We Speak No Treason Vol 1 (19 page)

They came in over the drawbridge and I watched them, unseen, while the Queen stood on the castle steps with the Duchess of York. Queen Elizabeth lowered her blue eyes and smiled as the King halted below her on the stair, but the King’s mother remained gazing at him, with the same steady unfathomable look I had seen in Richard’s eyes. I saw these things for only the briefest moment, for I looked for Richard and found him, lithe and swift in his dark travelling cloak, ascending the steps to kiss the hands of the Queen and his mother. The Duchess of York set her lips on his cheek. The blood in my body boiled to do the same.

On the next day I saw him again. I saw him at the other end of the dining hall. I saw that he was glad, and smiled twice, and laughed once, and ate his meat, and when the royal party walked through the bowing throng to leave, he passed quite close to me. I could almost have touched him, but for two women who sat between me and the door. He wore his gold carcanet with the ruby-eyed boar, which had grazed my flesh and burnt me like a brand. His hair was sleek as the plumes of a raven; I had smoothed it from his brow. The bones of his face were as delicate as ever; I had soothed them with my fingers. His eyes were like no other eyes in this world. Strive as I might to catch them, I had no success.

For the next seven days I earned a week from my allotted span of Purgatory. Though he was in Fotheringhay, he might have been in France, for all I saw of him. I endeavoured to keep track of him, and knew that he spent most of the day below on the camp, attending to various duties, or laced into a tent together with the other officers, though I could only guess vaguely at that which they spoke of and what they planned. And each night I must tend the Duchess of Bedford, whom I had learned to hate.

The King had soft speech with his Queen daily, and lay with her nightly, and I grew wondrous pale and my girdle slid about my waist, and I knew a terrible ache in my heart, and not only my heart.

So when Elysande said: ‘They ride tomorrow, then,’ as a matter of casual conversation, I could contain myself no more. All my sorrow broke its bounds, refreshing as a waterspout, draining as the bodily blood, reminder of Eve’s fall, that purges us monthly.

‘Come aloft,’ she said suddenly, and taking my arm, led me up to the breezy battlements of the keep, where I saw, through the silk of my tears, the serpent Nene cleaving its coil through the marshes. And there was Richard, far below, seen as in a dream. From his horse he was talking with his mother, and he had a hawk balanced on his wrist. Slowly he stroked its feathers, as the King rode up beside them, his steed backing and tossing with its urgency, like my spirit. As they rode through the gate to their sport, I turned to Elysande. She patted the stone beside her, and we sat dangerously on top of the battlements, the wind tossing our veils.

‘What’s amiss?’ Her voice was quiet.

My laugh was stillborn.

‘You must think me blind,’ she said. ‘I will help you, if I can. I am your friend, am I not?’

She was, as I have said, ever anxious to be my friend. I watched the tiny figures against the blue-green marsh. The hawks were flying at heron, the snow of Edward’s white gerfalcon catching the sun on its wings as it sped faster and faster through blue haze.

‘You are deep in love,’ she murmured. ‘And yet he loves you not, for he remains in London, while you pine and wax slender, here with the Queen’s household.’

So completely had I forgotten Patch’s existence that I turned with a frown, and that frown told her all.

‘Hey, hey!’ she said. ‘After all this, ’tis not the fool.’

‘Of course it is not the fool.’

‘Do not tell me you have been smitten by one of these,’ she said, pointing with her slim hand down to the infantry’s tents. ‘Half of them are wedded, and will tell any tale to win a fresh maidenhead.’

I thought of my heart’s lust. ’Prentice in love. I had to smile. Then I felt Elysande’s hands loosening my headdress, unpinning my hair.

‘Tell me his name,’ she said. ‘Tell me his name, and I will lie by my lady tonight, and you can seek him in the dark, and none shall know of it, save you and I.’

She began to stroke my hair gently. It waved about my face, blinding me, and her hands were like Richard’s. The King’s falcon was at the height of its stoop, powerful and clear against the azure mist. Silent, I watched as it dropped, beak and talons opening in a savage joy.

‘Tell me his name,’ she whispered. I shook my head.

Her hands clung to me. ‘What does he call you?’

‘Sweet heart, at times,’ I whispered. I bent my head, closing my eyes under her strong, soft hands. She caressed the back of my neck, and truly it could have been Richard.

‘Sweet heart,’ she said very softly. ‘Sweet heart, tell me his name! It will give you joy to speak it. I am your friend. I share your every woe.’

Edward’s hawk had taken the heron. Like lovers, they dropped through the air, in the tender embrace of death.

‘I am he,’ Elysande whispered. ‘Call me by my name.’

Without another thought, I told her. The gentle, stroking hands ceased for an instant.

‘Certes, they fly high,’ she murmured, with a little laugh.

‘Who do?’ I asked, in a dream.

‘Why, the hawks, dear heart!’ Her fingers caressed. The moments passed, grains slipping silent into eternity. I could not call them back.

‘I never really thought of him in that wise,’ she said. ‘He looks so quiet, so serious. And yet, you have been paramours for some little time?’

‘Ah, Richard,’ I said, only half hearing her.

She lifted my hair from the nape of my neck, rubbing its mass between her fingers, tangling it into a skein.

‘Is he a...’

I grew rigid. ‘Ask me no more. I will not speak of it.’ I closed my eyes. It was Richard who played with my hair, absently, his mind on something else.

‘Tell me this, at any rate,’ she said, over a tender laugh. ‘I cannot ask the gentlemen of the bedchamber; they would think me wanton indeed, but you and I are dear friends and love each other. I’m curious. Sweeting, is it true, one shoulder is hideously malformed and he pads out his doublet to feign equality?’

I sprang to face her. ‘Jesu, Elysande!’ I cried. ‘How do such tales begin?’

She shrugged; her hands stroked mine; she was my falconer, and I a trembling goshawk. ‘You know how whispers wax fat from tongue to tongue,’ she murmured. ‘Let us therefore know the truth.’

Whatever the truth was, I would not speak of it to Elysande, and she abandoned the chase, and picked up my headdress from the stones, smoothing its windblown veil.

‘I will serve the Duchess tonight, sweeting,’ she said, and as I looked at her I marked how the sunlight turned her green eyes yellow, but thought her wondrous kind. We stood on the battlements and kissed each other tenderly; and a breeze sprang up and caught us. We swayed in it, and there was naught in the world save its fierce glory…

‘I would know mine enemy,’ muttered the Duchess of Bedford. The monkey chattered and wound its thin little arms about her neck.

All that long day Elysande cosseted me, staying close, smiling her gentle smile, whispering cheer as the hours wore on. She asked me no more questions about him, but made herself exceedingly useful to me, for she filtered about the castle as I would never dare, in soft enquiry as to his plans. I watched her with love and admiration, for she was clever in the way she spoke with the unfamiliar servants, the strange guards of Fotheringhay: gleaning knowledge by a half-sentence, a casual eyebrow, a disinterested nod. Certes, she was clever, Elysande.

At evening she returned triumphant.

‘Proud Cis is giving a banquet in her stateroom,’ she murmured. ‘Let us get my lady dressed swiftly; for the sooner they have finished the feasting the earlier they will retire... that is, some will retire.’ And she gave me a clip round the waist and I kissed her cheek, though an anxiousness fell upon me as I said:

‘Dearest, I know not even where he lies, and there is none here who will guide me to him.’

She laughed. ‘I was speaking of the King’s Grace,’ she said softly. ‘Is it not natural that he should take his pleasure with the Queen this night, for they may not meet again in weeks. As for the other, if he keeps his usual custom, he will be down in camp, counting his men!’ She covered a smile, as if she was loath to wound my feelings by jesting about him. ‘They say he is so joyful at the following he has collected to ride under his blazon, he must visit them nightly, for all they were a handful of gems!’

And we laughed merrily, and cast ourselves about, until the Duchess came out from her bedchamber, and we both sped to attend her.

Much, much later, when the bed-curtains were fast on steady breathing, Elysande came to the door to bid me God-speed.

‘One thing, dear heart,’ she whispered.

‘Anything, Elysande.’

‘Ask him who is Robin of Redesdale,’ she said, and I fancied her voice was a little higher than normal. But I was mad to go to him and I gave her my word. For although she did not know it, I had already asked Richard, and he had been as baffled as were we all, so I could tell her this after, and it would be truth.

It was a close evening, and the marsh mists swirled dank and warm about the castle, and I was a part of them. I clove like a ghost near to the walls until I had crossed the ward and could mingle easily with the hastening servants, grooms, carriers and soldiers who, in lantern-light, prepared for morning departure. Few lights were burning in the great fortress behind me as I threw it one last glance before halting near the drawbridge. A cart containing the chalices and trappings for the Mass was rolling towards it, and the sentinel, laughing with a fellow, casually waved it on. Covered from head to foot in my dark cloak, I ran unnoticed in the wagon’s shadow across the moat, and felt the silken suck of the meadow under my soles. There were men everywhere. Never had I seen so many men. And there were horses, the great destriers of war, with hooves big as serving dishes, shifting restively at their tethers, or, forked by strong shadows, surging across my path like moving boulders of power. There was the smell of steel and sweat; and distantly, the marsh-fires burned green, brighter that night, for the demons that tended them were curious, aroused by all the activity. I crossed myself for I was more afraid than I had dreamed, and I thought of the Nut-Brown Maid, who would follow her lord into the wilds and the desolate places.

The waged men, the mercenaries, formed a vast circle. I saw their laughing faces in the light of camp fires. They were playing cards and dicing, using their leathern shields for a board, and, as I approached the dimlit shapes of the officers’ tents, I saw for the first time there were women too, among the common soldiery. In one way I was glad, for I could mix with the bawds and the wenches from the nearby hamlet and none would question my presence; then, I was sorry, for as I scuttled past a little knot of men, two dark shapes rose on my either side, and I felt the touch of rough hands.

One of them kissed me, the other pulled off my hood. I felt a beard sharp on my skin. They both laughed, and they would have wrought further, for I felt fingers at my cloak’s fastenings, and I screamed. A third figure appeared carrying a light, outlined against the glimmering marsh.

‘Christ’s Mercy!’ said a voice wearily. ‘Do we ravish children? See how small she is, you great ox!’

The one who had kissed me dropped his arms and muttered something unintelligible.

‘Fat Mab awaits you. On the edge of camp,’ pursued the man with the lantern. I crept closer to him.

‘Sir,’ I whispered, ‘sir, I’m no camp-follower. Bid them let me pass, I pray you.’

‘Are you from the castle?’ he said.

Wildly, I stretched my mind, babbling, ‘I have a message...’

‘I’ll take it then; and you can go back before this pack molest you any more,’ he said slowly. I guessed then he must be one of the newly-waged men, or he would have asked why they had not sent one of the castle guard or a manservant, and not a young maid.

‘It is a private message and urgent,’ I whispered. ‘I don’t know you, sir.’

‘Calthorp, mistress,’ he said shortly. ‘Bound in arms under my lord Duke of Gloucester.’

In all these hundreds of soldiers I had fallen on one of Richard’s men. I had a message, but not one I could transmit by Master Calthorp.

‘For his ears only,’ I muttered, and in the lantern light, saw his mouth curve, and knew him as quite young, despite his serious way; the kind of man my lord would pick, I thought, and answered his smile.

‘So be it’ he answered, and we took our way through the lines of men. Some of them were polishing their weapons, talking quietly; one was writing a letter by firelight, chewing his nails to ease the labour of it. But, dangerously near the tents, a soldier possessed one of the village trulls, unhurriedly, half-burying her in the coarse grass, and in the gloom I felt my face scarlet and closed my ears to their sighing moans. Master Calthorp whisked me past, catching my elbow as I tripped over tussocks and the edge of my cloak.

‘This is my first campaign,’ he said, to cover my shame. Then, inconsequentially: ‘I like the Duke of Gloucester well.’ Jesu, take me to him then, I thought. For I too like the Duke of Gloucester.

Suddenly, I saw him. He was standing by an open tent-flap, talking with three young men. I faltered and shrank, and Master Calthorp looked round to see why I hung back.

‘There he is, mistress,’ he said cheerfully.

I stood and watched Richard. With the exact gesture of his brother the King, he threw his arm about the shoulder of one young man; friendly, assured, disquietingly royal. They laughed together. He seemed very joyful, and I felt lonely and lost. Calthorp strode up to him while I trailed behind, huddled in my cloak. An esquire, whom I recognized as Lord Percy’s son, stepped forward protectively, hiding Richard for a moment.

‘Here is one with a message for his Grace,’ said Calthorp, and I drew my hood far across my face and felt the stuff quiver under my lips.

Richard turned his head as he caught the words, and waited. The three young men waited. Robert Percy waited, and so long did they all wait that Richard came forward and Calthorp held the lantern up so that it shone in my eyes. I saw Richard’s hand stray to his dagger and I knew that I must present a strange, shapeless figure, half human, neither young nor old, and I feared they might think me Robin of Redesdale himself, mayhap, come south to murder them. So I turned my back on the others, and for Richard’s eyes alone, dropped the veil from my face, and saw his expression change. I had never seen him angry, but he was passing wroth, then, and his fingers left his knife and he started turning his finger-rings round and round, as a cat lashes its tail. ‘My thanks, Master Calthorp,’ he said. His voice was like the cold stones in my gallery.