“Don’t trust those washhouse females. Half an hour in that putrid water, and you come out with spots on your prick and your purse cut.” With a yawn, he edged upwards and regarded his nephew, “Not that you’ve a scarcity problem in that direction of course. How’s the new wife?”
Nicholas grinned suddenly. “Had little enough opportunity myself lately, uncle, wife or no wife.”
“Heard you objected to the match. One of Peter’s cast offs, I understand. That bad, is she?” Jerrid Chatwyn passed the wine jug. “There’s cups somewhere, boy. Help yourself.”
Nicholas did. “As it happens, I was mistaken.” He drained the first cup of wine and winced slightly. “I should never have believed Peter in the first place.”
“Your dear brother, God rest his soul,” Jerrid shook his head, “never told the truth unless quite sure the truth would hurt someone more than the lie.”
“Brothers don’t sit well together in this family. I shall make sure to have only one son.”
“Drink up, Nick. Sobriety don’t sit well with this family either.”
The warmth of fire and wine were easing the growing pain in his back. Nicholas sprawled, and drank. “No shortage of the grape, then Uncle? The queen’s passing doesn’t seem to have affected you after all.”
Jerrid snorted. “Illustrious circles, Nick, and all too rarefied for me. Hardly ever met the dear lady. A Neville, as you know. She’ll be much missed in the North.”
“I met her highness on a few occasions and as queens go,” Nicholas said, sipping his wine, “I believe she was well loved both north and south.”
“Oh indeed, north – south – east – west, m’boy. Better than the last one at any rate,” muttered Jerrid. “She and her family caused no end of trouble after the old king died. And before, come to think of it.”
“You seem to think me an infant,” sighed Nicholas, putting his cup back on the table beside him. “I’m not so young I don’t remember what happened just two years ago. You may also remember I had a very small hand in quelling the situation on the king’s command. Not that he was king back then.”
His uncle chuckled. “I’m not that pissed. I know some of what you’ve got up to over past years – what with your secret dealings, and all that time spent with the little Princess Cecily – and no doubt a good deal more you’ve never told me too. You’ve never told your father any of it, have you? Not that I blame you for that. My fool of a brother could never keep his mouth shut any more than your brother could.”
“Enough,” sighed Nicholas. “I tell my family as little as possible since I trust none of them. And now, since you serve a thoroughly inferior Claret, I can only believe you’re as paupered as you say you are. Don’t you cadge off your dear brother anymore, sir? Or has he finally learned you never pay him back?”
“I’ve never borrowed a penny from your father,” objected his uncle. “I beg yes, I ask politely. Finally I demand. But as for promising to pay back, I’d not be such a fool. Sadly, he’s stopped giving. If it weren’t that the king pays, I’d never have afforded to dress in quality black, or eat more than rye bread. You see before you a broken man, Nicholas. A blight on the house of Chatwyn, I’m afraid. So the next time his highness sends you off on some special business, you’d better take me with you. Then I’ll have the chance of more than an inferior Claret.”
“The house of Chatwyn,” smiled his nephew, “is a blight in itself. My father’s a reprehensible old bore, you’re a penniless picklebrain, and both of you are permanently pissed. I’d take advantage and get pissed myself if this was a better brew, since less than half an hour back my dear father neither welcomed me nor offered me so much as a cup of ale.”
Jerrid shook his head. “A sad business it is, being the younger son. You should know, my boy, since you expected to inherit nothing until last year. Better you than Peter, I say, but he was your father’s favourite of course. Now the queen. They say there were portents. I was asleep when it happened, but I hear there was an eclipse when she died.”
“I saw it.”
“People stared, ran out into the street to look, and now there’s reports of folk going blind. Medicks blame the astrologers.”
“Her death was expected?”
Jerrid spoke to the cup as he refilled it. “Was ill last year, but they thought it was influenza. Then coughing blood – well – who knows! The boy died last year of course – the little prince, poor child. The king went half mad at the time, they say, and her highness never the same since. So when she was ill many said it was a natural consequence. But she got better. Celebrated Christmas with a little extra bounce. Then February, she was sick again. The Council started planning to negotiate with Portugal. They knew, you see. You cough blood – you’re on the way out. Your father knew – parliament knew – I knew. No doubt the king knew. Perhaps the queen knew.”
Nicholas shook his head. “Spare me a list.”
“Well, your father got busy. Princess of Portugal – another in Spain. Both Lancastrian heritage. Diplomatic necessity, and should keep everyone happy. Even that other silly little princess, Edward’s eldest girl Elizabeth whose been asking for a husband for months. Well now she’s got her wish. King marries the Portuguese princess – his niece marries some Portuguese prince, keep it in the family. Something has to be set up, after all. A new king less than two years crowned – now no wife – and no legitimate children. Disaster. Parliament authorised the negotiations and your father’s on orders to sail. He’ll be off to Lisbon next month. Proud of himself he is, the bugger. No doubt Brampton will go with him, but I say Parliament is tipping the scales towards failure, choosing a Chatwyn. One word from my drunken sot of a brother, and any father would rush to lock his daughter away in a nunnery.”
Nicholas sighed again, rubbing his knees. “A bit soon to foist another queen on the poor king, isn’t it? Queen Anne barely cold in her grave!”
“It’ll take a year or more to finalise. Need to start early. Point is –” Jerrid said, draining his cup, “my dear brother was knocked off the Royal Council long since, yet still gets the honourable positions.”
“He won’t like Portugal. Too hot. Though I believe the Jerez is the best quality, so that’ll console him. And if he travels with Brampton, he’d best mind his manners or he’ll be sent to his sickbed.”
Sir Jerrid regarded his nephew. “Don’t look too well yourself, my boy, come to think of it,” he decided. “Been off your porridge, have you?”
Mentioning the pestilence no longer seemed wise. “Winter weather,” Nicholas said with vague abandon. “But that’s not why I came, uncle. Nor to gossip about the problems of widowhood. I had quite another motive.”
“Well, and here was me thinking you came for the pleasure of my company,” Jerrid said. “Not widowhood yourself already I trust, m’boy? Or is it the other direction, and an heir on the way to increase the ignominious Chatwyn bloodline?”
A sudden smile, almost secretive, softened the glimmer of pain around his eyes. Nicholas said quietly, “Not yet. There’s been no – and an inappropriate beginning. But she’s a sweet little thing. I’ve grown rather fond of her.” He looked up again. “But that’s not the business I came to discuss either.”
“So you’d better tell me the worst, my boy. Just so long as it’s not to beg or borrow, for I’ve not a farthing, nor half a saddle blanket to spare.”
Nicholas pulled his chair a little closer to the fire. “I’m asking, uncle, but not for coin nor favours. Not even for myself, but for an investigation in the National interest, suggested by Sir James Tyrell. In fact, join me in what I’m planning, and I’ll do the paying.”