The White Lord of Wellesbourne (34 page)

The corridor had been relatively
quiet, making the appearance into the great hall a bright and overwhelming
experience. The hall was unusually hot, lit by a massive hearth that belched
heat and smoke into the room.  It was also littered with people, sitting at
tables, clustered in groups talking, or just milling about. Servants were
everywhere, carrying trays of alcohol to keep the diners happy until the king,
and the food, arrived.  It was, already, a hugely busy scene.

With Luke on one arm and Matthew
on the other, Alixandrea walked into the room and nearly tripped on the rushes.
They were in bunches around the floor.  But Matthew’s strong grip steadied her
as he took her fully into the room, making sure to cross right through the
center of the hall so that every man and woman there would see who had come. 
He continued to walk down the center of the room in full view, his hawk-like
gaze sweeping the chamber, making note of who was in attendance and who was
not.  The White Lord of Wellesbourne had arrived and he would have no one
mistake his presence. The major artillery in the arsenal of Richard had
arrived.

To Alixandrea, it felt a little
bit like a parade. She felt the gaze of everyone in the massive hall and she
was torn between pride and the desire to hide.  It was a fast introduction into
the life of the Tower and ready or not, Matthew brought her full-force into it.
All she could do was hold her head high and hold Matthew’s arm tightly

 They made their sweep of the
room and settled at a table near the royal dais.  Matthew took her wrap and
helped her to sit, carefully arranging the yards of material that comprised her
surcoat.  Luke was about to take a seat next to her but John, biding his time,
beat him to it.

“Would you like some wine?”
Matthew asked her, watching Luke rough up John’s hair.

Alixandrea could see what the two
younger brothers were doing out of the corner of her eye and she shook her head
at the spectacle, amusing though it was.  She could hear John yelp.

“I would.”

He winked at her and motioned to
a nearby servant, who introduced a rich red liquid into their chalices.  He
took his seat just as his cup was filled and he collected it, turning to his
wife with a toast on his lips.

“To you,” he said quietly.

She held her cup aloft also, her
bronze eyes glittering. “To us.”

“Even better.”

They drank deeply of the heady
port.  All around them, the hall was bustling and Matthew sat very close to his
wife, his eyes constantly on the move.  Alixandrea alternately watched her
husband and watched the room, finding it interesting how much his demeanor
changed the moment they had entered the hall. Matthew was perpetually friendly,
easy to smile, and companionable. But the moment he penetrated the room, it was
as if a lever had been lifted and a curtain descended. His manner, his
expression, turned hard.  He changed into something dark and different. She
wasn’t sure if she liked it.

Gaston arrived a short time
later. With him was a woman, very tall. She would have been beautiful had she
not been so severe looking with her tight wimple and fussy clothes.  Her
features were fine and delicate, but there was little loveliness. Gaston
introduced her as Lady de Russe. She coldly greeted Matthew, barely nodded to
Alixandrea, and ignored Luke and John completely. From the moment she and
Gaston sat at the table, they ignored each other as well.

While Gaston and Matthew settled
into muted conversation, Alixandrea turned to John and Luke on her other side.

“Who are all of these people?”
she asked. “Do you recognize anyone?”

John nodded. “There are many
prominent people here,” he pointed off to the right. “There is Lord Grey. He’s
from Northumbria, akin to the Percys.  He’s a very powerful man.  And there’s
Arundel off to his right.”

Alixandrea’s head bobbed and
weaved as she attempted to get a good look at the small, fat Lord Grey and
subsequently the short and red-haired Earl of Arundel.  John sudden jabbed his
finger in front of him, across the table.

“There’s Sir John Tomalyn,” he
said. “He’s a ferocious supporter of the crown. He spends most of his time with
Robin of Riddesdale, but I do not see him yet.”

Alixandrea had heard these names
for most of her life. But fostering at Pickering and then sequestered at
Whitewell had not given her the opportunity to experience anything other than
short stories and tales of valor of these men. To her, they were faceless
individuals. Now, the reality was materializing right in front of her and it
was exciting.

“My lady,” John’s voice was
suddenly low. “Don’t look now, but I think we have a visitor.”

She had no idea what he meant
until she caught him rolling his eyes, directing her to look behind her. 
Slowly, she turned, wondering what on earth he could mean.  She soon found
herself gazing down at a skinny gray dog, sitting against the wall behind her.
The moment she looked at the beast, its tail began thumping timidly against the
floor. Big dog eyes glistened pitifully at her.

“God’s Bones,” she breathed, as
if just suffering a great relief. “I thought it was something awful.”

“It
is
awful. It is a dog
and, as I recall, you do not like them.”

She pursed her lips, passing the
mutt another glance. “That may be true, but they certainly seem to like me. I
could not seem to be rid of them at Wellesbourne. And now, with of all the
people in the hall as targets, this dog picks me to harass.”

John was grinning. “The dogs at
Wellesbourne must be missing you horribly.”

She simply shook her head, turned
away from the dog, and reclaimed her chalice. She was about to take a sip when
a voice from across the table caught her attention.

“Your garment is lovely, Lady
Wellesbourne,” it was a low female tone that addressed her. “Wherever did you
get it?”

Alixandrea looked up into the
tight face of Lady de Russe.  “Thank you for your kind question, my lady,” she
replied steadily. “The fabric was purchased in Leeds and my maid sewed the
gown.”

Lady de Russe’s dark eyes roved
the surcoat appraisingly. There was a haughty manner about the woman. “Leeds,
you say?”

“Indeed.”

“I would have thought Paris.”

“Nay, my lady.”

With one last look, she turned
her head as she spoke. “Stunning.”

Alixandrea bobbed her head. “Your
approval is most flattering.”

That was apparently all Lady de
Russe intended to discuss. She turned back to her wine, her dark eyes finding
interest in everything other than the table she sat at. Alixandrea watched her profile
for a moment, wondering how such a beautiful woman could be so frosty.  It was
clear that she had no use for anyone at the table, especially her husband,
which Alixandrea found strange considering Gaston was extraordinarily
attractive.  She, too, turned back to her wine only to notice that the skinny
gray dog was now seated at her elbow. She looked down at the beast and shook
her head. 

“See there,” Luke suddenly
hissed, leaning into John and practically shoving him over onto Alixandrea.
Luke was pointing at something he very much wanted the others to see. “Dennis
la Londe. Do you see him over there?”

Alixandrea had no idea who Luke
was speaking of, but she obediently turned in the direction he was indicating.
There were several people standing around, lords in their fine silks and a few
fighting men who had not bothered to change from their armor as Matthew had
done.  In the midst of the group, she spied a large blond man whom she
recognized.

“Which one is he?” she asked
Luke.

Luke was not being very discreet
as he pointed. “The big brute in armor. Blond hair. See him? He is a French
mercenary with a bloodlust for English knights and a want to become powerfully
rich. Rumor has it that he serves Henry Tudor directly. ”

Alixandrea realized they were speaking
of the man that she recognized. “I know that man,” she said. “His name is
Phillip of Ypres. He has visited my uncle on occasion.”

Luke and John looked at her as if
she had lost her mind.  John actually looked frightened. “Are you certain?”
Luke asked.

“Of course.” 

“And he called himself Phillip?”

“Aye. Who is Dennis la Londe?”

Luke reached around her and
tapped Matthew on the shoulder. Annoyed that his conversation with Gaston
should be interrupted, Matthew gave his brothers an impatient glare.

“In a moment,” he told them.

“Nay, brother,
now
,” Luke
said, firmly enough that Gaston’s attention was upon them too.  He pointed over
at the group with Dennis in it. “The big knight in the middle of that group.
Who is that?”

Matthew looked over, as did Gaston.
When Matthew spied the object of their attention, his eyes narrowed
dramatically. “You know who that is.”

“I do indeed. But your wife seems
to think it is someone else.”

Matthew’s attention riveted to
her.  “Do you know him?”

Alixandrea was actually intimidated
by his tone. She had no idea what could possibly be wrong. “That is a knight
who has visited my uncle on occasion. His name is Phillip of Ypres.”

Matthew stared at her. “Are you
sure?”

“Positive. I have dined with him
once.”

Matthew did not reply for a
moment. He looked at his brothers, then finally at Gaston. “I thought you got
rid of him,” Matthew said to him.

Gaston’s smoky eyes were steady,
deadly. “I could not locate him. This is the first I have seen him.”

Studying the expressions around the
table, it was not difficult to discern what they were all thinking. If there
had ever been any lingering doubt about Lord Ryesdale’s change in loyalties,
then it had just been irrevocably proven. 

Dennis la Londe was Henry’s
loyalist to the core. Even so, Matthew could tell that Alixandrea truly had no
idea about the man; she gazed up at her husband, wide-eyed, waiting.  Under the
table, he took her hand.

“That man,” he began,” is Sir
Dennis la Londe. He is a mercenary knight, one of the most vicious men I have
ever come across. He serves Henry Tudor, presumably because of the rewards
Henry has promised him should he ever assume the throne.  He is powerful,
skilled, and extremely deadly.”

Alixandrea looked back over at
Dennis; the man was speaking seriously with a short man in ruby silks.  She
shrugged weakly. “If that is true, then I am at a loss for words,” she said
after a moment. “I truly had no idea.”

“Did you have much contact with
him?” Matthew asked, more gently.

She shook her head. “Nay. I have really
only seen him twice and spoke to him briefly on both occasions. He seemed
typical enough. He certainly never came across as a deadly mercenary.”

“Because he is brilliant that
way,” Matthew said. “I will be honest when I say that I respect the man’s abilities
as a warrior and knight almost as much as I respect Gaston’s. There are few
peers at our level of expertise and Dennis is one of them.”

Alixandrea looked away from
Dennis, gazing up at her husband with an expression that caused him to feel
inherent pity for her.

“I feel so foolish,” she said
quietly. “You have pointed out many men that are loyal to Henry Tudor whom I
have seen within the walls of Whitewell. Had I only been more aware, more
worldly, perhaps I would have known what my uncle was planning before I came to
Wellesbourne and unknowingly attempted to bring ruin upon you. I swear,
Matthew, I would have never come had I known.”

He smiled at her, his blue eyes
glimmering. “And I would have never had the joy of knowing you. Thank God you
were not more aware.”

She returned his smile, though
there was little joy in it. “I am serious,” she murmured, squeezing his fingers
under the table. “I feel terrible about this.”

He brought her hand up and kissed
it, his gaze moving back to the room. “No need, love.  ‘Tis not your fault.”

He continued to hold her hand as
he resumed his conversation with Gaston.  Meanwhile, King Richard made his
grand entrance and worked the room as the pope would have worked an adoring
congregation.  Though Richard tended to be a suspicious and reclusive monarch,
apparently this night he felt comfortable enough with the legions of armed men
surrounding him to welcome his guests. 

Both Matthew and Gaston noted
that he seemed to be in a particularly good mood.  They rose when the king
approached the dais and went over to him as he took his seat.  There was no
mistaking the message that The White Lord of Wellesbourne and The Dark Knight
were sending to the rest of the room; the king’s greatest warriors were indeed
present and they would tolerate nothing out of the ordinary this night.   It
was a show of force.

As the food was brought forth, it
occurred to Alixandrea that Mark and Caroline where apparently not going to
join them for the feast.  She was lonely in that she did not have Caroline to
talk to, for the only other female at the table, Lady de Russe, had left the
table and disappeared into the crowd.  John and Luke were playing some sort of
game beside her and punching one another intermittently, and Matthew was busy
with Gaston.  There was no one for her to talk to.