The Assassin's Wife (54 page)

At the gatehouse I enquired of Brother Brian. “I must apologise for my intrusion. A matter of grave importance brings me here unannounced.”

My courteous manner impressed the kindly gate-keeper. Summoning one of the younger monks from stacking logs by the guest house, he directed him to take me to the infirmary.
 

A tiny monk with a sallow complexion raised mild eyes from the earthenware basin in which he was mixing crushed herbs and wine.

“Mistress Forrest.”
 

My guide’s announcement brought Brother Brian from behind a cluttered press with an armful of flasks and bottles. “We’ll not disturb Brother Ignatius with our gossip,” he said, depositing these on the trestle. “We can talk in the garden.”
 

Hurriedly, he led me out of the infirmary kitchen.

“I’m sorry to alarm you. There was no time to send a message.”
 

“No harm done.” Brother Brian managed a wan smile. “I was only after assisting in mixing potions. Ignatius won’t miss me, though I’m thinking he’ll be asking questions. Now, what brings you here in such haste?”

“News of Bishop Stillington and recent conference with the Duke of Gloucester.”

Brother Brian’s trouble-haunted gaze swept over my face. “And so, daughter, we stand in danger.”
 

“The king banished Stillington from court after the Clarence affair. I’d hoped never to hear of him again. Now he batters at our door. What are we to do?”

Brother Brian plucked a sprig of lavender. He rolled it to and fro between his fingers, inhaling its perfume. “Brother Silas is after praising the curative properties of this humble flower,” he said thoughtfully. He snapped off another spike, offering it to me. “It brings a gentle sleep to all who breathe its odour, eases the troubles of the mind and restores heartache.”

I savoured the pungent aroma emanating from the delicate flower-heads, remembering how Mara had similarly praised this lowly plant.

“We must be calm. We must trust our mightiest protector. The bishop won’t want to be rousing the king’s displeasure. And I can’t think the Duke of Gloucester would harm his brother. Stillington’s shrewd enough to lie low, and in the meantime we must make our own plans. Might you visit relatives in London?”

“London? Surely in London I’d be in most danger?”

“The bishop won’t look for you there.” Brother Brian resumed his gentle walk.

“But Jack Green would reveal everything! He’s a spy for Stillington
and
for the Duke of Gloucester and will work for whoever offers him the fattest purse. Though he’s thrown in his lot with Gloucester for now, I wouldn’t trust him anymore than I’d trust a fox in the henhouse.”

“Sadly, I must agree with you there. Already he’s ingratiated himself with Brother Silas, and Brother Dominic, our librarian. Both speak highly of his scholarship, but I’ve been after wondering what reason he has to spend so much time at Jervaulx.”

“Has he been here again?” Uneasily I glanced back towards the infirmary as if I expected to see Jack’s lithe figure slide out from under the archway.

“Go home, daughter.” Brother Brian’s eyes were clouded pools. “Keep silence, carry out your duties. I must have leisure to ponder on this dilemma. I’ll send a message—”

“But what if—”

Brother Brian took my hand in his own calloused fingers. “Be brave, daughter.” His eyes penetrated mine with a reassuring gravity. “You’re stronger than you know.”

Daughter again. Three times that day Brother Brian called me daughter. I clung to the endearment as a talisman. Fate had thrown us together the day I ran to him for protection with a mob baying at my heels. I remembered his kindness as we travelled the London road. He’d never let me down. I kissed his cheek in filial obedience. From the trellis he watched my departure like a faithful guardian. Looking back, I wish I’d spent longer with the wise, old priest, and told him the depth of my affection.

* * * * *

The walk across the moor brought no pleasure. Once I’d have revelled in the rolling landscape with its sweet-scented grass, the rugged mystery of ancient stones, the drowsy summer scents, but now I cursed the heat and the uneven paths that made my journey a trial. Sweating under my cloak I hurried home fearful as the fox that smells the hounds closing in.

“Well, Nan, you’re out early!”

A lean figure sat nonchalantly upon a rocky outcrop. Squinting against the sun, I tried to discern the features. “Who is it?”

“Why, Nan,” the voice replied, sly and smooth, “don’t you know an old friend?”

The figure executed a nimble leap from the rock and landed in front of me. With distaste I recognised the clever, weasel face of Jack Green.

“What do you want? Why are you spying on me?”

“Spying?” The silky tones assumed a mock air of offence. “Now why would I do that? I was up and about early myself and thought to take the air upon the moor. Then I saw you.”

“I’ve been to Jervaulx, to visit my old village priest. What’s wrong with that?”

“Why nothing at all.” Jack smirked as he fell in step beside me. “Except that everyone is out looking for you.”

“Everyone? Why?”

“Oh, there’s been an accident.” Jack’s smile widened. “But, look, here comes Rob Metcalf. He’ll tell you all about it.”

Elizabeth Metcalf’s eldest son, a tall, sturdy fellow with hair the colour of new rope, ran toward us, waving his arms.
 

“Is that thee, Mistress Forrest? Jesus be thanked! I’ve been looking all over. Thou mun come quick. Little Lord Ned’s taken a bad fall. The Duchess is fair demented. Thou mun hurry!”

I’d barely entered the nursery before Lady Anne pounced on me like a hungry cat. “You must save him!”
 

Jane Collins and Emma hovered by the prince’s bed. She flicked an impatient hand and they moved away.

I stooped to examine the angry bruises on the child’s face. A swelling on his brow resembled a huge goose-egg. His eyes wandered.
 

“The fall’s stunned him, Your Grace,” I said. “He needs rest and quiet—that’s all. I’ve seen other children with such injuries who were back at play in just a few hours.”
 

“But Lord Ned isn’t like other children,” she answered, imperiously. Her green eyes glittered with passion. “You must understand how precious he is to me.” She knelt beside me, the whisper of her breath warming my cheek. “He’s the heir.” Her eyes blazed with pride, the haughty Neville jaw jutted.

Tongue-tied, I winced as the enormous meaning of these words dawned on me.
 

“Remember you once offered me a crown?” Ambition illuminated her face. “I’m determined to have it now.”

Among the shadows something stirred. Sudden cold tingled my flesh. In that instant I saw the future unfurl like a great, colourful tapestry. How could I tell Lady Anne I couldn’t save her prince? Fate would favour but a few and then cast all away like broken flotsam.

“I’ve always found the cards to speak true,” I said at last. “But sometimes the interpretation isn’t right.” My mind travelled back to a little dark chamber full of whispering, excited maids and a thin, quiet outsider. Even then, frail Anne Neville had astounded me with the strength and tenacity of her will. And hadn’t I foreseen greatness for her?

“Once I might have scorned your cards for trickery, but time has taught me many lessons. Now I mean to have my way.”

But many lie between your wish and its fulfilment
, I might have answered, yet I knew better than to contradict her.
 

Chapter Sixty-Eight

The following morning I woke late, my head aching from an unpleasant dream of drowning. Finding myself alone and hearing shouts outside, I rose in haste. In the courtyard, I glimpsed Miles and several other men milling about, awaiting their mounts. Flinging on my night-robe, I ran out into the corridor.

“Where’s Master Forrest going?” I caught Guy scuttling down the stairs. “Is the duke going hunting?”

“No, Mistress.” The lad looked guilty. “Master Forrest told me you were sick. He told me to let you to sleep. He’s going to London.” He indicated the cloak he was carrying. “He asked me to fetch this.”

Snatching it from the lad, I raced into the courtyard. “Take me with you!” I shouted to Miles.

“I think Master Potter would have a lot to say if I turned up with a woman in tow.” He climbed into the saddle.

“But I’m not just any woman, I’m your wife.” I clung to the pommel. “You promised you’d take me to London one day.”

“And will do so—one day.” He plucked the reins from Rob Metcalf’s unwilling hands. “But not today.”
 

Conscious of the attention we’d aroused, he continued in light-hearted manner.

“I’ve important messages to deliver and no time to take you sight-seeing in the city. Besides, who’ll look after Dickon?”

“I could take him with me. The Mercers would be glad to see us.”

Rob Metcalf waited uncomfortably, shifting from one foot to the other.

“No.” Miles leaned down to plant a hearty kiss on my mouth, stopping my protests. “I’m on the duke’s business and can’t have you traipsing after me like a camp follower.” His voice grew low and husky with desire as he stroked my dishevelled hair. Someone coughed discreetly. “Besides,” he said, feigning laughter, “Master Potter has no means to entertain fair ladies. Nor can I allow you to go prancing to and fro all over the city by yourself. It’s not safe for honest women.”

“But my cousin Harry would take care of us.”

“Hark at the wench!” The onlookers laughed.

“It’s only for a few days.” He set his cap straight. The silver boar badge glinted. “You’ll not have time to miss me.” He took the cloak from my unwilling hands. Stooping on the pretext of chucking me under the chin, he murmured, “Don’t hound me, Nan. My duties are merely the ordering of provisions. You make me look a fool in front of the men.” Although he spoke with the softness of a lover, his eyes gleamed flint.

“Avoid the Tower.”

Furiously he shook off my grasp.
 

Full of misgivings I watched the horsemen depart. Spots of rain began to fall, blotching the delicate fabric of my robe.

“Mistress Forrest,” said a detested voice by my elbow. “Are you so eager to see the sights of London? They say it’s full of vice and intrigue since the king allowed his wife to lead him by the nose.”

I shrugged without turning. “I know little of the queen.”

“But something more of the king?”
 

“You’re full of sly insinuations,” I answered impatiently.

“Ah, Mistress Forrest, but I think you’re full of secrets.”

Rage spun me round to face him. “What is it you want of me, Jack Green? I’m tired of your insolent looks and your jarring voice. I can’t believe I once felt sorry for you, even cared for you! Now you’ve become as sticky as a burr—as irritating as an itch no amount of scratching can soothe! Stop all this riddling and speak your mind. I’m sick of threats!”

“Why must you always be so angry with me, Nan?” He pretended injury. My outburst caught the attention of two stout matrons gossiping by the brew-house. He drew me by the elbow into a shadowed corridor leading to the Hall. “Let’s be straight with one another. What do you know of an archer named Blayborne?”

“Blayborne?” I repeated stupidly. I tried to smooth my dishevelled hair. “What are you talking about?”

“Haven’t you heard tales of the king’s parentage? Surely you must have heard talk about how he bears no resemblance to the late Duke of York?”

“Oh, that old tale,” I replied, still tetchy. “Of course, I’ve heard it. But what has that to do with me? The king’s mother’s still alive. You’d best ask her about it—if you dare. I’m sure Cicely Neville’ll have you hanged if you so much as
breathe
scandal about her marriage.”

“I have it on good authority the king’s a bastard.” Jack seemed unperturbed by my scorn. “He was conceived while the Duke of York was away campaigning and is the result of an adulterous affair between the Duchess and an archer in the garrison at Rouen. Moreover, there are documents can prove it.”

“Be careful,” I said, genuinely shocked. I pulled my robe tighter. “The Duke of Clarence was executed for speaking such treason.”

“Indeed.” Even in the dim light I couldn’t mistake the leer on his face. “And I think you know something of that particular execution, don’t you? Oh, Mistress Forrest, you’re not always careful, are you? And you’re so fond of your old priest. Your letters to him are most entertaining—”

My bones ran ice. I leaned against the wall.

“My noble master’s anxious to spare the Duchess of York any embarrassment. He’d prefer to establish a legal claim to the throne by a less painful route. The king’s marriage to the Wydeville widow has long been the subject of discussion. There are those who think its secrecy a ploy to hide a greater secret. Do you understand?”