The Assassin's Wife (43 page)

“What Desmond boys?” This cryptic remark piqued my curiosity.

“Why, King Edward and the Earl of Desmond were best friends from boyhood. When he married the queen, Desmond called her “the grey mare” for she were John Grey’s widow. It were a jest—nothing more than any coarse remark the men-folk might laugh over, but she were that angry—took it as personal slight, folk say. So, when the king were absent on business, she took his ring and sealed a warrant for Desmond’s arrest. His two little lads were murdered by that wicked John Tiptoft. Struck down in their beds, God rest them—” She crossed herself. “It’s unnatural for a mother to harm a bairn. I can’t forgive it. She’s much to answer for—”

Her vehemence unnerved me as much as the wicked tale. Mara had warned against the danger of revenge. “An ill wind will turn back to blow upon the sender. Retribution belongs to other than ourselves.”
 

“The queen must think about those murdered boys now she has two of her own.” Vividly I recalled the mischievous face of the child who haunted my dreams.

“Aye, well let’s hope the king’ll realise Clarence is grieving for his wife, and make allowances. He’s allus been fond of his younger brothers.”
 

But I’d seen another side of Edward Plantagenet in Silver Street. The golden knight silenced those who threatened his stability. He forgot past favours when he chose. Even favourite brothers could be discarded.
 

Chapter Fifty-Four

Miles sent no messages. The green April days lost their charm and inauspicious dreams of malodorous dungeons and baleful fires racked my sleep. Fatigued and fretful, I snapped at Dickon and quarrelled with the serving-wenches. My head pounded with a dull, perpetual ache. What detained Miles so long in London?

The traditional May Day Fair briefly distracted Middleham from court intrigue.

“Emma’s pestering me to go,” Jane Collins said. She watched me spoon some honey into the prince’s mouth. “I’ve no desire to be pushed and shoved amongst crowds these days. I’m too old and the place’ll be thick with rogues looking for easy pickings. Mind you, I’d relish some cheese from the white monks of Jervaulx Abbey. They’re allus at the market.”

I kissed the babe and laid him gently into her lap. “I’ll ask Lady Anne if I can take her.” I licked the spoon. “We need more honey. I’m sure the monks will have some and I’ll get you your cheese. Leave it to me.”

I ran to the duchess’s apartments and found a team of servants engaged in rigorous cleaning. The air hung heavy with the smell of lye and lavender. Too busy with her steward to pay me much attention, Lady Anne nodded a brusque consent and I delighted the nursery maid with the news.

* * * * *

In spite of a damp, grey start, the following day proved mild. We found the village thronged with people milling about a muddle of stalls in search of bargains. Watching the men-folk roistering together, spilling in and out of the taverns in increasingly merry mood, I thought of Miles when the ale made him lazy and good-humoured. But it brought no comfort. What dark undertaking lured him back to London? I dismissed an inner sight of the Tower circled by ominous black birds and the sinister oily waters of the Thames, throwing myself into the fair’s activities with reckless abandon.

Stilt-walkers, jugglers and tumblers enthralled; painted players in fantastical costumes shouted for attention; beggars crawled under stalls to filch fallen fruit, sweet cakes and morsels of roasted meat; dancers wove in and out the crowds urging them to join their boisterous revels; and troops of ragged children shrieked their way through a rabble of spectators.

Dizzied by noise, we paused at last to wonder at the antics of a dancing bear.

“Look at its great teeth.” Emma pointed with gleeful horror at the poor beast lumbering upon shaggy paws.
 

“There’s to be a bear-baiting in the tavern yard tonight.” A bold-looking stripling eyed Emma hotly. “I could take you, if you’ve a mind to it.” He lounged against a post, displaying his fine parti-coloured hose, his mouth puckered in an insolent smirk.

“Such sport isn’t for ladies.” I hurried a pink-cheeked Emma towards the busy booths selling pastries. A fleeting, ominous memory of Philippa confiding her love for Ralph Fowler crossed my mind. I vowed then to shield Emma from such flattering rogues. Blowing on hot pies filled with savoury minced meat, we discovered stalls heaped with fabrics, gloves, and kerchiefs.

“Look at these!” Emma rifled amongst a heap of ribbons and woven purses, jesting with the roguish stall holder. Dusting pastry flakes from my fingers, I helped her bargain with him for some lengths of lace.

A raucous crier announced the beginning of the jousting tournament.
 

“Oh do let’s go.” Emma seized my arm.
 

“I promised Mistress Collins some cheese. And if you want to watch the dancing—”

Rosy faced maids garlanded with blossom, skipped around the maypole, weaving the bright-coloured ribbons in intricate patterns. They ducked and dodged, turned and twisted to the rhythmic beat of the music, open-mouthed and sparkling-eyed, bringing pretty Alys into mind.

“In my village, the fair used to be the highlight of our summer,” I told Emma. “And the crowning of the May Queen caused the wildest merriment of all. It seemed like something from a folk tale then and we were so excited we couldn’t sleep for days after. On May Evening it was the custom for the village boys and girls to sleep under the stars. It was also a time for choosing sweethearts and plighting troths.”

“Did you have a sweetheart, Nan?”
 

“I was too young,” I answered, laughing. “But I often wonder who might have chosen me had I stayed there.”

We laughed our way back to the cluster of booths where strident voices proclaimed their wares with growing desperation. The sultry turn in the weather threatened to spoil the perishable goods and a carrion stink of putrefaction wafted from the meat stalls. We followed the bustle to where the White Brothers kept their store of cheeses and preserves, almost knocked down by a jeering hubbub of grimy, wild-haired boys and tattered girls pelting a little hunchback with clods and stones.
 

“What harm has that poor creature done?” Emma said. She fumed with outrage as the unruly mob upset barrels and bottles, spilled jugs, trampled pies into the dirt, and shouted insults at the stall-holders. “Why must people be so unkind?”
 

I didn’t answer. Wide-eyed and speechless, I watched a white-robed monk at the cheese stall smiling gently on the herd of matrons clamouring for service. When he glanced up at me, his mouth dropped open. I couldn’t take my eyes off him.

“I wrote to you.”

“And I to you. I had your letter from the convent—but many months after it was written. The seal was broken so I’m after thinking other eyes read it before mine. And one pair in particular—but we must speak more of that in private. I answered at once, but having no more news, I followed with another letter and another—”

Brother Brian’s blue eyes spoke such affection, tears filled my own.

“Are you well?” The lines in his gaunt face had deepened, but the familiar lilt of his speech and sweetness of his smile warmed me as ever. “How have you travelled to Yorkshire—so far from Norwich? What strange adventures are you after having since you left Dame Butler’s service? I thought you lost.”

“Oh, I’ve travelled far indeed.” I laughed through my tears. “And many strange adventures brought me to this place.” I squeezed his hands affectionately. “I’m so glad to see you! I’m married now. My husband serves the Duke of Gloucester—we have a little boy and live at the castle. After Norwich, I returned to London. By chance, I met the Duke’s wife and won her favour. So much has happened—” I glanced at Emma, clearly listening to the breathless tumble of our conversation. “But how long have you been at the abbey?”

Brother Brian read the warning in my eyes. “I think we’re after needing more leisure to tell our tales.” He rewarded me with a complicit smile. “I’ve been at Jervaulx these fifteen years—”

“And always in my mind.” I slotted my arm through his as I walked him a few paces from the curious listeners. “We’ve purchases to make from your stall—Emma, the honey—and don’t forget the cheese.” The maid took my purse, allowing us a few delicious moments of privacy. “We must meet again—and soon.”

“Come to the abbey. I must speak to you about Bishop Stillington—but this is not the place or time to air our history. I’ll send a message—Mistress—?”
 

“Forrest.” I answered with a genuine laugh, although the mention of Stillington set my heart racing. I hugged the monk close, both of us weeping. “I’ll wait impatiently for your summons.”
 

A sudden commotion diverted our attention. A breathless, red-faced matron panted into the press of women by the stall.
 

“They say she’ll be tried at the assizes—as a vagrant if not a witch.”

The woman’s words produced a cacophony of shrieks.

“A black-haired wench she is—a foreigner by the sound of the curses she gave the guards who arrested her—”

“But who sent for them?”

“Did you say witchcraft?”

The priest and I exchanged fearful glances.

“Emma!” I all but dragged the reluctant maid back to the castle, the word “witch” ringing in my ears.

* * * * *

“And in all the revelry, I’ll wager tha forgot about my cheese,” said Mistress Collins, having listened to Emma’s lively account of the dancing bear.

“No, but we’ve so much to tell you—”

“Th’art very pale, Nan.” Jane Collins took my basket. Inadvertently her broad hand brushed my fingers. “Th’art chilled to the bone!” She chafed my hands between her own rough palms, her worried expression fixed on my face.
 

“Emma, leave that.” The girl rummaged through ribbons, lace and sweetmeats to retrieve the cloth-wrapped cheese. “Fetch Nan a mug of warm ale and honey.” Her shrewd eyes assessed me swiftly. “I hope tha’s not taken a fever. These hot, damp days can be unwholesome. Who knows what pestilence vagabonds may have brought to the fair!”

“I met my old village priest.” I wanted to quell her anxiety. “It was such a shock after all these years, I still can’t believe it’s true! I never thought to find him in Yorkshire, let alone meet him at the fair!”

“Oh, it was lovely to see them together.” Breathless Emma planted a mug of ale on the trestle. “I’d never thought I’d see a monk weep, but he was quite overcome. He’s been at Jervaulx for years and years. He and Nan were laughing and crying and hugging like old friends. It made me cry too.”

“Fifteen years he’s been our neighbour,” I told a bewildered Jane Collins. “And I never knew it. Brother Brian took care of me when I first went to London—after my father died. I owe him so much.”

“They said a witch had been caught—” Emma interrupted, her face rosy with excitement. “I wanted to find out more but Nan wouldn’t let me. She said we must come home. But perhaps the monk’ll tell her when she sees him again. He wants to talk about Bishop Stillington—”

“Stillington?” Jane Collins interrupted. “Does tha mean the king’s chancellor?” Her puzzled face accused me.

“I met him once— in London.” Inwardly, I cursed Emma’s innocent remark. “Perhaps it’s something to do with that—” My thoughts flew to poor deluded Eleanor and faithless King Edward, gorgeous as a peacock amongst his fawning courtiers at Westminster.
 

“And what’s all this about a witch?” Jane Collins stared from me to Emma and back again.

“Oh, a woman came to the cheese stall, and she said—”

I let Emma tell a rambling tale, pretending amused indifference.

* * * * *

An uneasy sensation roused me from sleep the next morning. Eerie grey light seeped through the lancet window. Thick silence enveloped the castle. Shivering at the unexpected chill I snatched up my robe and ran across the damp rushes to peep outside.

Fog tumbled over the moors. Fascinated, I watched this ethereal tide swallow trees and buildings so fast they faded in a moment.

Behind me, Dickon stirred. In spite of Jane Collin’s disapproval, sometimes I let him sleep in our chamber instead of the nursery. I carried him to the window.

“Look!” I pointed to the unseasonal spectacle. “Dragon’s breath.”

He blinked, stretching out his little arms. Laughing, I jogged him up and down, nuzzling his soft dark hair. He smelled of spring grass and I pressed my face against his baby-plump cheeks. “You won’t be able to go out today. We must watch out for dragons!” I tweaked his nose setting him gurgling with laughter and then made a growling noise as I ran back to the bed where I threw him amongst the blankets and bolsters, romping and shrieking, pretending to be a dragon threatening to devour him—a game my father played with me in the far-off days of childhood.
 

A hammering at the door made me jump so fiercely Dickon giggled until Jane Collins burst in, dishevelled and florid. Never had I seen her so flustered or untidy.