Wolf Wood (Part Two): The Dangerous years (20 page)

They went to one of the tables and his father found a place amongst people who worked with him in the archives. They were a deadly boring bunch. Steven glanced around to see if there was anyone who looked half-interesting. There wasn't. The children were just as dreary as their parents. Dark dresses and white lace were the order of the day for the girls. The boys wore dark gowns and white shirts just like their fathers.

Everyone was looking at him in his parrot costume. He guessed his father had lost more than a few points for allowing him to dress up. His lawyer colleagues would no doubt forbid their daughters to come anywhere near him, which was a good thing. That way he wouldn't have to put up with their prissy company. There was no shortage of exciting girls around the palace. Some were highborn with fantastic horses you could ride if they found you interesting.

A man in heraldic dress entered the hall through a rear door and banged on the floor with a gold-encrusted staff. Everyone got up and stood in silence as a procession of elegant people trooped in. The men were as
colourful
as himself but didn't receive the same looks of shocked disapproval. Quite the contrary, the people at the lower tables stood with solemn expressions. From the looks of awe on their stupid faces, you could have believed that a host of angels had arrived and the Virgin Mary was about to follow.

They stood in silence. Or, rather, the people at the lower tables stood in silence. Those standing around the high table continued to talk and were still talking when the queen came in. She wore a voluminous dress and was accompanied by two ladies-in-waiting. From their severe expressions, Steven concluded they were the dragons who were attending the queen when his mother paid her a visit.

The queen sat down. The dragons arranged her dress. The man with the staff banged it and a man with a loud voice announced that they could all sit down. Steven plonked his tankard on the pine boards and received further looks of disapproval from his father's colleagues, who were evidently unfamiliar with the military practice of taking your own drinking vessel to table.

His mother said that using your own drinking vessel was a good way to avoid other people's diseases. This time, she looked embarrassed. Steven returned the tankard to his belt and wondered about the foul diseases waiting to pounce on unwary diners at Westminster.

The meat of the day was venison. Steven had been told to expect that. A barge load had come down the river from Windsor. The woods around there were alive with deer and a big hunt had been arranged in the king's name. It was an annual event and King Henry had failed to put in an appearance.

Some said he was more interested in education than hunting and was down the road at Eton where he had founded a school for poor boys. Steven suspected the story was put out to cover something more serious than a dislike of hunting but wasn't prepared to say so. It would be very stupid to suggest that anything had happened to the king.

He munched his way through his meal. No one tried to speak to him so he could get on with the serious business of eating and seeing what was going on. The queen was hardly eating at all. Dishes were brought before her and taken away untouched. Instead of eating she was watching and listening to a man by her side.

Steven recognised him as the spy with the speech problem. His own father had a speech problem and sometimes stuttered. The spy muddled his Rs and Ws and was easy to recognise down the listening tube.

Right now he was telling Queen Margaret about the people who worked for her and was making no secret of it. His finger went from table to table pointing people out. Sometimes he would skip over them. On other occasions, he would talk for a long time and the queen would ask question.

Steven waited for him to reach their table. The pointing finger passed from one diner to the next and reached his father. The man consulted a notepad and was interrupted by the queen. She wasn't interested or already knew about the Gascoignes.

For a moment their eyes met. The queen's expression was enigmatic. She didn't return his smile. Nor did she frown, which was her usual habit when she caught people looking at her.

***

A
persistent rapping disturbed the cold night air. Alice turned over in bed and prodded Harald in the ribs. He was wearing a woollen nightcap and had a pillow over his head to shut out the noise of revellers in a neighbouring apartment.

'Harald. Wake up.'

She shook him and he stirred.

'There's someone at the door.'

'What's the matter?'

'The door, Harald.'

She pulled back the curtain of their four-poster bed and saw a white figure drift past. It looked like a ghost in the moonlight. Then she recognised Steven. He slept naked and had wrapped the bedclothes about him. He went to the door.

'What do you want?'

'I come at the Queen's command.'

'Show proof.'

Steven slid back the cover of the spy hole and put a mirror to it. He kept one handy for just such an eventuality. People sometimes had their eyes poked out at spy holes.

A badge appeared in the light of a flickering torch. It was difficult to make out the details but it looked like the badges carried by royal messengers.

'Her Majesty commands the presence of the person known as Sister Alice.'

'Who?'

'Sister Alice.'

'There's no Sister Alice here,' Steven yelled. 'Try next door where they're making all that noise. She's probably there.'

Alice pushed him aside.

'Her Majesty calls me that.'

She faced the door.

'I'll come as soon as I have attired myself.'

Steven knew about the
Sister Alice
thing and it bugged him. They should call his mother by her proper name. She wasn't a nun. He squinted through the spy hole. There was an armed guard with the messenger. He wasn't surprised.

The palace wasn't safe at night. It was like a small town. There were narrow lanes and alleys. People could wander in during the day and hide. They shut the gates at nightfall to keep out intruders but that was no protection against people who were already there.

His mother emerged from behind a curtain wearing her Sister Alice costume. It was the one the queen's father had given her. René was alright from what people said but Margaret was totally different.

Steven guessed it was only a matter of time before he met the queen. From what people said, she was not just showing an interest in his mother. She was showing an interest in him.

***

T
he messenger didn't know why Alice had been summoned. That wasn't surprising. No one was ever told more than they needed to know. The only clue was the form of address. She had been summoned as Sister Alice, not as Lady Gascoigne. As such, she was expected to wear garments that wouldn't look out of place on a nun or midwife.

The inner court was heavily guarded. The nest of buildings where the royal couple had their apartment was a fortress within a fortress. They entered the gatehouse and the messenger left. A woman appeared. Her speech was refined, her manner courteous and her eyes bleary. Alice guessed she had been called from bed.

Once satisfied that the messenger had brought the correct person and she was indeed the wife of Harald Gascoigne, the woman drew back a curtain and pointed to a narrow spiral staircase.

'You'll find her at the end of the passage.'

She spoke in a hushed voice as if she didn't want the guardsmen in the adjoining room to hear.

'Will you come with me?'

'No. You must go alone.'

The stairs were exceedingly narrow. Alice held her midwife's bag in front with one hand and squeezed up sideways. One painful step followed another. She was soon totally disoriented and unable to tell which way she was facing and how many floors she had climbed.

She expected a corridor like the one leading to the queen's private apartment. Instead, she found herself in a narrow, windowless passage. Lamps illuminated the bare stonework. The corbelled ceiling was blackened with soot and looked as if it hadn't been cleaned in years.

The truth dawned.
She was in one of the secret passages that ran inside the palace walls
. But why had they sent her that way? It didn't make sense. There was a perfectly normal way to get to the queen's chambers.

Was she being lured into a trap?

The infighting at Westminster beggared belief. No one was safe from the intrigues and suspicions that lurked around every corner. She had seen how the two dragons scowled at her. They had done so when she visited the queen and they were still scowling at dinner that same evening.

There was a castle in the Dordogne with trap doors in the floor. Paving slabs gave way and sent victims crashing into caverns. Harald had lost one of his envoys that way. Alice took a lamp from its niche and held it out in front of her. Hot fat splattered onto her gown. She ignored it and kept going. The lamp illuminated the way and she felt safer.

The passage followed the contours of the wall. At one point the stones reverberated with sound. She figured she was skirting the clock tower and the bell had just struck. The passage was now wide enough for her to carry her bag by her side. A door beckoned and she tapped lightly.

'Enter.'

The command was in French.

Alice pushed at the door and found herself in an ornately decorated room. Queen Margaret sat in a large bed, supported by pillows. No one else was in sight.

Alice curtsied.

'Your Majesty summoned me.'

'Yes. I would like you to examine me. My doctors wish to bleed me. They say I have a fever and they must remove toxins from my body.'

'Your esteemed father will perhaps have told you that I find no need for such remedies, Majesty.'

'Nor does Doctor Arundel,' Margaret muttered.

'We are in agreement on that and many other matters,' Alice said. 'We see no need for purgatives either ... unless the condition requires one.'

'What condition is that, Sister?'

'If a person has taken poison then a purgative is needed to expel the evil through the mouth. If a person is constipated then a different sort of purgative is required.'

'I have not taken poison and I'm not constipated,' Margaret replied gruffly.

'Then I would not prescribe a purgative, Majesty.'

'I wish you to examine me.'

Margaret swept back the bedclothes. She was naked below a short shift. Alice's first impression was that the woman's hips were too narrow for an easy delivery. Otherwise, she looked strong and healthy.

'Will you Majesty permit me to touch.'

'Do as you think necessary, Sister.'

There was something refreshingly straightforward about the reply. Alice was reminded of Margaret's father. René d'Anjou was a practical man who forgot ceremony when it came to practical matters.

'I shall need to feel baby and those parts of you that are important for the delivery of the child.'

'Go ahead, Sister.'

Margaret stretched herself out. From the way she was lying, Alice wondered if she had ever been subjected to expert medical examination. It occurred to her that all of her doctors were male and perhaps denied the opportunity to conduct a physical examination of their queen.

'You have a strong and healthy baby.'

'Alice spoke without thinking.'

'Do you think so, Sister?'

'I do indeed.'

'You are not just saying it to please me?'

Alice took Margaret's hand and placed it on her belly.

'There. You can feel him yourself. He is strong. Feel how he moves.'

Margaret ran her hand over her belly.

'And you say he's a boy?'

Alice wished she had not fallen into the trap of speaking of the infant as “he”. The mistake was easier to make in French than in English.

'The child feels strong like a male baby,' she tried to correct herself. 'But, I have known girl babies who have felt just as strong.'

'But, you think he is a boy?'

'All I can say is that the infant is strong.'

Margaret caressed her unborn child. She was determined to believe that she was bearing a future king of England and France. Alice wondered what would happen if the baby turned out to be a girl. A male substitute could always be found and the unwanted female consigned to a convent. Maybe that would be an acceptable solution for Margaret. Alice didn't know what to think. René d'Anjou's daughter was a very strange lady.

Sacrificial Lamb

T
he dragons were furious. Their lair had been penetrated and their authority threatened. The queen had gone behind their backs. Margaret had summoned Sister Alice in the middle of the night. Worse still, she had used a back entrance that was meant to be kept secret. Had it not been for the testimony of loyal servants, the incident might have escaped their notice.