The Exiled (49 page)

Richard had spent several years at Middleham, sent there as a boy by his father, the old Duke of York, to learn the civilizing arts from the Nevilles. He shook his head grimly. ‘Middleham can accommodate twice that number, if it has to. They’ll be primed and ready for a fight. We should have kept the levies by us, brother.’ Edward shook his head; that was all too late, now. ‘Well supplied, are they?’

The scout nodded. ‘Wensleydale’s alive with the talk. They’ve enough provisions, enough armament to survive a six-month siege. Warwick’s there. And it’s said he has a guest; a lady who answers your description, sire,’ Richard flashed an outraged look at his brother, who shrugged, ‘though she’s not much seen. Gossip says she’s not so much a guest as a captive. The earl’s family, though, is away at Warwick castle — or so I was told.’ The man guttered to a halt. Plainly there was more to say.

‘And? What else, Ferrars? What do you know?’ Richard stared so intensely at the scout that the man dropped his eyes, abashed.

‘Well, Walter?’ The king’s tone was calmer. No sense in making Walter feel as if his last day had come; it was not easy being the messenger.

‘The Duke of Clarence, sire. He’s known to be in residence with the earl.’

Richard made a disgusted noise, and glared savagely at the fire, now almost out thanks to his previous attentions. ‘There, look at that now! Wood! We must have wood — for the sake of Christ’s sorrows!’

Edward ignored his brother. ‘Thank you, Walter. Get some food; and you, Geoffrey.’

Geoffrey Luttrell sprang to his feet. ‘Yes, sire?’

‘Wood. See if you can find some wood.’

The two hurried away leaving the king and Richard together contemplating the ruins of their wretched fire. ‘I didn’t say it was going to be easy, Richard.’

The duke said nothing, merely slung his cloak tighter around his body against the cold. An eloquent action which said — and so, what now?

The king sighed. ‘Listen, my hot, young friend. This has to be done and there’s more to it than you know, than I can tell you.’

The duke spoke furiously.

‘Don’t patronise me, Edward. If you can’t tell
me
, who can you tell? Why do we have to retrieve your doxy when there’s so much that’s important to do?’

Just the merest ghost of a smile touched Edward’s mouth, but he was grim, very grim. ‘My doxy, as you call her, has more of a right to the throne of England than I do. Or you. Or Clarence for that matter. That’s why.’

Richard’s mouth hung open for a moment then he gulped. Edward was serious. ‘Well then, isn’t it time you told me the truth?
Who is she
?’

The Earl of Warwick was uneasy. He’d sent the letter concerning Anne to Edward more than five nights since, but as yet nothing, no word, had come from York.

He was puzzled; the king was still at York Castle with his brother — that’s what his trusted people, his intelligencers, were telling him.

Richard and Edward were seen at chapel, and holding some state together within the hall. True, they’d been closeted for the last two days or so within Richard’s rooms, but food was regularly sent in and consumed, clothes were dirtied and washed, audiences were held, with Hastings in attendance.

It was strange, therefore, most strange, that there had been no response. Then, thinking of the case, the earl brightened. Edward must dance to
his
own good pleasure for he, Warwick, was in possession of the girl. Like the spider on his web calmly waiting for the hapless fly to approach, that must be his course of action: watch carefully, and wait.

Meanwhile, there was chess to play with the charming Anne de Bohun.

‘Your move, Earl Warwick.’ There was a certain edge of triumph to that slightly husky voice — it gave him pleasure to hear it, though, of course, her certainty would not survive this next move.

‘Ah, yes, so it is. I think my bishop must move to take your castle, thus.’ His turn to smile into those long green-blue eyes. Really, if he were not a well-married man he might be tempted.

‘Ah, then my knight will take your bishop, so.’ She was smiling at him, damn her. Smiling quite saucily and, truth to tell, he had not seen the possibility of the move. He must concentrate, for this was not like him; he always won at chess!

She chuckled. ‘But I’m sure you always win, Your Grace.’ He looked at her sharply, but there was such innocence in her eyes that the odd timing of her remark dissolved.

He held her glance for one moment before she looked down modestly. He approved of that. Women who gazed at men boldly were nearly always overreaching trollops — as most women were, of course, at heart. Sisters of Eve, all of them, sisters of Eve, under the skin.

He studied the board. Had she trapped him?

‘Your Grace?’

‘Hmmm?’ He was distracted, finding it harder and harder to think his way out of the puzzle she’d set him.

‘I should like to ride out a little later today. I feel the need for exercise.’

He looked up smiling from the board, though a certain tension stiffened his spine.

‘Alas, I fear that all this rain would make the going difficult. Not safe, Lady Anne, not safe at all.’

She laughed. ‘But I ride very well, Earl Warwick. Come with me, if you’re so concerned. We’ve all been immured too long!’

‘Well said, Lady Anne. Excellently said!’

The earl swivelled in his seat, annoyed; Clarence had just strolled into Anne’s solar, arriving in time to hear her last words.

‘Fresh meat, cousin. I swear my teeth are coming loose from the lack of it after all this salt pork we’re eating. Just one or two bucks? The whole castle will thank us.’

Earl Warwick narrowed his eyes at the young duke and George felt suddenly uncertain. For a moment, it almost appeared as if the earl might hate him; then it was gone. George shook his head. He’d been mistaken; the earl was smiling broadly, after all.

‘Ah, you young people. You think of nothing but pleasure.’

Clarence was like a puppy now, so happy to be smiled at by his master he was positively panting. Yet Anne observed the unconscious contest between the two men dispassionately — she saw the rivalry between them, even if they did not. That could be, would be, useful to her.

‘Where’s the harm, cousin? Lady Anne, help me change his mind!’ Anne smiled graciously. ‘Indeed, Your Grace, there could be no harm, could there? Healthful exercise?’ The earl contemplated the chess board in rapt concentration, then, having essayed a move towards Anne’s queen — and rejected it — sat back and smiled a rueful smile.

‘Perhaps not. It might be good for us all.’ In truth, he too would be happy to get across a horse after days and days of voluntary incarceration. And there was no threat to Middleham; he’d made sure of that. His lands bristled with his affinity on careful, attentive patrol. Yes, they could hunt safely if he made sure the girl was well guarded as they rode. It might be a pleasant little lull before what must come, eventually.

‘Very well.’ He rose and made a nonchalant little bow to the girl. ‘Let us hunt. Afterwards, perhaps I will think more clearly,’ he grinned as he nodded towards the board, ‘since you are such a very good strategist.’

Anne smiled at the compliment as George whooped with delight. ‘Oh ho, Lady Anne! You’ve bested him — that’s a first! So now, we must see if you hunt as well as you play. Who knows, you might even beat our host to the kill!’

The earl frowned quellingly at this unnecessarily noisy display before turning back to Anne. ‘Lady, we must see to finding you a hunting dress. I’ll get the housekeeper to give you something of Isabelle’s.’ The light stress he placed on the name of his daughter was enough to curb George. He fell into a sulk and didn’t bother to hide it as he stalked out.

Isabelle! It had been a month since Warwick had permitted him to see his daughter. For the life of him, he had no idea what game Warwick was playing at — didn’t the earl
want
him to marry his daughter? In token of his displeasure he slammed the door at his exit.

Anne suddenly found the view from her window immensely interesting, but the earl was unperturbed. ‘My daughter keeps a spare riding habit at Middleham, I believe.’ He sauntered to the door and smiled charmingly at his guest as she turned back to him. ‘I shall have it sent to you.’

The door closed behind Richard of Warwick and Anne counted to five deliberately, taking slow, deep breaths. If will could make her heart beat less fast, then she would will it so. She had a knife hidden, an eating knife she’d filched one night at dinner in the hall; she’d sharpened it well on the stone windowsill and she would bind it carefully to her forearm, just as she’d been shown by Ivan such a long time ago, it seemed, in Brugge.

Today she would find a way to use it, for this ride felt like a last chance to cut free from the politics she’d been caught up in. And she still had her ruby.

Freedom and her son, and Brugge, still beckoned and there was nothing — nothing! — she would not do to claim her life back once more.

Edward’s men had done very well to penetrate so deeply into Warwick’s lands without being spotted. Walter Ferrars had done his work carefully, guiding the king and his brother with their men up moorland streams — so that the horses left no trace for dogs — and taking little-known sheep-ways towards the Wensleydale hills; and now, at last, after a morning’s tough, concentrated ride, Edward and Richard could see Middleham below them on the plain.

‘A very fair castle, brother.’ Richard sounded wistful as he looked down from his perch on the fell beside his brother; he’d been happy there, as a boy. ‘Well situated, as you see.’

Edward grunted, studying the place. Unfortunately Richard was right. Earl Warwick was famously protected by massive, carefully built walls — some of the thickest in England — and the ancient, grim central keep was well defended by inner and outer wards, a formidable gatehouse and a moat.

The only way into Middleham was through the mighty East Gate and once through that, a visitor to the castle passed beneath a further two inner gates, each including a portcullis, each one guarded by its own troops.

‘And so?’

Edward gritted his teeth. What did his brother expect him to say? That they should just stroll down, knock on the door and ...

Edward laughed. Of course, that’s just what
had
been done on another celebrated occasion at Warwick Castle. Their brother Clarence had been staying with the earl, about to marry his daughter, though Edward and Hastings had interrupted that little liaison. And here, in this castle, George was once more keeping company with the earl. Did nothing change?

‘I’m game to have a go — just knock on the door and ask for breakfast?’ Richard sounded remarkably cheerful and that made Edward laugh as he slithered back from the edge of their eyre on his belly, followed by his brother. Once beneath the line of sight from the castle below, he stood up and joined the small group of men waiting for instructions.

‘We will watch and ward, relays of two men each: two hours on, two hours off. I’ll want reports of movement over the next eight hours: we’ll time by quarters of the sun. Duke Richard and I will watch first, you are to rest.’

Walter Ferrars had done his work well in finding this place — a small blind valley behind the summit of a high fell with, at its end, an abandoned salt mine which went some way back into the hill itself — an artificial cave, large enough for men and horses both.

‘Here, Geoffrey, take Mallon.’ The king tossed Geoffrey Luttrell the reins of his destrier and Richard did the same for his own stallion, Hautboys.

Silently, for they were well trained, the band of young men led their horses into the mouth of the salt mine, disappearing one by one into darkness like wraiths, leaving the king and his brother alone in the quiet green valley.

Richard smiled. ‘I look forward to meeting her, you know. Meeting this nameless girl. And I hope she’s worth it to you.’

Edward did not reply, but as he reached the lip of the fell once more and lay down — careful to make sure that his sword was covered by a fold of his cloak and that he’d removed his metal helm so that the sun should not find it and give away their position to the castle below them — he caught his brother’s eye.

‘I’m here, aren’t I? What does that tell you?’

T
he inner ward of Middleham Castle was a roiling mass of horses and people as the earl’s party mounted for the hunt. Anne was the sole woman, surrounded by more than twenty of the earl’s closest affinity, with the addition of the Duke of Clarence.

What had promised to become a fair day was changing, the sun partly obscured by clouds — pretty clouds, many shades of grey and silver, but clouds nonetheless.

Anne was settling herself onto the back of a delicate mare — finely made and full of energy, dancing from foot to foot — as Warwick rode over.

‘Now, lady, I hope you will forgive me, but if the weather turns, we will abandon the hunt. The ground is already so wet that more rain will make our efforts pointless; the scent will be destroyed.’

Confidently Anne gathered up the reins of her mare in borrowed red leather gloves and smiled brightly. ‘But I am confident we’ll have good sport, Your Grace. The sun will return, you’ll see.’

The tremendous noise of baying dogs caught their attention as the earl’s pack of hounds streamed out from their kennels.

‘Well then, let us see what this day brings.’ Signalling the dogs to be whipped in, the earl led the party of horses out through the raised portcullis of the gate between the inner and outer wards, the dogs massed in a yelping, trotting pack ahead of them.

Now they were past the second gate leading on to the last obstacle, the great East Gate, and Anne held her breath, only daring to breathe again as she passed beneath the last and third raised portcullis, her horse clattering over the wooden bridge which spanned the moat, until, finally, they were out into the fields beyond the castle. There, in front of her horse’s hooves, lay freedom, the freedom of the green dales.

She still had her ruby, and the knife, and a good horse beneath her; there was hope. There was always hope.