Page 24 of The Rose at Twilight
Elva had no answer for that, nor did they expect one from her.
She went on, almost as though she had been present in the abbey herself, to describe how Jasper Tudor, the king’s uncle and newly created Duke of Bedford, had borne the royal crown, and how Thomas Stanley, his father-in-law and newly dubbed Earl of Derby, had carried the sword of state.
She described the consecration and crowning, the taking of the oath, and the aftermath when Henry, king now by grace of God, accompanied and supported by his entourage, had emerged from the abbey and shown himself to the crowds still lining the streets back to the Tower.
At the banquet yet to come, she told them, the king’s uncle would appear on horseback trapped with ermined cloth of gold, and the hereditary king’s champion would ride his horse into the banquet hall to challenge all comers just as he had done for King Richard two years before.
Here she paused again, as aware as her mistress and Alys were of the extreme irony of such a challenge.
“It don’t hardly seem right,” she added with a sigh.
“None of it seems right,” Alys agreed.
When the coronation festivities were over, the king and the court returned to Greenwich, and what little news the two young women had of the world outside the Tower walls came from Elva, who had made a number of friends among the retainers there, and from Ian, who not only continued to visit, but who informed them that he had taken lodgings close by the Tower gate.
“But what of Sir Nicholas?” Alys demanded anxiously.
“He ha’ gone into Derbyshire, mistress, tae look into reports of trouble there fer the king’s highness.”
“Without you?”
“Aye.” He gave no further explanation, and Alys was reluctant to demand one, fearing that he was somehow at outs with his master.
It occurred to her that perhaps, being Scottish, Ian felt less loyalty toward the Welshman than his own followers would feel.
In any case, she was grateful to him for his loyalty to her.
Just knowing that there was someone nearby who cared about her made Sir Nicholas’s absence and the lack of news regarding herself and Mistress Fenlord both easier to take.
They heard much about the doings of the king in the weeks that followed, but very little of what they heard interested them, for it was all political and had nothing to do with either Madeline’s family or the setting aside of Alys’s betrothal; therefore, there was nothing to suggest a possible end to their confinement.
Even Ian, with Sir Nicholas no longer at court, had few means by which to pursue answers to these entirely personal questions, although he informed them cheerfully that since he had made a number of feminine conquests among the palace maids, he could expect to hear some news or other before long.
When they received a large parcel at the end of November, containing bolts of splendid fabrics and accompanied by a message from the Lady Margaret informing them that seamstresses were soon to assist them in making new gowns for themselves, Alys commanded the messenger to wait while she composed a careful note of thanks and an even more carefully worded request for enlightenment as to their future.
A reply came with unexpected swiftness, advising them both to place their faith in God and the king’s sovereign highness, and to remember that curiosity was an unbecoming fault.
Despite the fact that so far Ian had succeeded in bringing them only information that was widely available, Alys pressed him to do better, with the result that he returned three days later, not with news of their own fate but with word that Lady Margaret was as set as ever on seeing her son wedded to Elizabeth of York.
“Why do you say so?” Alys demanded. Since she and Madeline had spent the entire morning after mass being measured by two tight-lipped women sent by Lady Margaret, who spoke of nothing but fit and style, frustration lent sharpness to her tone.
Ian grinned. “One o’ Lady Margaret’s own women ha’ a bonny wee lass servin’ her, and the women do talk amongst themselves, ye ken.
The lass ha’ told me the king can hear the Lady Margaret when he shuts his ears tae the rest, and the princess, she says, hasna much tae say at all.
They do say, too, that ’tis passing strange but the king be pardoning most o’ them as fought agin him from the north.
” He wrinkled his brow, trying to remember what he had heard.
“Only Norfolk, Surrey, Lovell, and some few other northern knights ha’ actually been attainted, as yet. ”
“The dead ones, then,” Alys said sadly.
“Nay, mistress, not all are dead. Lovell lives and ha’ taken sanctuary, they say. Others, too.”
“Francis Lovell lives?” Her brother had been with Lovell. “Roger Wolveston,” she said quickly, “have you heard aught of him? He would be Lord Wolveston now.”
“Nay,” Ian said. “I dinna recall hearin’ the name, so I doot the lassie or anyone said it. I’d ha’ recalled Wolveston.”
She sighed. For a brief moment she had felt a surge of hope that if her brother truly did live, he might have submitted to the king, and she might no longer be kept in ward.
Ian said slowly, “They do say, mistress, that there be dunamany attainders against them that did fight but ha’ not yet submitted, and too, that Harry’s patience is no wi’oot limit.”
“If they submit soon, he will pardon them. Is that it?”
“Aye, so they say. But mayhap the pardons willna gi’e them back their lands, ye ken, only their lives and freedom. They say Harry ha’ but three wishes—tae rule England, tae gather wealth for his coffers, and tae bring peace and prosperity t’ the land.”
He reported more as the days passed, and Alys and Madeline feasted on the rumors, hearing one day that the king would not wed Elizabeth, the next that he would.
No one mentioned the princes of the House of York.
Few people, Ian said, seemed to care about them.
Most were opposed to more fighting and seemed inclined to support a union of Lancaster and York.
Matters came to a head at last in December, when Parliament demanded that the king honor his vow to wed Elizabeth of York.
A tentative reminder that permission had not yet been received from the pope was dismissed as inconsequential.
Parliament, speaking on behalf of the people, insisted on the wedding, and relief was expressed everywhere when Henry Tudor agreed, announcing at last that it would take place in little more than a month.
Two days afterward, Alys and Madeline received word from the Lady Margaret that the king had appointed them maids of honor to his bride.
They would remain lodged in the Tower until after the wedding, when it became appropriate for them to take up their new duties, but they would be released in time to take part in the festivities at the palace of Westminster.
Madeline received the news with her customary optimism and good cheer, giving it as her opinion that the Tudor must have seen for himself by now that the men in her family—so long as it was in their best interests, and hers—were entirely to be trusted.
Alys’s feelings were mixed. Release from the Tower meant she would be likely to see Sir Nicholas again, which would be pleasant, and at court she would more easily discover her brother’s fate.
But glad though she was to know that their confinement would end soon, she could not look forward to serving Elizabeth of York. The very thought set her teeth on edge.