‘I have the subtle impression that you’ve been trying to wind me up,’ said Roger.
‘Does that trouble you?’
‘Not at all. It’s just that if you ever talk to me like that again, I’ll pull you straight off your sodding horse and spank your arse.’
‘Promises, promises,’ I said.
‘I’ll remind you,’ he went on, ‘that I’m the one who gets to decide where we stay. I’m the leader of this expedition.’
‘What makes you think that?’
‘Because I’m the only knight around here, that’s what.’
‘You forget that I’m the King’s cousin,’ I answered, leaping up and standing so close to him that our noses almost touched. ‘Moreover, I cannot possibly be seen to take orders from someone dressed as a smelly peasant.’
‘Tell you what. The next French herald we meet, we’ll give him our pedigrees, and see who outranks whom.’
‘No need to be bloody sarcastic,’ I snapped. ‘After all, I never am.’
There’s nothing quite so romantic as a candlelit bowl of cabbage soup. Even now the mere whiff of the stuff makes me go weak at the knees. That’s my excuse for what happened next. That and the fact that I’d left my clavette on the ferry. Well, I couldn’t hold them all off for ever, could I? I’m only flesh and blood.
‘So, what you said about Stanley was a lie,’ Roger murmured.
‘Of course it was a lie,’ I said, picking a hair out of his chest. ‘Mind you, I did dance with him once. That was bad enough.’
I waited patiently for him to make sense of it.
‘You invented the whole, wild tale so that you wouldn’t have to marry Gloucester?’
I nodded. ‘Dead right. Quick, aren’t you?’
He sighed, and shook his head. ‘I can see that I am going to have to watch you even more closely than I imagined, Mistress Alianore Audley. I knew that you were saucy. I didn’t realise that you were raving mad.’
I smiled up at him. It was amazing how much more like a gentleman he looked without his clothes.
‘Save your breath,’ I said. ‘As a helpless damosel I demand my right to be ravished repeatedly.’
As my mother used to tell me, there’s nothing better than a good knight in bed.
Clarence, as I said, was in Valognes, lodged in the castle. Warwick was away on business, finalising his dirty deal with King Lewis of France and Margaret of Anjou. My cover story was that I had come over to wait on Duchess Isabel.
I gave my business card to the porter. (I had a couple of dozen gross run off by that fellow Caxton, and they proved very useful. I’m sure they’ll catch on. Mine said:
Alianore Audley, damosel.
Queens attended. Kings cousined.
Tournament favours distributed. Court intrigue consultant. Embroidery commissions accepted – ask for quote.
)
‘Hand this to your mistress,’ I instructed him.
‘Aven’t gor a mistress,’ he replied. ‘Aven’t gor the bladdy money to go running arfter fancy women. Nor on my wages, I haint.’
‘I mean to the Duchess of Clarence, you stupid pleb! Get on with it!’ I was rapidly running out of patience, and that damned knife had dragged one of my stockings down to my ankle. So you’ll understand that I wasn’t in the mood for an amusing Cockney working-class character.
Isabel welcomed me, glad to see a familiar face. She was bored out of her head, and anxious for news about what everyone was wearing at Court, and who was currently climbing into bed with whom. When you’re socialising with a Duchess you generally have to let her set the tone of the conversation, and so I couldn’t really get down to brass tacks.
Fortunately, it wasn’t long before Clarence made an appearance, with the usual glass of wine in his hand, and I was able to give him the letter from his mother. He opened it, read about three lines, turned puce, and dragged me off into his closet for a private word. I don’t know what the Duchess of York said in that letter, but I doubt whether she went over the top with compliments.
I told him what the crack was. That he was being given one last chance to return to his allegiance.
‘What’s in it for me?’ he asked. His breath stank of malmsey. Come to think of it, you’d not expect it to stink of brown ale, would you?
‘Your lands and titles. The love of your family. Fresh honours from Cousin Edward.’
‘What more?’
‘A subscription to Wine Drinker’s Monthly?’ I suggested.
‘Not enough,’ he grunted, pressing closer.
‘Two weeks all-expenses-paid holiday at an Audley manor of your choice?’ Things were getting pretty heavy at this point. I did think of going for my knife. There were two problems. One was that he was holding both my hands in a vicelike grip. The other was that, on reflection, I didn’t think that Cousin Edward would be too made up if I killed his brother, even a treacherous, worthless toad of a brother like Clarence. You can’t be too careful when dealing with royalty.
I considered the possibility of introducing my knee to his gonads, a trick my mother taught me for use in dire emergencies. I was just about to give it a go when the door swung open, and in walked Warwick the Kingmaker himself. He’d just that minute arrived back from the French Court, his bargaining concluded, and it was obvious from his face that he thought he’d caught Clarence playing away.
‘You’re making enough noise to wake the dead,’ he snapped. ‘What the heck’s going on here?’
‘Nothing much, Father-in-law,’ said Clarence, rather sulkily. He shrank to his proper size under Warwick’s harsh gaze, looking for all the world like a naughty schoolboy caught by the priest in the act of pissing up his grandfather’s tomb.
‘I know you,’ said Warwick, holding his finger under my nose. I noticed that the nail needed a good cleaning. ‘Never forget a face. Maud Roos? Right?’
‘Alianore Audley, my lord,’ I answered, curtseying.
‘That’s what I said. And what the hell are you doing here in France?’
‘I’m here to serve Her Grace of Clarence.’
‘Oh, aye? And who was it as sent for you?’
‘I did,’ said Clarence. This surprised me. Georgie was not noted for sticking his neck out for other people.
Warwick’s jowls moved, as if he was chewing it over. You could hear the cogs turning again.
‘All right,’ he answered graciously. ‘But see to it, wench, that it’s the Duchess you do serve, and not this bugger. Do you hear me?’
I nodded, and Warwick sent me off to join Isabel. I breathed again.
Isabel was feeling very sorry for herself. She had thought that her father’s intrigues were going to make her Queen of England, and she didn’t like the idea of her younger sister getting the job in her place.
I played on her jealousy, and I played on George’s hurt feelings. It took a few days, but, to be truthful, it was easy. Anyone could have done it. Clarence was always open to offers. He’d protected me from Warwick because he wanted to keep his options open. He soon agreed to write a letter to Edward, saying that he wished to come back into the fold, and I wrote one to Hastings giving full details of Warwick’s invasion plans. I gave them to Roger to carry back to England, because I had to stay with Isabel to avoid blowing my cover.
Next afternoon I was sitting on a window-seat with Isabel, helping her to untangle a skein of silk which she should never have tangled in the first place. I’ll be honest, I was thinking of Roger, hoping he was safely at sea.
Warwick walked in. He had something in his hand.
‘Messenger had a bit of a mishap,’ he said, throwing my letters on to my lap. They were covered with blood.