Thy Name Is Love (The Yorkist Saga) (15 page)

"As of now, he has, Your Highness." Valentine proceeded carefully,
for he suspected what she was fishing for and was not about to
divulge any details of what transpired behind council chamber
doors.
"Well, our council has decided to make my son's coronation date
the fourth of May."
"Your council?" Valentine was dumbfounded. There was no true
council until Richard gathered one in the name of Edward V. Her
council was either completely illegal or a product of her
imagination.
"My son would make an extraordinary king, just as was my Golden
Boy, would he not?"
"Oh, he has inherited King Edward's benevolence, his diplomatic
charm and his ability to deal with people. I have seen Prince
Edward among his many admirers."
"Traits which the Duke of Gloucester sorely lacks." He noticed she
wasn't referring to Richard as Lord Protector; she blatantly
ignored the title.
"He is Lord Protector as of now."
"Not for long. As soon as my son is crowned, that will mean
naught. He will be just another soldier then."
"Richard's talents do lie more in the direction of military
acumen, Your Highness." She cleared her throat, pursed her lips
and bobbed her head like a bird. "With Lancastrians constantly at
our heels, we need all the soldiers we can get."
"And all the generals we can get." Ignoring that, she continued:
"Valentine, as queen mother, I shall be able to wield an enormous
amount of power. When my son becomes king, I shall be there beside
him making sure all his actions are in the best interests of the
realm."
In the
best interests of the greedy Woodvilles, you mean, he was
tempted to say
, but kept quiet and let her prattle on.
By now he was bursting with curiosity over what she wanted.
"I can bestow any title upon any loyal subject I choose, with the
King's permission, of course, but my Edward looks up to you and
regards you as a most chivalrous knight. He always thrilled at the
sight of your jousting, and your practicing at the quintain, as
did all my little ones, but Edward always seemed most impressed."
"Why, that is very flattering indeed, Your Highness."
"You are enjoying your position as governor of Yorkshire, are you
not?"
"Aye, Your Highness, very much. I have managed to capture the
hearts of many of our subjects," he boasted, momentarily
forgetting that Elizabeth's flattery was invariably a lure to a
trap.
"But that is nothing compared to the titles and estates you can
receive as a relative of the King."
"Relative?"
"Dove is my niece. As such, you would be a member of the Royal
Family upon my son's coronation. Just think of the riches that we
could bestow upon you. After all, only half the treasure is
currently in my possession. We have yet to procure the other
half." Aha! Her intentions were becoming clearer now, like the
emergence of the sun from behind a veil of clouds. "We, as in
including me, Your Highness?"
"Simply answer me one question, Valentine. What would you prefer,
the position of possibly Treasurer of the Royal Chamber as a
member of the Royal Family or do you wish to remain governor of
Yorkshire?" Her steely eyes bored into him and he returned her
stare with an intense one of his own.
He smiled outwardly to signal that her offer was indeed generous,
but inside he was boiling. The nerve of her, to think he could
actually be bought, that he would betray his lifelong friend to
put her sniveling brat on the throne! She obviously had no idea
how respected he and Richard were in the north. She'd been too
busy soiréeing to venture north of Warwick.
Nevertheless, she was still the same old Elizabeth Woodville,
thinking she could buy anyone she pleased, if not with her money,
with someone else's. But this time it was going to come back and
knock her on her arse—he was going to make sure of it.
"Let me get this straight, Your Highness. You want me to procure
the other half of the royal treasure, deliver it unto you, and in
return you will endow me with the title of Treasurer of the Royal
Chamber?"
"Well, for now. You may even behold that handsome countenance of
yours on a coin someday. Just think—your own coin—your likeness
jingling inside trousers all over England."
"Why, I am flabbergasted, Your Highness. To think you would choose
me for such a worthy position...right next to the King!"
"Edward's coronation will mark a new passage in our history,
Valentine, a new beginning. And as such, I shall be starting my
life anew. I would have my family about me in my old age, I want
to bury all the painful memories and make amends with all those I
have wronged, and that includes my dear niece Dove. All I ask is
that you assist me in attaining that goal." Without skipping a
beat, he threw out his own bargaining chip.
"Your Highness, I would be honored to serve your son when he
becomes King and to be a member of the Royal Family in such an
exulted capacity. But as of this point, you realize you can only
offer me promises, as he is not yet on the throne. Do you think
you can seal your good intentions with a favor of your own?"
"And what would that be?"
"I want Dove to know who her parents were. She is my wife, I am
forever grateful that you gave her to me, and I want her to be
truly happy. Something is missing from her life; I know she won't
feel like a complete human being until she finds out who she
really is."
"I never wanted to keep it from her, Valentine," Elizabeth
replied, and he noticed for the first time that her chin sagged;
her beauty was rapidly shrinking, giving way to a haggardly look.
"I know not who her parents were."
"Then tell me where you got her. I want to help her, to show her
how much I truly love her. And I know you can help. Then if she
finds her true beginnings, I shall be happy to consider your
proposal."
"So this is contingent upon her finding her family?"
"Only with accurate information from Your Highness. ‘Tis only
fair."
"You won't consider it otherwise? Even though I'm practically
handing you one of the highest positions at court?"
But the truth was that she didn't have a court to speak of. And if
his and Richard's efforts came to fruition, she never would set
foot anywhere near the court again. She had no idea how much he
was privy to in his new role as Richard's top councilor.
She didn't even know he held the position. It had all happened so
suddenly.
"Nay, Your Highness. I'm afraid I shan't even consider your
proposal until you furnish me with some information about where
you got her, or who you adopted her from." She clucked and clacked
and sucked at her remaining teeth.
"I cannot tell you because I do not know myself," she finally
replied, her tone defeated and laggard, as if she were under
threat of the rack. She toyed with her pearls. Valentine stared
her in the eye. She looked away.
"Your Highness, you
do
have information, and we know you
do. There is no further reason for deceit and foot-dragging.
And when you've told us what we want to know, we shall let bygones
be bygones and do everything in our power to secure Edward's
position on the throne." Those pearls must be well-strung to
withstand all that twisting, he noticed.
"You are quite the negotiator," Elizabeth admitted grudgingly.
"I am only asking that you do the decent thing, Your Highness. We
are all getting too old for secrecy and lies."
"Tell that to your friend Gloucester."
"We were discussing Dove, Your Highness."
"Ah, yes, Dove. Dove, the only person in the realm with problems.
Dove, who's fairly twirling the world by the culls, yet so sad
because she can't find her family. Poor little thing. Why not help
yourself through my trunks and see what you come up with?" she
said with a wicked gleam in her eye.
"May I really? Oh, thank you! Do tell me where they are, I shall
start with trunk Number One this time." Valentine bent over in a
mock-sweeping bow.
She stood, raising her arm as if to hit him. "Do you not know when
someone is hurling sarcasm at you, you footlicker?"
"That's Sir Foot-Licker to you now. I've moved up in the world."
He stood and straightened his tabard. "Nay, those childhood antics
are far behind me. I am a model governor and knight. But I shall
oblige Your Highness only if Your Highness obliges me in this one
thing that I ask." He began to appeal to whatever human qualities
she had.
"Put yourself in the place of an adopted person. Wouldn't you want
to know who'd sired you, who'd carried you, whose blood really ran
through your veins and heart? Not knowing who you are is probably
the worst affliction any human being can bear. It makes my heart
break when Dove tells me how she feels—truly lost."
"Oh, very well, Valentine, spare me the theatrics, let the curtain
fall! I admire your tenacity, I truly do," Elizabeth's voice
sweetened, but still sounded like wheels over gravel.
"But is it not enough her children will know who they are?"
"She wants to know, Your Highness. She has a right to know."
Elizabeth held up a bony finger and raised her head, a spark of
recognition lighting those dulled eyes. "Go to Bishop Stillington.
He has access to all kinds of information.
That is all I can tell you. But for that you should be grateful!"
she chirped, obviously pleased with herself. "He lives in a house
at the foot of London Bridge on Thames Street. Feel free to use my
barge. But you must wait until the morrow. They are making repairs
to it."
"I am forever grateful! Thank you, Your Highness! I shall go to
him straightaway! But I shan't use the royal barge. I wouldn't
feel quite right, not being royalty. However, thank you ever so
much for your generosity—and long live King Edward!"
He lowered his gaze and bowed out of the room, turning quickly so
she could not see the smirk spreading over his face.
I've got the
old witch now,
he mumbled, practically skipping down the
hallway.

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Elizabeth watched him back out and sat staring at the guarded
doors for a long time. "Now that ingrate bastard will never find
out who she really is," she proclaimed to God, the only one
listening. "Now she is about to become a widow, because that is
the last anyone is ever going to see of Valentine Starbury who
thinks he is so clever. No one delivers ultimatums to Queen
Elizabeth of England! I shall hoodwink another subject into
securing my son's inherited right to the throne."
She hastily summoned her lady-in-waiting and dug out several gold
pieces she fetched from the hole they'd dug in the wall for the
pilfered royal treasure. "This is for you," she told the wide-eyed
maid. "Now get ye to my boatman post haste, give him these." She
dropped five more coins in the maid's hand and they clinked
delicately.
"Point out Valentine Starbury to him, and tell him to rend a hole
in the bottom of whichever barge he takes to cross the
Thames...small enough so that it will not start to sink until ‘tis
halfway down the river to London Bridge."
She rubbed her hands in glee. Bishop Stillington was the last
person that could ever help Denys. He was a deranged old man who
could barely hear, much less remember who gave birth to whom. But
it didn't matter—Valentine would never get to the old coot's
house. This was one bargain he wasn't going to live to regret
making.
He stood at the riverbank, among the crowd waiting for barges to
take them down or across the river. He looked down-river at the
massive structure spanning London's main thoroughfare, atop which
was another street, clogged with more shops and crowded houses.
From where he stood he couldn't see the traitors' parboiled heads
upon spikes on the bridge, but he knew for certes that tradition
would be abolished when Richard became King.
He approached the nearest barge and tipped his hat to the boatman.
"Why is there such a backup here?" he asked.
"Ebb tide, my Lord. Currents are real strong an' nobody wants t'
go ‘cross. Come back in a bit ‘n I'll take you over." He looked
out over the river. The smaller boats were bobbing about as the
current swirled round the bridge's arches.
Valentine went into one of the riverfront taverns for a draught of
ale until ebb tide subsided.
A few hours hence, he exited the tavern, full of spicy meat pie
and the bitter ale that sickened many a sailor's cast iron
stomach, but he'd only imbibed a half pint; for this visit to the
Bishop he wanted to be completely sober.
He returned to that same boatman who nodded disinterestedly and
helped him embark. "To the home of Bishop Stillington at the foot
of London Bridge," he instructed the boatman whose bulging muscles
strained as he pushed the oars through the water. Valentine
settled back to enjoy the ride.
It seemed to him after a few minutes that the water had risen a
bit, but he attributed that to the high tide; he soon realized
that ebb tide had just occurred and the tide wouldn't have risen
this fast. Feeling moisture at the bottoms of his shoes, he saw
they were soaked through and the drenched moss inside them was
thickening round his feet like mud.
"Hey!" He signalled the boatman, who was still rowing with smooth
even strokes. Valentine stood and could see water rapidly rising
on the port side, just behind where the boatman sat.
The small hole broke open under the pressure of the gushing water
and a wave smacked him like a deluge. He lost all sight of the
boatman and could see nothing but a rush of white foam as the
water swirled in a turbulent whirlpool, catching his body up in
its vortex. The barge swayed and rocked like a cork and Valentine
grasped onto the side, waves of water splashing up and hitting him
in the face like vicious smacks of anger.
"Hey!" He bellowed to the boatman, who had fallen overboard and
was immediately swallowed up by the churning rapids, screaming for
his life as he plunged to his death.
The barge lost all control, caught up in the current that was
sucking him down into the depths of the river. He could see one of
the arches of London Bridge looming up ahead as the barge went
smashing into the pilings of the bridge.
He felt a jolt as the force threw him face down on the barge's
floor, the water rising rapidly. Gasping for air, he groped
blindly for something to grab onto, to steady him, so that he
could get his bearings. Another foamy rush of water surged through
the gaping hole into the boat and it capsized under its weight,
sliding bow first into the river. He sprang to his feet and could
see the bridge's stone parapet only a few feet away. If only he
could reach it.
The boat surged and tossed, smashing against the pilings with a
violent thrusting force. Through a misty blur he saw someone atop
the stone parapet reaching out to him.
He dived over the side of the sinking barge and swam, his muscles
straining against the river's forceful current. His feet kicked
like the fins of a mad fish escaping its prey, his head turning
with each stroke to take in air. With the last trace of wind left
in him, he reached the parapet, praying this blurry figure would
catch him.
He leapt into open arms, chest smacked chest, and the force of the
current dragged him back again, out of his rescuer's grasp.
Gulping precious air, he dangled from the parapet, gripping the
stone surface with fingers about to break. He felt a tug on his
arms, strong enough to easily tear them from their sockets, as the
man reached down for one more desperate pull to safety.
Tumbling against him, Valentine sputtered, spitting the water out
of his lungs.
He clung to his rescuer, who was grasping the parapet.
Someone dropped a rope from the drawbridge and it dangled before
them. He looped the rope round Valentine's waist and, the sea and
barge fragments twirling beneath his dangling legs, they hoisted
Valentine to safety at the top of the drawbridge.
They lay Valentine on the ground, someone tossed him a blanket,
and he curled up and blacked out.
When he again opened his eyes, he could see a shock of white hair,
a concerned face bent over his, wizened old eyes fraught with
worry.
"Wha...what happened?" Valentine croaked, for his voice seemed to
be drowning in the fluid that had nearly engulfed him. He coughed,
letting up some water. The man before him held out a cloth.
"You could have drowned, laddie. My physicians looked you over,
declared you on borrowed time, and saved last rites for some poor
sod who's not so lucky."
"Who...who are you?"
"Why, I be Bishop Stillington. Your barge fell apart right before
me house."
"Your Excellency," he sputtered and spat out a gob of liquid.
"That's right, let it up, let it up." He gave Valentine a mighty
smack on the back and pulled him forward, letting him spit onto
cloths on the floor. "Now ye stay in bed and say not another word
until your voice box dries out."
"Tell Dove..." He tried to say, but a new wave of exhaustion swept
over him and he lapsed back into unconsciousness.
When he was able to sit up the following day, he implored the
Bishop to get a message to his wife. He couldn't begin to imagine
what was going through her mind.
But the messenger arrived after Denys left that morning to bring
some food to the poor of Whitechapel and tell the story of King
Edward to the children. She supposed Valentine was sitting up all
night with Richard making plans and dismissed the troubling
thought.
Valentine found his voice a few hours hence. After demolishing a
meal of bacon, eggs, buttered bread and ale that the Bishop had
sent up to him, he found renewed strength and went looking for His
Excellency to discuss what he'd come to discuss.
He peered out the bedchamber window and saw Bishop Stillington in
his walled garden, tending to his pear tree, twisting one off a
branch, then gnawing at it with his few good teeth. He spat it
out, tossed the uneaten pear on the ground and a small terrier
came dashing after it.
Valentine rapped on the window and pushed it open.
"Your Excellency, may I have a word with you?" he called down to
the stooped-shouldered bishop.
Stillington looked around as if he couldn't figure out where the
voice had come from. He scratched his head, shrugged, and plucked
another pear.
"Up here!"
Stillington finally looked up at Valentine with a note of surprise
and headed inside the house.
When he entered the chamber, Valentine saw Stillington clearly for
the first time.
His eyes were blue and trusting behind the filmy cataracts that
veiled them, and the crinkly face reminded him of delicate
cloth-of-gold stuffed in a trunk too long. He looked like a shy
billy goat about to embark on his first mating experience.
"I want to thank you so much for taking care of me," he said as
Stillington approached the bed. "I am the Duke of Norwich, the
Lord Protector's closest advisor."
Stillington stood, nodding all the while, but Valentine wasn't
sure he'd heard anything or knew who the Lord Protector was.
"His Grace the Duke of Gloucester is now Lord Protector," he
verified.
"Well, hell's teeth, I knew that! Do you think I live on the edge
of the world here, laddie?" His voice was scratchy but laced with
mirth. "Ye had a bad time out there, ye are lucky ye take to the
water so well. The other poor sod went right down to the devil."
"I am deeply grateful, Your Excellency, and shall do anything in
my power to thank you."
"Teach me to swim like you, laddie."
Valentine laughed. "Your Excellency, I would tell you why I came
here. My wife, Denys Woodville, has been searching for her true
parentage and I would be forever grateful if you can provide a
clue as to who may have sired her. She was given to the Woodvilles
in infancy. Dowager Queen Elizabeth raised her as a niece."
"Woodvilles? Elizabeth? Well, I..." He snickered and wiped a
stream of spittle from the corner of his mouth. "That
droddum-faced catzo, I be glad to see her where she belongs, I..."
Valentine blinked a few times, not sure he'd heard correctly.
"Is she aware of your contempt, Your Excellency? She is the one
who sent me here."
"She is not aware of anyone's contempt. She thinks everyone is
willing to bend over and kiss her fat corybungo.
"I have no information on your wife's parentage, nay, I never kept
records of that sort, birth records and such. Nay, I had ‘em, lost
‘em, some I used for firewood to keep me bones warm. I have a
trunk with some Patent Rolls and such; ye are welcome to search
that, as soon as ye can walk."
"Can you bring them to me?" Valentine said. "It would give me
something to do whilst I regain my strength."
The old man nodded and shuffled out.
Valentine sighed. He'd been conned by the cunning she-witch again
but he had naught to do except rest. Might as well look through
the rolls as long as he was here…
Denys appeared as soon as she received the message and could
hasten to her husband's side. "Is he all right?" she asked the
Bishop, looking over his shoulder for some sign of her husband.
"What was he doing here?"
"Trying to find your parents."
"
What
?"
"He had a mishap in the barge. It sprang a hole and damn near
sucked the whole Thames up into it," the bishop said, making a
waving motion with his hands.
Denys felt her knees tremble. "Oh, Jesu! Is he all right? Where is
he?"
"He is fine, sleeping like a babe. I would let him be."
"Let me look in on him, please!" She took the steps two at a time
and peered into the darkened chamber in which he slept. She
approached the bed. "Thank you so much, my darling. You get well
soon now. I shall come visit you every day until you are better
and I shall be waiting for you when you come home."
He stirred and soon the brilliant blue was peeking out from under
his lids. They lit up in recognition as he became aware of her
presence.
"Darling, how are you feeling?" She leaned over and planted a soft
kiss on his cheek.
"Fine, just a bit woozy, that is all, like I imbibed too much
cheer."
"Did a physician see you?"
"Aye, the Bishop summoned his physician. He said I needed a few
days' rest. Are a few days up yet?"
"Nay, it just happened yesterday. Valentine...how did you arrive
here? The Bishop said you were looking for my parents. Why...what
were you doing?"
"Elizabeth told me to come here. It was during the barge crossing
that the accident occurred. It had a hole in the bottom."
"Elizabeth!" she gasped. "What were you doing talking to her about
that?"
"I went to ask her to finally come clean and tell me where she got
you. I wanted to surprise you," he said, his words interrupted by
a spate of coughs.
"Valentine, have I not told you time and again she knows
something. She is harboring some information, and is trying her
damnedest to keep it from me! I would be not a bit surprised had
she deliberately rent a hole in that barge! Please, Valentine, she
is ruthless. She will stop at nothing!"
"I know all that! And she knows I know! I did not go to her like a
naive child expecting her to tell me who your parents were. Just
as I'd expected, she proceeded with a list of bribes,
Treasurership of the Royal Chamber, a vast sum, and my likeness
struck on a coin if I'd procure the rest of the royal treasure and
join the Woodville camp.
"I refused unless she provided something in return. I told her we
would join Edward's faction in securing him on the throne, would
remain loyal to him as our King, and would deliver the rest of the
royal treasure only if she would give me the information she'd
been keeping from you. She led me to the Bishop, but he says he
does not have your birth records."
"Certainly she did not think you would accept any bribes—she must
think the entire world is as greedy as she!"
"Oh, I care not what she thinks. I don't need anything she could
possibly offer me—although I would look rather dashing on a
thruppenny bit, now, wouldn't I?" He held his head high, showing
off his razor sharp jawline.
"But Valentine, you almost drowned! She deliberately tried to kill
you, I know her!"
"I came nowhere close to drowning. She did not stop to consider
that I might be an excellent a swimmer, unlike the expendable
boatman who got swirled away to his untimely death."