The Exiled (25 page)

And his new wife was undeniably delectable, as he had found, for they sorted very well together, he and she, last night. It was not often as easy with a virgin.

Briefly, he cast Margaret a warm glance as she sat waiting for him in their great carriage, a glance which distracted her from sulking and made her smile through blushes. The duke’s belly shifted with the memory of how pleasant it had been overcoming his new wife’s natural modesty when the wedding guests had finally been chased from the bridal chamber. And there was another night to come very soon, and another ... Yes, he would enjoy teaching this one to lose all vestige of shyness, very slowly and very, very thoroughly. It would be pleasant relief from this new anxiety he could not quite suppress.

Yet Charles was the perfect host as he kissed Elisabeth’s hand. Curtseying deeply in reply, the Queen of England rose to find a handsome man, a fox-like man, who somehow managed to make each compliment both graceful, funny and knowing.

Transferring her hand from her husband’s arm to the duke’s, she let him conduct her proudly to where his bride was seated in her own throne on a great wheeled chariot. It gave Elisabeth considerable pleasure to see that Margaret, because of precedence — a reigning queen would always outrank a duchess — was forced to stand and curtsey to her unexpected guest.

Elisabeth sighed happily. It would be a difficult interview with the king later, but incontestably, there was disturbing evidence from the north, evidence gathered by men she paid — and she had been right to come. And now that she was here, well, she was determined to enjoy the rest of the wedding celebrations. In her rightful place, at their centre.

Not so Anne de Bohun. In twenty-four hours her world had been completely rearranged and it was spinning.

She had returned very late to her own bed, and though deeply weary, had slept little.

A hot, early summer dawn had not improved matters for there were things to be faced which would not go away. At least it felt a little easier in the light of day.

She did not doubt the strength of her feelings for Edward, nor his for her, but as she sat in the kitchen feeding breakfast to little Edward as the house came awake, Anne, try as she might, could not see the way ahead, especially now that Elisabeth Wydeville was in Brugge.

Wearily she closed her eyes, fingers to throbbing temples. She had drunk very little last night, and eaten less. Somehow, the sight of Edward at the high table had robbed her of appetite ... now it felt as if she would never hunger, or thirst, again.

Deborah watched her foster-daughter with concern as, covertly, she stirred powdered wormwood and sanicle in a cup of honeyed sage tea which she was preparing for the girl. Perhaps the herbs would help her foster-daughter in the days to come. Wormwood might moderate desire, the sanicle would help with the profound wound to Anne’s heart — her love for Edward — and sage might bring wisdom where the king was concerned: only might: Deborah was a realist.

It would be little enough to stem the floodtide of emotion on which Anne was swimming.

Of course the celebration of the wedding and the first great banquet last night were only the beginning of ten days of hectic events which would be piled one on top of another, culminating in a tournament to commemorate the marriage.

This first day, however, Anne had previously arranged to sponsor the staging of an archery competition — a nice irony that, for all that the weapon for the contest was a longbow. It was to be shot this very afternoon in water meadows outside the town’s gates and even now word was circulating throughout the city as details of the competition began to be made public.

In Deborah’s view Anne could not have thought of anything more likely to be popular amongst the people of Brugge — and more likely to enrage the merchants of the English trading community, since the duke himself had agreed, on behalf of Margaret, that his bride would present the major prize — an English Angel of each year of her age.

And no doubt, no doubt at all, Anne would see Edward there again — and now his wife, if rumour was true.

Deborah added extra honey to the tea she was brewing — something sweet was certainly needed, for today would be a difficult day, for all of them ...

Duke Charles remembered the contest, belatedly, as his party rode back from Damme. The flurry of the queen’s arrival had distracted him, and his new duchess, but now he formally invited Edward, Elisabeth and all the members of the English court to the archery butts in the water meadow beside the Zwijn to witness the championship.

Edward, of course, swiftly agreed that he would be pleased to attend, and suggested his people should participate in the competition as an honour to the duke, Duchess Margaret and the people of Brugge. English prowess with the longbow was, after all, a matter of pride to him and his countrymen.

‘But what merchant could have the resources to give such a handsome prize, Duke Charles? He must be truly a man of enormous wealth.’ It was the queen who spoke, astonished when she heard how great the purse was to be.

The duke smiled a slightly chilly smile.

‘The “he” is a “she” ma’am. And remarkable for that fact. Perhaps you did not know, but we have a lady who trades as a merchant in this city with my permission: a very beautiful, unmarried English lady. Sadly, someone tried to assassinate her recently — commercial rivals, we believe. An ironic comment on her power and influence, it seems to me.’ The courtiers gasped — it was bold to joke about such things. And Edward too was shocked though rigid training kept his face impassive.

The queen had become very still as the duke continued. ‘Some think this lady’s life a scandal, but I consider her to be a marvel of nature: a woman with the skills of a man. And the courage.’

‘You astonish me, Duke Charles. A man-like woman — how unusual.’ The queen’s tone was detached, only faintly interested, but the duke was observant for he had seen the queen’s lightly clasped hands clench convulsively as he told his story. Duke Charles smiled at Elisabeth charmingly and shrugged.

‘“Man-like” would not be used by many to describe this lady. She is very lovely to look upon, as I said.’

Edward, his face a polite mask, turned to Duke Charles.

‘Perhaps the duke will tell us the name of his unusual merchant?’

‘Lady Anne de Bohun. She has lived quietly amongst us for a time at the house of her guardian, Sir Mathew Cuttifer, a prominent English mercer here, but I believe she was originally from the west of your own country.’

Edward smiled charmingly at his wife.

‘Anne de Bohun. Elisabeth, you’re so much better at this than I am. Do we know her? Has anyone of that name ever been at court?’

The queen smiled innocently in reply.

‘No. But perhaps Your Majesty might have met the lady at another time and been unaware it was she?’

The court party was fascinated. Clearly there was subtext to the king and queen’s exchange, though their faces remained so politely disengaged they might have been discussing the weather.

‘If Your Majesties will consent to accompanying the duchess and me this afternoon, you will see for yourselves. We will not need to stay so very long, just time enough to judge the winners and for my dearest wife to award the prize. It will greatly please my subjects, and yours, I feel sure, for us all to be seen at the butts.’

And so it had been arranged. A message was sent to Anne from Duke Charles that confirmed the presence of himself and the duchess at the prize-giving, to be accompanied by the English king and queen.

And Anne, once she had seen little Edward well fed and sent away with Jenna to dress especially well for the day ahead, asked Maxim and Ivan to join her for a final discussion of the events to come.

It was more than hard to concentrate now that she knew Edward, and also Elisabeth, would be present at the archery contest. Yet she had sought this, arranged it and on one level, though it was foolhardy, a clear signal was being sent to her enemies: Anne de Bohun refused to go away. Anne de Bohun had very powerful friends. Anne de Bohun had survived and would prosper.

Proud and strong, that was the subtext of this message. And yet, today of all days, Anne did not feel brave. She would not have been human if fear had not coloured the elation and exhaustion of last night.

Edward. She would see him again after their tumultuous night together. Gods grant she found the strength to appear unmoved by his presence at the contest.

But she had barely sat down to review the timetable for the contest when Deborah announced William Caxton. Anne, out of politeness, had no choice but to invite her guest into the workroom.

‘Maxim, and you too, Ivan, I shall spend a little time with Master William, but that is all; please be ready to continue our discussion.’

The words were barely out of her mouth as the two men left and William was admitted, but Anne could not suppress concern when she saw him.

‘William, what is wrong?’

It was as if her capable, vigorous friend had aged a decade overnight.

‘Anne, did you know?’

‘Know what, William? You are agitated. Please sit here in the breeze from the window. Are you thirsty, or hun—’

He did not allow the words out of her mouth.

‘Did you know that the queen has arrived?’

‘Yes.’ Anne was astonished at William’s intensity.

‘The archery contest? When did you decide to stage it?’

‘When the marriage was announced, Master William. This is for the duke, his bride and the people of Brugge. It is my gift to each one of them.’

Poor Caxton; this contest would create yet more trouble over the days ahead for it would place Anne at the centre of the court’s attention once more, and that had to be good for trade. However, the warring factions of the Merchant Adventurers — those who opposed, and those who supported Anne — were only a distraction here, today.

Anne sensed William was hiding something, something important. ‘What is wrong, Master Caxton?’

Caxton suddenly lost his nerve, his certainty. What if he was wrong? The Queen of England plotting to murder this girl? What if it was all fevered imaginings, paranoia?

He got up abruptly and leant out of the casement window, snuffing up the rich scent of freshly scythed grass from her heber. Such a comforting smell, so real ...

Then, seeming to make up his mind, he swung back to look at Anne.

‘Have you ever met the king before? Or the queen?’

‘I ... William, I’m so sorry, but I have so much to do.’

‘Anne! You must listen to me. I think it was the queen who tried to kill you. There may be proof.’

That was a shock. He hurried on, his words tumbling into Anne’s stricken silence.

‘Perhaps you know why, perhaps you do not. I believe it is true, however. And there is more.’

‘Mistress?’ Deborah had knocked and pushed the door open in the same moment. She did not necessarily trust William Caxton, whatever debt to him her mistress felt she was under.

Anne was distracted, she was also angry. But that was from fear.

‘That was not well done, Deborah. Master Caxton and I were speaking privately.’

It was unlike Anne to be cold, even less likely that she would stare her foster-mother down with such command. Deborah was undaunted, however.

‘Lady Anne, Baron Piotr Windhoven has called to see you are safe after the banquet last night. He says you asked him to call on you.’

And behind Deborah, waiting in the hall, Anne could see the knight himself, well within hearing range, though pretending to gaze with great attention at the Saint George over the mantelpiece.

Anne had no choice.

‘Master William, do we see you at the butts this afternoon? You would be most welcome and we could finish our conversation then?’

The merchant picked up one of Anne’s hands to kiss it.

‘Nothing that I know on this earth would prevent my attendance. Such august company — the duke, the duchess, the king and his queen.’

He did not have to say more. Anne had seen fear in his eyes, she would not let him see it in hers.

William bowed himself through the door as Anne moved forward to welcome Baron Piotr. ‘Baron, you are welcome in our house. Deborah, would you bring refreshments into the heber, if you please?’ Her tone was neutral, but Deborah was dismayed and had the terrible feeling that she had interrupted something of vital importance, and she knew it now.

I
n the perverse way of late summer, the perfect still morning turned ominously heavy by early afternoon.

A fitful wind from the west was blustering from a darkening horizon, a bad omen for an archery contest. Old men who knew such things nodded to each other and said a storm was building, yet that did not dampen the enthusiasm of the crowd gathering at the contest ground, impatient for the archer’s heats to begin.

Maxim had excelled himself. Anne had instructed him to spend whatever was required to make the day a success, much to Meinheer Boter’s despair. How would the townsfolk of Brugge have ever known the difference if his mistress had just been sensible? Surely the stands erected for the audience need only be simple, unvarnished wood, yet he’d been made to use Anne’s only recently acquired coin — the foundation of her future — for extravagantly gilded, painted galleries, decorated with bright felt banners.

And as to offering free food to the endless crowd? Had Maxim no idea what such a thing would cost?

Maxim had, of course, and it worried him greatly; he too had a responsibility. Not so, Anne — she was determined to provide for the entire town of Brugge, if that was what it took to make men remember this day. It would be an excellent investment — goodwill was a priceless commodity for a merchant!

She had just finished walking over the contest ground with Maxim, and she was excited and delighted with what she saw.

It was such a pretty sight. A line of tightly braided straw butts had been arrayed, back-on to the river Zwijn, whilst lining each side of the ground the stands which had occasioned Meinheer Boter’s heartburn were bravely painted in red and green, enhanced with lavish gilding in all the most prominent places.