The Beggar's Throne Page 16

  As the royal party arrived, every servant of the household stood lining the front of the manor. Lord Rivers and his wife waited in the center flanked on one side by Elizabeth and on the other by Anthony. The king was accompanied by Hastings, ten mounted knights, and forty men-at-arms. Edward pulled his horse to a stop in front of the Woodvilles.

  “Lords Rivers and Scales, step forward. Before we soil our feet on the dirt of this place, we will hear your oaths of loyalty.”

  Lord Rivers spoke first. “My Liege Lord, I swear by the blood of the Blessed Virgin that from this day forward, my life and worldly means are Your Majesty’s to dispose of.” Anthony followed with the same oath.

  “Rivers and Scales, know our judgment. You have professed your loyalty, and we are convinced. Know all men here present that we pardon your recent assistance rendered to the pretender Henry and his family, and that we seek no further retribution against you or your goods.”

  “His Majesty does our house a great honor with his visit,” the duchess said as the king took her hand and kissed it. Once having been a preeminent lady of the realm, she was entitled to some respect, even from a king.

  “Your invitation honored us,” he said, looking over to Elizabeth. “And may we be given the pleasure of an introduction?”

  “This is our daughter, Elizabeth,” said the duchess.

  As Edward took her hand, he looked closely at her face. Her deep blue eyes and cascading gold hair held his gaze as he kissed her hand. There was something sad about her. Something…

  “Will it please Your Majesty to come inside?” Rivers’ voice pulled him away.

  Edward reluctantly turned from Elizabeth and was led into Grafton Manor. As the dust cleared from the entryway, the first buds of the lilac shrubs swelled under a warming spring breeze.

  PART 2

  CHAPTER XI

  Christopher meandered past the produce stands, hawkers, beggars, servants, and shoppers along the market street of York. The dense summer air was filled with the odors of frenzied human activity, foul and sweet aromas mixed into a sensory soup that made him loath to inhale. The quiet village of Northwood had not prepared him for such an olfactory assault.

  The town of York showed little resemblance to the old Roman frontier fortress from which it sprang. From here, the legionnaires had once patrolled as far north as Hadrian’s Wall, the northernmost boundary of the empire, and the grid pattern of the central town was a tribute to the ancients’ rigid sense of form and function. Since then, however, the narrow streets had been crowded with one- and two-story wood and stone cottages that hung over the streets, obscuring the well-ordered Roman plan.

  Three years had passed since the Millers had been forced to abandon Northwood. Sally had returned safely from the clutches of Sir Hugh, which Christopher had considered a miracle. But when the news of the earl’s death and the attainder of his properties by the usurper, Edward, reached the townsfolk, the Miller family was no longer welcome in Northwood, no matter Christopher’s unwavering loyalty to the Percys.

  When Oliver had requested his blessing to marry Sally, Christopher was not, at first, inclined to give it. However, at the strong insistence of Emma, he reluctantly agreed. The parish priest of Northwood consented to marry them even though the townsfolk wanted no part of the family, and no one outside of the family except for Emma’s good friend Edith attended the simple ceremony. A few weeks after that, they packed up their worldly possessions into a large cart and left their past behind. Using their assets, the fruits of John Miller’s life’s labors, they built a new millhouse on the east shore of the River Ouse in York. Oliver had eagerly assisted Christopher and had proven to be an excellent worker. Together with their wives, they had created a new home out of the ashes of the past.

  The period right after their arrival in York had been an especially trying one for Emma. The death of John Miller had been a terrible blow, and Christopher’s unrelenting resentment of Samuel was also a source of pain. She gave birth to their first child, Sarah, after a long delivery, three weeks after their arrival, and while it was not the best time to be hampered with an infant, Christopher was greatly relieved that both mother and child had come through the ordeal with their health intact. Last winter a second daughter, Alice, had been born. Christopher had a hard time disguising his disappointment at not having been given a son this time, but Alice was proving to be a delightful child.

  Sally had also given birth four months ago to her first child, a boy that Oliver insisted they name John, after the man who had selflessly sacrificed his life to help them after Wakefield. Christopher admitted to himself some envy over Oliver’s son, but they had become friends since the move to York, and he cherished his role as uncle to young John.

  Christopher made his way around the frenzied activity of the market street, finally turning on to one of the numerous side streets. The small street was dominated by a large alehouse where he had spent increasing hours during these last few months. It was a good place to grumble about the state of the realm to many who were sympathetic to his way of thinking. The kind of gathering that made a man feel secure. He entered a large room containing dozens of tables. To his left he saw the man he sought sitting alone, and he felt his heart quicken. Trying to act inconspicuous but feeling as if every eye in the room were focused on him, he wended his way past scurrying barmaids and noisy tables filled with men playing cards or games, or just shouting and laughing in pairs and threes. Arriving at the table, he sat down and looked around.

  “For the love of God, Christopher, don’t look so damned guilty,” Simon Johnson said from across the table. “If you act like you just slept with the bishop’s favorite tart, someone’s bound to start asking questions.” Christopher returned a nervous smile and settled into his chair. A barmaid put a mug of ale down before him without saying a word and continued on about her rounds.

  Christopher took a long pull of the thick brew. Simon spoke in a casual voice that was neither too low or too loud, but calibrated to match the general din around them. “Good news,” he said, rubbing his nose. “I spoke with my contact, and he’s agreed to let you join us. Of course, he’ll want to speak with you first, before he makes a final decision, but you’re as good as in, I’m sure of it.”

  Christopher was excited and frightened, and to his chagrin, he began to shake. Perhaps he wasn’t ready for this after all.

  “When do we start?” He tried to control his voice.

  “You’ll be contacted when it’s time, and not a moment before. You must be ready to leave at once, whether we come tonight or a year from now. In the meantime, go home and go about your life as always, and speak to no one about this. Do you understand?” Danger was implied.

  “I understand,” Christopher said firmly with a new resolve.

  “God knows how young Percy has fared after three years in the Tower,” said Simon, rubbing his nose again. “If only Henry would come out of hiding, it would give us a leader to fight behind.”

  “Most think that he’s in Scotland still.”

  “Many of the northern castles are still held in his name despite the best efforts of the Nevilles to possess them. This gives us hope.” Simon decided it was time to change the subject. “Now tell me, how do your daughters fair?”

  For the rest of the evening their voices melded with dozens of others speaking of life’s common dramas.

  CHAPTER XII

  Edward pulled his horse to a stop and listened intently to the sound of the thrashers off in the distance. The woods around him were thick, making vision difficult beyond a few dozen feet. His entourage, including Hastings, had fallen behind, which gave him a moment to enjoy the humus-laden aroma of the woods and the warm summer breeze as it rustled through the leaves. He could hear the thrashers to his left and right as they flushed the deer before them toward a pre-arranged spot at the end of a long swal
e between two low ridgelines. He had hunted before in Whittlebury Forest, near Grafton, and knew it well.

  Three years had passed since his accession to the throne. He had known from the start that a crown taken by force would need constant vigilance to keep, and the residual civil unrest from the wars would not disappear quickly. But the nobility, and especially the common people who had longed for stable government for many years, were becoming enamored of their handsome young new king, who at the ripe age of twenty-one dispatched his royal duties with ease and grace.

  To be sure, the northern castles had proven to be more obstinate than he could have imagined, and the brothers Neville had spent many lives and resources trying to wrest those counties from Lancastrian hands. The irritating presence of Henry and Margaret in Scotland was a constant source of trouble, and it was the very threat of an invasion that gave the northern castles the will to continue their resistance.

  “Sire!” Hastings’ voice boomed through the trees. Edward looked to see the rest of the hunting party approaching with diligence. “Sire,” Hastings repeated as he pulled his horse to a stop. “It is folly to ride in these woods without your escort. I need not remind Your Grace that they are frequented by the most unsavory villains.”

  Edward smiled at Hastings’ concern. After the battle at Towton, he had elevated Hastings to the peerage by creating him Lord Hastings and also made him his Chamberlain, the closest of the king’s councilors. If it was possible, they had become even more constant companions since Edward had won the crown, and Hastings had continued to locate all of the finest young wenches available in the realm to fill his nights with pleasure.

  “Forgive me, William,” said Edward with a smile, “but a moment of solitude is the one thing that a king craves above all else, being so rare. Come, let’s go forward or the bucks will escape the trap.”

  The king’s party moved forward, listening for the sound of the horn that would signal the thrashers that the trap must be sprung. They slowly meandered along a narrow path that led into the drainage where Edward’s men would drive the game before them, ducking under and around limbs.

  “Does your wife resent me for taking you whoring so frequently?” Edward asked unexpectedly.

  Hastings shrugged his shoulders. “She understands that the weakness in men requires them to seek the comfort of strange arms occasionally, my liege. It suffices her to know that she will bear my heirs.”

  “Perhaps you’re right,” said Edward. “But a king must be more circumspect over his choice of brides, for the woman I marry will bear the heirs of England.”

  “You are still young, my liege, and there is no need to rush into a hasty decision. Many foreign princes will offer their daughters to you in order to bind our peoples in friendship. It is an opportunity not to be taken lightly. The new king of France has already offered his sister, the Lady Bona, to Your Grace. A treaty of friendship with Louis XI sealed with such a marriage would be highly beneficial.”

  “I do not trust Louis, William. He turned on his own father and sided with the Duke of Burgundy during their recent struggles. Such a man has no honor. And now that he’s king, he has turned on Burgundy and attempted once again to crush the autonomy of that great dukedom, which has been our ally for many years. No, I would not trust Louis to keep his promise if there were profit for him to betray us.”

  “The Earl of Warwick has been wooed by Louis and appears to have taken his side in that struggle, Your Highness. It would be wise, if I may be so bold, to keep a watchful eye on the Nevilles in this matter, and let them know your mind.”

  Edward reflected for a moment. “No, I think it best not to let the Nevilles know too much about our policies. We still need their strength and it would not be prudent to argue with them about these matters.”

  They rode in silence for a few moments while Edward contemplated his too-powerful cousin Warwick. “I think, William, that we can take advantage of Warwick’s friendship with the new French king.”

  *

  The hunt had gone well, and there were deer slung over the horses of several retainers. On their way back to Grafton, Edward and Hastings led the party along the wooded path through the dense underbrush, dodging low branches and talking loudly of plans for the evening. The woods before them opened into a large glade, and the late-day sun streaked through the canopy illuminating the forest floor. The glade was dominated by a single large oak with branches that stretched seventy feet from the ground. At the base of the trunk stood a figure wrapped in a body-length cloak with a hood, and two small children held close. Hastings quickly motioned for the escort, some of whom rode directly to the figure with drawn swords.

  “Who are you and what is your business in these woods?”

  The cloaked figure took a step forward and pulled the hood back. Edward’s attention was assured as locks of golden hair cascaded from the hood and a beautiful face that he recognized from somewhere came into view.

  “You need not fear me, my lord,” the woman said confidently to Hastings, falling to one knee. “I am a gentlewoman and seek only the honor of a word with the king.”

  Hastings was indignant. “The king does not grant audiences in the forest. Be gone.”

  The woman looked directly at Edward. “What I ask is a small thing to so great a king. ”

  Hastings signaled to his men. He was not in the habit of debating with subjects.

  “Take them,” he called to the nearest soldier.

  “Wait!” said Edward sharply, wondering where he had seen her before. He was captivated by her beauty, and the radiance of her deep blue eyes. The boldness and fearlessness that she displayed before Hastings intrigued him. “Who are you, my lady?”

  “If it please Your Highness, my name is Elizabeth Woodville, daughter of Lord Rivers.”

  Edward remembered his short visit to Grafton Manor after the battle at Towton, and his meeting with the Woodville family. He had gone there at the invitation of the dowager Duchess of Bedford, who, he knew, still had many friends in his court. If he could befriend her, she could help him turn old allegiances from Lancaster to York. And he remembered her beautiful daughter, who at the time was mourning the death of her husband.

  “William,” he said finally, “it is our pleasure that we speak with the Lady Elizabeth for a moment. Withdraw with your men.” Hastings withdrew to the edge of the clearing, but had the area encircled. Such chance encounters gave him an uneasy feeling.

  “Now then, my lady,” said Edward, dismounting. “Rise and tell us what you would have of us.”

  Without getting to her feet, Elizabeth signaled for her children to come and kneel next to her. “My gracious lord, I seek a boon which only you in your great wisdom and kindness may grant. And lest you think it ill of me, I ask this boon not for myself but for these fatherless children you see here before you. Through no fault of theirs, their father died in battle against Your Majesty. In your wisdom, you took my husband’s lands and goods, but now I implore you to think of these children, who have been dispossessed of their inheritance for their father’s acts, and grant them the boon of returning Bradgate Manor to them.”

  She’s enchanting, he thought, mesmerized by her sleepy eyes.

  “Please rise, my lady,” he responded at last. “Suddenly your boon has gone from a request for a word to a larger request for a grant of land.”

  “The two are as twins, Your Highness,” she said. “For one could not be requested without first gaining the other.”

  Edward laughed. “How did you know that we would be hunting in these woods today?”

  “It is the duty of loyal subjects to know when the king is near. In case services are needed.”

  He laughed again. “Or perhaps when the king may be of service. You are an unusual woman, Lady Elizabeth. We will think on your request. But this is not the place to g
rant boons. You may inform your gracious parents that we will dine with them tonight.” He took her hand and kissed it, lingering for a moment on the soft, flawless skin, then jumped on his horse. “Until tonight, then, my lady. Hastings!” he called over his shoulder. “Provide the Lady Elizabeth and her children with a safe escort to Grafton. We will dine with Lord Rivers and his wife tonight.”

  Hastings was surprised by the sudden switch in plans, but bowed his head and gave the appropriate orders.

  With two guards to escort her, Elizabeth rode slowly back to Grafton. She did not know if she had accomplished anything, but at least she would have one more opportunity to ply the king for the return of her beloved Bradgate. To entertain the king on such short notice would put an immense burden on her family and servants, but she knew that the king was testing them, and she would not fail.

  *

  A visit by the king required that not only he but his entourage of retainers and courtiers be fed and entertained. On this visit, the king brought with him a party of twenty, a relatively small contingent.

  The dowager Duchess of Bedford was no stranger to such occasions, and knew what needed to be done. Pigs, hens, and eggs were hastily procured from nearby farms, extra help was assembled to staff the kitchen and stables, and wood by the cord was brought from storage to fuel the kitchen stoves and hearths. The supper was served without incident and Elizabeth was relieved to see that the king appeared to enjoy himself. She could not help but notice that Edward gazed at her intently when he was not engaged in ribaldry with her father or others of his party.

  When at last the repast had been completed, Lord Rivers invited the king and his company to the Great Room for entertainment by the musicians, but Edward had other plans.