The Beggar's Throne Page 17

  “We thank you, Rivers, for the fine meal.” Addressing his men, he spoke loudly. “We implore you all to go in with Lord Rivers and to enjoy his hospitality. As for us, we ask leave to walk with your daughter in the gardens.”

  “Our daughter has my good leave to go with you, Sire.” He could not, of course, refuse.

  Edward escorted her into the garden, which was blooming with lilac and mock orange. Three of Hastings’ men stood near the back wall of the manor, always vigilant. They walked around to the lake where Elizabeth and her father had sat that cold afternoon three years ago when she had heard the news of her husband’s death. Edward took her hand and kissed it gently.

  “I wanted to tell you how lovely you look this evening.” Elizabeth noticed that he had dropped the royal plural. “In fact, I had a hard time keeping my eyes off you.”

  “You did not appear to be trying very hard in my estimation, my lord,” she said, looking out over the lake.

  Edward smiled. He was drawn to this woman in ways that he had not hitherto known possible, and he had bedded more women than he could remember.

  “Tell me, sweet Bess, do you admire me?”

  “You are my king,” she said.

  “You know that’s not what I mean.”

  “I understand you well, my lord.” She looked into his eyes. “And I am your loyal subject.”

  Edward turned from her and after a moment’s reflection, he stood and watched the sun vanish below the horizon. He wondered to himself if anyone would ever speak to him like a normal person again.

  “Please, Bess, tell me what you’re thinking. I left my crown back with your parents.”

  Elizabeth decided to take him at his word. She realized there was risk, but something in his face and demeanor gave her the courage.

  “My lord’s crown is not so far away that he cannot retrieve it if he wishes. Forgive me, but I won’t be one who shares the pleasure of your evening company, and is bade farewell on the morrow without further regard. I have been a gentleman’s wife and would be so again, if God so desires.”

  Edward took her hands. Looking hard into her eyes, he could not fathom his fascination with this woman. Few of his subjects would dare question his motives as she had just done, but instead of angering him, she had succeeded in captivating him further. She appeared to him as through a fog, distant and yet alluring beyond belief.

  “Is that what you think? I had hoped that you would feel as I do at this moment. What can I do to open my soul to you so that you’ll see more?”

  “The answer to that, my lord,” she said tenderly, “is within yourself.”

  “I don’t understand. Is it your lands that you wish?”

  “Forgive me again, my lord, but perhaps now it is you who are misinterpreting my motives. While it is true that I cherish Bradgate, I refer now only to my reputation. I know that many consider my family to be of lesser blood, but we are proud and have always been loyal to the throne. I would not be an evening’s entertainment.”

  Edward took a moment to think. “Perhaps I have assumed the worst of you,” he said with a thin smile. “I can only open my heart to you and ask that you trust me when I tell you that I have never felt the way I do now in the presence of any other.”

  Elizabeth smiled. She had been treading dangerous ground with the king, but if the events of the last few years had taught her anything, she knew that the safe path rarely led to desired destinations. She was flattered by the attentions of this handsome young monarch, but the danger of disappointing or angering him lurked behind every word. By confronting his hunting party in the woods, she had only wanted to convey her desperate wish to have Bradgate restored to her. But now the encounter seemed to have garnered entirely unexpected results, and she feared that the disposition of the outcome hung on how the conversation ended this evening.

  “You are the king, my lord. Your every act carries with it great consequences. I believe that I do now know your heart in this matter, but I still have fears that will not be easily quelled.”

  “I would only rule your heart, Bess, if you let me. Tell me what you fear.” Elizabeth felt a sadness in his voice that did not seem related to his words.

  “I fear that Your Highness does not know enough about me to speak of love. My children know that their father died while fighting against you; it is not easily forgotten.”

  Edward took her hands. “What has gone before cannot be changed, and though I regret that the path which brought us here is ridden with many dead, including your late husband, I thank God that He has seen fit to bring us together on this evening.”

  Elizabeth could not hide the fact that Edward’s attentions were stirring emotions in her that she had not felt since the death of her husband. The touch of his hands sent chills through her body that she struggled to control. Edward, sensing her receptivity, gently pulled her to him.

  “I wish to see you again, sweet Bess, if you’ll have me.”

  She felt the strength of his desire as their lips grew closer.

  “I hope the days will be short until then.” She shivered violently as he kissed her deeply, pulling her firmly into his body. She had not hoped to feel this way again in her lifetime, and they lingered in each other’s arms.

  CHAPTER XIII

  The rutted, muddy streets of Durham were still familiar to Samuel, though several years had passed since he had seen them. A scant fifty miles from the great northern castle of Warkworth, he had made several journeys to Durham on the earl’s behalf during his apprenticeship, and had always enjoyed the sparse northern woods through which the road wound. Durham was also not far from Northwood, and occasionally his father had escorted wagonloads of milled grain to the markets here for the earl, sometimes bringing Samuel along.

  Now he was enjoying a moment’s respite from his duties, having accompanied the king northward with the guard. For three years he had enjoyed the favor of Sir Julian, who had taken it upon himself to train Samuel in various skills of war, especially in the use of the short sword. Sir Julian was a strong advocate of versatility, and wanted his men to be capable in whatever skills were warranted by any situation. Now Samuel felt comfortable wearing his sword belt, and was confident in his ability to use his blade, though he still preferred to face an enemy with a full quiver on his back and a bow in his hands.

  The streets he remembered had not changed much over the years. The hustle of activity and overbearing aromas recalled many old, forgotten bits of memory, which now rolled through his mind like gusts of wind through the winter woods. Even the faces all seemed strangely familiar. The only person he didn’t recognize was himself.

  His body, while still quite thin, had grown strong and sinewy through the constant physical exertion of his training and occasional combat, and by the natural transformation to manhood. His thick, curly black hair hung in locks to his shoulders, which were covered by a leather jerkin emblazoned with the king’s Sun-in-Splendor symbol. But it was his face that had changed the most. Still clean shaven as he preferred it, the cares of many battles and the traumatic events of Wakefield and Towton had left their marks. It was not the eyes of a twenty-year-old man that gazed upon the ramshackle houses that lined the streets of Durham, but those of one who had seen too much for his tender years. Somehow he could not shake the feeling of being alone.

  “Samuel!” The sound of his name from somewhere out of the crowd startled him, and he spun on his heels to see who could be calling. He saw an arm waving and a head bobbing above the crowd. Recognizing his friend Stanley, he normally would have been pleased to see him, but at this moment Samuel was fighting the urge to run and hide. He waited, however, until his friend caught up, breathing heavily after what must have been a significant exertion. Stanley put his hands on his knees, taking a moment to catch his breath.

  “I thought I’d ne
ver find you,” he said at last. His reddish hair and light, freckled skin seemed all the more pale in contrast to his tunic with the Sun-in-Splendor emblem of the king’s guard.

  “I didn’t know you were looking for me,” Samuel said. “Come, you look like you could use some water.” He took Stanley’s arm and led him to the public fountain that sprang from the wall of a stone building in the town’s central square. Stanley splashed the water on his head and drank mouthfuls between hurried breaths. When it looked like he was recovered from his run, Samuel clapped him on the back. “So what brings you to such a state?”

  “The guard has been summoned to the king, and we should be there now!”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “We’re to take part in the investiture. Haven’t you heard?”

  Samuel shook his head and relaxed. Another ceremony, he thought with annoyance. He did not relish the thought of standing around as ornamentation while another of the nobility was granted some high honor or post that did not concern Samuel in the least.

  “What investiture?” he asked absently.

  “The king’s brothers, of course. I cannot believe that you don’t know.”

  Now that Stanley reminded him, Samuel did remember something about the king’s youngest brothers returning from Burgundy where they had taken refuge during the past several years. Now that Edward felt secure on the throne, he had sent for his mother and brothers. The dowager Duchess of York returned to Baynards Castle in London, where she took up permanent residence to be closer to the royal court. The boys, on the other hand, were sent directly to the king’s presence.

  “Yes,” said Samuel with a sigh. “I do remember, now that you mention it. The ceremony is today?”

  “It’s to start at sunset, but we’re required to be at the bishop’s manor house now, so that proper preparations can be made. Sir Julian sent me after you with solemn warnings about being late.”

  “Very well, then. We’d best be off.” They walked quickly along the busy street, doing their best to avoid the mud, spinning and dodging the densely packed pedestrians.

  “You never told me what you thought of Sir Julian’s tale,” he asked Samuel as they ducked under the canopy of a fishmonger’s wagon, the pungent odor of eel turning their stomachs.

  Samuel thought for a moment about the story Sir Julian had told to a group of the guard the night before while they were at supper. It was a banquet sponsored by the king for his guardsmen, over which Sir Julian presided as the king’s representative. The old knight had spent much of the evening relating the ancient tale of Roland, a knight in the service of Charlemagne while the emperor was fighting the Moors of Spain some six hundred years ago. Roland had been assigned to lead the rear guard of the army. Another knight, jealous of Charlemagne’s favor toward Roland, betrayed Roland to the Moors, who attacked the rear guard with an army that far exceeded Roland’s in size. Instead of blowing his horn and calling for Charlemagne to come to their rescue, Roland engaged the enemy, thinking it far nobler to risk his life and those of his men. While he and his men fought bravely and inflicted disproportionate losses on the Moors, in the end he could see that victory was not possible, and only then decided to blow his horn. But it was too late. By the time Charlemagne answered the call, Roland and all of his men lay dead on the battlefield, a loss that sorely grieved the great emperor.

  While Roland’s mistake was plain to them all at the banquet, Samuel could not surmise why Sir Julian had chosen to tell that story on that occasion. He hid his ignorance behind a quick shrug of his shoulders.

  “I think it’s plain that he was trying to tell us something.”

  “I guessed that much myself, you lout,” Stanley gave him a shove into the path of a large man who was walking in the opposite direction. Samuel barely managed to avoid a collision. He lunged back and grabbed Stanley by the tunic and they struggled against each other, both trying to avoid being forced to the muddy ground. Several passersby, angered at being jostled and bumped, cursed them as they crashed into the side of a building. Finally releasing each other, they slumped onto a short foundation wall, laughing and panting from the exertion.

  “Don’t worry about them,” said Stanley defiantly to the scowling faces in the crowd. They both knew that as members of the king’s guard they did not have to live by the same rules as the commoners. He made a mock lunge at a woman who looked especially disapproving, and with a yelp, she scurried down the street, yelling curses back at him as she went. Again, they laughed with glee.

  “It’s good to hear you laugh again, Samuel. You should do it more often.”

  “I grew up near here, did you know that? It still all looks pretty much the same after all that’s happened.”

  “You speak like an old man, my friend. How much did you expect things to change in your short life?” Stanley laughed, but Samuel’s face did not change. Stanley saw a chance to learn more about his friend. “Where is your family now?”

  “The last I knew, in Northwood. Just a day’s ride to the north of here.”

  “Perhaps Sir Julian will give you a few days to visit.”

  “I don’t think I’d be welcome,” Samuel said absently.

  “It sounds like a story I’d like to hear.”

  “It’s not one I care to tell.” Samuel jumped to his feet. “Come on, we’re going to be late.”

  Stanley quickly caught up. “Everyone in the guard knows that it was you who killed Clifford, and with an arrow shot that’s practically legendary. Sir Julian said that you had some score to settle. What did he do to you?”

  “Sir Julian tells more stories than he should,” said Samuel. After walking silently for a while longer, he spoke again. “I had the temerity to question Clifford’s honor after the battle of Wakefield, having watched him needlessly slaughter the defenseless Earl of Rutland. After that, his men hunted me down and took me, my father, and sister prisoner. My father was beaten so mercilessly that he died shortly after. The rest of us were rescued by the king’s men, but my brother was devoted to the Percys and blamed me for everything. My joining the king’s guard only made matters worse.”

  “I doubt it not,” said Stanley under his breath. “Why did you join if you knew that it would alienate your brother?”

  Samuel thought for a moment. “I’m not really sure, but it seemed like the right course at the time. Besides, it’s what I was trained for, isn’t it? I didn’t really see a life for myself back in Northwood. It just seems as if every time I try to do the right thing, those closest to me suffer the most, so if I were you, Stanley, I’d keep my distance.”

  Stanley grabbed his arm, stopping their rapid pace toward the bishop’s Manor House.

  “If that’s the cost of your friendship, then I’m willing to pay.” Samuel had not expected such kind words, and could think of nothing to say. Stanley smiled, then pushed him down the street. “If I get punished for being late on your account, you’ll be sorry, I swear.”

  They ran the last few blocks that separated them from the bishop’s house, darting and dodging around every obstacle. As they turned the last corner and the iron gates came into view, a woman carrying a basket full of onions and herbs stepped out from around the corner and, unable to check his speed, Samuel collided with her, sending them both headlong to the ground, scattering the contents of her basket. Dazed at first, then simply angry, the woman glared at Samuel.

  “Do you not know that others use these streets as well?”

  Stanley stood smiling while Samuel scrambled to gather the woman’s basket and its contents. He apologized profusely and helped her to her feet, handing the disheveled basket back. His actions had disarmed the woman, who had to smile at his embarrassment.

  Samuel looked at her for the first time. An attractive woman in her early twenties, she had brown hair in one long braid. She bore
herself proudly, more like a noblewoman than the kitchen hand she was.

  “Come on, Samuel. We’re late as it is,” urged Stanley. Samuel did not seem to hear him.

  “My…name is Samuel,” he stammered.

  “Your friend has already told me that,” she said. Positioning her basket on her shoulder, she brushed past him and continued down the street. “Please do be more careful in the future.”

  “Will you please come on,” urged Stanley more persistently as Samuel watched her disappear around the corner.

  “Do you know her, Stanley?” he said, grudgingly allowing himself to be pulled toward the iron gates of the bishop’s home.

  “For heaven’s sake, man, she’s a kitchen maid in the bishop’s service. Kate, I think her name is. Have you not seen her toiling there?”

  “No,” he said wistfully, “I haven’t.” They entered past the gate toward the rear where the guard was camped. There’s something about her, thought Samuel. Something…

  *

  The great hall of the bishop’s manor was lit by a dozen torches. Samuel and the rest of the king’s guard were arranged in single lines along both walls, except for Sir Julian, who stood below and slightly to the right of the throne. All of the guard wore the gold-and-black tunic with the Sun-in-Splendor symbol. Samuel stood somewhere toward the center of the room on the right side, from where he was able to see the entire room. Stanley stood next to him. Countless dignitaries and courtiers mingled, carrying on dozens of conversations. Samuel easily recognized the brothers Neville, who stood near the front of the room by themselves. The Earl of Warwick and his brothers George, the Bishop of Exeter, and John, Lord Montagu, had become the principal power of the kingdom and the staff of the king’s party. Warwick and Montagu had only recently returned from the north after having contended with the Lancastrians, who were still holding the great castles of Bamborough, Dunstanborough, and Alnwick, as well as Berwick Castle, which had been treacherously deeded to the Scots by Margaret in exchange for their support. Samuel also recognized their host, the Bishop of Durham, who was talking to two magnates that he did not recognize. It felt hot under his heavy leather tunic.