Death Be Pardoner To Me: The Life of George, Duke of Clarence (20 page)

Chapter 21

In the guest chamber at Warwick Castle, George lay awake, staring up at an unfamiliar pattern on the bed hangings, listening to familiar yet unfamiliar sounds. A castle is a castle, he told himself, stone floors, stone walls, rushes, men and dogs, but somehow Warwick sounded different from any other he had stayed in or lived in. Just how different could it be? No other castle –

“Sire, can I get aught for you?”

A tremulous voice, a hesitant squire, aware of George’s lack of sleep, standing bleary-eyed and weary by his bed.

“A mazer of malmsey would settle my stomach, I think. Then get you back to sleep, young man, there is much to do in the morrow.”

“Sire.”

George was alone again. He didn’t need the wine but he did need to sleep and it just might help. If it didn’t, he would have to call his physician and ask for a sleeping draught of some kind.

The knot of nerves in his stomach did not need settling as much as untangling, as did his thoughts.

What had his brother the king been thinking of? How could he have allowed himself to be taken prisoner by Warwick? How could he have allowed the others to ride away from him and let Hastings, Rivers, Wydeville and his brother of Gloucester just leave him to walk into his enemy’s hands? Was it a trick? Was it one of his devious moves, give in and then fight back? It was so unlike his brother to just give in. But then again, Warwick had commented several times that Edward had not shown any urgency in dealing with their highly successful uprising. It almost gave George confidence that he would indeed be king, that Warwick would find a way of deposing Ned, of using the bastardy claim against him to make him abdicate. The thought often occurred, Edward a bastard, the son of a common archer and one of the highest ladies in the land.

But there the twisted thoughts came back on themselves. Our lady mother would never stoop so low. Our lady mother adored and worshipped her husband and each child was a cherished Plantagenet, a worthy heir to the York name. The bastardy claim was no more than another vicious rumour set in place by those who would damage the Yorks in any way they could. So Edward was born in Rouen, did that make a difference? The fact he did not have a big baptismal ceremony, did that mean the family were ashamed of him? Go ask my lady mother for her comments on this, see how far you get! Ah but it was a useful weapon that I might need one day!

“Sire?” There was the unwanted but oddly welcome malmsey being held out to him by a squire almost falling asleep on his feet.

“Thank you. Be gone to your bed now.”

He sat up in the bed and drank the wine, surprised how quickly he drained it, surprised at how little effect it had. I must be careful, he told himself; it would seem I am too used to the drink these days. But oh it is refuge from the raging world that seeks to trample in my footprints, to stamp its authority on my life where I should be stamping my authority on the world around me. Why does nothing go as it is planned?

The uprising did, a small voice inside hinted quietly.

Yes, but of a surety it will not last. I cannot see this acquiescent Ned remaining quietly as a prisoner here. I cannot see my cousin of Warwick ruling England. I can see myself ruling England and the first thing I will do is to deprive the dreaded and dreadful Wydevilles of their titles and their land. And I will give that land to –

It was as if someone had crept up and hit him over the head very violently. One moment he was thinking, the next he was blinking open reluctant eyes to bright sunshine and the smiling face of his Fool.

“Ah, the dreamer awakes!”

“Durian.” George struggled up in the bed, pushing his long hair back with a tired hand. The sleep had not refreshed him at all. “What be the hour?”

“Sire, you have missed Terce and Sexto.”

“What of-” George fell back against the pillows, trying to drag his sleep-scattered thoughts into coherent order and failing.

He watched from under lowered lids as Durian made what was almost a magic trick of sliding the mazer out of sight. I must have dropped it or it rolled from the bed during the night, he thought. I must break my dependency on the drink, or it will be the death of me. He grinned suddenly at the thought. There would be worse ways to go than losing yourself in drink and not knowing what was happening. Of a surety that would be better than facing the prospect of living one moment, dying the next.

“Durian, do you believe in life after death?” he asked suddenly, wondering why he was asking and whether he would get an honest answer. He need not have feared on that point. Durian, as ever, divined his master’s thought processes.

“I do, sire.”

“Have you proof?”

“Ha! You want proof? I can tell you I see shades around you at times, I watch them hover over you, ministering to your needs, Your Grace. I can tell you they are there but do you believe me? I would say not, for there is no way I can prove it to you.”

“I think I am-”

“Overly fond of the malmsey wine. I know that, sire, and I would wish it were not so.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“Stop drinking?”

George burst into laughter and then wished he hadn’t, the noise seemed to rebound around his head and burst out of his ears.

“God’s teeth, but that hurts!”

“Does Your Grace need any more reason to decline the offer of wine when it is offered?”

“It would seem an insult to one’s host to refuse.”

“Maybe it would, but Your Grace asked for advice on how to break the fondness for the wine and I merely offered a solution.”

“I need-”

George struggled to the edge of the bed and sat holding his face in both hands as if it were about to fall off and break on the flags at his suddenly cold feet.

“Come.” Durian helped him to his feet and somehow got him to the garderobe, standing back politely as George relieved himself of what felt like several flagons of fluid. What a waste, he told himself peevishly, watching the arcing stream. What an unbelievable waste.

He turned back to Durian who was holding out his mantle, surely knowing he would feel cold after the warmth of the down mattress. “Sometimes I think you make a better squire than those I employ to take care of me, Durian,” he muttered, clutching the edges of the mantle around him as he walked back toward the bed.

“They only work for you, sire, they do not carry affection for you,” Durian said quietly and George nodded. It was that which made the difference. Only affection spoke of another person’s needs without their having to express it in the form of a request or a command. He sat down and closed his eyes against the light.

“Do you have word of my brother the king? How he fares in captivity?” His eyes blinked open and he stared at Durian, trying to stop the room from going around by concentrating on one thing.

Durian laughed. “You make him sound like a fierce animal entrapped for the first time, sire!” He stopped laughing and looked at George. “In Christ’s name, so he is! You saw that and I did not! I must be slipping!” He dismissed the squire who was patiently waiting for orders. “I will attend to His Grace this morning. Be gone and get yourself some food.”

The young man bowed and, with a relieved look, smiled at George and hurried away.

Durian brought a bowl of water over and began George’s morning shave, talking as he did so.

“I did not see it. I think of him as the Rose of Rouen still, not as the Lion of London which he, of a surety, is these days, standing against the earl as he has, but I ask you, sire, what happened with your brother the king these days before he was captured? It was as if he did not foresee the insurrections before his eyes when all others knew of it and he was told of it and yet-”

“I would like to think it was that he could not and would not believe I would turn against him,” George said solemnly. “He might have believed it of our cousin of Warwick but his own brother?”

“Could I ask Your Grace-”

“Why I turned against my own brother?”

Durian smiled as he helped George with his clothes. “No. It is not a question I would ask of you for I doubt you truly know the answer yourself: it is made up of many things, resentment from childhood, being set aside in later life, being ignored in matters of state and responsibility – need I go on?”

“No.” George stared at the floor, wondering if it was actually tilting or just looked that way. I need to curb the drinking, he told himself again. It’s important. He looked up, with an effort. “So, what did you want to ask me, Durian?”

“How does it feel to hold the king of England prisoner?”

“Disregarding the fact that the king happens to be my blood relation, quite extraordinary, although at this moment my head does not wish to contain any feelings whatsoever. It contains nothing whatsoever, as it happens, outside of a dull ache.”

He stood up, settling his feet into his boots whilst running a hand through his hair, smoothing and ruffling it at the same time.

“Is there word of my lady wife, Durian? How fares she whilst I have been in battle and in breach of my matrimonial duties?”

“The duchess is well, learning her duties, learning the names of all who are in your home, sire. Do not give the Lady Isobel a moment of worrisome thought, but turn your mind to that which is ahead of you, a conference with your cousin of Warwick and decisions to make regarding your brother the king. Of a surety these decisions would be easier were you not blood related to the people concerned!”

The door opened and Peke entered just as Durian spoke. He nodded his agreement. “Your Fool speaks well, Your Grace, it would be easier for you if you were not related to the king, for a start!”

“But I am.” George sighed and put both hands to his head. “I am and I know it makes everything much more difficult. Life is difficult. I am not at all certain of our future, I wish I could be.”

The door was closed on eavesdroppers. Peke held out a letter he had drafted on George’s instruction, creating new positions in his household. George glanced at it, groaned as his eyes failed to focus clearly on Peke’s impeccable handwriting, handed it back and gestured to take it away. “I will deal with it later. Right now I cannot see properly.”

“Your Grace has a long and tiresome day ahead of him,” Peke said formally.

George snorted. “Peke, no one is here but Durian and myself. Speak freely! God’s teeth, I cannot stand this ache!”

“I’ll ask your physician for a draught for you, sire.”

“Shortly, Durian, shortly. For the moment, let me try and concentrate, with your help, on what Peke is trying to say to me.”

“Your cousin of Warwick is elated at his capture, sire, but you cannot allow this elation to blind him, or yourself, to the decisions which need to be made. Are you going to make an effort to dislodge your brother from the throne of England and assume that role yourself? Are you about to take on Parliament and the country?”

“What is your understanding of how Warwick sees the situation, Peke?”

The narrow face drew lines of thought from brow to jawline. George waited, prepared to stand as long as it took for the ache to recede and Peke to formulate his thoughts. They were invariably worth waiting for.

“I believe Warwick sees great glory ahead, sire, but I also believe he knows the inherent dangers of what is about to transpire. Your brother the king, of a surety, will not be held for long before he begins to roar his unhappiness and God knows that man can roar when he wishes!”

“I referred to him as a lion earlier, I think.” George looked at Durian. “Well, one of us did, anyway.”

“So, decisions need to be taken, sire, whether you are ready for them or not.”

“You’re right, Peke. Maybe I’ll feel better with food in my stomach, to settle the acid left over from last night. I knew my cousin could drink but I never knew he could drink that much and still remain coherent!”

“Come, sire, it is time…”

It was time. His return to the world of politics and decision-making was long overdue, while he had slept life had carried on, possibly decisions were made without his knowledge. It would not do. The drinking would have to be cut back somehow. A vow he made again to himself and wondered if he could sustain it.

“Durian, get my physician to make up that draught for me, would you? Peke, I have a thought, before we leave this chamber and others might hear us. Could you possibly arrange for someone to water my wine? I know this is sacrilege and it pains me as much as the ache in my head does to even suggest it but I can act drunk with the best of them if I have to. I just do not want to be drunk.”

Peke looked at him closely, then nodded. “I understand. You wish to remain in control. In that I see a hint of your brother of Gloucester, sire, who also wishes to remain in control. I also believe he does the same thing, allows his wine to be watered without others knowing of it so he can appear to be drinking with them but is taking half the amount they are.”

“I didn’t know that,” George muttered as they walked out of the room. “I didn’t know that but am glad to hear it. At last I can say I share something with my brother of Gloucester.”

Now, he thought, let me share something with my cousin of Warwick, words to ensure that the future of the kingdom is placed firmly in my hands. And to hell with Ned’s feelings!