The Court of the Midnight King: A Dream of Richard III (16 page)

Richard fell silent, looking down at his hands. His posture was one of beaten, human despair. Raphael wanted to say something, to put a hand on his shoulder as any soldier might do to a comrade. Instead he was paralysed.

Eventually Richard continued. “You needn’t be amazed that I came to find you. I’ve been searching all afternoon for anyone I know who might be lying wounded, not dead.”

“Have you found any?”

“A fair few, Creator be blessed. And you say you’ll be fit to rise when the pain eases?”

“Yes.”

“Good, because I want you to come with me.”

Raphael gaped at him.

Richard rested his chin on his hand. “Will you?”

“Your Grace, I’ll rise from bed this minute, with all my heart, and follow you anywhere; but do you know how I served Lord Lykenwold?” The duke waited for an answer, the sharp eyes demanding. Raphael sensed he might not be an easy master. “I was his graylix-handler.”

“Then you’re a braver man than most.”

“Most seem to think there’s disgrace in handling such rude beasts.”

“Do you?”

Raphael thought of Teaser and the other dead animals, thrown in sacrifice to aid King Edward’s victory. Tyrant’s courage. He hoped Will Shaw had recaptured all those that had lived. Running loose, they’d be shot or speared on sight – before they killed either sheep or child, he hoped. “They have nobility of character, like the wolf… or the wild boar.”

Richard smiled again. His expression was tired, but warm. Raphael felt he was being tested, and didn’t mind; he could only submit himself to the duke’s scrutiny. “That’s well said. But you do yourself an injustice. You were also his falconer, I understand, and skilled with all animals? Yes, I have made enquiries.”

“I love falcons above anything,” Raphael said with feeling.

“Well, so do I,” Richard said softly. “From all accounts, you served your lord well.”

Raphael looked into his eyes. “The only lord I was ever meant to serve pulled me out of a ditch when I was eight years old.”

Richard’s forehead creased. “Are you a believer in destiny? A seeress once told me there’s no such thing. We make our own fate. But witches are deceivers.”

“I don’t know, but I know a good friend when I see one,” said Raphael.

The duke laughed. The rims of his eyes shone red. “Indeed, so do I, for they are very rare. Well, you had better heal quickly, if you’re coming with me. There will be more battles yet. Warwick is dead, but Marguerite is on her way.”

His eyes held determination as much as grief, Raphael thought. He felt his injured arm burning, healing under the very force of his will to recover. He bent his head to hide his own tears and kissed the Duke of Gloucester’s hand, swearing loyalty to the end of his life.

“Will Shaw,” he said, remembering. “The man who brought you to me. He’s been my only true friend.”

“Bring him with you. He can be your squire, as you are mine, if he agrees.”

“I think he will. Thank you.”

“I have others to see. Sleep now, and I’ll come back before nightfall,” Richard said quietly. “I’m glad we met again.”

The duke must have put the fear of God into the friars, for they hovered solicitously over Raphael with broth and wine, with damp fragrant towels and herbal brews, as if he were a duke himself. He slept in strange dreams of horror and bliss. When he woke again, with a start, he found a different face hovering over him.

A young woman. Her face was a cloud, as bright as the cloth she’d folded over her head like a nun. She was one of the three sorcerers from the sacred spring. She moved with the confident grace of the sisterhood of Auset, but he knew her from long ago… Her face had lengthened out of its childish roundness but could never be forgotten. Her black hair was escaping her headdress, her irises two butterfly-blue moons.

“Is your name Raphael Hart?” she whispered.

###

Kate had searched half the day, through tents and hovels full of wounded men. She’d passed soldiers limping along the roads; commoner and noble alike not too weary to give her a crude compliment or an invitation as she passed.

The shock of Warwick’s death had not sunk in. Later, she would go back to Isabel and tease out what it might mean. When she’d first been seduced by Edward into promising her aid, her immediate dread had been of betraying the earl, and being found out. Since George of Clarence had returned to King Edward’s party – taking his wife and household with him – that danger had been averted. Still, the shock of knowing Warwick was dead… how could such an immense character be dead, gone from the stage forever? She felt a mix of incredulity and unspeakable relief.

What if Warwick had won, and propped Henry on the throne yet again? Perhaps it would not make a great difference to most ordinary people, but Kate could only think of Eleanor’s fears, the slow death of the Motherlodge. The danger wasn’t over yet. The dreaded Queen Marguerite was on her way, with her Lancastrian lovers and a horde of foreign mercenaries.

Memories fade, but Kate had never forgotten the stink of the bearded man clasping her while she beat against him like a wren, not knowing what he intended but certain it was something unspeakably foul. Her mother filling the room with her chill laughter, and the brutes shrinking away as if they had literally, physically diminished. Kate had learned that day what power could be. Not overt, like that of these grand nobles, but subtle – not trying to crush their enemies, only to slip away like fish slithering through a child’s hands.

She wanted to be like her mother.

Years after the events in Eriswater, Kate and Eleanor had talked. Eleanor whispered, “The power I held over those barbarians, to protect you and myself, was only the power they chose to give to me. The art is to keep them afraid of us, but never so afraid that they turn round and destroy us. We must keep the flame of power, and keep it secret.”

An atmosphere hung over Barnet after the battle, like shimmering curtains of fire falling from the heavens. She saw two men, one in Warwick’s livery and one in Gloucester’s, sitting beside the road sharing a flask of ale. Warwick’s soldier was crying, the other comforting him. Goddess, this was so exciting, if only you could stay alive. Exciting, unreal, and horrific.

At last, half-way through the afternoon, she found him.

What a shock to see Raphael again, a grown man. His face was long and rather beautiful despite its weariness, with firm cheeks and restless green eyes. His hair was dark brown with a touch of gold fire, as if the sun had bleached the ends.

“Iesu,” he breathed. “Am I fevered? Katherine…” He struggled for her name. “Katherine Lytton.”

“Sweet Auset, it’s really you!” she exclaimed, with all the astonishment she could put into a whisper. “I saw you out there in the fog. We thought you were dead!”

“It hurts as if my arm’s been severed, but they tell me I’ll live.” He managed a smile.

“No – no, I mean long before today.” Her eyes widened, liquid with tears. “You don’t know, do you? Years ago, your mother came to mine and told us you and your brother were dead, killed defending your estate.”

His face dropped horribly.

“I don’t know anything of that,” he said, turning his face away on the pillow.

Silence. She knelt beside him and rested her fingers over his hand. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t remember.”

“You were very young,” she said. “Horrible things happened to me that I only half-remember. Otherwise we’d be driven mad. Raphael, everyone thought you were dead.”

He turned to look at her again. “I saw my mother killed. I thought. But you say she came to yours and…?”

She hated to kill the hope in his eyes. “She is gone now, I’m sorry. But yes, she lived with us for four peaceful years. If only she’d known you were alive…”

“Oh, God.” He groaned, and put his hand over his eyes.

“I’m so sorry, Raphael. Where have you been all this time?

“In the service of Lord Lykenwold, whom I saw hacked up like a haunch of venison today. I was sent to him at seven or eight. Before that, I remember two things from my childhood. One was being picked up out of a ditch by another child, who saved my life. The other was your face.”

“We met in York,” she said, prompting. “We saw Marguerite ride through, and the heads over the gate.”

“I remember talking to you, and being told my father was dead. That’s all.”

“Can you really not remember what else happened?”

“No,” he said, gripping her hand so hard she winced. “Kate, I can see if I try, but I don’t want to. I was out of my mind. I ran away and lived like an animal for six months. A boy rescued me and that was when I began to live. All the time before was lost. You tell me my mother’s dead, but I don’t know what to feel.”

Kate paused, concerned. “I didn’t come here to distress you. I’m just so glad to have found you.”

“You haven’t distressed me.” He smiled, and she smiled back. They were children again, holding hands. “Katherine, my lady, this has been one of the worst days of my life, and one of the sweetest.”

“Sweet? Lying in this miserable friary with your arm half-severed?”

“It’s not that bad. It was worth being wounded, to see you again.”

“Ah, but I had a pressing reason to find you.” She was serious again. “What you may or may not have seen upon the field of battle…” She looked meaningfully at him. “You know what I mean, don’t you, Raphael?”

“I think so.”

“You seem to be quite good at forgetting things. Forget you saw us in the mist, and tell no one.”

Burning silence. He looked afraid, as if touched by the raven wings of the hidden world. “Witchcra––”

She put her fingers to his lips. “Don’t be simple. Your mother Edith was one of our sisters. You must have learned something in your childhood. Please tell me you’ve not been poisoned against us?”

He shook his head. “No. I’ve nothing against you or the Motherlodge, truly. I wouldn’t betray my own mother.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” She whispered very low, “Our noble employer knows that such intervention is forbidden. If we’re found out, he may not protect us. Or, to put it another way, everyone suspects it goes on but they turn a blind eye. However, if it’s brought into the open, we’ll be the scapegoats. Therefore I was sent to warn you…”

“It’s all right!” He clasped her wrist. “I saw nothing. I was born into the old ways, as you were. I’m your friend, Lady Katherine.”

She sighed, tension fading. “Thank you. Call me Kate.”

“And I thought you came to see me out of love, Kate.” His eyes were tender.

“That too. Let me see this bruise.”

He submitted to her examination, relaxing as she poured healing warmth into him. “They seem to have put a good salve upon it,” she said grudgingly. “I’ll bring you a better one, and herbs to ease the ache.”

“Bless you,” Raphael said softly. “And you were conjuring the fog for which side?”

A quick, warning glare. “Hush. For Edward, of course. But I’m concerned about the other man who saw us, the one who took your black horse…”

“Don’t worry about him,” said Raphael. “That was the king’s brother, Richard. Since you were working for Edward, he’s hardly going to object, is he?”

Kate made her face expressionless. Her lips formed an acid line. “Let us hope not.”

“For all today was horrific, it’s been miraculous, too.” He laughed; she was pleased to see him happier. “The boy who found me in the hedge all those years ago – I never saw him again, until today. Have you ever seen someone and thought, that is a person I’d follow for the rest of my days? He’s asked me to serve him. It must be close to what monks feel for God, though it’s blasphemy to say so.”

“King Edward has that effect upon people,” she said dryly.

“Not him. I mean Richard of Gloucester.”

She frowned, with the disquieting, tugging sensation she always felt at hearing his name. Then she smoothed her face. She barely knew Richard, so what did it matter?

“That’s wonderful,” she said thinly. “So you’ll get up from one battle and go straight into another for him?”

In the archway to the dormitory there was a stir, new voices. Raphael looked up, past her shoulder, as a cool black shadow sent gooseflesh all over her back.

“Pardon me, I don’t mean to interrupt,” said the Duke of Gloucester.

Kate didn’t turn round. At the sound of his voice, her body stiffened and she felt the blood sink out of her face. Raphael noticed: his eyes narrowed, questioning.

“It’s all right, your Grace, I’m leaving,” she said, rising.

“No, Kate, don’t go yet,” said Raphael. “I don’t know where to find you.”

She meant to turn and leave quickly, her head averted, so Richard wouldn’t recognise her. She doubted he would, anyway, but just in case… Somehow her manoeuvre failed, and brought her face-to-face with the man she hadn’t seen for two years. He looked startled.

His strong, serious face still had the porcelain clarity of youth. He’d be only eighteen now, though he spoke and moved with the authority of a man ten years older. They stood looking at each other for long seconds. Richard bit the side of his lower lip but his eyes, unchanging, were ice-grey crystal.