“Farewell, beloved lady. Walk with Christ.”
“And you,” Margaret said softly.
Wycliffe nodded, held Margaret’s eyes an instant longer, then swept away, his black robes fluttering behind him.
John Ball and Jack Trueman bowed to Margaret and Neville, then hurried after their master.
Furious that he could not speak his mind in front of Courtenay and Tusser, Neville turned on Tyler.
“And I suppose you walk with Wycliffe in this madness?”
Tyler held Neville’s eyes easily. “I work also for the betterment of our poor brothers, so,” he said, “yes, Tom, I walk with Wycliffe in this ‘madness.’ ”
“How dare you talk as if Wycliffe works the will of Jesus Christ!”
“Wycliffe devotes his life to freeing the poor and downtrodden from the enslavement of their
social and clerical ‘betters.’ Is that not what Jesus Christ gave his life for?”
“You will bring death and disaster to this realm, Wat,” Neville said in a quiet voice, “as Marcel did to Paris.”
Tyler’s face twisted, almost as if he wanted to say something but found the words too difficult.
Then, as had Wycliffe, he turned and bowed to Margaret, thanking her in a warm and elegant fashion, and bid her farewell. “Go with Christ, my lady.”
“And you, Wat.” Margaret turned her head slightly as soon as she had said the words, fearful that Thomas should see the gleam of tears within their depths.
Would this be the last time she ever saw Wat?
Wat Tyler stared at Margaret one more moment, then he, too, turned and left the hall.
CHAPTER II
The Tuesday before the Feast
of SS Egidius and Priscus
In the first year of the reign of Richard II
(30th August 1379)
WYCLIFFE, TYLER and the other two priests were gone by the time Neville arose at dawn.
Although Neville was grateful they had departed, he felt useless as well. He would, by far, have preferred to put Wycliffe under some form of detention before he caused any mischief…
but to do so might well be to anger Lancaster, and that Neville did not want to do.
So he’d had to let the demon—as he had no doubt Wycliffe was—escape.
Neville set about his morning tasks, hoping they would consume his mind, but instead, his temper became shorter as the day wore on. He was useless stuck here in the wilds of Kent!
When would Hal call him back to court? Hal Bolingbroke, the son of the Duke of Lancaster, was not merely one of England’s highest noblemen, as well as Neville’s oldest friend, but now also Neville’s benefactor. Lancaster had asked Neville to serve as Hal’s secretary, a powerful position that would aid Neville’s search for Wynkyn de Worde’s casket and protect Neville from those demons who had infiltrated the court… but Neville could do nothing to further his quest for the casket and against the demons until Hal actually recalled him to court.
The only thing that calmed his mood was when, in the early afternoon, he joined Margaret and Rosalind in their solar. Neville loved his daughter, and always made the time to spend an hour at least playing with her each day.
He strode into the room, greeting Margaret perfunctorily—not noticing her wince— and lifted Rosalind from her arms.
Neville grinned and ruffled the black, curly hair that Rosalind had inherited from him. She was strong now, and of good weight and size for her almost six months of age. She had recovered well from the trauma of her birth… perhaps it was her good Neville blood, Neville thought, for his entire family was of hearty stock and robust determination.
Margaret watched him with sadness. Her husband looked to Courtenay for friendship, and to his daughter for love, but to her for… what? She took a deep breath, controlling her emotions, and then tilted her head as she heard a noise outside the door.
Neville glanced at her, irritated by the solemnity of her expression, then turned to the door as Courtenay strode through.
“My lord!” Courtenay said. “We have yet more company!”
He got no further, for a handsome man dressed in Hal Bolingbroke’s new livery as the Duke of Hereford pushed past Courtenay.
Neville’s eyes widened, for he recognized the man as Roger Salisbury, a young knight of noble family who had worked in Hal’s entourage for some time.
Roger Salisbury stopped several steps into the solar, and bowed.
“My Lord Neville,” he said, and was interrupted from further speech by Neville.
“Bolingbroke wants me,” he said.
“Aye, my lord. I bear greetings from my Lord of Hereford, and am to inform you of his wish that you return to his side in London within the week.”
Neville turned back to Margaret. “At last! I thought Bolingbroke had forgotten me!” He
stepped over to her and gently lowered Rosalind into her care. “I shall miss her,” he said, and did not notice the sudden humiliation in Margaret’s eyes.
Salisbury cleared his throat. “My Lord of Hereford also wishes that the Lady Margaret and your daughter ride with you.”
Neville’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Margaret is to ride with me?” “Indeed, my lord,”
Salisbury said. “Bolingbroke”—he lapsed into informality, for although Hal was now Duke of Hereford, he was familiarly known as Bolingbroke— “is to take the Lady Mary Bohun to wife within the month, and it is her wish that your lady wife serve at her side.”
Neville’s mouth twisted. “Mary Bohun does not know the Lady Margaret exists,” he said. “The wish is Bolingbroke’s alone.”
He paused, and in that pause allowed his suspicions their full malevolent flood. Why did Hal want Margaret within his household? Surely it would he better if she and Rosalind stayed within the safety of Halstow Hall? There was no need for Hal to want Margaret back, as well as him, unless . . . no, no. It could not be. . . And then there was Richard. . . in London, Margaret would be so close to Richard’s animal lusts . . . too close .. .
“Richard…” he said without meaning to put voice to his thoughts.
Salisbury looked at Neville. Bolingbroke had told him that Neville would fear for Margaret’s chastity around a king who had already made clear his desire for her.
“Bolingbroke,” Salisbury said carefully, “has stated that the Lady Margaret will enjoy the full protection of his household. She will come to no harm under my lord’s roof.”
Maybe not from Richard, Neville thought. But from Hal? Hal has made it plain enough to me that he wants Mary only for her lands. Does he now want the woman he does desire back under his roof? Neville suspected there was more to Hal and Margaret’s relationship than just that of mere traveling companions during the time both had spent within the Black Prince’s entourage in France. Margaret had then been the mistress of Baron Raby, Neville’s uncle, but had her relationship with Hal merely been one of superficial acquaintance? Neville had occasionally come across them together when they had no true reason to be sequestered alone, and he remembered Hal’s deep care for Margaret when she had been pregnant and unwell. Was that just Hal’s natural care for the weak… or was it indicative of deeper emotion?
Then Neville mentally shook himself. What was he doing, acting like a desperate husband?
“My lord husband,” Margaret said, rising. “You have told me previously that Lancaster thought I could do well to serve his wife, the Lady Katherine. But now that you have taken service with Bolingbroke, instead of his father, it is natural that I should serve Bolingbroke’s wife instead.”
Neville looked at her closely, but finally nodded his agreement to something he fully realized he had no choice in.
“Very well,” he said, silently vowing that he would ensure Margaret came to, or caused, no harm.
CHAPTER III
The Feast of the Translation
of SS. Egidius and Priscus
In the first year of the reign of Richard II
(Thursday 1st September 1379)
RICHARD THORSEBY, Prior General of the Dominican Order in England, sat at his desk in the dark heart of Blackfriars in London, slowly turning a letter over and over in his hand. His eyes were unfocused, his sharp-angled face devoid of expression, and his equally sharp mind fixed on a memory of the previous Lent rather than on the contents of the letter…
The Dominican friary in the northern English city of Lincoln. The Lady Margaret Rivers, tearfully confessing that Brother Thomas Neville was the father of the bastard child in her belly. Neville himself, his behavior, dress and conduct advertising to the world his blatant abuse of every one of his vows. And John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, humiliating Thorseby and allowing Neville to escape Dominican discipline.
In the months since, Thorseby had never forgotten his affront, nor had he relaxed from his intention of bringing Neville to Dominican justice. Indeed, what had once been intention had