“That’s the lot of it, Christopher.” Oliver came from behind and tapped him on the shoulder. Christopher nodded and went to settle with the farmers, while Oliver took his turn watching Sally and the children.
Christopher rejoined him in a moment and they both stood watching in silence until Christopher cleared his throat.
“I think you could run this mill by yourself, don’t you?”
Oliver looked at him. “Why would I wish to do that?”
He shrugged. “I only mean that you could if you had to.”
“I suppose so. But it would not be my preference.” He rubbed his ears.
“It may be that someday I wish to take a journey for a while, and if I do it would be nice to know that I can count on you to take care of things around here.”
“Where would you go?”
“I don’t know.” Christopher began to regret bringing the subject up. “Who knows what the future could bring.”
Emma called his name from the door and ran to embrace him.
Christopher was immediately apprehensive and pushed her to arms’ length.
“What happened?”
“God be praised, my husband. The fever has broken and she asks for food.”
As if the weight of the world had been lifted, he took Emma to him and hugged her tightly as she sobbed with relief. Sally, who had seen her come out of the millhouse, looked to Oliver for an answer. His smile confirmed her hopes.
It was not surprising that they did not notice the two hooded figures that approached from the road until one of them spoke.
“I hope we do not intrude.”
Christopher stepped forward. Their long hooded outer garments fell full length to the ground, hiding their appearance. It was difficult even to see their faces. Sally’s first impulse was to check the children. John and Alice were still where she left them, oblivious to the newcomers.
“What do you want?” asked Christopher.
“We seek Christopher the miller. Are you he?”
“I am.”
The strangers looked at each other, nodded, and then pulled their hoods back. The speaker was a young man of strong stature, the other, a lovely woman in her early twenties with long brown hair and dark eyes that glowed with intelligence. It was she who spoke next.
“Forgive us for this abrupt intrusion, but there is need for us to be cautious. We have traveled far to find you.”
“Very well,” said Christopher. “But you still haven’t told us what you wish of us.”
“I bring a message from Samuel,” she said.
Christopher said nothing.
“Please, is my brother well?” asked Sally.
“He was well when we parted,” she said, “and still with the king’s personal guard.” Christopher’s jaw dropped. When he saw that everyone was looking at him, he spun on his heels and went into the millhouse. Emma watched him go, then turned to the strangers.
“You must be hungry. Please come inside and rest.”
The man addressed himself to Oliver. “If I may, sir, I need only a night’s rest and then I’ll be off again back to Durham. My master bade me return with haste after I saw the lady safely to you.”
“If you wish,” he said. “You can stay in the storage bin.”
In the main room of the mill house, the strangers helped themselves to generous portions of Emma’s stew. They introduced themselves as Kate and Harold. Kate told the story of their journey, which had taken ten full days, thanks to all of the troop movements along the main roads to the north. Kate had succeeded in disguising her sex as a precaution against the hazards of the open road.
“But why did Samuel send you to us, knowing well the perils of such a journey?” asked Emma.
“He feared that I would not be safe if left alone in Durham, and he was given no option but to leave with the guard.”
“As usual, he comes to us when he’s desperate,” Christopher snarled from the corner of the room.
“You needn’t mind my husband,” Emma told her, glaring in his direction.
Sally had been studying Kate intently. “Do you love my brother?” she asked.
Kate felt uncomfortable at first, but seeing the hope in the sisters’ faces, she knew she could be open.
“With all my heart.”
“You are welcome to stay with us as long as you wish,” said Oliver. “I just hope that you can put up with young John’s antics,” he added as he picked the boy up off the ground.
“I will earn my keep. You will not find me averse to work, I can promise you that.”
“Come,” said Sally. “I’ll show you to our home.”
*
That evening, Christopher was feeding Sarah the first solid food that she had been able to take for three days. Emma had prepared a thick soup with turnips and pork, a rare treat. One of the farmers had traded the leg of a freshly butchered pig to Christopher for services rendered and they had been eating of it for several days. Christopher had not spoken much with Emma since that afternoon when Kate had left with Sally. The last thing he wanted was for Emma to be angry with him, but there was so much he had kept inside for all these years that he had no notion of how to explain himself to his wife.
A soft knock came at the door, and Christopher immediately became annoyed, certain that it was Oliver. He set Sarah in the chair and walked to the door. It was his friend Simon. At first he was just surprised, since it had been several months since he had seen him last. But something in the way Simon looked made him swallow hard. Christopher looked behind him for a moment and then stepped outside, closing the door.
“It’s time, Christopher,” said Simon.
“You…you mean now?” Christopher was dazed.
“We leave this very moment. You’ll need nothing from your home; we’ll supply you with clothes and food.”
“But I need to make arrangements,” said Christopher, almost pleading.
“We can’t let you do that, Christopher. It’s too dangerous. We must leave at once, with you or without you. Decide now.”
Christopher thought about Emma and what she would think. But this was the chance that he had wanted all his life, and he knew it would never come again.
“Give me a few moments,” he said. “I can’t just disappear. If you can trust me to join you, you can trust me to be discreet.” Simon nodded his head.
“Be quick about it, my friend, or you’ll not find me here again,” he admonished.
Christopher went back into the mill house and found Alice where he had left her. He picked her up and kissed her on the head as she squirmed in his arms, moisture coming to his eyes.
“Emma!” he called toward the back hall. “We must speak.”
She came in, and knew right away that something was wrong.
“What is it?”
Christopher carefully handed Alice to her mother.
“Sarah is well?”
“She has no sign of fever, God be praised. Tell me what’s wrong.”
“I’m taking a trip and I don’t know when I’ll be back.”
“A trip to where?” She was stunned.
“I can’t tell you that, but I should be back within a few months.”
“Months! Christopher, for the love of God, tell me where you’re going.” She was becoming desperate.
“Tell Oliver that he must run the mill in my absence. I’m sure he will do fine. With Samuel’s woman you’ll have plenty of help.”
She grabbed him by the sleeve. “Christopher, tell me where you’re going! Do you expect me to live for months without knowing whether you’re dead or alive?”
“I’m sorry, Emma, but this is something that I must do. Please try to understand. I
must leave now.”
“Now?” Emma was on the verge of hysteria, but Christopher had already grabbed his cloak and was on his way out the door. “Christopher!” Emma screamed out the door as he hurried out. She ran after him with Alice crying in her arms. “Christopher!”
But to no avail. She watched her husband disappear into the night, like a nightmare from which there was no awakening.
CHAPTER XVII
The rumors of the Lancastrians massing an army in the north proved to be false. Messengers intercepted the king’s army on its way north, to confirm that Margaret had been unable to muster any kind of unity from within the Scottish nobility after the death of the Earl of Angus. Edward decided to once again entrust the bulk of his army to the Nevilles, who were to remain and provide a constant vigil.
In this rare moment of calm, Edward decided that it would be a good time to accomplish a task that had already waited too long. After spending some nights in York making preparations, Edward and his train rode to Pontefract Castle. There in a modest, temporary tomb rested the bodies of the king’s father and brother Edmund.
The stay at Pontefract was a short one, just long enough to exhume the bodies and place them in splendid new caskets, elegantly carved to befit their noble inhabitants.
Samuel was forced to watch the procession from the courtyard wall of this dreaded castle, where his own father had died in his arms. The cold memory chilled him as he waited for various ceremonies to conclude in the bowels of the dark keep, and as time passed, he found it increasingly difficult to maintain his post.
Without warning or word to anybody, perhaps because he had made no conscious decision, he found himself running down the stairs. In the courtyard he saw the door through which he and his family had been dragged that horrible day. Inexplicably drawn to it, he walked through the open door and down into the dungeons that were barely illuminated by torches affixed to the damp walls. The smells made him queasy, but he continued, as if pulled by ghosts, down to the cells. The place appeared to be deserted.
He did not know how, but Samuel knew which cell had been theirs. He swung the unlocked iron grate open and stepped in. The cell was completely empty, and did not even contain the platform on which his father died. He shivered from the cold. I’m proud of you, he could still hear his father’s voice. Sitting on the cold stone step by the grate, he wrapped his arms around himself and shook uncontrollably.
The sound of sobbing gently disturbed the solitude. For a moment he wondered if it was real or imagined. He peered down the dimly lit corridors straining to hear. Turning a corner, he saw at the end of the next corridor a well-lit room, and the sound of sobbing was surely coming from there. He suspected that he should flee, but he needed to see what was in that room. When he reached the door, he was astonished to see two elegant coffins, and between them with a hand on each, the King of England weeping with grief.
“Hold!” the order came from behind. Samuel leapt against the wall opposite the door. “What is your business here?” Lord Hastings, Sir Julian, and several guards confronted him. When Sir Julian recognized the intruder he cursed under his breath.
“What means this rude interruption?” the king demanded from the doorway, wiping tears from his face.
“I beseech Your Grace’s pardon,” said Hastings, mortified that this man had somehow slipped passed his vigilance, “but I found this man at the door. I know not how he got passed us.”
“If I may, Sire,” interjected Sir Julian, “he is one of your guard and poses no threat to your person.” Hastings glanced at him, silent condemnation in his look, somewhat surprised that the old knight could allow one of his own to stray so egregiously. The king looked at Samuel, who had fallen to his knees, paralyzed with fear.
“Speak. Why have you disturbed our solitude?” His tone was angry but somehow solicitous.
“Fo…forgive me, Your Highness,” responded Samuel as if each word might be his last, “but I had no knowledge that Your Grace was in that room.” His eyes were trained on the stone floor, not daring to look up.
“How did you get past my guards?” demanded Hastings.
“I came through a door on the courtyard. Please, my lord, I wanted only to see the place where my father died.”
Sir Julian stepped up. “His father did die in this place, Sire.”
“Take him,” Hastings motioned to the guards.
“Wait,” the king stepped forward. “Sir Julian, is this not the man who saved Nigel’s life before Towton?”
“The very one, My Liege.”
“Withdraw for a moment. We would speak with him alone.” Reluctantly they obeyed. “Rise, soldier, and come in here where we can see you better.”
Samuel stood and steadied his wobbling knees by supporting himself against the wall. He followed the king into the chamber and waited silently to be addressed.
“How did your father come to die in this place?”
“Lord Clifford’s men beat him and brought us all here to die, Sire. My father died many nights later in a cell near here.”
“Clifford,” Edward repeated the detested name through clenched teeth, his hand on Edmund’s coffin. “It would seem that we have something in common.” It was not his place to say anything, but Samuel knew that he might be able to ease some of the king’s pain.
“I was with Your Highness’ brother the night he died.” Edward stared at him.
“You saw him die?” he asked painfully.
“Yes, Sire. It was quickly done, but he was most noble in his final moments. His last act was to beg for the life of his page, Oliver.”
Edward turned away from him and stood quietly. Samuel could see his shoulders tremble. Again, he knew that it would have been most prudent if he remained silent, but bitterness possessed him for an instant and it was too late.
“It was in wishing to grant Your Highness’ brother’s wish that I caused my father’s death in this place.”
Edward turned and stared at him, not knowing immediately how to react to such forwardness.
“Yes, I remember now. Oliver said you protected him while he came to me with his message.” Edward walked back to the coffins and rested his hand on Edmund’s again. “What is your name?” he asked.
“I am Samuel of Northwood, Your Highness.”
“Hastings!” the king shouted, turning to face the door. Hastings and Sir Julian came within seconds. “Take Samuel of Northwood and restore him to his post. He has our pardon for disturbing our devotions. Now leave us and see to it that we are not disturbed again.”
When Edward found himself alone again he stood over Edmund’s coffin in silent vigil.
“It seems that you were right, my brother,” he said softly. “How many have paid the price for our quest?”
*
The next five days were spent on the road, the king’s entourage slowly wending its way southward toward Fotheringay, the funeral chariot bearing the bodies of the king’s father and brother drawn by six horses and draped in black trappings decorated with the ducal arms of the House of York. At each day’s end, mass was celebrated with all the townsfolk who came to mourn with their king. The fifth day saw the procession reach its destination, the church in Fotheringay, which had always been one of Edward’s favorite places, and in which vaults had been prepared under the chancel to serve as the final resting place for his kin. A final mass was celebrated, attended by thousands of people, followed by a lavish supper for poor and noble alike.
Until the bodies had been placed in the vault, Samuel had been one of the select guardsmen given the duty and honor of standing sentry over the caskets. The appointment had been made at the insistence of the king himself. It was an appointment that Samuel cherished, for he knew in his heart that his father’s memory lay in the vault with these great lords.
*<
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“Forgive me, Sire, but I feel duty-bound to advise you that it may be more prudent to keep the Nevilles closer to court.” Lord Hastings was outwardly calm, but his voice betrayed an uncommon agitation.
Edward stood in the center of his dressing room as his valets prepared him for his morning audience. He was not looking forward to the daily chorus of supplicants who demanded his attention. But today he had decided that it was time to hear from the French ambassador, who had been craving an audience since he had arrived at court almost a month ago. Edward had made a point of keeping him in limbo, wanting to demonstrate to King Louis, and his own people, that the French king did not carry any special significance in the English court.
Upon hearing the news of the arrival of the French ambassador, the Earl of Warwick had taken it upon himself to leave the northern army in his brother John’s quite capable hands and to return himself to London. Warwick had repeatedly tried to convince Edward that he should abandon England’s old ally, the Duke of Burgundy, in favor of a treaty with the King of France, and now he was angered by Edward’s cavalier treatment of the ambassador. But Edward was not inclined to abandon Burgundy, and also saw this as an opportunity to deal with his too powerful ally, Warwick. With his typically disarming smile, Edward bent his attention to his old friend Hastings.
“I can’t see any harm in letting Warwick think that he’s making important decisions for England, while we continue to do what we feel is necessary here. I don’t like him here in London, and France is the only place I can send him where I know he will readily agree to go without suspecting that we’re manipulating him.”
“Sire, such games are not well played with men like Warwick.” Hastings would not allow himself to be distracted by the young king’s easy manner. “If you anger him, he would make a formidable enemy.”
“Enemy?” Edward raised his eyebrows. “Who would he support for the throne if not me? The Lancastrians would rather see him dead than accept support from him. No, William, Warwick is stuck with me and he knows it. It would gain him nothing to become my enemy.”
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