The Innocent (46 page)

Poor Jane Shore blanched and turned a waxy green. She was used to the stink of London but this was different, and for the first time in her healthy life she felt as if she were going to faint. Deborah was similarly affected but managed to support the girl, their putative “mistress,” as she stood wavering on the wharf. Perhaps Anne was hardier, for she managed to half carry first Jane, and then Deborah, over to the bench under the eaves of a waterfront inn, the Robin Arms. Leif barked orders over his shoulder to get the women’s gear off the cog as he strode over to see what could be done for Jane. He was anxious because Sir Mathew had instructed him to look after the daughter of his friend and fellow mercer with special care. The captain was concerned, too, about his charges sitting here in this disreputable quarter of the town, where women from the stews came to work the ships that docked from London.

“Come now, ladies, this is not fitting. I shall take you up to the abbey and there you can rest while I find Sir Mathew’s men. They’re to take you on the next part of the journey.”

One by one, he helped the women to their wavering legs and sent the ship’s boy to find a wagon that could take them up the long, slow hill winding through the town toward the abbey. Though it was still early, the little seaport was full of life, and Anne found herself looking with interest at the houses huddled against each other, mostly made from local gray stone, though there were half-timbered buildings too, of oak and lime-washed mud plaster. The people looked strong—brown faces from the sea, white teeth, dark hair—and though they were small in comparison to the better-fed, taller southerners, they moved with energy and laughed readily.

In the end, a wagon could not be found to transport the women up the cliff, only a handcart for their baggage and two donkeys. Leif cursed the ship’s boy roundly in Breton French. These women were important cargo and this was the best he could do? The pragmatic youngster shrugged stolidly and bore the stream of insults, even the ones about his parentage; it was hardly his fault if there were not enough donkeys to go around. He’d done the best he could and they all had good legs, didn’t they? Of course, Leif would not permit Jane Shore to walk, but he found it odd that the oldest woman tried to insist that Anne ride the other animal, which she’d declined.

Finally, they’d set off, him leading Jane’s donkey and Anne leading Deborah’s, with the boy hauling the handcart. Leif’s conscience was troubled, however, for he could have, should have, delegated this task to Simon; there was much he must see to in making sure the contents of the Margaret’s holds were properly brought ashore. But the lure of spending more time with this appealing girl had won over duty, and he was surprised by the lift in his heart when she smiled at him and asked him questions. Too soon for him, the little party arrived at the gates of the abbey, and it was with real regret that Leif Mollnar handed his three charges to the subprior.

An odd thing happened as the captain turned to go. Anne had lingered a moment after saying good-bye, and as he looked back at her, it seemed to him that the girl was rimmed with light from the sun climbing out of the sea, and gilded all over like an icon. For a moment he was dazzled—then she waved to him out of the heart of the light and disappeared! As his eyes adjusted he saw she must have slipped through the door of the abbey as it closed behind her, but still he shivered in the pale winter light, for it was an uncanny moment, and for the rest of that morning he could not shake the feeling of awe. It was as though he’d glimpsed Frey, one of the old ones, so glorious had she seemed.

In London, Mathew Cuttifer was on his knees before Christ’s Mother, and as She gazed down at him from the walls of his chapel, a strange sensation prickled his spine. Had her eyes just moved? Perhaps she was trying to tell him something, something important? Mathew upbraided himself—he was presumptuous. If God’s Mother wished to speak to him, he would know it without any doubt. He refocused his attention. Another Ave would help him hear her better…But try as he did, his attention wandered.

Had the cog made the journey to Whitby safely? It would take a good day, in fair weather, to travel from there to his house at Burning Norton and God, and his Mother, knew January in the Wold was rarely fair. Without conscious thought, his eyes lingered on the face of the Virgin as she gazed out at him across time, calm, serene. He sighed. No, there were no answers for him today. Reluctantly, and slowly, he levered himself to his feet, and turning to go, he saw that his wife had been sitting quietly in the body of the chapel on the benches reserved for the women servants, waiting for him to finish praying.

“May I speak with you, husband?” Immediately he heard the strain in her voice and saw it plainly written on her controlled, white face. “The court has returned, Mathew…and the king has sent for you.”

Chapter Thirty-four

At court on that chilly afternoon, Mathew was taken to a small presence chamber that looked out toward the west doors of the abbey. He had only a moment to reflect that tomorrow would see the Mass held in which his cup would be first used—the chalice that was his passport to the treasure room—before Edward and William Hastings arrived.

Mathew bowed deeply to the king, who merely grunted as he settled himself into a chair of state.

William took up his place silently beside the king and beckoned Mathew forward; the remote and frozen look on Edward’s face frightened the merchant profoundly.

“Sir Mathew, have you been disloyal?” The king’s harsh voice so startled Mathew that he must have looked innocent. However, Edward didn’t allow him to answer. “The merchants of London. I hear they will not grant me the aid I seek and this displeases me greatly! Greatly!” The king was pacing now, too fired with anger to sit in his chair. “Never before, Sir Mathew, has the Crown compromised itself so much to raise money, money that I must have in times like these! What have you said to them?”

Mathew smothered a sigh of relief. “But Your Majesty, I have good news. I do not know where you have heard—”

“What good news?”

Mathew swept off his hat and again bowed low. “Sire, if you will grant an extension of the needle monopoly and—”

“And? What is this and? We only spoke of needles at Windsor.”

“—a royal charter to the city of London that extends the freedoms of the lord mayor on behalf of the city only slightly.” Mathew gulped, he knew as soon as his colleagues had proposed it that Edward would not be pleased about any extension of the liberties of the city, and the face of the king said as much. “Then, your loyal subjects, the merchants of London, will be pleased and grateful to make a loan to the royal treasury of fifteen thousand pounds to pursue your…campaign.” He’d nearly said “war in the north.” “War” was a bad word, a bad omen; speak it, and you gave the thought—and the fear—

power.

The silence was intense when he finished speaking.

“An extension to the freedoms of the city?” the king finally asked. At least he was not shouting.

Mathew dared to raise his eyes to that implacable face. “A small one, sire. Merely the right to hold a cloth fair each autumn on the first Sunday after the Feast of Saint Crispin and Saint Jude—and to pay no tax on it.”

“No tax! Insolence! How do they expect the court to function if they will not help me pay for it?”

Mathew returned his gaze to the ground. The king was annoyed but he was not enraged. He must have been expecting something of the kind; the London merchants understood the king was short of cash but that he would have no wish to summon Parliament to claim financial aid for running his army. People from the shires were conservative and had had quite enough of war; they’d not be generous.

William Hastings interrupted the king quietly. “May I speak, sire?”

The king nodded assent, grumpily. “Sir Mathew, when will the loan be gathered in from the merchants?” Hastings asked.

“We are preparing a contract now, sire—”

The king bellowed, “Contract? Contract! I said nothing of any contract. Moneylending is forbidden in the Bible, Mathew. Have a care!”

Sir Mathew shuffled from foot to foot and looked stubborn, though his heart was racing.

William continued smoothly. “Bring me the draft as soon as it is prepared and I will show it to the king.

There are no guarantees, however, that His Majesty will be prepared to do more than offer his word as to repayment.”

Mathew had the sense to bow and say nothing. More and more he and his fellow men of business were reluctant to deal with the debt-ridden court unless some form of surety was offered—and, of course, that was often land that, when forfeited for bad debt, made its new owners men of substance.

William signaled that the audience was over. Mathew bowed deeply and began a long and careful departure backward out of the presence chamber. But before he reached the door, the king called out,

“Wait. The serving girl you sent to me. Chamberlain, what was her name?”

William, with a completely blank face, replied, “I believe it was Anne, my liege.”

“Anne. Yes. My wife was expecting she would be here at court when we returned from Windsor and she is most displeased by her continuing absence from duty. She was once your servant—do you have news of her? You will understand, this is a most serious blot on her record of service at our court.”

Mathew bowed even lower to hide his face from his king. “Sire, as it happens, my wife did mention something to me recently. I believe we’ve heard from one of our servants who knows the family that the girl’s mother continues very ill. Close to death, I think my wife said.” He sent a quick prayer to the Virgin asking forgiveness for the lie.

The king scowled. William, however, was pleased. He wanted the king to concentrate on the coming campaign. With luck, in three days they would be gone from London before the girl returned to distract him. “Thank you, Sir Mathew. The king will be graciously pleased to receive more information when you have it.”

Mathew bowed lower still and this time managed to back himself through the carved doors before the king could challenge him again.

Inside the presence chamber, the king stalked to the window and looked down toward the cold gray bulk of the Abbey church.

“Sire, I did not know that your wife was displeased by the girl’s continuing absence. I must make sure to set Her Majesty’s mind at ease on the matter.” William’s wicked sense of humor would cause him big trouble one day, but he couldn’t resist the jibe.

Reluctantly, the king snorted with laughter. “No such thing, William, no such thing—and you know it.”

As he laughed the pressure in his head seemed to ease, as did the odd feeling of tightness in his belly.

He’d been the one to fret and complain when he had returned to court—with a sense of suppressed excitement at the thought of seeing Anne again, he had to confess that—and had found her not there.

Which was the worse for the bedchamber servants when he’d found out that none of them knew when she would return. And, unlike his normal behavior, there was no one currently at court who took his fancy instead. All he could see was Anne looking up at him defiantly, snatching her hands out of his and running away from him after the Christmas play. Christ’s bowels! Was it so much to ask that he be able to have a moment with the girl before they went to war?

William saw the glower return and the king’s fists clench as he gazed, unseeing, at the Abbey.

Distraction, that was the need now; something else to think about instead of this one insignificant girl.

Fortunately, that distraction presented itself, for when the king stalked out of the presence chamber on his way to the mews to see how his French peregrine had survived the journey from Windsor, a palace messenger rushed toward him. The man was accompanied by a soldier draped in a heavy riding cloak and wearing bloodied spurs, spattered with mud and wearing the white boar badge of Edward’s youngest brother, Richard, Duke of Gloucester, who, young as he was, held the north for the House of York. The exhausted rider dropped to one knee in front of the king and held up a sealed packet of documents. “Sire, this is urgent. My duke said I must place it in your hands only.”

Edward quickly grasped the packet and gestured to William that he should give the man a reward.

William sighed and hauled an angel out of the pocket slung from his belt; the king was always doing this. Edward then hurried away to his own quarters, telling William to make sure that the man was fed and given a bed to collapse into.

When the messenger had been taken down to the kitchens, William hurried to find the king and was relieved to see Edward looking close to cheerful as he scanned the single sheet of the letter Richard had sent. The soldier had done his work well. He’d left Richard’s stronghold of York little more than three days ago, and hard cold weather of this last few days had made his journey quicker than normal for the ground was frozen hard.

The contents of the letter had merited quick passage, for Richard had news that the earl was massing his affinity at Warwick Castle not to fight a war, but to celebrate a marriage—that of their brother George, Duke of Clarence, to Warwick’s daughter Isabelle. After the celebrations, the large group of wedding guests could be turned to another purpose—a march on London, perhaps, to remove Edward from the throne. William wondered at Edward’s cheerfulness.

“So, Warwick is making his move, at last.”

“Yes. And so is my stupid brother George. We must move, too, now, very fast. No time for the army.

It’s best clothes into the saddlebags, and ride tonight with a small party.”

William was bemused. “Fine clothes, my lord?”

“Why yes, if we are to be guests at the wedding we must on no account look shabby! Come, I need to speak to the queen.”

The rest of that day passed in secretive bustle as a small party of trusted men—his riding company—prepared to leave with the king. The plan was an audacious one. They would ride hard for the north and meet Richard, also with a small group, near Warwick Castle. Once inside the castle as surprise wedding guests—who could hardly be turned away—they would kidnap George and bring him back to London.