Chapter Fourteen #2
“Gaston and my brothers will be here shortly,” he said. “I must go and meet with them, but it should not take long. I will try to stay with you as long as I can.”
Though she was quite proud of herself for maintaining her composure, inside, Alixandrea was dying.
But Matthew did not look as if he could take any hysterics today.
He had enough on his mind without her falling apart and she resolved to stay strong, at least until she was well away from him. When he could not see her tears.
“Oh, Matthew,” she breathed. “I suppose I knew this day would come, but now that it is here, I find that I am ill prepared for it.”
He stroked her cheeks with his thumbs. “I am not sure if any manner of preparation is ever enough for this kind of thing.”
Her hand reached up, touching his scratchy face where he had not yet shaved. “There is nothing I can say that I have not already said. I do not want you to go, but you already know that. Anything more… it will not change the way of things.”
“Nay, it will not.”
“I have known since the day I married you that you were meant to do this.”
“Indeed.”
She sighed, snuggling back into his warm embrace and savoring it. “Will you at least see me off?”
“Not only will I see you off, but I shall ride with you all the way to Wellesbourne,” he replied. “John and my father shall stay with you there.”
“And then what?”
“You will wait for my return.”
“When will that be?”
It was an honest question. He struggled to give her an honest answer. “It could be weeks or months. I have no way of knowing.”
“Will you at least send word and let me know how you are?”
“As often as I possibly can.”
“I will miss you horribly.”
“And I shall miss you with every breath.”
They gazed at each other for a long, bittersweet moment, a million emotions filling the space between them. Just when it seemed there was nothing further to say, Alixandrea softly spoke.
“Do you remember when I asked you once what you liked to do?”
His blue eyes twinkled, remembering that magical afternoon not so long ago. “I do. Why?”
Her fingers toyed with his armor, his mail. “Perhaps when this is all over, and when peace is finally attained, we… we can go fishing.”
He smiled, touched that she would remember such a thing. But he repeated the word just to make sure he heard her correctly. “Fishing?”
“Aye,” she grasped for words. “But there is a reason why I wish to do this. You told me once that fishing signified peace, far removed from the horror of battle. I think… I think it is something we should do when this insanity is finished.”
“To signify peace?”
“In the hope that we shall always live with it.”
His smile broadened. “I would like nothing better.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
A warm understanding settled, something to look forward to, however symbolic, when this madness had passed. Matthew wanted to go out on a pleasant note, so he kissed her again and went for the chamber door.
“I shall send the maids in to you,” he said as he lifted the latch. “Perhaps if you dress quickly enough, you may come out and join us for the morning meal.”
She nodded, watching him close the door quietly behind him. When a stray tear trickled down her cheek, she quickly wiped it away.
She had to stay strong.
*
The room was filled with more legendary fighting men than Matthew had seen in a long time.
These were not the high nobility of England, but the rank and file knights upon which this entire endeavor would depend.
Each and every man had fought with Matthew and Gaston at different times, and Matthew felt humbled in their company.
Gazing around the small, stuffy chamber, he counted the likes of Richard Radcliffe, Percival Thirwall, James Harrington, Thomas Pilkington, Robert Percy and Marmaduke Constable.
It was a gathering the likes of which had seldom been seen, and in the middle of it sat a small man whose very life would depend on the strength of these knights.
King Richard did not take the gathering lightly. He took charge.
“We must send word to the Duke of Norfolk, the Earl of Surrey, the Earl of Northumberland, the Stanley brothers, Thomas and William, and also Richard Brackenbury. These men command massive forces and it is imperative they leave for Nottingham right away to join us.”
Francis Lovell said what they were all thinking. “I worry for Thomas Stanley, Your Grace. His wife is Margaret Beaufort and it is quite possible he will desert you in your hour of need.”
The king seemed unfazed. “He is loyal to me, as is his brother,” he insisted. “Henry Tudor may be his stepson, but I have had his support for years. Moreover, he and Margaret have not lived together in some time. I do not believe there is any loyalty there to her or to her son.”
Lovell simply lifted an eyebrow, looking over at Matthew and Gaston.
They were standing near one another, one of them leaning back against the wall and the other standing with his arms crossed.
It always seemed Matthew was leaning and Gaston was cross-armed, stiff-legged, like a guard dog.
The young chamberlain’s gaze begged for support.
“Perhaps if one of us went personally to summon him, his loyalty would stay in check, Your Grace,” Gaston suggested. “He would not refuse a representative from your inner circle of knights.”
“He would not refuse me as it is,” Richard snapped back, angered that his knights appeared to question his judgment.
Deep down, he worried over Stanley’s loyalty, too, but he would not let them know that.
“Send a rider to him right away. I would have him assemble and move for Nottingham within the week.”
“As you say, Your Grace,” Gaston replied steadily.
With a lingering glare at de Russe, purely for effect, the king turned back to the map laid out before them. Recently crafted by his royal cartographers, it was a beautiful spectacle of color and detail. He thumped his finger on the vellum.
“We already know that Henry has sent dispatches to his faithful,” he said.
“Had we not intercepted one, we would have never known that he left France two days ago. Now the whole of England should be on the move very shortly with Tudor and Plantagenet forces, waiting to confront each other. We must make it to Nottingham to make it a foundation from which to strike at Henry; from there, we can quickly intercept him from his base in Wales wherever he may decide to strike.”
“Do we know the strength of the force that Henry brings with him from France?” Robert Percy asked the question; having just arrived from Lincolnshire, he had not been privy to much of the information already discussed over the past several days.
“Two thousand,” Gaston replied. “Mostly French mercenaries.”
“Plus one thousand Irish mercenaries that were holed up in Gloucester about three weeks ago,” Matthew stepped forward and traced his finger up the path of the Severn River.
“We found out last week that they had moved out of the city and to the north. I originally believed that Henry was going to make Gloucester his rally point, but it would seem that I was wrong.”
Gaston jabbed a finger at the map, stating the obvious. “Leicester or Nottingham.”
“There is no other possibility. It would seem that Henry would position himself in the middle of England to create a noose in which to separate north from south. If he can do that, we are in serious jeopardy.”
By this time, the knights had huddled around the map, watching Gaston and Matthew drag their fingers all over it. Richard slapped his hands against the table, as much to gain their attention as it was a frustrated gesture.
“He cannot do it if we are one step ahead of him,” he said firmly. “No more discussion. I want your armies to be ready to leave by noon. Is that clear?”
The knights and nobles agreed in unison, watching the king flee the room with Lovell on his tail.
When he was gone, it was if the fighting men could finally breathe.
They looked around the room, at each other, losing themselves in one or two man conversations.
Gaston turned to Matthew and Robert Percy.
“Lovell will undoubtedly send out the riders for Northumberland and the others,” he said. “The rest of us should check on our men and be in the saddle by the bell of the nooning hour.”
“You do not believe that one of us should ride for Stanley?” Robert Percy was the Controller of the Royal Household.
He had been in Lincolnshire on a royal errand to the earl of Lincoln, the king’s potential heir, and shared the concerns of the other knights even if the king did not.
“I have fought with Thomas before; he tends to side with his brother, and William had a confrontation with Richard six months ago over a taxation issue that was never resolved. That in and of itself causes me great alarm.”
Gaston could do nothing more than shrug. “Our king insisted that sending one of us is unnecessary to ride for Stanley. If we disobey him, there could be consequences. He is already unnerved enough and this build up against Henry is too important to involve ourselves in petty disagreements.”
If Percy agreed, it was not clear. He simply shut his mouth and left in search of the weary troops he had brought with him from Lincolnshire. Gaston and Matthew watched him leave, standing silent until most of the room had cleared.
“I have thirty of my men taking Lady Mena, her husband and daughter back to Bath today,” Gaston finally said, his voice low. “I was not aware that the lady’s husband did not know of your former relationship with his wife.”
Matthew shrugged. “It is not my business what the lady tells her husband.”
“He is under the impression that Audrey’s father is dead.”
“Again, not my doing but the lady’s.”