Fortunes of the Heart (39 page)

Remembering my father like that made me cry, and I pulled
the meagre blankets over my head so as not to awaken Father Anselm. A soldier’s
son sees his father rarely, but I had loved him. He’d been as handsome as my
mother was pretty, and his visits had meant fun, merrymaking, with Mother in
her best clothes and happy. When he came back from Ireland Father had ridden in
unannounced, a troop of men-at-arms at his back – for he was on his way to
Yorkshire with the Duke – and when I forgot my manners and ran to hug him he
swept me up in his arms and held me for a long time. That night, the only night
he could stop with us, he told us of the flight from Ludlow, the urgent
conferences as they decided that Edward and his uncle and cousin should go to
Calais while the Duke and Edmund made for Ireland. To me it had been an
adventure more exciting than any legend, and I’d been disappointed when the
talk became serious and my father spoke of the Duke claiming the throne.
Evidently that was a shocking matter, for my mother made a dubious mouth and
spoke of the Duke’s loyalty to King Henry. Father had said, Yes, but... and
went on to speak of the King’s unfitness to rule while his wife led the country
to ruin.
 
‘... after all,’ he had said, ‘York
has the right by descent.’ It was dull stuff to me, and I fell asleep on my
father’s lap while they were arguing.

Remembering that little domestic scene made me sharply
aware, as if for the first time, that the world I’d known had ended. My parents
were dead. My home was destroyed. All because Queen Margaret was a vindictive,
foolish woman who’d made an enemy of the Duke of York. Quite how or why she had
done so was beyond me. It was simply knowledge I had absorbed with my
wet-nurse’s milk. Queen Margaret had come here from France sixteen years ago to
marry our king and, ignorant of England, had made friends with the wrong
people. The Duke of York was the king’s cousin and the mainstay of the crown,
yet the Queen had feared and hated him from the outset. He had been a kind man,
and now he was dead. And, with him gone, Queen Margaret was laying her adopted
country waste.

But Edward would stop her. He had already won a battle
against her army, back in July, at Northampton. He was eighteen, and although I
had never seen him I knew he was tall, and clever, and a brilliant soldier, a
hero like – like – I groped sleepily for the tales my mother used to tell me –
like Alexander, or Sir Galahad, or... In a confused blur of armoured figures I
fell asleep.

~~~

Well, on the next day a horse was found – perhaps better not
ask where from – the villagers lent a few coins, and we set out the following
morning. Down the road I asked Father Anselm to stop at our manor. He said we
should not, that it would distress me, but I insisted.

There is nothing so sad as a burnt-out house. It had been a
snug manor, not large or particularly grand, but handsome enough. It had been
built some hundred years before, laid out on the usual plan: hall and
stillroom, a solar, kitchen and buttery behind, and four rooms above. My mother
had put glass in the front windows, made a knot-garden, added the luxury of a
stool-room. All gone, now. The main walls still stood, and the chimneystack and
the central beam of seasoned oak, but the roof and staircase had burnt away;
only a shell was left. The outbuildings and stables had been of wattle and
daub, and must have burnt like tinder. Of course our horses had gone, and the
house cow, and Mother’s hens and the pigs.

Passing through what had been the front door, I shuffled
through the ashes to the chimneypiece. There I moved a certain brick, and saw
with a surge of triumph that the Lancastrians hadn’t found this hiding place.
The little coffer was intact. Inside were a bundle of letters, my father’s
emerald ring, my mother’s jewels and a purse holding five gold nobles and a
handful of silver coins; finally, in a paper: a curl of fine baby hair which
must have been my own. My inheritance.

I tugged the lacing cord from my shirt, threaded it through
Father’s ring, and hung it around my neck. Then I hitched the coffer under my
arm and let Father Anselm help me back onto the horse. I didn’t look back as we
rode away.

~~~

Being on the road to Edward cheered me, for I had no idea
how foolhardy the scheme was. Only a child and a naive country priest could
have tried it, or had the blind luck to succeed.

But succeed we did. By evening of the second day our tired
horse shambled into the outskirts of a market town, and it was clear that we’d
found Edward’s army. The streets were full of men-at-arms in the Falcon and
Fetterlock
badge of York, or Edward’s Sun in Splendour. I’d
never heard such noise: men shouting, horses whinnying, townsfolk crying their
wares, bedraggled children screaming with laughter as they got underfoot, a man
in half-armour swearing as he detailed a group of archers. There were a lot of
pretty ladies about, and although my mother had worn a little face-paint on
grand occasions I’d never seen such rouged lips or darkened eyes, or such vivid
shades of blonde or red hair. One lady, sidling past in a gust of violet scent
and bouncing bosoms, winked and said something about Half price for the Church,
big boy. I thought it a very kind offer, whatever she was selling, but the back
of Father Anselm’s neck went scarlet and he spurred the poor horse quickly on.

The problem now was to find Edward, but Father Anselm said
that the thing to do was to ask at the best inn. ‘If Lord March isn’t lodging
there, someone will know where he’ll be. Now sit up straight and don’t look
about.’

The inn was not at all like our village alehouse. I looked
in surprise at the handsome, spreading building with its timbered front. Light
shone cheerfully from every window, and I heard singing and gales of laughter.
We went into what the Father called ‘the ordinary’ – a room like a hall, with
long tables and booths where men sat with more pretty ladies like those
outside, and with the unexpectedly domestic touch of copper pans on the walls
and settles pulled up to the fire. The entrance of a priest and a child brought
a hush. Some hundred men stared blankly at us for a moment, and the ladies’
laughter stopped. A serving maid, her hands full of a dozen mugs, bobbed a
curtsy, saying, ‘’help you, Father?’

‘I seek the Earl of March – the young Duke of York. Is he
lodged here, or could someone tell me where to find him?’

A man who’d been warming his feet by the fire rose stiffly
and came over to us. He wore a soldier’s leather jacket over a woollen jerkin
bearing the York insignia. His face was square and kindly, and he looked as if
he hadn’t slept for a week.

‘You want His Grace the Duke of York? May I ask your
business?’

‘It is private business, sir; a family matter.’

The man’s eyes moved with impatient courtesy from Father
Anselm to me. A frown pleated his brow, then he snapped his fingers as at a
puzzle solved. ‘Surely you are Sir Martin
Robsart’s
son?’ All my life people had remarked on how much I resembled my father. I
nodded. Father Anselm murmured something, and the man said, ‘Yes, Edward lodges
here. Look, we’d better speak in private. I’m Hastings, by the way, William
Hastings, a friend of His Grace’s as well as one of his captains. Come
through.’ He led us out into a staircase passage, gesturing kindly for us to
sit on a bench. ‘Now, what has happened? What is Sir Martin’s son doing here?’

Father Anselm told him, and his tired face took on deeper
creases. ‘That whoreson Lancastrian bitch – saving your cloth, Father; my
pardon – we’re hearing this tale from everywhere. The Queen’s letting her army
run riot, she’s treating England like conquered territory. You’d think she
wanted to turn people against her, and against the King in whose name these
things are done. They have even sacked and despoiled churches!’ Father Anselm
exclaimed in shock. ‘Oh yes, Father, nothing is safe, nothing is sacred. Women
– women and children killed, houses burned, towns pillaged... Martin, you poor
boy, you have my sympathy; I knew your father well, and I believe I once met
your mother.

‘Now, Edward is lodging here, as I said, but whether he’s come
in yet or is still at the camp... Wait here, please.’

Tired, and content to have reached journey’s end, I leaned
against the priest, and he had to shake me awake when Hastings returned and
bade us go upstairs.

The panelled bedchamber was full of light. Branched
candlesticks stood everywhere, the light shining on the metal of armour, on the
crimson-hung bed, on the golden hair of the man who rose to greet us. I had
never seen him, but I knew him at once. He was just as I’d been told, his
handsome face the image of his mother’s. He was the biggest man I had ever
seen, a full hand-span more than two yards high, and with a deep, strong chest.
We had interrupted his toilet, for servants were emptying a bathing tub, the
ends of his hair were wet and he was fastening the buttons of a dark blue gown.

‘Your Grace – ’ Father Anselm began, but Edward hushed him
with a gesture and knelt down in front of me. He put his hands on my shoulders,
looking gently into my eyes. His were grey, with little golden flecks.

‘So you are Martin. Yes, you’ve a great look of both your
parents, may God assoil them. Welcome, cousin.’ He kissed my cheek and then my
mouth. And that did it – to my utter shame I burst into tears. Edward lifted me
in his arms and sat down by the fire, cradling me on his lap. After a while he
put a handkerchief into my hand, saying, ‘At Ludlow I had some practice looking
after boys. Richard often spoke of you, he missed you when you left
Fotheringhay
. Do you remember him and George? And
Margaret?’

‘Oh yes,’ I whooped. ‘I missed Richard too. All of them, but
he was my special friend.’

‘So he told me. Come on, big blow then we’ll talk.’ I had a
big blow, mopped my eyes, and babbled out the whole story. Edward had heard it
from Hastings, of course, but he listened gravely, patting me from time to
time.

‘A horrible thing,’ he said at last. ‘Never before in
England have innocent people had to pay the price of great men’s quarrels. I’m
sorry, Martin. There’s nothing I can say – except that your mother is in God’s
keeping. Cling to that.’

‘Yes. Yes. But... Your Grace? Edward?’

‘Yes?’

‘Why did Mother say to the soldiers, ‘Not in front of the
boy’? They took her inside then, what did they do?’

Hastings made a sound in his throat, but Edward said flatly,
‘Those men weren’t soldiers, Martin, except in name. They were cowardly brutes,
they were scum who’d run from an armed man but can be very brave with a woman
and a child. They wanted to rob your house, loot it and burn it. Your mother
didn’t want you to see that.’

‘Oh, I see. Yes. Edward, I mean Your Grace, sir – ’

‘Oh no, cousins need not be formal, you shall call me
Edward. What is it?’

‘The Queen’s men said my father was dead, and the Duke, your
father... ’

I knew, of course; there was no hope left to die when he
said gently, ‘Yes, I’m afraid it is true. They were up at Sandal Castle, near
Wakefield, you know? There was some sort of Christmas truce agreed between the
Queen’s force and my father’s, but the Lancastrians swooped down on the castle
when our men were out gathering firewood or something. Your father died with
mine, fighting bravely like the good soldier he was. He is buried at Wakefield
with all honour, that I do know.’ He swallowed, and tears filmed his eyes. ‘My
father was killed, and my brother Edmund, and my uncle Lord Salisbury and his
son Thomas. A royal fellowship of death.’

Greatly daring, I put my arms around his neck and kissed
him. He returned the hug, holding me tightly, then set me on my feet.

‘You were right to come to me, and I thank this good Father
for seeing you safely here. But I’m moving south tomorrow, the enemy army is
reported not far away – I think I had better send you to my mother, hadn’t I?’

‘Oh yes please, Edward. If Her Grace won’t mind? I’ve no one
else now, you see.’

‘Of course she won’t mind! Had she known, she would have
sent for you; you’re our kinsman and your home is with us now. Well, let’s see.
I’ll dispatch you tomorrow, with a troop to see you safe. And you, Father? Are
you for London too, or will you return home?’ The priest looked wistful for a
moment, but said he had to go home. ‘Tomorrow, then, and be sure I’ll send you
with an escort. And I’ll take it kindly if you’ll allow me to make some small
gift to your church? Excellent! Now, you’ll sup with me? It’s almost time.’

In fact the servants were carrying the meal in as he spoke,
and with greedy eyes I watched the damask cloth being spread and the bread cut
for trenchers. Despite winter shortages the town was doing its ducal guest
well: there was a big raised pie, an almond soup, winter salad, fritters, a
whole baked fish, braised beef, wafers, cheese. I hadn’t tasted
demain
bread, fresh and white, since I left
Fotheringhay
. I could have wolfed the lot, but for Mother’s
sake I was careful about my manners, using my knife daintily and taking care
not to drip juices in the spice-dishes. After one incredulous look at the food,
Father Anselm too cast the sin of gluttony into the category of tomorrow’s
penance and ate till his ribs squeaked.

After the meal Edward had the bathing-tub brought back, and
I bathed there before his fire; long overdue, I may say, for I’d had no more
than a cat-lick wash since Mother died. I had no clean clothes, but the squires
wrapped me in one of Edward’s shirts, which came down to my ankles, and lent me
a warm furry gown. Edward had carefully given me two cups of wine with supper,
and I was sleepy and content when at last he rose saying he had to meet with
some of his commanders. I managed to thank Father Anselm (both of him; perhaps
I should have watered the wine), and say farewell to him properly and then the
squires pulled out the truckle bed and I knew nothing more till morning.