‘The Duke of Gloucester,’ answered Hastings, ‘is specifically named as Protector of the Realm. He is not simply one amongst many. It is the duke who must govern for some years to come.’
‘Prince Edward’s minority will end when he is crowned,’ Dorset insisted. ‘There will be no further need of a Protector.’
Already the Woodvilles had begun authorising the collection of taxes and the nomination of title and entitlement. Although lacking legal imperative, Dorset had appointed Sir Edward Woodville, his uncle, as commander of the king’s navy. His own improperly nominated position as Deputy Constable of The Tower gave him no such authority, but he sat himself at the head of the king’s council and would not be gainsaid. Many councillors, however, were considering their own vulnerability should the Lord Protector’s powers be curtailed. Finally, with some courage, they insisted the guardianship of the little king be utterly forbidden to his mother’s relatives. But their sovereign-to-be was already on the road under the protection of his Woodville uncle, and was likely to remain as such by his own choice.
Chapter Fifty-Three
Andrew Cobham leaned back against the settle’s cushions, stretched his long legs and put his feet up on the small trunk by the busy, blazing hearth. He then clasped his hands behind his head, sighed and closed his eyes.
Within the darkness of his own eyelids, he saw many things. He saw the great wide skies sweep serenely over a green and beautiful land. He saw the beauty ravished by an endless winding and shadowed procession of past mistake, misrule, lust and avarice. He saw the feet of armies marching across the gold-tipped hills, the sudden flash of armour in the sun and the blood-red agony of battle, pain and death.
And he saw the faces of the people who had influenced his own life. Two women. Four men. An older woman, tired and shrunken, crouching in a squalid barn amongst the hay, shielding her face with her arm and muttering madness. A man, snarling, spitting, raising his axe. Then those figures diminishing – replaced – another man, tall but elderly. Quiet, dignified, ugly, contemptuous. The old man looked away and turned his back. Then a boy approaching manhood. Frightened, crying, demanding help, beseeching, but discovering the sweet spite of treachery inspired by envy. The fourth and last man strode quickly forwards from memory’s shadows, and brought with him the hopeful sun. He stood a moment, haloed by light. Not a tall man but imperious and confident, kind-eyed, decisive, loyal and determined.
Andrew sighed. Then he saw the final face; swimming in light, smiling through his thoughts. She was young and fair and beautiful and she reached out her naked arms to him. He blinked and opened his eyes.
‘My lord. You did not call. But I have come, if you wish it.’ A maidservant from the castle’s laundries, who had, of course, no right in his bedchamber.
Andrew regarded her for a long minute. He knew the girl well. She had come to his bed on many occasions over the years when he visited Middleham, and had always been welcomed. It was not a matter either approved or condoned in this castle of genial propriety, though an easy comfort pervaded in spite of the draughts. The duke had designed improvements to the old stone edifice, enlarging windows to let in sunshine and light. He had never been a man of shadows. Richard, Duke of Gloucester loved the light and he loved to look out on the huge wild scenery of Yorkshire, the dales and rolling green slopes. He had ordered similar improvements to windows at Crosby’s, his London home. But this was not Westminster, and the lord of the castle was not his brother King Edward whose mistresses laughed openly in his wife’s presence. Guests were not encouraged in sports less respectable than falconry and hunting. Yet what a man did in his bedchamber was his own business, and when the pages, the dogs and the squires were sent running from the room, they were trained to carry no gossip.
Andrew watched the girl as she started to undress, unpinning her starched cap first to let her long brown curls tumble to her waist. He had forgotten her name but she was plump and pretty and her body would be warm. He leaned forwards, his fingers to her ringlets, flicking them back, exposing her breasts as she pulled off her apron, the neat linen at her neck, and the gown from her shoulders. She stood a moment, naked to the hips where her shift still clung, waiting for him to take her. His fingers brushed down her body, tracing its rosy fire-lit colours, curving to the rise of her breasts, lingering over the soft brown nipples, hardening them, tip tilted into small buttons. His palms encircled her narrow waist, holding her steady a moment. Then he gently pushed her away.
‘My lord?’
‘No, child.’ He shook his head. ‘This is not what I want tonight. I need to be alone.’ He closed his eyes once again. The other face, the young and beautiful woman of his meandering fancies, flew back as if winged. Wide smiling eyes, sky blue, tentative, hopeful and adoring. When Andrew opened his eyes again, the little laundress had dressed and gone. He was alone as he had asked to be, but did not want to be at all.
The Portsoken streets leading down to the river were utterly deserted. There was no one ahead and there was no one following. Ralph, his arm around Elizabeth, turned to Casper and Tyballis. He whispered. ‘We need to scatter – go separate ways. Hide, or run. If anyone comes after us now, we’ve no protection at all.’
‘You have the only sword from the storeroom,’ Tyballis whispered back.
‘To defend all of us against a whole troop of armed guards? They’d kill us – every one of us – in minutes.’
Felicia, Gyles clutched against her chest and her other arm tight through her husband’s, was white-faced in the fluttering starlight. ‘But surely we need to keep together. There’s safety in numbers. And I suppose we should aim for London.’
‘At this time of night?’ Ralph shook his head. ‘Every gate is barred against us, and there’s no gain in London anyway.’
‘Crowds,’ insisted Tyballis. ‘In a crowd, we’re safe. And we need to find out what’s going on.’
‘We know what’s going on. The king’s dead. Dorset has snatched power.’
‘But has the new king sanctioned this? What of the Duke of Gloucester? And what of Drew?’
‘If Drew was back in London,’ grumbled Jon, ‘he would have come home. He would have come to save us.’
‘He often goes to Crosby’s,’ whispered Tyballis. ‘He couldn’t have known we’d been imprisoned. And perhaps he’s with the duke, so can’t come home at will.’
‘There ain’t no point arguing,’ Casper interrupted. ‘Should ’ave thought o’ this afore. Too late now. Must all do what we wants. Don’t need no leader giving orders, nor making no plans. I’ll go where I decides.’
Tyballis looked at her toes. ‘All right. Then I’ll go to London alone. I’ll wait till morning for the gate to be unlocked.’
‘You’ll wait outside the Aldgate?’ exclaimed Ralph, shocked. ‘That’s the first place those buggers’ll look for us. Wait there, and you’ll be dragged back within an hour at most. And with them angry guards! I’d not like to guess what’d happen next.’
‘I know the Portsoken best,’ muttered Elizabeth. ‘Them’s my streets, my tramping ground. I’ll stay this side o’ the wall, and hide back in the tanneries. There’s folks there who know Drew and will help me.’ She looked up at Ralph’s protective shoulder. ‘You coming with me? Or her?’
‘You,’ Ralph said at once. ‘I won’t be risking you back in your wretched brother’s clutches. Besides, we’re a couple now and that’s the way I want it. But Tybbs, I’ll see you safe first.’