by Band of Iron
“My father,” Will said without hesitation. He looked like he wanted to say more.
“And?” Peter said. He’d learned long ago to probe, to leave nothing unsaid, to encourage people to speak their minds.
“You can trust Peter,” Catharine said.
“I heard something. It maybe what you’re looking for in regards to Buckingham.” Hesitancy still guarded his tongue.
“Do you want to speak alone?” Peter asked. Paddy stepped back, and the rest of Peter’s retainers walked out of ear shot.
“It might be nothing.” Will hunched his shoulders, twisting his hands. “I heard whispering among his men. His Grace is planning a revolt. He has thousands of men waiting in east Wales for the word to rise up. He is negotiating with some southern lords to help him.”
“Jesus wept, Peter.” Catharine looked up excitedly. “This is just the thing we need to clear Will with the King.” Her face glowed.
“Or get him in trouble for a false accusation,” Peter said. “I think Will is accurate, but you saw how far the truth went to get me free.”
“What are you saying?” she protested. “This has to be worth something.”
“The question is how to use it.” Peter kicked a stone with his heavy boot, and watched it sail in to stump fifteen feet away. “We’ll tell Caxton, and drop a hint where the information came from. Caxton can verify it by checking the duke’s estates. It would explain why Butcher Carnahan is here, and why he’s been in the duke’s service for the last year.”
“It would also explain why he’s so interested in your money,” Catharine said, hugging the cape close when a cool breeze sprang up.
“Our money,” Peter corrected, mind roaming over the possibilities.
“These are great events that affect nations,” Will said. “I’m afraid to be a part of it.”
“We can keep your name out of it, if you like. It might be wise, considering where you want to go, especially if Henry Tudor has a hand in this.”
“Tudor?” Catharine asked. “Why Tudor? Buckingham has as much royal blood as Henry Tudor, and as much right to the throne.”
“Almost,” Peter said, “Tudor is the most direct descendent of the bastard Beaufort line of John Gaunt, fourth son of Edward the Third. Their maternal grandfather’s were brothers. Tudor’s the older. Each can equally discount the other. Dynastic ambition. It ruins us as a nation, sucks our sustenance dry, and wastes our nobility.”
“So Tudor may have a hand in this?” Will said, aghast. “I may have betrayed our Lancaster heir.”
Peter shook his head. “No. Considering that King Richard’s support lies everywhere but London, there’s not much of a chance of Tudor returning and taking the throne,” Peter said. “The money and the men aren’t there. The Woodville’s won’t support Tudor, even with the money they stole from King Edward’s Treasury. Duke Francis of Brittany won’t give anything but his blessings.” Peter shook his head. “Without men or money, Henry is dead in the water. I wouldn’t worry about him. If you want in his camp ... ” Peter shrugged, then grinned. “It doesn’t hurt to have a relative on the other side. Might soften the blow if the impossible happened.” Peter took their hands and joined them . “Say your goodbyes. You will see each other again.”
The trembling in their limbs, and the new anguish in their faces at parting made Peter turn away, to hide his own growing emotion, angry that an innocent boy must hide for something he hadn’t done.
When Will Clifford and Paddy McNaughten and three armed retainers disappeared into the forest, Catharine turned back to him, her face bathed in tears. He drew her to him, felt her body tremble, and tears drench his shirt. “He’s safe. His nightmare is over. You will see him again.” He held her left hand, feeling her unyielding wedding ring. Perhaps she will begin to understand its meaning now that she’s crossed the threshold.
She tilted her head up to his, eyes shining. “Take me home, Peter. Oh, take me home.”
His heart leaped, and he caught himself before his hands tightened on her shoulders and arms. He savored the way she said ‘home’, and gloried in the possibilities of what they could do together. Images of their careful plotting to rescue her brother, the laughter, the new found respect for each other, the genuine liking blossoming, all this made this moment and the future sweet, almost unbearably so.
He’d begun to think of her as a necessary part of his life, looking forward to their being together. But until now he’d never dared unleash his hopes, for fear she’d return to the uncertainty of her pervious behavior. Feeling the iron wedding ring on her slender finger reminded him of the fine caring shared between his father and mother. That was what he yearned for with Catharine.
He lifted her left hand and kissed the ring. “Indeed, my wife. Let us go home.”
The next morning intermittent rain, wind and scattered clouds promised a stormy day. Peter felt a stray raindrop land on his nose, and Catharine laughed when it traveled to the tip and fell off onto Grey Harold. He rejoiced at the fresh happiness in her voice. The wet stones steps of the west entrance of St. Paul’s Cathedral dried as the breaking morning sun peeked through a patch of blue sky. Sights and sounds of the city swept by them; trudging peasants bent under loads of produce to be sold to the highest bidder, the creak of wagon and cart, clopping of horses hooves, and the inevitable shouts of hawking shopkeepers and peddlers.
Peter offered his right hand palm down to Catharine. She laid her left hand on top of his, and they turned to enter. “My lady, may I compliment you on your gown.” Her troubled gaze focused ahead of them, forcing his to follow. The Duke of Buckingham stood at the top of the steps, face impassive, watching them. She squeezed his hand so hard he glanced at her surprised . Her face was livid with anger. “Courage,” Peter said.
“I don’t need courage. I need restraint, and self-control, husband. I could fry his liver and not bat an eye,” she said under her breath.
Peter grinned. “God grant you the self -control you desire. Let me deal with His Grace. I wouldn’t want to be in the path of your anger.”
She giggled. “I know. Seems we’ve been trying each other’s souls for most of our marriage. Let us see if we can’t try the soul of His Grace of Buckingham.” She quickened her step, and Peter matched it with his own.
On the landing at the top of the stairs Catharine curtsied and Peter and the Duke exchanged bows and courtesies. The duke was dressed in his usual black edged with gold.
The duke’s face worked, his eyes watery with ill-concealed emotion. “Clever ploy, sending a courier to ask the where about of Will Clifford, Sir Peter,” the duke said. “Considering how you kidnapped him with that fake mummer’s parade.”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, Harry,” Peter said. “We still hope you will produce Catharine’s brother that we might petition the King for his pardon.” Peter wanted to smash the arrogant self-assured face in front of him.
“I’ll hang him for an outlaw when I do catch him,” the duke said, teeth grating, pitted face in a grimace. “He’s probably across the Narrow Sea by now.”
“I’m sure we wouldn’t know, being the King’s loyal subjects.” Catharine smiled sweetly.
The duke beckoned them to a vacant area near the great doors. “You bested me again. But this is not the end.”
“You have other ideas on how to pursue my wealth? How tiring,” Peter said. “Perhaps I could recommend a money lender to assist you in this urgent quest of yours.” He wanted to strangle the man, felt his muscles bunch. When Catharine’s fingernails dug into his forearm, he felt the pain and forced himself to relax. “Why this urgent need for wealth? Explain yourself?”
“You don’t need any explanation, Baron Trobridge. But rest assured, this is not the end.”
“What do you plan next? Mount a sea expedition to Burge to storm and sack our trading companies perhaps?” Peter laughed, but his hands still shook from his desire to crush the man. The bile crept up his throat, burning. Catharine’
s finger nails dug deep into Peter’s arm. He could feel their cutting, knowing the edge of caution, barely holding him in check.
“You will not know the final blow when it comes,” the duke said, voice matter-of-fact. “It will end your arrogance, and bend your behavior to my will. There will be none left to protect you.” He bowed, placed his feathered black velvet cap on his head at a jaunty angle, and strode down the steps to his waiting escort.
They stood watching the duke mount. “What do you think he meant by that?” Peter asked. Carnahan handed the reins of the black gelding to the duke. Then, catching Peter’s eye, he brushed his coarse hand down the side of his face in imitation of Peter’s scar. Grinning, he sketched a bow.
Peter pulled a deep breath, and gripped his sword hilt with great force. “Calm, Peter,” he heard Catharine say, as if from far away.
“God willing, one day he and I will ... . I’ll avenge my friend’s death. I swear it.” The bile tasted bitter and burning in his mouth. His breath raced.
“Would Buckingham use the Church?” Catharine asked, turning toward the church door.
Peter pushed his anger aside and gathered his scattered wits. “Use the Church to steal our property? I doubt it. This is England, not France or Spain. Charges of heresy don’t work well here. I know more churchmen than he does. I’d almost like to get into his mind, to see what evil thoughts he is thinking.” The hilt of his sword felt good in his hand.
“No. It might turn your stomach,” Catharine said. “When we are done here, we’d best be on to Sir James Caxton’s manor house to see what he’s found out about the duke’s business.” She moved inside the church.
“True. But let us light the candles you wanted, to celebrate your brother’s freedom.”
“Jesus wept, Peter. I thank you for that. ” She stopped as though struck. “Peter! There will be no one to protect you! He means Caxton! He means to rid himself of Caxton. Without Caxton we’d be at his mercy.” She turned, running to the steps. “Somehow he’s going to kill Caxton.”
It took twenty minutes to reach Caxton’s manor house near Newgate. Cheapside going west was clogged with people, animals, and wagons. Their horses moved with exasperating slowness. They received their share of curses from jostled and crowded pack men and peddlers which Peter calmed by tossing coins.
Inside the courtyard, Catharine didn’t wait to be helped down, but scrambled to the mounting block, and flung the reins to a surprised groom. Gathering her skirts, she charged in the manor house door, surprising Miles Northrop who stood there astonished with a ledger in his hands. “Lady Catharine.”
“Buckingham is planning to kill Sir James! How, we don’t know.”
“God’s Blood,” Miles swore.
“Do you have anyone new on your staff?” Peter asked, striding in behind Catharine.
“A cook. Our head cook was suddenly taken ill. Oh, God.” Miles ran for the study. Peter raced past, and burst in to the room surprising Caxton about to take a mouthful of capon in white sauce. Peter knocked the fork out of his hand just when it touched his lips. White sauce and capon spun across the room, staining the wainscoted wall. Caxton stared in shocked disbelief.
“The food maybe tainted, poisoned, Sir James,” Peter explained.
“Poisoned?” Caxton pushed himself back from his desk.
Peter related the duke’s threat on the cathedral steps. “We believe he meant to kill you. We couldn’t think of anyone else who fit his description.”
Caxton wiped his finger on a napkin. “Bring in the new cook, Miles,” he said, face grim. “Peter, you and Lady Catharine stand in the shadows of the antechamber.”
Two armed retainers hustled the angry cook into the room. The man ran thick pudgy fingers over two days growth of beard. “What be the trouble, yer worship?”
“We need you to taste this food,” Caxton said, face impassive.
“Me Lord, I made this dish especially fer ye. It be too good fer the likes of me.” The man’s cocky smile, and nervous hands contradicted each other. He searched Caxton’s face.
Catharine stepped out of the shadows. “He’s the cook from the Sow’s Ear, my lord.”
“Well, of course I be. I be well known fer me fine foods.” He wiped his nose on his sleeve, defiant. “My lady is correct. I was lured over here with the promise of great reward.”
“Perhaps for the death of Sir James Caxton, Master Cook?” Catharine stepped up to the sweating man. “So you remember me?”
“I had no idea who you were. Even now. Since when does a noble lady dress up like a commoner and abuse the people?” His voice indignant, rose. He jerked his head to the window, then darted for the unguarded door.
In two quick strides Peter collared the squirming man, and slammed him against a wood pillar. “You are the second unpleasant creature the duke has aimed at us. Why did he send you?”
“The thoughts of great lords are not shared with me,” the cook said. “I was paid well.” Hate burned in the man’s eyes. Then he smiled, terrible and aware. “I almost did it.” He turned his greasy unshaven face to Caxton. “So when do you hang me? Let’s have it done and over.” He spat in the floor rushes.
Caxton’s diamond hard eyes bore into the man. “Make no mistake, you will hang, but there is no hurry. You can tell us a great deal.” There was no doubt in Peter’s mind the man would tell everything he knew before he died. An armed retainer lashed the man’s hands behind his back, and hobbled his legs, and led him away.
Catharine moved to Peter’s side. He smiled relieved. “I’m glad we got here before he was successful.” Catharine shivered.
Caxton waved at the food. “Bury this mess.” A servant removed the plate and wine. Caxton turned to Peter and Catharine. “Thank you for the message last night regarding Buckingham raising a rebellion. Agents are infiltrating his estates searching for evidence.” A servant appeared with goblets of light ale.
Caxton hoisted his goblet in salute. “Everything you have given me has proven true. The King has been alerted. He is mustering troops discreetly, and contacting key trusted lords. Jack Howard, the Duke of Norfolk, is moving into Kent even now. Sir Ralph Assheton has been named Vice Constable to be in place if needed.”
Peter sipped the ale, feeling grim. More dynastic wars. “At least we don’t have a child for a King, with squabbling and competing nobles on the Regency Council. One way or another we need a strong King. And we have one. I have a hundred men-at-arms I can take where the King commands.” He felt Catharine’s body stiffen at his side.
“At the appropriate time, my friend,” Caxton said. “Have your master-at-arms begin gathering your men at Trevor’s Mist. Let’s pray this is a fool’s errand His Grace of Buckingham is embarking on.”
“Don’t look so gloomy,” Peter said to Catharine as they lay on the high bed in their sleeping chamber that evening. A fire crackled in the hearth. Catharine twirled her wedding ring on her finger.
“We almost lost to Buckingham today. In a few more moments Caxton would have been dead. It was so close.”
“Is that what’s bothering you?” Peter asked. He covered her hand with his.
She rolled onto her back. “I mean, here we have finally made a real beginning, and it may be taken from us.”
“Like your family, and the war?” he said. She trembled, the unshed tears building in her eyes, He wanted to hold her, to comfort her, to shut the world and all its hurt away, but he knew he could not.
“Yes. I don’t know if I could bear that again. I have already lost one family. I can’t let it happen again.”
“We have Bess,” he said, feeling her anger. “I know you’ve grown close.”
“No. You don’t understand.” She put his hand on her stomach. “Peter, I am with child.”
Peter sucked in his breath. He could hear his heart beating. “A child? God!” he said, exultant. And gently lay his ear to her stomach.
“Silly.” She giggled. “I’ve missed my months flux by two weeks. You
won’t be able to hear the baby for several months yet.”
He raised his head, pleased beyond measure. “That’s why you’ve been sick this week in the morning.”
She turned bright red. “True.” She captured his hands and he felt the hard wedding band.
“When did you suspect?” he asked. She blushed.
“I mean,” he went on, “my mother said she dreamed of me before her body knew.” He felt awkward and impossibly happy at the same time. A child! Their child!
“Now do you understand my anger?” She ran her fingers through his thick wavy hair.
“You saw how frantic I was when Bess was kidnapped,” Peter said. “Since accepting the mischievous creature as my daughter, I’ve known a silent terror of maybe losing her. And now you. But we can’t live like that. It’s the joy and the caring we need to celebrate.”
“And if there are evil men besetting us?”
“We do as we have. Deal with them one day at a time.” He stilled her lips with his own.
13
The mid morning sun arched higher in the clear blue sky. Catharine pulled the green wool cape close about her shoulders, and snuggled closer to Peter, who raised his eye-brows, and whispered, “Really?”
She slapped the blue silk hose on his thigh, and received a low laugh of pleasure for her half-hearted efforts. They sat on a marble bench in the enclosed garden at Trevor House watching breezes chase autumn leaves across the pool. A marble relief of two fawns by Luca Della Robbia stood by Catharine. She touched the frieze marveling at their life like quality.
She turned her wedding ring on her finger, and knew a fierce protectiveness toward Peter and wonder at this unknown child growing in her womb. The blossoming joy of their new relationship was tempered by her anger that one person could threaten their future in such a final manner.
“What is in the sealed letter in your hand?” she asked, curious.
He’d been pleased, and humming quietly since he’d come out fo his study to join her in the garden.