Virginia Henley (32 page)

Roseanna used every excuse she could think of to stay at the abbey. She told them she had come to look at more horses; she also wanted to buy some sheep; and she had decided that Jervaulx should provide Ravensworth with their famous flakey white cheese year round. She hoped God would forgive her for lying to men of the church but wasted no more thoughts on the matter.

She needed to figure out how she could get close to Edward if she saw him around Middleham Castle or on Middleham High Moor. She concluded that a monk’s white robe would be her best camouflage. Holy men came and went everywhere almost unnoticed. She hadn’t been inside the Abbey of Jervaulx two hours when she stole a robe from a clothesline outside the laundry.

She rode out onto the moor and put the large white robe over her other clothing as soon as she was away from the abbey. The Arabian blended in with the other white horses grazing on the moor. Roseanna decided she would ride in close proximity to the high walls of Midhung
around all afternoon; then just at dusk she couldn’t believe her luck. A large troop of men-at-arms came riding over the ridge with King Edward at their head. She rode slowly toward them, hoping and praying that her father would recognize the Arabian.

He did! Edward held up his hand for the troop to rein in. He felt inside his purse for gold. The King was famous for his generosity, so when he asked if he could approach the monk to give him alms, it raised no suspicions. Edward spurred his horse the few yards toward Roseanna. His own gentlemen who had been allowed to attend him while he was a “guest” at Middleham rode up close behind him to partly screen him from his captors’ vision.

Roseanna whispered hoarsely, “How can I aid you?”

He shook his head quickly. “I am in no danger. But oh, my Rosebud, I beg you to ride swiftly and get the Queen into sanctuary. Warwick means to destroy them all!”

She nodded quickly and took the money he proffered. Then she slid from her horse and knelt with bowed head until the cavalcade had passed on its way into Middleham Castle. As the enormity of the task ahead of her dawned, she began to panic. London lay hundreds of miles to the south. She didn’t know how far exactly or in which direction exactly, and she was a woman alone. Should she go to her husband, beg his forgiveness, and lay the matter onto his strong, capable shoulders? He’d raze Middleham to the ground to free Edward, but what of Elizabeth Woodville? She knew he would never allow her to ride to London, and her father was counting on her. The Arabian certainly had enough heart for the journey; the question was, had she? Should she spend the night at the abbey and start out at dawn? No, she would
set out now; even if she only rode twenty miles or so, she would be that much closer to London, and the Queen’s life depended upon her.

She kept the monk’s robe on for safety’s sake and was glad of the extra warmth it lent her. Though she was cold and hungry, she kept going until she saw lights from a town in the distance. As she got closer, she realized with joy that it was York. She was elated that she had done so well and on impulse sought out The Fighting Cocks, where Ravenspur had caught her.

No skulking about this time! She removed the white robe in the inn yard and brushed off her traveling cloak. She turned Mecca over to a stableman with a haughty warning: “This horse is a priceless Arabian. See that he is well fed and watered, and I want a warm stall for him with a blanket.” She fished a coin from her belt and walked regally into the inn. It was hot and smoky as before and was filled with drinkers who seemed noisier than last time.

“I am Lady Roseanna Montford, Baroness of Ravenspur. I’ll need your best room and a good hot meal.” She looked the innkeeper straight in the eyes, daring him to offer her insult or even excuse because she was a woman alone. But he remembered her from when she was there with Ravenspur; no other woman in England had hair like that!

No sooner was she safely in her room than a loud fight broke out in the taproom below. When a chambermaid brought her half a capon and some hot apple pie, she questioned her: “What’s amiss tonight?”

“Oh lawdy, feelin’s is runnin’ high. There’s rumors thicker than whores in York on a Friday night! They say as Warwick has taken the King prisoner an’ is goin’ to set
up George, but England wants none of the likes of ‘im. I tell you, they’ll be riotin’ in the streets if these rumors have any truth to ‘um.”

“I must be away at first light. Knock very loudly until I answer; no later than five, please,” instructed Roseanna.

The long, cold day and the hot food made her very drowsy. She felt buoyed by the report of the public opinion, but the sooner she got to London, the better. She crawled into bed in her shift and was asleep between one thought and the next.

    The next day at Doncaster and Newark, the streets were filled with milling crowds that looked and sounded angry. She was very close to Castlemaine but decided that she could not afford to take the time for a visit home. Joanna would be distraught at the news of Edward’s capture, and she might also not be in favor of her daughter riding pell-mell for London to save her hated rival, the Woodville woman.

The next day she hoped to get as far as Cambridge, for the weather held good and Mecca was a strong steed. But in the late afternoon she noticed the Arabian had a loose shoe. As she bent to look closer, it seemed to Roseanna that the stallion’s shoes were wearing thin. She picked up a hoof to inspect it and blinked in disbelief. The horseshoes were made of silver! How extravagant of the King to gift her with a horse with silver horseshoes!

She stopped at a blacksmith’s shop and had him remove all the shoes and replace them with iron. Enough silver had worn away that this sprint to London had already cost a fortune. She put the silver shoes into her saddlebags. She’d probably need the silver in London before she was finished. Darkness was falling fast on that
winter’s night by the time the job was done, so Roseanna decided to stop at an inn at Buckden.

In the morning, when she lifted her head from her pillow, a wave of such nausea hit her that she had to reach for the chamber pot beneath the bed. She vomited twice, cursing fate that she had perhaps caught something and wouldn’t be able to continue. But miraculously, after the second time she was sick, the nausea passed off as quickly as it had come. She nibbled dry biscuits and sipped a little wine, for she knew she had to keep up her strength if she were to reach London this day.

She was within sight of the great city of London when her luck with the weather ran out. The heavens opened, and great sheets of freezing rain were flung from the sky. All light had vanished from the day by four in the afternoon. She rode into the stables attached to Westminster Palace and paid a royal groom handsomely to rub down and feed her horse; then she ran into the palace and asked a palace guard to direct her to the Queen.

Roseanna looked like the sole survivor of a shipwreck, as if the sea had spewed her up from its depths. She stood streaming water onto the magnificent red carpet. The palace guard was insulted by her very presence: “Get out before I have you arrested.”

“You don’t understand. I have a message for Her Grace the Queen. I have been sent by the King!” She said it with all the regality she could muster, but the guard poked his halberd at her until she retreated. In frustration she sat on the floor, refused to budge another inch, and began to scream. A covey of palace guards arrived, along with the chancellor.

“This beggar woman wants to see the Queen,” said the guard indignantly.

“The Queen is at Greenwich. Put her out,” ordered the chancellor.

“You pompous ass, why didn’t you tell me the queen wasn’t here?” cried Roseanna. Drooping with fatigue, she went back to the stables. No one noticed her. She finally found Mecca in a stall, so she crawled in with him and huddled in the hay. So close, and yet so far. She had to get to the Queen. It was her last thought before she sank down into dreamless exhaustion.

She awoke with a start and jumped up to find Mecca nuzzling her feet. She wished she had not moved so quickly, for she then found herself on her hands and knees vomiting into the straw. The morning sickness was repeating itself. “Morning sickness!” she cried aloud. She groaned. “Oh, Ravenspur, what have you done to me?” She pushed the thought away. She had no time to waste in foolish speculation about whether she was or wasn’t with child. She had to get to the Queen before her enemies or she would be dead, and from what she had heard, enemies were all that Elizabeth Woodville had.

She wiped her mouth and staggered to her feet. Bits of straw clung to her as she emerged into a London street. It was crowded with citizens and hawkers selling every imaginable need. Milkmaids with cans and ladles cried, “Sweet milk”; fishwives outdid each other offering “oysters, cockles, mussels, winkles, and ’errings.” Old women hawked bunches of lavender, and old men offered “dead men’s boots.” Carts and barrows held fruit, coal from Newcastle, hens, and hares. She bought a spiced custard, then wondered if she could keep it down. She went into a
silversmith’s and exchanged the horseshoes for coin of the realm.

On the next street she found a ladies’ dress shop. They bought and sold used clothing. Roseanna swallowed her distaste and chose a presentable crimson velvet gown. She would never gain audience with the Queen unless she made some show of wealth. The shop owner assured her that the clothes came from the royal ladies-in-waiting; when Roseanna departed, she left behind her own clothes and considerable coin in exchange for a rather gaudy cloak of what could only be described as blue cloth of silver upon satin. But more important, she departed with directions to Greenwich.

The fastest route was by Thames barge. The oarsmen called out the waterstops along the way. The river, though wide, deep, and fast flowing, stank. It stank of Billingsgate Fish Market and of public latrines. Roseanna shuddered and wondered what it was like in the hot months of the summer.

On the barge, a group of gaudily dressed young men were returning to the Court after a night of carousing on the town. They tried to be familiar with her, first by leers, then by suggestive remarks tossed her way. Finally one swaggered over, doffed his jeweled cap, and said with double meaning, “May I serve you, mistress?” They were absurdly young to be so dissolute, and she suspected that they had not quite sobered from the previous evening. Though they were of an age with her, she felt like a mature woman among boys. She smiled tolerantly and quipped, “I don’t believe you’re up to it!”

His fellows were helpless with laughter, and she brought a blush to his young cheek. The barge pulled up at the waterstop; she allowed the young men to leave first
and then followed them up the incline to Greenwich Palace.

Lord Hastings was the chamberlain of the Royal Household, but he was in the North, supposedly with the King. His deputy, Montague, served in his place. It took Roseanna the rest of the day to gain an audience with him, let alone the Queen. He was a small, officious man, and he informed her in a lordly manner that when the Queen dined, she was welcome to observe. Apparently, every evening Elizabeth Woodville and her Court dined “on display.” Foreigners and visitors were invited to watch the magnificence of the meal as if it were a play— and in very truth it was a theatrical event.

The Queen was fast becoming one of the sights of Europe, like a shrine. Foreigners could gawp at her while she gave them neither a look nor a word.

Roseanna was awed by her first sight of the Queen. She was slim and beautiful and shone luminously like the inside pearl of a shell. Her hair was silvery-gilt, and she wore shimmering cloth of silver sewn with crystal drops. She looked to be as hard as a diamond. Roseanna was surprised to discover that she was great with child, although the cut of the gown was designed to hide the pregnancy. Toward the end of the meal, Roseanna approached Lady Margery, one of the Queen’s ladies-in-waiting, and asked if she could speak to the Queen. She was a rather plain-faced woman, as all the Queen’s ladies were. It was evident that Elizabeth Woodville wanted no competition.

Lady Margery looked doubtfully at Roseanna, so she pressed her case more urgently and said, “It is a matter of life and death! I have a secret message from the King!”

In the face of such urgency, Lady Margery quickly
drew Roseanna over to the Queen’s table and repeated her message to Elizabeth.

The Queen’s gaze dropped to Roseanna, and her eyes narrowed. She assessed every inch of her with glittering eyes. Who was this woman the King had sent with a message? She was far too beautiful for her own good, Elizabeth decided. She was also young, and that was unusual, for Ned usually preferred his women older and more experienced. Although he thought that having many bed partners was his natural prerogative, he was no ravisher of innocent virgins. Still, in spite of her tender years, this one before her stood out as a woman among girls. Yes, she was all woman, Elizabeth decided with her shrewd gaze.

It seemed to Roseanna that the Queen was not going to speak with her, so she did an unheard-of thing and spoke first. She dropped one knee in a curtsey and said, “Your Grace, I beg you to allow me to speak.”

Elizabeth drew in her breath in shock. “Who are you?” she demanded coldly.

“I am Lady Roseanna Montford, Ravenspur’s wife.”

The Queen’s eyebrows went up, and she was visibly relieved. So she was not one of the King’s whores, after all. Ravenspur’s new bride would be out of bounds to the King. After all, hadn’t Ravenspur mutilated his last wife for faithlessness? “Follow me,” commanded Elizabeth. Roseanna fell in with her ladies-in-waiting, and the procession moved gracefully from the public dining hall to one of the Queen’s sitting rooms. “Speak!” commanded Elizabeth, settling herself onto a thronelike padded chair with a footstool.

“Your Grace, the message is bad news, and I hate to upset you. But the King has been taken prisoner and is
being held at Middleham Castle. I speak the truth, Your Majesty—I saw him with my own eyes.”

“Warwick! That whoreson Warwick is my sworn enemy!”

“Your Grace, I have ridden without rest from Middleham to bring you the King’s urgent warning. He said he was in no immediate danger, but that I was to get you to sanctuary because they mean to kill you.”