The Beggar's Throne Page 18

  Two sentries on either side of the huge double doors at the end of the room lifted their horns and loudly signaled the impending arrival of the king. The doors swung open and the sentries went to their knees. The first to enter were two pages bearing the lion and Fleur de Lis crest of England and the king’s Sun-in-Splendor symbol. After them, the king himself entered, followed by Lord Hastings and two young men dressed in the royal purple velvet and floor-length capes, who Samuel assumed were the king’s brothers, recently arrived from Burgundy. The ranks of noblemen and courtiers bowed deeply as he passed. Upon arrival at the dais, the king took the two steps up and turned to face the room. He wore around his shoulders a velvet cape with ermine collar. On his head he wore a simple gold coronet, and in his right hand he carried the symbolic staff of office. Two pages lifted the cape from his shoulders and arranged it on the throne behind him, upon which the king finally sat. Hastings and the two brothers stood to the right of the throne, opposite the Nevilles.

  “My lords of Warwick and Montagu,” said Edward, “you are welcome back to our court.” Both bowed their heads in silent response. “Tell me now what news you have from the north.”

  “Your Highness, she who lately called herself queen has a small force of French mercenaries and English traitors, and they are locked still behind the walls of our great northern castles. We continue with our siege and given time we will smoke them out like rats. The puissance that Your Highness brings will spell the end. I had also hoped for help from the noble Duke of Norfolk, but I regret to inform Your Highness that the duke has joined his ancestors and will never more answer a call to arms.”

  Edward was crestfallen. After the Nevilles, Norfolk had been the strongest of his allies, and he had always felt more secure knowing that someone other than the Nevilles could assist him if needed.

  “We mourn the loss of our great kinsman,” he said after a moment. “Lord Hastings, you will give our respects to his heir, young John Mowbray, and tell him we weep for his loss.” Hastings acknowledged with a bow of his head. “As for the northern castles, we commend the actions of our cousins of Warwick and Montagu and instruct all our loyal subjects to assist them with any need. My lord of Kent, you and Scales will accompany them in this campaign.” He was speaking to the two noblemen that Samuel had not recognized next to the Bishop of Durham. The Neville brothers looked at each other momentarily, but made no comment. The Earl of Kent was a longtime supporter of the House of York and a kinsman to the Nevilles. But Scales was a Woodville, and had fought for the Lancastrians. Warwick did not understand why he was being included in this task.

  The king offered no explanation. “And now to the business at hand, which we have anticipated with great joy. George and Richard, stand before us, and we shall hear your oaths!”

  As the two young men stepped to the foot of the throne, Samuel found it difficult to believe that they were born of the same parents. The eldest, George, was blond and tall, and stood as if he were himself the king. His brother, Richard, three years younger, was dark and small.

  After both had given the king their oaths of loyalty, Edward stood and put his hands on their heads. Samuel could not help but notice the difference in the expressions worn by the two youths. Richard seemed in awe of his majestic brother and gazed up at him with excitement. George, on the other hand, looked uncomfortable and acted as if the attention were commonplace.

  Edward addressed George first. “Know by all men here present that before God and His ministers, we create our brother George the Duke of Clarence, and grant him all the appurtenances and powers attendant to that title.” He then placed a circlet of gold on George’s head as a symbol of his dukedom. Turning to Richard he said, “And know by all men here present that before God and His ministers, we create our brother Richard the Duke of Gloucester, and grant him all the appurtenances and powers attendant to the title.” Richard was then also crowned with the gold circlet of office. “My lords! Welcome these new dukes to our court.” The young dukes turned and were greeted with applause. “Come, my lords, and let us repair to the banquet hall and celebrate. My heart is full of joy today!”

  Samuel was relieved to hear that his services were not required at the banquet and was released for the night. Being anxious to attend breakfast in the morning, he retired without the usual carousing common to evenings with the guard.

  *

  The next morning Samuel was awake with the dawn and took unusual care washing at the pumphead. He had been careful not to wake Stanley, who usually accompanied him to breakfast, because on this occasion he had no desire for his company. He could smell the cooking fires from the kitchen hearths, and wondered how the bishop could afford the immense cost of hosting the king and his train. Walking quickly to the side entrance of the kitchen, he looked timidly through the door. There, behind a large kettle, stood Kate. He watched for a moment as she strained to stir what seemed a thick and difficult stew, her hair still in a single long braid which bounced as she moved. He was mesmerized by the shape of her breasts, which pushed their round form against her apron.

  He stepped in, trying to look more assured than he felt. “Good morning to you, Kate,” he said at last.

  She smiled casually. “Samuel, is it?”

  “I’m pleased that you remember.”

  “Am I likely to forget a person who knocked me to the ground?”

  Samuel blushed. “No, I don’t imagine that you would.”

  There was an awkward pause. “So what is it that you need at this early hour, young man?”

  “I was…I wonder if you’d like to join me after your duties this evening?”

  “What exactly were you thinking you’d like me to join you for?”

  Samuel blushed again. “I just meant for a walk in town, if that’s agreeable with you.”

  An unwelcome voice came from the doorway.

  “So there you are.” It was Stanley.

  “It is agreeable with me,” Kate said quickly. “You may meet me here when we put out the cooking fires.” Then she raised her voice. “Now help yourself to the rolls over there. I’ll not be serving you.” Samuel smiled broadly and with light feet walked over to help himself to a freshly baked roll. When Stanley joined him, he didn’t have to ask what had caused Samuel to fail to wake him that morning.

  *

  Samuel had been waiting patiently for quite a while before Kate finally emerged from the kitchen. She smiled tiredly when she saw him.

  “I hope I didn’t keep you too long. It’s not an easy task to feed the king’s party, and we’re all going mad trying to keep up.”

  “I can only imagine,” he said sympathetically. “I know a place down along the river that’s very peaceful this time of day. Would you care to see it?”

  “Should I call the housekeeper to watch over us?” Samuel blushed, and Kate laughed. “I suppose I can trust a member of the king’s personal guard.”

  The River Wear had an abundant flow by the time it reached Durham. The waters reminded him of home.

  “I feel like I’m intruding,” Kate stood beside him. The sun was just setting below the horizon, and the dim light made her seem mysterious. He could feel the warmth of her body. “I should know better than to come to a place where a man has found solitude.”

  Samuel was amazed by her insight. “Forgive me, I sometimes drift when I should be more attentive. Tell me about yourself. You’re not like any kitchen maid I’ve known before.”

  “Oh? And what strikes you as different about myself?”

  Samuel laughed. He loved the way she went directly to the point. “I think you know what I mean,” he said softly.

  Her face shimmered in the last glow of the day. “And you’re not like any soldier I’ve ever known.”

  “Oh, but that’s what I am, born and bred,” he said bitterly. “It’s all I’
ve ever known, and all I’m likely to know hereafter.”

  “I don’t believe that.”

  Samuel took her hand and led her down a narrow footpath that followed the bank of the river, ducking the ghostly willow branches along the way. The stars made their entrance onto the darkening dome above them, lending a misty glow to the river waters as they rippled past. He found his favorite spot, atop a low bluff, and they sat with their feet dangling over the edge of the rocky face above the current. The night breeze wafting gently past, Samuel felt a comfort that he had not known for many years. He began telling Kate stories of his youth and of growing up in Northwood, and even retold some of the events of the past couple of years, including the horrifying stay at Pontefract and the death of his father.

  “Well,” he said at last, “now you see that I am just a common soldier after all.”

  She put her warm hand on his arm.

  “I only see a young man who has taken a great many burdens on himself that are best shared with others.”

  “You still haven’t told me anything about yourself.”

  She turned away. “There’s nothing much to tell. I grew up just south of here to a large family of farmers. I did my family duties and worked hard until I was fifteen when my father began looking desperately for someone to whom I could marry. But the thought of working as plow ox for someone else for the rest of my life did not appeal to me and I ran away to this town, thinking that things would be better. As it turned out, the bishop took me into his service and he treats us well enough. At least I have some time to myself occasionally so that I can go on walks with handsome young men like yourself.” Even in the dark, she could tell that Samuel was blushing again.

  But there was a quality to her voice that did not seem warranted by the story, an unmistakably sad tone.

  “I think we had better return before it gets too late. I wouldn’t want people to start talking about you.” As he turned toward her, he found her lips pressed against his, a kiss that lingered gently into the night.

  CHAPTER XIV

  “My lord of Somerset, what news from the king of the Scots?”

  Three years of exile had not broken Margaret’s spirit. Her tireless efforts to secure help from Scotland and France had borne some fruit, even if the reacquisition of the English throne still appeared most unlikely. But she had sworn to fight to restore her son’s birthright until the day of her death.

  As for Henry, he accompanied them everywhere but rarely spoke, and at times relapsed into his witless stupors. Margaret would have grieved for him had she the time, but the mission that drove her every breath took precedence. For now he would have to content himself with his biblical studies and daydreams, the contents of which she could only imagine.

  Since the deaths of Clifford and Northumberland, her power had been reduced to a fragment of its former self. The Duke of Somerset and the Earl of Pembroke had remained loyal through all their tribulations, but they had never commanded the wealth and resources of her fallen lords. Louis of France had been maddeningly reluctant to provide men and funds for her cause, mainly for fear that Edward and his ally Burgundy would join forces and war against him; he knew that he had not the strength to withstand a joint attack. He did, however, allow her good friend, Count Pierre de Brezé, to join her cause with a small band of men that he had raised with his own funds. His presence had been a godsend to her, not only for his strength but for his unquestioning support. Sir Ralph Percy, the late Earl of Northumberland’s brother, had also joined them, helping with the defense of Bamborough Castle.

  Now if only the Scottish army would arrive, they could begin the next phase of the campaign. Margaret had taken up residence at Dunstanborough Castle, where her supporters now gathered to discuss strategy. She had converted the great hall into her throne room, where she sat with Henry.

  “Your Highness,” said Somerset, “Edward has arrived at Durham with an army, and Warwick will most likely wait to join him before advancing on our positions. As for the Scots, we have heard that they were dispatched from the king’s court a fortnight ago, but their exact location remains a mystery.”

  Margaret became agitated. “We have told you that we will not expose our son to the dangers of a battle with the usurper. We must have assurances that the Scots will arrive before them.”

  “If it were in my power to do so, Your Majesty, it would give me great pleasure, but the vicissitudes of the Scots will not permit it.”

  “Flee. Flee, good wife. Bloody Warwick comes.” It always startled the court when Henry spoke. “And he will prove more true than all the Dukes of Somerset.”

  Somerset was visibly shaken. “My Liege, I protest my loyalty!”

  “Peace, gentle Somerset,” interjected the queen. “The king has not been himself, and we know you to be a true subject.” She glared at Henry. “My lord, you have mistaken yourself. It is Warwick who is your enemy, not Somerset.”

  His face was devoid of expression. “Flee, good wife.”

  “Peace, my lord,” she said sadly. “We are safe here for now.” Her assurances did not seem to comfort him, but he withdrew back into himself. Margaret attempted to restore some decorum to the gathering.

  “My lords, we must have some intelligence of the Scottish army. Send all the scouts that we can spare and bring us certain news.”

  *

  Not a day’s ride from Margaret and Dunstanborough Castle, Warwick and his brother John were at Warkworth Castle, preparing to send a large column of the king’s soldiers toward the former queen. Though Edward had taken ill at Durham, he had already sent his army to join with the Nevilles weeks before, and had sent instructions to the brothers to begin the siege of the Lancastrian-held castles at once.

  John marveled at Warkworth’s commanding position on the cliffs above the sea. “This castle has a most pleasant seat, don’t you agree, Richard?”

  Warwick was more concerned with the activities in the courtyard below them.

  “I like it better since we wrested it from the Percys,” he said gruffly.

  “I think I shall ask the king for this castle when we’ve disposed of Margaret and her Frenchmen.”

  “If that’s what you want, I’ll see that he gives it to you.”

  “You seem very confident that he’s willing to do your bidding.”

  “He owes us for his throne and he knows it. Without our strength, even these petty Lancastrian incursions would be a serious threat.” Below them, columns of men were forming up just outside the castle moat.

  “If the rumors are true about a Scottish army coming this way, it may not be a petty incursion.”

  Warwick dismissed the notion with a wave of his hand. “The Scots fight better among themselves than against English armies. We have more than enough power to siege the castles and repel the Scots.”

  “How will you deploy the men?”

  “We’ll send the king’s men with Kent and Scales to direct the siege of Alnwick. It’s the nearest castle and I’ll be better able to keep a close eye on them. You, brother, will take your men to Bamborough, and I will make haste to Dunstanborough. We’ll dispatch daily messengers to each other. We can always break off from one place to assist the other if a Scottish army does dare to invade.”

  “I’ll be off then. Good fortune to you, Richard, and we’ll meet again when this business is over.”

  Left to himself, Warwick watched as his brother assembled his men and made preparations to leave. Once and for all, we must dispatch this bothersome Margaret, so that we can keep a closer watch on the king and his court.

  *

  Somerset bowed as the queen entered a small sitting chamber where she liked to speak with her supporters away from Henry.

  “What news, my lord,” she asked impatiently.

  “Highness, it is certain t
hat Warwick and Edward’s army have arrived at Warkworth. They may already be deployed toward us.”

  “And the Scots?”

  “I regret that there is still no word.”

  Margaret made a quick decision. “We and our train will depart from this place, and await news at Berwick. My lord, we entrust you with the defense of our castles until the Scots arrive to assist you.”

  “I will hold them against the devil himself, my lady.”

  “May God grant you His protection.”

  *

  After weeks of siege on the castle, Warwick could feel the growing desperation of those inside Dunstanborough. And from the accounts of the messengers, it seemed things were going equally well at the other two castles. At Bamborough, news came that the defenders were already eating their horses. It was late October, and the cold weather would also prove harder on the defenders than on his troops, who were being constantly replaced with new recruits from Durham and the surrounding country. And as yet there was no sign of a Scottish army. A messenger approached his tent. He was no more than a boy, likely come to serve with one of the knights as a page. He knelt and waited to be recognized.

  “Well?” Warwick asked.

  “A message from within, Your Worship,” he said. “The Duke of Somerset wishes to discuss terms for the surrender of Dunstanborough Castle.”

  “At last,” he dismissed the boy with a quick wave of his hand. To one of his attendants he said, “Arrange a parley with Somerset for this very afternoon. Go.” He pushed the man out of his way and addressed another. “Send word to my brother at Bamborough and tell him we expect to join him within a week.” He smiled with satisfaction.