Red Rose, White Rose (21 page)

Now I shrugged off his defiance. ‘Oh, I could make you do it, Harry, I assure you, but as it happens I expect you to do it of your own accord. The duchess is bound to hear of the drama from the boys, and she will ask why it was Tom Neville who had to rescue Edmund from a ducking in the horse pond.’

I had thought it impossible but Harry’s scowl deepened and he made a one-fingered gesture showing his opinion of his fellow-squire. ‘Tom Neville is an arse-licking crawler,’ he snarled. ‘And you are both Yorkist scum!’

This last jibe caused a flurry of oppositional mutterings among his fellow gamblers and I noticed that whilst all attention had been on my altercation with Harry, the card sharp pedlar had hefted his pack and slunk out of sight.

‘As you are living in York’s household I do not think it is in your best interests to insult Yorkists, Harry. And, by the way, if you thought your stake money was safe you were wrong. I think you will find the man who holds it has scarpered.’

Harry suddenly found himself at one with the rest of the house-carls who had left a considerable stack of coin on the barrel and now suddenly realized that the whole lot, along with the sleight-of-hand pedlar, had disappeared. While they all scattered in search of him and their money, I turned on my heel and strode off towards my quarters in the castle gatehouse, thinking to refresh myself and my attire before seeking admittance to Cicely’s chamber to hear the latest news. However, passing by the kennel I encountered an excited Edmund emerging into the sunshine with Tom Neville, a wide grin splitting his childish face.

‘Look, Uncle Cuthbert! Tom says I can have this puppy for my very own.’

Curled up in the curve of his two small hands lay a tiny rust-coloured puppy, its twitching pink nose and tightly closed eyes showing little resemblance to the long-snouted, keen-eyed deer-hound it would become.

‘That is very generous of him, Edmund,’ I said. ‘A well-bred puppy like that can fetch a pretty price.’ I glanced enquiringly up at Tom, who was close behind the little boy, keeping a wary eye on the safety of the fragile pup.

The squire shrugged. ‘Edmund has promised to train him carefully. They should both be ready to go hunting by the time he is a full-grown dog.’

‘And Edward has not got a dog to hunt with,’ Edmund added triumphantly.

‘What has Edward not got?’ The older boy had wandered up behind me, returning from the stables.

Edmund’s grin faded and I hoped Edward would not spoil his delight by making a negative remark. It was a hope quickly confounded.

‘Is that one of Tom’s deerhound pups?’ the older boy asked indignantly. ‘There is no point in you having one of those, Edmund, when you will not be allowed to hunt for years, but I will train it for you if you like. Our lord father says I may go hunting now that I can ride a bigger pony.’

This was news to me but it was quite likely that Edward’s exceptionally long legs made it possible for him to graduate to a mount large enough to keep up with the deer hunt.

‘No!’ Edmund nearly dropped the pup in his distress. ‘Do not let Edward train my dog, Tom. He will make it
his!
’

Tom quickly supported the lad’s little hands with their precious burden in his own callused palms. ‘Of course Edward is not going to train your pup, Edmund. Perhaps he will get a hound of his own if he is going to be allowed to hunt. Now let us put the pup back with his dam while you decide what name you will give him.’

Edward watched his brother and cousin go back into the kennel. ‘I wonder if Tom would let me have one of Mab’s pups as well,’ he mused aloud. ‘The hunt master says the sire is the best hound in the pack.’

Despite knowing how it annoyed him, I ruffled his hair. ‘Well you can ask him, Edward, but prepare to be disappointed,’ I said, grinning as he jerked his head away crossly. ‘It sounds as if you will soon be having a new pony so it is only fair if Edmund gets a puppy.’

To his credit Edward accepted this notion and looked excited, as if the prospect of a new pony had not occurred to him. ‘Do you really think I will be given a new pony, Uncle Cuthbert?’

‘I would say it is inevitable since you grow at such a pace nephew. You already come up to my elbow and how old are you?’

‘I am six and a quarter,’ he replied proudly. ‘My lady mother says I take after my grandsire, her father. He was very tall.’

‘He was indeed. The Earl of Westmorland was my father too but I did not grow as tall as him. You have his grey eyes as well.’

Edward stared at me hard. ‘Your eyes are not grey, Uncle, they are pale blue.’

‘Are they?’ I gave a harsh laugh. ‘Well, I am a Neville and yet not a Neville, so to speak. But you are all Neville.’

A flush of indignation seemed to make Edward look even taller. ‘No, I am a Plantagenet. My father told me so. Plantagenet is a royal name.’

I was about to tell him that he should not forget his Neville heritage when Edmund skipped out of the kennel, announcing, ‘I am going to call my puppy Orion, Edward.’ He looked pleased with himself. ‘Orion the hunter.’

Edward’s lip curled. ‘How original!’ he said.

Fotheringhay Castle, June 1448

Cicely

M
aud Willoughby had been staying with me at Fotheringhay for more than a month and I dreaded the day she would be obliged to return to her own life. She reminded me greatly of my childhood friend and companion Hilda Copley. How I wished I had taken the precaution of arranging a suitable marriage for Hilda to a member of my household whilst I had the power to do so. But I had scarcely had the chance, she had been so abruptly removed from my company by her objectionable brother when he took affinity with the Westmoreland Nevilles after my mother’s death and obliged her to marry a rich merchant from York, far from young, to whom he owed money. The few letters Hilda had sent to me over the years gave the impression of a loveless union and I feared that running his household and children was a burden that even she, with her almost boundless energy and spirit, found hard to bear. I bitterly regretted her situation. Maud bore no physical resemblance to Hilda, being fair and slender rather than dark and curvy, but she was a good friend, lively and amusing with her storytelling and ability to invent games all the children wanted to play.

Edward and Edmund excitedly recounted their adventures at the horse pond to Maud and me as we gathered in the ante chamber before dinner. I would have scolded but Maud teased them both while managing to make it clear which she thought right and which wrong, and I was grateful, as often before, for her light-hearted touch with them. ‘I would congratulate the bold leader,’ she said, aiming a smile at Edward, then pausing halfway through a bow and a flourish, ‘but one that leaves his follower behind rather ceases to be a leader, does he not?’ She winked at Edward and turned to Edmund. ‘And a follower who keeps climbing when he cannot see how to get down is brave but rather foolish I would say. It sounds like Tom Neville was the hero of the hour.’

The young man in question had just arrived, late and looking flustered. His flush deepened noticeably as Maud spoke his name. It seemed his feelings had not changed in his absence. My nephew Tom had sought every opportunity to be in Maud’s company since she arrived but I was not perturbed; beautiful though she was, Maud was a level-headed young lady. A year ago she had become the second wife of one of Richard’s oldest vassals and most experienced advisers, Robert Willoughby, Baron of Eresby, who was presently in London with Richard, giving him much-needed support in his battles with the king and council. On their return I knew she would be obliged to leave with him for his Lincolnshire estates. He had only one daughter, whose mother had died, and had married a much younger second wife so that she might bear a son to inherit his barony. I was certain Maud would be careful to allow no shred of doubt to be cast over its siring. She had confessed to me that she found the physical side of her marriage an unpleasant duty, but at the same time she was only too aware that the birth of such an heir would greatly enhance her own position. Yearn though he might to engage Maud’s affections, Tom’s youthful ardour would be better focused on another. I made a mental note to discuss a possible candidate with his father, my brother Hal, at a suitable moment.

Meanwhile I had another matter on my mind. ‘Why was it Tom Neville who had to help you down from the tree, Edmund?’ I asked. ‘Who should have been looking out for you?’

My son shuffled his feet awkwardly and would not meet my gaze. ‘I – I am not sure …’

Edward shot him a scornful look and said outright, ‘It was Cousin Harry, lady mother. He was on guard duty.’

My heart sank. When it came to dealing with young Harry Holland, I preferred to let Richard handle it. The lad had no respect for women and could be unbearably coarse and rude, even in front of others. Valuable though the wardship was, offsetting at least some of the debt owed to him by the royal exchequer, I fervently wished Richard had left it alone. The question of Harry’s marriage was one of the matters he had gone to Westminster to settle with the king, with what result I dared hardly think about.

I could see no sign of the rebellious squire when the steward gave the signal that the hall was ready for our entrance, but while people were scrambling for seats he appeared on the dais before me and bent his knee. Little notice was taken from below the salt because it was part of a squire’s training for knighthood to learn and perform all the hosting duties of a great household and they were always bobbing up and down at the high table with bowls and napkins, flagons and cups.

‘Have you something you wish to say to me, Harry?’ I enquired.

Harry Holland’s hazel eyes flashed up to meet mine, laced with an alarming measure of dislike. ‘I have nothing to say to you, my lady, but I am told I must beg your forgiveness for letting your sons do what all boys will do, given the chance.’

‘Indeed? I find it difficult to forgive a misdeed I am unaware of, apparently perpetrated by someone who has nothing to say to me. Cast a little more light on the matter, if you please.’ I found it well nigh impossible to keep my voice neutral and feared my antipathy was as obvious as his.

‘No.’ Harry rose to his feet abruptly. ‘I have done what was ordered and now I will take my leave.’

I compressed my lips as he made a cursory bow and marched stiffly away. I saw him deliver a sideways glare at Cuthbert at the reward table where he and other senior household officials sat to one side of the dais. On his long walk down the centre of the hall Harry spoke to no one and cut a lonely figure as he made his way out through the screen arch. He would be in for censure and probably further punishment from the steward for abandoning his serving duties at the high table. I raised an eyebrow at Cuthbert, who responded with a shrug. We both knew that young Harry Holland was his own worst enemy.

At that moment the outer door in the side wall of the great hall was thrown open and Richard strode in unannounced. Judging by the fact that he was wearing his hauberk and spurs, he had just leaped from his horse. Behind him followed several of his knights and lords, including the venerable Lord Willoughby, Maud’s husband. Their unexpected arrival plunged the hall into silence so that their booted footsteps on the flagstones were loud as they made their way between the trestles, stirring the rushes. Then there was a sudden loud graunching of bench and chair-legs as I and everyone rose to greet them. The duty squires rushed to collect the washing bowls and napkins which would be required by the dusty travellers before they ate. I signalled to the steward to re-arrange the high-table seating and several occupants were hastily hustled down into the body of the hall.

‘Welcome home, my lord,’ I said with a bend of the knee as he rounded the high-table and advanced towards me. ‘Pray forgive the lack of preparation. We had no warning of your coming.’ I was shocked by his drawn expression and the haunted look on his face. He had only been gone a month but he seemed to have aged by a year or more.

Richard raised me ceremoniously and placed a kiss of greeting on my lips. ‘I did not send a harbinger because we galloped nearly all the way. None of us could wait to get back to Fotheringhay,’ he declared. ‘We wanted to be among loyal friends, did we not, my lords and sirs?’

His companions murmured their agreement and made their own greetings while squires bustled about removing items of armour and weaponry and servants offered wine. Down in the body of the hall the whispers and shuffling slowly died down as diners readjusted their positions at the trestles. I gestured to Tom Neville who was standing nearby and he hastily hauled the ducal chair from the back wall into position at the table.

‘Sit, my lord,’ I said, indicating his place. ‘You look exhausted.’

Richard sank back against the cushions, his expression relaxing as he gazed up at the York symbols embroidered on the canopy. ‘Ah, it is good to see the white rose above my head. There has been too much of the red in evidence lately. The queen has taken a liking to it and has it sewn on liveries and canopies and flown from every turret. Berkhamstead Castle was littered with them.’

‘You have come from Berkhamstead?’

‘Yes. The court is there because the queen does not like to be in London. She knows that the Londoners blame her for Gloucester’s death. They loved him and believe she and Suffolk conspired to murder him.’

Owing to Richard’s disfavour at court and the demands of motherhood I had not been in Queen Margaret’s company since she had passed through Rouen on her way to England to become King Henry’s wife more than three years previously. Then she had been only fourteen but I had found her already a forceful young lady, very much encouraged in this attitude by her proxy bridegroom, William de la Pole, then Marquis and now further elevated to Duke of Suffolk, who had negotiated the marriage and since become the king’s Chamberlain and favourite courtier. Suffolk had long been allied to the Beaufort cause, in favour of preserving peace with France and opposed to Richard’s policy of expanding and consolidating the territory conquered there by King Henry the Fifth. In this aim Richard had enjoyed the support of the conqueror’s brother, Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester, but Gloucester had died suddenly early last year, in mysterious circumstances, while attending a special session of Parliament in Bury St Edmunds.