Daughter of York (67 page)

Margaret wasted no time in traveling the few miles to Calais to greet her brother. He was surprised to learn that it was Margaret, not Charles, who had ordered Burgundian ships to England to carry the English force over the Channel. Margaret knew she must soothe Edward upon his arrival and hoped that her smiling face and beautiful gifts would mollify him. Edward was pleased to see his sister and embraced her fondly when they met, although he groused at the absence of Charles and his troops.

“We have been waiting for you for two years, Ned. What took you so long?” she teased, once they were ensconced in the chamber set aside for the king in the massive castle.

Edward growled. “Christ’s nails, Meg, don’t push me.” Then he laughed. “You still have your wits about you, Meggie, in truth. Anthony told me that power and wealth had not changed you.”

Margaret colored and turned away. “Is that all he said?” she said flippantly. “I went to a great deal of trouble to entertain him royally. Did he not even mention the venison?”

“I see my little sister is still lovelorn. You are not the only one, my dear. He is now the most eligible bachelor in all of England after my little Edward,” he chuckled. “Fathers are positively throwing their daughters at him! But he does not seem to be disposed to take another wife. Have you bewitched him, Meg?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Ned. We have seen each other three times in the past five years, ’tis all.” She didn’t count their midnight adventure or the meeting at Enghien, only the ones the chroniclers would record. “’Tis hardly the stuff of a great romance,” she joked. “Now, tell me how Mother is? She has not written of late.”

“Mother is lost to us, I fear. She is now firmly cloistered at Berkham-stead and is content to give her life to God. I miss her sound advice, but in truth, she will always be able to make me feel small.” Edward’s laugh turned into a wheezing fit and Margaret regarded him with concern.

He continued, “George and Richard are here with me, as you know, and they will wait upon you at St. Omer in a few days. I thought you
would prefer to see them away from this busy scene. Both are responsible for parts of the army and are now supervising the billeting of such a large force. ’Tis said no king of England has ever brought so many dukes and earls over the Channel to invade before.”

“You trust George with your soldiers, Ned? My sources have informed me that he is still a thorn in your side and that he and Dickon have not forgotten how to squabble. Both have inherited fortunes in house and land from their Neville brides. Can they not be happy with their lot?” she asked.

“They are happy enough with their wives, it seems, and Richard is a tower of strength for me in the north, Meggie. He is much loved and respected there, and he eschews the court these days. He and Anne have a son—aye, another Edward! All three of us York brothers have given the same name to our heirs.”

“Ah, but doesn’t Dickon have a bastard son from the young woman with the harp? I thought his name was John.”

“You are well informed, Meg,” Edward said. “Kate Haute is her name. Even though Dickon chose to hide his leman away in the country—close to Jack Howard, I might add—he has treated his two children by her honorably.” He paused, studying his hands. “’Tis George who has surprised us recently.”

Margaret saw Edward was weighing what to say next. “What is the surprise, brother? Do not talk in riddles, I beg of you,” she urged him.

“Perhaps I should not tell you, Meg, but you two are close. I know ’twill go no further.” He saw Margaret cross her heart and continued, averting her gaze: “It seems George sired a bastard on a Flemish girl one wild night in a tavern favored by those weavers. Aye, you may look astonished, as was I when a wine-sodden George confessed his guilt to me not long afterwards. He does drink to excess, Meg, and then his temper and his tongue run away with him.”

“And his prick, by all accounts,” Margaret said, chuckling. More seriously she said, “I hope he provides for the babe at least.”

Edward shrugged. “How should I know? ’Tis his problem, not mine,” he said, and again Margaret noticed he avoided looking at her. “I doubt not he sends Frieda a coin or two on occasion, and it seems her merchant parents have arranged to wed her to a man in Tournai so she can disappear and not shame them.”

For someone who had just declared this affair was not his problem, Edward seemed extremely well informed, Margaret thought fleetingly, but she did not doubt he had his spies.

“I pray Isabel is ignorant of the bastard,” Margaret said. “She so dotes on George.”

Edward nodded, pulling his ring on and off—a habit Margaret knew he only did when he was nervous. Why would George’s infidelity cause Ned’s unease, she wondered?

“He will no doubt tell you himself, Meg,” Edward, said sighing. “The two of you have always had a special bond, although I am puzzled by it. You could not be more different. He has never understood the meaning of loyalty. But God’s truth, he can be a charmer with his looks and disarming ways.” He shifted in the chair and it groaned. “I would have thought you would be closer to Dickon. But he was so much younger than you, I suppose.” As he stretched his legs out, the chair suddenly collapsed under his weight, leaving him sprawled on the floor in a most unkingly heap.

Margaret laughed and went to help him up. “Ned, why do you not look after yourself? If the truth be told, I am shocked by your girth. And you sound as though every breath is your last. Has Mother seen you thus?”

“’Tis not for you to comment on my person, Meg. Have a care,” he warned, and Margaret, recognizing the signs of anger in him, brought the conversation to a close.

“Shall we walk around the ramparts, Ned? ’Tis overly warm in here. I want to tell you about the gifts I have brought for you. The tapestry is from one Maître Lanoue in Enghien.”

“Do you think I don’t know stalling tactics when I hear them, Meg? Even though your company is right welcome, my anger against your husband is rising by the minute. Not only has he failed to keep his end of the bargain here, he has behaved despicably to my favorite sister. I have half a mind to treat with Louis instead of him.”

Margaret’s eyes flew wide with dismay, and Edward threw back his head and laughed. “Do not fret, my dear, I know my duty.”

And that is to do what is best for England, he did not add aloud.

R
ICHARD HAD GONE
to see to his horse, which had thrown a shoe on the sandy road to St. Omer. “He does not trust anyone with his horse,”
George whispered to Margaret. “’Tis why we have grooms and smiths, Dickon,” he called after his brother, who shrugged and continued to the stables, his stride purposeful.

Margaret led the way to the herb garden beside the monastery. They could hear monks chanting inside the old stone building. She plucked a sprig of rosemary and crushed the leaves between her fingers, inhaling the pungent aroma.

“I am glad we are alone for a few minutes, George. We have much to talk about.”

George smiled and put his arm about her shoulders as they walked. A hedgehog was caught unawares as they trod softly along the dusty path, and it curled itself into a ball, daring anyone to come near its spiny form. Margaret bent close to inspect it, but observing the fleas that infested the little animal, she hurriedly moved away and unconsciously scratched at an old bite on her leg. She must remember to tell Fortunata to gather more tansies to hang in the garderobe to ward off the pests, she thought. ’Tis too hot to wear fur now.

“It has been a long time, Meg, has it not,” George said, as they strolled between the immaculately manicured beds. “At Canterbury before your departure, I believe. You are still as tall as ever!” He ducked, laughing, as Margaret attacked him with the rosemary stalk. “How does marriage treat you? Rivers tells me Charles is a bullheaded man prone to temper tantrums. You would be enough to try a saint,” he teased again. “But there has been talk in the family about your lack of progeny. Are you barren, Meg?”

Margaret bit her tongue. ’Tis useless. George has still not learned to be diplomatic, she thought. She wanted to divert attention from herself and could not resist asking, “How are all your babes, George?”

George looked sheepish. “You know about my bastard, don’t you Meg? ’Twas folly on my part, I admit, but Isabel was pregnant and would not let me near her—I was very drunk.”

“And you needed a woman. I understand, George. But I hope Isabel is none the wiser. She would be heartbroken. I hear she dotes on you. What have you done for the child—a boy, no?”

George nodded. “Aye, a boy, John or Jehan in Flemish. I only saw him once before Frieda was sent to be married. He has a remarkable likeness to me—or even Ned,” he said. “To answer your question, I have sent the
woman money. Unlike Dickon, who talks incessantly about his bastards and intends to have them at court when they are old enough, I am determined this shall remain a secret for Isabel’s sake. I can only imagine Ned or Will Hastings told you about my child. Ah, I am right,” he said, seeing her nod. “Ned is one to talk,” he scoffed. “’Tis common knowledge than he has left bastards the length and breadth of England, and none has been invited to court except for Arthur. I beg of you to keep all this to yourself, Meg. I love Isabel, and she is having great difficulty this time. Her humors are causing the physicians concern. Not to mention the dire predictions my astrologer is giving me. I am afraid if she found out about Jehan, ’twould kill her.”

Margaret said nothing but watched a monk, his black robe proclaiming him a Benedictine, tend a bed with his hoe. She had more on her mind than George’s bastard, but she did not know how to begin. Seeing her distracted, George gratefully changed the subject, giving her the opening she needed.

“You truly have not changed a speck, Margaret,” he said, hoping she would respond to his usual flattery. “In truth, I have missed you. You are the only one who understands me.”

“You have not missed me enough to write or to come and see me before now,” she retorted. “At least I have seen Dickon and Ned since my marriage.”

“Certes, Dickon and Ned saw you in Seventy-one—” He stopped, remembering why he had not been in exile with them.

Margaret seized her opportunity. “Aye, you realize what havoc you caused then, do you not,” she said, pushing him towards a bench and away from the monk. “And as I understand it, you did not learn your lesson after Edward welcomed you back into the fold. I know of your quarreling with Dickon over the Neville estates. The two of you should be ashamed. Edward was most generous, especially with you after your … your wicked alliance with Warwick,” she snapped, finally speaking her mind. “I have warned you before, George, and I will warn you for the last time. ’Tis well you do not continue to anger Ned. I sense his patience is running out where you are concerned.”

George rounded on her. “What has Ned been saying about me? I have conducted myself well on this occasion, have raised more than my fair share of money and men for this infernal invasion,” he said fiercely.

“What is his complaint about me now? I tell you, Meg, I am beginning to hate him. And sanctimonious Dickon.”

“Do not say so!” Margaret cried, shaking him. “They are your brothers. We are all one family, and I do not have to remind you that our father and mother taught us that almost from birth. Oh, why can’t you remember this? Are you so foolish as to think you will one day wear the crown?”

“Here comes Dickon. Why don’t you ask him that question? He will be glad to tell tales about my so-called treachery. Lies, all lies!” George’s blue eyes shone with tears of anger, and Margaret was immediately contrite.

“Pray forgive me, George, I should not have been so harsh. I just worry about you, ’tis all.” She turned and pulled him to her, and she felt him melt.

“Ah, Meggie, I do miss you” was all he could stammer, and he quickly wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. Then he brushed past Richard. “I’m going fishing,” he called. “The river is full of trout. I will see you at dinner.”

“Was George crying?” Richard asked, a mischievous grin spreading over his face. “What did you say to him, Meg?”

“We were reminiscing, Richard, ’tis all. I was reminding him of our childhood and our choices in life. But come, let us not be morose. You have filled out, my lad, and are quite handsome now,” she said, appraising him. “Come and sit by me and tell me about your children.”

“Would that not pain you, Meg? I know from our time together in Bruges that you long for a child. But with Charles besieging every city he comes upon, ’tis no wonder you have not been able to conceive,” he said, trying to keep the conversation lighthearted. “But as you ask, I will tell you that little Edward is the apple of Anne’s eye. He is a happy boy, and everything one could want in a son. He is two now, and we have hopes that he will outlive us both. As for my other two, Katherine is the image of her mother, beautiful and willful.” He paused as a wistful smile crossed his face. “And John, I believe, takes after Kate’s father. Nay, Meg, I see your question. I have not been with her since I wed Anne. Do you think me very sinful?”

“I am not your mother nor your confessor, Richard,” Margaret said, patting his arm. “I am no saint either. But we do the best we can, little brother. All will be judged in the end, praise be to God.”

The brother and sister sat contemplating this truth and enjoying the shade of the St. Bertin Abbey until the bell of the cathedral nearby signaled Matins.

W
HEN
C
HARLES ARRIVED
a few days later, he came with only a small group of men, which Margaret knew would infuriate Edward. The king and his nobles were entertained a day later, and after polite conversation at dinner, angry voices could be heard behind the closed doors of Charles’s private council chamber. Charles was surrounded by his chief councilors, Hugonet, Humbercourt, Ravenstein and the lord of Chimay. Jack Howard, Anthony, Will Hastings, George and Richard were behind Edward.

“God damn you to Hell, Charles!” Edward railed, the vein standing out from his forehead. “We had an agreement. Where is your army? Christ’s nails, Louis must be wetting himself.”