by Diana Rubino
"God needs me, Dove. But Richard has his kingdom. I am but one weak and insignificant being."
"Anne, you are the Queen! No one knows better than I how much he loves you."
"He has never shown it, Dove. I see you and Valentine together, laughing, he holds you in his arms, he lifts you up and twirls you about...Richard has never told me. He has never left my side except to go to battle or serve his kingdom, but he has never made me the center of his life, as he was mine."
"But that is his way, Anne. He has always kept to himself.
Do not think for a minute that he does not love you."
"Then why has he never told me?" Anne had another fit of coughing and Denys held a clean cloth to her lips. The hacking left her unable to hold her head up, and she sank back into the pillows with a raspy sigh. Denys plumped them up for her.
"Remember what you told me about Valentine? Some of us hold our feelings in. That doesn't mean they aren't there."
"Dove, tell me about you and Valentine."
"Why, everything is just fine."
"You're sure of his intentions toward you now?"
Denys smiled and her heart grew warm at the thought of the man she loved. "Oh, yes, it was difficult getting him to open his heart, but he did. He wants to prove himself to me, but he really needn't."
"Dove, I know the torment Valentine has been suffering for a long time now. I think Richard's need for Valentine at his side helped him work through all that."
"Torment? You mean having to prove himself?"
"That's part of it. You know Valentine's father was killed in battle. Valentine lived the unspeakable horror of seeing his father's head atop Micklegate Bar when the poor child was only nine years old. Well, he vowed to avenge his father's death, and when he was old enough, became a spy for King Edward's first general. Some Lancastrian soldiers captured him and held him prisoner at Ludlow Castle, and within moments of his execution, Richard arrived with a column of royal troops and forced them to release Valentine.
He's always been indebted to Richard for saving his life."
"Oh, my God. That's why he wants to be at Richard's side through all this?"
"Nay, not quite. Richard knows without Valentine, he'd be making a disaster of it all. Diplomacy isn't Richard's strength, wielding swords is!"
And Valentine didn't feel like a complete man unless he paid Richard back."
"If I know Val, he'll never feel like he has paid him back in full. He probably feels nothing short of dying for Richard would suffice. So you see, you and he are very much alike.
You're both out on missions that you need to fulfill. But you have to realize that having each other is enough, even if you never feel you've accomplished your missions."
"Oh, Anne, thank you for telling me this. I know Valentine never would have."
"Nay, he doesn't make a big show of being honorable." Anne attempted a smile and it died on her lips as she prepared for another fit of coughing. This time she merely sputtered a few drops of blood.
"Would you like me to sing for you, Anne?" The Queen nodded weakly and Denys picked up her lute from the foot of the bed. She began strumming it softly and sang one of their favorite songs, "When a Knight."
"When a knight won his spurs in the stories of old, He was gentle and brave, He was gallant and bold; With a shield on his arm and lance in his hand For God and for valour he rode through the land.
No charger have I, and no sword by my side, Yet still to adventure and battle I ride, Though back into storyland giants have fled, And the knights are no more and the dragons are dead.
Let faith be my shield and let joy be my steed Gainst the dragons of anger, the ogres of greed; And let me set free, with the sword of my youth, From the castle of darkness the power of the truth." Before she was finished, Anne was sleeping soundly.
Denys slipped off the bed, held her finger to her lips as she passed the maid and crept from her chambers.
That was the last time she saw Anne alive. The Queen passed away in early spring, as the frail body could no longer fight the consumption that carried her off to her death.
The funeral rites were over; the magnificent ceremony with which Anne had been borne to her crypt was ended and Westminster Abbey was dark and quiet. Denys approached the chapel of Edward the Confessor, and could see Richard standing over Anne's grave. He gently caressed Anne's name carved into the smooth stone, and quietly left the chapel.
Denys stayed at the graveside and said a prayer for the Queen's soul, for the King, and for her kingdom.
On Midsummer's Eve, Valentine, Denys and Richard were in the royal forest near Sandal Castle where they'd been a-hunting. The barking of the bloodhounds, brachets and greyhounds faded into the distance as the huntsman and hunting company led them on their leashes back up to their kennels.
They'd just slain the fattest stags they'd ever seen, and Valentine whooped and hollered like he'd won a tournament.
Caught up in the mood, Denys was playfully blowing her ivory hunting horn; the single pitch echoed through the trees and died in the depths of the forest. Later, the trio separated from the entourage and approached a cluster of tree stumps. Valentine sat upon a stump and she stretched her legs out on the grass. Richard remained standing.
"I wish you would sit," Valentine said, offering them hunks of bread from his pouch, which Denys gladly accepted.
"It's these blasted rumours, all the rumours," Richard replied, pacing back and forth. "Rumours that I poisoned my wife, rumours that I had George executed, rumours that I had Edward killed!"
"Do not let these rumours disturb you," Valentine said, opening his wine flask. "These people's lives are so empty and pathetic, if they had no one to wag their cruel tongues about, they would have nothing to live for. We know none of it is true; that is all that matters. That is how I have always felt about rumours."
"‘Tis Bess Woodville's doing, I know it," he spoke as if he hadn't heard.
"She is the one who started it all, who kindled these flames of hatred against me, and it spread like a wave of plague, but she is the source, the witch, even as king I cannot escape her evil sorcery. And to think there are rumours that I am preparing to marry her daughter!" He emitted a bitter laugh. "I would dive balls first into a vat of boiling oil before I would marry any daughter of hers! To think of having that witch as a mother-in-law!"
"Bess cannot harm any of us. There are real threats, like Henry Tudor," Valentine warned.
"Henry Tudor is not a pustule on my arse."
"I know that. But he is relentless. He's got spies and financial backing. His mother sold Maxey Castle to some Irish tosser to finance that last invasion of his. Well, I am confident that this upcoming invasion of his will be his last," Valentine offered, speaking slowly, his tone more serious than she'd heard it in a long time. "And do keep a special close eye on Thomas Stanley, even though he's currently on our side." Richard managed a chuckle. "Val, old bean, you are the only one I know would never turn on me like all the others.
I trust you like I have trusted no one. I could not even trust George. God made us brothers in our hearts, but not in our blood. And for you, Dove..." He turned to her and nodded. "I've neglected you, I promised to help you and it just fell by the wayside."
"But you've had so much more to bear."
This time I shall keep my promise. I shall dig and dig until I come up with the answer you've been looking for."
"I wrote to Marguerite of Anjou and she replied, but it made me more confused than ever."
"What did she say?"
"Oh, there was a John with a babe in King Henry's charge, all right. And another, and another. Any of them could have been me."
"I shall see what I can come up with. Marguerite always was an unreliable old crank."
"Well, she came up with enough names."
"Show me her letter. I shall see if it contains any modicum of sense." Just then one of Richard's pages came galloping up to them on a sleek mount. He swept off hi
s hat and bowed his head. "My liege, the evening meal is served. Your faithful court awaits you." He nodded to the page, who bowed once again and trotted off.
"Duty calls once more," Richard said with an air of indifference as they headed toward the castle grounds where the courtiers were already swarming round the feast. "See how difficult it is being king? I have to fight off invaders, rule over a discontented rabble, and eat when I am not even hungry. Why in hell would I have killed anyone for a job like this?"
"Every Tom, Dick and Harry is named John Smith," Denys said as she swept her eyes over this month's household accounts, with her mind on other things. "‘Tis the commonest name we have come up with so far." John Smith was the name Valentine had come up with whilst visiting the other John.
"Well, with only the name John to go by, I think we have done quite well," Valentine replied, momentarily taking a break from his list of young men who were to be admitted to the Order of the Garter.
He took a swig of ale from Percival.
"We have not done well at all; we have not found him," she replied wearily.
"It may take years and we may never find him," Valentine warned. "Mayhap we shall go another route. John isn't the only road to Rome, you know."
She tossed her head and flipped back a lock of hair. "Well, what do you suggest I do? You have no idea what it's like to be an adult and still feel like an abandoned orphan!"
His tankard was poised in his fist, on its way to his mouth, and halted in mid-air as their eyes met. The mug slowly descended and hit the table with a slam she heard clear across the room. "Oh, I don't, do I? Lest you forget, I lost my parents at a tender age and would give aught to have them back." Finally he came over to her and massaged her neck with those fingertips that could be so strong yet so light. "I do want to help you, my darling, and I know deep down that we shall find your family."
"But you have fits when I go off by myself."
"In blinding snowstorms without telling me, yes."
"The storms did not begin until after I'd left."
"Well, you should have turned round. ‘Twas lunacy to plod on in those conditions."
"So I am a loony now?"
"I did not say that! Do not get so touchy! I simply need to get some work done. We do have a kingdom to rule, you know."
"The kingdom is the King's. Stop referring to it as if you were the heir to his throne."
"Oh, he does not do it alone. He simply couldn't," he said with an air of pride that she had to admit he deserved.
"I'm not simply the King's lickspittle, lest you forget," he added haughtily, tapping the badge on his surcoat.
"How could I? But I trust the council can do without your impeccable leadership whilst we go on another search, however briefly. The kingdom could suffer your absence for a fortnight."
"Very well, what do you propose? If it sounds like it should lead to your family, I shall ask of Richard a leave.
Which route do you wish to pursue?"
"Priests."
"Priests? Which priests?"
"King Henry the Sixth's favorite companions were priests. Old Henry was such a virtuous monk, he spent more time praying than he did ruling, which Queen Marguerite did well enough. I shall find the priests who kept his company. ‘Tis quite possible that one of them may have baptized me. If so, then it might be recorded somewhere who my parents were."
"Very well, darling, where to start searching out priests?"
"I shall start at Westminster. Perhaps some of King Henry's companion priests are still there, and if they can't remember aught, they can tell me where the others have gone. If that does not bear fruit, then I shall try the churches within the City walls I'm already familiar with Saint Andrew Undershaft, Saint Peter in Cheap, and Saint Paul's on Ludgate Hill. Then I shall venture further out, Saint Martin-in-the Fields—"
"Very well. Then the priests at Westminster it is. This effort shan't take me away for long, unless we must travel somewhere far."
"And when we do find the priest who baptized me, I want to start my entire life over, Valentine. I want to be baptized again, as if I'd just been born."
"I could see where finding your true family would make you feel that way, but remember—I shall always love you no matter who you are."
Early the next morning, Denys accompanied Valentine to Richard's council chambers. Valentine bowed low, she curtseyed, they kissed his ring. All this protocol among old friends made Richard look uncomfortable, but Denys was honoring Uncle Ned's memory above all. They sat on either side of him as he straightened a stack of papers.
"What is it that brings you here, my loyal friends?"
"Dove is going to pick a few more brains for her quest."
"Whose?"
"The priests who befriended King Henry during his reign," Valentine replied.
"I have reason to believe one of them may have baptized me," Denys said. "Is that not a distinct possibility?"
Richard nodded, running a hand over his eyes. "I reckon."
"So if possible, I may ask of you a leave so I may travel to the far-reaching abbeys of the realm?" Valentine said.
"Aye, as you wish," Richard agreed without a second's hesitation.
"You find no problem with that, Richard?" Valentine looked at the King with a puzzled look, a hint of hurt clouding his blue eyes.
"‘Tis all right! Go!" Richard interjected, waving his hand in a gesture of acquiescence. "I have enough problems with enemy factions and their spying mothers without having to refute the reputation of a slave driver. So you both have my best wishes. Good luck and Godspeed. Dove, I hope they can help you. If not, do not despair, for we shall explore another road."
Denys stood to take her leave. "I shall be going. I am off to Westminster to see the priests. Valentine, take care of our King," she said, lifted her skirts and exited the chamber.
"The first thing I am going to do is get a hearty meal down you," Valentine said, turning to Richard.
"I do fancy a cottage pie, Val, and a tankard of smooth ale with a hearty head, now that you mention it," Richard mused.
"Then we shall enjoy the first repast we've had together in yonks!" He pressed his palms to the table in order to rise, but Richard had to peruse one more document.
Valentine sank back down and stared at the door Denys had just exited. "Oh, I've never met anyone as determined as that woman!" he exclaimed. "She's so resolute, she'll stop at nothing, I know she'll succeed. She defies all odds.
"She's not of this world! She's nothing like the other wenches who just take their fate and accept it placidly. She won't give up until death stops her, even if that's what it takes, her final personal audience with God to tell her who she is. Sometimes I think she deliberately defies death just so she'll go to her Maker and finally find out who she is."
"Well, that is where we are alike, Val, the three of us," Richard said, neatly setting the document aside and securing it to the table with a crystal paperweight. "Never afraid to die for a worthy cause. And would it that I would die for a worthy cause than to waste away, like Elizabeth Woodville is now fated to do."
"Do you still think Elizabeth is a witch?"
"If she is, her powers are dwindling."
"In inverse proportion to yours, my liege," Valentine replied, watching Richard entertain that secret grin. "So, shall I take my almighty King to my favorite dockside tavern, in discreet disguise, for a hearty but simple repast?"
"Mushy peas to go with that pie and ale?"
"Secure a blond wig, don some tatty raiment and we're off!" They exited the chamber, two old friends, two hungry— and thirsty—best friends bound forever in a tangled knot of loyalties Valentine was still amazed by, but wouldn't change for anything in the world.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
As Valentine travelled to King Henry VI's resting place of Chertsey Abbey to meet the priests there, Denys appealed to the older priests at Westminster Abbey, who would have known King Henry personally. Several of them recalled fon
d memories of the ill-fated King, but none remembered baptizing a child around the year 1457, none of them recognized the woman in the miniature, and none of them remembered a John.
"Oh, King Harry was a devout one, indeed," recalled Father Carney, a kindly old man who strolled with her through the ancient halls of the cloisters, his eyes focused on a faraway memory. "He was so pious, he would go mad every time he saw a low-cut neckline, he would shout ‘Fie! For shame!' and run through the chambers like a beheaded chicken.
"He was feeble-minded indeed, Harry was, but generous, oh, generous to a fault, letting all those around him pillage his lands and treasure until the Crown was hopelessly mired in debt. He had his very own household officers embezzling right under his nose.