Free To the Tower Born - Robin Maxwell Page B

three cousins, Edward, Dickon, and Ned, were doing battle with wooden swords, and Nell noticed that the stronger two—the princes—played fairly with Ned. They were careful not to injure a boy they knew to be more frail than themselves, whilst fighting hard enough that Ned would not feel patronized.
    Nell and Bessie had seated themselves closest to the men, who were gathered in council—the better for the girls to hear what was being said. The first order of business had been Prince Edward’s maintenance, but that was dispensed with easily, as Lord Rivers and the other Woodville relatives kept a staid and orderly household for the boy. He was growing up well, and the king had nothing but adulation for his brother-in-law Rivers.
    When the girls heard the word Scotland uttered, they exchanged a furtive look and listened as intently to the men as was possible over the chattering females. Besides making his brother Constable of England for life, the king had given full powers over Scotland and the northern borderlands to Richard of Gloucester. Now Gloucester was giving report over those terri-tories. It was clear from his words that he had done well there. Battled for, and secured, the Scottish borders. Won the siege of Edinburgh. All to the pride and joy of the king.
    “There’s good reason why they call you ‘Lord of the North,’
    brother.” From the corner of her eye, Nell saw Bessie’s father throw an affectionate arm about Richard’s shoulder. Then she glanced at her friend, who was watching the moment quite openly. Bessie always said that above all, Gloucester craved his elder brother’s love, perhaps even above his wife Anne’s. She saw Bessie’s lips curl into a smile, and knew the girl was quietly happy for her uncle Richard.
    “Lord Stanley.” A serving boy had entered the great hall unnoticed and handed Richard’s steward a folded letter.
    Stanley moved to the slitted window to read by the gloomy light. He looked up and spoke to the men. “My son Lord Strange has broken his arm.”
    “Damn!” Nell heard Rivers mutter.
    Stanley addressed Rivers. “He sends his deepest regrets, my lord, for he wished very sincerely to meet you on the jousting field on Sunday.”
    “What is it, Father?” Prince Edward approached, no doubt sensing something was amiss.
    “I’m afraid your uncle Rivers is without a jousting partner for Sunday’s tilt.”
    The prince’s face collapsed utterly into disappointment verging on despair. “What will you do, Uncle?” he said, his voice cracking with emotion. “There’s no one suitable who could be sent for in time for Sunday. No one who would dare challenge you. The games will be ruined!” Whilst Edward’s sentiments were those of an adoring nephew, they were not without some truth. Rivers was, by reputation and in fact, the finest jouster in England. Indeed, on the continent as well.
    “Go on, Hastings,” the king enjoined his friend, “you meet my brother-in-law on the field.”
    “Pigs will fly first, Majesty,” Hastings replied with all seriousness, causing the men to roar with laughter.
    “I have it,” said Rivers, trying to keep a straight face. “I’ll send a challenge to Harry Buckingham.”
    There were more whoops of hilarity from everyone, except the Prince of Wales, who looked near to tears. The lack of a jousting partner for Rivers was no laughing matter.
    “I challenge you, Rivers.” It was Richard of Gloucester speaking.
    The room went silent as a tomb. Prince Edward’s eyes were saucers, and his jaw hung slack. The ladies looked up from their stitchery. Nell could feel Bessie, sitting next to her, straighten in her chair.
    “It has never been my pleasure to joust,” said Richard, finally breaking the silence. “I have always found the sport . . .
    frivolous. But I am a man-at-arms. I believe I can deport myself proudly at the tilts. I shall do so in honor of my brother the king.”
    Richard’s words seemed reasonable enough. But then