Moonlight And Shadow

by Isolde Martyn

  “Generous,” sighed Gloucester wearily and Miles could see that although he valued the book there was pain in the acceptance of it.

  “A very learned man, your grace,” Miles remarked, narrowing his eyes urgently at Harry. There had to be some strategy for the morrow and his duke needed to be part of it, not a passive witness.

  Harry brought the grit to the surface. “There is a matter I should like to discuss with you, cousin, but perhaps it should wait until morning.”

  Gloucester was gazing into the tired embers, his foot resting upon the andirons of the hearth. “I have no inclination to go to bed yet. I would not sleep anyway.” Perceptively, he dismissed all of his henchmen save Lord Lovell, and glanced questioningly at his cousin. Harry nodded to Miles and Knyvett to remain.

  And so at last.

  Harry’s fingers brushed against the pigskin book box as if it might help him find the phrases. “Cousin, I did not come laden with costly books, but only—only words of another nature: promises.” He timed the pause and added a caveat, “But I need to discover what you believe of me. You may have always thought that I was one of the Woodville faction. I never have been.” A pensive finger stroked the grained oak. “When I was a boy at Westminster they never lost an opportunity to humiliate me.”

  “You do not have to go through this.” Gloucester glanced at Miles, who had set a comforting hand upon his lord’s shoulder.

  “No, cousin, there are things that have to be said now.” Harry’s blue eyes rose, seeking absolution. “You have not seen me since your brother Clarence’s trial. I want you to know that although I had to pass judgment on him, it was not my wish to deal out such a verdict. The Woodvilles wanted him dead.”

  The skin of Gloucester’s smile was taut as he moved back to the board and emptied the jug into Harry’s goblet. It was some moments before he spoke. “It was the king’s doing as much as the queen’s.” He took a sip from the goblet and watched his kinsman thoughtfully over the rim.

  “There is more. Your brother never gave me the opportunity to serve him. I want you to know that I am prepared to work tirelessly on your behalf if you will give me the chance.” Harry put it so well, a blend of humility and plea that twisted compassion into Gloucester’s lips.

  “Yes, you deserved better, Harry. I do not think my brother treated you fairly.”

  “I want my rights, cousin. I have waited long enough.”

  “You might achieve more by offering the kiss of peace to your wife’s family.”

  Harry rose, finally taking the risk of dwarfing the shorter man. “You know the tale about my marriage. I was ten years old when I spoke out against them and not one of the Woodvilles ever forgave me for it.”

  “Even Rivers?”

  “Even him,” Harry exclaimed bitterly. “You saw how condescending he was to me.”

  Gloucester rubbed a hand across his chin, where a dark shadow of stubble was beginning, and at last came to the business between them. “By Holy Paul, he took a risk riding back to make merry with us. He must be feeling confident. Why is he feeling so confident?”

  “He wants to rule England with the queen,” Harry replied curtly.

  “Must you be right, cousin? He is more brilliant than the others. There is a quality about him. . . .” Miles saw that Gloucester was probing.

  “Oh, come, cousin.” Miles’s duke sidestepped the snare. “Let us not delude ourselves. He is as grasping as the rest. Why, he is virtually master of Wales.”

  “That hurts?” asked Gloucester unkindly.

  It was then Harry forgot all the lessons, all the advice that Miles and Knyvett had crammed into him, for he slammed his cup down and swung full face upon Richard of Gloucester. “Listen, I do not know how much convincing you need, but in my opinion unless you act the soldier tomorrow, you and I shall be caught in a snare like a pair of helpless rabbits. The times are hurly-burly. You are going to have to fight for survival, cousin. If the queen crowns the prince within the month, you will not make old bones and neither will your son.”

  Miles saw mischief flicker in his grace of Gloucester’s eyes and Harry let out a sigh, realizing belatedly that the other duke had already thought it all out.

  “I am tired,” Richard Plantagenet said, rubbing the heels of his hands against his high forehead. “Yes, of course, I have to act soon, but it must be just. I must not appear the aggressor or I shall lose the support of the Royal Council. Do not look so disappointed, all of you. You must understand that to be ratified and remain as lord protector, I need men like Suffolk and Howard behind me too. You will see. It is not so easy.” He paced to the window and glanced through the shutters. “I have to have a good reason to arrest Rivers.”

  At last Miles was at the throat of history, listening to the lord protector discussing arresting the queen’s brother in such a matter-of-fact way. Oh, excellent! And at last Harry had found a strong ally and all Miles’s own plans to edge his lord into the council chamber at Westminster were coming to fruition.

  Harry’s tail was wagging. “Arrest him? What, tonight, while he has so few men with him?” and then he blanched, along with the rest, as they heard the sound of hooves in the yard outside.

  “God ha’ mercy,” exclaimed Lovell, his right hand going to the handle of his sword. Only Gloucester, peering out the chink in the window boards, was calm.

  “Perhaps I have my reason,” he said grimly, moving across to open the door. His henchman, Ratcliffe, thrust back the curtain and a weary horseman followed him in. “Cousin, this is Sir Richard Huddleston, banneret, husband to my lady’s sister.” He bade the knight abandon courtesies and sit. Lovell passed him a cup of ale. The newcomer drank thirstily and wiped his thin lips with the back of his hand.

  “It is as you thought, my lord. The young king’s men are all packed up for an early start with orders to leave at daybreak. Word is they plan to have the boy crowned straightway in London and prevent you becoming Lord Protector.”

  “And numbers, Richard?” asked Gloucester. That was the crux.

  “Sir Richard Grey has brought a large force from London. Far greater than ours but by how much we could not tell in the darkness.”

  Miles turned exultantly to his lord. “Now the wind blows cold.”

  Gloucester thrust his fist against his palm and swung round on Ratcliffe. “Dick, set a cordon about Lord Rivers’s inn and make sure it is done quietly. I do not want him to suspect anything tonight. No one is to leave. At any sign of movement within there, wake me, whatever the hour. Are you happy to leave this to me, Harry?” Buckingham nodded and Miles knew a sense of relief. If matters went awry, Buckingham’s men might wriggle out from beneath the mêlée with their political virginity in tact. “So be it.” Pleased, Gloucester turned to Lovell. “Post guards on every road and footpath out of Northampton. Not one of Rivers’s men must have a chance to warn Grey.” His hand fell on the seated man’s shoulder. “Richard Huddleston, to bed with you!” Then he gave his hand to Harry, Miles, and Knyvett in turn. “Good night to you all. We need to rise early to be at Stony Stratford before light.”

  The walk back to their inn and the sharp smell of danger in the smoky air cleared Miles’s head of wine. Harry was seething with excitement; if the street had not been as quiet as a tomb, he might have whooped.

  “We still need to be careful.” Miles tried to poker the enthusiasm.

  Knyvett grunted assent, adding, “You know what I would do, Harry. Take Ned with you tomorrow. That way if things go amiss at Stony Stratford, you have some cover of goodwill if Grey orders your arrest. Let Gloucester take the blame.”

  “That is good advice. Wake Lady Haute now, and warn her.”

  “Pah, not I!” Knyvett answered. “Had too much plaguey wine to tiptoe. Don’t want to wake the town, do I? Might alert old Rivers.”

  Which was how Miles found himself creeping upstairs like an unfaithful husband. Benet was snoring as loud as a hog across the doorway. A poor watchdog! Miles leaned across without
waking him and lifted the latch quietly.

  Heloise lay fast asleep with the boy curled at her back, their heads silver and gold upon the pillow. No sadness rose in Miles as he stood lonely in the darkness, only the thought that should Heloise have a son, he might one day lie against her back just so like a squirrel kitten. And if their marriage had been otherwise, that son would be his. Gently, Miles stroked a fingertip lightly across her cheek and watched a slender arm free itself from the bedclothes. The glint of light on her eyes told him she had wakened.

  He crouched, his fingers hushing her lips. “There is no panic. I have a message from his grace.” She glanced over her shoulder crossly to see if he had woken Ned. “Heloise, listen. You are to have the boy ready to leave at two hours before dawn. Try to keep him as quiet as possible. We do not want the entire town to hear his tantrums. Sir William will come for you.”

  “If he must.” With an oath, she carefully hoisted herself onto one elbow, brushing her hair back behind her ear, her face close enough to kiss. If he had hoped to see a silken shoulder bared, he was relieved by the undershift; there were enough decisions being made for one night. “Oh, I am so weary of traveling. Keeping him contented is no jest.” It was awkward to draw the covers up across Ned’s tiny chest but she managed.

  “Weary! But, changeling, there is a Northampton coven meeting before lauds. If you are interested, we can share a bonfire. They are initiating the new cauldron.”

  “And you have been ladling from it already, I think. What o’clock is it now, sir?”

  “Midnight.” The lady cursed him.

  “Ah, but I could entertain you until you rise. The bed is warmed and all the lice have already found you and . . .”

  “Enter—” And then she realized he was jesting. “Away with you! Away before you lose your virtue, sir. If I said yes, you would—”

  “Run a mile? In the dark? Perhaps my virtue might be worth the sacrifice. You look extremely desirable.”

  “Go to!” she chided softly, glancing at Ned again.

  “Whatever happens tomorrow, Heloise, take care of the child. Stay with him.”

  “You are being ambiguous, sir. What danger will there be?”

  “You have had no dreams then, lady? I am right glad of that.” He wanted to peel back the sheet and look at her in the starlight—there might be no tomorrow. Only the child’s presence kept him sane. “If Rivers should take us all prisoner tomorrow, best not tell anyone of our handfasting. The Woodvilles are greedy enough to attainder me and take Bramley into their own hands on such a pretext. And if any misfortune happens to me, and well it might, I . . . upon my soul, changeling, I want you to know I am sorry for the suffering your father and I have put you through, and I have written to my sire, urging him to let you take Bramley for a second dowry without dispute. It will help you find a husband by honest means.”

  “You have had too much wine.” Warm fingers touched his forehead. “Thank you.”

  His hand rose to waist her fragile wrist and held it back. “I am not jesting.” Then he raised her hand to his lips. “God keep you, lady.”

  Fourteen

  “Your grace! Sir Miles! Sir William!” Pershall shook the inn bed that held the three of them. “His grace of Gloucester’s man is below.” Memory burst over Miles like a bucket of cold water and he staggered from the bed, doused his face from the ewer, and hurried downstairs, thankful he had gone to bed fully clothed.

  It was the banneret Huddleston, bringer of news from the night before, booted, spurred, and impatient. “Rivers has tried to leave. His grace requests my lord of Buckingham attend him. I trust that is not a problem?”

  So it was to be a song in unison after all.

  Miles was in attendance on both dukes when they visited Rivers. The earl was caged at his inn, pacing in his dressing robe, his hair retousled to lend him innocence. The air hung stale save for the expensive musk and sweat emanating from him.

  “My lords,” he exclaimed, “what can you mean by this? My servants have just roused me in panic saying the place is surrounded by your men and none of us are allowed to set foot outside the door.”

  “Yes,” said Gloucester.

  Rivers opened his mouth, fishlike, and shut it again. There was an uncomfortable silence while Gloucester’s brooding countenance waited for the man to damn himself.

  “So you do not trust me. I do not believe it! I ride back fourteen poxy miles out of love and brotherhood and this is my thanks. What has happened since last night, Gloucester? Has Buckingham and his crony here been spewing poison about me into your ears?” Miles’s blood chilled beneath Rivers’s stare, and the single candle sputtered at the spittle from the man’s vindictive breath. “I should wear good armor on my back if I were you, my lord protector!”

  Miles swiftly moved around the trestle to defend Harry, but Gloucester slammed the table and rasped out: “You were in full riding gear earlier and you gave orders to your men last night to quit Northampton before we were astir. Deny it and there are sufficient witnesses to make a liar of you.”

  Calmer, Rivers shrugged. “I am sorry that it has come to this and that you have misinterpreted my good intentions. I always considered you a just man, Dickon.”

  “You shall have your justice.” Gloucester turned to the men-at-arms thronging the open doorway. “Hold him fast here until you receive further orders!”

  “You would not dare!” hissed Rivers, making play of his superior height, the perfect face marred with a sneer. “I have a letter here that your brother wrote to me a full month before he died. Read it! I have full powers to escort the prince to London with as many men as I choose.”

  Gloucester took the paper he held out and scanned it at the candle flame. “It says here ‘if need be.’ There is no need!” He handed it to Harry, who thrust it into the consuming flame. “Come, cousin, we have to meet the king.” He strode out.

  With a grin at Miles, Harry bestowed a fulsome smile upon his very articulate brother-in-law standing there in the last of his glory, ridiculous among the scoured, coarse trestles. “Adieu, Anthony. You see I am not the village idiot you always thought me.”

  Rivers made no reply, no cutting or foolhardy jest, but just stared, expressionless, at Harry. Then finally he looked at Miles and his face unfroze. “Is this your doing? Did you prod this snail out of his shell?” he sneered. “Harry here”—he reached out to cuff the duke as though he were a servant—“young Harry always needed a nursemaid.”

  The duke ducked back, his hand going to his sword, but Miles grabbed his arm. “Leave him, your grace!”

  “See, Rushden, he is spineless.” The mocking face was bitter, showing age at last. “We all knew that at Westminster. Spineless.”

  UPON HIS DESTRIER, HIS MANTLE’S MASSIVE COLLAR RAISED against the chill, Gloucester looked like a man about to take his rightful place as lord protector. It was as well, thought Miles, as they mounted up to quit the town before dawn; the worst danger lay ahead at Stony Stratford.

  Spurring down the line with a lighted torch to ensure that Ned was with the Stafford retinue, he found Heloise mounted beside Knyvett, her cheeks still creased with sleepiness and the boy a thumb-sucking, sleepy curl in front of her.

  “You have done well, Lady Haute.” Easing Traveller back, he signaled to Harry, and the entourage set off down Bridge Street to cross the Nene River.

  Done well! Heloise growled silently as he left her. What in God’s name was this about? She could smell their fear. Where was Lord Rivers? Why would no one riding close give her a proper answer? God’s mercy, why this journey on such a churned-up road before daylight in the drizzle?

  They made poor progress. Ned grew peevish as the sky lightened, distracting Heloise so bitterly with his complaints that she hardly noted the causeway and the bridge leading the weary procession into Stony Stratford. It was the smoky air and yeasty aroma of fresh bread clawing at her empty belly that alerted her. The White Horse, she thought, lifting her drooping shoulders, an
inn she had sometimes breakfasted at on provisions trips when her mother was alive. But now?

  “Jesu mercy!” Grim and tight-lipped, Sir William grabbed Cloud’s reins, keeping Heloise and the boy tightly within the duke’s bodyguard.

  “Amen,” she agreed in appalled astonishment, for ahead of them, the entire high street from one end of the town to the other was perilously filled with foot soldiers. The mutter of “Lord Rivers” mistakenly ran ahead of them, and the Woodville men standing in half-armor, with their scallop badges the only gleam about them, looked up bewildered as the Gloucester and Stafford heralds forced their horses through.

  “What’s happening?” shrilled Ned, sensing the tension in Heloise’s tightening arms as her horse was drawn forward with the rest. She calmed the child but all around them the ordinary people’s minds were emanating terror. It was close to panic in the horsemen protecting her. If the Woodville foot soldiers pulled them from their saddles. . . Ned should not be here. It was wrong to use a child.

  The muttering grew. Urgently the townsfolk began pushing their way out, away from the soldiers. Faces crammed the upper open windows of the merchants’ houses—women’s faces, lined by fear. Heloise anxiously craned to see where the prince might be. The Swan with Two Necks would have been her wager, but they rode in silence past it. The lack of cheering had become terrifying.

  In Horse Market, beneath the lily and leopard standards and the damp pennons drooping with sunnes, white lions, and falcons perched in fetterlocks, the prince was already on his horse. Whoever they had been waiting for, it was not the dukes, for consternation panicked the faces of the men about the twelve-year-old. A blond man in his twenties—Heloise guessed he must be Sir Richard Grey, the queen’s son by her first marriage—froze as he recognized Gloucester, his complexion turning yellow and sour like expiring milk. Had the young man been of greater rank or more experienced, he might have ordered his escort to sever the two dukes from their retinues. Instead he hesitated and it was a tall, portly bishop in a broad-brimmed hat who kneed his horse forward to blithely offer greeting. The prince’s other officers followed the bid for peace, but they looked as guilty as a queue of felons lined up for hanging.