I was stiff and sore that night, but I was determined not to miss the evening meal in the Great Hall. It wouldn’t be a banquet, as such, but it would be made extra special by the fact a squadron of cavalry would be heading off to do battle the following day.
I wanted to put on a good show and so dressed in my best clothes and even decided to put on the thin circlet of gold that is worn on the head like a crown by all Princes of the Royal House of York.
When I heard a familiar knock at my door I knew it’d be Francis and I almost laughed out loud when he swept into the room. Obviously he’d had the same idea as me and was wearing his best clothes along with almost every piece of jewellery he owned. Every finger dripped with gold, he wore no fewer than three brooches of rubies and emeralds and around his neck he wore the heavy gilded chain of the Lovell Barons. Unlike me, he’s tall and broad and looked like a decorated tree in all his finery.
“Very impressive,” I said with a grin. “Do you think anyone will realize there’s a boy under all that metalwork and gemstones?”
He grinned in return: “I just want people to know who I really am. I’ve been training here as a soldier in Middleham Castle for three years now and that’s as long as you. But while everyone knows you’re Prince Richard, brother of the King, I could just be a stable boy.”
He nodded at me where I stood warming myself next to the fire. “I mean look at you, you’re every inch a prince. You’re… you’re skinny, and you even… move in the way that royalty is supposed to! But put me in the right clothes and I could be the boy who mucks out the pigs!”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I said. “You look powerful and lordly; you’re already almost as tall as the Earl of Warwick himself, something I’ll never be. Do you know how frightening you look when you’re in a bad mood? Some of the kitchen drudges take one look and just scurry away.”
“That’s probably because of my red hair,” he answered, grinning again. “Maybe they think my head’s on fire.”
I laughed, but then said: “Come on, let’s go down to supper. I think there’s going to be music and jugglers tonight.”
When we got down to the Great Hall the place was hazy with smoke that rose to the rafters from the huge fire burning in the hearth in the very centre of the flagstone floor, and every bench and table was occupied. The bottler stood in the very midst of the Great Hall directing everything. He was one of the most important servants in the entire place, and he ran everything in the castle that wasn’t to do with fighting and warfare. Even so he reminded me of a general as he ordered his serving chamberlains about like soldiers in his personal army.
Of course the knights of the household were there too and, as the Earl of Warwick was a man of such importance, there were more than a hundred of them occupying the upper tables closest to the raised platform or dais where the Earl himself sat like a king with his court.
A soldier escorted Francis and me into the hall and thumped the butt of his spear on the flagstones when we reached the top dais.
The Earl was dressed splendidly in rich green velvet with a huge yellow hat that seemed almost to reach the rafters. I was told later that it was specially shipped from the best hat-makers in London, and cost more than some people earn in a year. Beside him sat his wife, the lady of the castle and Countess of Warwick, Lady Anne de Beauchamp.
At thirty-eight she was still beautiful, and as fearsome as her husband. She ran the domestic side of the castle with the same sort of discipline usually seen in an army on the march, but it was her daughter who caught my eye. Our own little Anne, who only that morning had been bickering with Francis, had been transformed into a grave and powerful lady of the castle. She wore a dark blue silken gown and a snowy white headdress and she looked on all before her with a stony gaze. I could see now that one day she would be as beautiful as her mother, and when she was grown up she’d break many hearts.
I nodded my head to her as the rules of good manners demanded and she curtsied in return, but then as she rose to her full height again, she winked at me. I nudged Francis but he was completely unaware of me as he stared open-mouthed at the transformed Anne.
“Ah, Prince Richard and the Baron Lovell, please do us the honour of joining us at our table,” said the Earl, his face alight with smiles and his eyes darting between Francis and me as though trying to read what we were thinking in our faces.
A chamberlain led us to our seats. My chair stood between Warwick’s and his daughter Anne’s, and I couldn’t help noticing that mine and the Earl’s were precisely equal, down to the last ounce of gilding and up to the last fraction in height.
Down in the centre of the hall the bottler now raised his hand and immediately the food was brought in. It was all raised high on the shoulders of the serving men in metal serving dishes and it brought with it the rich scents of roasting meats. Up on the musicians’ gallery above the main doors the musicians began to play, and soon the sweet sounds of music mingled with the smoke from the central fire and rose up into the rafters, where the huge oak beams of the roof reached across the wide space from wall to wall in a great leap.
The buzz of voices that had been kept politely low until now rose up into a sea of sound, and the serving boys were soon scurrying around like busy ants with their tall pitchers of ale and wine. When the servants stepped forward to fill our goblets at the top table, the Earl leaned in close. “If you’ll take my advice, my Lord, you’ll drink only small beer tonight. It’s wise to keep a clear head for your first battle and campaign.”
Small beer was drunk by everyone in the castle. It was weak and was thought suitable for even the youngest page and, though I knew Warwick was right, it took all my willpower not to defy him and order strong ale or wine. But in the end common sense won out and I beckoned up the boy with the pitcher of small beer.
I made sure that Francis did the same, and I took some comfort when I noticed that even the knights on the high tables were being careful with their drinking. Obviously experienced warriors knew better than to risk a headache and slow reactions at the beginning of a campaign.
In the end the meal fell short of a full banquet. The food was richer than usual, and there were more dishes to choose from, but the entertainment was limited to the musicians playing in the gallery and the Earl of Warwick’s jester – a man who was about as funny as one of Master Guillard’s arithmetic lessons on a wet Wednesday afternoon. Also many of the knights who’d be part of the cavalry I’d be riding with the next day were happy to retire early so that they could get as much sleep as they could before the early morning start.