Wolf Wood (Part Two): The Dangerous years (19 page)

That was their problem. He was used to French accents and could understand most of what she said. He had modified the cow horn and it was working much better than before.

Should he tell his parents what he had found out?

A lot of boys would do that. They would want to show how clever they were. Steven smiled to himself. That was not how he operated. He wouldn't tell anyone anything without good reason. His mother would find out about her assignment soon enough.

He went to her table and examined his face in the mirror she kept there. He was almost sixteen and a thin fuzz of hair was forming beneath his nose. Girls liked older boys. They also liked boys who were tall. He was short and suspected he would remain that way. There wasn't much he could do about it but he could do something about his hair.

It was a sort of sandy colour and stuck up. Neither was fashionable in the aristocratic circles in which he now moved. The answer was to wear a wig. Since he didn't have any money a little ingenuity was needed. Steven decided that his next project would be to hunt out a wig and get one of his admirers to buy it for him.

***

T
he corridor leading to the queen's chamber was clean but shabby. Paint was peeling from the plaster and the stonework was stained. It was unseasonably cold. Alice was shocked to see ice on wet patches left by the burst pipes. She was dressed in a robe supplied by the queen's father who was concerned that she should look the part. He had also suggested that she speak in French. It seemed that Margaret was less strident and more relaxed when conversing in her mother tongue.

A chamberlain in a dark gown had come to fetch her. He called her
Sister
and seemed to think she was some sort of nun. Alice saw no reason to tell him that she was married to one of his colleagues. She was dressed like a nun and he could think what he liked.

She was shown into a spacious room. The chamberlain announced her presence and withdrew. The queen was seated on a high-backed chair. Two older women, in richly embroidered gowns, stood stiffly behind her. Alice recognised Margaret from their previous meeting. That was three years ago and under very different circumstances.

'Your Majesty.' She curtsied and spoke in French. 'I am honoured that you should have called upon my services.'

Margaret stared at her imperiously; head held high, eyes narrow as if inspecting an addition to the royal stable.

'We summoned you upon the recommendation of my illustrious father, King René,' she barked in English. 'We trust that your claims are as good as you pretend.'

René d'Anjou had made no mention of his claim to be King of Sicily, Hungary and various other places. Alice concluded that his daughter saw herself as Queen of England and France and heiress to half of Christendom.

'Your illustrious father will have explained …'

'We speak English,' Margaret shrieked. 'Do you suppose that our understanding of the language of our English subjects is at fault?'

Alice rephrased her reply in English. 'Your illustrious father asked me to see you because he had heard of the reduction in infant deaths which we were able to achieve at our hospital in Bayeux. At our recent meeting, King René also spoke about the reduction of deaths amongst mothers.'

'Tell me how this was done.'

Margaret narrowed her eyes and lent forward like a judge questioning the testimony of an unreliable witness.

'By attending to the mother's physical and emotional wellbeing during the months of her confinement …'

Alice began her explanation and was interrupted by one of the older women before she could get out more than a few words.

'Are you suggesting that Her Majesty's wellbeing is being neglected? You know nothing of the care she is receiving.'

'I am here at Her Majesty's bidding.'

She replied quietly and saw the venom in the other woman's eyes. She had scored a point and made an enemy for daring to speak back.

'What else do you do?'

'We make physical inspections such as feeling the position of the unborn child. If necessary it can be coaxed into a more favourable position for the birth to proceed harmoniously.'

'Harmoniously?' Margaret asked. 'What do you mean?'

Alice lapsed into French and, this time, Margaret did not object. She asked questions in the same language and they started to converse in French. René was right. His daughter was more relaxed when she spoke her mother tongue.

The same could not be said for the two other women. They glared at Alice from behind the queen's chair. Standing erect and statue-like, they reminded her of dragons surveying a small and insolent creature that had strayed into their lair.

Hot Toddy

A
whiff of cinnamon hung in the air as Robin mounted the stairs. Duke Richard had invited him to partake of a hot toddy. York had put on his evening robe and retreated to his snug in the main tower. It was where he went when he wanted to be alone or with friends.

The two men had been through a lot together and had got to know one another well. At forty-two, York was ten years older than Robin. He had spent much of his adult life serving his country in France and Ireland and was widely respected as an honest man who did his best to rule for the good of the people. He handed Robin a hot tankard and proposed a toast.

'To our wives and children.'

'They do us proud.' Robin returned the toast. 'It isn't easy living as they do with so much conflict raging about them.'

'The children are growing up fast.'

'Aye,' Robin nodded. 'They've reached that age.'

'What thinks you of my son, Edward?'

'He's growing into a very personable young man. He mixes well with the other children and is not shy with adults.'

'Aye. He is coming on well. I shall be getting another tutor for him. He has a natural talent for languages and that needs to be encouraged.'

'He certainly has a way with words,' Robin agreed. 'Maud has talked about his French. She thinks he's very chic.'

'Your daughter would have spoken French when you were in Normandy.' Duke Richard placed another log on the fire. 'Edward says she speaks about her Auntie Alice. I assume that's Harald Gascoigne's wife.'

'Aye. Their son, Steven, called me Uncle Robin.'

'Would she also be referred to as Sister Alice?'

'She was called that in Normandy when she was serving in the hospital. She was happy with that. It seemed less formal than Lady Gascoigne.'

'I'm receiving reports that a certain Sister Alice has been summoned to attend Queen Margaret. Do you think it could be her?'

Robin wondered where the reports came from. Since York had not chosen to tell him, he concluded that the source was strictly confidential.

'It could be Alice Gascoigne,' he shrugged. 'Indeed, it seems likely. She was the one who received the invitation to join the royal court. It was almost as if Harald went along as her husband and not the other way round.'

'Could it be they summoned Sister Alice for her skills as a healer. What thinks you?'

'Margaret is pregnant and Alice was famous for her work with the midwives.'

'Would René d'Anjou have got to hear about her?'

'Almost certainly,' Robin nodded. 'As you well know, Anjou is just down the road from Normandy. René was there for some of the time. There was a lot of coming and going despite the fighting.'

'René was recently in London,' York announced blandly. 'A woman in a closed carriage visited him at the hospital at Bedlam. She went with a man using seeing glasses. People recall him staring at them. Does that sound like Richard Gascoigne.'

'Aye.'

'Robin.' York leant forward earnestly. 'They must be privy to information that would be of great value to us. We need to know what has happened to the king. He's not appeared in public for at least five weeks.'

'My attempts to contact the Gascoignes have got nowhere,' Robin sighed. 'One of my men has got a job exercising the royal greyhounds. He has tried to talk to them when they go for walks but without success.'

'Does he know why?'

'He thinks they suspect him of being a palace spy.'

'Why makes him think that?'

'He says Alice looks scared most of the time. She never stops glancing around and Harald looks furtive. He stands out with his poor eyesight. Whenever he wants to see anything at a distance, he has to get out his seeing glasses and put them to his eyes. He can't do that without drawing attention to himself.'

'What does your man suggest?'

'He thinks he could make more progress with Steven.'

'You mean the Gascoigne son ... the one who shot his cousin?'

'Aye. My man describes Steven as “canny”. He mixes with everyone. They treat him like he's some sort of palace mascot. He's very different from Alice and Harald. They keep to themselves.'

'Has your man approached Steven?'

'He has asked my permission to have his son approach him. The boy is a few years younger than Steven and knew him in Normandy.'

'Have you told him to go ahead?'

'I thought I should first discuss it with you.'

'Where's the problem?'

'I'm cautious about involving a fifteen-year-old.'

'Hgh,' York grunted. 'Many boys go into battle at a far younger age. Steven was one of them.'

'My concern is for the outcome.'

'Can you think of an alternative?'

'No.'

'Then, we have no choice.' York rose to his feet, 'Alice Gascoigne is almost certainly a midwife to the queen. She will know about the progress of Margaret's pregnancy and the whereabouts of the king. We need that information. Tell your man to go ahead and have his son approach Steven Gascoigne. England's future hangs in the balance.

Dragon's Den

A
foul mist rose from the River Thames and drifted beneath the arch of the gatehouse. Steven watched the guards shut the doors to keep the stench out of the palace grounds. Entrance for late arrivals would now be through a small side door.

It was early October and already dark. Servants were scuttling across the quadrangles with wood for the fires in the private apartments. In the royal kitchens, preparations were being made for the evening meals.

Some residents would be dining in the great hall. Others would have their meals brought to them in their rooms. His parents preferred to eat in private but tonight was different. The queen was dining at the high table and she expected her administrative staff to be present with their families.

Steven had been badgering his parents to dine in hall ever since they arrived and they had always made excuses. Now, they had no choice. The queen had ordered them to be there and they were obliged to take him with them.

He was wearing one of his more flamboyant costumes. Like most of his clothes, it was a present from palace admirers. The stockings were of contrasting colours: purple for one leg and violet for the other. The jacket was blue with slashed panels of pink and yellow silk.

His mother said he looked like a parrot but he didn't care. The parrots in the royal menagerie were well fed and no one tried to eat them. That couldn't be said for the swans in the royal park. They lost their heads whenever the queen fancied a plate of roast swan with plum jelly.

His mother wore a dark dress trimmed with white lace. She looked drab compared with the highborn ladies of the court, which was what she intended. It didn't pay to stand out at Westminster, unless you were prepared to play the clown and make a fool of yourself. The wives of senior administrative staff weren't allowed to do that but it was alright for their sons.

They crossed the outer court and were about to leave it when his mother was alarmed to see a man looking at them. He was accompanied by a greyhound and a boy in a hooded tunic. Mother said the man spied on them when they went for walks. Steven had seen the man before but the boy was new to him. He glanced at the kid as they walked past and he looked sheepish. Steven decided to keep a look out for him and find out what was going on.

The hall was set out with long trestle tables and benches. Steven had expected something grander for a royal palace. It wasn't much different from the great hall in the castle at Bayeux where he lived as a child. He guessed it was also used for dancing and plays. The high table was on a raised platform which would make a good stage. In a sense, it served that function at dinner. The people eating there were on show and the people down below were the audience.

A lot were carrying cushions. That was amusing. At Bayeux, cushions were supplied. Here you had to bring your own or put your bum on a hard bench. He wondered if the palace had stopped providing cushions because people made off with them. That wouldn't be surprising. Just about anything, that wasn't fastened down, went missing at Westminster.