A Rose for the Crown (14 page)

“Remember the earl of March, Kate?—the duke of York’s son, Edward. He trounced his enemies on Palm Sunday at a bloody battle in the Yorkshire hills—Towton, they call it. ’Tis said more than twenty thousand perished in the snow.”

“Twenty thousand? Sweet Jesu, God rest their souls!” Kate whispered, horrified.

“Aye and amen to that. The Lancastrians are fled north, and Edward has claimed the crown as set down in the Act of Accord. King Henry and his queen escaped to Scotland, we are told. And so Edward is to be crowned.”

Kate had shaken her head at such confusion. “King Henry? King Edward? Who is the real king?”

“You are not as simple as my mistress thinks,” Mary laughed. “’Tis a question many of us ask.”

The memory of that conversation vanished when Kate beheld the gruesome sight of a human head stuck on a pike overhanging the gate, its blackened face being pecked at by a crow. She felt sick with horror and she urged her horse onward under the gate, remembering the unfortunate duke of York, who had met the same fate.

Richard paid the toll, and the Haute party started to plod across the bridge, which fascinated Kate exactly because it was a bridge. Even the largest in Kent only accommodated two or three horsemen abreast or a single cart. Here on London Bridge, lime-washed houses gleamed white against the blue sky, all jostled together down both sides of the wide road
like a set of badly aligned teeth. In front of the houses, merchants had set up barrows and were doing a roaring trade. Underneath, the Thames rolled on its way to the sea.

“Hot pies, hot!” cried a young man carrying a large wooden tray on his head.

“Griskin and geese!” yelled a purveyor of pork, fowl and other meats.

“Two a farthing, buy my needles for two a farthing!” shouted an old woman, trying to make herself heard over the din.

“Roast thrush, fresh today!” called a boy, holding several charred bird carcasses speared on sticks.

Kate fingered her pennies and wished Richard would stop and let her look at all the wares being offered. So intent was she on taking in every sight and sound that she failed to notice that the rest of her party had moved on more quickly and were soon swallowed up in the carts, horses, soldiers and sea of people.

Distracted by a table covered in ribbons, laces and threads, she turned to say something to Anne. But neither Anne nor any of her party could be seen. Her heart beat a little faster as she searched the crowd in front of her. Surely she would spot Richard’s white plume or Elinor’s bright green mantle. But there was no sight of them.

“Good day, my pretty. You look lost. Allow me take you ’ome with me and we’ll ’ave some sport.” A balding man with blackened teeth and bleary eyes grinned up at her. Even from her high perch, Kate smelled his breath, which reeked somewhere between rotting fish and soured wine. He fingered her skirt with filthy fingers and feasted his eyes on her youthful breast.

“Go away!” she cried, hoping she sounded stronger than she felt. “I am n-not lost, and I-I do not want to go home with you!”

The man fondled her leg through the light woolen fabric of her dress, which so infuriated her that she resorted to unladylike violence. She held onto the saddle, brought her other leg back as far as she could and gave him a kick that sent him reeling. She then urged her small jennet into a fast walk. If only I were at home, I could gallop away, she thought, as she did her best to weave her way through the crowd and away from the lecher as fast as she could. She turned back to see if the drunkard was following, but he lay sprawled on the ground, barely able to lift his
head. A small crowd mocked him, and he feebly shook his fist at them and Kate’s retreating back.

Disoriented and frightened, Kate did her best to remember where she was supposed to go with the Hautes. If only she could remember! She knew it was somewhere near Cheapside—whatever that was—and that Elinor’s cousin’s name was Alice Cheney, so perhaps someone would lead her there. But this was not Kent. These people were strangers, and they did not appear to care a groat for her safety. She tried to look as though she knew where she was going and prayed Richard would send someone back to find her.

Once over the bridge, Kate urged her horse along with the crowds. She was unable to prevent the animal from turning left with the press of people at the crossroads at Eastcheap. Where was she going? She was now close to tears, her head was aching and her usual bravado had deserted her. A brilliant flash temporarily blinded her mount as the sun caught the shiny metal of a sword sheath, and the horse panicked. Rearing fearfully up on its hind legs, it unceremoniously deposited its rider into the dirt beside the road and then cantered off, scattering people in its path and upending a cartful of cabbages.

Kate was momentarily winded, but her young body absorbed the fall and she was unhurt. Not so her pride. She looked up sheepishly only to see a sea of smiles, all extending helpful hands. She was soon on her feet, brushing off her skirts. Several young men vied for the honor to escort her to her destination—or anywhere. She tried to look dignified, but youth and vulnerability overcame her, and she gave way to tears. At that moment, a small body of knights and their squires trotted onto the scene. One of them swung himself out of his saddle and came to the weeping damsel’s rescue.

“By the Rood, what have we here?” He chucked Kate under the chin and wiped her tear-sodden cheeks with his thumb. Kate looked up at the muscular, imposing figure. He had a look of kindness, like Richard’s, in his almost black eyes, and she instinctively felt she could trust him. Once the knight took charge, the townsfolk drifted away.

“What is your name, lass? We saw you take that tumble. Are you hurt?” Her rescuer retrieved his horse’s reins from a companion. “We can escort you home, if you are not afraid of riding up with me.”

“Kate—I mean, I am Kate Bywood, an it please you, sir. And no, I am not hurt.” Her chin began to tremble. “But this is my first day in London . . . and I was on the bridge . . . and I was separated from Cousin Richard and his wife . . . and then this smelly man tried to pull me off my horse . . . and, and . . .” She started to sniffle again but managed to finish, “I am lost.”

“Lost!” the knight repeated loudly, slapping his thigh and making Kate jump. “By my troth, we shall soon remedy that, will we not, good friends? Someone will realize they are missing such a pretty young thing and come looking for you. Have you an address or a name we could enquire for, sweetheart?”

Kate nodded, wiped her nose on his proferred kerchief and told him that she was supposed to be going to a Dame Alice Cheney’s house somewhere near Cheapside—whatever that was. The knight assured her it was the name of one of the main thoroughfares in the city and would be swiftly reached. He swung her up onto his saddle and with the ease of one who spends half his life on horseback, sprang up behind her.

“Jack Howard of Suffolk is the name, young Kate, and glad to be of service. We shall soon have you at your lodging.” He spurred his horse into a walk and motioned to his friends to follow. The jaunty company attracted some attention as they rode back to Gracechurch Street, along Lombard Street, past the bird market and into Cheapside. Kate realized she had been only a few minutes from her destination when she had her mishap. Jack Howard was enquiring of an elderly man filling a bucket at the conduit if he were acquainted with a Dame Alice Cheney when Richard and Ralph trotted up. Richard’s eyebrows shot up as he spotted Kate on Howard’s big palfrey.

“Cousin! Cousin Richard!” Kate waved wildly. Her new champion, hearing her call out, cut short his enquiries and urged his horse over to Richard. Richard was embarrassed that he had lost his charge, but Howard disarmed him with his bluff manner and warm handshake. Between them they lifted Kate from one saddle onto the other. Kate cheered up and grinned at her benefactor.

“I thank you kindly, Master Howard. I am in your debt, sir.” Then she made bold to ask, “Are you in London for the coronation, as we are?”

“Aye, Mistress Bywood.” He bowed formally over her hand.

At that, one of the others in his party informed her, “Jack Howard is as close to the king as a flea on a dog, young mistress. He is on the rise at court!”

“Pshaw, Thomas,” retorted Howard. “Pray do not fill the lass’s head with such nonsense.” He lifted his arm as if to cuff his friend, who pretended to duck and laughed along with the group. He bowed to Richard. “Good day to you, sir. Mistress Kate—perhaps we shall meet again.” He wheeled his horse around for effect and, followed by his companions, rode off in the direction of Ludgate and Westminster, the tail of his liripipe flying out behind him.

Kate’s arrival at Walter and Alice Cheney’s house generated first relief and then a tirade from Elinor. “You stupid girl, don’t you know you could have been murdered by these Londoners or at least violated,” she railed at Kate, who by now was quite elated by her adventure and had to resist a smirk.

Anne had thought she might never see her friend again and ran to embrace Kate. “My dearest Kate, where did you go? I looked around and was afraid when I did not see you. No matter, I am so happy you are here!”

Kate smiled and hugged Anne back. Richard admonished Kate sternly for not keeping up with them, although he was obviously happy that all had ended well. Ralph had even found Kate’s horse taking a drink near the conduit on Gracechurch Street, so other than a few bruises and a dirty dress, there was no harm done.

“She did keep company with some well-chosen knights, my dear, so you should not fret,” Richard told Elinor, who was rather wishing Kate had been swallowed up indefinitely into the less desirable quarter of the city. “I have heard tell Jack Howard will receive honors at court once Edward is crowned.”

“And you, Richard, do you expect to have the king’s favor?” Elinor moved on to a more pertinent subject, taking her husband’s arm and leading him to their chamber. She knew Richard had pleased Edward by his prompt response to the call to arms following the battle at Wakefield and was certain her husband would soon be rewarded.

Elinor, Richard, Kate and Anne were to be among the guests at the palace of Westminster on the eve of the coronation, which was to take
place on the last Sunday in June. Elinor was quite convinced that Richard would indeed be granted some honor, and Richard, whose ambitions were just as strong, hoped she was right. In the meantime, while Richard rode to and from Westminster to see and be seen, Elinor and the girls spent their days learning their way around the city with a groom in attendance.

The Cheneys’ large town house was typical of merchants’ houses, with the shop and storerooms at the ground level and the family living above. Kate and Anne were sharing a chamber with Richard and Elinor, and their window looked out onto busy Cheapside. Alice was able to point out several landmarks to her young guests and explained that their street was one of the few paved streets in the city.

“Anyone entering London at Newgate”—Alice pointed west—“and crosses to the east must pass by us. If you stand on tiptoe, you can just see the fork at the Poultry bird market. Go straight along Cornhill and you will come to the Aldgate. Or turn up to Bishopsgate to the northeast. A stone’s throw from our house is Mercers Hall, where Walter’s guild meets.” She pointed out several church steeples, including St. Mary-le-Bow, and warned the girls that they would find the bells of London noisy, but, “You will get used to them.”

The houses were crowded together, rising up two and three stories. Each story jutted out farther over the street, and Kate told Anne she thought that someone in the attic of their house could almost reach the outstretched arm of a neighbor in his attic.

The girls watched fascinated as waste from each household was dumped unceremoniously out of the window—sometimes onto a careless pedestrian in the street. London had some sanitation rules, Alice told them.

“Piss buckets at the street corners are collected by cloth fullers to set dye,” she said, and the girls turned up their noses at the thought. “Don’t be foolish, girls, ’tis quite natural. And for those who do not have their own garden privy—like us,” she said proudly, “there are communal cesspits.”

“Who cleans them?” Kate asked pertly, and Anne giggled.

“Carters are well paid to take the dung outside the city walls,” Alice retorted.

“Why are there so many rats, Mistress Cheney? Look, I can see two down there. And people leave their rubbish on the street.”

“We have a moat at Ightham for that,” Anne said. “Why cannot the carters put it in the river?”

“Enough of your questions! I have work to do.” Alice left the girls gazing out of the window.

Walter Cheney was a successful mercer, dealing in silks, velvets and damasks and selling to the gentry and even one or two noblemen. His fabrics were displayed in the large room on the ground floor that served as his shop, its shutters opening onto the street allowing customers to view his wares. He knew Richard’s connections at the new king’s court could mean valuable business and so had judiciously offered to have new gowns made for his wife’s kin. Elinor, Kate and Anne spent a morning in the workshop, fingering silks and satins and trying to choose from a gorgeous assortment of fabrics. After the attention Kate had received at Twelfth Night, Elinor was determined Anne would be the one to shine at the court festivities. She was excited by the prospect of finding Anne a husband of rank, and not knowing what other chances she might have of presenting her daughter in such elegant company, she wanted Anne to look her best. She pushed Kate into a chair.