The Order of the White Boar Read online

  Then lessons began. They were not the half-hearted affairs Sir William had presided over before handing us on to Master Fleete, or letting us loose for the rest of the day. Now they were proper tutoring by Doctor Frees.

  The Doctor had gone away with the Duchess to make sure her son, Edward, continued with his lessons. Now he had returned, all the pages had to endure them. For my part, I enjoyed learning languages from someone who had himself travelled in Europe rather than from the plodding, book-taught tutor I had known at the song school.

  The Doctor was a harsh master, and would punish a boy for the slightest fault, as I soon discovered. But I was already ahead of my companions in book learning and Doctor Frees liked the fact that I was keen to learn. He took us for most of our lessons, only passing us over to Sir William for scripture and the dancing master, Master ­Petyt, for music and other courtly arts.

  After our hours in the school room, we moved on to the care of Master Fleete for our daily dose of weapons training. This could be archery, at which I was competent enough having spent many hours learning from my father at the York city butts, or close-weapons. Roger now tried to make sure we were paired together whenever possible. As we were both poor swordsmen, I no longer dreaded these times and gradually began to improve.

  The Duke's horse master had also returned to the castle and he encouraged all the boys to ride after dinner – the squires in the tiltyard to practise their jousting skills, the pages simply to roam beyond the castle grounds. Roger made good his promise to find me a horse. She was an old fat mare who had been Sir William’s mount before he also had grown stout. A gentle, undemanding ride, with a little persuasion she would break into a canter for a minute or two when Roger and I rode out together, through the meadows along the winding river, or up to the purple heather-clad moor.

  I was spending most of my time with Roger now. I was grateful to him for taking me under his wing. I wasn’t sure why he had, but the other pages followed his lead and became friendlier.

  Only Hugh and his two or three closest friends remained aloof. But I hadn’t seen on his face again the hatred of that morning when we fought. It was as though he had been in the grip of some fury unrelated to me. When we met now, he was distant but polite. I was content with that. I hoped he would forget about me, so far below him as I was, in both age and station. That I would be just one among the many pages who were less important than him.

  As the days wore on, my suspicion grew that Roger was passing so much of his time with me because he wasn’t seeing his ‘best friend’. Since the day of her return, Alys had avoided him. She also was tutored by our masters for some lessons, but at other times we hardly saw her. Roger said that, in the past, she had joined him and the other pages on their rides or chatting about poetry or romances, as some girls of the household still did. One such was Elen, the dark girl who had promised to help Roger. I discovered she was Alys’s maid-cum-companion. But even she was unable to persuade Alys to join us.

  During our first long talk, Roger had told me more about Alys – and the reason for their falling out.

  ‘Alys and I came to Middleham around the same time, when we were about seven. It was the first time I’d been away from my family, and Alys’s mother had just died, so we were both unhappy. We just seemed to band together because of that. Then we discovered we both loved riding and hunting and books, especially romances. The Duke lets us read the books in his library. Or at least Alys reads them. Her French is so much better than mine. And sometimes we used to play at being the knights and damsels in the stories.’

  ‘So that’s what you were doing in the courtyard?’

  ‘Yes. I thought it would be fun to do it again. Only I’d forgotten the news she’d had not long before she went away.’

  ‘What news?’

  ‘That she’s betrothed.’

  ‘Betrothed?’ My surprised whisper was more like a squeak. I waited before continuing in case I’d woken the other pages. ‘To be married? But she can’t be more than twelve or thirteen.’

  ‘It’s not unusual at court. They say the Princess Elizabeth was betrothed to the French Dauphin when she was only five.’

  ‘Maybe so, but we’re not at court.’

  ‘But Alys is a ward of Queen Elizabeth, even if she’s not actually at court. That means the Queen gets to decide what happens to her.’

  ‘How so? You said her mother was dead, but her father…?’

  ‘He was killed soon after she was born, fighting for the King at the battle of Barnet. Her mother was a lady-in-waiting at court, and when she died Alys became a royal ward. And the Queen has decided that she is to marry Ralph Soulsby.’

  ‘Soulsby? Not Hugh’s cousin?’

  ‘One and the same. Alys says it’s probably to buy Lord Walter’s continued loyalty to the King – her mother left her a great deal of land which would make his family even richer if she marries Ralph.’

  ‘I hope Ralph is pleasanter than his cousin.’

  Roger was silent for a moment, then whispered, ‘All I know is that he’s almost nineteen. The wedding won’t be for a year or two yet. Perhaps she’ll have a chance to get to know him, but it’s a horrible idea. And I was thoughtless enough to say what I did about another suitor. I can say such things in jest – she has to face it in real life.’

  Appalled though I was about the betrothal, what worried me most was Roger’s unhappiness. Was there anything I could do to help him and Alys be friends again? So far nothing had come to mind. I even plucked up the courage to speak to Elen, but she could tell me no more than she told Roger.

  ‘Every time I mention his name to her, she changes the subject or tells me to be quiet. And she refuses to talk about Ralph Soulsby or the betrothal. She just shuts herself up in her chamber when she’s not at lessons. Even the Duchess has noticed it. She worries that Alys will start to sicken over it.’

  But after a week or two, help came in a form that neither Roger nor I had expected.

  As promised, the Duchess had asked the chaplain to teach me some songs ready for when the Duke returned. So each afternoon after our ride, Sir William would call me to the chapel. I didn’t mind missing this free time as I loved to sing. Often Master Petyt, the dancing master, was there to accompany me on his lute, which meant that Sir William could choose songs that weren’t just church music. As I had studied French and Latin, it was easy for me to learn the words for both types of songs, and Sir William said Doctor Frees might teach me some Italian or Spanish too.

  One day when I was practising a laude with Sir William, the Duchess entered the chapel. She sat listening until I had finished, then beckoned me to her.

  ‘Well done, Matthew, you sang that beautifully. Sir William is doing an excellent job with you.’

  I bowed.

  ‘Thank you, Your Grace.’

  ‘And how are you settling down here? Do you still miss your family and your song school friends?’

  ‘A little, but I’m making friends here.’

  ‘I’m pleased to hear that. And if there is any way I can help you, tell me. Your work here with Sir William is beyond the service we expect from most pages.’

  What Roger had said about the Duke’s library came to mind and I wondered whether my reading some new French romances to him might cheer him up. That’s how, later that day, with the Duchess’s permission, I found myself once again in her private apartment.

  She was busy in conversation with Master Guylford, but broke off to welcome me and point out the door in the far corner.

  ‘You will have company while you’re in there. I hope that doesn’t bother you.’

  ‘Of course not, Your Grace.’

  But I was disappointed. I had hoped to be alone while I explored this treasure trove of books. Yet I now knew well that in the castle you were lucky to have any privacy anywhere, and the opportunity was too good to pass up. So I pressed the latch and let myself in, as quietly as I could.

  It was a small room with a vaulted, white-pa
inted ceiling and two tall, narrow windows. Against each wall was a cabinet filled with books. Except in the Minster library I had never seen so many in one place. But before I could discover what books they were, I saw who was to be my companion.

  ‘Alys!’

  The red-haired girl had her back to me, her hand raised to replace a small, leather-bound book in the cabinet at the far side of the room. She swung round, surprise scrawled across her face. Then her features settled into an unreadable mask.

  ‘Oh, it’s you, the new page. The singer. What is your name?’

  Her tone stirred memories of Hugh – the voice of someone who believed they were more important than you. And yet, she had been so different, those first few moments with Roger.

  ‘Matthew, Matthew Wansford – my lady.’

  Those last words slipped out unbidden and I cursed myself inside. Why should I speak to her in that way? She was no older than I was, no better – just because she had been at court and knew the Queen.

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Her Grace the Duchess said I could look at the books. She’s outside with the steward if you want to check.’

  Alys’s expression didn’t change.

  ‘There’s no need. You wouldn’t have got in here unless she let you. What are you looking for?’

  ‘I just want to see what books there are. Although particularly French romances.’

  ‘You like romances?’

  ‘Yes, but –’ maybe I could help Roger? – ‘but they’re especially for a friend.’

  She glanced down at the book still in her hand. She sounded different when she spoke again, less haughty.

  ‘I think I saw you riding out with Roger de Kynton yesterday.’

  ‘Yes. We rode through the village and across the water meadows.’

  ‘How is he?’

  ‘He’s well. He hopes to be able to fly his falcon on our ride tomorrow. If the weather stays fine.’

  Should I have mentioned how much he missed her? Before I could speak again, another voice broke in.

  ‘Lady? Is he so far on with her training? I would like to see that.’

  Around the skirt of Alys’s gown poked the face of the young boy, Edward. He had been hidden there, perched on a low stool, reading. Now I saw him closer, his face appeared older. Shadows smudged the pale skin beneath blue eyes. But those eyes shone at mention of the hawk.

  It struck me that I had no idea how to address him. To be safe, I bowed in his direction.

  ‘Yes, Your Grace. The falconer says he’s ready to take her out. He himself has flown her on the moor already and says she’s responding well enough to Roger for him to try.’

  ‘Then I shall ask my mother if I can ride out with you tomorrow.’

  The boy let his book slip to the floor as he stood and hurried out of the room. Alys bent to slot it back on a shelf. While her back was turned, she said,

  ‘All the pages just call him Edward. The Duke and Duchess encourage that.’

  She was so matter-of-fact now – had I mistaken her before? But Edward, rushing back in, prevented my response. He was breathless in his excitement.

  ‘My mother says I may go – as long as you permit me, Master Wansford.’

  ‘Matthew,’ I said automatically, ‘or Matt if you prefer. I’d be happy for you to come – and I’m sure Roger will be too. Shall we find you when we’re ready to go?’

  ‘I’ll be here after dinner, or with my mother and Sir Thomas, learning about the estate. Thank you for letting me join you. I haven’t often been riding this summer.’

  ‘Why —?’ I began, but Alys cut me off, thrusting the book she was still holding into my hands.

  ‘There is a dashing romance for Roger – a new one Her Grace had sent from London while we were away. I doubt he’ll have read it yet. Tell him to come to me if he needs help with the French.’

  Her abruptness confused me. And was she was mocking Roger – or me?

  So, my back stiff, I dipped her the slightest bow, and said, with my best French accent,

  ‘Merci pour vôtre assistance, mademoiselle.’ Then to Edward, ‘Adieu, à demain dans l’après-midi.’

  ‘À demain, monsieur,’ he replied with a smile, unaware of the changed atmosphere. He stretched up to pick out another book as I turned on my heel and left the room.

  After offering thanks to the Duchess, I passed out of the private apartment and across the great hall. As I reached the outside staircase, quick steps caught up with me.

  It was Alys, her face tinged with pink – from running or something else?

  ‘Matthew, forgive me. I’m sorry for that. I know you speak French well and can help Roger – although I do wish he would try harder himself. It’s just that —’

  ‘Just that what?’

  ‘Just – well, I just wanted to stop you asking Edward why he didn’t ride.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because – oh, because he hates people to know that he’s been ill. The Duchess wants him to ride because she thinks it will be good for him, but he’s scared that it will happen again. He had a terrible fever and problems breathing. He was laid up in bed for weeks and it worries him so.’ She bit her lip, then carried on in a rush. ‘I’ve told Her Grace that Elen and I will ride out with you to look after him. Will you ask Roger whether he minds me coming?’

  At that moment I understood why Roger was so attached to his best friend.

  ‘Of course I will – although I don’t think he’ll mind at all. À demain, my lady.’

  And this time my bow was answered by a perfect curtsey.

  Chapter 5

  The Youngest Son

  The next day dawned grey and breezy, with the hills across the valley cloaked in low cloud.

  Roger’s spirits had risen when I’d told him of my meeting with Alys in the evening. But at breakfast his face was as overcast as the sky.

  ‘It looks like it’ll rain. Then we won’t even be able to ride, let alone fly Lady. The falconer says I can only take her out in good weather. And the Duchess will probably say the same about Edward.’

  ‘Because of his illness?’

  He nodded gloomily, slicking more honey on his bread.

  ‘The whole castle was in an uproar when he was sick back in the spring. The Duchess was beside herself. I think she thought he might die. Her physician and the herbalist could do nothing and Sir William says he recommended she tell Duke Richard. But she wouldn’t. She knew his duty was raising troops for the Scottish war.’

  ‘Would he have come home?’

  ‘Edward's their only child – what would you do? If need be the Duke could have left the muster to the Earl of Northumberland. Fortunately Edward recovered, but he was too weak to do much for a long time. Elen says he rode a few times when they were at Barnard Castle, but only for a short time and when the weather was fair.’

  Roger spent most of our morning lessons gazing out the window in the hope that the weather would improve. But by dinnertime it was clear our plans for the day were dashed. We emerged from the armoury head first into a curtain of squally rain and had to sprint for the shelter of the stairs up to the great hall.

  Edward was with us. Today, for the first time, he had joined us at weapons training as well as at tutoring. Even to my untrained eye it was obvious that, although small, he had the makings of a good swordsman. He soon tired, but he was agile and determined in his bouts with the younger pages – amongst whom I was now numbered, with Roger, since my disastrous fight with Hugh. (‘You have a lot to learn,’ Master Fleete had muttered darkly.)

  Edward overmastered me easily in our skirmish with the wooden swords, but the contrast with Hugh couldn’t have been greater. When my footwork let me down and I crashed to the ground at the mercy of his sword point, he put out a hand to help me up and we bowed to each other to end the bout.

  Now, as we waited on the steps to be let into the great hall, he was breathing fast, though we had run such a short distance. The clouds ga
thering on his face mirrored Roger’s.

  ‘My mother won’t let me go out in this,’ he said. ‘I was so looking forward to riding with you, Matt, and to seeing Lady fly. I remember when Roger first showed her to me when he brought her home with my father.’

  As we filed into the hall, Edward left us to take his place at the high table. I whispered to Roger,

  ‘Couldn’t we fly her again in the mews? At least then he can see you handle her – and maybe Alys will come too.’

  His face lit up, remembering, as I had, the area kept free of perches to allow space for young birds to be flown indoors.

  ‘Why didn't I think of that? What a fool. I’ve been so caught up in the idea of taking her out. It won’t be the same – she can’t fly so high or far – but it will be better than nothing. And hopefully the weather will soon turn.’

  Edward was delighted at the idea – as was Roger when Alys also joined us after dinner.

  At first she was very cool towards him, despite his careful attentions to both her and Edward. Soon, however, he talked her round. He might not read romances well in the original French, but it was clear he learned a great deal from them. The dimple reappeared in Alys’s cheek as she watched Edward, enthralled when Roger helped him entice Lady to his wrist to peck a morsel of meat. And after the third time Roger likened the grace and beauty of a falcon in flight to the grace and beauty of his ‘lady fair’, Alys gave in and laughed.

  ‘Master Roger, if you live long enough you will make a fine courtier – or perhaps an ambassador at foreign courts. You will flatter the lords and ladies in equal measure.’

  ‘Or maybe a great churchman,’ suggested Edward. He proudly held up his leather-gloved fist where the falcon had alighted and was delicately tearing at her reward. ‘An abbot or a bishop. They have power enough and time too of their own to hunt and hawk at their pleasure. You might even become archbishop or chancellor of all England.’

  ‘What, like old Rotherham?’ said Roger, with scorn. ‘Spend all my time in church and grow old and fat with too much good living? Not I!’

  ‘Have you seen the Archbishop?’ I asked in surprise.