We Speak No Treason Vol 2 by Rosemary Hawley Jarman Read Free Book Online

lords of England, welcomed by the Aldermen of the City, in loyalty’s blue.
    Richard of Gloucester was horsed between King Edward and the Lord Chamberlain. For the White Boar had drawn men, as it had drawn me—ask me not why. He had rallied hundreds to his standard. He looked drained and proud. Verily, I thought him happy at last. And the King was not ungrateful, for he gave Richard honourable commissions in Wales.
    As for my part, the King was still pleased with me. He brought me into his Household as Gentleman Usher; many were the tasks I undertook beside the guarding of his royal person. Cleanly and strong archers, gentle men—was the stipulation. But King Edward also loved love. I was quiet, I was discreet, and if I were a little surprised at times, I did not show it. Gentleman Usher—that is good! Many women did I usher in to that god-like presence.
    I saw Richard once before he departed for the Welsh marches. He took my hand.
    ‘My thanks for your loyalty in this affair.’
    ‘I hope to meet your Grace in less turbulent times,’ I answered. ‘I recall, you owe me three shillings.’
    ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘Leave it—as surety that we shall dice together again. Besides, I find myself sorely ill-purveyed of money.’ And we laughed together in remembrance, for it was a good jest, the King having rewarded him well. He said:
    ‘Gloucester does not go back upon his word. You shall have your debt in full—the next time we come upon each other.’
    ‘May it be soon, Richard my lord,’ I answered.
    ‘I feel you are a good man,’ he said softly. ‘Give me your prayers, sometimes.’
    I saw him hardly at all for some two years, during which time the King kept me occupied with all manner of pleasurable duty. Many the cloaked lady; many the whisper. Toxophilus was still my leman, but wantonness led my rein. O Jesu! I was a laggard lover of Richard those days, for if ever I spoke his name at Mass, it was only when others did so in accord, and without deep thought. Fitting, perchance, that the next time our paths crossed it was in the face of danger.

    Again, the enemy Warwick. But a Warwick better prepared, and we so unready. Mad, furious flight, easterly that September; a night ride through chill mists sad with the warnings of winter. To Norfolk, with the mud of the King’s horse stinging up into my face. From Doncaster, where I had been waked by the rude cries of the
rex minstrallorum
. Enemies had come to take the King; allies of Earl Warwick, with an army that far outnumbered our own. Again, the same frail company: Lord Hastings, galloping stirrup by stirrup with the King. Sir Richard of Gloucester; a few esquires. A score of men-at-arms, hastily and inadequately harnessed. An addition: Sir Anthony Woodville, now Earl Rivers. He had misplaced his helm, and his bright yellow hair streamed about his face, and once he gave me a smile, riding, saying softly: ‘The pity of it! I was having a wondrous dream; saints in their golden crowns.’
    An omission: no faithful John of Northumberland this time! Alas, the fickleness of princes—and the irony of circumstance! No longer Earl of Northumberland, but plain Marquess Montagu, it was from him and an army doubly outnumbering the King’s that we fled.
    Four or five woolships bobbed against the quay at Lynn. It was the King himself who marched over the cobbles and spoke with the harbour-master. A few incurious eyes watched. A greybeard sitting on a coil of rope spat in the sea and muttered: ‘Heigh-ho! Kings sail out—Queens sail in,’ and cackled, the horrid laugh of the ancient. The captain of the wool fleet was likewise unmoved.
    ‘Your Grace wishes my ships—to take you to Flanders?’ Despite the imminence of our danger, Edward pressed him but gently.
    ‘You will be well rewarded.’
    The other answered, shoulders hunched: ‘King’s men will steal the room for my cargo.’ One of Edward’s esquires dropped a pouch of gold into the captain’s hand. He shifted