The Rose at Twilight (45 page)

Madeline’s face fell, but she recovered at once and said airily, “I do not care what that man does. Marry, I had thought at one time he meant to join the host of others begging for my hand, but evidently he had the good sense to decide against it.”

“Marry you? Gwilym?” Though Alys had Nicholas’s assurance that that was Gwilym’s exact intention, she still had her doubts.

“I saw him talking to my father that night at Queenshithe,” Madeline said, “and I have seen other such conversations before, you know. In general, they do herald a request for my hand.”

“Did your father tell you Gwilym had made such a request?”

“No, but I think he would not believe him suitable. He must want a more indulgent man to marry me. Moreover, I do believe he is beginning at last to believe I want no part of marriage.”

Alys shook her head in amusement. “Madeline, I have seen how you flirt with Gwilym! And two minutes ago, when I said he had gone, you were upset. Confess now, you do care for him.”

Madeline lifted her chin. “He is different from other men, that is all—more exasperating, if you must know. Why, I never knew another who made no attempt to please me. Only look at the difference between him and the men of the court! I did think once that he cared, a little, but I must have been wrong, and now, when he has the opportunity to know me better, he leaves! So you must not think I have changed my mind about husbands, Alys. Only look at what happens to one! Here are you, in train with your husband’s family, and no husband. Where is he now?”

“Gone hunting those who would make mischief for Henry Tudor in Somerset,” Alys said.

“And when will he return?”

“I do not know.”

“Well, there you are.”

Alys could not debate the matter, for she missed Nicholas very much. He did not return to London for nearly three weeks, and when he did return, it was mid-February, the king’s great council was in session, and Alys was feeling unattractive and too fat for her clothes.

The rumors regarding the whereabouts of the young Earl of Warwick had multiplied so that one of the first decisions of the council had been to parade the boy before the populace, to prove that he was indeed still an inmate of the Tower. Alys had not been allowed to view the procession because of her condition, and when it was over she wondered what purpose it could have served.

“How can it help?” she demanded of Nicholas at supper with his family afterward. “Scarcely anyone in the crowd can claim to know Neddie. They know only that the king says he is Warwick.”

“True enough, but the parade accomplished one thing we did not expect,” he said in a tone that warned her she would not like what he said next. “Lincoln has fled the city.”

His announcement startled everyone at the table.

“Where did he go?” Rhys demanded.

“
Why
would he go?” Gwenyth asked.

“He goes to join rebels in Flanders, I believe,” Nicholas said, watching Alys. “It is clear now that whatever they meant to accomplish with the rumors about Warwick, Lincoln is the true pretender. ’Tis thought he goes now to lead them, to claim the crown unto himself. I should hate,” he added, looking at Alys grimly, “to think that you knew aught of these plans before now.”

“But how could she?” his mother asked gently. “The poor girl has scarce stirred from this house in a month’s time.”

Alys was shaking her head. “I cannot believe it,” she said. “Lincoln has never shown any interest in the crown.”

“He was Richard the Third’s heir,” Nicholas reminded her.

“Oh yes, named when Richard’s own son died, but no one, including Lincoln himself, expected him to inherit. Even the Tudor saw no need to lock him up. Lincoln is not a man to rally others or commit himself to causes. He … he sidesteps them.”

Nicholas shrugged. “He is not sidestepping this one. And, what is more, he seems to have some important backers. The queen dowager has this day forfeited her dower rights again and withdrawn across the Thames, to the abbey at Bermondsey.”

This announcement brought more cries of astonishment from his audience. Bewildered, Alys said, “Are you telling us the Tudor took back her dower lands and banished her from court?”

“Aye,” he said, adding pointedly, “and on the very eve of Lincoln’s flight.”

She shook her head again. “That makes no sense at all, sir. Elizabeth Woodville would never support her husband’s nephew’s claim against that of her own daughter and grandson!”

“Nevertheless, the dowager queen has been plotting. I do not know the details, except it is said she did receive letters from the conspirators—at Christmas.” His gaze was stern.

Alys flushed but was careful to hide her consternation from the rest of the family. If Davy Hawkins had visited Westminster chiefly in order to deliver letters to the dowager queen, it was easier to understand why Lovell had made the effort then to write to her. Had Davy been caught, he had only to say he had come to visit his sister and Alys, and they would have supported that declaration. She said quietly, “I still cannot credit it, sir.”

“As to that, ’tis rumor only,” he replied in the same tone, “but not the part that took place today. Lincoln is headed for his father’s lands in East Anglia, where he can easily get a boat for Flanders. His father, the Duke of Suffolk, is still loyal to the king, and Harry wants to keep it that way, so I go to East Anglia in two days’ time.” He looked ruefully at Alys. “’Tis to be a show of force only; we won’t catch Lincoln. Harry means to follow us soon—to begin a second spring progress at mid-Lent, like last year’s—but I’ll be back before the child is born.”

His mother cried out in dismay, but Alys was silent. She had lived her life watching men ride off to their duty while women remained at home to await their return. Listening to Nicholas placate Gwenyth, then go on to discuss details of other news from court with his father and younger brother, she felt only sadness that he would leave again so soon. She understood, she thought, her mother-in-law’s consternation, for Gwenyth’s husband and at least one son were content to remain at home with her, to oversee their farms and tenants, to look after their own. Nicholas was different, a soldier first, a husband only because he had deserved reward for service to his liege lord.

Nicholas did not care for the land the way his father did, nor even the way that Gwilym did. And, though he found pleasure in his wife’s company, he did not care for her the same way his father cared for Gwenyth. She watched Dafydd ab Evan whenever he spoke to his wife, and she longed to see that same deeply tender look in Nicholas’s eyes when he looked at her. She had seen kindness and laughter, exasperation and anger, and certainly lust, but never that same sweet unspoken tenderness.

There was naught she could complain of in his behavior while he remained at Queenshithe, for he was attentive and kind. He even played his lute and sang to her when she could not sleep; but he showed no interest in bedding her after his first night home—for which she blamed her ballooning figure—and his kindness was casual and easygoing, rather than lovingly tender.

In the weeks following his departure, she had several letters from him but little news of what was happening in the counties. And in London, there were more rumors regarding the Earl of Warwick. Notwithstanding the fact that Neddie had been paraded through the streets, many still insisted that he had escaped and meant to lead an armed invasion from Flanders, backed by his aunt, Margaret of Burgundy.

Despite the rumors, Madeline reported a relaxed atmosphere at Sheen, lasting into Lent. And despite the king’s intent to show strength on his progress—and thus, deter strife—with a large, well-armed retinue composed mostly of gentlemen from Lancashire, the comments at court, according to Madeline, had more to do with the comeliness of the women in East Anglia than with any possibility of rebellion there. She had even overheard one stout courtier tell another that he believed they could drink Norwich as dry as they had left York the previous Easter.

When the men had gone, Madeline visited the house at Queenshithe as soon as she could manage to do so, and informed Alys with a long-suffering sigh that the court had become entirely too restless. “Of those left behind, nearly all are women,” she said, “and Elizabeth, who is perfectly healthy this year, chafes at being left at Sheen, although the king did assure her that he left her only because he feared for her safety.”

Alys, remembering something Nicholas had said, wondered if it were not more likely that Henry wanted to make this show of strength on his own account and not remind anyone that his position was any the stronger because of his marriage. “What rumors are there?” she asked, not really wanting to discuss Elizabeth. “What do they say at court now about Neddie?”

“That he is in Ireland,” Madeline said with a chuckle, “stirring up the Irish. Marry, but most people do discount the talk. They fear instead that Lincoln will lead an invasion. A grown man, they say, backed by Margaret of Burgundy, is a much more serious threat to Henry than any boy could be. Questions are asked, too, about why Henry seems so loath to crown his wife. And some even suggest that Warwick is dead but that Edward Plantagenet or his brother Richard is living now in Burgundy.”

Alys seized on the safest topic. “Lincoln is not a man to lead armies, Madeline. You have met him.”

“Aye,” Madeline said, smiling. “When he asked me to dance, he said, ‘If there be space enough, mayhap you will dance with me.’ Marry, he is a careful man, but my father said that with Richard for an uncle, it paid him to be careful. And you must know that the king has ordered beacons set up along the coast. That sounds as if he believes Lincoln is a threat.”

Alys could only agree that it did. Not long after that it became known that Henry had ordered his uncle, Jasper Tudor, and the Earl of Oxford to gather forces and prepare for invasion from both Flanders and Ireland. And once more, the papal bull was read throughout the land, recognizing Henry’s marriage and his right to the crown, and cursing with bell, book, and candle all who did anything contrary to his right and titles. But by then, Alys was past caring about politics, for the pangs of her labor had begun, a fortnight before they were expected.

Gwenyth and Jonet were in attendance with several maids, and Ian was sent in haste for a royal physician, whom Elizabeth, in her graciousness, had recommended to attend the lying-in. Alys, who had never known such pain as she was feeling with each new contraction, called down every curse she could think of upon Nicholas, both for getting her into such a predicament and for leaving her to suffer it alone, but the pain was ended at last, and to her extreme astonishment, she had not one child, but two, the first a bouncing baby girl, the second a tiny boy.

She stared at the two small bundles presented by Jonet for her inspection. One was screaming lustily; the other watched her quietly through his wide blue eyes.

When the doctor, a somber, untalkative man, had gone at last, Jonet said in a tone carefully devoid of expression, “We had better send at once for a priest to christen them, mistress.”

“Oh, tomorrow or the next day will do for that,” Alys said, reaching out to touch first one tiny face and then the other.

Gwenyth said, “Do you not know what you mean to call them, my dear? You and Nicholas ought to have discussed the matter before he left. ’Tis most important.”

“Aye, but he did say he would return before their birth,” Alys said. She knew he wanted to name his son after the king, but she had not agreed, and now, looking at the small, quiet baby, she knew she could never agree to call him Henry. Firmly, she said, “I shall call them Anne and Richard.”

There was silence, but to her surprise, no one debated her choices. She looked up then, and caught an exchange of looks between Jonet and Gwenyth that sent a chill sweeping through her. “What is it? Why do you look like that?”

Both women hastened to reassure her, telling her she should sleep, that wet nurses were at hand to look after the babes.

“I want to see them both. Every inch! Unwrap them.”

After brief hesitation, they did as she asked, and she could find nothing wrong with either child. Anne, though small, had fuzzy light hair and was pink and bright-eyed. Her tiny limbs waved, and her cries were strong and lusty. The little boy was not so pink, but he moved his arms and legs, and had all his fingers and toes. She stroked one of his thin arms, pleased when he seemed to look in her direction.

“Wee Dickon,” she said to him softly, “you will grow.”

Firmly, Jonet took both babies and gave them into the care of their nurses, insisting that Alys sleep. And finally, she did, but when she awoke, she demanded to see the children at once. Once again, Jonet was unnaturally hesitant.

“They need their rest, mistress,” she said gently.

“Fetch them,” Alys commanded.

Small Anne was awake and cooing, but Dickon slept, not waking even when Alys held him and tickled his cheek.

“What is wrong with him?” she demanded.

“We do not know,” Jonet whispered. “He will not feed. He does wake from time to time, but in between, we cannot wake him.”

“Bring his cradle here, and put it beside my bed. I will keep him with me. He will thrive then. I know it!”

“Tha’ mustn’t,” Jonet said. “Let me take him now.”

But Alys refused, tears spilling down her cheeks. And all that day she held the little boy, her heart gladdening when his eyes opened, her tears falling harder and faster when they shut again. Gwenyth added her entreaties to those of Jonet’s, but Alys would not let them take the baby. And when Madeline, summoned from Sheen in the hope she might soothe her, added her arguments to theirs, Alys lost her temper.

“He is my son! He will stay with me. Fetch the physician if you want to help us. I do not know why he does not come.”

Gwenyth said sympathetically, “He will come, my dear, but he has already seen the baby, and he tells us there is naught he can do if the child will not feed.”

“Then get another wet nurse, or I will suckle him myself.” But though she tried, the baby would not suck. They soaked a sugar tit in breast milk, and held it in his mouth, but even then he did not respond.