Death Be Pardoner To Me: The Life of George, Duke of Clarence (13 page)

No one knew of his immediate reaction. He smiled gracefully, keeping as bland a face as possible, offered his congratulations to his brother the king and then asked permission to leave Court, pleading an urgent meeting with his falconer. Ned, lost in the glory of a new wife and a new challenging situation in court, dismissed him without enquiring further. George swiftly gathered his squires around him, threw an ermine trimmed cloak around his shoulders and left to board a royal barge to carry him to his home at Greenwich. As the barge negotiated the troubled Thames currents, his temper grew, souring his expression and causing him to grip the wooden handrail so hard that his nails all but scoured and dented it. Nothing was said by anyone, his squires read his bleak expression and kept their distance, alert for any command but not offering any words. What could be said?

The moment the barge touched land George leapt onto the path and strode into his home, throwing aside his cloak, kicking at the rushes, ignoring his dog Maint which tried to attract his attention. He sought and gained the solitude of his bedchamber, securing the door so none could enter. Then he threw himself on the bed and lay there, shaking from head to foot as the anger coursed through him, burning through his veins.

How could he! How could his golden brother take away from him everything he had promised! Where then was the promise of the crown of England, where then the title of heir apparent, where then the deference and respect that went with being the next in line? Where would he go, what would he do, now he was no more than the duke of Clarence, with no further claim to kingship? How had that conniving bitch planned and schemed and wormed her way into his brother’s affections to the extent he had married her in secret? In secret! And for Ned to announce it in a council meeting as if it was a new law of some kind! ‘Oh by the way I married this woman, older than me, a widow, with two children and who comes with a brood of Wydevilles, enough of them to staff the court five times over and still have some to spare.’

“God’s teeth, eyes, beard and nails! Christ’s wounds! The blessed Virgin’s womb! How could he do this to me!”

Then, suddenly, shameful hot tears were coursing down his face as anger gave way to utter dismay and heartbreaking humiliation. His place in court was shattered, his position as brother to the king changed completely. No more the next in line, no more the favoured one, no more could he walk with dignity and royal disdain into meetings and have people step back from him as they stepped back from the king. No more. Oh they might, if they were sensible and sought to curry favour for he would still had the ear of the king to some extent, be deferential to him, but it would not be the same. Of a surety nothing in this life would be the same again.

The tears stopped as abruptly as they had begun. He could hear voices and clank of arms outside the door but ignored them. This was his time and his time alone. He would mourn this once and then no more. As if hearing an echo he relived the moment when Edward announced his marriage with a huge smile as if it was the most wonderful thing that had happened to him. Perhaps it was, perhaps she truly was the woman Ned had sought for so long, among every female who had fluttered her eyelids at him or raised a skirt for him to admire a sleek ankle or devised a way that he would not be able to do anything but admire the cleavage presented to him or, in some instances, all but thrust into his face. George, still virgin at this time, envied his brother the charisma which brought the women into his presence and more often than not into his bed, too. Now it seemed that charisma had won him a woman whose charms were such that he had to marry her, not just bed her.

Be sensible, an inner voice warned him, be sensible, George! At some point Ned would have to marry, make some political alliance that would secure land, security and wealth for the country. Some princess, all limpid eyes and weak smile and – damn it to Hell – possibly an infertile womb, was surely the chosen route for him to go. Even in his more sensible moments, George realised he was trying to make the situation turn in his direction; Ned to marry, to have a Queen, but not produce an heir so that he, the duke of Clarence, would of necessity and of surety be there to accept the invitation of the parliament to take the crown in the event of Ned’s demise. Instead … instead he marries a woman who has proved her fertility and who would doubtless breed and give Ned the heir he apparently looked for. Or so it seemed, with such a strange marriage. For who would choose a woman older than himself, one already encumbered with children? Everyone knew of the Wydevilles, everyone knew they laid claim to everything and now they would claim everything.

George rubbed his eyes and stared up at the elaborate hangings surrounding his bed. The pattern seemed to move, to merge into itself, as the last of the moisture drained away. Foolish tears, he scolded himself, foolish emotion but oh, the sense of betrayal!

Am I not all but as tall as Ned, he asked himself? Am I not as handsome, as charming, as diplomatic as he? Why then am I without experience with women? Why then am I here, wondering what it is all about, what the attraction of woman is to him? Why am I not doing anything about it?

He sat up as someone knocked on the door, demanding entrance. Rubbing a hand over his face to remove any trace of tears, George walked across the room and opened the door. His clerk, John Peke, was wearing a look of concern verging on worry but his voice was calm enough.

“Your Grace, I came to see if all was well and if I could provide you with anything.”

Tactful in the extreme, thought George, standing back to allow the man to come into the room. He had followed through his earlier thought and Peke’s arrival was most opportune.

The door closed, leaving the two men in private. George looked down at his clerk, who was several inches shorter than him, affording him a sense of empowerment and confidence to go ahead with his request. If he could find the right words.

“There is something,” he began. A sudden fear shot into his mind, a fear that the ‘something’ would be misconstrued but, knowing he could trust Peke above all the others in his employ, he carried on. “I would like-”

To his credit, Peke did not interrupt, did not attempt to second-guess his Lord’s wishes. He waited with infinite patience as George struggled to find the right way to express himself.

“I want a woman,” he said finally. “I-”

“No need to say any more,” said Peke gently, with great understanding. “It will be done. Now, is there anything I can get Your Grace in the way of food, ale, wine? Would you like your Fool to come and entertain you?”

“Not right now. I am not in a mood for foolery of any kind. I will come to the hall for bread, cheese and ale if it is brought there for me. I can leave-”

“You can, Your Grace. I will arrange it. If you will return to your bedchamber after Vespers alone, if you dismiss your squires on some pretext or other-”

“You need say no more, Peke.” He fumbled for coins and handed over a quantity. “Whatever it costs, take the rest for yourself.”

“Your Grace is most generous,” Peke murmured without checking how much he had been given. From experience he knew it would be more than enough. The duke of Clarence was always generous. He bowed and backed away before swiftly leaving the room to carry out his tasks.

It was as if a great cloud had lifted from George’s mind. Sunshine was radiating into his inner being. By nightfall, if all went well, he would no longer be virgin, but a man capable of taking a woman. God grant she be knowledgeable, he prayed swiftly and then felt guilty at the thought. He could no more ask Peke to provide a knowledgeable woman than he could admit to the overwhelming need which drove him to ask for one. He had tried to make it look as if it were a casual request, one to while away an evening, even as he knew deep inside, where all truth resided, that Peke knew full well he had not dallied with a woman up to that time. Peke would know he was virgin, would know he wanted someone capable of teaching him what to do and when and how and to be kind to a youth of just seventeen years. Even as he thought about the evening to come, his body was reacting and he knew, just knew, he would do well.

Food waited. Now he could face the prospect of fine cheese, pure white bread and strong ale, now he could face the attentions of his wolfhound and perhaps even laugh at the cutting jests of his Fool, whose humour matched his own in every way. Now he could begin to put the marriage and all its consequences into its rightful place in his mind.

First, sustenance for the body. Second, relief for the body and experience that was long, way too long overdue. Third, begin to live the life of a duke who could still demand respect, who still had a role to play in the government of the country, who still could work alongside his brother the king, even if he had made an unsuitable and outrageous marriage. There were worse fates than being deprived of the crown of England. After all, look at Dickon, what chance did he have of ever becoming King? Had he long ago accepted that he was further down the line of succession? Had he accepted that the life of a duke was the right one for him? George briefly wondered what Dickon’s thoughts would be when the news hit the Warwick household. He knew how much family loyalty meant to his younger brother, he would doubtless wish Ned well in all he did, no matter who was Queen.

It was only as he walked down the stone stairs to the hall did he remember, as in a blinding flash of light, what he knew of Warwick’s plans for King Edward. An alliance had been planned; negotiations were in place for a marriage of political convenience to benefit the Neville family as much as England. Ned had thrown all that into the fire and along with it, very likely, the Earl of Warwick’s friendship. How could such a proud man stand to see his plans wrecked so violently, so casually? Warwick would be bound to react, and react badly, that was a certainty.

It could be that my cousin is in need of an ally at this time, he mused, entering the hall and heading for the table on the raised dais where his food awaited, just as he had ordered. It could be that I might write a letter or two and arrange a visit and –

Maint raced to his master’s side and George fondled the dog’s ears as he sat down in the carver. A varlet poured ale for him and he tore at the loaf of bread, suddenly sensuously aware of the texture of the dough. He broke off a piece of cheese with the other hand, bit a small piece off and appreciated the sharpness of it on his tongue before enfolding it in the bread. It was as if all his senses had suddenly come alive, as if they had been sleeping and were now awake. The afternoon sunshine streaming through the windows lit the rushes here and there; the dust motes created their own dance of chaotic rhythm. George, you haven’t touched the ale yet but you think as one who has drunk deep of the vat already! He scolded himself but smiled as he did so.

His Fool, Durian, approached him, for once wearing sombre clothing. His expressive face was contorted into one of deep suffering and he walked with bowed shoulders, as if carrying the greatest burden on his back.

“Alas, I am in mourning for the death of the plans of your cousin of Warwick!” he intoned in a perfect imitation of the voice of a cleric standing at the side of an open grave.

George laughed out loud and thrust a cup toward him. “Here, have some ale, Durian, and for the sake of my heart, tell me more of this!”

Durian cast off the mournful look and flashed his Lord a smile.

“Messengers are at this moment on their way to Warwick. What he will make of the news we can only speculate but I think we can assume, Your Grace, that the Earl will not be best pleased.”

“For sure he will not,” George commented around a mouthful of cheese. “Is this food always this good?”

“Of a surety it is, sire, why should it be different this day?”

“I wish I knew. Something has changed.”

Durian narrowed his eyes and stared at George. “No, the food has not changed. Your Grace has changed in some way. I will ponder on this and return to speak with you later,” he said in a quiet voice. The varlet had moved away, but there were others still around the hall, attending to various tasks.

“No, stay a while, share the food, Durian. Give me your wisdom and laughter and we will talk of other things later, when we are able.” The last part of the sentence was said so low only Durian heard it. George relied heavily on his Fool’s far-seeing, his seemingly natural ability to predict future events as if he was actually looking at them, but he did not allow anyone else to know of his abilities. What no one knew was that Durian was also the head of George’s extensive, efficient spy network. It was better for both of them that it should be that way. George had Durian’s complete loyalty and Durian had George’s complete trust. Few knew of the relationship; George believed Peke knew but said nothing. His lady mother might know; the few occasions she had visited her sharp eyes had seemed to penetrate the very walls as if searching for his secrets but again, nothing had been said. They were both extremely discreet and George ensured that his Fool was well rewarded for all the services he did for him, which also bound Durian to him.

Durian spent an hour entertaining George with wicked impersonations of various members of the Court and how they might have reacted to the news of the marriage, which had George holding his sides which ached from laughter. Underneath all the hilarity the thought kept recurring, tonight I find out for myself what it is all about. Tonight I lay with a woman for the first time. Tonight I prove myself as a man. Tonight cannot come soon enough!

“Come,” he said eventually, when the laughter tears had dried and Durian had run out of people to impersonate, “we need to take the air after all that. We will walk in the gardens.”