The Prince, the Cook and the Cunning King (3 page)
I dozed a little. I heard the bells chime midnight.
That was when guards came for me. They came quietly with a horn lantern that barely lit the bat-black night.
One of the men, the tall one, pressed a hand over my mouth as a sign that I should make no sound.
The horses stirred in the stable below as I groped my way down the stairs into the freezing courtyard.
We entered the kitchen into air that was thick with stale food and smoky smells. The guard opened the lantern and led me up the stairs.
I was so tired I could hardly drag myself on. At last we came to the massive doors that led into the great hall.
The room was warmed by a log fire and that lit the room, too. The high, carved thrones were empty. But a man in a dressing gown sat in front of the fire and smiled a thin-lipped smile into the flames.
The tall guard spoke for the first time. “Your Grace? We’ve brought you the girl.”
The man turned and waved a hand for the guards to leave. He grinned at me. His teeth were a little black with rot. It wasn’t a pleasant smile. “Come in, Eleanor, and warm yourself.”
I dropped a low curtsey to Henry Tudor, King Henry VII of England. “Thank you, Your Grace,” I said humbly.
He gave a short laugh. “Eleanor, my dearest niece. You must call me Uncle Henry!”
“How was your work in the kitchen?” King Henry asked.
“It nearly killed me, Uncle,” I groaned.
I stretched and yawned wearily as I sat on a bench at the fireplace.
He nodded. “But no one suspects you? They all believe you’re just a common serving girl?”
“Yes, Uncle, we’ve fooled them,” I said. “No one could guess I’m Lady Eleanor Tudor of Pembroke in Wales.”
“Good,” he said, rubbing his hands in front of the fire. “Then you are the perfect spy. We Tudors must stick together. I can trust no one outside of my family. There are thousands who want me dead, you know. Dead as a duck’s toenail!”
The King stroked the fur collar on his gown and the collar moved. It was a small brown monkey. It looked at me, then went back to sleep.
“There are rebels and traitors everywhere.”
“Yes, Uncle, I know,” I said.
Mother had told me of the danger. If Henry Tudor lost the throne, then our family back in Wales would suffer, too. They might even kill us the way they killed the Princes in the Tower.
“Have you met Lambert ‘Simple’ Simnel?”
“Yes, Uncle.”
“Did your mother tell you about him?”
“Yes, Uncle. Lambert says he’s Prince Edward, but really he’s an organ-maker’s son from Oxford,” I said. “The real Prince Edward is still locked in the Tower of London.”
The King stroked his long chin. “He may look a little bit like Prince Edward.
The trouble is, my enemies put a crown on Lambert’s head and sent an army from Ireland to kill me!”
“But you won the battle and captured Lambert. You made him a kitchen boy to show what a good, kind king you are,” I said.
“I did! There are still people who think Simple Simnel could take my throne. There’s only one person who knows for sure who that boy in the kitchen really is … and that’s the boy in the kitchen!”
My Uncle was quivering with so much rage the monkey on his shoulder stirred.
“Now he’s afraid so he says he’s not Edward. First he is–then he isn’t. What’s the truth?”
“I’ll find out for you, Uncle,” I promised. “What will you do if he is the true king?”
Uncle Henry blinked in surprise. “Why, have him killed, of course!”
I worked in the kitchen till my fingers bled and my nails cracked.
My fair skin was roasted when I turned the meat over the fire and my bare feet were black with dirt.
