PART TWO
For as well as I have loved thee, mine heart will not serve me to see thee.
—SIR THOMAS MALORY, MORTE D’ARTHUR
11
Lisbon
1490
Right noble and beloved aunt,
Your letter finds me exceedingly well as I sit in my customary spot upon the ramparts of the Castelo de São Jorge watching the ships come and go from the wharves down the river to the sea. It also finds me about to embark on another adventure.
I am to be apprenticed to a merchant and sea captain from the duchy of Brittany named Pregent Meno. Going to sea will be a dream come true for me and I hope this will meet with your approval. I understand from Sir Edward that I have to thank you in part for my good fortune. Once again, dear aunt, I am in your debt. When will I ever be able to repay you? It happened like this: Sir Edward took it upon himself to recommend me to Captain Meno, telling him that I had connections to the dowager duchess of Burgundy. Impressed with that information and after an interview, I am happy to tell you that the merchant decided I should become his apprentice. You see how Sire de Montigny’s years of teaching me mathematics has helped me learn accounting!
I must learn many things about commerce here in Lisbon before I can travel abroad. My new master trades in cloth, and I have marveled at the hundreds of bolts of silk, satin, damask and velvet that line the shelves of his warehouse in Belém. One day, I swear, I shall wear beautiful clothes again. Many of the bolts reminded me of the gowns you used to wear at Binche, and they brought back happy memories of my time there. But I have a sad confession to make, dearest aunt. I can no longer conjure up your face as I used to when I first left you. It has been four years after all, and I suppose you, too, have forgotten how I look. I do not think you would know me now if you saw me again, in truth. I am no longer the innocent boy Jehan, of that you can be certain!
As for Sir Edward, do you know that King Henry has forgiven him and he is free to go to England once more, although he is in such high favor with King Jão, I know not why he would want to leave Lisbon. It seems that a few months ago, when the king’s ambassadors were visiting from England, Sir Edward entertained them at great expense. I was a little disappointed in his behavior towards these men of Tudor’s—I know you would not have approved of such a show from this staunch supporter of the house of York. But his efforts were rewarded by a pardon from King Henry, and the last thing he did before he left Lisbon to visit Bruges on his business was to arrange for my employment with Pregent Meno. This led me to believe that his actions were not entirely selfish. Could he be going back to Flanders to spy for you? Certes, you cannot answer that, for even though we have used our cipher and our secret addresses successfully all these years, there is always the chance that someone might take an interest in letters from an aunt to her “darling boy” as you used to call me.
It heartened me to learn from your letter that Lord Francis Lovell was with you last year and that you gave him a safe conduct to go to Scotland. The rumor that reached us in those months after the battle of Stoke was that he had drowned. And you tell me that the bastard son of King Richard is with you now. John of Gloucester has long intrigued me—but you speak so highly of him in your letter that I worry he is taking my place in your affections! I often think of those two poor princes imprisoned in the Tower. Do you have news of them? My former master, Admiral da Cuhna, was convinced they are dead, but Doña Catarina confided to me that she and her “Bisagudo” believe one or both of them still live. I have always felt a bond with the younger one—the duke of York, is he not—because he was born in the same year as I. Did I tell you that when I first went to live with the Bramptons, Sir Edward remarked on a likeness between him and me? ’Twas puzzling, aunt, because he knows I am just a boy from Tournai.
In other news from abroad, we heard of the death—nay, murder—of James of Scotland in battle, and that his fifteen-year-old son, the new King James, was the leader of the rebels. Astonishing that a son would so conspire against his own father. I also learned of the birth of a princess to King Henry’s queen in November.
In April, when the fog rolls away from the Tagus and the winds are fair, I shall sail with Captain Meno, so I shall be here to receive a letter should you need to send me one until then. After April, I know not where I may be, and my whole being thrills with the anticipation of adventure.
I pray you are well and that your charge, the young duke of Burgundy, grows into a fine young man. If he receives as much affection from you as I did, he must be a happy boy indeed. Written in Lisbon, this twelfth day of December in the year of Our Lord, 1489, from the ramparts of the Moorish Castelo de São Jorge, my special place high above the river where I come every Sunday after Mass to watch the ships come and go from the sea.
Respectfully and with love, your Perkin
Binche, 1490
Right well beloved nephew,
I greet you from Hainault in this chilly month of March. Every time I come here I am reminded of you. Your room is as you left it, and I refuse to let anyone change it. I particularly remember the conversation we had in it when I explained that you had to go away. I shall never forget the sadness in your eyes, and it was then I knew you truly loved this old woman. Aye, I am in my forty-third year and feel age in my very bones, especially when the cold winds blow like today.
I was pleased to receive your letter and to know you will be fulfilling your desire to go to sea. Be careful, my boy! Do not climb too high or engage in any brawls. Mariners can be brutes. ’Tis fortunate you told me when you would leave, because this letter is of the utmost importance. The time has come when I have need of you, my dear child. I pray to God that you have not forgotten your promise to me all those years ago in Binche. The Sunday after you are in receipt of this, you should return to your favorite writing spot that you have described so many times and wait. I do not want you to change your routine that day, but you may be joined by a stranger. Listen to him well, for he knows my mind.
Pierrequin, you believe your life will be changing because you are going to sea, but it will change more than you will ever guess. This is all I dare write now, but remember, be at the meeting place on Sunday next.
Your faithful and loving aunt
I notice that in this letter Aunt Margaret gives nothing of our identities away—I know she must have been at Binche, because it is her favorite palace in the province of Hainault. How clever she is! But I am now consumed with curiosity as I sit here on the wall of the Castelo and wait. Certes, I have not been able to sleep or eat since I received the letter. What can the duchess possibly want from me? What do I have to offer her? All I know is if she asked me for the moon, I would give it and the sun to her. She has my complete duty and devotion.
There are more people here today, as the king and his court are in residence. But no one pays me any mind—I always wear my old badge so the guards think I am from the house of da Cuhna, a name well respected at King Jão’s court.
But wait! Sweet Jesu, I see a stranger approaching…
12
London
SPRING 1490
Sir Edward Brampton seeks an audience, your grace,” the prior’s favorite, Brother Damien, purred after bowing low to Elizabeth. Like a satisfied cat, Grace thought, watching him lick his sensuous lips at this juicy piece of information and straighten back up. An Adonis, Katherine had deemed him, and she could never reconcile his looks to his chosen vocation. “’Tis no wonder the abbot desires him,” she had declared.
Grace had been shocked the first time she discovered that men of the cloth defied God’s holy law of chastity: it was common knowledge the priest who was assigned to serve communion at Delapre Abbey had sired a child, but when Grace had overheard Elizabeth tell Katherine that Father John took this handsome young monk to his bed, she was at once fascinated and repelled by the thought.
“Sir Edward Brampton?” Elizabeth repeated, surprise in her voice. “Here? To see me?”
“Aye, your grace. Shall I fetch him? He is with Father John,” Damien mewed.
Elizabeth nodded and characteristically put her hand up to her head covering to fluff out its silky folds. She had taken to wearing a widow’s barbe with a simple silver circlet anchoring it to designate her rank and hide her scrawny neck. But her hollow cheeks and rheumy eyes and the creases around her mouth gave away her age and failing health. She had lost three teeth that year, and so she rarely smiled.
“I pray you, fetch my mirror, Katherine,” she said, easing her aching body out of the chair and disturbing her lap dog. The animal found itself sliding off its mistress’s bony knees onto the wooden floor and yipped in annoyance. Lady Hastings held up the polished silver hand mirror and Elizabeth fussed with her wimple, asking for her favorite pearl and ruby brooch. “Grace, work your magic on my face, child. I would not have Sir Edward be shocked by my appearance after all this time. I believe the last time I saw him was at Richard’s court, before he ran off to Flanders to avoid Henry’s punishment.”
“Aye, he was a useful man to both your husband and his brother. A loyal servant of the house of York, for all he was a Jew,” Katherine remarked. Then, seeing Elizabeth’s look of reproof, she demurred, “a converted Christian, certes, thanks to Edward.”
“He must have made his peace with Henry, I am guessing, although visiting a traitor such as I must not endear him to my son-in-law,” Elizabeth mused. “Perhaps he is now spying for Henry. I would not put it past that adventurer.”
Grace listened absently as she smoothed white ointment on Elizabeth’s face, which, she admitted, besides being the fashion, did hide some of the lines. But she secretly thought the effect was more like a death mask, and she experienced a quiver of fear. What would become of her if Elizabeth died? She was completely dependent on her mentor and received only a few nobles a quarter out of Henry’s meager two-hundred-and-sixty-pound annuity to his mother-in-law. Elizabeth was obliged to pay the abbot for her small entourage’s board and lodging from it. The ladies’ everyday gowns were mended and patched, and only when Elizabeth received a visitor would she allow Grace and Katherine to robe her in a carefully folded gown left in the large carved wardrobe chest from her former glory days.
“I have no time to change my gown,” she said, sighing. “Sir Edward always told me I looked most beautiful in blue. This dull gray will look dowdy, in truth.” She frowned. “I wonder why the hurried visit?”
She had no time to ponder, as men’s voices were heard upon the stairs outside and a knock came soon after.
Elizabeth checked her reflection once more, straightened the brooch and, sitting down, arranged her skirts gracefully around her. “Come!” she called, sounding calmer than she felt. Grace, Katherine and the other two attendants flanked her as Sir Edward was ushered in. Grace immediately recognized a man who had spent many years at sea. He was handsome in a swarthy way, small but sinewy, with the merriest eyes she had seen at the abbey in all the time they had been in residence. She liked him instantly.
“Your grace,” he greeted her, going down on bended knee, hat in hand, and kissing her outstretched fingers. “I see your beauty has not diminished since last I saw you.”
Grace and Katherine were so heartened at the sound of Elizabeth’s tinkling laughter that their eyes met in a mutual smile of relief. When Elizabeth laughed, it was a good day at the abbey.
“You scoundrel, Sir Edward. I see you have not lost your ability to flatter a lady. Even one as old and hagged as I!” she replied, motioning him to stand. “To what do I owe the pleasure of a visit? Come, sit by me, I pray you. Pull up that chair,” she said, pointing to the larger of the two remaining chairs. “You may see to what penury I am reduced, Sir Edward. My son-in-law will have me dress in rags and sit on the floor ere long. Whereas you seem to have flourished in your enforced absence from our shores.” And she laughed again.
Sir Edward smiled, but his sharp eyes had already noticed the shabbiness of her clothes, the furniture and hangings on the bed, and he was shocked. “How often do you see your daughter, the queen, madam?” He could not believe Elizabeth Woodville’s daughter would allow her mother to live thus.
“Bess has been a few times—less of late, ’tis true, but she has recently given birth and Henry keeps her close,” Elizabeth said, determined to defend her daughter, who had not set foot in the abbey for almost a year. “And I was allowed out for a meeting with the French ambassadors at Westminster last November, not long before little Margaret was born. Let me see, that was six months ago,” she said brightly. “And I saw my grandson, who is a delightful child. I hear the new baby, too, is healthy enough.”
“Aye, she is healthy, your grace,” Sir Edward reassured her, trying to keep the sadness from his voice. “And the queen is churched and back to her duties at court.”
Grace noticed a hint of an accent in Sir Edward’s speech and wondered why he did not sound as English as his name. Perhaps all Jews speak with an accent, she mused, fascinated by this man in his exquisite murrey velvet doublet, edged with vair, and a ring on every finger. He must be exceedingly rich, she decided, admiring the wide gold collar around his neck and the jeweled garter circling his thigh.
“Grace, dear, do I need to present you twice?” Elizabeth admonished her and Grace started, turning embarrassed eyes on the visitor. She saw Katherine smirking at her over Elizabeth’s head, their fleeting friendly moment forgotten. “Sir Edward, forgive my young friend; she has a vivid imagination and lives in another world sometimes. Certes, I do not blame the child, because abbey life is dull for one used to the delights of court life.” She sighed. “I present Lady Grace Plantagenet to you again, Sir Edward, and perhaps she will respond this time.”
“I crave your pardon, Sir Edward,” Grace apologized, stepping forward and curtsying. “I am honored to meet you.” And she hurriedly retreated behind Elizabeth, hoping Sir Edward’s black eyes would stop assessing her. Aye, I am a bastard, she wanted to blurt out, now pray stop staring! But he was smiling kindly enough, and she relaxed the grip on her belt.
“Lady Grace,” he murmured and then turned his attention to Elizabeth.
“I would speak with Sir Edward in private, ladies,” she said, nodding to the two nearest the door. “Katherine and Grace will stay. Although, I dare say,” she added, chuckling at Sir Edward, “that people our age have no more need of chaperones, n’est ce pas, my dear sir.”
When the door closed on the two servants, Elizabeth got to the meat of Brampton’s visit. “I hope we may dispense with formalities now, sir. Why are you here?” she urged. Katherine and Grace stood discreetly at the back of the room, but they could still hear every word. “Knowing your loyalty to my husband and his brother, I cannot think Henry has sent you to give me his good wishes.” She lowered her voice. “Or are you now as good a spy for him as you were for Edward?” She held his eyes with her astonishing blue ones.
Sir Edward was on his knee in a trice, hat once again in hand. “Your grace, you cannot believe that I would betray you after all King Edward did for me. You must believe I am here with news that I thought might cheer you, ’tis all. In truth, I did not seek permission from King Henry to visit you, but it is well known at court that he does not deny you visitors. I regret I have not come sooner, but I have been…well, let us say…forced to stay abroad until this year.” He grinned and Elizabeth bade him sit again. “I thought it prudent to first present my apologies and duty to King Henry in person following my pardon. He was kind enough to find lodging for me within the palace for a week or so. But as soon as my audience was ended, I was determined to speak with you at the earliest opportunity. Perhaps I should have sent my servant to you before my visit. Certes, I had no wish to alarm you.”
“Forgive me, Sir Edward, but you cannot blame my anxiety. I was betrayed before, and look what happened to me. I needed to hear the loyalty in your voice, and indeed I am right glad to see you. I pray you, continue with your news.”
“Very well,
madam. I am recently come from Guisnes…” he paused when he saw Elizabeth frown. “’Tis one of the two castles that guard Calais, your grace.”
“I know that, Sir Edward,” Elizabeth said, a more little impatiently than necessary, Grace thought. “But why should that be of interest to me?”
“’Twas a conversation I had with the governor of the castle, Sir James Tyrell,” Sir Edward replied, ignoring her tone and pleased to see the queen dowager sit up at the mention of one of King Richard’s favored councilors. “Without revealing anything that could return to haunt him, Sir James led me to believe that one of your sons is still alive.”
All three women gasped, and Sir Edward swiveled round to look at Grace and Katherine, seeming to have forgotten they were there. Katherine hurried to Elizabeth, her eyes shining, and grasped her hand. “Ah, Elizabeth, your prayers have been heard!” she cried.
Grace sank down on a stool and observed the group: Elizabeth had blanched whiter than her makeup, her eyes wild with hope, and Katherine was chafing her friend’s hand and repeating “Dear God, dear God!” while Sir Edward stirred the rushes with his toe, waiting for the queen to speak. Can this be true? Grace’s heart pounded; one of her half brothers was found!
Elizabeth was momentarily speechless, so Sir Edward continued: “I have also had word from merchant colleagues in Bruges that your sister-in-law is putting it about that her nephew, the young duke of York, lives. Although his whereabouts seem to be a mystery,” Sir Edward told her. “When I heard the second rumor, I knew ’twas time I came to see you. I wish I had more to tell you, but I do not.”