Thomas stared at him over the rim of his cup.
‘You’re telling me this was all your idea?’ he said in wonder. ‘Who the hell are you, Derry Brewer?’
‘I’m a man you never want to cross, Tom. Never. I’m someone you should listen to, because I know what I’m talking about and I don’t forgive easy. I’ve told you what I know. If you start a war over a few hills and some sheep … Just don’t, that’s all. I’ll find you a stake to buy another place in the north, for old times’ sake. I can do that much.’
‘Alms for the poor? I don’t want your charity,’ Thomas said, almost spitting the word. ‘I earned my land here. I earned it in blood and pain and killing. It’s all mine, Derry, no debts, nothing. You’re sitting in my home and these are the hands that built it.’
‘It’s just another tenant farm,’ Derry growled at him, growing angry once more. ‘Let it go.’
‘No. You should go, Derry. You’ve said all there is to say.’
‘You’re turning me out?’ Derry asked incredulously. He closed his fists and Thomas lowered his head, so he looked back from under thunderous brows.
‘I am. I’d hoped for more from you, but you’ve made yourself clear.’
‘Right.’
Derry rose and Thomas stood with him, so that they faced each other in the small kitchen, their anger filling it. Derry reached for his waxed cloak and pulled it over himself with furious, sharp movements.
‘The king wanted a truce, Tom,’ he said as he reached the door and flung it open. ‘He gave up some of his lands for it and it’s done. Don’t stand in the road like a fool. Save your family.’
The wind howled into the kitchen, making the fire flutter and spit. Derry left the door swinging and disappeared into the night. After a time, Thomas walked over and closed it against the gale.
The ship plunged, dropping into a wave with such suddenness that it seemed to leave Margaret’s stomach behind. Spray spattered across the deck, adding to the crust of salt that sparkled on the railings and every exposed piece of timber. The sails creaked and billowed above her head and Margaret could not remember when she had enjoyed herself as much. The second mate roared an order and the sailors began heaving on ropes as thick as her wrist, moving the wooden yards round to keep the sails full and tight. She saw William striding along the deck, one of his big hands hovering near the railing as he approached.
‘One hand for the ship, one for yourself,’ she muttered, delighted at the English phrase and the sense of nautical knowledge it gave her. How could she have reached fourteen years of age and never been to sea? It was a long way from Saumur Castle in every possible sense. The captain treated her with blushing respect, bowing and listening as if every word she said was a gem to be treasured. She only wished her brothers could see it, or better still, Yolande. The thought of her sister brought an ache to her chest, but she resisted, holding her head up and breathing in air so cold and fresh that it stung her lungs. Her father had refused to send even a maid with her, causing William to become so red-faced and angry that she’d thought he might strike Lord René of Anjou.
It had not been a pleasant parting, but William had given up his indignation and hired two maids in Calais to tend to her, using his own coins.
Margaret smiled as Suffolk staggered and grabbed the railing. The ship lurched on grey seas, with cold autumn winds battering from the west. Calais itself had contained so many new experiences that it had overwhelmed her. The fortress port had been crammed full of the English within its walls. She’d seen beggars and shopkeepers as well as hundreds of gruff sailors everywhere, bustling to and fro with their sea chests and cargoes. When they’d paid off the last carriage driver, William had hustled her past some painted women, as if Margaret had never heard of whores. She laughed to recall his very English embarrassment as he tried to protect her from a sight of them.
A seagull called overhead and, to her delight, settled on one of the spiderweb of ropes that led everywhere, almost within reach of her hand. It watched her with beady little eyes and Margaret was sorry she didn’t have a crumb of cake or dry bread to feed the bird.
The gull startled and flew off with a harsh cry as William came up to her. He smiled to see her expression.
‘My lady, I thought you might enjoy your first glimpse of England. If you’ll keep a hand on the rail at all times, the captain says we can go to the prow — the front of the ship.’
Margaret stumbled as she went eagerly and he put a strong arm on hers to steady her.
‘Forgive the impertinence, my lady. You’re warm enough?’ he asked her. ‘No sickness?’
‘Not yet,’ Margaret replied. ‘A stomach of iron, Lord Suffolk!’
He chuckled at that, leading her along the pitching deck. Margaret could hear the hiss of the sea passing under them. Such speed! It was extraordinary and exhilarating. She resolved to return to sea when she was properly married in England. A queen could have her own ship, surely?
‘Can a queen have her own ship?’ she called, pitching her voice over the wind and screaming gulls.
‘I’m sure a queen can have her own fleet, if she wants,’ William roared back, grinning over his shoulder.
The wind was freshening and the mates were bellowing orders. The sailors moved busily once again, loosening shrouds and folding great wet sections of sails, then tying them off before making it all taut once again.
Margaret reached the bow of the ship, with William’s hand steady on her shoulder. As well as the stays and the high jib sail, only the wooden bowsprit and some netting were further out, crashing down almost to the waves and then up again, over and over. She gasped in delight as white cliffs loomed in the distance, bright and clean against the sea mist. Margaret took a breath and held it, knowing it was English air. She had never left France before. She had never even left Anjou. Her senses swam with so many new experiences and thoughts.
‘They are beautiful, monsieur! Magnifique!’
The sailors heard her. They smiled and cheered, already affectionate towards the girl who would be queen and who loved the sea as much as they did.
‘Look down, my lady,’ William said.
Margaret dropped her gaze and then gasped to see sleek grey dolphins racing along the surface of the sea, keeping perfect pace with the ship. They darted and leaped as if they played a game, daring each other to see how close they could come. As she watched, a pole and chain off the bowsprit dipped deep enough to touch one of them. In a sudden flurry, they all vanished into the deep as if they had never existed. Margaret was left with a sense of awe and wonder at what she had seen. William laughed, amused to be able to show her such things.
‘That’s why they call that part a dolphin striker,’ he said, smiling. ‘It doesn’t hurt them.’ The wind howled, so that he had to lean close and shout into her ear. ‘Now, it will be a few hours yet before we make port. Shall I call your maids to prepare dry clothes for you?’
Margaret stared out at the white cliffs, at the land whose king she had never met but would marry twice. England, her England.
‘Not yet, William,’ she said. ‘Let me stand here for a while first.’
PART TWO
Mine heart is set, and all mine whole intent,
To serve this flower in my most humble wyse
As faithfully as can be thought or meant,
Without feigning or sloth in my servyse;
For know thee well, it is a paradyse
To see this flower when it begyn to sprede,
With colours fresh ennewyd, white and red.
11
With warm furs on her hands and wrapped snugly around her neck, Margaret walked into the frost-covered gardens. Wetherby House was her first home in England, where she’d spent almost three months. The trees were still stark and bare, but there were snowdrops growing around their roots and spring was on its way. It could almost have been France and walking the paths eased some of the homesickness in her.