The Maiden and the Unicorn (63 page)

The Duke embraced him as he rose. "I will never forget how much we owe you." He flung an arm about him and turned him to his men. "Sir Richard Huddleston is in command of the earls' bodies. Do as he bids!"

Chapter 29

Although they welcomed Margery in the chapel to grieve, the priests would not allow her to leave the sanctuary, believing she was not yet recovered from losing the babe. They were firm: the triumphant soldiers might loot or they would get drunk and behave licentiously. No doubt her husband would seek her out and if she was not here, he would be displeased. Finally, desperate for her obedience, they told her the truth: her father and uncle were being dragged through the London streets naked on a hurdle and she had best obey my lord of Gloucester. And Richard Huddleston never came.

* * *

He ordered the Dean's priests to wash the phlegm, mud and excrement from the bloodless skins and to gut them discreetly. It was necessary that the naked bodies be on display for at least two days. Even though the cathedral's chill air was heavy with incense and beeswax, Richard wanted no ordure of death. He could at least give the two men whom he had respected that dignity.

No one argued with Sir Richard Huddleston. He had the authority of Gloucester behind him. Having done the butchery, the retainers of the King and Clarence were content to carouse and leave it to the White Boar men to clean up the mess.

He hoped Margery had received his message and prayed she would have the patience to keep her distance until he could visit her.

By the time he bade his men set open the main door of the cathedral, all was in order. A ribbon of men-at-arms stood ready to open the sluicegates and let in a living canal to gawp at what Death the Leveller could perform. They were to flow around the dead Kingmaker and his brother at a distance of three paces. It was beyond spitting distance. He had tested it. No one was to be permitted closer. They were to enter from the churchyard and leave by the west door.

Huge candlesticks were placed at each corner and a row of smaller candles stood like obedient soldiers behind the earls' heads. When someone spat and commented they were traitors and deserved no such privileges, Richard replied calmly that everyone must be able to see the Kingmaker's face and know he was in truth dead. This was one man who must not rise again.

The Dean, reassured by the plan and Richard's avowal that people must be reminded it was a holy church and not a bullbaiting at Southwark, was co-operative and pleasant. When someone explained to him that the man in authority was Warwick's son-in-law, he rearranged his face in compassionate lines, gave him an instant free blessing and an appointment for absolution. Richard was not impressed.

The first in were the aldermen. The Lord Mayor of London led them although he must have seen the bodies the day before. The crowd which followed was awed and behaved impeccably but as the hours grew warmer, Richard's men began to show their irritation. None of them had breakfasted. Gloucester had promised to send troops freshened by sleep to take over but they never came. The people did though, in greater numbers, and the air was fetid with sweat as the crowd heaved like a living monster against the soldiers.

Within the square of flickering candlelight, Richard sternly watched the faces flowing past. A veiled lady in black called to him over the crossed halberds. For a moment his heart lifted, believing it was Margery. Her voice, calm as she asked his permission to kneel by Warwick and take a lock of hair, was that of an older woman. And yet the timbre had a familiarity and he stared, irritated by the veil. Somehow he knew her. Was she one of the married women who had bestowed her favours upon him in the past?

"Madam, I cannot let you through. The hordes will have Warwick hairless within seconds if I let you touch his head."

"You want money, is that it?" Disgust shook her and her gloved fingers grabbed the halberds and tried to force them apart.

"No, madam. I want to keep the peace. Who are you?" He tried to keep his tone respectful. Perhaps he did not know her. Perhaps she was one of Warwick's many sisters. It could be Lady Hastings or Lady Stanley he was dealing with.

"God ha' mercy, lady, we are only trying to do our duty," exclaimed one of the men-at-arms as the crowd surged forward and the man nearly lost his balance.

"I want your name!" She was doing the demanding now. It had to be one of the Neville sisters.

He leaned forward. He was not going to shout it to the mob. "I am married to Margaret Neville, Warwick's natural daughter. Now, report me if you will, but I cannot do as you ask."

She hesitated, cast a cautious glance about her, and then said briskly and quietly, "I think you will let me through, young man. I believe I am your mother-in-law."

* * *

On Margery's insistence, one of the Dean's servants reluctantly took her pillion to Paul's yard but there the press of the crowd was so great that she slid from the saddle and was caught up in the maelstrom of people eddying around the pulpit cross in the yard and cramming through the doorway. Elbows bruised her, several hands groped, a child impersonally kicked her, lashing out screaming at everyone about him. She managed to keep upright, for to have gone under in that sea would have meant being trampled.

She had not entered Paul's before. Another time she would have marvelled at the tomb of the great duke, John of Gaunt, or read the inscriptions on the monuments in the side chapels or begged leave to enter the great cloister and see the famous Dance of Death and Sherington's Library.

She recognised Richard Huddleston instantly, standing silhouetted in his armour by the candles. Her blood ran cold knowing that in the joy of seeing him again was the pain of her father dead behind him.

But this husband, whom she expected to be as laden with guilt and sadness as she, albeit he was pale with strain and lack of sleep, was taking the hand of a slim, veiled lady in both of his as she rose from kneeling on the flagstones. And he was plying the alert, glittering charm that he had bestowed on queens and duchesses. They were talking earnestly and he pressed her hand reassuringly then finally carried it to his lips with a half-bow.

Jealousy rasped her like an ill-played note. "Let me through!" Margery demanded, pressed against the halberds. "I want to speak to that officer."

"He's got company already."

"I am his wife."

"And I'm the heir to the throne. He has enough problems. Move along!" She tried shouting and waving but the noise was great and Richard, damn him, was too distracted to notice. Margery, faint more with jealousy than with the pressure of the crowd, took off her shoe and hurled it at her husband's head.

He wheeled around, snarling with anger, his hand upon his sword and then he saw his wife.

Not letting go of the woman, he turned to her once more, speaking with some passion. Guilty as Hell, the lady took a startled look in Margery's direction and made some answer, trying to pull away. He held her there. She looked once more in Margery's direction and struggled fiercely to free herself. He was arguing with her and finally she nodded and he let her go, parting the poles so that she might disappear into the crowd.

Richard picked up the shoe and, smiling tight-lipped, came across to Margery. He was ashen with fatigue, only his eyes held any power.

"Wondering who she was?"

"Yes."

"I am delighted to hear it. Let this mistress pass."

"By Our Lady, sir. How many other women are you expecting?"

The crowd jeered and deliberately lurched against the soldiers.

Margery and Richard faced each other. The soldiers swiveled their heads, relieved by the entertainment.

"You should not have come." He meant it, scowling as he assessed cheeks deprived of sunlight, the damage done to her body, the loss.

"Face my guilt, you mean?" Her lips quivered. "Oh, I have paid for it."

So had he; she could see he bore the agony of the last week like a tomb, shell-like upon his shoulders. She had been resolute but now she was not sure she could face her father, even with Richard Huddleston, like a stranger, beside her. "Do you want to hold my hand too?" It was cruel but she was hurt, as if shot by arrows from all sides.

"Yes, it is a free commodity. I will tell you all... later. I... did my best, but it is never enough." He held out his hand, his eyes questioning her acceptance but she took it and was thankful.

"I fell... it was such folly." She looked away, upwards to the soaring pillars, tears heavy on her lashes, dreading the loss, the loneliness that might be hers again. Compassionate fingers gently touched her face, understanding the hidden scars, absolving her.

He could feel her bones too easily, sensed her frailty. "Are you sure you are strong enough for this? I can bring you back later to be alone."

"I am a Neville."

The pressure of his fingers helped her to preserve her dignity as he led her to the foot of the cadavers.

Margery took a deep breath and looked. "Why are they not fully clothed?" She could barely speak.

The earls lay bare-chested, clad only in clean hose. Richard had dispensed with the clouts that had been wrapped around their loins in the cart. God alone knew where the expensive German armour had gone, pilfered as trophies by the dogs that brought them down. He had ordered the wounds cleansed and bathed until they were just sullen red slits.

"Because the men who killed them stripped every shred away and to reclothe them is sheer hypocrisy. Margery, know that I had no hand in killing him." She nodded; but did she hear him? "At least I could do this for them, you understand?"

She stood transfixed. "How long must they...?"

"Two days."

She could see where they had been stabbed with swords or daggers. Their torsoes were littered with thin red mouths, so many that they were commonplace. Christ! As if to stab the Kingmaker ensured a seat in Heaven. The greatest was across her father's belly, half hidden by the woollen hose. But it was the lines of congealed blood across their throats that made the bile rise in her mouth. Only Richard's fingers holding hers kept her upright.

Both men's eyes were closed but a twist of agony had frozen her father's mouth as if Death had ordained it, lest any think he died calmly. Her uncle Montague's expression was one of peace and he looked years younger than her father. She could see the likeness between them, the Neville sandy hair, the freckled skin. Bruises discoloured her father's brow and cheeks and more cuts had congealed upon his forearms. He had had his own Passion, his own Easter. Had God deserted him utterly? Was he now in Hell?

Margery sank to her knees, her tears falling soundlessly, heedless of the jeers, and laid her cheek against her father's ringless hand.

Richard, feeling the grief rising in his own eyes, turned away, his face stony, thankful of his soldiers' backs. He could not afford to let her stay long. The crowd was muttering, wanting mementoes.

"Come! There is something you must do." He put an urgent arm about her but she jerked away as if he had lashed her. "Forgive me, Margery, but this is necessary!" Ruthlessly, he forced her away from her father, and out through the moving wall of humanity. Margery struggled but he hauled her into the Lady chapel, condemning the unnatural calm with which Margery's mother crossed herself before she rose and faced them, not bothering to unveil her face.

"Behold your daughter!"

"
What
!" Margery's fingers fluttered at her throat. She could not breathe.

"I see you have my ring still." Gloved hands set back the black gauze. The older woman's face was not unfamiliar. Margery knew the shape of the nose from mirrors, but the grey eyes of harder mien were those of a stranger. There was dignity, but no love asked. "Is your curiosity sated now?" There was no giving either.

"Dear God! I never dreamed you were alive.
Who are you
? Why didn't you—"

"I cannot stay long." The words were directed at Richard as if the lady were doing him the favour. "Even this carries a risk that is too great a price to pay for curiosity." She looked Margery over, her lips tightening. "You have done well, Margaret, and look to do better since your husband is employed by so worthy a lord as Gloucester. I dare say you do not want my blessing. It is not worth anything." She extended a gloved hand to Richard in farewell but her eyes were still on Margery. "I doubt we shall meet again and if we do, it will be as strangers."