The thickly draped greenery smelled sweet and an aromatic dusting of dried lavender and sprinkled spice tickled his highness’s nose and reminded him to call for his cup to be quickly refilled. Nearby he noticed Dorset already boss-eyed and raucous. On the other side, the queen looked prim. No doubt something had touched Elizabeth’s sense of her own importance. He would hear about it later but had no intention of thinking about it now. Meanwhile, Richard was deep in conversation with Hastings, also something he’d hear about later no doubt, but they were old friends who saw little of each other during these days of wearisome politics and Richard’s endless obligations in the north. His illustrious highness let them talk, and reached for his knife. The roast boar was particularly succulent. He cut a wedge from the huge slice on his platter. The pork skin crackled as he bit and the soft fatty juices rolled over his tongue. He stretched his legs, leaned back in his vast chair and smiled.
Brother Richard, Duke of Gloucester was also enjoying the roast pig. William, Lord Hastings, regarded him with a frown. ‘You say this man has proof?’ he said quietly.
Richard shook his head, an imperceptible movement that attracted no attention from others at the table. ‘I said there is sufficient proof to convince me. Not to present to the king. Nor would I ever consider taking such a matter to trial. It must be dealt with quietly.’
‘I have a trusted retainer,’ Hastings said. ‘Will Catesby, a good lawyer. He can take what is little more than a suggestion and draw up a document that transforms it neatly into proof.’
Gloucester lowered his eyes to his platter. ‘Edward would never permit that, nor forgive us for suggesting it. It would shame him, humiliate him. His own family? His most trusted liegemen? His friends? I am somewhat fond of enforcing justice myself, but even an open investigation would be unthinkable. No, I won’t make it public, nor even open it to the rumour mill.’
‘So, we’ll sit back and just watch?’
‘This is a conversation for another place. Another time. Not now, my friend. Not here.’
‘Tonight, then.’
Richard sighed. ‘Christmas night at court? What time will we have for secrets and shadows?’
‘I shall come to your chambers directly after Mass tomorrow morning,’ nodded Hastings. ‘Just tell me one thing first. This man of yours – this secret “war hammer” as you call him – Richard, are you sure he is entirely trustworthy? You think you can go back to Yorkshire and leave this dangerous creature unsupervised? At least give me his name. Then I can set one of my own people to watch him.’
‘And must I then set another to watch the man you set to watch mine?’ Richard smiled briefly and shook his head again. ‘No, William. I trust my friend completely, though he doesn’t hold trust as a virtue, calling it a trap for the gullible. But he is the best spy I have ever employed, and has the intelligence to act on his own initiative. I won’t have him watched, for he’d know it at once, and I won’t risk his identity by giving anyone his name, even you, Will.’
‘This matter is far too serious for mistakes, Richard. Your brother –’
‘Is enjoying the return to his customary good health. That’s enough for the moment. If we are overheard now, it would become more serious still.’
The jugglers had danced the full width of the great hall of Westminster Palace, and then the full length of the courtiers’ table. The Marquess of Dorset, tipsy as a baker’s forcemeat pudding, reached out and caught the next whirling baton, crimson streamers fanning a breeze. Dorset’s companions dutifully laughed.
‘The fool is already cupshotten,’ hissed Hastings. ‘Yet Edward smiles on him as he would his own son.’
‘Never been pissed, Will?’ Richard of Gloucester regarded his friend with a slight twitch of a smile.
‘– Not that it has any relevance now, but you know perfectly well I dislike the boy, and he makes my skin crawl. Conniving. Grasping. Arrogant. And now this!’ Hastings leaned toward Richard, lowering his voice even further. ‘And what of our ambitious queen? Could she possibly be involved?’
‘I don’t believe so,’ said the duke at once. ‘My man thinks her innocent – in this, at least. As for greed and ambition, why not? Don’t we all have a duty to increase our family wealth, barter our loyalty in exchange for property and leave a fair inheritance for our sons? I’ll build up my power in the north whenever I can, as you do here at court. This other matter is entirely different. This isn’t simply ambition, it’s high treason and bloody murder.’
‘If we only had proof, Richard.’
‘I need no more than I have. That’s enough for now, William.’ Richard laid his knife down with a snap. ‘And I repeat, this conversation is too dangerous. However drunk they are, we might still be overheard. I’ll expect you tomorrow morning and we can talk then. But remember, Will, no more hints to my brother.’
‘Tell the king his life is in danger from his own wife’s family? Not again, I won’t. When I hinted before, he was virtually on his deathbed and you’d have expected him to take the story seriously. He didn’t. He threw me out. Still thinks I’m jealous of that little slug Dorset. Thinks I’m making absurd accusations just to get the bastard stepson into trouble.’
The final dishes were carried in to the sound of trumpets and fanfare by a flurry of liveried servants all as proud as the royal chef who led the procession. Great platters of silver were heaped with tarts, pies and jellies, but the principal glory was the huge carved subtlety, a great standing sunburst in glimmering sugar, surrounded by winged angels all overlooking the scene of the sugared nativity. Each feather on the angle’s wings was perfectly formed, each scrap of straw in the manger was finely etched and the Holy Infant’s face was as pretty as the queen’s. From around the many tables a heaving, mounting murmur rose like the river waters at high tide. Even those too drunk to stand sat up straight, awed and sighing. The king smiled into both his chins.
The royal minstrels had piped in the last course, and now played the most rousing of all the Christmas carols, those known to be the favourites of the king. The king had dressed with some care that morning, choosing the new style of shorter doublet and the long silk knitted hose in disparate stripes so beloved of the Italians. The doublet unfortunately accentuated his girth and hinted at a glimpse of very plump buttocks, but Edward knew a king must show off his power in every sense, and a surfeit of food and drink was a sign of powerful good living. It was true he had trouble getting into his saddle, but he was still a young man of forty years, no more, although his energy was no longer prodigious. Once the most handsome, the king was still, after all, the tallest man at court.
His highness raised a spilling cup. ‘To my beloved little brother, famed military leader and hero of the Scottish wars, whom I see all too rarely, and hope to see more often this coming year.’