Thy Name Is Love (The Yorkist Saga) (13 page)

 

CHAPTER
NINETEEN
Valentine and wife Denys clasped hands, and he led her with pride
out into the sunshine to stroll through the grounds of Middleham
Castle to survey the festivities.
It was Hocktide, the second Tuesday after Easter 1483, and the
kingdom was in the midst of a two-day festival that included a
holiday for the villeins.
Sir Valentine Starbury's and his closest friend Richard, the Duke
of Gloucester's tenants, were all making merry at Middleham
Castle. They'd brought eggs, and their gracious lords had
reciprocated with a feast.
All day they had held tournaments, jousting, games, and puppet
shows. Striped tents fluttering with flags dotted the grounds.
Birds chirped, pleasant voices and laughter rang out. Children
chased each other in a rowdy game of tag, screaming in delight.
The brightness of daffodils and bluebells brought forth the
promise of spring, and the air was sweet with primroses, May
blossoms, apple, cherry, and pear blossoms from the orchards. The
sky was an endless tapestry of azure streaming with wispy velvet
clouds.
It couldn't be
more perfect,
Denys decided, gazing all around her at the
idyllic setting, before turning up her eyes to her tall, handsome
husband, whom a quirk of Fate had bestowed upon her and she now
never ceased to thank Heaven for.
Her heart quickened at the thought of how they had first met, and
married. How he had handed her one perfect rose, and seemed to be
the perfect knight, whom she had then dreamed about until their
paths had once again crossed….
As they strode to the lists to see how things were progressing in
the tourney, she was sure no man there could hold a candle to the
man she was blessed to now call husband.
The tournament had just ended, and the victorious knights were
being lionized by their ladies.
"Do you mind if I just have a word with the winners, and then see
where Richard has got to?"
"Not at all, Husband. Enjoy yourself, I shall go over to the butts
and try my hand there."
"Do you fancy hawking once I've found the Duke?"
She smiled. "Nothing could be a finer sight than the two of you
with your prized birds. I'd love to."
"Very well. I shall meet you over by the bridge in say, half an
hour?"
"Aye, perfect."
He stooped to give her a warm kiss which promise more delights to
come, and strode off to help the winner remove his dented armor.
Denys enjoyed her archery practice, and was just about to go join
her husband and their noble guest to go hawking in the royal
forest with their noble falcons, when a sudden prickle up and down
her spine caused her to flinch, sending the normally true arrow so
wide it missed the butt altogether.
Suddenly a stunned gasp knifed through the harmonious sounds
echoing through the sylvan glade. Servitors began scurrying about
aimlessly as a horse galloped away with a messenger bearing the
royal standard.
The surroundings silenced. Heads bowed. Some began to openly weep.
Denys dropped her bow, gathered her skirts, and ran towards the
gatehouse, where Richard and Valentine were standing on the
drawbridge.
Approaching them, she could see Valentine's face was white with
shock, and tears shone in his eyes as he embraced Richard.
"My God, what has happened?" She put an arm around Richard's
shoulders and hugged him to her. "What is it, Richard?"
Richard pulled out of her grasp and put a hand to his head as if
to ward off a pounding headache.
"The King is dead, Denys," Valentine said, his voice coming from
far away, trembling with emotion.
Richard turned away, shaking his head, and she felt his sense of
shock and disbelief, for it was also her own.
"Which king?" she blurted, but she knew deep down in her heart… No
other king's death would cause such grief.
"
Our
King,
King Edward," Valentine replied patiently.
No. Not Uncle
Ned
! Her protector, her confidant, the closest thing
she'd ever had to a father. The news stunned every nerve in her
body.
"Oh, Richard, I am so sorry. We all loved him so very much."
First young Edmund,
killed so long ago in battle. Then George, his middle brother.
That had been bad enough. But now? The kingdom without Uncle
Ned? Oh, God save them
.
God save them all.
"How?" she gasped, fearing the worst.
Valentine looked sharply at her. "Nay, ‘twas no treachery or
murder. His fondness for high living was at last his undoing."
Richard bowed his head and said something inaudible to Valentine
then.
Without turning back, he crossed the drawbridge to the inner
courtyard.
Valentine started after him but Denys grabbed his sleeve.
"Where are you going?"
"He wants to talk to me privately. It must be about this."
Valentine bent over and picked up the message that had slipped out
of Richard's hands. It was from Lord Hastings, a lifelong enemy of
the Woodvilles.
"‘The King has left all to your protection, goods, heir, realm,'"
Valentine read aloud.
Denys stared. "Richard is to be the Lord Protector? Then bless
him, and his whole family."
"‘Secure the person of our sovereign Lord Edward the Fifth and get
you to London.'"
"
Sovereign
.
The poor child. Edward is just a boy."
"Aye, indeed. And don't think his enemies don't know it all too
well."
"What can we do?"
"Your sentiments do you great credit my dear, and in time, I am
sure you too will be called upon to lend aid and comfort. I'm sure
Richard has something in mind. Just be patient."
"But he won't be thinking straight. The grief, such a terrible
loss like a bolt from the blue…" She shook her head pityingly.
Valentine cuffed his eyes with the back of his sleeve and said
hoarsely, "Which is why I must go with him. One of us must be
sensible enough to do what is needful for all concerned, both the
dead, and the living. I must go, my love."
With a light kiss to Denys' cheek, and a stroke of her silvery
hair, he caught up with his dearest friend and walked with him
through the courtyard.
Still too stunned to move, Denys could only pray. Fear tormented
her through her grief.
Oh, God
, she begged,
please watch over these
men. They are the most dear to me in the world. Nay, they're all
I have left now.
Thoughts of Uncle Ned swirled through her head with no pattern or
design. It had been he who had made her whole hateful childhood as
an orphan being raised by Elizabeth and the ambitious Woodville
clan bearable.
She could recall Uncle Ned warming her hands on cold winter days
our hunting, marching home from battle, turning and blowing her a
kiss.
Oh, what she'd lost. What the kingdom had lost! Dear, beloved
Uncle. Tall, blond, strong. The King they'd called the Golden Boy.
King Edward of the House of York.
God help us
all.
Denys was finally able to turn and face the moat, sunlight
glinting off the water, lapping at the castle wall. All was
hushed; no one spoke. She heard a sob in the distance.
But no one could find the words. On bended knees, she clasped her
hands in prayer. Her tears spilled over into the moat.
A duck glided by. The sun slid across the sky, stretching the
shadows. A breeze played through the leaves. Time and nature
carried on. Nothing paused because their King had left them. The
kingdom had to carry on as well. She believed in Richard and his
most trusted councilor, and counselor. Valentine, her husband.
She'd always told Uncle Ned her problems. Now he belonged to the
heavens, and to him she prayed. "Uncle, please watch over them.
Please rule from above, guide them, let them not fall into enemy
hands. Oh, Uncle, I miss you..."
She sobbed into her clasped hands for a time, until she felt a
sudden warmth upon her. A wispy cloud had wafted away, and now the
sun's warmed her. She was sure he had heard her prayer, and it was
him comforting her as always. And giving her the courage to go on.
She rose to her knees, dusted her gown, and with a straight back
refusing to bow to grief any longer, she strode back to the keep
with her head held high.

 

CHAPTER TWENTY
"I still don't want to believe he's gone, Valentine," she admitted
to her husband later that evening.
At last the castle had settled down for the night, and Richard had
retired to his chambers for some much needed rest, Denys had shut
the solar door and turned to face her husband.
"I know. I can't either." "What is going to happen to England
now?"
"You saw the message, Dove."
But despite his matter of fact tone, his eyes were darting all
over the room and he shuffled his feet, clearly uncomfortable.
"Yes, but what does it all mean? For England? For us?"
His voice was rushed, his tone impatient. "They need Richard in
London immediately. Parliament made him Lord Protector. Edward has
been dead nearly a week, and until Richard gets there in person,
we have no real ruler.
"This is extremely dangerous. As Prince Edward is the son of
Elizabeth Woodville, you know what will happen should Elizabeth
and her family begin wielding their influence over the boy."
Her brows drew downwards. "Surely Prince Edward has
divers--councilors--anti-Woodville councilors--monitoring
Elizabeth's every move. They wouldn't let Elizabeth anywhere near
the council chambers, would they?"
"Oh, God, I hope not." He gathered her into his arms, and said
quietly, "But all the more reason why we must go."
"We?"
"Richard wants me there in London, Dove."
"Whatever for? You are not part of the royal household as I am
through the Queen, and though I know your friendship—" But she was
babbling, and she knew it. Had known from the moment Richard had
stepped out of her embrace this afternoon what was about to be
asked of her.
"He wants me to be his chief advisor. He knows his own personal
shortcomings and he admits he fears he will make a disaster of it
all. He's asked for my help." He broke their embrace and gave her
an uneasy smile.
She took a deep breath, and nodded. "I understand. As you say,
he's spent the day dispatching messages to the four corners of the
kingdom to try to deal with all of these matters, and you've no
doubt left provision for all your lands in case the Scots should
decide to become aggressive once more. Were it not for that, I am
sure Richard would be halfway to London by now. But Valentine,
this is so, well, so enormous an undertaking."
"Worry not, darling. This is nowhere near as dangerous as going to
war. But having spent so much of my life in battle, I am all the
more determined to avoid bloodshed if possible. Diplomacy is where
I intended to excel."
"Can I come with you?"
He shook his head. "Time is of the essence. I must take my leave
immediately. It would be unfair to expect you to keep up with the
pace. Have your favorite belongings packed and follow me with the
retinue I have arranged for you in a few days' time."
"I am afraid, Valentine," she admitted in a small voice, gripping
his hand, but not daring to meet his eyes.
He gave her a warm smile. "Do not be, my love. Have faith in my
abilities. Oh, my Lord Father would be so proud! I'm finally going
to oversee something bigger than Yorkshire." His voice held a
slight quiver.
She looked up at him and saw him quickly cuff away a tear. She
said not another word about the matter, and left him alone with
the memory of his father.
There wasn't more she could do. It had all been decided. Like most
women, she must sit and wait on the will of God—and the men who
now ruled England. Richard, Duke of Gloucester, her uncle by
marriage and the nearest thing she had ever had to a brother. And
Valentine, his most trusted friend, and her husband.
Shaking her head at the pity and wonder of it all, she headed for
the chapel, where they were keeping an all-night prayer vigil for
the departed King. She could at least do that while Valentine was
occupied with matters of state.
She only hoped he would not be too late to her bed, for who knew
when they would see one another again…

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Denys' fears proved all too true, for Valentine did not come to
her bed that night, but joined Richard in the prayer vigil just as
she was about to head to their chamber.
She had no idea what time he got to bed, but by the time she
realized he was there, he was already swinging his long legs out
of the bed.
"Good morning, Husband."
"And to you, sweet Wife."
She hoped she would get more than mere words, but Valentine was a
man on a mission. Stopping only long enough to perform his toilet
and look over his scanty luggage one last time, he kissed her on
the brow and headed down to the great hall to break his fast.
Denys watched him leave the room silently. She knew she could have
lured him into tarrying with her for a time, but had decided in
the end that it was unworthy of her.
Great matters of state were at stake here. She shouldn't waste
Valentines time with nonsense just because she was feeling
insecure.
As he had said last evening, she had to have faith in him. And
Richard above all. Edward had been a great king, born to rule,
though the Yorkist succession had been by no means certain and won
at great and very bloody cost on both sides.
Richard had been his most trusted ally, and Valentine Richard's.
All would be well. Many might dislike the Woodvilles, but there
was no doubt the blood of kings ran in Richard's veins. Nor any
doubt about young Edward and his brother. King Edward had been
more fortunate than many kings of yore; he had left a profusion of
heirs.
In fact, there were too many possible claimants for the throne.
That was the problem….
Please God, not another civil war for the succession, she prayed.
Anything but that. She had so little left now, but what she has
was that much more precious, and would be that much more
devastating a loss should any harm come to Richard or Valentine.
Denys got out of bed abruptly, and began to scrub her face with
cold water. She was not going to let her thoughts tend that way,
nor seem anything less than brave and confident that all would be
well. Above all, she would not let Valentine or Richard see her
tears.
Her life in Elizabeth Woodville's household had trained her well
for dissimulation. She held her head high as she sat between
Richard and her husband, and even managed to partake of some new
bread and a coddled egg without choking.
Suddenly she felt her husband's eyes upon her. "It's time, my
dear."
"I know. I'll walk you out."
"I might just go upstairs for a moment to see if I've left
anything behind," he suggested softly.
She blushed, and Richard now rose too and stepped away.
"Oh, er, yes, if you like, but really, it's fine. I understand,
darling, really I do. You have to go, and Richard is waiting."
"Aye, my lady, that he is."
"Then go. The sooner you get there, the sooner you can stop
worrying, and act for everyone's benefit," she reasoned, though
inwardly she wanted to beg him not to leave.
He stroked her veil, and one silvery strand of her hair. "Thank
you, my dear, for being so brave. I know how hard this must be.
Edward was like a father to you, and now—"
"Don't say it, or you shall see me less than brave."
He shook his head. "Never. Trust in me and our men, and all will
be well. But come, I have a word or two to say in private to my
dearest wife."
He took her by the hand, and whisked her out of the great hall and
down the corridor to the small chamber he used for the castle's
records and library of books.
In fact he said little, just bending to bestow upon her a kiss
that almost made her weep. It was full of passion and longing, and
the promise of the most wonderful delights, yet it almost felt
like a final farewell.
At last he broke off his kisses and caresses, and leaned his
forehead against hers for a brief moment, as if he couldn't bear
to tear himself away.
As the silence began to stretch, Denys whispered, "Take care of
yourself, my Lord. May God protect and keep you always. And be on
the side of the righteous."
"Amen to that." He stood up straight and crossed himself. "So now,
my dear, it's time for you to get ready for your journey as well.
I will send you word from the south just as soon as I know it is
safe for you to venture to join us. Be careful, and trust no one
other than our own known allies."
"I shall be ever watchful, dearest."
He nodded, satisfied, and gave her one last warm kiss. "I'll see
you soon. Try not to fret." She gave a shaky laugh.
He grinned ruefully. "Well, I did say
try
." Then he stood
upright again, and turned. "How do I look?" he asked over his
shoulder.
She took in the light chain mail and colorful surcoat bearing his
arms. "Every inch the warrior."
"Good, I was rather hoping for that effect," he teased in an
affected drawl.
She smiled in spite of herself. "Shoo, you great peacock."
"I'm going now, my dear, but I'll be preening for you again in no
time. And as for a pea, well, giant marrow, more like."
She slapped him playfully on the arm. "Oh, off with you, then. I
can see from your bawdy talk you're more fit for the ale house
than your lady's company, so adieu, my fine knight."
He bent for one more smacking kiss, then took her head and strode
out to the courtyard. He issued some last minute instructions to
the estate steward and castellan, and then put his foot into the
stirrup of his waiting charger.
He swung into the saddle with an ease which Denys never ceased to
admire, as if he and the horse were one.
Richard was already sitting astride his mount, and now gave the
signal for everyone to get ready to ride.
"Fare thee well, Dove," he called.
"And you, Richard. Go with God. I shall see you soon, and pray for
everyone in your family from now until we next meet."
"Your family too," he reminded her gently, with an odd look in his
eyes.
She blushed. "Yes, yes of course, I only meant you and Edward, and
his children and—"
"I understand. Thank you. Adieu, my dear."
Denys raised her hand in benediction to them both, and got a nod
from Richard, and a blown kiss from Valentine. Then all the mounts
began to pass out of the gates in twos, pennants fluttering in the
brisk spring breeze.
Denys watched her husband go with a sinking heart, keeping her
eyes on him for as long as he could until he at last vanished out
of sight.
She sighed heavily. He seemed so certain all would be well, but
who knew what fate awaited them in London?
As soon as he was gone Denys hurried upstairs and began yanking
clothes from her wardrobe chests and hastily tossing them into
trunks
But she found herself stopping every few moments with a new wave
of shock, as if hearing it again for the first time.
Uncle Ned was gone. England was kingless. She had to stop and
indulge her grief, stare at a wall and let tears come.
The biggest, kindest heart in the kingdom was gone. The flurry of
activities, Valentine taking off for London, Richard gathering a
council, made it all the more surreal. She was in a stage play but
couldn't close the curtain.
And Valentine—she was more afraid for him now than when he had
ridden out to battle. The power he now wielded was formidable. One
wrong move and he was dead. She wished he didn't think he had
aught more to prove.
She got to London before they did, and heard they were in Stony
Stratford with Prince Edward. As her servants readied Burleigh
House, their Chelsea town home, she went to Saint Giles unescorted
for the first time, with some coins and sweets for the children in
the Totten Orphanage.
"Tell me a story!" the children begged, giggling with excitement.
"Our angel is back!" She held back tears as she lovingly caressed
each head and looked into those brightened eyes.
"Oh, which story to tell?" she said, sitting on a wooden crate as
the children gathered round her, smacking their lips, sugar
sprinkled on their faces and hands. "You've heard about Arthur and
Guinevere and Merlin. They lived long ago. Now, one more special
king belongs to our history. I shan't tell you a fairy tale this
time. Today, my story is true— and strictly from personal and very
fond memories. I shall tell the story of a brave and fearless king
and warrior, my uncle, King Edward the Fourth."
Never having so much as glimpsed him while he lived, to them he
was as much of a storybook legend as the fabled Arthur. But, to
Denys, Uncle Ned was still so near, brandishing his special grin
just for her.
Valentine and Richard finally arrived in London. At the White
Tower the following eve, she raced down the corridor towards the
council chambers where a meeting had just ended. She spotted
Richard surrounded by the members of the council, who, she noticed
consisted of many bishops.
Some of Elizabeth's brothers were also on the council, and her
brother Lionel was not only a council member, he was Bishop of
Salisbury as well. Then there was Edward Woodville, commander of
the small Woodville navy. They all mingled among an array of
guards, more liveried nobles and lesser hangers-on.
"Richard, I must see you right now." Studying him, she could see
his eyes were sullen and troubled, his brow creased deeply, as if
warding off the remains of a nightmare. He was dressed in his
mourning attire. He looked dreadful all in black. It darkened his
eyes, turned his complexion sallow, and cast a somber mood over
his entire being. He did not want to be here; she knew it.
"Richard," she said as a guard closed the inner council chamber
door, leaving them alone. She glanced around the cluttered room.
Books, papers and inkwells lay scattered on the table. More papers
were piled on chairs. Maps were pinned to the walls. Something in
glittering contrast to the chamber's starkness caught her eye and
she barely repressed the gasp that escaped her lips. Resting atop
a pillow in regal splendor on a sideboard was the Crown of
England.
"Richard—what is happening here? Where is Bess? Where is Prince
Edward? Surely you are not going through with this!"
"My nephew the prince is safely secluded in the Garden Tower and
Bess Woodville is even safer...or should we say the kingdom is
safer...she is in sanctuary in the Abbot's lodgings at Westminster
with her children. But not before naming herself Queen Regent."
"Bess named herself Queen Regent?"
"Aye, but she could call herself Queen of the Nile for all it
means, which is sod all." Richard sank into the polished wooden
chair that had been for Edward's exclusive use as king. It seemed
to swallow him up.
She knelt at his feet. "Richard, I am frightened to death for you
and for my husband. All these so-called advisors clamoring about
you and Valentine, some convincing you to take over the throne,
others backing the Woodvilles.
Loyalty means nothing with these men; your so-called followers can
turn on you right before your very eyes." Her voice broke with a
sob. "Look at our history, Richard.
The last King Richard, a boy king, had his uncle murdered when he
reached his majority. The boy King Henry the Sixth's Lord
Protector was murdered. Most horrifying of all, both these men had
been Dukes of Gloucester! Don't let that happen thrice, Richard.
Put Prince Edward on the throne and come back to Yorkshire with
us."
"Cease the superstitious babbling. You sound like that bloody
soothsayer Elizabeth always had hovering round court mixing up
love potions for her ugly sisters. This is not history—'tis here
and now. Lest you forget Prince Edward is half a Woodville?"
Richard said, his voice tinged with a hint of resignation.
"I cannot return to Yorkshire as long as Elizabeth Woodville and
her family have any sway over that boy." She remembered Valentine
having said those exact words and her insides churned in fear.
"The place was crawling with Woodvilles during Uncle Ned's entire
reign, Elizabeth was as commanding as ever, they had their poxy
fleet in place, and he managed to handle it all. You can certainly
keep them in check, can't you?"
"‘Tis not that simple. There is no telling how they can bend and
sway a little boy. Have you not noticed that Woodvilles make up a
great part of the council? Not to mention the bishops; the clergy
has been pro-Woodville ever since Harry the Sixth."
"And how much control do they really have at this moment?"
"For starters, their little navy, which was formed ostensibly to
protect us from French freebooters, is growing.
Edward Woodville has set about gathering more ships. Oh, and you
should have heard him defending his arse in the council meeting;
what a load of codswallop! ‘We have to protect our realm from
foreign invaders, protect the coastal towns and merchant
shipping!' he mimicked Edward Woodville's thready voice. "Does he
play me for a dolt? I know damn well he's filling those ships with
his own followers.
‘Tis almost laughable, them thinking they're sea dogs now."
"What has Anne to say about of all this?"
"‘Tis not her place to say aught."
"She is your wife. Do you not think she is concerned about your
fate? Does she not want you back home?"
"She is on her way here as we speak. ‘Tis a blessing she has been
quiet on the matter; to have her on my back in addition to all you
lot would break it in two!"
"Please reconsider, Richard. You can oversee Woodville treachery
and Woodville fleets from the north." He made a fist and pounded
the chair arm, his ring rapping against the wood. "I am here
because my brother wanted me here. I must respect his wishes. I
served him all his life, and I shall continue to serve him in
death. He made me Lord Protector of the Realm, on paper, and
embossed with the royal seal, but in our moments of private
conversation, he spoke from the heart. He told me what he wanted."
"He had no idea he was going to die so young! No one did!"
"But he
never
wanted the kingdom slipping into Woodville hands. He never
told a soul, but he had grave reservations about any of his sons
ruling as long as Elizabeth and her family were still alive."
"But as soon as he's crowned, your protectorship ends."
"We shall see about that," he said in his usual cryptic manner.
"And though the Woodville followers be few and far between, they
are formidable. Do you know what Margaret Beaufort did? My sources
tell me she paid someone to pinch the Great Seal and bring it to
Elizabeth, along with just about everything else they could drag
from the palace, including half the royal treasure!" His eyes
bored straight into her, and with them was conveyed a
determination that looked like a wild-eyed quest for power.