Daughter of York (15 page)

S
HE WAS RIGHT.
Edward had international relations on his mind that autumn. His ally in Europe, Philip of Burgundy, had finally succeeded in arranging a meeting between Edward’s ambassadors and the new king of France, Louis. With King Henry’s and Queen Margaret’s Lancastrian cause seemingly finished, the wily Louis, who at one point had promised the queen he would always have her best interests at heart, realized it would be provident to cease hostilities with Edward, and thus the two countries signed a year-long truce at St. Omer, promising to meet at a peace conference the following April.

“The terms of the agreement dictate that neither party may give succor to the other’s enemies, which means Louis cannot give Queen Margaret aid, God be praised,” said Jack Howard, who had stopped at Greenwich pier on the way to his town house at Stepney to pay his respects and to see if Fortunata was pleasing Margaret. He was delighted to see the change in the dwarf since rescuing her from his captain. The scowl had gone, and although she would never be described as fair, her long countenance was not unattractive thanks to those liquid eyes. Margaret had given her a new gown, and it was more flattering to her short body. Margaret allowed Fortunata to sit at her feet during their interview, and Jack noticed the
girl paid rapt attention to the conversation, which he found somewhat unsettling. He, too, wondered if she were a spy.

“But I thought Burgundy and France were enemies,” Margaret said, puzzled. “Why would the duke want Louis to sign a truce with England? ’Tis all very confusing.”

“Certes! ’Tis even more confusing than you think, madam. As you know, Philip of Burgundy was close to death last summer, and his hot-headed son Charles was poised to succeed him. He and his father do not see eye to eye,” Jack chuckled, “and that is an understatement!

“When Louis took the throne, he saw that the Burgundian lands stopped only a few leagues from Paris, and he has been trying to persuade Philip to sell him back the towns along the Somme that Louis’ father ceded thirty years ago. Philip, for his part, is looking to ease his mortal soul into a happy eternity and so would dearly love to finance a crusade. Louis’ money would pay for that, but Philip knows Charles does not want to give up one acre of his inheritance, and so they quarreled again, ’tis said.”

“In truth, this Charles seems a disrespectful son, Sir John. I cannot imagine Edward disputing any of my father’s decisions,” Margaret said, smiling at the thought. “’Twould have been unthinkable!”

Having spent time with the late duke of York, Jack had to nod in agreement.

Margaret changed the subject. “The news you bring is happy, sir, but when does my brother return to London? I confess I am weary of this solitary life in Greenwich.”

Jack kept a straight face as his dark eyes swept the room with its many attendants. Margaret did not miss the glance and defended herself. “With only my lords of Clarence and Gloucester for company, I mean.”

“Ah, I see your point, my lady. Brothers, and especially younger brothers, can be a trial,” Jack sympathized. “As for the king’s grace, he is busy in the north, but he will come back to London soon, I warrant. Perhaps you were not aware that he went to Dover to talk to his ambassadors last month. He was there but a day or two before returning north.”

Jack had heard rumors that Edward spent much of his time hunting and feasting with members of his immediate circle at Fotheringhay. It appeared there was a lady nearby he was pursuing as well, although he said nothing of this to Margaret. It was his turn to change the subject.

“Would you care to step aboard my new ship, my lady? I am right proud of her, and I think you will approve of her name.”

Margaret’s eyes lit up. A chance to do something different, she thought. Damn Edward! He must have passed close by here and yet did not stop. She dismissed her uncharitable thought and turned to Jack.

“Aye, Sir John, I would go with you gladly. I have never been on a ship before,” she said as she rose to her feet. Jack eased his stocky frame out of his chair and took her hand. He smiled as Fortunata rose from her foot-stool and attached herself to Margaret like a shadow. “
Et tu,
Fortunata,” he said, hoping his Latin was close enough to Italian.

Several attendants followed the trio down the long waiting chamber, past the musicians’ gallery that looked over the great hall and down the stairs of the king’s tower to the watergate. A chill October wind was blowing, and a man ran past chasing his fashionable high-crowned hat before it fell into the river. Margaret was happy she was wearing her turbaned headdress and not a hennin. She welcomed the fresh air after hours in the stale, overly perfumed rooms inside. A caravel was tied up to the wharf, its streamer showing the cross of St. George fluttering from the main mast. The Howard red and white badge on a standard graced the forecastle. And painted in gold letters on the side of the bow was her name,
Margaret.

Margaret was delighted and turned to her entourage, pointing and smiling.

“I confess ’twas another Margaret I had in mind, my lady,” Jack said. “My mother was Margaret Mowbray, and she dearly loved the sea. ’Twas she who took me to Dunwich when I was but a boy, and I have had a love for ships and sailing ever since.”

He hurried on ahead and had some of his crew form the semblance of an honor guard in front of the gangplank. The wind was making waves on the river, and the ship lurched backwards and forwards against the dock, giving Margaret second thoughts about boarding her. Even Fortunata had widened the customary proximity to her mistress; her memories of being at sea were not happy ones. Her servant’s timidity and Jack’s easy striding onto the wobbling plank convinced Margaret that she must show fortitude, and she took his outstretched hand and walked up the wooden board and onto the ship. Several seamen stood about, staring at her, their
hats in their hands, and she favored them with a smile. Jack showed her the cramped cabin that he shared with the ship’s master, its porthole set in the stern, and as they walked along the decks, he explained the rigging and how they stowed the cargo and pointed out the small cannon tied fast to the deck. Margaret was fascinated by it all and regaled him with questions.

“I wonder if I will ever sail in such a ship, Sir John,” she mused. “The
mal de mer,
by all accounts, is hard to stomach!”

Jack laughed, appreciating her play on words. “Nay, my lady. Some of us never feel it, so perhaps you will be the same. ’Tis possible you will sail to a new home one of these days,” he said, and, seeing her frown, thought he had overstepped the bounds of familiarity. “I beg your pardon, ’twas forward of me.”

“You are forgiven, sir.” Margaret was polite. “Now let us return to dry land.”

She thanked him heartily for his pains, but her mood had darkened. She let him bow over her hand and without a word left the dock with the little group processing behind her. Jack Howard was left to wonder if he had truly offended her.

But Margaret was thinking, confound Edward, will he leave me here in Greenwich forever?

T
HAT WEEK,
M
ARGARET
was confined to her chamber with the onset of her monthly courses and whiled away the time reading and teaching Fortunata English. During a quiet moment after dinner, when her ladies were dozing and she lay on her richly decorated bed with half of the velvet curtains drawn, she patted the bed and invited the girl to sit with her. She put her finger to her lips so that the attendants would not be disturbed. Fortunata fetched a stool to climb onto the high bed. For one who was disfigured, Fortunata was exceptionally nimble and her body was as pliant as dough. Her acrobatics had drawn gasps from guests at Margaret’s dinner table, and her sturdy little legs could propel her into the air in amazing leaps and tumbles, earning many a groat for her skill.

Hidden behind the heavy drapes, Margaret encouraged Fortunata to continue the fascinating tale of her life. She had learned of the girl’s abandonment on the steps of the university at Padua and how a kindly doctor
had put the baby in the care of an elderly servant there. The woman and her husband, a stonemason, were childless and had taken her in as their own, even when, upon unswaddling the baby, they saw she was malformed. The doctor had decided the child must be the luckiest little girl in the world and had named her Fortunata. The foster mother, Tomasina, carried the child on her back as she worked until Fortunata was able to walk. The doctors were good to the bright child, and her original mentor exploited the chance to study her growth, keeping her with him during the day as he tutored students and consulted with his colleagues. So it was that as she grew up, Fortunata spent many hours in the presence of some of the greatest minds in all of Europe.

Margaret had listened entranced, envious of the girl’s knowledge. It was only then, a few weeks after Fortunata entered her household, that Margaret realized what a treasure she had been given. I will keep her by me always, she thought, for she brings more than good luck to my house. She brings an ancient wisdom.

“Papa Giorgio died.” Fortunata picked up her story where she had left off the last time, and Margaret nodded. When Fortunata was nine, he had fallen from the scaffolding of a building he was working on and was killed instantly.

“And Tomasina could not feed both of you, so she asked the good doctor to take you as his servant,” Margaret remembered, massaging her tender belly with a smooth, warmed stone.

“
Si, madonna.
The doctor was a good man. I work for him
tre
”—she held up three fingers—“years. Then he died.” Her eyes were sad as she crossed herself.
“Benedictus deus. Fiat volutas tua!”

“Amen,” murmured Margaret, also signing.

“I thought my life was finished,” Fortunata said dramatically, “and I cried many tears. I knew I must leave
dell’università.
I had no money, I had no home.”

“The other doctors would not give you work? No? ’Twas shameful of them. Where did you go? What did you do?” Margaret could not imagine being without a home or wealth. She was horrified. “You poor child.”

“
Madonna mia,
I am not a child,” Fortunata said indignantly. “I am fifteen—a lady!”

“In truth, I confess I look at you as a child because—” Margaret broke
off, knowing her next words would be insensitive. The other ladies had remarked on the fact that Fortunata had not begun her courses yet: another reason to look on the dwarf with suspicion.

“I am only small. I am not a child!” Fortunata retorted. “I am a lady as you. You see,” she said, pointing to her small breasts.

Margaret laughed. “You are right, mistress. You are a woman. Pray forgive me. Now, tell me more. More of your story—of your life.”

Even in the dim light, the anguish showed in Fortunata’s face as she told the next episode. She was cast out on the streets of Padua to fend for herself. A few of the doctors had taken up a collection, and the money had lasted a few weeks, but now she found herself begging in the marketplace and sleeping under the archways of the Palazzo della Ragione with other vagrants. In her broken English, she told Margaret how she learned to pick pockets as a thief’s assistant. Her eyes clouded, and she whispered a prayer of supplication to the Virgin for her sins. “I must eat,
madonna,
” she said, “so I stole food.”

Margaret nodded and gazed with a mixture of awe and sadness at the dejected figure in front of her. “God will understand, Fortunata. You had to eat.”

“But I learn much,
Madonna
Margherita. Many people have bad troubles with
corpo
—you know, body—like me, but worse. One lady had only one eye, one man no leg, one other man a big head like this.” Her ever-moving hands illustrated its size. “Many people
pazzo,
” she put her finger to her temple and twisted it back and forth indicating madness. “I was not so strange. I learn and it make me strong. I am not stupid, I am
furbo
—how do you say—clever.”

“Aye, Fortunata, you are clever, for you have bewitched your mistress, ’tis certain.” Margaret smiled at Fortunata’s puzzled look and cocked head. “’Tis of no import, I promise. You must be clever to end up in a palace after living among thieves and vagabonds.”

Now Fortunata was completely lost. “
Perdone me, madonna.
I do not understand.”

Margaret patted her hand and gently stroked her cheek. “Certes, what a wretched life you have had! Tell me, how did you happen to be on Captain Outlaw’s ship?”

The absentminded caress astonished Fortunata, who had forgotten
what it was like to be touched by a loving hand since Tomasina died. She took Margaret’s hand and kissed it, a tear splashing on to it. Margaret was touched but gently withdrew her fingers from the girl’s grasp.

“Captain Outlaw?” she insisted.

“
Si,
the captain.” Fortunata brushed away her tears and sat erect again. “One day there was a
festa
in
piazza, carnevale …
”

“Ah, carnival, you mean?” Margaret asked. Fortunata nodded eagerly.

“
Si,
it is correct. I went to see.” Fortunata tried to tell Margaret about the clowns, the theatrical depictions of biblical scenes, the food and gewgaws for sale, and the number of dropped coins she was able to scrounge, but it was all a babble to Margaret, mostly in Italian. She laughed at Fortunata’s excitement and waving hands.

“I understand, ’twas a fair, just as we have in many towns here in England. But what has it to do with you?”

“A man was making magic and I went to see. He made a ball go away under a cup,” she said. “I stayed many hours. But I am so small, he did not see me watching. I saw what he did.”

“Is that how you learned your tricks? By watching him and others at the street fairs?” Margaret asked.

Fortunata nodded. “One day an Englishman comes. His name is Giovanni … John … Hawkins. He see me watching. He made me go to the table and he take a
denari
from my ear. Then he asked me to choose a ball under the cups. I choose the correct ball, and he was not happy!” She illustrated his anger by shaking her fist and glaring at Margaret, who chuckled.