Wolf Hall
December 1499
The fire in the master bedroom crackled with a particularly cheerful note this fine December night, Thomas thought, as he stretched out his legs before its welcome warmth. How could a man possibly be happier?
From the kitchens below wafted the appetizing scent of roasting venison. Today had been the best day’s hunting he could ever remember. Perfect weather. Up at dawn. A promise of winter in the crisp air. And most excellent sport.
The noble buck had given Thomas and his men a good chase for most of the day. It didn’t matter. The way he had felt, he would have chased that animal all the way to Scotland if necessary. He had promised Alicia a stag, and, by God, he would get her one. Thankfully, the good Lord and the buck cooperated.
Closing his eyes, he pictured the eighteen-point rack of antlers hanging in the great hall, just below the beautiful new wolf’s head banner that Alicia had embroidered while she waited out her pregnancy.
He heard a small sound in the great bed behind him. He stood, and tiptoed over to the side where Alicia lay. Her beautiful hair, freshly brushed, fanned over the pillow in a cascade of gold. The firelight enhanced all her red Plantagenet highlights. She smiled up at him.
He kissed her forehead. “Methought you were sleeping. You have had a hard day’s work.”
Her smile widened. “I have been watching you for these past ten minutes, Thomas. I like to see my men at my fireside.”
She touched the little flannel-wrapped bundle that he held carefully in the crook of his arm. “Is he still asleep?”
The new father’s chest swelled with pride as he looked down at his newborn son. “Aye, his day’s labor has tired him out as well.”
With a sense of wonder at the tiny being he had helped to create, Thomas smoothed the little tuft of reddish gold hair on the babe’s head. Then he stroked his son’s downy cheek. The child sighed in his sleep, then opened one exquisitely formed hand. Thomas touched it with his thumb, and chuckled when the baby clamped his tiny fingers around it.
“He has a good grip,” he told the baby’s mother. “He will make a fine swordsman one day.”
Still smiling, Alicia shook her head at her husband. “Let the child get all his milk teeth before you start teaching him how to lose them.”
He considered her request. “How long will that take?”
“About six years—at least.”
He grinned. “Plenty of time for swords. In the meantime, he can start riding a pony at four. Chase a rabbit.” He dropped a kiss on the top of his son’s head. “You will like chasing rabbits, my boy. Easy to catch.” He grew more serious. “You did not mind that I was not here when he was born?” he asked Alicia. He felt a little guilty about racing off with horns and hounds the minute she had announced that she was in labor.
She took his free hand in hers, and gave it a squeeze. “Nay, my love. You would have done me no good at all if you had been cooped up downstairs while I did a lot of screaming. You would have driven the midwife and all the maids to distraction. In fact, Stokes sent me a message of thanks for getting you out from underfoot. I believe he called you a roaring bull.”
Thomas raised his eyebrows. “Did he now?” He chuckled. “‘Tis a fine stag I got you, Alicia. Will make you a good stew to give you strength. And when this one is old enough to understand, I will show him those antlers, and tell him how I brought that buck down with only one arrow on the day he was born.”
Alicia patted his hand. “I am sure you will begin to tell our son even before he is old enough to understand. Thank you, my love, for the beautiful stag. I look forward to tasting the fruits of your labors.”
“Aye, well…” Thomas tried to think of something very complimentary to say, but nothing came to mind, except how proud he was of her. “In a fortnight, or so, when you have recovered enough, we will ride into York.”
A glow lit up Alicia’s eyes. “Whyfore, now?”
Thomas kissed her hand. “I will order you a necklace of gold chain links and blue sapphires to honor your eyes, and those of our first-born son.”
She laughed with pleasure. “Thomas, you will drown me in gold necklaces.”
He nibbled at her fingers. “Aye, ‘tis my life’s goal. I love you so much, Alicia.”
She stroked his cheek. “And I love you, Thomas.”
The baby stirred in his arms, and began to whimper. Alicia reached for her son. “Methinks he is a true Cavendish. He is hungry again.”
Thomas watched as she suckled his son. He wanted to throw open the casement windows, and bellow his joy across the countryside, but he knew his wife would tell him to hush up. Later tonight, when everyone else was asleep, he, Andrew and Stokes would have a little celebration of their own with the cask of good malmsey wine that Thomas had laid by especially for this happy occasion.
“Do you have any choices for the babe’s name?” he asked her.
Alicia smiled down at her son. “I had thought of naming him Edward, after my father and my guardian.”
Thomas nodded. “‘Tis a noble name.”
She furrowed her brows. “But, methinks this child may look too much like his grandsire for safety’s sake. Have you noticed his large feet? They are Plantagenet through and through.”
Her expression took on a faraway look. “And the same is true for the name of Richard.” Her lips trembled.
Thomas squeezed her hand. “I have paid for a hundred masses to be said for the soul of your dear brother. He is not forgotten in this household.”
And cursed be Henry Tudor’s craven heart for executing the boy!
Alicia looked up at her husband, her eyes glazed with tears. “I am ever grateful to you, Thomas.”
He knelt by her bedside. “Nay, ‘tis I who thanks God every day for sending you into my life, my princess.”
Her smile returned. “So, then, we are agreed. We will not burden this child with the name of a king. But he must be named before his christening. Is there any family name that you particularly like?”
Thomas recalled the harsh years of his childhood under the stern discipline of his father, Giles, and the taunts and blows of his brothers, John and William. “None come to mind,” he replied.
“Was there a friend of your childhood? Someone very special whom you would wish to honor?” she persisted.
Immediately the perfect name leapt onto Thomas’s tongue. A slow smile spread across his face. “Brandon,” he said.
Alicia nodded. “‘Tis a fine name. A good strong one, too. I like it well. You will be Brandon Cavendish, my little one.” She kissed the babe who, sated with his mother’s milk, had fallen asleep. “Was Brandon a good friend of yours, Thomas?”
His smile grew broader. “As true a friend as any man could have.”
Later, after Alicia had fallen asleep again, Thomas left the chamber, and sought out Georgie, Vixen and Taverstock by the fire in the empty hall. He hunkered down among them with a sigh.
“’Tis a red-letter day for Wolf Hall, eh, my friends? The tenth Earl of Thornbury sleeps in his cradle above us.”
He massaged old Georgie’s ears. The years had been kind to the greathearted mastiff. Thomas bent low, and whispered into his ancient friend’s ear.
“You will be proud to hear that we will call my son Brandon after the truest friend a lonely boy could ever have. But please, upon your word as an honorable gentleman, never tell my lady wife that Brandon was your noble sire. Methinks she might not like the idea of naming our son after a dog.”
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