A Rose for the Crown (37 page)

“I am sorry you must share your bed with George here, Kate. But it would seem odd to have him on a pallet in the hall while his wife sleeps in a perfectly adequate bed for two. John will be dispatching him to Framlingham the day after tomorrow, so it is only for two more nights.”

“’Tis of no consequence, Margaret, I thank you. We are civil to each other, and the anger in me has gone. It is only sadness I feel now.”

“Are you happy at the manor? Philippa is a sweet soul. I would count myself lucky to have such a mother-in-law.” Margaret made a face, explaining how much she had disliked her first husband’s mother. “Mother Wyfold was a gorgon, I can assure you.”

Kate professed she was not unhappy and, in fact, had grown to love Philippa as her own mother. She was trustworthy and kind with a nice
sense of humor, but Kate felt deceitful living there when she was no real wife to George.

“And if I persist in seeking an annulment, I shall hurt her deeply, I know,” Kate said, plying her needle in a piece of embroidery she intended to give to Philippa for a New Year’s gift. “Sometimes I almost want to tell her, but I cannot imagine what a mother would do, knowing she has borne a son who has unnatural lusts.”

When the baby had been fed and was lying contentedly in her cradle, Margaret called to Rose to rebraid her hair. There was a knock at the door, and Kate stood and curtsied as Jack entered. He waved her back to her stool.

“Let me see my daughter, Margaret. You are greedy with her. She needs to know her father, too, you know.” He kissed his wife and bent to the cradle. Cat was perfectly content, playing with her fingers and blowing bubbles. She crowed delightedly when Jack tickled her.

“She has your laugh, madam,” Jack teased his wife, as he picked the baby up and settled her in the crook of his arm. “The rest, though, is pure Howard.”

He was right. Her hair was black and her eyes were beginning to lose their newborn blueness and change to brown. The long Howard chin was unmistakable.

“She is beautiful, Sir John. That comes from her mother,” Kate chided him, squinting at a badly executed stitch. She almost said “God’s bones,” but remembered where she was. Why, oh! why had she chosen an embroidered kerchief as a gift? How she hating sewing!

Jack laughed heartily at her ribbing. He was happy Margaret had found a friend, albeit the wife of one of his youngest henchmen. He had decided to take George with him to France in the hope that the young man would comport himself well and be more deserving of Kate.

His new appointment as envoy suited him well: Jack Howard was a born diplomat. Whether dealing with politics at court or with a farmer over the sale of a cow, he was fair and spoke his mind. He was steadfastly loyal to the York cause, and through patience and a willingness to serve that cause, he had risen to a position of great importance in the king’s circle. Edward had made him knight of the body and more recently
treasurer of the household. The chance to represent the crown at Louis the Eleventh’s court was a privilege indeed, and he was mindful of it. He was determined to discover for himself the extent to which the earl of Warwick was in league with the French king and what mischief that bold baron was hatching.

“T
HE
KING
IS
AT
C
OVENTRY
for the season,” Jack answered Kate during a game of backgammon. And I heard young Gloucester keeps him company there. Which reminds me. Richard told me he met you and Philippa when he was lost hunting from here last September. He spoke warmly of you. Will you not tell me about it?”

Kate found herself blushing, she knew not why. She pretended to have fumbled a draughtsman onto the floor and bent down to hide her face. She was glad George had been sent back to Framlingham already.

“Aye, Sir John, we met him then. He found me in the wood not far from Chelsworth. He was with his friend, Rob . . . I have forgotten his name.” Kate was nonchalant. “They were hunting.”

“So, tell me what happened.”

Kate rattled off the story, omitting her reason for crying alone in the woods. Philippa, who was within earshot, added snippets where appropriate.

“Gloucester is a fine lad,” Jack said. “He and I became acquainted when I was in the north a few years back and spent time at Middleham and York. Edward has a loyal brother in Dickon. Cannot say the same about the other.” He muttered his last comment under his breath.

“I beg your pardon, Sir John?”

“Nothing, Kate. Nothing. I misspoke, that is all. Aye, young Richard has proved a good student of arms. I do hear he wields a fierce sword.” Jack played his turn on the dice and blocked Kate’s reentry on the board.

“Sir John! Look what you have done. Oh, fiddle-faddle!” Kate complained. “Now I shall have to wait until you free up a line for me. ’Tis unfair of you, sir!”

Jack laughed. “Life is not fair, young Kate. As you will no doubt find out one of these days. Do you want to give up and pay me now, or do you want to draw out the agony of defeat?” Kate answered by putting down two coins, thinking she had lost.

“I was testing your skill, Kate. Let me show you how you could still win.”

But Kate was tired of playing. Her mind was busy. “Do you think Richard of Gloucester will ever come to Tendring again?”

“Aye. He is much at court these days, but I know he is not one for the fripperies and politics of court life. He would rather be hawking or tilting. He is welcome here at any time, and I daresay he will be back to hunt before long. I will be sure to let you know when he comes next, Kate. But you must not make your husband jealous of him, must you?” He winked at her. Kate glanced around and was relieved to see Martin and Philippa admiring a new hanging at the other side of the hall.

“Sir John! I was only curious, that is all. ’Tis not often one of my station meets a royal prince. I am only curious, merely curious.”

But Jack was no longer paying attention. He yawned and eased himself out of his chair. “Time for bed, friends. If Martin and I want to hunt tomorrow, we must to bed.”

Kate went to Martin and knelt by him. “May I go with you on the morrow, Father? I am a good enough horsewoman now, and I would dearly love to ride with you.”

She looked eagerly at both men. They could not refuse her. It was not such an odd request. Many women were expert with bow and arrow or with a falcon and were often seen out hunting with their menfolk. And so it was arranged: Philippa would stay and keep Margaret company while Kate went hunting with Jack and Martin. Kate was elated, and hurried up the stairs to tell Margaret, who had gone up before the backgammon game to wish the younger children sweet dreams.

“She is headstrong, is she not?” Philippa laughed. “I hope she does not offend you, Sir John.”

“Offend me? Nay, madam, I find her delightful. Your son is a lucky man.” Martin and Philippa could only nod in absolute agreement.

T
HE
CRISP
AIR
RANG
with the compelling notes of a hunting horn and the baying of hounds. Cornflower pawed the hard ground under the snow, blowing clouds of hot steam from her nostrils. Several of Sir John’s neighbors had joined the group, including two other women, and Kate was glad to see them, for now she did not feel so out of
place. She masked her apprehension with a bright “Good day” and a smile.

Word was passed that a small herd of red deer had been spotted in the Bowerhouse manor woods, and one of the guest huntsmen had seen a wild boar in the same area. Boars had begun to die out in England, and to hunt one was rare sport indeed.

“A boar’s head is late for Christmas, friends, but ’twould not go amiss on my table for Twelfth Night!” Jack called. “Let us try and find him.”

The next two hours were spent getting to the hunting area and setting up a search in the woods, using the hounds. Kate tried to stay up with the leaders, but Cornflower was a small horse and more used to gentle trotting on beaten paths. Soon, they fell behind to the back of the train. Kate did not mind, for she did not think she would like to witness the kill. She simply wanted the experience of the hunt itself. A loud blast on the horn from deep in the forest told her that the dogs had picked up a scent, and she urged Cornflower in its direction.

“The boar, the boar! They have found the boar!”

She had never seen a boar but knew it was a brave and fearsome fighter. She hoped she would catch a glimpse of it before the dogs made an end of it. She could see Martin’s tall form topped by his emerald hat out in front. Onward they went, trampling the dead bracken and breaking the bare branches in their path. Kate was not surprised there were no deer about. Any sensible deer would have fled in front of all this noise, she thought.

Soon, the dogs’ yelps became bayings for blood, and the riders surged forward. Then came a hideous scream, a noise to haunt the worst nightmares. Cornflower stopped still in her tracks, trembling, her mistress rigid with fear on her back. The forest went silent for a split second. Then a shout of pain erupted from amid the sound of snarling dogs.

Someone cried, “Help him! Help Howard!”

Kate’s stomach lurched into her throat.

“Not Sir John. Holy Mother, not him,” she prayed, and kicking Cornflower’s flanks, she pushed her way through the brush and the company.

Jack was lying awkwardly in the snow, blood oozing from a deep gash in his leg. Martin bent over him anxiously, surrounded by a dozen onlookers. A few feet away, the boar lay dead, a piece of Jack’s leather boot
still hanging from its tusk, two arrows in its back and a sword thrust through its noble heart. Its glazed black eyes still stared menacingly at its pursuers. The grooms were holding the dogs back from tearing the beast to pieces to give their injured lord some space. Kate slid off Cornflower and bent over Jack, whose face was contorted with pain. He tried to smile when she approached.

“Thought I would be brave, Kate. Thought I had it, but it charged again. Sweet Jesu, ’tis a valiant fighter,” he said between grimaces as Martin took off his boot and tried to stem the blood with a piece of cloth.

Kate tore off a strip from her underskirt, moistened it with snow and wiped his sweating face. She then told Martin to bind up the wound tightly. She would return to Tendring to ready a poultice to prevent festering, for a wound from a boar was prone to poison.

“And how’s this for excitement on your first hunt, Kate? I’ll warrant you will not be too ready to go on another soon, will you?” Jack grinned ruefully. “God’s bones, Haute, what are you doing with my leg. Are you cleaning it out with your knife?”

Once Kate was satisfied that Jack was not in too much danger, she took Cornflower’s reins from one of the attendants, who helped her mount. She spotted Wat and motioned to him to accompany her, and they cantered off towards Stoke. Martin gave orders for a makeshift litter to be fashioned to drag Jack by horse to Tendring.

Back home, a bevy of women began ministering to the invalid all at once. Margaret, Agnes, Edith and Rose fussed with the bedclothes, wiped his brow and patted his hand. Jack closed his eyes and groaned, all the while lapping up the attention. Kate applied a poultice of lad’s love, goldenrod, wintergreen and rue and brewed him an infusion to calm his nerves. A smile of contentment eventually curled his mouth. During the ministrations, Martin looked in on the invalid, guffawed at the scene and disappeared. Once in the hall, he was the only one to hear a knocking on the front door. He looked around for Tom Moleyns or a servant, but as no one was about, he opened the door and was surprised to see a messenger clothed in the royal livery.

“Enter, enter, sir,” he bade the man, then called back in the direction of the kitchens, “Ho, there! Is there anyone to attend our visitor?”

A lackey came running, bowed to Martin and the messenger and helped the man off with his cloak. Tom appeared from Sir John’s private office and hurried across the hall to greet the guest.

“Well met, sir. How can we be of service? My master has met with an accident and is in his bed. I am Tom Moleyns, his squire, at your service.”

The stairs creaked as painfully as the old legs that were descending them, and John Braham made his way across the flagstone to address the messenger. Martin decided it was prudent to leave and went back upstairs to find Philippa.

The messenger took a letter from the leather pouch slung over his shoulder and handed it to Braham. The steward turned it over and recognized the royal seal. It was addressed to
Sir John Howard, Councilor of England.

“Master Moleyns, pray take our guest to Sir John’s office and wait with him while I take this to the master.” Braham turned and struggled back up the stairs.

Jack waved away his nurses. When only Margaret remained, he broke the seal.

“Right well-loved Howard, greetings,”
Edward wrote. Jack skimmed the letter quickly and then relayed the contents to Margaret, who was waiting anxiously.

“His grace commands my presence at Coventry. It seems he intends all his councilors to witness a reconciliation between Rivers, Audley and Herbert, and Warwick. By everything holy, that will be a miracle!” Jack ran his fingers through his gray-flecked hair and shifted his injured leg, wincing as he did.