The Innocent (7 page)

Eventually, the frustrations many of the old noble families felt over the actions of their French queen, who had controlled access to her husband, and plundered the country to her advantage and that of her lover, Somerset, had boiled over into an alliance with the alternative royal house, headed by the Duke of York, Edward’s father.

The Yorkists had prevailed—Somerset was dead, Henry VI in hiding, Margaret of Anjou fled—yet parts of England were still ravaged as if wolves had been unleashed onto the people. Now it was the nobles themselves who plundered the suffering poor and the minor gentry, while fighting among themselves for advantage, and it was too early to see how this young king, rumored to be addicted to pleasure rather than government, could or would set matters in his kingdom to right.

Margaret shivered—not from the cold. It had all been going on for such a long time. More than ten years ago, her family had been forced to choose which party they would align with in the coming political storm, and with great good fortune, her father had recommitted himself to the Yorkists. He’d even fought for them at Wakefield, where Edward’s father and younger brother had been killed, and all had seemed lost in the bitter cold of the turning year.

Yet now it seemed this new king valued the loyalty that Margaret’s family had given his in difficult times, and in courting Mathew today with such a public show of respect—dining at his house, allowing him to distribute the Virgin’s pence to the poor—he also showed he needed the support of his wealthier subjects if he was to rule this nearly bankrupt kingdom. And that in itself was cause for concern: Margaret feared the favors of today would bring trouble in their train from the court party.

That Mathew Cuttifer was to be permitted to transform the lives of twelve poor men—twelve being the number of Our Lord’s Apostles—with his sovereign’s blessing on the birthday of the Lady Mary, Mother of all, was a worrying sign of what might come, in the eyes of the court; a king who favored merchants over his traditional allies, the landed nobles, was to be watched—for who knew who might be elevated next? Or who might be displaced?

Today, the representatives of Christ’s apostles looked a truly louse-ridden bunch. Huddled together to avoid the freezing wind, rheumy eyes watering and toothless mouths clamped shut, they watched the court approach and, having all survived long lives through sheer rat cunning, sank to their knees as one, calling out blessings on the heads of the king and their benefactor, Mathew Cuttifer.

Master Mathew looked at them with distaste but then hastily crossed himself. He had nearly blasphemed, if only in thought. These pathetic remnants of men were in place of his Savior to whom he owed such great thanks. He would treat them like brothers in Christ and count that an honor and a privilege. He walked forward and gave a hearty kiss of peace to the first reeking old man, manfully suppressing the revulsion he felt for the smelly old flesh and ragged clothes because he felt the glance of God, and his king, directly on his back.

Anne stood with Deborah near the back of the throng on the steps of the cathedral as her master performed the blessing and almsgiving to the twelve old men.

“He’s a fine man,” Deborah said.

“Yes, he is,” replied the girl dreamily.

“I meant your master, Anne.”

The young woman started and said hastily, “So did I.”

Deborah frowned. “You were looking at the king.”

And Anne blushed. “They’re both fine-looking men.” She managed to say it dismissively but the truth of Deborah’s words startled her—she had been watching Edward, letting her eyes roam over his face and body, and all the time she’d been thinking of the moment in the abbey when he’d looked up at her.

Foolish thoughts. Impatiently, she shook her head to clear it and tried to concentrate on what Mathew was saying to each of the old men. That was hard, for the gusting wind from the river kept snatching the words away.

The older woman said nothing more. Anne was still very young, even though she’d handled the responsibility of the last few months well. There was a real difficulty to be overcome here, though; one that filled Deborah with anxiety. It was easy to forget, at nearly fifty, that young girls fell in and out of love so easily, but the king was a dangerous object for any girl’s affections. His eye for female flesh was notorious, even though he was recently married; it would be a tragedy if Anne were to become just one more expendable leman; a fearful fate without a powerful family to protect her.

Consciously, Deborah closed her eyes for a moment and asked for guidance for the girl—perhaps she would be given a sign that all would be well; but today the cold made the bones of her hands ache and, unusually, she could not banish the distraction of the crowd around her. With a sigh she opened her eyes as Anne, getting restless, tugged at her sleeve.

“I must go to Lady Margaret—she’ll be wondering where I am. Can you come to Blessing House tonight? There is so much to tell you—you were right about so many things! Mistress Jassy doesn’t like us to have visitors at night, so perhaps it would be best to use the kitchen door from the stableyard—Maître Gilles won’t mind so long as I let him know you’re coming. He’ll leave it unbolted.”

Deborah nodded as the girl kissed her cheek, and Anne would have gone immediately except that the older woman held her arm for a moment and looked into her eyes before kissing her gently on the brow. “There. Away.” Impulsively, Anne hugged Deborah again, then slipped into the crowd.

“Remember me?” A small, well cared for hand touched Piers on the shoulder and he whirled around to find Aveline smiling up at him. He laughed easily and his eyes flicked over her body out of habit. She preened, but her face tightened when she saw his attention slide away toward the knot of courtiers who surrounded the king, among whom were his father and stepmother and…there was Anne, who had managed to work her way back to Lady Margaret through the crowd. She was standing behind her mistress now, holding the train of that lovely dress up out of the mud. Aveline went white with rage and the fury in her eyes shocked Piers when he casually glanced back at her again. She dropped her eyes from his and in a colorless voice said, “I shall not detain you further, master,” before she hurried away.

Piers laughed to himself. Well, suppose she had worked out which way the wind was setting—jealousy in a woman often had such stimulating results. She might try even harder to please him. Aveline was distressingly strong-minded at times, and even though he would like to go on enjoying her, if she became troublesome about Anne he could always speak to Jassy and have her dismissed. Their affair was becoming common knowledge belowstairs and Aveline was trying to lord it over the other servants as a result—or so his own body servant had told him—and she was not greatly liked. Anne, however, had any number of champions, including Jassy, especially since his stepmother’s remarkable recovery, which was generally attributed to the herb teas and the blood puddings the girl had made for Lady Margaret. He’d have to watch that too—didn’t want others getting there before him, especially not some randy stable lad or kitchen hand.

“Way there, way. Dolt! I said way!” Piers pushed toward the court party. Rejoining them, he watched with amusement as Aveline snatched her mistress’s train away from Anne, before the party set off to walk the little distance to Blessing House.

Master Mathew was in a daze of anxious joy. He walked beside his king, Margaret’s hand folded through his arm, as he pointed out to Edward the fact that he had had this section of the road, leading from his house to the Abbey, paved with river cobbles for the convenience of the general public.

The king laughed genially. “What, Master Cuttifer, just for the general public? Not at all for your convenience? Come now.” The laughter of the court sycophants actually made Mathew blush, something he had not experienced since he’d been a stripling.

Margaret dared to speak up and turn the joke in defense of her husband. “Ah, sire, it was for the blessing of Blessing House, to be sure—but yet also for the blessed general!”

Edward looked down at her and smiled. “Well, Mathew, you are a lucky man to have such grace and wit about you. And such beauty.” Then his glance slid away from Lady Margaret’s face, just for a moment, and allowed itself to linger on the two girls following obediently behind.

Aveline blushed and curtsied, as did Anne, but as Anne raised her head she found that the king was again looking directly into her eyes. She felt that same still, electrified connection before his attention was distracted, this time by a pack of mummers spilling out of the stable courtyard behind Blessing House.

The gaudy, crudely painted band of men and boys was dragging a large flat wagon on which was mounted a small castlelike building made of plaster, very realistically painted to look like stone, complete with turrets and a fantastical dragon curled up before the wooden portcullis. The crowd cheered and clapped as the wagon halted at the front of Blessing house, blocking its entrance. One of the mummers, a big fellow dressed all in green and twined around with ivy and holly, leaped up onto the wagon and called loudly for quiet while banging on a great brass gong. The king turned toward his host with a charming smile, clearly determined to be pleased with all he saw. “What now, Master Mathew?”

“Sire, this knave asks leave to display a wonder to you,” answered Mathew Cuttifer in a strong, clear voice. Excitedly, the crowd hushed, those at the back calling for the mummer to speak up.

The green man banged his gong vigorously again till their heads rang and then began: “Great King, you stand by the Keep of Despair, built by this beast, for this is his lair!” The architectural beast—a mummer dressed in a canvas suit with ingenious scales made of small gilded wooden plates—opened a cavernous red-painted mouth and put out a lolling great tongue that it shook at the courtiers accompanied by lusty roaring, to the huge delight of the crowd and the happy squeals of small children.

“We plead you bring your martial hand so you may save this maiden dear!” Then a remarkable and scandalous thing happened. A rather fat young woman, with breasts bulging out of the bodice of her gown, appeared on the battlements of the plaster castle. The fragile canvas walls shivered as she waved her arms with lavish abandon, wailing loudly and beating her nearly exposed bosom with enthusiasm.

That brought a fascinated “Ooooh” from the crowd, delighted with this disgraceful show of flesh.

Normally, boys played the parts of women; this break from tradition would no doubt inform sermons all around the city next Sunday!

Just then, the green man snapped his fingers. There was a loud bang and a cloud of green smoke enveloped the wagon. The crowd yelled with delight as the smoke cleared to display a flight of red-covered stairs up which the king was being beckoned by the green man.

Edward turned to his host. “So, shall I venture here, Master Cuttifer?”

“Sire, your people long to see you slay the Dragon of Despair and rescue this fair maid.” Mathew made the deepest bow he could muster.

The king looked up at the rocking plaster construction before him—the “maid” was outdoing herself and the whole thing was in real danger of crashing off the wagon—and he smiled. Airily waving at the delighted crowd, he entered into the spirit of the play, ceremoniously accepting a blunted stage sword from the green man and running lightly up the steps to confront the fearsome dragon.

Once on the wagon, the king made a speedy and professional job of dispatching the repellent beast with three pantomime thrusts to its throat, belly, and back, earning wild cheers and screams from the crowd, whereupon the dragon made a great business of rolling over and dying with the maximum noise and effect, fake blood spouting out of its mouth. The green man banged his gong with sweaty verve as the king, waving his sword in victory, heaved up the wooden portcullis and entered the plaster castle, emerging a moment later manfully carrying the “swooning” heroine, to the huge and vociferous delight of the crowd.

“So perish all who fight our king and Blessing’s reign has now its spring!” yelled the green man as Edward restored the fainting maiden to her feet, whereupon she sank into the deepest curtsy she could manage in the limited space available, the tableau somewhat spoiled by the dragon also leaping to his feet to take a bow. The king acknowledged the roars and cheers of the crowd before sauntering down the steps to the slightly more restrained applause of his court.

“Ah, sire, that was Towton all over again!”

“So, Warwick, is that what you think?” The king’s tone was cool as he turned toward the speaker, a tough dark man in his thirties who was standing beside the beaming Mathew and his delighted wife.

“Swords and er…hearts were ever Your Majesty’s strong suits,” Warwick replied, sardonic though oily smooth.

It was as if clouds had covered the sun. One moment Edward had been delighted with all he saw and heard and now his face was closed tight with anger. He said nothing for a moment and then very deliberately turned his back on the other man. “It seems, Master Mathew, that some members of my court do not understand when the entertainment has ended. For that lack of…understanding, I must ask your forgiveness.”

Mathew Cuttifer swallowed hard as he heard the King’s frigid tone. His heart sank; perhaps this day of triumph would end in disaster, after all. Plainly the king and the Earl of Warwick were at each other’s throats again and his little tableau was today’s cause.

Lady Margaret stepped into the breach once more. “Sire, you must be sharp-set—as I declare I am.

Would it please you to enter this poor house and break your fast with us?”

Edward registered the dignified calm with which he was addressed—and being aware of the courage the remark would have taken at this moment, swept off his flat velvet cap to the lady and smiled at her most charmingly. “Lady, it would please me greatly, but first…” He turned toward the group of grinning, shuffling play actors who were waiting to be dismissed. “My thanks to you—and here…

Almoner!”