The King's Grace (20 page)

“Didn’t Cousin Jack fight at Bosworth—and Lord Lovell?” Grace asked, in her heart knowing these tidings did not bode well for a happy end to the story.

“Aye, they did. And two more valiant soldiers you could not see. But it is very different to lead an army than to fight in it, Grace. When we are
learning military skills as a donzel—as I did under my lord of Lovell’s patronage—we read accounts of long-ago battles and their tactics, but to lead one must have more than courage and written descriptions. You must understand your enemy, your position, your weaknesses and strengths and when is the right time to do what. No one except Martin Schwartz had ever led an army—and, I think, Richard Harleston. So our English lords had to defer to a German mercenary, which may not have sat well with our English soldiers. Now you know our weaknesses, and if you were Henry, you would exploit them. And exploit them he did.”

Grace was a little bewildered by all of this, but kept her gaze on John and hoped she appeared perceptive.

“Let me explain,” John continued. He drew Fosse Way as a straight line that, had the Trent not bent into a loop around Stoke, would parallel the river about a mile away. Tracing a large circle between the river and the road just to the south of Stoke, he jabbed at it and said, “Here we formed our lines. The whole army upon a hill in one big wedge, which meant we had no one flanking us to call on for aid. From the hill, we could see Henry approaching—thousands upon thousands winding along the riverbank.”

John then slowly drew squares on his makeshift map, two to the east of the road and one each to the south and west. “The largest force facing us was commanded by Oxford,” he began, and Grace drew in a sharp breath. He nodded. “Aye, the same who crushed my father’s van at Bosworth and killed our loyal Jack Howard. He is the most skillful commander in the realm, and he was in charge of Henry’s vanguard of six thousand—almost as many as our total army, we estimated. On his right and left flanks”—he got up to make crosses to illustrate their positions—“was the cavalry. The king’s own force was arrayed behind the van, and we saw him ride up and down the ranks, rallying them with a speech.” He gave a short laugh. “Our ‘king’ Simnel gave no such encouragement—in fact, Lincoln chose not to show him in front of the troops, in case they lost heart. The boy had no learning and was obviously not who he claimed to be. The southernmost force here”—he pointed to it—“was commanded by Lord Strange. Oh, Grace, because of our vantage point on the ridge, we could see all our foes ranged before us in twice as many numbers.”

“Were you afraid, John?” Grace whispered, thinking she could hear horses snorting in their caparisoned trappings and the jingle-jangle of
metal armor, and see the sun glinting off weapons and shields, and banners and pennants curling in the wind. “You must have been afraid.”

John threw himself back down on the ground. “Aye,” he muttered with shame in his voice. “Aye, I was never more afraid in my life. I saw grown men vomit in fear, and more than one soil his breeches. ’Twould have been clear to a dimwit that we were doomed.” He stared over the water at the wharves on the other side. “And then they began to move towards us, step by step and yard by yard. I think I will hear that relentless clanking as long as I live. As the ranks became clearer to us, we could see, between the lines of billmen, rows of archers—English archers, the best archers in the world, Grace. The silence in our ranks was terrible, more terrible even than the sudden eruption of bloodcurdling battle cries from our allies the Scots and Irish. As you can see, because of the bends in the river, we had nowhere to retreat to, which was surely a strategic blunder on Jack’s part.” He shook his head in despair. “Schwartz ordered his crossbowmen to fire, which stayed the front rows of the enemy for a brief moment, but those weapons take time to reload and gave Henry’s archers time to let go their own deadly arrows. In that first volley, I was hit and fell forward. Mercifully, I swooned and did not feel the feet that ran over my back to attack the enemy. Someone heard me cry out when I awoke and thought my shoulder was on fire, and I heard a broad Scots brogue shout, ‘Hold on, laddie. I’ll pull you out of this.’ And he did. But not before I saw…” He dropped his head in his hands and groaned, unable to finish.

“Saw what, my dear John? I would know your sorrow.” Grace put her arm around his shoulder and he relaxed into its comforting hold.

“Ah, Grace, what sorrow indeed. I saw Lincoln, our loyal cousin Jack, run through by an English pike.” He raised gray eyes to hers and she was not surprised to see his tears. They sat for a few minutes while she rocked him back and forth, both with their own memories of their cousin. Then John pulled himself together and described his last sighting of Francis Lovell.

“The battle raged for three hours or more, they say. A surgeon—a butcher from Dublin, I was told—removed my arrow and filled the hole with tar. I swooned again, I hate to admit. When I awoke, the carnage about us was terrible to see.” He weighed his next words and chose to leave out the nightmarish scenes of bloodied heads with staring eyes, arms and
legs without owners, horses screaming in agony, men slipping and sliding on the spilled guts of others and everywhere the ghastly smell of death. Instead he told her: “Thousands upon thousands of dead and wounded—and because of our position, with Henry in front and the river behind, the retreat meant many drowned. And then I saw Lovell. I could not raise myself to cry his name but he was on his horse and plunging into the Trent—at its deepest part. I cannot believe that, with the armor both on him and his horse, he did not drown.” He clutched Grace and sobbed. “Oh, God, ’twas the worst day of my life—even worse than when I heard my father had perished at Bosworth.”

“Soft, dear cousin, you are safe with me here,” Grace soothed him, stroking his hair. Shocked as she was, she tried to commit all to memory so she could report back to Elizabeth. Elizabeth! How long have I been gone? I pray they will not send out a search party, she thought, panicking. Perhaps they think I have drowned! But when she looked at the sun’s position, she saw it had actually been only an hour since John had found her.

She gently removed herself away from his tense body and got to her feet, untucking her overdress and retrieving her hat. These actions gave her time to think. John must not be found here, because he was in danger from both the sheriff of Southwark and, more important, the king. He had fought against his king, and she knew that was treason. But where should he go? He had a horse, which was an advantage, but it needed shoeing. He could take it to the abbey blacksmith, but she was fearful he would be recognized from his first visit. Might she be able to pretend she had found the horse, abandoned? But that would mean she would have to walk the terrifying animal all the way back to the abbey alone. She wasn’t certain she was brave enough. But you have to be, for John, she chided herself. Certes, the animal had not bitten her just now when she had tied it up. Maybe she could accomplish this and Prior John would have no reason to think she was lying about finding the horse. She sent a prayer up to St. Sibylline to protect her from God’s wrath for the intended lie, but she was convinced helping this good man was the Christian thing to do, and so God would surely forgive her. She sat back down a little behind John so she could raise her skirts and put on her stockings without revealing her bare legs to him, but he was still staring across the water, his mind’s eye stumbling over dead bodies on the battlefield. Aye, the horse might be shod, but where
would he go with it? she wondered, losing faith in her plan. He cannot hide his identity forever, she reasoned. Someone will recognize him and give him away.

“I must go to Aunt Margaret,” John said suddenly, startling Grace out of her planning. “Certes, that is what I must do. I will be safe there.”

“Why, that is perfect, John!” Grace cried, anchoring her second shoe and standing up. “You can take a ship from here. There are always ships going to the Low Countries.”

John stood up and faced her. “I cannot go without money, Grace. I have to pay my way, and I shall need some when I arrive. I cannot present myself to the duchess looking like this. I have not a penny to my name.”

“I would give you all that I have, John, you know that, but I am living on Elizabeth’s—and thus the king’s—charity. I have nothing of value to give you or to sell. Perhaps you could sell your horse.”

“Dearest Grace, you are the sweetest girl in the whole world, without a doubt,” John cried, her kindness cheering him and a smile brightening his face. “But I shall need my horse in Flanders, and I would pay a captain to take me and the palfrey aboard.” An idea crossed his mind. “Do you think Aunt Elizabeth would lend me some money? She seemed to like me when I was at court with Father. She was not so fond of Katherine—my sister—but my father said ’twas because Kat was young and beautiful and Elizabeth was past her prime. I care not, but I do believe she might help me, if she knew my plight. What say you, Grace? Would she help me? You know her best.”

Grace’s first instinct was to reject the idea, mostly out of concern for Elizabeth’s health and well-being at present. But when she pondered further, she recalled that Elizabeth had always enjoyed scheming in secret, and perhaps helping John escape might alleviate her melancholy. She smiled happily up at him.

“Aye, John, if I can speak to her alone and describe your plight, I am certain she would not refuse. She seems to hold me in some esteem, although the same cannot be said for Lady Hastings,” she said, grimacing. “That is why I must have Elizabeth’s ear alone.”

John reached for her hand and pressed it to his lips. “It seems I am always in your debt, little wren.”

“Fiddle faddle!” Grace said, grinning, and was delighted to hear John
laugh outright for the first time that afternoon. “Aye, Cecily told me about it being your mother’s favorite saying. And now I shall tell you the rest of my plan for shoeing your horse.”

Not long after, they parted. John agreed to lie low until dark and once again meet her in the undercroft after Compline. By then, she promised, somewhat recklessly, that she would have some money, food and the newly shod horse ready for him.

“Cross your fingers for me, John,” she called back along the towpath, holding the horse’s rein as far from the animal as possible, “and send a prayer to Saint Martin of Tours that the horse gets safely to the abbey.”

John waved. “Nay, I shall pray to Saint Sibylline to protect my orphan wren!” he muttered to himself, not wanting to put Grace in danger by shouting. And then, ducking back out of sight, he curled up in the grass and fell fast asleep.

M
ATTHIAS, THE BURLY
blacksmith, was happy to shoe the stray horse for Grace. He had been amused when the young woman had come through the gates and into the bustling courtyard towing a good-looking palfrey. He nudged his neighbor: “Bain’t that be the Grey Mare’s attendant? A daintier maid I have yet to see.”

“I hear she be one of King Edward’s bastards. And judging from her looks, his prow must have found port in quite a beauty,” Toby said, slapping his thigh and chortling at his own wit.

“The poor girl is no horsewoman, by Christ. She looks to be leading a dragon from the way she be holding the rein. The beast must be tired or lily-livered not to have made his escape. Ah, but it seems he has need of my services, my friend. Look, she comes our way.” Matthias bowed politely as Grace approached, and it was all he could do not to laugh when she flipped the rein to him.

“Master smith, I will leave this poor animal in your care. He was alone and lame in a field along the river with no one near to claim him. I called, but it appears that either the horse is a runaway or his owner is. Can we stable him here?” Grace gave him her sweetest smile, and both the blacksmith and his assistant were charmed.

“Someone will come for him, never fear, little lady,” Matthias assured her, lisping through toothless gums. “He be fine-looking and so will be missed. You can leave him to me.” He slapped the horse on the neck and
then ran his practiced hand down the left foreleg to gentle the hoof off the ground. “Aye, the shoe is worn through. I will have another one on in no time.”

“You are very kind, sir. I thank you.” Grace smiled and hurried back to the abbey residence and Elizabeth’s chambers. One task accomplished, she thought, relieved. Now to face the next. As she mounted the staircase to the second floor she heard a door bang and, looking up, saw Katherine Hastings on her way to the same staircase she was climbing. Grace assumed she was going to the privy, which might not give her enough time to explain John’s story to Elizabeth. However, when Katherine saw Grace she threw up her hands.

“Mother of God, but you are worse than a plague of fleas, Grace. Where have you been? Elizabeth has been asking for you this past half hour. I am so weary from fanning her that she has sent me to doze in the garden. ’Tis your turn to please her. She is crosser than an unmilked cow today. I shall be gone an hour, so pray stay out of trouble. And before you see her grace, I would comb your hair and brush the grass off your wet skirts. ’Tis likely you have been rolling in the hay with some lout, by the looks of you.”

Grace opened her mouth to protest, but Katherine had already passed her and was stalking off to the garden. Thank you, sweet Mother of God, or whoever is looking after me today, she thought. My lie about the horse must not have been so prodigious. She ran along the walkway to Elizabeth’s room and knocked.

“Come!” the queen dowager called. “Ah, there you are, Grace,” she said from her high-backed chair as Grace slipped into the room and made her obeisance. “I was beginning to worry about you. Mistress Beauchamp, you may go, and thank you for keeping me company. These young girls never seem to run out of energy, do they?” Mary Beauchamp demurred as Elizabeth put out her hand to be kissed and, not giving Grace a second glance, the elderly woman left the room. “She is kind, but a bore, Grace. As you can see, I am feeling better than I was and made Katherine get me off the bed and into the chair. She, on the other hand, was swooning from the heat and could no longer keep her eyes open, so I sent her off to sleep in the garden, for I could not tolerate her snores. Sweet Jesu, but we all rack each other’s nerves in this dreary, small place, do we not?” She sighed, not expecting an answer.