by Band of Iron
“My mother died of fever because we were driven out by York soldiers into the rain with only the clothes on our backs. You, a York wool merchant, can stand there and laugh at such a thing. Your people cost me my family. My mother dying. My father and brother outlawed and driven into exile. God knows, what’s happened to my brother.” All the anger from the dream poured out, working pain into every syllable.
“I maybe a wool merchant,” he said, eyes narrowing, “But I had nothing to do with what happened to your family. What’s wrong with you?”
“Did you bother to feed any of the Kendall’s you created?”
“Let’s talk about pain,” Peter said. “Lancaster never bothered to control their soldiers. They raped and sacked their way across England wherever they went. People fled before them. Husbands and fathers made sure their wives and daughters were well out of the way of their marauding armies. Talk about pain. Five times we beat them off our lands and protected our own. York always controlled their soldiers.” He shook his head. “I ’m sorry for your pain. But I’m not its author.”
“Your people killed a witless King in the Tower.” The anger kept pouring out as though it had no end. Her heart beat sounded in her ears.
“A witless King controlled by a ruthless Queen. One without scruple,” he said, folding the letter. “Why are we fighting like this? We argue history for no good cause. Neither of us can do anything about that.” He began to turn red with anger. “This is madness. What’s got into you?” He faced her. “I’m going to our counting house, and I hope on my return this bile of madness has left you.” He turned from the doorway as though to say something, then scowled and left.
She faced the tall widows.. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Why did I do it? Over things we have no control. Jesus wept, why can’t I leave the past in the past? Why is the hurt as fresh as yesterday? He didn’t deserve my anger.
“My Lady? A courier from Lady Stanley.” A servant handed her a letter.
She thanked him and turned away, absently breaking the seal, and scanning the handwriting. Lady Stanley requested the pleasure of a visit. This pleased her. To get away from Peter, the Trevor House, and all the ideas they represented made sense. She felt suffocated, the need to get away.
She rang her bell, and Agnes appeared. “I’m going for a ride,” she said.. “Have horses saddled. Arrange an escort with Sir Hugh. I need fresh air.”
“I’m not surprised.” Agnes scowled. “The way ye went after the man, I’d be surprised if he comes home at all tonight. A shrew’s tongue if I ever heard one. And here I thought ye two had made peace from the way ye been planting the garden.”
“Agnes!” Catharine shouted. “How dare you!”
“How dare I? How dare you, girl!” Agnes glared. “Goin after the man without provocation. Ye leaped in there with claws and fangs slashing. It’s a wonder he didn’t take a rod to yer impertinent backside.”
“You’re right.” Catharine dropped her face into her hands. “All he did was read a letter from the Fellowship of the Stable. And I, chief of jackasses, boiled out at him. Him being a merchant and all.”
Agnes snorted. “When ye going to get it through yer head that every lord is a merchant of one sort or another? Where do you think his great wealth comes from, the sky? The man is a wool merchant. A Fellow of the Stable. A Merchant Adventurer. Ye still have it in yer ’ead that nobility ain’t suppose to do a thing ’cept dance and hunt.” She shook her head and left the room.
Catharine stared out the window of the solar, not seeing. She closed her eyes, remembering last night, the joy they realized at a love they’d thought lost forever. Her hands shook, and she watched tears splash on her fingers. Why, dear God? Why does my anger escape me like a howling dog bursting from its rope?
Sir Hugh knocked, entered, and bowed. “The horses are ready, Lady Catharine. Where to?”
She wiped her eyes before she turned, and in a voice calm and controlled said, “North. Middlesex. Tis pretty country.”
An hour later they stopped on the Great North Road, the Ermine Way, next to the small road leading to Lady Stanley’s manor.
“Lady Catharine,” Sir Hugh said, face set and cold. “Lord Peter recommended staying away from Lady Stanley’s less it compromise the House.”
“I know his words. I will decide my actions,” Catharine said, and walked her horse down the short road and through the courtyard gate to the manor. Her heart beat fast for no reason she could understand. She found herself surprised she wanted to confide in Lady Stanley, but now she understood the drive from her argument with Peter. His warning made her bridle within.
The secretive atmosphere about the manor gave it an autumn gloom. Silent servants, a broken off conversation between two gentlemen who seeing the new arrivals under the white hart pennon of Trevor, disappeared into the tangle of out buildings, and a courier thundered out of the courtyard. It all gave her an uneasy feeling and a sense of being watched by unseen eyes. But she fought this away, convinced that Peter’s paranoia somehow had invaded her senses. Dismounting, she handed her reins to a groom.
Lady Stanley entered the courtyard from the garden. “Welcome, Lady Trobridge. I was hoping you’d come. What a pleasure.”
“Thank you, Lady Stanley.” Catharine advanced and accepted her brief embrace. “Please forgive my intrusion without notice. I received your letter and decided at the spur of the moment to come.”
“I am pleased you did.” Lady Stanley. smoothed her garden stained skirts. “There is something pleasurable about the earth, don’t you think? I rejoice in it whenever I can.”
“Gardens give health, Lady Stanley.”
“Indeed they do.” Lady Stanley gave instructions for the comfort of Catharine’s retinue. “Let me escort you inside, Lady Trobridge.”
“Catharine, please.”
“I feel the closeness too,” Lady Stanley said. They walked into the manor house, and at the solar Lady Stanley excused herself while she changed.
“Of course,” Catharine said. After Lady Stanley left the room, a servant entered with a flagon of ale, cups, and a plate of shortbreads. He served Catharine, bowed and withdrew. She rose, finding herself oddly restless. A large desk crowded with papers sat in one corner of the room. Catharine frowned. It looked out of place. Noticing two pages of a letter by corner of the settle, she bent to pick them up, and put them back on the desk. But words leaped out at her. Trobridge. Tudor. The bold signature of Peter showed at the bottom of the first page. Scanning the neat writing, her eyes widened in disbelief.
You will find many of the Fellowship of the Stable willing to support you with secret donations to your just cause. The usurper is not well liked in London or the Cinque Ports. You will find me a reliable source of information and financial support.
This couldn’t be possible. She turned the pages and found a letter from Henry Tudor thanking Peter for his past help with information, and acknowledging the receipt of certain monies given. Henry Tudor’s careful signatures lay at the bottom of the page.
Footsteps echoed on the stone floor. Catharine stuffed the papers in her gown seconds before Lady Stanley entered. Catharine felt sick, but managed a weak smile for her hostess.
“What happened? You look terribly upset,” Lady Stanley said, concern in both face and voice.
A thousand thoughts, none good, roared through Catharine’s mind while she tried to concentrate on Lady Stanley’s courtesies. Catharine gritted her teeth, and cleared her throat. I’m going to see this through. You are as treacherous as Peter said. She felt a knife twist in her stomach. Conniving viper. You would destroy us both with your plots and schemes. I have to get these papers back to Peter. She smiled. “I’m fine, Lady Stanley. Dust from the ride perhaps. Your ale and shortbreads are sure to resolve the problem.”
“Would you like to lie down, Catharine?” Lady Stanley’s concern seemed genuine.
“No, but thank you,” Catharine said. She must think me an inadequate idiot. The perfect pawn.
“I am curious. How do you view the idea of a wealthy nobleman who offers to help your son gain the Throne?”
“That would be treason.” Lady Stanley kept her smile level. “In public of course.”
“But in private with no one to hear, would you still consider it treason?”
Lady Stanley licked her lips, and fingered her rosary “Are you saying your husband has an interest in that direction?”
“Let us say he tires of certain situations,” Catharine said, “and would see a change.”
“Perhaps we should discuss this further,” Lady Stanley said, dark eyes fastened on Catharine. The older woman’s hand shook while she glanced over to where the letters had been on the floor. She walked to the desk, and glanced amid the papers, searching.
“Another time might prove profitable to both of us, Lady Stanley. A merchant needs a banker. A banker needs a merchant. If you understand my meaning.”
“They make a good combination. Are you sure you can’t stay and discuss the idea?”
“Not now,” Catharine rose. “I wanted to satisfy my curiosity first. You understand it would not do for us to be seen too much together. A few public meetings are forgivable. Private meetings are suspect, and known to those in power. We’ll have to use go betweens.”
“I have such people,” Lady Stanley said. “When you are ready, send yours to me.” She paused. “For one so young and who appeared to be so thoughtless and self absorbed, you have changed. Is there a reason?”
Astonished at her last remark, but realizing it was met as an observation and not an insult, Catharine said simply, “I married great responsibilities. As far as the rest of it, I think it best to test the waters before getting one’s feet wet.” How to protect Peter and the House? To throw her off the trail so to speak. “We try not to be foolish, Lady Stanley.”
“Wise, Lady Catharine.” Lady Stanley said. “These are troubling times. One cannot be too careful.”
Catharine said, “Many things are not what they seem to be.” They rose and walked to the horses, where they said good-bye.
Turning onto the Great North Road, Catharine turned to Hugh. “Hugh, we must reach Peter without delay. He was right. Lady Stanley is a walking field of treachery.” The knight nodded grimly. Catharine set a killing pace, thundering over the roads until they reached Cripplegate, and the walls of London. They followed the road outside the walls to make better time, and were surprised to find a courier in Lady Stanley’s livery pass them with no heed for his lathered and exhausted mount.
In the courtyard of Trevor House, Catharine slid to the mounting block and raced into the manor house. Peter stood as she ran into the solar, almost out of breath. “Peter, you were right about Lady Stanley. Look at these.” She handed him the two letters.
He scanned them, and looked up in alarm. “Where did you get these?”
“At Lady Stanley’s. On the floor of her solar. She went to change. I was alone ... ”
Peter’s lips were hard lines. His hands shook when he laid the letters on his desk. “First class forgeries. I wonder what she was going to do with them?” He tapped the polished desk top. “Thank you for bringing these letters.”
“I am sorry ... ” Catharine began.
“Don’t be sorry. You were following your heart and discovered your head. There is nothing wrong with the heart in most cases, but in the circles I must move, hearts are used as reefs to wreck the innocent. I fear you were meant to find theses papers.”
“Why?” she asked, stricken.
A thunderous knock and the front door was flung open. Peter and Catharine swung around just as the Duke of Buckingham strode in, and snatched the two letters off the desk. He glanced down at the papers and smiled in triumph. “Traitor. Caught you in the act. For this you will pay with your life.”
“Your Grace. My wife found these at Lady Stanley’s,” Peter said.
“An unlikely story. Inventive. But Lord Stanley is an officer of the Crown. Hardly convincing.” Buckingham leaned against the door frame, breathing deeply and gloating.
“How did you know to come here at this exact moment?” Peter asked.
Catharine blanched. Jesus wept! What have I done? “I saw Lady Stanley’s courier passed us on our ride into London.”
Peter gave a bitter smile. “Carefully set up. Your Grace and Lady Stanley are a pair. You deserve each other. Who else have you ruined together?”
“You slander the wife of a Crown official. Careful, my lord.”
“You can’t convict on forgeries,” Catharine choked out.
“Who says these are forgeries, Lady Trobridge?” Buckingham walked over to the desk, took a letter of Peter’s, and placed it next to the two letters he’d taken. “Take a look. The writing is identical, right down to the signature.”
It was. Stunned, Catharine said, “This cannot be.” She turned to her husband. “How?”
“I don’t know. I do know I didn’t do this,” Peter said.
Buckingham smiled, and tucked the papers in his doublet. “Perhaps you don’t know your husband as well as you might, Lady Trobridge. He is a man of wide experience with many political contacts and interests. You have been seduced and taken in by him. The King will forgive you. He will seek a new husband for you after the trial and execution. He may confiscate your wealth, but I think he will keep your lands and you together, and transfer them to a trusted favorite.” His shiny pitted face smiled with triumph, eyes lit with glee.
“But Peter saved Richard’s life at Tewkesbury.”
“People change, Lady Catharine. Treason is a common vice among the mighty. And there is none more mighty than your husband.” He laughed. “Does she make an obedient wife, Lord Trobridge?”
“No, she does not. She is willful, headstrong, and inventive.”
“She will learn,” Buckingham said, voice low and deadly.
“What do you mean, Your Grace?” Catharine stared at both of them, a horror growing within.
“He means, after my execution, to ask the King to set aside his wife. He will marry you, Catharine.”
“No, this cannot be. You are married, and have a son.” The horror crawled into her heart, chilling the life there.
“My wife is a Woodville, a liability to me. Woodville’s have been rats around the Throne for all of Edward’s reign. They stole the State Treasury, and Richard will brook insolence no longer. It is open season on Woodville’s.” He sneered. “This time you’ll get a real wedding ring instead of a worked horseshoe nail.”
“You have a wife and a son. How can you do this?”
“Because, dear wife, of ambition.” Peter stirred, turned to the window, composed. “This man’s appetite for power is boundless. Government without scruples. He practices a form of anarchy as old as man.” The cold rage in Peter’s eyes made Catharine shrink.
She whirled on the duke. “You will not get away with this,” she cried, unshed tears filling her eyes.
“I fear he will,” Peter said.
“Touching interchange.” The duke smiled. “But we must end this farce. Come in, Sergeant.”
A hard faced retainer entered, standing warily to one side. “My lord?”
“Lord Trobridge is under arrest for High Treason. We will escort him to the Tower of London.”
“Very good, Your Grace.”
“His lands and goods cannot be touched until after he is found guilty at an open trial.” Harry Barristar entered the chamber.
The duke’s face went red. “I don’t need you to tell me, Harry.”
“You asked me to keep you appraised of the legal aspect of the situation, Your Grace.” Harry’s face betrayed nothing, but his eyes wondered everywhere, avoiding Peter and Catharine.
“I know,” the duke said. “Tis a pity though.” He brushed a fine tapestry with his hand.
The sergeant brought out a length of rope to bind Peter’s hand. “Idiot,” the duke exploded, striking out. “This is a great lord!” The man staggered back from the duke’
s blow, falling to the floor. When he stood, his face showed no emotion, but his eyes glittered with hate. Blood ran onto his sleeve and Catharine handed him a napkin.
“My lady,” the soldier bowed, and held the cloth to his face.
“We must go.” The duke walked out of the chamber, Barristar followed. The sergeant waited for Peter.
Catharine went to her husband, a desperate need ruling her. She felt his rage and anguish. “This is not done,” she said. “We are not done.” Standing on tiptoes, Catharine caught him, kissed his surprised lips.
“My lord,” the sergeant said, clearing his throat. “The Lord Constable is not a patient man.”
Peter broke free. “Be strong,” he said, then bowed his head to her ear. “Do as Anthony and Jacob bid.”
Catharine watched as the blurred image of Peter’s straight back disappear through the arched door. Betrayed, she thought. I betrayed him.
How long the thought dominated her mind she could not tell. Dazed, she sat on the settle, and stared at the fire in the hearth. Anthony Will, Hugh Addisson, and Jacob McBride appeared before her. “It is my fault,” she said.
“No, Lady Catharine,” Anthony replied. “You did not betray him, but you and your natural sympathies were cruelly used.”
She sat up, and dried her eyes. “I must do something to help him.”
“Peter spoke of this possibility, my lady.” Jacob said. his heavy features creased with concern. “Even now his portable wealth is being gathered and made ready to sail.”
“I cannot leave him to die in the Tower,” she said.
“After our raid to save the princes, security there has been tripled.” Hugh shook his shaggy head. “We canna get in.”
“There must be another way.” Catharine looked to her stewards.
“The only way is to prove his innocence, my lady,” Anthony said. “Considering the evidence, the future doesn’t look promising.”
“I will not believe that,” she said, and rose to pace. The men made room, and exchanged glances. “What about Sir James Caxton?” she asked.