Chapter 24

The twelve miles to Eccleshall went quickly. Stephen rode Daniel’s horse, jaw tight trying to deny the shooting pain. When they came within a mile of Eccleshall Stephen donned his armor, minus the German helm Ulger had stolen. He would enter the castle with honor. Should Ulger or his men choose to attack the reputed Blore Heath traitor, Stephen had his father, Daniel, Will and Harry.

The village bustled with activity, legions of armies camped in the fields. Some stared as Stephen’s party passed, some pointed at Stephen and shouted curses, condemning him as a Yorkist.

Stephen winced but kept going, intent on his purpose. He would proclaim his innocence, and pray the king was rational this day. He would plead for a chance to find witnesses and prove his innocence. If not, he would beseech the king to not punish his father for something he believed Stephen had done.

People began to follow them. Out of hatred? Out of curiosity? Out of a dark wish to be entertained by a Gypsy beheading?

A tall, bulbous-nosed man approached, his hauberk loose and hanging on his chest. Venables, the knight from Drayton who had looked at Stephen’s skin with disdain. He angled past Harry and grabbed the reins, trying to pull them from Stephen’s hands. “Traitor.” His lip curled, revealing horse teeth. “Henry will have your head.”

Harry’s face turned red and he jumped from his horse. Grabbing Venables’ loose hauberk, he punched the cur thrice in rapid succession, bloodying his nose.

Venables collapsed.

“He’s here to answer the charges,” Harry said.

Venables’ fellow soldiers looked as if they might retaliate.

Will dismounted and faced them, his jugular pulsing like a night crawler on his neck.

The Drayton men retreated and helped Venables to his feet.

Venables barked false laughter. “I’ll spit in your dead eyes, Gypsy.” They turned away.

Stephen’s neck grew hot. The king had already condemned him, his head pounded beyond thought, and Venables was probably right.

He tamped the anger down. He must think of Nicole, his father, his family. If he must be forfeited because of Ulger’s scheming, so be it, but all did not have to suffer. He would see to it.

By the time they reached the curtain, dozens of men had joined Stephen’s party. At the guard tower, only Stephen, his father and his knights were allowed entrance.

They passed through the bailey to the tune of the mid-day bells and stopped at the castle entrance.

Stephen’s heart pounded. Was Nicole here? Just the thought that he may see her caused a swirling, light headed feeling. Sudden need for her paralyzed him, making him weak. There were no signs of her or Binnie. His hopes fell. She does not want to see me.

A man made round by food and sloth exited the castle and approached them. He wore the king’s livery and was accompanied by two royal knights.

Harry dismounted, offering help to Stephen.

Stephen waived it, grimacing as he swung his leg free and slipped off the horse. “I request audience with the king.”

The gluttonous man regarded him coolly. “The king is indisposed.”

Sick again? Stephen cringed. If he was to be executed, he wanted it done swiftly. They could grant him that, at the least. “The queen, then?”

Moments later, Margaret exited the castle, surrounded by knights.

The queen fair shone, her black hair clean beneath her crown, her eyes bright and rested.

Stephen bowed stiffly, just a hairs breath to spare swooning from his head wound. “My queen.”

She said nothing, watched him closely.

“I am here to answer charges of treason,” Stephen said.

“He is innocent,” Tabor said.

“Where have you been?” Margaret asked. “We have looked for you for days.”

“Recovering from my wounds.” Stephen touched his forehead. “Your physics can confirm this. I never crossed the brook during the battle,” Stephen said. “I sustained my wounds when I defended Lord Dudley. I vow to you by all that is holy. I—”

“How unfortunate Dudley is not here to confirm that,” Margaret interrupted.

“Remove his bandage and pray look at the extent of his wounds,” Tabor said. “He was near death when I found him. He could not stand, let alone mount a horse.”

“If so, why did you flee?”

“Men were keen on killing my son. He would have been slain on the very field upon which he almost died, defending the crown,” Tabor said. “He was unconscious. I took him to safety.”

“And I have returned, willingly,” Stephen said. “Because I am innocent.”

“Several testified they saw you defect,” Margaret said.

“Fully armored?” Tabor asked.

“And what of Dudley’s men? They saw me help him, saw me go down,” Stephen said.

“So many perished. No one has come forward to defend you.” Margaret waved her hands, as if shaking off excess water. “The king has decided.”

“Morys came forward. Daniel, too,” Stephen said, pointing to Daniel.

“Nicole saw you defect,” Margaret said.

A deeper pain than his wound knifed through him. “Does she believe it was me?”

“She looked as if she’d seen a ghost. But she insisted it could not be you.” There was a furrow of the queen’s brow, the slightest grimace on her small mouth.

Fresh hope trickled into Stephen’s veins. “You’re not sure.”

Noises from an angry crowd reached them from outside the castle wall.

“Kill him.”

“He’s a traitor. Let’s have his head.”

“Tabor’s, too.” The entrance gate shook from men banging on it, trying to get in.

Tabor, Harry and Will surround Stephen. Daniel stood between them and the gate.

Margaret struck the guard to her right. “Tell the tower guard. Get those men gone. Now.”Alarm sharpened her voice.

The tower guards drew their swords, opened the gates and stormed the crowd, pushing it back.

The men retreated.

Margaret recovered. “We will wait for the king. In the meantime, take him below.” She eyed Tabor. “Take them all below.”

As the guards funneled them toward the steps, Margaret put her arm out, stopping Stephen. “I cannot defy his ruling.” Her large eyes were sad. “I can grant you only a little time.”

* * *

Nicole reached into the trunk and removed pointed-toed shoes, thigh high boots and a brocade houppelande, stacking them neatly on the floor. “Let’s go slowly,” she said. “We don’t want to miss anything.”

Emilyne removed a quilted pourpoint. “Damask.” She rolled the material, brow rising in appreciation. “Fine court wear.”

Binnie found several gold rings, among them a chased gold ring with a sapphire. “Look.” He removed a casket, the lid four hands wide and two hands deep, secured by two locks. He raised his eyes in question.

“Open it,” Nicole and Emilyne said together.

He hammered the locks squarely. Inside, they found gold and silver coins. He raised a handful of them, sifting. “Crowns. Must be...” he rummaged through the coins, “Several hundred pounds. Egad.”

“Risky to carry such fortune. You would think he would use an agent,” Nicole said.

“There’s enough here to fund Faierfield’s accounts for a year.” Emilyne frowned. “I felt so sorry for Walter after the Bagryell sank. We have struggled ever since. But Ulger.” Her green eyes narrowed. “All his talk of wealth and his lavish support to the crown.” Emilyne rubbed the coins together and they fell, clinking softly against the hundreds of coins. “How did Ulger amass such wealth while my husband floundered?”

Nicole exchanged glances with Binnie and Emilyne.

Mariel entered the chamber. “With the sunny afternoon and all, my lady, I thought it good to clean rugs.” She ambled toward the rug, catching a glimpse of the coins. “Oh, my.”

“Oh, my, indeed,” Emilyne said. “One word to anyone about this and...”

“No, no, my lady, not a word.” Mariel shook her head, still eyeing the coins. “I’ll just scrub the floor for now,” she said, retreating to the far corner of the chamber.

The remainder of the chest proved disappointing, just clothing, personal ointments and soaps.

Binnie lifted the last soap, and the ivory moire lining was all that remained.

“So several hundred pounds and a chest full of clothing.” Nicole sat back on her haunches, stinging with disappointment. What had she expected to find, a magic key that would unlock her uncle’s secrets? “I was so certain we could catch him at something.”

Emilyne shook her head. “He is too clever.”

Nicole paced. This must be what a caged animal feels, she thought, heart racing, skin itching to break free. “By the saints! So are we. Think. Think!” She glanced around the guest chamber. “Where could he hide it?”

“What is ‘it’?” Binnie asked.

Nicole splayed her hands toward the ceiling. “I don’t know, but I know he’s hiding something because he cheated Father.” She fisted her hands. “I’m sure of it.” She paced again. “Mother. Did he say anything about returning to Southampton? Or to France?”

Emilyne tilted her head, looking upward. “No. He led me to believe he was here to stay.” Her mouth turned down at the corners. “He led me to believe much.”

“In Eccleshall he offered the king knights, horses, provisions. Said he had ‘considerable’ assets. If so, he has funds elsewhere, and that means he has records, notes of account. She studied the walls, the ceilings. He has to have a journal here. I know it.”

Stephen. I will help you, somehow. Nicole dropped to her hands and knees, feeling the bottom shelf of the fireplace. She found nothing but black char. “Binnie.” She turned to him. “Check the privy. Shelves, loose stones, anything. Mother, check behind those tapestries and for loose stones, too.

“Might I help too, my lady?” Mariel asked. Hearing no objection, Mariel dropped to her knees, grasping stones, searching for an unstable one that might hold Ulger’s secret document.

They scoured the room and found nothing.

* * *

Stephen, Tabor, Daniel and Will sat in the gloom of the dungeon. Stephen looked up at the small window above them. It revealed the passing of day to night and back again. A guard brought food and drink, ignoring their questions and leaving without a word.

“All I can give you is time, she said.” Stephen shook his head. “And what in hell can I do with time, down here?”

“Accept our fate,” Will said. “Wait for the king to order our execution. And hope for a sharp sword.”

Daniel laughed. “With your neck, Will, they’ll need to hack five times.”

Will punched Daniel’s arm, laughing. “At least I have a neck.”

“Enough,” Tabor said.

“Might as well make light,” Daniel said. “The hours are long.”

Stephen tilted his head, thinking. “Let us find a way to make the guard talk.”

* * *

Nicole emptied her goblet and filled it again with the red wine. “The last drop from my wedding.”

The four of them sat in the solar, Emilyne, Mariel, Binnie and Nicole. They had left Ulger’s guest chamber in shambles, tapestries turned, paintings flipped and left crooked on the walls, rugs askew, mattress plundered, all shelves checked, top and bottom.

“The dirty sod,” Nicole said.

“Poor Walter,” Emilyne said.

Binnie scratched Digger’s neck. “Mayhaps he has nothing to hide.”

“Bosh. We all know he’s guilty. He wouldn’t take his accounts to Blore Heath. Always danger of theft and looting in those tents,” Emilyne said.

“So it has to be here, but where?”

Mariel wiped the table and swept.

“Say. Mariel. How long have you lived here?” Nicole couldn’t remember a time when Mariel was not at Faierfield.

She was here when Walter and I were wed,” Emilyne said.

“I was brought from the village when I was eight.”

“When Ulger was ...” Nicole thought. “Eighteen. Did he have any favorite places? Like Binnie, with Morgan Hill, something like that?”

“He liked dice,” Mariel said.

“Gambling. Of course,” Nicole said. “Where did he spend most of his time?” She sat upright. “Which chamber was his, when he was growing up?”

“By gad.” Mariel stood. “Yours, Nicole. That used to be Ulger’s.”

The four of them sat on the rug in Nicole’s chamber, propped against the bookshelf. Nicole held Ulger’s journal in her hand, and Emilyne and Binnie combed the entries in the candle light and late afternoon sun. Mariel couldn’t read, so she waited for their comments.

Bound in humble board and leather strapping, the unassuming volume had been tucked discreetly in the left corner of the bottom shelf among Nicole’s childhood books. Under their noses. So clever.

“Look at this.” Nicole pointed at journal entries from three months ago. “At the time of the sinking of the Bagryell.”

“And here,” Emilyne said. “Ulger showed income of two hundred pounds, three hundred fifty here...”

“And another three hundred two weeks later,” Binnie said.

They turned the pages, looking at the growing numbers, as with every entry, Walter’s wealth dwindled and Ulger’s grew.

A bank ledger tucked in the back showed deposits that matched the income.

Emilyne straightened to her full height and her porcelain skin turned red at the neck, spreading to her face. “The sod-rotted bastard,” she cried. She jerked the journal from Nicole’s hands and paced the room, slamming the journal on her hip. She released a string of vulgarities that shocked her children, Mariel, and the stars in the weakening night sky outside. “I’ll kill him myself. I’ll bring my father’s best war dagger and slice out his tongue. Nay, his heart.”

Binnie’s eyes grew wide, and he stepped instinctively closer to Nicole. “The journal proves he’s a thief,” he said.

“But not a traitor” Nicole said, still frustrated.

“It’s all we have,” Emilyne said. “Let’s show Margaret.” Her green eyes darkened, her gaze wild, dangerous. “I am even more the fool.” She strode to the door. “Pack. The royal guards are still here, and they can take us up north.”

“But mother. You don’t ride any more.”

“I just developed a passion for it.” She disappeared in a cloud of anger.