Thy Name Is Love (The Yorkist Saga) (20 page)

"Nay, you have been more than generous to us. I need only one
thing of you. I need you to help me find the man who took me from
King Henry as a baby."
"Ah, yes, the mysterious John. Dove, I would love to help you, but
this is not something I can look into immediately.
As you can see, I have—"
"I understand you cannot physically search the kingdom for him. If
you can access a list of King Henry's courtiers for me, I shall
continue the search myself."
"You are not to go on another search in winter. No travelling on
this quest between the months of November and April. That is an
order, and I am speaking to you as your King now."
"I heed and obey thee, King Richard." It gave her a strange dread
to address her childhood friend in this way. "But with summer upon
us, I should have no difficulty in travelling. Besides, Elizabeth
is powerless. I trust there will be no more mishaps."
"I shall assist you in every way I can. Now I really must get back
to business. Give Val my regards and tell him that I shall see him
when Parliament convenes."
"And how fares the Queen?" she asked, not having seen Anne since
the coronation.
"She is not in the best of health." His eyes clouded over as they
always did at the mention of Anne's increasing absences at court
functions.
"I am so sorry, Richard. Please, if there is anything I can do—"
"Just continue to be as kind to her as you always have. She needs
all the love anyone can bestow upon her."
"Oh, that is the very least I can do! For I did take your advice,
and have found much more room in my heart than I ever dreamed
possible!"
They stood, she curtseyed and they parted. As she left, she felt
herself longing for the simple life she had once shared with her
old friend, and the concentrated attention Valentine had given her
before the cares of state had begun to weigh on them all.
 

 

CHAPTER THIRTY
Richard's court glittered in splendor, rivalling even that of the
late luxury-loving King Edward. Every evening there were mummers,
jugglers, tumblers, fools, minstrels playing gaily in the gallery,
games of dice and backgammon, dancing.
Now Valentine's and Denys' dress was even more extravagant than
before. His doublets and surcoats were of the richest velvet. His
undertunics were of satin or fine Holland cloth. His head was
always topped with a velvet cap gleaming with gold fleurs-de-lis
or shot through with gems.
Her gowns were of velvets lined with satin or cloth of gold,
furred with ermine or sable, blazing with patterns and swirls of
gold, studded with jewels, the satin sleeves flowing to the floor
in layers. Rings glittered on every finger.
Chains and pendants dripped from their necks. They sparkled,
radiating all the splendor due their status.
Queen Anne, however, did not make many appearances; she was
usually ailing and bedridden. Denys could see the sadness in
Richard's eyes as he sat next to the empty place at the high
table, but that spark immediately returned when his darling son
Edward came scampering into his arms.
It was whilst on progress in Cambridge that they received the
tragic news that the little boy had quietly slipped away in his
sleep. The entire court went into mourning, and the grief-stricken
king and Queen rushed to Middleham for the burial of their only
son.
Of course the inevitable buzz began to circulate through the
court: who would now be Richard's heir to the throne? "Are you not
glad we do not have these problems, Valentine?" Denys asked him as
they lay in bed, their bodies twined, their hearts beating against
each other. "I expect the biggest problem of all for a king to
have would be to choose a fitting heir, with no legitimate
children of his own."
"I am so glad you are not a blood relative of his. there would be
no doubt in my mind that he would have chosen you."
"Hmmm..." Valentine pondered the thought then dismissed it
quickly. "Even if we were related, I would rather be here at his
side, a mere subject, while he lives, than a king after his
death."
"Do you really mean that?"
"Aye, I do."
"Who do you think his heir should be?"
"Well, the Bill of Attainder against George bars his son from the
succession," Valentine replied. "Mayhap he would name his sister
Elizabeth's son, Jack de la Pole. He is Richard's eldest nephew
who's untainted, and God willing, will have reached his majority
when the time comes."
Denys smiled. "Oh, how happy it would have made George to see his
son ascend the throne. And Richard loved George so."
"Well, he should make the decision soon. There is no shortage of
more distant claimants, like Lady Margaret Beaufort, who might put
in a claim if the succession isn't secure."
"That would be quite a coup, indeed, as there's no precedent for a
female monarch. And Henry Tudor's mother, of all people! Is it
that she's never been considered a threat?" she asked.
"Ah, well, and the fact that she's subtle and stays out of the
way, quietly financing her son's invasions. As she wants none of
the glory for herself, only for him."
"Out of the way she certainly is. I've never even seen her."
"She keeps a safe haven in Wales."
"Valentine, do you think England will ever have a queen?"
"Aye, some lucky lady will be born to rule. Alas, though, not in
our lifetime."
"Mayhap in our children's."
"Speaking of our children..." He took her in his arms once more
and she echoed the sentiment as they made love. A babe would truly
make her life complete. That and finding her parent's identities
so she could put her past to rest once and for all…

 

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
"We received an interesting bit of correspondence today,"
Valentine said as his Esquire of the Body removed his shoes and
replaced them with comfortable slippers.
Taking his ambiguous tone the worst way, Denys clutched her hands
to her girdle before they began trembling.
She knew how Valentine made light of the most threatening
dangers—he but thrived on adversity, all the more so he could
vaunt his aplomb in righting it. "Oh, no, what now?" He eased her
anxiety with a comforting smile. "Nay, ‘tis intriguing, good
tidings, from that Genoese captain who'd been with the Woodville
fleet. His name was Cristoforo Colombo."
"Aye, the one who caused the fleet to disperse." He gave her a
hard look and she gave him her most appreciative smile. "Sorry, my
darling; I know ‘twas you who caused the fleet to disperse. He
merely followed your suggestion."
"Thank you, my dear. Anyway—" A smile of his own appeared. "He
reiterated his theories about the world as we don't know it, and
Richard took it for what it was worth."
"How so?"
"Well, a teaser if you will, to secure an invitation. He now
believes he can find the Orient by sailing west. And he wants to
come to court to explain just how he claims he can do this."
"I have heard that before. The Irish sailors have a strong belief
that land lies to the west. I remember Peter the sailor lad
talking about it incessantly on that disastrous journey to Wales.
He spoke of legendary voyages galore."
"Well, Richard has extended an invitation to Colombo, not just out
of curiosity for what lies to our west, but out of kingly
graciousness, in return for leading the disbanding of the
Woodville fleet. And if our presumptions are correct, the man
should be arriving upon our shores again forthwith.
But Richard is no fool. Of course we know his underlying motive
for these missions."
"Why, of course! He wants to discover the unknown boundaries of
the vast and stormy Ocean Sea, to explore far-flung exotic lands
that lie beyond anything our wildest imaginations can even
perceive!"
"We figured it for a more mundane reason. Riches. And to achieve
riches, he will need someone to invest in his grandiose missions.
And invest rather generously."
"Well, you must admire the man for his knowledge of the seas, not
to mention his bravery, his strong beliefs in what most common
folk wouldn't dare dream of! Would you not want to leave a legacy
to live throughout the ages?" Valentine squared his shoulders and
stared her down.
"Have I not already? As Chancellor of England, I shall live
throughout the ages!"
"You may be a prince among men to your tenants and the villeins
who depend on you for their sustenance, but in the grand scheme of
things, we are but specks of dust crawling about a tiny island
realm. Just ponder what lies beyond! Your service to the kingdom
will pale in comparison to what Colombo could find should he
succeed."
"Oh, Dove, you and your chimerical visions! We suffer enough
strife trying to keep this land from impending invasion and
destruction without fretting over what lies on the other side of
the Ocean Sea, if anything. If exotic lands lay out there, do you
not think some intrepid seadog would have found it already?
Besides, Marco Polo found the Orient.
We well know where it is!"
"Ah, but not by sea, Valentine, dear. This sea theory is
thought-provoking indeed. Listen carefully to the man when he
arrives. I certainly plan to. I think we are about to embark upon
a turning point. And I would very much like to hear about it
firsthand! This time I shall meet the man who thinks he can touch
the far corners of the world. I never knew he was such a brilliant
navigator with such progressive ideas.
"George described him as if he'd come here simply to sample the
inebriants before moving on to his next banquet."
"Oh, Dove..." Shaking his head, he pulled her down to sit upon his
lap. "Wherever do you get this insatiable hunger for those
ethereal elements we cannot see nor hear nor reach?"
"I know not. Possibly from my mother, whoever she was. If that be
the case, I may never know."
"I can see you and this idealistic Colombo soul chatting for hours
about the almosts and the what-could-have-beens and the mayhaps
that stretch from here to infinity."
"Valentine, remove your blinders, look beyond the coast of
Cornwall for just one minute and imagine what lies beyond the
ocean sea! No one knew Greenland was there before the Norse found
it. Perhaps the Genoese sailor is more perceptive than you think.
This does not sound like it all came to him in a fleeting dream.
You know what a tenacious lot the seafaring Genoese are. They are
maritime geniuses, cartographers and astronomers of the most
learned caliber. I would receive him here, in this very house,
should the court not find him absolutely fascinating."
"Go and chase your mystical faraway lands, my darling. As for the
King and myself, we have a kingdom to rule; aye, of diminutive
proportions indeed when you consider what may be beyond our
shores, but to us, the entire world weighs upon our shoulders."
The royal outer chamber was thronged with councillors, nobles and
curious hangers-on clamoring to catch a glimpse of this sailor
whose intriguing theory was kindling many an imagination. But
Valentine was not among them. He was busy putting the finishing
touches on the creation of the Council of the North, of which he
was the newly appointed President.
But Denys was there. She'd already formed a heartfelt empathy for
this fellow journeyer, whose lifelong quest mirrored her own. He
too searched for something he might never find, yet no one could
ever discourage him. She didn't want to miss meeting him a second
time. She planned to sit him down in the privacy of the inner
chamber, away from the gawking crowd, probe deep into his soul and
learn the forces that drove him beyond what terrified lesser men.
She wanted to offer her blessings and the encouragement, borne of
her own quest for truth, to never give up in the ugly face of
adversity.
Her eyes swept the chamber, scanning the overworked councillors'
haggard faces. Pages scurried about with piled up trays. Voices
clashed around her like a section of untuned viols. Then through a
parting in the crowd she distinguished a pair of sharp blue eyes
as he glanced her way, his hands slicing the air in a display of
elaborate gestures as he spoke.
He stood in vibrant contrast to the pallid English countenances
around him. An olive-skinned man stood close by, relaying his
every word.
He looked away but she kept her eyes locked on his. He riveted his
focus once more in her direction and she knew she'd evoked the
smile that she returned.
She made her way up to him through the crowd and after a minute
they were introduced. His interpreter stood at his side, relaying
Colombo's confession that his English was far from fluent, and
unfortunately Genoese wasn't among the languages of the English
nobles. Richard had already asked him if he spoke French, and he
replied that his French was halting. So he stuck to Genoese
through his interpreter, who presented himself as Silvio.
Colombo took Denys' hand and kissed it as she dipped him a curtsy.
"Cristoforo Colombo, it is a pleasure to meet you. I am Denys,
Duchess of Norwich," was translated by Silvio.
"Means slowly," Silvio said. "And what better name for an
interpreter?" Colombo gave an exaggerated shrug, throwing his
hands up with a flourish that she found engagingly charming. His
hands, so dexterous at accompanying the nuances of his phrasing,
needed no rings in order to sparkle.
Up close, he was tall and well-built, his ruddy features glowing
with the roughness of the seas he traversed. The aquiline nose
toted a light scattering of freckles. The eyes were sharp,
piercing, reflecting her own passion for truth.
The wavy red hair brushing his collar had nearly faded to white,
but he was not an old man. As the melodious language flowed from
his lips, she stared, awe-struck. Here was a man who'd been to
places she'd only dreamed about, and had the desire to go even
farther. She was bursting with questions, and when Richard led him
and Silvio into the receiving chamber, she followed closely. "I am
not letting him out of my sight, Richard. I want to meet someone
who is as obsessed as I am with finding the nearly impossible,"
she said to the King in a half-whisper. Richard returned her
sparkling gaze with a mildly amused half-smile and nod of
agreement.
"Tell me where you have been, Sir Colombo. Tell me about the
distant shores on which you've stood, and then tell me where you
plan to go next!" she gushed after servitors brought them tankards
of wine with plates of cheese and fruit.
Through Silvio, he relayed his more recent voyages to Ireland and
Iceland. He described his first long voyage, to the island of Scio
in the Aegean, "The birthplace of Homer," he said. "The island is
the gateway to the Orient, the most enchanted land in the world as
we know it," he continued.
"Their costumes are full of color, overflowing with silks, pearls,
gems that would make your mouth water. Scio is a wondrous island.
Her main commodity is mastic." Denys winked at Richard, knowing
this was but one of an abundance of unknown delights from the
world's far reaches.
Colombo signalled Silvio, and the interpreter proceeded to place
several gift boxes before the King. Thanking him, Richard opened
the boxes and lifted out several delicate bottles in glittering
colors, decorated in gold leaf. Their stoppers diffused the
sunlight streaming through the window, and cast rainbow ribbons
onto the table.
Silvio translated Colombo's words: "The glass vessels are
Venetian, made by Mastro Pietro, our most famous glassblower.
They are very delicate and are my gifts to you. They contain
mastic, from the mastic tree. It is used to make perfume, sweets,
and..." He indicated four covered drinking vessels filled with the
cloudy liquid, "this is to be sipped, rolled around the tongue and
savored, like the finest wines.
It is grown throughout the Mediterranean, but southern Scio's
mastic bark is readily distinguishable from any other, for it
yields the most aromatic and redolent scents and tastes.
The Turkish sultan consumes enormous quantities of it for his..."
Silvio faltered, as if searching for the right word.
"...many women." Denys pulled the glass stopper from one of the
bottles and took a whiff of the exotic elixir. It was heady
indeed, stinging her eyes with its pungent aroma. Its mystical
essence certainly surpassed English rose and lavender oils, which
were downright stale by comparison.
"Of all the sensual beauties on Scio, the scents spurred my
imagination," Colombo said through Silvio. "My sense of smell is
my strongest, a necessary requirement for navigating the seas in
order to detect winds and currents, but it was Scio that inspired
me to push on for what lay beyond.
It is a land of enchantment, an awakening of the spirit." As he
spoke, Richard ventured a sip of the mystical mastic and barely
suppressed an abhorrent grimace. Trying hard to mask a smile,
Denys turned, re-fixed her gaze on the sanguine Genoese and
continued to bombard him with questions.
They learned quite a bit during those first few hours of their
acquaintance with the Genovese, most importantly that he'd
recently appealed to the King of Portugal for financing of his
voyage across the Ocean Sea but was rejected.
Though he hadn't yet asked, she had a feeling Valentine had been
right and this visit was indeed to solicit the English crown's
backing. Richard's offer of financial assistance did not come
tumbling out of him, however.
Denys wanted to hear much more about the voyages, the exotic lands
and peoples, not even wanting to broach the subject of finances.
All too soon he had to leave for an appointment with Richard's
newly created Admiralty Office.
When the Genoese and his interpreter parted the chamber, Denys
leaned forward to address the King.
"Richard, he is the most fascinating person I have ever met. He is
so much like me in the sense that he wants to find what he knows
is out there, and is willing to overcome all obstacles to do it!
Oh, he is such a dauntless spirit!" He drummed his fingers on the
table. "Not dauntless enough. Or was it politeness that kept him
from urging me to raid the treasury?" He raised a brow and laugh
lines creased his cheek.
"‘Twas only your first meeting, Richard. He is adhering to
protocol. Mayhap he is waiting for you to offer it to him. Would
you consider having the crown finance his expedition?"
"Dove, if I were simply a wealthy nobleman with time on my hands,
without a vexatious burden of expenses, I would consider the
possibilities of capital gain in financing his odyssey. But my
burdens here within my own realm border on the unbearable, and I
have neither the time nor the inclination to offer him the
assistance and support he seeks." Adjusting his cloak, Richard
rose, but she reached across the table to pull him back down.
"Oh, Richard, sit down for once, take a few moments out of your
work-laden life and experience something not of this land!" She
held one of the delicate bottles out to him and he looked away,
fanning his hand through the air.
"Take a whiff of this bouquet, Richard! ‘Tis something out of a
dream!"
"I thought it was something out of Houndsditch," he retorted,
wrinkling up his nose. "It pongs." She impatiently tugged on a
tendril of her hair and tossed it over her shoulder. The King
sighed wearily and, pressing his palms on the table, stood and
headed for the door.
"Oh, Richard, you and your stodgy English isolationistic
partiality! Colombo is fairly bursting with confidence and he has
the knowledge to back it up! Mayhap the King of Portugal missed
out on the opportunity of a lifetime. You should consider being a
part of this dream."
"I cannot go chasing dreams at the moment, Dove," he replied, his
fingers wound round the door's golden handle.
"Were I lounging upon a pile of silken pillows like the Turkish
sultan, my most pressing decision being which concubine to tumble
next, perhaps I could. But if whatever else lies beyond is
anything like that potion...ugh!..." He pointed to the bottles of
mastic. "...'tis worse than anything Bess Woodville's harpy ever
brewed up. I shall stick to my simple hippocras, thank you."