The Maiden and the Unicorn (64 page)

Richard ignored the hand and slid his arm around his wife's trembling shoulders, sensing her anger and disappointment.

"But you cannot go so soon." Margery stepped to block her path, her glance beseeching Richard to add argument to hers. "You have told me nothing about yourself. I deserve that at least."

"Do you, Margaret, when fortune has blessed you already with a generous hand? What do you require to know? I have three married sons and two daughters, one wed, a husband who liveth yet and grandchildren besides. They know nothing of my sins nor shall they."

"
Margery
, madame! They call me
Margery
that know me best." The pain in her voice for an instant made the stranger's lips pucker but the lady recovered swiftly.

"I regret I cannot claim that honour. I beg you let me pass. My husband will be missing me." Gloved hands lightly clasped Margery's shoulders and cold lips brushed her cheek with brief formality. "I will pray for you,
Margery.
"
The grey gaze brushed across Richard's face before returning to her daughter's. "May God bless both of you." Then, lowering her veil, she turned to go.

"Wait!" Richard let go of Margery. "I can give you what you desire." He drew a fold of vellum from his breast.

Margery's eyes widened. A lock of hair lay there. She watched, transfixed, as his fingers divided it and held out half to her mother.

The lady's fingers, accepting, shook. The voice that thanked him was of a sudden heavy with anguish and her hand darted up behind the veil to staunch the tears. "
A Dieu,
Sir Richard, take better care of her than I have."

Margery sagged against him, words useless. For a moment Richard's mind could not comprehend the trumpets or the cheering.

"Absolve her, mousekin. She tells me her husband is a hard, unforgiving man. She risked much in coming to mourn your father."
 

His arms lent her the reassurance she needed.
 

"Oh, Richard, I am so blessed in having you. But it hurts. She—God damn it, she would not even give her name. Did she tell you?"

"No. Hush, my love! Forget but above all, forgive, or the pain will rot your soul and—"

"Sir, sir! My lord of Gloucester is come."

The Duke stood in the archway. He genuflected in deference to Our Lady, and then stepped forward, wincing still at the pain from his wounded heel, to lay a hand on Margery's shoulder in understanding. His face was pale as ashes.

"Nesfield has taken over here, Richard, and I will see the Dean before I go. The Queen's grace and the princesses are returning to sanctuary. There's little time. Take Margery to my mother at Baynard's. She will be safe there."

"My mother was here, Dickon."

"Your..." He glanced back to the crowds and the dead as though he might see her, his face pained.

But his earlier meaning had seeped through to Richard, who gently set Margery aside. "She has landed?" he asked softly and read the answer in the younger man's face. "Christ defend us! When? Where?"

"At Weymouth, Easter Sunday." The Duke's glance met his in an understanding of the irony—the day of Warwick's death. "I think that God must be with us. It took them three weeks sailing from Honfleur. Go now, you must get some sleep. We march at dawn and I will need you back tonight. There is no help for it."

Richard followed him from the chapel "My lord, the men are not yet rested."

"We ride out tomorrow. The King is set upon it." Gloucester gravely regarded the island of candles burning within the sea of awed faces. "By Holy Paul, here was great honour paid. Richard, you have done well. I-I could not have wished it better executed." Turning away, he blinked up at the stained glass, his young face wretched. "None of this should have happened but the Kingmaker would have it so."

Margery bowed her head with a sob.

Richard set a warning hand upon his shoulder. "My lord, the Dean approaches you."

With a deep sigh the Duke turned, his sorrow visored. "Then leave me to give orders for the coffining." He took Margery's hand. "Mayhap Isabella and Anne are now in England and will appreciate your company at your father's burial once we free them. They will have heard the news by now, I imagine."

Margery could not answer the Duke. The tears came at last and Richard slid his arm beneath her knees and carried her out of the cathedral.

"I am hungry," he said, setting her feet on the cobblestones but keeping her within the warmth of his arms. "I cannot face delivering you to her grace the Duchess of York on an empty belly. The living must eat and I know of an honest cookshop in the Strand. What say you,
Lady
Huddleston?"

"Yes, I did listen." Her smile watery, she reached up a trembling hand to stroke his dark hair back beneath his sallet. "And Tom and Will?"

He caught her tightly to him, hiding his face against her cap and veil, longing to feel her hair soft and comforting against his cheek. "Our poor babe will have one uncle to carry his soul to Christ."

"Oh, Richard." She eased him back, her eyes hungry on his face, as if she was trying to etch that instant into her memory for eternity, her tears falling for their dead. By morning her touch would be a memory again. "You are all I have, all I desire in this world. Sweet Jesu, Richard, what if Queen Margaret wins?"

This might be the only today left to them. He lifted his hands to her cheeks. "A few hours, mousekin, let's spend them wisely." He narrowed his eyes at the steeple of Paul's and the flock of birds wheeling around the spire. "What's done is done."

* * *

The year of Our Lord 1471 would be a summer to beget children and say masses for the dead, reflected Richard, as he rode out of the town of Tewkesbury in early May with fresh battle scars. The Yorkist army, racing from London, had successfully blocked Margaret d'Anjou's push northwards to link up with her allies in Cheshire. The necessity of crossing the Severn at Tewkesbury had been fatal to her army, and there the two forces had locked horns.

Usually preoccupied with mustard making, their senses still sozzled from celebrating May Day, the people of Tewkesbury had stoically helped to bury the dead. They had already renamed the field across the river from their abbey, "Bloody Meadow".

* * *

The ride back to London with his men was not comfortable; Richard's bandaged shoulder throbbed badly, the same shoulder that George of Clarence's assassins had ripped open by the Loire, and he was haunted by the memory of the recent battle. But the House of York had won. The battle of Tewkesbury was over, not with glory, not with honour—it had been a bloody rout, the Lancastrian army out of control, its leaders divided and suspicious. Prince Edouard, inexperienced, for once without his mother, had been slain fleeing towards the abbey and those who had reached the sanctuary had been hauled out to execution. King Edward would have no more traitors.

Only the Earls of Oxford and Pembroke had sped to safety. Margaret d'Anjou, hysterical and mad with her son's loss, was to be held prisoner in the Tower. The Countess of Warwick had withdrawn into sanctuary at Beaulieu Abbey and Isabella and Anne were already on their way to Westminster, escorted by the Duke of Clarence's men. The Duke of Gloucester had been dispatched to deal with a rising in Kent but he had taken only the men hale enough to ride hard and fast. "Go to Margery," he had told Richard. "And have that shoulder attended to."

Richard tried to clean the killings from his mind as he journeyed, but every night he relived the horror. The smell of the blood of a slaughtered sheep in one inn yard had sent him stumbling to douse his face at the pump. And yet he could not help but be grateful for God's mercy. Was not the May sun warm upon his face, the fields of shooting grain peaceful to his sight? In the villages he heard the laughter of children and in the forests the cuckoos calling once again. Would England be a better place?

At Baynard's castle, Margery ran down the steps to throw her arms about him and weep with joy. Richard was too weary to talk. Sleep in her arms would be a blessing.

* * *

The diadems had been freed from the coffers cobwebbing in Westminster sanctuary. Silken skirts, gossamer veils, sparkling caps and shimmering cones, unworn during the brief eclipse of the Yorkist sunne, were shaken from the presses and aired in the winds of summer. The season of York was come again and the King, tall and glittering with cloth of gold, sat feasting in glory once more in the Great Hall at Westminster.

"You wish me to negotiate with her highness?" Richard Huddleston asked his wife as he admired Edward's beautiful queen. "It would give her Tuesday evenings free."

"Perhaps if you have a word with Lord Hastings, he might write me into Ned's ledger for an hour on Wednesdays after noon."

Richard's arm tightened about her waist. "Try it and I will join Jasper Tudor and his nephew in Brittany. The University of Oxford is putting treason into the degree requirements next Michaelmas. Ah, the sunne it shineth..."

The King impatiently descended the steps of the dais, frowning down at the Duke of Gloucester. "That Burgundian dance, brother, surely you remember? Where is my lady Huddleston?"

Since none of the bejewelled throng about him had ever heard of that person, the King crossed the floor and found her for himself. "Come, cousin." He grabbed her hand and drew her into the centre of the hall. "Now, Dickon, take her left hand."

For Margery, it was like the old happy days at Warwick come again. Beaming with pride, she stood with the King of England and the Duke of Gloucester holding her hands, waiting for Ned to signal the viol players to begin.

"Who is that woman?" asked somebody rather too loudly.

"Hold!" The King carried Margery's fingers to his lips and straightened up to grin at the hallful of nobility. "We present to you our beloved kinswoman, Margery Neville, who has done us great service."

"Now they will think I am your mistress," muttered Margery, curtseying, extremely put out at the ambiguity of the statement. She sent an apologetic glance to Richard Huddleston.

"That can be remedied," laughed Dickon. "I never kiss Ned's mistresses. Cousin, your servant." He bowed and then charmingly kissed her cheek.

"Not good enough!" exclaimed Margery, letting go both their hands and folding her arms. "No dance!"

For an instant, Edward of England was taken aback. Dickon laughed, raised his hands and silence fell again. He bowed and gestured to the King to speak.

"Our entirely beloved cousin is the natural daughter of the late traitor, Richard Neville. This lady has our favour and if any man slander her from this day forth, then he shall have quarrel with us and with our brother Gloucester."

He turned to Margery and inclined his head. "Now, sweet heart," he growled, smiling,
"
please
let us show them this Burgundian dance."

"Jealous?" The Duke of Clarence had materialised like Satan at Richard Huddleston's elbow.

"No." Richard did not bother to turn his head. "But I suspect others may be." He heard the hiss of anger and knew the pointed words had slid home like a dagger.

"You think yourself more clever than the rest of us, Huddleston, but you will never rise in the world."

Richard smiled coldly. "Then at least I shall keep my head on my shoulders. God grant you contentment too, my lord."

She came to Richard as the dance ended, love in her heart, and was relieved to read no envy in his face.

"What was George saying?"

"Mischief making. By Christ's blessed mercy, I dare swear there are many here who will regret he is still with us."

"Hush." She halted and touched his lips gently with her fingers. "Dickon has asked us to go north with him and join his household after his marriage to Anne. Would that please you?" He grinned. "Oh, sweet Jesu, you know already!"

She tried to tug her hand away but Richard kept it, laughing and drawing her to him. "I love you."

Two arms crept about his waist and she nestled against him, careless of the stares of their betters. He closed his eyes briefly and sent a fleeting prayer of thanks towards the hammer beams.

Margery raised her head and peeped up at him fearfully. "I am so happy tonight. You will never stop loving me, will you? You are all I have, all I desire."

He raised an eyebrow.
"
'
Mon seul desir
'
.
But what of your freedom, Lady Huddleston?"

"I must eat my words, is that it? Very well, my love, here am I more free within these walls than in my entire life." She danced her fingers meaningfully up his arms to rest on his broad shoulders.

His green gaze blessed her. "The candles are lit and the great doors are thrown wide. Can you hear the music?"

Her eyes sparkled with blue fire. "A love song?"

"Yes. Come."

Hand in hand they walked from the Great Hall. Ankarette caught Richard's arm and whispered as they went past.

Margery hesitated upon the threshold. "What was that Ankarette just said to you?"

Richard smiled, "Just a kind word about unicorns."

The End