Their son, another royal Edward, named for his uncle the King, lived and grew. In five months, Anne and Richard, Duke and Duchess of Gloucester, were gone, ridden out of my life again. Their colorful train, as great as a hundred, stretched behind them. There were the loaded wagons, strings of horses, knights, squires, ladies, laundresses, cooks, maids, servers, secretaries, clerks, the falconers and the birds, the hunting dogs and their keepers—everyone in the world but me—and it no longer rankled.
Time passed, and the duchess gave birth to no more children, nor did she kindle. When she was at Middleham I was often called upon to make potions and pray with her. I knew only too well for what she prayed. Richard kept no other women, nor was he ever known to upbraid his wife for her barrenness. Whenever they were together, it was well-known they shared a bed. When she was at Middleham, and if I’d been summoned to her, I saw Anne glow after a night with her Dickon. Even he, usually so somber and care-worn, would seem in better cheer after a respite in her arms. The affection they shared, so obvious, was commented upon by all. It was as if they were country cousins who'd married for love.
Myself, I had the other problem women have, setting myself to rights, which I did once, even though I was ill for almost a week after. My husband, who knew no more of this than other men, comforted me. Finally, as was bound to happen, one stuck, and there I was, swelling up and tired again.
Alkelda was a strong and willful three and a half by the time our Will was born. They were pretty babies, two of a kind, fair and fat, with dark gray eyes that would never change. One way or another, my mother had written Whitby out of most transactions. (My sister Marigold had Mother’s freckles and auburn hair.) Only Lily completely took after her father. My two children by Hugh, on the other hand, were fair and square, Saxon to the core. Looking at my babies, I wondered if I lacked the same force of will my mother had possessed. Over time, however, all my children raised some freckles, a dusting of golden flecks across their noses.
Hugh was not around in those days any more than Richard. The duke was constantly on the move and his soldiers, archers and men at arms went with him. There were skirmishes on the border, rebellions and private warfare of lords upon one another, as has always been the way in our turbulent north country.
Sometimes, when the ducal couple were at Middleham, I would happen upon Lady Anne in the garden, for she liked to go there in the evenings before Compline. She always had Edward and his nurse with her. It was said by some she fussed and worried too much, but what else could she do? This delicate child was all God had given. He must be kept in health to take the reins of the wild northern steed his father was now working so hard to tame.
Edward of Middleham was a pretty child, a nice mixture of both parents, with a sweet thin face, chestnut hair and blue eyes. He was bright and quick to talk, but so tiny at a year that his words seemed nothing short of a miracle. Anne doted, as did Richard.
Little Ned had terrible fits of coughing, very much like Anne. Poor little boy! He, like his mother, learned to swallow a medicinal sludge, heavy with black honey and herbs. For him, his illness was worst at haying time and in the first warm days of spring. He slept on a fine wool mattress covered with linen, for he sneezed and choked if put to sleep on featherbeds or upon Our Lady's Bedstraw. When the family was in residence at Middleham, I was often in close attendance, and Mother Ash’s recipes traveled with Edward’s nurse as they went castle to castle.
These I had finally recited for Anne to take down, so that she would have them always and in a "good script." My writing had never become fair. That is an art which takes time to perfect.
* * *
Their family made a pretty picture, sitting in the garden while Edward played with a puppy or quietly maneuvered toy horses and soldiers upon carpet the servants had laid down. Anne, gentlewomen at her side, would ply the needle. Richard's robes and coats of arms were always most beautifully embroidered, glowing with color and fine detail.
He stayed a little apart, at a table daily carried to wherever he chose to work. Kendall, his clerks, squires and pages came and went, bearing the petitions and letters which arrived in a steady stream, and, for which a duke must always have attention.
"I am very sorry for it, My Lord Edward, but it is time for your medicine."
"Oh, Mistress Rose, must I?"
"Indeed, you must." The duke would answer before I could. “It will make you strong, just as Mistress Rose's medicines did your mother."
"Come Mistress Rose." The child extended a fair hand to me. "I must do my duty."
How alike they were, this father and son! I brought a tray and a mug of something which would help the medicine go down, a decoction of something pleasant like hot milk and chamomile, spiced with ginger and sweetened with honey.
If Edward was ill, I was would be called. Duchess Anne and the Duke might be there too, if he were not dealing justice somewhere, making war upon those Scots, or treading some careful dance around the Percies, those old northern rivals. Once little Ned was so bad, we tented him over so he could breathe a steaming broth of herbs.
I'd never seen a royal child so watched over by his parents. Even the Countess of Warwick, who I'd call a good mother, had only spent an hour or so with her girls each day.
Like all the noblewomen of that proud family, Anne’s mother had traveled with her husband, peace and war alike.
* * *
Lammas was a day for bringing bread and cakes for the Queen of Heaven. We village women also took time to decorate St. Alkelda's Well. The pavement around sputtered with lights. Offerings of bread and fruit were carried in small baskets. Everyone brought something, and everyone, if they chose, could take something away. The priest took some of this offering, too, but he did not forbid us the ancient devotion by the water, which has happened in other places.
One summer when they were staying at Middleham, Anne brought Richard to the well. Whether she’d meant to pass here or not, it was on the way to our village church, which they had been about to honor with their presence. With the strange attraction which remained among us, we’d all arrived at the well at the same time.
I’d arrived first and was in the act of arranging my gifts upon the step, when the Duke and Duchess appeared. On my knees, after lighting a candle with a twist of straw, I turned, and there they were. They’d seen me too. I knew they sometimes missed me, but they missed the girl of long ago.
Today, kneeling here, I was just another peasant woman, broadening as I ate less meat and bore children, my freckled skin burnt by the sun. I stayed where I was and watched others pause and bow. The priest was with them, as well as the family chaplain and two clerks. The priest’s eyes lit upon me with irritation.
"She makes more of an offering at the well than in the church, does Mistress Fletcher."
"Rose?" Duke Richard chose to pay attention to him.
"I do not deny it, my gracious Lord."
"Is not the Mother of Our Lord as important as your saint?"
I'd hoped for a gleam of something like humor in Richard's eye, but it wasn't there.
"My eldest child, as you know, noble ones, is called Alkelda." I was as humble as I knew how to be and indicated my daughter’s solemn little face. “I have a special devotion to our saint."
The priest nodded wearily. He had heard this tale one hundred times from one hundred different women. Churchmen have listened to this excuse since the beginning of the rule of the fathers. Lady Anne laid a white restraining hand upon her husband's arm.
"Mistress Rose has a deep devotion to Our Lady, this I know."
Richard was mildly surprised. Anne was not the sort of noblewoman who was in the habit of correcting her husband—at least, not in public.
"Today she tends our Holy Well. These offerings, My Lord, are for the poor, for the old and infirm." She used the alarmed male silence which followed to strike home the nail. "As you certainly must remember, here it is of old the custom."
There was a pause in which Richard studied us, the women, children and grannies of town bowed down at his feet. He cleared his throat.
"My Lady reminds me that charity is ever a blessed custom. It shall not shorten, even by a tithe."
The priest bowed, his pale face curdled milk. The rest of us bowed again as Lady Anne went past on her husband's arm. She was, like Our Lady Herself, a blessed intercessor!
Anne offered the nosegay she'd carried and a fine hank of bright blue silken thread, which we village women would later share out among us. When the lord and lady moved on, the crowd parted. As in the Earl of Warwick’s day, we knew there’d be a pig brought from the castle for our feast.
* * *
"Rose, you must attend tomorrow at the stables where the warhorses are kept. I wish you to be present when I surprise my Lord Richard."
I had curtsied, hands full of the lavender and sage I’d been gathering. Impulsively I offered her a sprig of lavender. Anne stroked the grey-green needles to raise the oil and then lifted the stalk to her nose.
"It's ‘specially lovely when fresh cut."
"Indeed it is, My Lady."
"You must attend when I give My Lord husband a special present. Whatever else you are to do, you have my leave to be absent."
I couldn't imagine what she was up to, but she was clearly excited. I couldn't imagine why I would be summoned to attend what was noble family business. When I arrived, however, dressed and scrubbed as well as I was able, I found not only other old servants and prominent villagers there, but gentry from the castle. There were even solemn burghers from York wearing long black robes and golden chains.
"Now, My Lady, you must say.” Richard appeared puzzled and more than a little embarrassed. “What is this gift?"
"I have searched for years, and at last I have found perfection." Anne’s cheeks were pink as apple blossom, her braid of copper peeked, country fashion, from beneath her veil. She raised her voice and cried:
"Masters! Bring out White Surrey!"
Into the bailey came pair of young grooms all dressed in blue and murray, leading a beautiful war horse. He was white, except for silver-grey dapples on his withers and high round rump. His muzzle was steel. His eyes were black.
The horse lifted his head, flared velvet nostrils, tossed his head and stamped. For Richard, it was love at first sight. We, the onlookers, were delighted. We loved Anne and we loved her all the more for how much she loved her husband.
"I've searched everywhere, and, here, my Lord! Have I not found?"
"Saint Anthony…."
The grooms led the magnificent horse in a circle, so we could all admire him. An uncut stallion with a short back, the destrier was not as massive as some of his kind. There was a look on his face I had never seen on any horse before, something like the keen edge of our north wind. Blood other than that of the ordinary thundering French warhorse flowed there.
Richard stepped forward. The horse pricked his ears, seeing whatever it is they see from the sides of their heads. White Surrey appeared more interested than alarmed. Although he kept his ears forward, he didn't startle.
Anne kept pace with her husband. A maid followed her carrying a basket of apples. A fair green globe passed into My Lady's hand and from there into the hand of her husband. It was a ritual of service, and their jewels flashed in the sunlight. With a prick of sadness, I remembered when such sweet tasks had been mine.
The duke took the bridle in hand. He and the horse studied each other. They were two noblemen, both small and fine drawn, but proud warriors nonetheless.
"White Surrey is trained by a great Irish horse master. He carried his rider to the palm at his first tourney and he is judged both valiant and wise."
Delight haloed our duke. Anne followed her husband, waiting to see Richard astride his present. There he would be—her perfect, gentle knight, exactly as she had so long ago dreamed. The horse was saddled, this also at her summons. A murmur ran around, the men noting that the horse seemed calm for a stallion. Anne was having difficulty maintaining composure. Without us about, I had a feeling she’d have started a girlish dance of joy.
"Is this not the noblest steed that ever was, Mistress Rose? Is he not?"
"A most noble creature Milady." I made a deep courtesy and others followed my lead. The warhorse was truly beautiful, another magical being who would live in castles crowned with their love.
Richard, in the saddle now, began putting the horse through his paces. First, they walked, next performed a neat reverse. After, they trotted a figure eight which rose to a cantor. The horse’s white legs changed lead smooth as silk.
The duke, flushed and smiling, had just pulled up when a train of men and horses paraded through the fore gate, all decked with summer flowers. Some were falconers with their hooded charges set upon their wrists.
In secret the household had been readied for a merry ride! Anne’s mare was led up, all in the best tack, a black mare with three white feet. The day was ideal.
"My Lady, you know gentlemen of York attend me on grave business." Richard shook his head. It seemed that despite everything, he was going to decline her invitation.
"They will wait, sir, for I have asked them."
Richard swung down from White Surrey, whose bridle was instantly caught by a groom.
"I beg your pardon, Milady. Their business is pressing."
"Not so pressing it cannot wait until the morrow, My Lord Duke." A black-robed, great-bellied alderman moved forward and bobbed a stiff elder’s bow. "How could our business be of more importance to you, My Lord Duke, than your Lady wife's pleasure?"
Richard sent Anne a look, and I knew as if he had spoken that he would privately insist she never do such a thing again. Still, the gathering remained all smiles, including the merchants of York, whose business had been put off. To see Anne of Warwick happy, to allow her husband a carefree day upon the dales, appeared, just now, to please these great men well enough.
"Gentlemen, care for my wife’s happiness shows great kindness, yet I cannot allow you to be inconvenienced. Time and tide do not wait, not for the merchants of York, nor for their Duke."
"Ah, my dear Lord!" The alderman spoke again. "Again allow me the impertinence of age, to say that when youth and happiness come, a man best seize his joy. Sire, you do attend our needs in all seasons and have been our good lord. Go forth and rejoice in God's blessings." His white hair blew in the breeze, for, aged and wealthy as he was, he had uncovered his head to address his lord.
Richard stood speechless. He shouldered his burden, but I think he never expected thanks. Being a good lord he saw as his duty before God, and he truly was a better lord than many others. It may be pleasing to hear that on that golden day, the Duke of Gloucester, his wife and his noble household took a holiday, riding and hunting their hawks upon the green hills of our wild land.