The Order of the White Boar Page 3
Not wanting to appear ignorant of this history, I said, ‘I mean, surely, if his father committed treason, he would have been attainted. Didn’t Hugh lose his right to his lands and any titles? What’s he doing here?’
‘Of course he did, but he was just a small boy. King Edward forgave him his father’s crime and Hugh’s uncle took him in to his family. And when he was old enough, he came here to be a page. Don’t you know that a good king is a merciful king? Although my father says that perhaps some people forgive too easily.’
Roger had started walking again and as I caught him up, he flashed one of his ready smiles.
‘And another thing – Alys told me that the Duke had Hugh beaten just before he went away. She didn’t tell me why, but he must have deserved it, and – well, Hugh is not so ready to forgive as the King or Duke Richard. Ah, there she is!’
He broke into a run.
‘Alys!’
A slight figure on the edge of the knot of people turned at his call and held her hands out to greet him. It was the girl I had seen on horseback.
Roger flung himself on to one knee in front of her and, taking both her hands, clasped them to his chest, over his heart.
‘My lady!’
‘Sir knight!’
‘It has been too long. Surely you have forgotten me.’
‘Nay, how could I forget you?’
‘It has been more than a month. Mayhap you have found some other suitor?’
The girl’s face, which until then had been mock-dramatic like Roger’s own, changed.
‘Get up, Roger, you dolt. Don’t make fun. You know it’s not a matter to laugh about.’
Roger got to his feet. His smile had fled and he stumbled over his words.
‘Alys, I’m sorry, I forgot, I…’
‘Well, I cannot.’
And with a stamp of her foot, the girl stormed away to the stairs up to the great hall.
The people clustered about stared at us curiously, though some eyed Roger with sympathy. One girl, dark of hair and dark of skin, came across and rested her hand on his arm.
‘Don’t worry, Roger. She’s tired after the journey. She insisted on riding the whole way. Let me try to smooth it over for you.’
Roger’s face was pale as he watched her follow Alys towards the keep stairs.
I wanted to ask what he had done wrong, but dared not. So this time I drew his arm through my own and said,
‘Come back to the dormitory. The last book my father gave me is a book of courtly poetry. It’s in French, but if you like, I can translate for you. Perhaps it will distract you.’
A grateful smile drifted across his face and we set off together back to the pages’ chamber. We walked in silence, but my thoughts were full of Roger’s ‘best friend’ and the way she had treated him so shamefully.
Chapter 3
The Secret
‘Master Wansford? Her Grace the Duchess wishes to see you.’
So wrapped up was I in the rhythms of the poem I was reading that the voice caught me by surprise.
I glanced up. Light from the westering sun slanted through the window on to a man clad in the now familiar servants’ tunic of blue and dark red – or murrey, as I had heard it called.
‘Me? Are you sure?’
‘Of course. Her Grace always greets the new pages.’
Roger took the leather-bound book from my hand.
‘You’d better hurry. Perhaps we can read again later. We’ll still have time before bed.’
My heart thundering within my chest, I followed the servant out of the pages’ chamber and across the court to climb the keep stairs. I had been here almost a week and had spoken so far to no one more important than the chaplain who took our lessons. And now I was to stand before the Duchess herself.
I remembered how even my father had been awed, that evening of our arrival, as the outer walls and towers of the great castle cast long shadows towards us in the soft evening sunshine. As our horses’ hooves had clattered across the oaken drawbridge beneath that first looming gatehouse, the far-off bulk of the keep blotting out the glory of the sunset. As the huge murrey and blue banner flying on the topmost turret glittered like jewels in the sun’s last rays, the white boar stitched upon it almost alive as it rippled in the breeze.
And I remembered how my father had bent his head towards mine and whispered – not in his usual booming council-chamber voice –
‘Don’t forget, Matt, know your place. You have been offered a great honour in coming here. You must be careful not to misbehave.’
The great hall was empty of people now and the servant’s knock at the door in the far wall echoed around its stone corners. A quiet word was spoken within and the man lifted the latch, ushering me through to the chamber beyond.
‘Master Matthew Wansford, Your Grace, the new page, as you requested.’
I took a few steps forward, then bowed low as I had been taught. In the moment before I straightened up, I took the chance to glance around this private chamber.
First to catch my eye was a cavernous fireplace, its black iron grate empty on this warm summer’s evening. It was perhaps the largest in the castle, although the room was only half the size of the great hall. Tapestries of intricate embroidery and cloth of gold hung to either side, displaying fantastical scenes of knights and maidens, majestic stags and silver unicorns, snow-capped mountain ranges and bronze-leaved forests. Littered around was more furniture than I’d ever seen in a single room, all ornately carved and some well-padded with tasselled cushions.
To my surprise the girl Alys was sitting, sewing, on such a stool in the golden sunset glow flooding in from the nearby windows. She had changed from her dusty riding clothes into a gown of jade-green brocade, and her light red hair was loose across her shoulders in a maze of curls. She looked a different girl from the one who had flared up at Roger that afternoon.
A soft voice broke through my thoughts.
‘Welcome, Master Wansford – or shall we call you Matthew? Master Guylford told me of your arrival.’
A second person in the room rose from her seat and stepped towards me, her hand outstretched. It was the lady from the carriage, now also wearing an indoor gown of pale green.
I bent once more, this time to touch my lips to her hand. This was all I had learnt in my one dancing lesson so far.
A warm laugh greeted my nervous attempt.
‘Quite the gallant! I’m sure you will be a valuable addition to our household. Now, come sit by me and tell me of yourself.’
The Duchess motioned towards a low stool beside her own chair.
I hesitated, my gaze slipping to where Alys sat, just a few feet away. The Duchess must have seen, for she said,
‘Sit and be comfortable, and do not mind Alys here. She is the ward of my sister-in-law the Queen and knows that nothing said in this chamber is to be repeated beyond these walls.’
I perched on the velvet-cushioned stool as I was bid, but could not help glancing again at Alys. Her eyes were lowered as though intent on her embroidery, but a dimple in her cheek suggested she was straining not to smile.
My face was warm at the idea of her listening. Could I avoid telling the Duchess my full story?
‘Come now, Matthew. Master Guylford tells me you have been offered a place as a page here at the request of our esteemed friend the mayor of York. Also that our estate steward, Sir Thomas, trades with your father and respects him greatly. How is it that you wish to leave your family and your life in York to join our household?’
Such a direct question. From a Duchess. What could I do other than tell the truth – and hope it didn’t get back to the other pages?
‘Well, my lady – I mean, Your Grace – it’s not that I chose to, not exactly… but… well, I’m afraid I was turned away from the Minster School and my father didn’t know what to do with me.’
‘Turned away?’ A small frown appeared on the Duchess’s face. ‘You mean you attended lessons there?’
‘So you are a trained singer?’
‘Yes, Your Grace.’
‘Matthew, you needn’t “Your Grace” me all the time.’ I didn’t dare look at Alys, but I was sure the dimple had deepened. ‘Will you sing for me this evening? This chamber may not be so kind to your voice as the lofty heights of our beloved York Minster, but it would please me to hear you.’
‘Of course, Your – I mean, of course, I would be pleased to.’ Though I could have wished Alys out of the room.
‘But first,’ the Duchess continued, ‘go on with your story. Why were you turned out of the school?’ Then, as I hesitated again, she added, ‘That is, if it doesn’t pain you to tell me.’
I was amazed. That she, a Duchess, had noticed my discomfort – the unhappiness of a mere page. And the concern in her voice made me want to talk. To unburden myself to a sympathetic ear.
My father hadn’t understood, had only been angered by the disgrace I had brought on the family. My mother had been too busy with her duties to listen properly. My brothers and sisters – I had been too proud to talk with them about it once my father had spoken. And that had left no one I could trust, as I was no longer allowed to see my old school friends.
But here was a Duchess – someone I didn’t know – who wanted to hear about it. And strange to say, I felt I could talk to her.
And once I began, I found the whole sorry tale tumbled out.
‘It was the feast day of the Ascension and we had just celebrated High Mass in the Minster. I had had the honour of carrying the great crucifix of our Lord in the procession for the first time.’
I saw the grand parade in my mind’s eye once more. Felt again the pride swelling my chest. Then,
‘We were just following the choir master across the Minster square back to school when – when John Burton said a bad thing about my new mother. And so I put the crucifix down and – and I punched him. He hit me back, so my friends joined in, then so did his, and in the end most of the choir was fighting each other.’
I didn’t mention that the crucifix was knocked over in the brawl, or that the chain of a censer one of my friends had been carrying was broken – or that our surplices had been torn and muddied – and bloodied.
I also didn’t tell of how the precentor and choir master had stood on the edge of the fray and shouted at us to stop, and finally waded in to pull us all apart. Or that the choir master himself had received a blackened eye. Or who it was who had thrown that final punch.
But the Duchess didn’t seem to need these details. Perhaps she had seen enough choirs in their full finery to imagine the scene.
Her mouth twitched as though she was trying not to smile. And what sounded like a muffled hiccup came from behind me. But as I glanced round, Alys’s head was still bent over her embroidery.
Thinking about it now, some weeks later, I supposed it could have been amusing. To an onlooker at least. And there had been many onlookers – including the most important men of the city and all of the congregation.
There we were, maybe a score of boys, big and small, in pure white smocks and collars, slogging it out against the backdrop of our majestic cathedral.
And I had at least paid John Burton back. Not just for what he had said that day, but for all his taunts and jibes over the years. Remembering him being helped away, blood streaming from a smashed nose, made all that had happened afterwards seem almost worthwhile.
For my father had been there too.
‘Your new mother?’
The gentle words brought me back to the present.
‘Your Grace?’
‘You said this boy said a bad thing about your new mother?’
‘My —’ I swallowed hard, not wanting to carry on. But I forced myself. ‘My – my real mother died. A year ago. Not long after my baby sister was born. My father has just married again.’
‘I’m sorry to hear it. About your mother, I mean. And do you like this new wife?’
‘Well…’ I paused. ‘She’s not my real mother, but, yes, I like her very much. She nursed my mother well during her illness and has been good with the baby. But she’s so young – not quite twenty – and my father – my father is quite old.’
‘How old?’
‘He is over thirty.’
‘That’s not so old. My husband is almost thirty. If anything were to happen to me I—’
As I watched her, her gaze slipped away and her smile faded, as though her thoughts were drifting. Sympathy for me seemed mixed with some sort of sadness of her own.
‘If I died, I would wish that he would marry again. That he might find happiness once more. And then perhaps my Edward would have a brother or sister.’
Then she shook her head as though to rid herself of the notion.
‘And so you were turned out of school for standing up for your parents’ good name. What happened to this John Burton who said the bad thing?’
‘He’s still at school. No one else heard what he said. And it was I and my friends who landed the first blows. Two of my friends were expelled with me. Also John’s father is one of the wealthiest men in the city.’
‘Life is very unfair. And how did your father take it?’
‘Not well.’
The angry words had rained down like blows, followed by dark glares and silences, which were even worse.
‘He said I had shamed myself and our family, and he called me a rebel. I told him I would have to leave in a year or two anyway, when my voice breaks, but he said I should then have gone to the grammar school like my brothers before me. He wouldn’t let me out of the house for a long time afterwards. And even when the mayor suggested I might come here, at first he didn’t want to let me. He was worried I would disgrace myself here too.’
‘And what do you think?’
I didn’t need to think.
‘I want to make sure I do well here, to show my father that I’m different from what he thinks. And I want to better myself in the world. And – and I want to serve you and the Duke loyally and as well as I can.’
I slipped off my stool and down on to one knee, bowing my head to her as I had seen Roger do before Alys.
The Duchess’s hand rested a moment on my head. Then she took my elbow and raised me to my feet.
‘Then I’m sure you shall do well, and go back to him when you have proved yourself.’
‘Thank you, Your Grace.’
‘Now, let us hear what such loyal service sounds like. Will you sing for us now?’
What could I sing, here, alone? Even when I took a solo part, I always sang alongside the rest of the choir.
But then I recalled a courtly love song I had learned. The choir master had taught us it one day in spring when he’d been in a good mood. Before the feast day of the Ascension.
I straightened my back, lifted my chin, and drew in a deep, deep breath. The romantic French words and the high notes of the tune soared among the oak beams of the chamber’s vaulted ceiling. I had never expected to sing them before a Duchess. But neither would the choir master have expected that on the day I gave him his black eye.
It was a sad song about two lovers meeting, then parting for ever. As I sang the final words, tears welled in the Duchess’s clear grey eyes. She wiped them away with a tiny lace handkerchief.
‘Thank you, Matthew. I can see that the Minster’s loss will be our gain. I shall ask Sir William to teach you some of my husband’s favourite songs for when he returns. His Grace will not regret Master Guylford’s decision to accept you into our household. He is very fond of music and will be pleased to have such a voice sing again at holy offices in our chapel here. Of late we have had only older singers.’
With a few more kind words the Duchess dismissed me. Another low bow to both her and Alys – who nodded without meeting my eye – and I
was on my way back to the pages’ quarters.
As I walked across the twilit court, it was as though a weight had been lifted from me. Perhaps my crime had not been so dreadful after all. And maybe, now – now it appeared I had won the goodwill of a Duchess – it might change my life for the better.
Roger greeted me with a grin and a pair of dice, and we played until the tapers burnt down. When we could no longer see the dots to tally our scores, we pulled our mattresses close together, ignoring the grumbles of the pages we displaced. We whispered long into the night, about ourselves, our families, our plans for the future. At last, first one, then the other, we drifted into sleep. My rest was more peaceful than it had been for many weeks.
Chapter 4
Alys
With the Duchess back at the castle, life changed. It was as though while she had been away, everyone had simply been waiting for her return. A new sense of purpose was in the air, and people who had appeared to be enjoying a holiday now busied themselves with myriad tasks and watched to ensure that others were also occupied.
Among the pages and younger squires there was much dark muttering, but I was pleased at the new routine. My years at the Minster School had been ruled by the regularity of services at the high altar. Holy days and feast days for others meant only extra duties for me. Later, after my expulsion, my father had kept me busy studying French and Latin and helping with the accounts at his work place. When, on coming to Middleham, I had the run of a castle, its grounds and village, I had struggled to adapt and find enough to do to fill each day.
Every day still began as it had before. We attended Mass in the chapel next to the keep, before breakfasting on bread and weak ale in the great hall. If the Duchess attended, she would sit in the great chair that Sir William the chaplain had occupied at meal times. The steward sat near to her to help serve her food. The Duke’s chair now remained empty.