Rose of rapture Page 30

Caerllywel's answer to this was to snatch off the Earl's plumed hat and toss it overboard.

  "Oh," Isabella gasped as the two brothers proceeded to scuffle good-naturedly, and the barge tilted alarmingly.

  "Oh, my lord and sir, I beg ye to stop at once," Jocelyn pleaded, clutching one side of the vessel frantically.

  Even Ragnor, perched firmly upon Isabella's shoulder (for the hawk now accompanied her wherever she went), squawked with annoyance.

  "Here, here, Warrick. Caerllywel," Giles put in as he retrieved the now-sodden hat before it floated away. "You're frightening Jocelyn, and Isabella is looking none too well either. Remember—neither of them has ever been aboard a barge before."

  Upon being reminded of this and seeing that the two girls really did look a trifle green about the gills, the brothers ceased their mock battle and settled down in their seats once more. As best he could, Giles wrung Warrick's hat out and, trying hard not to laugh at its shameful condition, handed it back to the Earl. Warrick glanced ruefully at its sadly dripping feather while Caerllywel shook with silent merriment.

  "Ye know I always repay ye for these childish pranks of yours, brother," the Earl said somewhat crossly, "so I do not understand why ye persist in them."

  "And / do not understand why ye don't develop a sense of humor, Waerwic. Really, Isabella, how do ye stand the arrogant churl?"

  She was saved from replying to this question by Warrick asking whether or not he was to consider the damage done to his hat diverting.

  "I found it most diverting indeed," Caerllywel assured his brother, thereby earning another box to his ears.

  This would have set the brothers off once more, had not Isabella protested that others were now getting into the barge, among them Lord and Lady Stanley, who would not look leniently on being overtiuned into the Thames. Warrick and Caerllywel sobered quickly enough upon having their attention drawn to this fact, although the Earl had the temerity to grab off his brother's hat and exchange it with his own. Caerllywel tried to smile nonchalantly as he was forced to doff the wet hat to Lady Stanley, who eyed him reprovingly before taking her seat.

  Shortly thereafter, the barge began to move slowly down the river until it had reached the Royal palace at Greenwich.

  The Palace of Placentia, as it was now called, was extremely old. It had come to the Crown through King Henry V in 1414; but for over five centuries before that, it had belonged to the Abbey of St. Peter of Ghent. His Grace the Duke of Gloucester, Humphrey, Henry's youngest brother, had been made a grant of the manor and there had built himself a large keep, complete with battlements, towers, and a moat. He had named it Bella Court. A smaller, outlying fortress, which was now known as Duke Humphrey's Tower, guarded the strategic road from Dover to London.

  After the Duke had been arrested for high treason and had died in prison, Bella Court had passed into the hands of Queen Marguerite of Anjou, who had changed its name to the Palace of Placentia. The vain Queen had taken great pains to leave her mark upon the castle, fitting the windows with the costliest of glass and paving the floors with terra-cotta tiles that were engraved with her monogram. In addition, she had commanded sculptors to ornament the piUars and arcades of the residence with her emblem, the ox-eyed daisy that bore her name. To house her many jewels, she had ordered a vestry constructed; and west of the keep, in the Thames, she had had a pier erected so royal

  barges might land without mishap there, no matter the state of the tide.

  It was this wharf that the vessel containing Isabella and the rest of her companions now approached. Once they had reached the dock, several able-handed men ran forward to catch the lines cast to them by the numerous oarsmen who had rowed the barge, and the vessel was safely moored until such time as it would be needed again. Warrick, Caerllywel, and Giles leaped lightly ashore, then turned to assist the girls as they disembarked.

  After that, they made their way to the palace greens, where the tourney was to be held. Although the keep did not boast a formal tiltyard, Isabella saw, as they neared the fortress, that great pains had been taken to prepare the lawns for the coming joust. Tiered benches, set beneath canopies, lined one complete side of the arena and were akeady starting to be filled with the spectators who were making their ways from the barges. On the opposite side of die stadium stood the brightly colored pavilions of the lords and knights who had entered the lists. The gay tents, with their banners rippling gently in the slight breeze, had been erected earlier that mom by each participant's men-at-arms and squires, who had been entrusted with the bringing of destriers and armor as well.

  "My Lady Hawkhurst?" A small page ran forward upon spying the girl.

  "Aye."

  The boy bowed respectfully, then, his young face puckered up wi± concentration, breathlessly rattled off the message he bore for her.

  "Her Grace the Duchess of Gloucester humbly begs the presence of ye and your companions in her box and would be most pleased if ye would join her."

  "Oh," Isabella gasped with surprise, startied and much touched. "How kind of her grace. Do go, and inform my lady Duchess that we are most honored by her request and would be very happy to join her," the girl said, handing the lad a silver coin from her purse.

  The boy's face beamed as gladly he accepted the half crown she offered him. Then, after being certain he had committed her reply, word for word, to memory, he raced off to deliver it.

  Warrick, Caerllywel, and Giles escorted Isabella and Jocelyn to Anne's box, then, after paying their respects to the Duchess, departed for their pavilions to ready themselves for the tilting. Isabella, although she had corresponded with Anne over the years,

  had never met the Duchess and sat down a trifle shyly beside

  her.

  Like Isabella, Anne was very small and slender, even more so: for the Duchess seemed almost too thin and wan, too frail to endure the rigors of the worid. Her delicate, exquisitely drawn face was heart-shaped and her skin, almost translucent; it was so pure and pale. Her hair was a bright, lustrous shade of chestnut streaked with gold that matched the amber flecks of her warm, dark brown eyes. Her cheekbones were fine and high; her nose was straight and narrow; her mouth was full and soft. Arrestingly beautiful, her whole appearance was such that Isabella found no difficulty in perceiving why Richard loved his wife so and fought so fiercely to protect her; and the girl knew at once that she too would love Anne.

  "Your grace," Isabella murmured, "how kind of ye to mvite us to join ye."

  "My lady"—Anne's voice was low and gentle—"'twas the least I could do for Giles's dear sister and one whose letters have oft brightened my days. I hope I didst not upset any other arrangements ye might have made, but I found I couldst not forego the opportunity to meet ye at last."

  "I had no other plans, your grace," Isabella assured her, "and I also am glad of the chance to meet ye and to thank ye, in person, for your many past kindnesses to me and my brother. Ye cannot guess what I, especially, would have suffered in my childhood, had it not been for ye and your husband. 'Twas indeed most generous and thoughtful of ye to take an interest in a young maid who had no claim upon ye."

  "I fear ye are too kind, my lady, for it cost me little enough to befriend ye. A few letters written to a frightened child—what is that?" the Duchess asked.

  "Yet, there are those who would not have done as much," Isabella remarked.

  "Then I pity them," Anne stated simply, "for they are without compassion and doubtless find little love or joy in their lives. How could I have done less when I learned of your plight, my lady? Indeed, I wish only that I had been able to do more. It must have been horrid to have been raised by such persons as Lord Oadby and Lady Shrewton," the Duchess went on softly, her dark eyes flashing a little with anger. "I guessed immediately, from Dickon's letter to me, explaining the matter, how things stood at Rushden. My heart ached for ye, my lady, for I too was once in the clutches of those who would have used me ill; and I

  know how bereft one feels at knowing one is he
lpless to defend oneself."

  Isabella knew that Anne was referring to her late brother-in-law George, Duke of Clarence, who, in order to retain control of her vast lands and wealth, had held her prisoner and attempted to prevent her marriage to Richard. Only by disguising herself and fleeing, with the aid of friends, to work as a scullery maid in a tavern, had the Duchess been able to escape from George and remain in hiding long enough for Richard to find and save her.

  "Twas indeed a sore trial to me, your grace," Isabella confided. "I only hope I faced it as bravely as ye didst your own difficulties."

  "I have no doubt ye did, 'Sabelle," Anne told her, smiling. "I hope I may call ye that... 'Sabelle, I mean. I have grown so accustomed to hearing Giles refer to ye so."

  "But of course, your grace."

  "Nay." Impulsively, the Duchess took the girl's hand. "Ye must call me Anne, for in my heart, I know we are going to be the best of friends, dear 'Sabelle."

  And so did the relationship between the two women, begun so long ago that day in the courtyard at Rushden when Richard had handed a frightened child a single gold sovereign, deepen into a friendship that was to last until Anne died, with Isabella, heartbroken, at her beloved lady's side.

  Still, the two women had no knowledge then of the tragic illness that was to claim the kind young Duchess's life, and so they laiighed gaily together as they turned to view the sights, the coronet of Anne's russet hair glowing like a halo beneath the golden sun.

  The Duchess's face softened tenderly as her eyes found Richard, her husband. Mounted upon a chestnut steed with four white stockings, he slowly approached their box, leaning from his saddle to kiss his wife's outstretched hand. Briefly, they caressed each other with their eyes, as though they were alone; and Isabella saw the two were indeed deeply in love. For one painful instant, the girl felt an empty, aching sense of longing in her heart. If only she and Warrick loved so! Then Richard smiled at her, and the moment passed.

  "My Lady Hawkhurst," he greeted her.

  "Your grace. I have been thanking your wife for her many kindnesses to me. Now I must thank ye too, your grace, for what ye did for my brother."

  With one gauntleted hand the Duke waved away her gratitude.

  "Twas naught, my lady. I didst but hsten and offer a few words of comfort to Giles."

  "Aye, perhaps, but they cheered him beyond measure, your grace. We are both deeply indebted to ye and her grace. I do not know how we shall ever repay ye."

  "Remember us in your prayers, my lady," Gloucester reminded her gently. "We ask for no more than that."

  "Then know that as long as I live, ye shall never be forgotten, your grace," Isabella vowed fervently, "for I do pray for ye both each night and ask God's blessing to be upon ye."

  "Tis payment enough then," Richard said, then teased, "but I wouldst not cast aside a small favor for luck this day, my lady."

  Both Isabella and Anne unwound a riband from their braids and, with much laughter, wrapped the trailing silk about the Duke's arm. He glanced down at the favors that had been bestowed upon him and once more smiled.

  "I cannot fail to win the honors," he announced, "for I have been doubly blessed."

  "Ye shall not be the only man here so favored, however, your grace," Giles declared as he rode up, armored now, "for I too must claim ribands from these ladies."

  "And I," Warrick and Caerllywel, also now ready for battle, echoed as one.

  By the time the men had departed (Caerllywel considering himself the luckiest of the four, having garnered a favor from a blushing Jocelyn as well), neither Isabella nor Anne had a single riband left. They gazed at one another ruefully, then burst into laughter, for the intricately woven plaits their maids had arranged so skillfully this mom now seemed woefully bereft.

  "Well, if one of our men at least does not win here today, Jocelyn will have my head," Isabella jested, her eyes twinkling as she glanced at the maid, who had braided her mistress's hair earlier.

  "Oh, my lady," Jocelyn said, "ye know full well there were so many ribands precisely so ye couldst give them away. All the ladies have done as much. Only think how unhappy ye wouldst be if your plaits were still adorned like that poor woman's there." Jocelyn pointed surreptitiously.

  "Aye, how sad," Anne exclaimed while Isabella's mouth twisted with pity and anger upon spying Lionel's wife, the Lady Gilliane. "Who is she?" the Duchess inquired, her dark eyes filled with sympathy for the obviously miserable girl's plight.

  "The Lady Gilliane, Lord Lionel Valeureux's wife, your grace," Isabella informed her friend, still wroth over Lionel not begging a favor from the girl, even for appearance's sake.

  He might as well have publicly slapped her, for it was clear he had no interest in his bride. Even now, Isabella could see the girl was trying hard not to cry; she was so crushed by her husband's open repudiation of her.

  "Lionel's wife?" Anne's brown orbs widened with surprise. "But I did not know she was at Court. I must ask her join us at once."

  "Aye, please do, Anne," Isabella urged, "for I believe she has made few, if any, friends here; and I know that Lionel is—is not kind to her."

  "Oh, 'Sabelle," the Duchess sighed sorrowfully, her face downcast. "'Tis true, then. I—I had heard that Lionel was most displeased with his bride, but I had hoped 'twas not true—" She broke off and bit her lip. "Does he—does he treat her so badly, then?"

  "Ye have only to look at her to guess the answer to that, your grace."

  Anne's lips compressed together sternly.

  "Tim. Tim," she called to her page; then, when the boy had bowed before her, she directed, "Go, and tell the Lady Gilliane that I wouldst be most pleased if she wouldst join me in my box."

  "Aye, your grace." The lad bobbed again, then scampered off.

  Presently, timidly, as though she feared she were the butt of someone's nasty jest, Lionel's wife approached them.

  "Your—your grace," she stammered painfully. "I'm so sorry to disturb ye, but I—I received a message "

  "Aye, my lady. Ye didst indeed. Please, join us. I'm so glad you've come," the Duchess stated graciously with a smile, then bade her women make room for Gilliane and her maid.

  Relieved to find it had not all been just a prank, Gilliane sat down gingerly on the edge of one of the terraced benches and had nothing further to say, beyond thanking Anne for her invitation, until the Duchess began kindly to draw the girl out. Before long, much of Gilliane's fear had receded, and Anne had obtained a riband from the girl, explaining that she wished to send it to Richard in order that the number of his favors might equal Ca-erllywel's. Secretly, the Duchess intended to ask the Duke to mention the matter to Lionel in hopes that the heir of St. Saviour would be pleased that Gilliane's gesture had won Gloucester's regard. In addition, Anne was determined to inform Richard of

  Lionel's mistreatment of his wife (for she was, by now, indignantly certain the girl had been terribly abused), and she meant to beg the Duke to strongly reprimand his knight.

  This decided, the Duchess lifted her chin a little, then turned her flashing eyes toward the field as the herald announced, at last, the start of the tourney.

  "Lord Thomas Grey, Marquis of Dorset, and Lord William Hastings," the herald bawled over the din.

  The opening bout was merely a formality. Neither lord was expected to be unhorsed, and, after making three relatively tame passes at each other along the wooden barrier that separated them, the two men retired from the arena amid a scattering of polite applause. The crowd was somewhat disappointed, for the rivalry between these two favorites of the King was well known; and the audience had secretly hoped for a more stimulating battle, despite it being the ceremonial tilt of the tourney.

  "Lord Anthony Woodville, Earl Rivers, and Sir Edmund La-cey," the herald announced.

  "I do not know why Ned persists in holding these jousts," Anne leaned over to whisper of the King. "Anthony, who is' Ned's champion, is the best tilter in all of England. Doubtless, he will win again today and cr
own the Queen, his sister, queen of the tourney, as usual."

  "Is he so very good then?" Isabella inquired.

  "Aye, ye wouldst not think it, because of his scholarly disposition—ye know he aided William Caxton in publishing the first bound book in England—but Anthony knows full well how to handle his lance," the Duchess claimed. "That is why so many young knights like Sir Edmund choose to joust against him. 'Twould indeed be quite a feather in their caps if they were to unhorse Earl Rivers."

  Unfortunately, this glorious fate was not to be Sir Edmund's that day. On the first pass, he was ignominiously unseated and left to sprawl in the dust amid the laughter of the spectators. Hurriedly, his squires ran forward to assist him to his feet (for he could not rise unaided; his armor was so heavy). Then, not to be undone, he took off his helmet and, with a flourish, bowed gallantly to the crowd, who shouted its approval.

  The day wore on, growing hotter with the sun's ascent, as Isabella had earlier perceived it would. Though the canopy above provided a welcome shade, the girl fluttered her fan languidly now and then, glad she had had the foresight to bring it. Other ladies, less thoughtful, were having to purchase the devices from

  the vendors who, hawking their wares in loud voices, strode among the audience. One merchant, seeing that Giliiane's hands were empty, approached her and held up a pretty fan for her inspection. But though she eyed the device longingly, Lionel's bride shook her head reluctantly and waved the man away. Isabella, who had noticed the exchange, rightly guessed that Gilliane had no money.

  "Oh, look, Jocelyn!" Isabella exclaimed, nudging her maid covertly. "Do ye not think that fan would go well with my powder-blue gown?"

  "Aye, my lady." Jocelyn, an astute young maid, correctly interpreted her mistress's intent and called the vendor to their side.

  Isabella paid for the device, then, after studying it closely for some moments, sighed as though highly aggrieved.

  Somewhat crossly, she said, "Jocelyn, 1 am persuaded this is not the right blue after all. In fact, I am certain 'tis much too dark. I cannot think what possessed me to believe 'twas otherwise and to buy this fan for which I am now sure I have no use. What is to be done? I fear my lord will be most angry upon learning how foolishly I have wasted his coin. Indeed, he is so jealous, I doubt he will even believe I purchased the device at all. I'll warrant he will think 'tis a gift from one of the courtiers. Oh, Gilliane, I wish ye had bought the accursed fan yourself, for it matches your dress perfectly!"