‘Tell me his name,’ she said. ‘Tell me his name, and I will lie by my lady tonight, and you can seek him in the dark, and none shall know of it, save you and I.’
She began to stroke my hair gently. It waved about my face, blinding me, and her hands were like Richard’s. The King’s falcon was at the height of its stoop, powerful and clear against the azure mist. Silent, I watched as it dropped, beak and talons opening in a savage joy.
‘Tell me his name,’ she whispered. I shook my head.
Her hands clung to me. ‘What does he call you?’
‘Sweet heart, at times,’ I whispered. I bent my head, closing my eyes under her strong, soft hands. She caressed the back of my neck, and truly it could have been Richard.
‘Sweet heart,’ she said very softly. ‘Sweet heart, tell me his name! It will give you joy to speak it. I am your friend. I share your every woe.’
Edward’s hawk had taken the heron. Like lovers, they dropped through the air, in the tender embrace of death.
‘I am he,’ Elysande whispered. ‘Call me by my name.’
Without another thought, I told her. The gentle, stroking hands ceased for an instant.
‘Certes, they fly high,’ she murmured, with a little laugh.
‘Who do?’ I asked, in a dream.
‘Why, the hawks, dear heart!’ Her fingers caressed. The moments passed, grains slipping silent into eternity. I could not call them back.
‘I never really thought of him in that wise,’ she said. ‘He looks so quiet, so serious. And yet, you have been paramours for some little time?’
‘Ah, Richard,’ I said, only half hearing her.
She lifted my hair from the nape of my neck, rubbing its mass between her fingers, tangling it into a skein.
‘Is he a...’
I grew rigid. ‘Ask me no more. I will not speak of it.’ I closed my eyes. It was Richard who played with my hair, absently, his mind on something else.
‘Tell me this, at any rate,’ she said, over a tender laugh. ‘I cannot ask the gentlemen of the bedchamber; they would think me wanton indeed, but you and I are dear friends and love each other. I’m curious. Sweeting, is it true, one shoulder is hideously malformed and he pads out his doublet to feign equality?’
I sprang to face her. ‘Jesu, Elysande!’ I cried. ‘How do such tales begin?’
She shrugged; her hands stroked mine; she was my falconer, and I a trembling goshawk. ‘You know how whispers wax fat from tongue to tongue,’ she murmured. ‘Let us therefore know the truth.’
Whatever the truth was, I would not speak of it to Elysande, and she abandoned the chase, and picked up my headdress from the stones, smoothing its windblown veil.
‘I will serve the Duchess tonight, sweeting,’ she said, and as I looked at her I marked how the sunlight turned her green eyes yellow, but thought her wondrous kind. We stood on the battlements and kissed each other tenderly; and a breeze sprang up and caught us. We swayed in it, and there was naught in the world save its fierce glory…
‘I would know mine enemy,’ muttered the Duchess of Bedford. The monkey chattered and wound its thin little arms about her neck.
All that long day Elysande cosseted me, staying close, smiling her gentle smile, whispering cheer as the hours wore on. She asked me no more questions about him, but made herself exceedingly useful to me, for she filtered about the castle as I would never dare, in soft enquiry as to his plans. I watched her with love and admiration, for she was clever in the way she spoke with the unfamiliar servants, the strange guards of Fotheringhay: gleaning knowledge by a half-sentence, a casual eyebrow, a disinterested nod. Certes, she was clever, Elysande.
At evening she returned triumphant.
‘Proud Cis is giving a banquet in her stateroom,’ she murmured. ‘Let us get my lady dressed swiftly; for the sooner they have finished the feasting the earlier they will retire... that is, some will retire.’ And she gave me a clip round the waist and I kissed her cheek, though an anxiousness fell upon me as I said:
‘Dearest, I know not even where he lies, and there is none here who will guide me to him.’
She laughed. ‘I was speaking of the King’s Grace,’ she said softly. ‘Is it not natural that he should take his pleasure with the Queen this night, for they may not meet again in weeks. As for the other, if he keeps his usual custom, he will be down in camp, counting his men!’ She covered a smile, as if she was loath to wound my feelings by jesting about him. ‘They say he is so joyful at the following he has collected to ride under his blazon, he must visit them nightly, for all they were a handful of gems!’
And we laughed merrily, and cast ourselves about, until the Duchess came out from her bedchamber, and we both sped to attend her.
Much, much later, when the bed-curtains were fast on steady breathing, Elysande came to the door to bid me God-speed.
‘One thing, dear heart,’ she whispered.
‘Anything, Elysande.’
‘Ask him who is Robin of Redesdale,’ she said, and I fancied her voice was a little higher than normal. But I was mad to go to him and I gave her my word. For although she did not know it, I had already asked Richard, and he had been as baffled as were we all, so I could tell her this after, and it would be truth.
It was a close evening, and the marsh mists swirled dank and warm about the castle, and I was a part of them. I clove like a ghost near to the walls until I had crossed the ward and could mingle easily with the hastening servants, grooms, carriers and soldiers who, in lantern-light, prepared for morning departure. Few lights were burning in the great fortress behind me as I threw it one last glance before halting near the drawbridge. A cart containing the chalices and trappings for the Mass was rolling towards it, and the sentinel, laughing with a fellow, casually waved it on. Covered from head to foot in my dark cloak, I ran unnoticed in the wagon’s shadow across the moat, and felt the silken suck of the meadow under my soles. There were men everywhere. Never had I seen so many men. And there were horses, the great destriers of war, with hooves big as serving dishes, shifting restively at their tethers, or, forked by strong shadows, surging across my path like moving boulders of power. There was the smell of steel and sweat; and distantly, the marsh-fires burned green, brighter that night, for the demons that tended them were curious, aroused by all the activity. I crossed myself for I was more afraid than I had dreamed, and I thought of the Nut-Brown Maid, who would follow her lord into the wilds and the desolate places.
The waged men, the mercenaries, formed a vast circle. I saw their laughing faces in the light of camp fires. They were playing cards and dicing, using their leathern shields for a board, and, as I approached the dimlit shapes of the officers’ tents, I saw for the first time there were women too, among the common soldiery. In one way I was glad, for I could mix with the bawds and the wenches from the nearby hamlet and none would question my presence; then, I was sorry, for as I scuttled past a little knot of men, two dark shapes rose on my either side, and I felt the touch of rough hands.
One of them kissed me, the other pulled off my hood. I felt a beard sharp on my skin. They both laughed, and they would have wrought further, for I felt fingers at my cloak’s fastenings, and I screamed. A third figure appeared carrying a light, outlined against the glimmering marsh.
‘Christ’s Mercy!’ said a voice wearily. ‘Do we ravish children? See how small she is, you great ox!’
The one who had kissed me dropped his arms and muttered something unintelligible.
‘Fat Mab awaits you. On the edge of camp,’ pursued the man with the lantern. I crept closer to him.
‘Sir,’ I whispered, ‘sir, I’m no camp-follower. Bid them let me pass, I pray you.’
‘Are you from the castle?’ he said.
Wildly, I stretched my mind, babbling, ‘I have a message...’
‘I’ll take it then; and you can go back before this pack molest you any more,’ he said slowly. I guessed then he must be one of the newly-waged men, or he would
have asked why they had not sent one of the castle guard or a manservant, and not a young maid.
‘It is a private message and urgent,’ I whispered. ‘I don’t know you, sir.’
‘Calthorp, mistress,’ he said shortly. ‘Bound in arms under my lord Duke of Gloucester.’
In all these hundreds of soldiers I had fallen on one of Richard’s men. I had a message, but not one I could transmit by Master Calthorp.
‘For his ears only,’ I muttered, and in the lantern light, saw his mouth curve, and knew him as quite young, despite his serious way; the kind of man my lord would pick, I thought, and answered his smile.
‘So be it’ he answered, and we took our way through the lines of men. Some of them were polishing their weapons, talking quietly; one was writing a letter by firelight, chewing his nails to ease the labour of it. But, dangerously near the tents, a soldier possessed one of the village trulls, unhurriedly, half-burying her in the coarse grass, and in the gloom I felt my face scarlet and closed my ears to their sighing moans. Master Calthorp whisked me past, catching my elbow as I tripped over tussocks and the edge of my cloak.
‘This is my first campaign,’ he said, to cover my shame. Then, inconsequentially: ‘I like the Duke of Gloucester well.’ Jesu, take me to him then, I thought. For I too like the Duke of Gloucester.
Suddenly, I saw him. He was standing by an open tent-flap, talking with three young men. I faltered and shrank, and Master Calthorp looked round to see why I hung back.
‘There he is, mistress,’ he said cheerfully.
I stood and watched Richard. With the exact gesture of his brother the King, he threw his arm about the shoulder of one young man; friendly, assured, disquietingly royal. They laughed together. He seemed very joyful, and I felt lonely and lost. Calthorp strode up to him while I trailed behind, huddled in my cloak. An esquire, whom I recognized as Lord Percy’s son, stepped forward protectively, hiding Richard for a moment.
‘Here is one with a message for his Grace,’ said Calthorp, and I drew my hood far across my face and felt the stuff quiver under my lips.
Richard turned his head as he caught the words, and waited. The three young men waited. Robert Percy waited, and so long did they all wait that Richard came forward and Calthorp held the lantern up so that it shone in my eyes. I saw Richard’s hand stray to his dagger and I knew that I must present a strange, shapeless figure, half human, neither young nor old, and I feared they might think me Robin of Redesdale himself, mayhap, come south to murder them. So I turned my back on the others, and for Richard’s eyes alone, dropped the veil from my face, and saw his expression change. I had never seen him angry, but he was passing wroth, then, and his fingers left his knife and he started turning his finger-rings round and round, as a cat lashes its tail. ‘My thanks, Master Calthorp,’ he said. His voice was like the cold stones in my gallery.
Calthorp bowed swiftly and faded away. The three young men shuffled their feet.
‘Good night to you, Bernard, Barney, Broom,’ said Richard, and he ran their names together so that it sounded like one of Patch’s conundrums, and I wanted to laugh, and cry.
‘Is all well?’ Robert Percy said.
‘This person is my acquaintance, and doubtless brings word from the castle,’ said Richard. ‘I will speak alone with her.’
‘As your good lordship desires,’ said Percy. ‘I will remain and escort you to your apartments.’
‘Nay, Robert,’ Richard said. ‘Get you to bed. We must be up betimes.’ He held the tent-flap open for me as Percy vanished in the murk, and he followed me in, and there we were, among all the turmoil of preparation. Pieces of harness stood everywhere. Richard’s sword, his banner with the Boar emblem, leather jackets on a couch, a silver basin and ewer in the corner. Brigandines, and fierce, eyeless casquetals. He came and stood before me.
‘Why did you come down here?’ he asked quietly.
I could not answer.
‘You should not have come,’ he repeated, and turned away, and stood looking out of the tent-flap into the misty darkness.
‘I crave your Grace’s pardon,’ I said, and I think there was a little hauteur in my tone, for he had welcomed my presence when he was lonely and sad, and now he was glad and occupied in the King’s service, it seemed he had no further need of me.
‘I will leave you, my lord, straightway, and beg your indulgence for this misconduct,’ I said formally, and I heard my voice quaver. Still he did not answer, standing straight and slender of waist, with his uneven shoulders and his smooth hair falling to his neck, a dark shadow against the tent wall. So I made to walk past him and would have dived out into the unfriendly night, but his hand caught my wrist and gripped it, with a hard tenderness.
‘You are angry with me,’ I whispered.
He looked down, and my eyes drooped, for his glance was the same as it ever was, deeply cool and burning and loving.
‘Not with you, damoiselle, but with your folly,’ he said. Then, anxiously: ‘Have any harmed you, sweet heart?’
Gladness nudged at my bones. I shook my head.
‘Sweet mistress, this is a world of men.’ It was as though my dead father spoke to me. ‘No place for you, among the rude soldiery and the harlots. Women, children, things of weakness in this time of strife.’
And I marvelled at the way he spoke, calm and controlled, full of wisdom and concern as if he were old beyond his years. And while he began softly to stroke my hair, I remarked on it, aloud.
‘Yes, I may seem thus,’ he said, then stopped, and I said gently: ‘Yea, my lord, my love?’
‘My childhood ended when I was seven years old,’ he said, and a heavy silence hung between us. He lowered his hand from my hair, and we both thought of the heads on Micklegate Bar.
‘You know what the King did?’ he murmured. I shook my head.
‘A ceremony of remembrance,’ he said slowly. ‘Five years ago, here in this very place. We rode behind a great death carriage, to the memory of my father and my brother. Under the banner of Christ in Majesty, Christ on a rainbow, flanked by the suns and roses. Gilded angels were fashioned, to cherish their souls. They lived again, that day. Then, through God’s grace, and his own kingly might, Edward avenged their death. He brought peace to the realm.’
His voice shook. He turned to face me again.
‘Thus, through my gratitude, have I striven to grow wise and strong, that I may be his right hand always. Great Jesu! I love him.’
A pain in my heart. Kings come and go. If only he could have said: ‘Great Jesu! I love thee.’ But in face of this strong and bitter love, I was no more than one of the village trulls, moaning in the long grass. I think it was then I decided my love must do for the two of us.
He went on: ‘So, I will be true to him, and to his heirs, so long as I shall live.’
In the distance a woman’s chuckling shriek, lewd and profane, sullied the grave quietness. For no reason at all, I thought of little Lady Beaufort.
Richard glanced round, anxiously. He put his hands over my ears, my hair, so that I should not hear the coarse sounds. ‘Sweet heart, you should not be here,’ he said, his voice coming faintly through a dim, rushing noise.
Then he said: ‘Why did you come?’
I put my hands on his, and he held me, on either side of my head. I had never told him how I loved him, for it would not be seemly, but this night, I felt, with a strange sadness, might be the only time I should have the chance. So I told him, all of it, and when I had ceased, his hands were trembling under mine, and the rushing in my ears became a roar.
His voice sounded quite loud when he took his hands away. ‘I wonder,’ he said thoughtfully, ‘if I am worthy of such love.’
I could not speak, for I was weeping, and I was angry with myself, for this was not what I had planned; I had wanted to make him glad, not bring him dolour.
I therefore took his hand and kissed it, and his rings were cold to my mouth. And he put his arm tenderly about my neck, and my
hair came loose and streamed over his wrist down to the ground, as I leaned back and felt his lips on my throat, my heart.
And before I left him, because it was such a warm, damp night and he looked weary, I took a cloth with water from the ewer and washed his face as he lay on the couch. He closed his eyes for an instant and he could have been dead, with his high-boned countenance and his pallor. So hastily, to chase a demon, I signed his brow with the Cross and kissed him, and he clasped his arms tight about me, saying I was a true maid and had brought him much joy and comfort. He summoned a sleepy young man to escort me back to the castle, one who had but lately come on duty, so that none should know, for the greenish dawn was rising over the fens and the camp would soon be stirring. He raised his hand to me as he stood between the tent-flaps, and there was a light about him that was not earthly; or it may have been the marsh fiends dimming their night-lamps behind him; I did not know.
Neither did I know that I should not see Richard Plantagenet again for many years, and then he would be greatly changed.
I never had such a friend as Elysande; and Elysande had a new dress. It was green as a willow and suited her golden skin and tilted eyes. She was kind and lovesome and I loved her. It seemed I had more need of her than ever, particularly the day they left to meet with Robin, riding to Newark in their martial blue, for to save my soul I could not watch them go. I wanted to remember him as he stood in the lambent dawn, dark figure of my fate, holding all my happiness in one lifted hand.
Elysande sat beside me, stroking my cold fingers, for no flame burned in me. Only a block of ice, and I knew not why, for he had said: ‘God keep you, sweet lady, be comfortable. When we have put down this pesky rising I shall come back and all will be well with us again.’
Yet all was not well with me, for, overlaying my great sadness, another shadow had fallen upon me, out of the past, and I was full of fear.
When I was returning from Richard, walking as in a deep sleep and still with him in spirit, I had not seen the tall figure advancing noiselessly along the twilit passage until we collided fiercely. Candlelight flared above me and a drop of hot wax fell on my neck. Like a blare of trumpets, I heard the warning that tore through my mind. I raised my face and saw Anthony Woodville gazing down at me from his slender height. He had just come from saying a Night Office, and his rosary beads were twisted round his fingers. Instead of frowning and passing by, he stopped and his eyes roved over me: my tumbling hair, my exposed throat and breast; my guilt.
We Speak No Treason Vol 1 Page 15