The White Lord of Wellesbourne (41 page)

Surprisingly, she did not break
down. She sat there a moment, seemingly dumbfounded. Matthew continued to pull
her cases out until there were none left.

“I will have the servants bring
your larger cases out of storage,” he said as casually as if they were packing
for a holiday. “Mary Joan and Ann can start packing immediately. I must have
you out of the Tower before the army moves out.”

Instead of weeping, she simply
seemed depressed. Rising from bed with the linen sheet still wrapped around
her, she padded over to where he stood and pressed herself against him. Matthew
wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight and fast. She was warm and sweet
and soft, and the pangs of separation were already starting to bite at him. 

Cupping her face, he kissed her
hair, her forehead, her cheeks, her nose, and finally her mouth. It was a long,
sweet, tender kiss that rocked him to the core. He began to wonder if he would
be strong enough to see the day through. Although war was his life, as he was
born and bred to it, he’d never before had to leave behind someone he deeply
loved. This was an entirely new experience and not one he relished.

“Gaston and my brothers will be
here shortly,” he said. “I must go and meet with them, but it should not take
long. I will try to stay with you as long as I can.”

Though she was quite proud of
herself for maintaining her composure, inside, Alixandrea was dying. But
Matthew did not look as if he could take any hysterics today. He had enough on
his mind without her falling apart and she resolved to stay strong, at least
until she was well away from him.  When he could not see her tears.

“Oh, Matthew,” she breathed. “I
suppose I knew this day would come, but now that it is here, I find that I am
ill prepared for it.”

He stroked her cheeks with his
thumbs.  “I am not sure if any manner of preparation is ever enough for this
kind of thing.”

Her hand reached up, touching his
scratchy face where he had not yet shaved. “There is nothing I can say that I
have not already said. I do not want you to go, but you already know that.
Anything more… it will not change the way of things.”

“Nay, it will not.”

“I have known since the day I
married you that you were meant to do this.”

“Indeed.”

She sighed, snuggling back into
his warm embrace and savoring it. “Will you at least see me off?”

“Not only will I see you off, but
I shall ride with you all the way to Wellesbourne,” he replied. ”John and my
father shall stay with you there.”

“And then what?”

“You will wait for my return.”

“When will that be?”

It was an honest question. He
struggled to give her an honest answer. “It could be weeks or months. I have no
way of knowing.”

“Will you at least send word and
let me know how you are?”

“As often as I possibly can.”

“I will miss you horribly.”

“And I shall miss you with every
breath.”

They gazed at each other for a
long, bittersweet moment, a million emotions filling the space between them.
Just when it seemed there was nothing further to say, Alixandrea softly spoke.

“Do you remember when I asked you
once what you liked to do?”

His blue eyes twinkled,
remembering that magical afternoon not so long ago. “I do. Why?”

Her fingers toyed with his armor,
his mail. “Perhaps when this is all over, and when peace is finally attained,
we… we can go fishing.”

He smiled, touched that she would
remember such a thing. But he repeated the word just to make sure he heard her
correctly. “Fishing?”

“Aye,” she grasped for words.
“But there is a reason why I wish to do this. You told me once that fishing
signified peace, far removed from the horror of battle. I think… I think it is
something we should do when this insanity is finished.”

“To signify peace?”

“In the hope that we shall always
live with it.”

His smile broadened. “I would
like nothing better.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

A warm understanding settled,
something to look forward to, however symbolic, when this madness had passed.
Matthew wanted to go out on a pleasant note, so he kissed her again and went for
the chamber door.

“I shall send the maids in to
you,” he said as he lifted the latch. “Perhaps if you dress quickly enough, you
may come out and join us for the morning meal.”

She nodded, watching him close
the door quietly behind him.  When a stray tear trickled down her cheek, she
quickly wiped it away.

She had to stay strong.

***

The room was filled with more
legendary fighting men than Matthew had seen in a long time. These were not the
high nobility of England, but the rank and file knights upon which this entire
endeavor would depend. Each and ever man had fought with Matthew and Gaston at
different times, and Matthew felt humbled in their company.

Gazing around the small, stuffy
chamber, he counted the likes of Richard Radcliffe, Percival Thirwall, James
Harrington, Thomas Pilkington, Robert Percy and Marmaduke Constable.  It was a
gathering the likes of which had seldom been seen, and in the middle of it sat
a small man whose very life would depend on the strength of these knights. 
King Richard did not take the gathering lightly. He took charge.

“We must send word to the Duke of
Norfolk, the Earl of Surrey, the Earl of Northumberland, the Stanley brothers,
Thomas and William, and also Richard Brackenbury. These men command massive
forces and it is imperative they leave for Nottingham right away to join us.”

Francis Lovell said what they
were all thinking.  “I worry for Thomas Stanley, Your Grace. His wife is
Margaret Beaufort and it is quite possible he will desert you in your hour of
need.”

The king seemed unfazed. “He is
loyal to me, as is his brother,” he insisted. “Henry Tudor may be his stepson,
but I have had his support for years. Moreover, he and Margaret have not lived
together in some time. I do not believe there is any loyalty there to her or to
her son.”

Lovell simply lifted an eyebrow,
looking over at Matthew and Gaston. They were standing near one another, one of
them leaning back against the wall and the other standing with his arms
crossed. It always seemed Matthew was leaning and Gaston was cross-armed,
stiff-legged, like a guard dog. The young chamberlain’s gaze begged for
support.

“Perhaps if one of us went
personally to summon him, his loyalty would stay in check, Your Grace,” Gaston
suggested. “He would not refuse a representative from your inner circle of
knights.”

“He would not refuse me as it
is,” Richard snapped back, angered that his knights appeared to question his
judgment. Deep down, he worried over Stanley’s loyalty, too, but he would not
let them know that. “Send a rider to him right away. I would have him assemble
and move for Nottingham within the week.”

“As you say, Your Grace,” Gaston
replied steadily.

With a lingering glare at de
Russe, purely for effect, the king turned back to the map laid out before them.
Recently crafted by his royal cartographers, it was a beautiful spectacle of
color and detail.  He thumped his finger on the vellum.

“We already know that Henry has
sent dispatches to his faithful,” he said. “Had we not intercepted one, we
would have never known that he left France two days ago. Now the whole of
England should be on the move very shortly with Tudor and Plantagenet forces,
waiting to confront each other. We must make it to Nottingham to make it a
foundation from which to strike at Henry; from there, we can quickly intercept
him from his base in Wales wherever he may decide to strike.”

“Do we know the strength of the
force that Henry brings with him from France?”  Robert Percy asked the
question; having just arrived from Lincolnshire, he had not been privy to much
of the information already discussed over the past several days.

“Two thousand,” Gaston replied.
“Mostly French mercenaries.”

“Plus one thousand Irish
mercenaries that were hold up in Gloucester about three weeks ago,” Matthew
stepped forward and traced his finger up the path of the Severn River. “We
found out last week that they had moved out of the city and to the north. I
originally believed that Henry was going to make Gloucester his rally point,
but it would seem that I was wrong.”

Gaston jabbed a finger at the
map, stating the obvious. “Leicester or Nottingham.”

“There is no other possibility.
It would seem that Henry would position himself in the middle of England to
create a noose in which to separate north from south. If he can do that, we are
in serious jeopardy.”

By this time, the knights had
huddle around the map, watching Gaston and Matthew drag their fingers all over
it.  Richard slapped his hands against the table, as much to gain their
attention as it was a frustrated gesture.

“He cannot do it if we are one
step ahead of him,” he said firmly. “No more discussion. I want your armies to
be ready to leave by noon.  Is that clear?”

The knights and nobles agreed in
unison, watching the king flee the room with Lovell on his tail. When he was
gone, it was if the fighting men could finally breathe. They looked around the
room, at each other, loosing themselves in one or two man conversations. Gaston
turned to Matthew and Robert Percy.

“Lovell will undoubtedly send out
the riders for Northumberland and the others,” he said. “The rest of us should
check on our men and be in the saddle by the bell of the nooning hour.”

“You do not believe that one of
us should ride for Stanley?’ Robert Percy was the Controller of the Royal
Household.  He had been in Lincolnshire on a royal errand to the earl of
Lincoln, the king’s potential heir, and shared the concerns of the other
knights even if the king did not. “I have fought with Thomas before; he tends
to side with his brother, and William had a confrontation with Richard six
months ago over a taxation issue that was never resolved. That in of itself
causes me great alarm.”

Gaston could do nothing more than
shrug. “Our king insisted that sending one of us is unnecessary to ride for
Stanley. If we disobey him, there could be consequences.  He is already
unnerved enough and this build up against Henry is too important to involve
ourselves in petty disagreements.”

If Percy agreed, it was not
clear. He simply shut his mouth and left in search of the weary troops he had
brought with him from Lincolnshire.  Gaston and Matthew watched him leave,
standing silent until most of the room had cleared. 

“I have thirty of my men taking
Lady Mena, her husband and daughter back to Bath today,” Gaston finally said, his
voice low. “I was not aware that the lady’s husband did not know of your former
relationship with his wife.”

Matthew shrugged. “It is not my
business what the lady tells her husband.”

“He is under the impression that
Audrey’s father is dead.”

“Again, not my doing but the
lady’s.”

“You could have told me,” Gaston
showed some irritation. “It would have saved me from a few awkward moments, as
the man had no idea why my men were there to escort his family back to Bath. I
finally had to tell the husband that I was an old friend of the lady’s father
and had promised the old man that I would look after the daughter in times of
trouble. With Henry on the move, this happened to be one of them. I doubted he
believed me. It was most uncomfortable.”

Matthew chuckled. “I would have
liked to have seen that.”

“No, you would not have,” Gaston
replied, annoyed. “I had to lie to the man to basically save his life. He has
no idea he’s connected to The White Lord and, consequently, the politics of the
crown. By the way, I should tell you that I intend to enter into negotiations
for a marital contract between Audrey and Trenton.”

“You must be mad.”

“Not at all. I assume that with
the massive dowry you shall provide for her, secretly of course, I can retire
and live off of my son’s fortune. I shall be rich off of your money.”

Matthew’s smile vanished and his
eyebrows flew up, outraged. He was about to verbally abuse his friend when
Gaston broke down in snorts and headed for the door.  Matthew could see he was
baiting him in vengeance for not having mentioned the nature of familial
understanding of Lady’s Mena’s husband.  Half-amused, half-disgusted, he
followed him from the room.

***

Adam was healing slowly from his
injuries. Unbeknownst to his sons, the broken leg had to be amputated at the
knee due to a severe infection that had taken hold.  When Matthew’s army
reached Rosehill, it was clear that Adam was in no condition to travel much
less act as protector to Alixandrea. The normally robust old knight looked old,
weak and fragile.

But his mind was still sharp.
Matthew gave his father all of the latest intelligence on the approach of
Tudor.  It seemed to him that his father had aged tremendously in the short
time they had been apart, falling apart before his very eyes.