion of where he was, he stopped for a moment to ascertain how close the pursuit was. Gasping for air, he strained to see if there was any sign of the boulders. There was none. The crashing of the soldiers and their shouting back and forth was only several hundred paces away, and growing nearer. As he turned to continue his flight, a pair of strong arms grabbed him and held him tightly enough to constrict his breathing.

  “Be silent, traitor,” a voice hissed in his ear.

  Samuel was too exhausted to struggle and was resigned to capture. But the expected shout for assistance didn’t come.

  “If you can manage to keep quiet, I’ll show you a way out of here,” his captor whispered

  “Christopher!” Samuel finally recognized the voice.

  “Be quiet, you fool, and follow me.”

  He placed his hand on his brother’s back as Christopher led him silently down a slope until Samuel heard the sound of water running in a small brook. They crossed over, sloshing through the icy water, until they came to a ledge that rose steeply from the brook. Christopher pushed Samuel down so that they were both hidden under the embankment. They waited in silence until heavy footsteps came crashing nearby and a voice in the distance yelled, “Sir Hugh, where are you?”

  Just above them, and not more than a few feet from where they cowered, they heard a low snarl and knew that someone was listening for any sound. Samuel felt sure that his heavy breathing could be heard clear back to town, and with his heart pounding in his chest he had an almost irresistible urge to bolt like a rabbit. A moment later, he heard heavy footsteps crunch away from the ledge. They listened as the voices and sounds of snapping limbs drifted farther away.

  “Let’s go,” Christopher whispered.

  “We have to get Oliver,” Samuel protested.

  “He’s already safe. Did you think I didn’t know about your little hiding place? Now shut up and follow me.”

  Again Samuel followed Christopher and his uncanny night vision, with one hand on his brother’s back as they made their way through the dark. After walking some minutes, they came to a clearing where a dark shape stood silently.

  “Oliver, is that you?” Samuel ventured in a whisper.

  “Thank God in Heaven it’s you,” Oliver gasped.

  “Christopher, for God’s sake, where are we?”

  “The road south out of town is just over there,” he said pointing past a small stand of low shrubs, barely discernible in the dark. He turned and began walking back into the woods.

  “Wait,” called Samuel. “Where are you going?”

  Christopher stopped. “I got you here, now you’re on your own. As for me, I hope I never see you again.” He turned and disappeared into the woods.

  After a stunned moment of silence, Samuel finally gave Oliver a shove toward the road.

  “Let’s get out of here.”

  He shouldered his bow and quiver that Oliver had brought with him and made their way out of the woods. Keeping to the road’s edge so that they could disappear quickly if need be, they walked quickly to the south.

  “I’m sorry, my friend.”

  “Why,” asked Samuel absently.

  “I’m sorry that, like me, you’ve lost everything that matters.”

  CHAPTER VI

  Elizabeth’s mother’s unexpected visit to Bradgate was both delightful and frustrating. Elizabeth was, of course, always very pleased to see her mother, but to not be given some notice was annoying.

  They sat in the front room enjoying the warmth of the sun, which graced the day above a clear blue sky for the first time in a month. Bright rays flooded through the huge windows. The duchess was holding Elizabeth’s younger boy, Richard, on her lap attempting to carry on a conversation, while the older one, Thomas, sat on the floor in front of her, amusing himself with a brightly colored cloth ball that his grandmother had brought for him. Elizabeth did not normally permit the children in the front room, but her mother had insisted that they be brought down immediately. Their nurse stood by while trying her best to remain inconspicuous.

  “How these children have grown,” marveled the duchess, “and to think, this one was just an infant the last time I visited.”

  Her mother’s thinly veiled criticism was not lost on Elizabeth. “Mother, you know that you are always welcome here, but it has been so difficult these past two years. Between John’s duties to the king abroad and now in these rebellions, we’ve not seen much of him here at home.” She gazed at Thomas.

  Her mother could see the pain in her daughter’s face. “It is hard to think of these days ending, isn’t it?”

  Elizabeth looked at her mother and smiled. “There are times that I wish you did not understand me so well.”

  The duchess carefully lifted Richard off her lap and handed him to the nurse. “Dearest Elizabeth, you are so young and beautiful,” she said tenderly, “but those gifts are illusions that will not serve you when you are sorely tested by fate. You must remember that the common needs that bind us together as family and friends can never be dissolved by events, no matter how catastrophic. If the wars go badly, we will still have each other, always.”

  “Will we? Our husbands may be out there lying dead in some God-forsaken field as we speak. What would we do then?”

  “Death provides us with the only stability that is truly permanent, my daughter. Whether they die on a battlefield or in bed, they will die. But thereafter always will they remain unchanged in us, and that will bring us peace. In the meantime, we can enjoy God’s gifts as they are bestowed upon us, and must endure the pain that comes with them. Remember that I once had the prestige of a queen when my late husband, the Duke of Bedford, lived, God rest his soul. As regent of France, he was like a king and ruled that beautiful land. They were heady times for us, but as with all things, those days passed, like a crocus crushed under a late spring snow.”

  “Did you really rule France, Grandmother?” asked Thomas, looking up wide-eyed at the duchess.

  She put her arms out toward him. “Come sit with me, my love, and I’ll tell you the story.” He jumped up and sat next to her as if he were about to receive a birthday present.

  “Our king who has been made a prisoner in the Tower, God protect his gentle soul, came to the throne when he was but an infant. His great and beloved father, King Henry the Fifth, had gone to France to press his claim to the French throne when I was a young lady. The two countries fought long and hard, and the English marched many miles through difficult weather and many skirmishes. At last, King Henry’s army was all but exhausted, with few provisions and ever so far from home.

  “The king decided that for the sake of his men he would return to England to fight again another day. But their way was blocked by a huge French army with fresh troops and many of the finest fighting men of the realm. There were five French soldiers f
or every Englishman, and they demanded that Henry surrender and be ransomed back to England in shame. But he would have none of that, and on Saint Crispin’s day, in a place called Agincourt, the English army, by the grace of God and under His divine protection, routed the French, leaving many thousands dead on the field, while the English suffered few losses. The French king was forced to accept Henry as his heir and even gave his daughter to him for a wife.” Thomas had not taken his eyes off his grandmother while she spoke. And as she paused for a moment of reflection, he sat quietly waiting for more.

  “Alas, the great king died a short time later, and only a few months after the birth of his son, who, although he was only an infant, was crowned king of France and England. My first husband, the Duke of Bedford, brother of the old king and uncle of the new, was made regent of France. It was then that with my husband we held sway over that kingdom in Henry’s name, and sweet days they were.” Again she paused and looked with glazed eyes at her grandson’s innocent face. “But nothing lasts forever, as God will have it, and the youth of the king gave leave for corruption among the nobility to flourish. The royal family was split asunder by the strife, and the poor young king was used as a pawn in the struggle between the factions. My husband traveled back to England and was able to make peace for a while because he was well respected. But upon his return to France, the bickering continued.

  “Finally, God rest his soul, my husband passed away as well, and with his death, the French began to retake their land, county by county, and the English were too weak from the bitter family fighting to save what the king’s father had so gallantly won.”

  “Is that why he’s held in prison now, Grandmother?”

  “Partly,” she frowned. “The loss of France and the weakness of the king’s supporters allowed the Duke of York and his supporters to press their foolish claim to the crown, which derives from an even older struggle between factions of the royal family. If it were not for the tenacity of the queen, it may be that York would be sitting on the throne this very day.”