The Devil in Ermine Read online

  As we reached the crossroads with the Great North Road outside Daventry, we found a weary knight with Gloucester’s boar bristling upon his surcote sitting upon a milestone awaiting us. The young man’s Yorkshire dialect was thick and hard to follow after the lilt of Brecknock. He gave us to understand that his master was close to arriving at Northampton. The good feeling returned: Gloucester trusted me.

  ‘How many men are in his Grace’s retinue?’ I asked his messenger.

  The fellow looked down the column behind me before he offered an unintelligible answer.

  ‘I think he said it was about the same as ours,’ Latimer interpreted.

  ‘What about the Prince’s retinue, sirrah?’

  A shake of head. So the Prince had not yet arrived.

  ‘Return to his Grace and tell him…’ I drummed the words slowly out. ‘Tell-him-I-greet-him-and-we-shall-make-haste. Understand?’

  Something must have sunk into his northern pate. The idiot saluted and gave spur.

  So where were the sodding Woodvilles, behind us or already down the road to London? If the Ludlow retinue had already met up with the army of retainers that the Queen was sending from London to safeguard her son, Gloucester and I might be done for already.

  It was beginning to rain, our pennons were starting to droop and I have to be honest and admit my stomach was churning with such unease that I had to go and relieve myself behind a hedge before I ordered my retinue forwards.

  ‘Well, your grace, you can always order a pair of boots in Northampton, if nothing else,’ chirped Pershall, ready with a flask of water. ‘Either that or a roast beef repast. Ah, listen, it sounds as though one of the lads is back. Shall I brush the blackthorn blossom from your grace or is your grace happy to look like a May Day damsel?’

  I swore at him good humouredly and clambered back onto the road, brushing my shoulders. Ralph Bannaster awaited me, spattered and scarlet, his horse all lathered.

  ‘My lord, the Prince and Lord Rivers have already passed through Northampton!’

  ‘Christ Almighty!’ I exclaimed, swiftly setting foot in my horse’s stirrup. My angry fingers jerked on the bridle and my poor stallion protested. Maybe this chess game of power was already lost. I could imagine my head on the block. Yes, and the Queen and Rivers would be selling Cat to a new husband, faster than it takes to spit.

  ‘It isn’t Doomsday yet,’ my steward, Sir Thomas Limerick, pointed out. ‘We can still keep our noses out of this.’

  True, I thought, but sometimes you have to grasp Fortune with your fist and squeeze the juice out of her. Aloud, I said, ‘What, Tom, go all the way back to lousy Brecknock with our tails curled around our arses?’ I kneed my horse round to face the road ahead. ‘No, lads, let’s meet with Gloucester as promised.’

  Once we reached the great street from the west, it was clear that a mighty retinue was ahead of us. The way was much troughed and that slowed us mightily.

  Some half-dozen of Gloucester’s knights met us a mile outside the town. Sir Richard Ratcliffe of Derwentwater was their leader, bidden to show me to my inn. I was soon to learn that he was Gloucester’s intermediary. Wherever there was trouble affecting his master, dour Ratcliffe was there to fix it. For sure, he had come to inspect me, not only my demeanour but to see if my following exceeded the specified number and whether my men were fully armoured. The grey eyes on either side the hawk nose missed nothing. Unlike his companions, he was hard to charm but at least he was able to tell me that the Prince and my brother-in-law Rivers were putting up for the night at Stony Stratford, a town which lay fourteen miles beyond us on the road to London. What in Hell did that mean? Why had they not waited for us?

  Ratcliffe’s companion knights and esquires were full of cheer and banter but by the time we sighted Northampton’s walls, I realised they had completely surrounded me, isolating me from my affinity. Ratcliffe himself was riding knee to knee beside me, within a hand’s grasp of my horse’s reins and a blade distance from my throat. Uncle Knyvett made an attempt to force his horse up beside me before we reached the town gate but the Yorkists subtly kneed their amblers to block him. I glanced round at him and shook my head imperceptibly.

  Clearly, my cousin Gloucester was as edgy as a boar who hears the snarl of hunting dogs. The guards holding the gate wore the White Boar badge and everywhere along the street, his men-at-arms stood outside the inns and hostelries. I was unnerved and angered by my cousin’s suspicion; this place was where my mighty grandfather had been slain fighting for the House of Lancaster. Maybe I would not leave here either.

  ‘You can tell that tanning is the local livelihood,’ observed young Strangways, one of the White Boar esquires, wrinkling his nose.

  Yes, Northampton did smell and the cobbles, dappled with horse turds from the Prince’s retinue, added to the stink. The townsfolk, still shovelling the dung into hand barrows and wooden pails, had to be shooed out of our path despite the trumpets.

  ‘Ah but I hear they breed good oxen in these parts,’ I remarked, determined to appear at ease. ‘I daresay we can expect beef for dinner, Ratcliffe, unless your lord has any other plans for me this evening.’ I met his stare evenly. He smiled.

  ‘You’ll be wanting to change into clean apparel when you reach the inn, my lord. I’ll inform his Grace that you shall be joining him as soon as you are refreshed.’ It was a command not a statement.

  ‘I suppose he is putting up at the castle?’

  ‘No, my lord, it lacks comfort. He prefers The Bear. My lord of Warwick always stayed there.’ And Richard, as page and then esquire to Warwick the Kingmaker, would have known it well.

  The inn awaiting me was clean and the servants efficient. The town knew its duty to travellers. However, by the time I had dealt with bowing and grovelling from the mayor and aldermen who had turned up in their official chains and houpelandes to honour me, it was almost past the supper hour.

  ‘Pray ask my lord of Gloucester to start supper without me,’ I ordered Ratcliffe, who had remained like an unwanted shadow, and I hastened up the stairs and strode along the gallery above the courtyard, unbuttoning my riding doublet as I went. A hungry man kept waiting for his food is more easily annoyed, and I needed Gloucester open to persuasion. For an instant I thought Ratcliffe had ignored my order but then he nodded in his rather sour way, doffed his cap and loped back to his master.

  Pitchers of hot water and fresh towels were waiting in my chamber, thank Heaven; it would be hard to negotiate my future smelling of sweat and horseflesh. Pershall had already lain out fresh apparel for me and seen that my coffers had been brought up. I flung out my arms to my servants to disrobe me and then I dismissed them except for Pershall. As he went to work lathering my stubble, I told him to cease his chatter. I needed time to gather my thoughts. Tonight I had to make sure that Gloucester would trust me and convince him how badly he needed my support.

  I could not use wine to soften my cousin’s wits. He was known to be a man of great sobriety so I would have to rope him in with the right arguments – no easy matter when the execution of his brother George, Duke of Clarence’s still lay between us like a swollen river. That was the only office King Edward ever gave me, and a filthy, defiling one it was too, compelling me to head the jury of peers that sentenced the Duke to death for treason. Gloucester had rarely come to court after that. He had made no secret that he blamed the Queen for poisoning King Edward’s mind and had openly said that one day he would avenge his brother’s death. Maybe that was the other reason why the Woodvilles were hurrying the boy to London. They sensed revenge was in the wind. Well, as long Gloucester did not rattle his hackles in my direction.

  ‘Your grace!’ Bannaster’s voice came from outside the door, interrupting my thoughts. Pershall let him in. I twisted round to curse the pair of them but then I saw who was with them. Francis, Lord Lovell, another loyal friend of Gloucester’s. I knew him already. He was about the same age as I and, like the dog on his badge, a tail-wagging, amiable man.


  We shared a common grievance. Neither us had been happy with the wives forced upon us. I remember one night in London when he had come down from the north in Warwick’s entourage. We happily coincided at a tavern in Thames Street and drank ourselves under the board in mutual commiseration.

  ‘Lovell!’ Thrusting aside the hot towel, I rose to shake his hand warmly. ‘Viscount Lovell now, I hear. Congratulations! Come to hurry me up, have you? Is the duke growing hungry and too polite to begin without me?’

  ‘You are looking well, your grace, albeit half-shaved.’ His voice still had the burr of Oxfordshire despite his upbringing in Yorkshire.

  I grinned and submitted once more to Pershall’s razor.

  ‘How is the Lady Catherine?’ he asked.

  ‘How is Lady Nan?’ I countered.

  He smiled wryly, his glance taking in the sparse furnishings and white-washed walls around us. ‘This is bearable. Any bed lice?’

  ‘I gather they've moved on to Stony Stratford,’ muttered Pershall beneath his breath.

  Lovell laughed and then his attention returned to me. ‘I am sent to warn your grace that the Duke has an unexpected guest for supper.’ I raised an enquiring eyebrow, unprepared for what came next. ‘No less than your fine brother-in-law, Lord Rivers. He rode in about the same time as you did, so my lord of Gloucester apologises that he did not come out to meet you.’

  ‘God’s Truth, what is going on?’ I grabbed the towel and began hurriedly dabbing away the soap. Pershall quickly filled a bowl with the hot water set ready for me and Lovell frowned as he watched me frantically sluicing my neck and armpits.

  ‘We wondered that too, your grace.’ He was eyeing me now as though I might be harbouring secrets. ‘Imagine, Lord Rivers has ridden back all the way from Stony Stratford this afternoon to pay his respects to the Lord Protector.’ The title had not been used in England for a long time. But that thought was pushed aside. It was what Gloucester might be thinking about me that had me concerned. Was he suspecting that Rivers and I had planned some kind of ambush?

  ‘How is Lord Rivers then? Full of wit? As friendly as a starving whore?’ Was I trying too hard? Tumbling over my shoe beaks trying to sound innocent?

  Lovell did not answer. The turret of the nearby Grey Friars was ringing out the hour.

  ‘I think you had better summon your tiring men, your grace. Supper grows cold.’

  My servants rushed back in and swarmed about me to tie my points, loop the knopfs of my doublet and urge my boots to slide on. Arms folded, Lovell waited, lolled against the side of casement. It did not escape me that he kept glancing sideways to the courtyard below. What was he expecting? Rivers to arrive with a spare dagger in case I had forgotten mine?

  ‘Is the Pope coming as well?’ I jested, checking my dress in a silver hand mirror.

  ‘If he does, he’ll have to sleep in a stable.’ Some of Lovell’s friendliness was seeping back.

  ‘Do him good then,’ I chuckled. Grabbing my hat, I made for the door, with Lovell following.

  ‘My lord!’ One of my bodyservants held my dagger scabbard across his palms. This might be my Last Supper if aught went wrong but I needed to convince Gloucester I was trustworthy.

  ‘Go to supper!’ I ordered them, ignoring the fool.

  ‘But you will need this, my lord! ’ Pershall, smiling, tossed my mantle to me.

  Knyvett and my household knights fell in behind us. I was still straightening my hat brim as we reached Richard’s inn. Lovell abandoned us at the door to the fulsome welcome of the landlord while he went to announce my arrival to his master. To my astonishment, Gloucester came in person to greet me, pulling aside the gaudy arras of the passage to the private dining chamber and stepping down with arms held out.

  ‘Cousin of Buckingham, a thousand welcomes.’

  Hell, he looked the worst I have ever seen him. He had been grieving, of course, and he was not a man who looked well in black; more a rust, moss and amber fellow. Instead of embracing him, I plucked off my hat and dropped to one knee, thankful the flagstones were clean. My henchmen did the same.

  ‘My Lord Protector,’ I murmured reverently, touching my lips to his ring.

  ‘I thank you, Harry.’ His voice was soft, moved with gratitude. He gripped my hand, drawing me to my feet. Then he stepped forward to greet Uncle Knyvett, Latimer and Delabere, and asked one of his pages to lead them out to join his household knights. Returning to me, he flung an arm about my shoulders. ‘Come, cousin! You must be famished, and the beef is tender…’ he glanced round to make sure mine host had been hustled out of earshot and added, ‘for Northampton.’

  ‘I thought to find you in poor spirits, your grace,’ I said, and saw his long chestnut lashes flicker down defensively.

  ‘I have done my mourning, cousin, and now must do my duty.’

  I endeavoured not to freeze at as a voice behind me said, ‘Which you will do magnificently as usual, Dickon.’

  Sweet Mother of God! Rivers!

  ‘Well, now here’s a surprise,’ I boomed. ‘I thought you ahead of us on the road.’

  Cat’s big brother left the brass rings of the dividing curtain rattling as he emerged out of the inner chamber like a peacock butterfly from its chrysalis. The ash blonde hair and the expensive silver embroidery panels on his doublet made him look like a Burgundian courtier rather than a man in grief. His hanging sleeve rustled as he held out a hand to me. A plethora of gems, including a lodesterre as large as a sword pommel glittered on the long, thin fingers that reached out to clasp mine. Imagine a torch held in your face! That is what I felt as his aquamarine eyes studied me with a penetrating brilliance that reminded me sharply of the Queen.

  Mind, I saw now that there were plentiful silver threads in his hair and the flesh above his feline eyes was looser. He still had an athlete’s body and could best my inches. Damn him! It irritated me that I could still feel vulnerable. Just standing before him was like having his fingernails claw my scars.

  Not visible scars, though. He was too clever for that. It was he who had made my journey to manhood a torment, encouraging his younger brothers and the Grey boys, the Queen’s sons by her earlier marriage, to discomfort me in front of the court. The sudden elbow knock that would make me stumble, or an ankle hooked about my foot so that I tipped a ewer of hot lavender water into the lap of King Louis XI’s envoy. These may sound like pinpricks but a regime of maliciousness and loathing corrodes the soul. There were so many Woodvilles and there was only one of me.

  I was not alone in feeling soft and fragile within my shell. I sensed discomfort ripple through Gloucester as he stood beside me, and so I turned my face reassuringly. My cousin’s skin glimmered moon-white beneath his mourning brim as he glanced from Rivers’ countenance to mine.

  ‘Is the Prince here as well?’ I asked, glancing towards the arras.

  ‘No,’ Rivers replied, sounding surprised by my question. ‘His highness is lodging in Stony Stratford. Did no one tell you?’ Belittling me, making me feel like an outsider, had always been his game.

  Gloucester took breath to correct him but Rivers breezed on: ‘Yes, Harry, I know we had promised to meet with you here but any fool could see that Northampton was not going to be able accommodate everyone. I decided it was better for us all to be comfortable.’

  You silver-tongued liar! I silently screamed at him. You must have planned this the moment you heard that we were coming to meet you.

  ‘That was thoughtful,’ I replied.

  ‘Shall we dine?’ Gloucester said curtly and left us to follow him along the passage while Lovell and Ratcliffe closed in behind myself and Rivers, ready to catch any snatch of words which might pass between us.

  The trouble is when you expect slurs and sneers, you read them everywhere. Rivers gestured for me to precede him but even his acknowledgment that I had that right was like an insult.

  ‘How is our Catherine?’ he asked.

  ‘In good health and our latest babe is thriving,�
�� I replied, over my shoulder. Both of his wives had been infertile but he did have a lovechild by some slut of a noblewoman south of Bristol. ‘Cat would have liked to come with me.’ Yes, it was petty of me to remind him I had power over ‘Our Catherine’ but to resist that temptation would have been like holding back the tide.

  ‘How miserable of you not to bring her, Harry. The Queen would have been overjoyed to see her again. You must promise us you will let her come to London in sufficient time to have a new gown made for the coronation.’ That was a return jab, a reminder of my wife’s lament that I kept her in rags; a reminder, too, of the intent to crown the prince as soon as possible so as to dispense with Gloucester’s protectorship.

  I smiled and took my seat at the board. It was set for just the three of us. Hunger was making me irritable but my capacity to put up with Rivers increased at the appearance of a platter of perch swimming in hot spiced sauce. My winecup with filled with an excellent claret – hard to come by since we had lost hold of Bordeaux.

  My cousin was watching my face as I tried it. He knew I had a more sensitive taste for wine than most Englishmen. Along with hawks and hounds, wine had always been a safe choice of talk between us.

  ‘It has travelled passing well, would you not say?’ he asked and this gave Rivers a chance to sound forth on wines he remembered from his pilgrimage to Compostela. The man shoved his knowledge down other men’s throats like a scullion stuffing a capon’s arse. I had heard it all before from him but it helped loosen Gloucester’s reserve. By the time the local roast beef coffyred in pastry with a glaze of egg and saffron arrived, the conversation was flowing like the River Honddu after a summer thunderstorm.

  My cousin let us have our heads, making little comment on our opinions. He skilfully kept the conversation light; perhaps he wanted to forget his fears for a little space, to pretend that his brother Edward still lusted in London and that we three noblemen were met together like chance travellers. Three unwise men seeking a king?