Page 69 of The Rose at Twilight

“No,” Alys said flatly, knowing that, like herself, her friend was more worried about what could happen to Gwilym and the men if the rebels came than she was about danger to the women.

Alys also had been thinking the rebels might come, not so much because Lovell would expect the estate to be loyal, as because he might decide to use Wolveston as an assembly point.

Word was that men loyal to the king were fleeing south of the Trent as fast as they could go, that the rebels controlled Yorkshire and were swiftly moving into Warwickshire and Nottinghamshire.

Alys did not fear Lovell or Lincoln—and certainly not any boy they might have with them—but she did not want them at Wolveston.

She did not want men and horses trampling the newly seeded fields or slaughtering the spring lambs for their food.

Thus, when she entered her bedchamber the following Thursday night to find Davy Hawkins sitting at his leisure before her fire, conversing with his sister, she nearly shouted for a guard.

He leapt to his feet and made his bow, saying, “Forgive me, m’lady. ’Twas not my intention to startle you.”

“Well, you did,” she said tartly. “Where is his lordship, Davy? Have you got him hidden behind the window curtains?”

“Nay, m’lady. He be far from here. Leave us, Jonet,” he said brusquely. The fact that she left without argument told Alys that they had talked for some time before her arrival.

“How did you get past the guards?” she demanded.

He shrugged. “There be many still loyal to the cause, mistress, but I did have to give my oath that no harm would come of it, and none will.”

“You cannot quarter here.”

“We will not. His lordship sent me to calm any fear you might have, and to give you this letter to show to any rebel soldier who might come in error, now or later.” He handed her a folded note, and she recognized Lovell’s writing.

Davy said, “Our army lies west of here, close to the London road, so there will be no fighting near here, no danger to you or to yours. ’Tis by his lordship’s and my Lord Lincoln’s absolute command. ”

“Then Lincoln is at the head of it,” she said, tucking the letter into her bodice. “My husband thought as much.”

Davy shrugged again. “He leads, the lad leads, my lord leads. Who is to say who is at the head, one day to the next?”

Alys stared hard at him, shaken by his words. “What are you saying, Davy? Speak plainly, or by heaven, I will call a guard.”

“Nay, mistress, do not. I cannot say more, but my Lord Lovell did give me a token to give into your hands. ’Tis to be kept till all is done. If we win, it matters not, but if the fighting goes amiss, then you must carry the token to the queen.”

“To Elizabeth?”

“Aye. No, no,” he amended quickly, “not the lass—the dowager queen, Elizabeth Woodville. Lord Lovell did not trust her with it before, but she does deserve to have it if the matter falls awry. She will know what to do, and you are to say to her that all is well, even then.”

“If you fail?” Alys shook her head. “I do not understand, Davy. How can I say all is well if the rebellion fails? And how can I get this to the dowager queen? She is at Bermondsey now.”

“Her daughter visits her. There will be no hurry, mistress. You will arrange it an you can. Tell her the date upon which you received the token, and that it were but a week old at the time. She will understand. Things will be in a great stir by then, no doubt, for no matter what transpires, great changes lie ahead.”

“Not if Harry Tudor wins,” she pointed out.

“Harry Tudor will not win, though his armies may,” Davy said grimly.

“By this time Saturday, the usurper will be dead, hide where he may. ’Tis the first purpose of this little exercise.

” Then, before she could question him further, he held out his hand and said, “Take it, mistress, and guard it well. My Lord Lovell dares not keep it longer, lest it fall into the wrong hands.”

Her curiosity overriding all else now, Alys opened her hand and watched as he put into it what looked like a gold coin with a hole drilled in it for a chain.

She looked at it closely, and recognized, etched into it on one side, the sun in splendor, King Edward’s device.

Turning it over, she found a single rose on the reverse.

That was all, but it was enough. She had heard about such a medallion once before, and she looked up in dismay to ask how Lovell had come by it.

But the door was just closing behind Davy, and she dared not run shouting after him.

When Jonet returned, she found her mistress huddled on her bed, her knees up, her arms folded around them, deep in thought.

“I could not warn you, mistress,” Jonet said apologetically. “He came upon me in the gallery unawares.”

“There will be fighting,” Alys muttered. “If not tomorrow, then Saturday at latest. All for the power of the throne.”

Jonet nodded. “Davy told me that his lordship expects to meet the king near Nottingham Castle, mayhap at Newark crossing. Lord Lovell has a house nearby and knows the land full well. More men will die, mistress, men we care about on both sides.”

“Davy said the rebels will win; Nicholas said not. Nicholas claims to know his business. By heaven, Jonet, I hope he does.”

Jonet frowned. “Davy said not so many English had joined as they’d hoped, but he said, too, that there be more than enough, that all Yorkshire is theirs, all the land north of the Trent.”

They continued to speak their tangled thoughts aloud until Madeline entered, whereupon they fell silent so suddenly that she demanded to be told what they had been talking about.

Jonet looked to Alys, but Alys did not hesitate. “Davy was here, Jonet’s brother. He rides with Lovell, and he managed to get past the guards to assure us that there will be no fighting here. They move south, toward Newark and Nottingham Castle.”

“Now, by my faith,” Madeline said with an imp of amusement in her eyes, “wait till I tell Gwilym his defenses were breached so easily. He thinks he has made this castle impregnable.”

“You must not say anything to him,” Alys said fiercely.

“There is no danger here, for Davy gave his word, but if you tell Gwilym that I have spoken with one of the rebels, he will lock me in my bedchamber. Nicholas warned me that he had ordered him to do so. Moreover,” she added, suddenly deciding what she had to do, “if you tell Gwilym that someone managed to get in, he will make it a great deal more difficult for someone to get out.”

“Has Davy not gone then?”

“Certainly, he has. I was speaking of … of someone else.” Too late did she recall that Madeline’s loyalties had no doubt shifted, that she might well consider herself bound to speak to Gwilym. Madeline’s next words confirmed that fear.

“Look here, Alys,” she said, plumping down upon the bed and staring into her face, “I recognize that look. You are up to some devilment or other, and I will not have you playing your tricks off on poor Gwilym at such a time as this.”

“Poor Gwilym?” Alys said, gently mocking her, but when Madeline blushed and looked self-conscious, Alys straightened and said much more seriously, “I have long known that you cared for him, but do you love him, Madeline? Tell me. It is important.”

Madeline nodded. “Aye, I do.”

“And you will not refuse to marry him?”

The answer came in a whisper. “No, but do not tease me, for I have only just come to see the truth myself. I was so stubborn and stupid, Alys. When I saw Nicholas and Hugh ride out through the gates, and knew they might not come back—that, even here, Gwilym could be killed before this business is done—I could deceive myself no longer. I cannot imagine life without him. You will think this silly, I know, but I think I love Gwilym most because I like myself better when I am with him.”

“We have all been waiting for you to know your own mind,” Alys said, hugging her, “but I am glad for more reasons than you know. I fear for Anne. Swear to me on your oath, Madeline, that if aught happens to me, and if Nicholas is killed, you and Gwilym will look after Anne as if she were your own. Swear it!”

“By our Lady, I do swear it,” Madeline said, looking at her through narrowed eyes, “but why should I? You have said that no harm will come to any here, and if that is so—”

“Can I trust you not to betray me?”

“Marry, what a question!”

“To Gwilym?”

Madeline hesitated, then said grimly, “I owe no duty to him yet, Alys, and you have stood my friend. Tell me.”

“The rebels mean to kill Henry Tudor,” Alys said quietly.

“Well, I suppose they do. ’Tis natural, if they win.”

Alys looked at Jonet, then back at Madeline.

“Davy said the king will die no matter what, and Nicholas once told me Henry is so poor a soldier that he had vowed never to ride at the head of his army again, but to stay at the rear. What if the rebels plan to seek him out, to kill him and thus declare the battle won?”

“But Henry has a proper heir,” Madeline protested.

“Arthur is a babe in arms,” Alys said, “and no army will fight for him. Richard, too, had heirs. Indeed, Nicholas believes the true pretender now is Lincoln, but when I asked Davy, he would not say. It struck me then that the proper heir does not matter. Only the power of the throne concerns them. The victor will control it, and I think the rebels mean to declare victory by battle just as Henry Tudor did at Bosworth.”

“But do you not want them to win?” Madeline asked.

“Do you?” Alys countered. “Do you want Lincoln to rule England—a man who cannot speak without pausing to choose every word—or do you prefer a boy king who will have men fighting on forever over who will control him?” Seeing the answer she sought in her friend’s eyes, she turned to Jonet. “And you?”