The Lords of Arden (21 page)

 Nicholas said, ‘I can do better than Rose
Brandstone and a few acres of Lapworth.’

 ‘Oh, indeed?’ sneered Sir John. ‘Do you
think I do not know that you were dancing attendance on Warwick's girl all
through the winter? Oh, if you had succeeded it would have been a venture worth
the hazard, but you failed miserably and I can only be grateful that Beauchamp
thinks highly enough of my past services to recommend you wed the Brandstone
girl; he could have dismissed you out of hand.’

 ‘He does not have the right to dispose of
either of us. Lady Rose must follow her father's direction but not I - I am of
age and I will not do it, sir!’

 ‘Christ, boy!’ swore Sir John, so that
his cowed servants looked up, heartened to hear another receiving the rough
edge of his tongue. ‘If you make fools of Sir Hugh and me, if you attempt to
thwart Warwick, I will disinherit you!’

 His son shrugged his shoulders. ‘That is
the threat of every father piqued by his offspring.’

 ‘Piqued!’ thundered Sir John. ‘You have a
brother, sirrah, do not forget! William is more amenable to my whims, always
has been.’

 ‘William is a toady and I have been Warwick's lackey for long enough!’

 ‘Very well. Cut yourself loose from us
all, play the knight errant, take your sword and seek your fortune but do not
come whining back here to claim your inheritance!’

 ‘You would rob me? In truth, father?’

 ‘I would do it. Oh, come into the solar,
you are right in that this scene is not for prying eyes. Back to your tasks!’ He
roared at his household and the curious dropped their gaze. Durvassal pushed
open the door to the small family room and let it swing to behind them.

 ‘Well, Nicholas?’

 His son was leaning out from the window
embrasure. The rain had stopped and the sun appeared fitfully, dappling the
meadows, pale gold with corn stubble; the leafy, damp smells of autumn were in
the room. A lark rose vertically from a field of clover, soon to be lost in
that brief, shafting sunlight.

 ‘I am waiting for an answer,’ rasped Sir
John, his fingers drumming on the table.

 Without turning away Nicholas said, ‘I
cannot lose this land and you know it.’

 ‘You're talking sense at last, lad. Now I
hope we shall have no more talk of dissention whilst you're here.’ He patted
his son lightly on the shoulder.

 Nicholas flung away from him. ‘No, no
dissention. I'll wed with Rose. I'll play the dutiful son. I'll ride back to Warwick and bend the knee and grovel before Thomas Beauchamp. I would sell my soul to keep
Spernall. Indeed, it seems there is no other way!’

 ‘Heavens, child!’ said his mother, ‘how
dramatic. John, what is going on? I go down to the kitchens and find cook
reduced to jelly, the rest of the household sullen as schoolboys and now
Nicholas is declaiming like a Roman orator. Where are you off to, My Lord?’

 ‘Down to the stables!’ flashed Sir John
and stumped off.

 Sybil Durvassal turned to her elder son. She
was a tall, angular figure in indigo silk; it was easy to see from where
Nicholas took his narrow features. ‘He is your father, Nicholas,’ she said. ‘Whether
he is right or wrong is immaterial. You have no reason to argue with him and he
is a fool to allow it. Come and help me wind some silks and sit there where I
can see you. Now, what have you said to upset him?’

 ‘I refused to marry Rose Brandstone.’

 Sybil raised fine, arched brows. ‘Did you
so? Then I'm surprised he kept his hands off you. I'm not so blind, my dear,
nor am I deaf to rumour. It is no secret that you have shared Christine
Brandstone's bed whilst wooing Mary de Beauchamp with kisses and false
gallantry. If I were Warwick I would have given you a sound whipping for your insolence.
I shall suggest it next time we meet!’

 ‘Thank you, mother, he may be glad of an
excuse.’

 Sybil, leaning now on the back of his
chair, cuffed him lightly. ‘You will ride over to Lapworth with us tomorrow and
play your part for all our sakes.’ It was not a question; it was a statement of
fact. Her son did not feel it was worth dispute.

~o0o~

Sir Hugh Brandstone met Sir John
Durvassal, his lady and his heir at the door and ushered them into the hall. He
pulled up a chair and stools and fussed about them, coughing as if to clear his
throat and then only passing a few comments about the weather and the state of
the roads.

 It was Sybil who said, ‘Sir Hugh is there
something wrong?’

 Brandstone, a solid countryman with
bright blue eyes, set deep, shrugged his shoulders and a rather pathetic look
crossed his florid face. ‘My dear Sybil, I have a wife weeping in her chamber,
calling me a heartless brute, and a daughter throwing tantrums at mention of
your son's name. For all I can see the match between Master Nicholas here and
my little Rose is a perfect merging of our two houses. Your son has a healthy
girl who will one day share my lands with her sister, Agnes - the youngest
girl, Beatrice, is to go to Wroxall to join the sisters there in a year or two
- so Agnes and Rose will share the inheritance. My girl, on the other hand, has
your heir, one of the noblest, oldest names in this county and, I will be
frank, the most personable young man in the local marriage market. What,
therefore, is wrong? What has the silly child dreamed up against your son? It
is unthinkable after Thomas Beauchamp has given his blessing to the union that
there should be a word of protest from either of them. My wife, of course,
sides with the girl; you know what women are - saving your presence, madam.’- this
to Sybil. ‘But she will come round once the two are wed.’

 The tapestry on the door slid aside and
Christine entered. Her face looked flushed and there were dark shadows under
her eyes. She dropped a curtsey before Sir John; she did not look at Nicholas.

 Sybil ventured, ‘Christine, I have never
met your daughter, perhaps she should be here.’

 Christine shot a glance at Hugh who
cleared his throat again.

 ‘Perhaps later, if you'll bear with me, My
Lady. The child's in her room; we've had floods of tears all afternoon,
tantrums and tempers.’

 Christine was looking at Nicholas. ‘Perhaps
I might suggest that Nicholas has a word with her. I'm sure if they could talk
things over…’

 Sir Hugh was almost at bursting point. ‘Talk
it over! What is it to do with the pair of them? Still, let him try. Go on,
boy, follow Lady Brandstone.’

 Christine caught her lover by the sleeve
as they climbed the stair between the hall and the family rooms. ‘Nicky, you
have to marry her, there is no way out. You must make her see that.’

 ‘This is Warwick's doing.’ Durvassal
leant back against the wall. She shook him by the arm.

 ‘It is our doing. Don't blame Thomas
Beauchamp for our sins. Poor little Rose; most children would not have kept her
knowledge to themselves. I wonder who she is protecting, her father, her mother
or…’ She looked up at him. ‘What is the matter?’

 ‘Christine, even with shadows under your
eyes and a shiny nose you can take a man's breath away. I suppose it will raise
no comment if I visit my mother-in-law from time to time?’ A crooked smile lit
his handsome face, moments before Christine's hand came up and cracked across
his mouth.

 ‘Get up those stairs, Nicky, and see if
you can mend the damage you have done; for, as God is my witness, if you come
down without having coaxed that child into submission, I will tell my husband
the truth and take the consequences. Hugh may be a bumbling fool but he's a
good man and even fear of Warwick's wrath would not force him to hand over Rose
Red to an accomplished avouterer. And let today be an end of the madness
between us. We have never had the right to harm as we have harmed!’

 Nicholas put a hand to his cheek. ‘You
are saying we never had a right to happiness?’

 ‘Perhaps I am. Now, go quickly!’ She
watched him swing angrily away from her and up the last steps to Rose Red's
door.

~o0o~

The room was full of wavering candlelight.
Nicholas Durvassal disrobed his master in silence, performed the task with
deftness, respectful and impersonal. Warwick watched him fold jupon and cloak
and smiled at the shuttered face. ‘You have been absent these last two nights.’

 ‘I sent apologies, My Lord, I rode home
to Spernall.’

 ‘Yes, to bid your father extricate you
from your coming nuptials. So there is a spark of rebellion in the faithful
squire. Should I applaud the phenomenon or punish the offence?’

 ‘You will do as you please with the lives
of men as you have always done,’ said Durvassal, ‘It amuses you to play God
with the world laid out before you like a chessboard. And what if Mary cries
herself to sleep and Rose Brandstone grows up a bitter woman and Christine…’ he
shrugged his shoulders.

 ‘And if Nicholas Durvassal had not played
Sir Lancelot with another man's Guinevere and wooed an Elaine he had no right
to wed…’

 ‘Will that be all tonight, My Lord?’

 ‘I had thought, just for a moment, that
you had something to ask of me.’

 ‘I cannot recollect so, My Lord.’ Durvassal,
standing before him, drawn up to his full height, was taller than his lord. Warwick's mouth twitched at the corners. ‘I understand. You have the pride of the
Durvassals; that is commendable.’

 ‘I will not beg from you, My Lord. It
pleases you now to play the bountiful overlord but too late!’

 ‘And you would rather be miserable than
accept anything from me? Look at me, boy. Pride does not forge dark circles
beneath the eyes; nights of tossing and turning do that. I cannot believe that
you would weep for my daughter but thwarted ambition may be as devastating as
lovesickness.’ He had one hand under his squire's chin, forcing the
green-golden eyes with their long lashes to meet his own.

 ‘Christ!’ said Durvassal, ‘You know how
to strip a man down and leave him with very little. What more do you want of
me?’

 Beauchamp said, ‘I will not be served by
a sulky youth loaded with grievances - imaginary or otherwise. Now, do you wish
to retain your position as my esquire or will you quit these walls now and ride
home to Spernall?’

 ‘My Lord,’ Durvassal began, ‘I have no
wish to leave you. For whatever reasons, it has been my honest desire to serve
you in any way I could. To serve the Earl of Warwick for the furtherance of my
ambitions, because he was the brightest star in the firmament, but to serve
Thomas de Beauchamp because, even without the castle and the lands of Arden, without the coat of arms and the Bear and Staff, he seemed a man of stature among
so many little men.’

 Warwick said, ‘I know that there isn't
that in you which would allow you to bend the knee or put tongue to an apology
but, nevertheless, you are forgiven and received once more. Sit upon the clouds
again, my fallen angel. I shall require my Lucifer to sleep in his accustomed
place across the door - Lady Kate is enceinte again.’

 Durvassal only raised his eyebrows and
grinned, his teeth white in the torchlight. Their eyes met and both men laughed
out loud. The Earl flung an arm carelessly about his squire's shoulder.

 ‘We'll have a game of chess before I
retire. Come, set up the pieces.’

~o0o~

The closed carriage was waiting in the
great courtyard. Richard Latimer, a sackful of goose-feathers over one
shoulder, paused at the well and touched Master Dawn on the arm. ‘What goes on
there? Countess Kate never travels by charette.’ But Dawn only signed towards
the great door of the hall where two women were emerging into the pale
sunlight; one petite and dark and very young, garbed in black fustian, the
other stout and approaching sixty, waddling behind her charge, warmly cloaked
in russet and carrying an armful of cushions.

 ‘Lady Mary?’ questioned Richard, setting
down his sack.

 ‘And her nurse. Travelling to Shouldham,
I hear.’

 ‘Shouldham?’ Latimer sat on the edge of
the well-housing.’

 ‘Norfolk, south of Lynn. She's to go to
the Gilbertine Sisters. Oh, they're all there, the Beauchamp women: the plain
ones, the dowerless, the widows in retirement, the family embarrassments. If a
girl takes an oath that sets her against marriage where else is there for her
to go? She'll be glad of any man's bed after a few weeks in a nun's dorter,’ he
added cheerfully.

 Lady Mary carried herself proudly, chin
up, tip-tilted nose in the air. Richard cast her an admiring glance. The nurse
was bundling the cushions into the vehicle and spreading them about, her large
rear protruding from the curtained doorway. The girl caught the boy's eyes upon
her and surprised him with a sudden, unladylike wink, before she settled
herself inside and the carriage rolled unsteadily away.

 Richard glanced upwards. A lone figure on
the battlements watched the vehicle lumbering clumsily towards the high road. Then
Thomas Beauchamp turned and ducked out of sight into the head of the nearest
stair-well and Latimer retrieved his sack of feathers, the girl forgotten.