The Nameless Day by Sara Douglass

“Drink today and drown all sorrow!” Edward cried, and immediately carollers and mummers burst into song.

Drink today, and drown all sorrow,

You shall perhaps not do it tomorrow:

Best, while you still have it, use your breath;

There is no drinking after death.

Wine works the heart up, wakes the wit,

There is no cure ‘gainst age but it:

It helps the head-ache, cough and tisic,

And is for all diseases physic.

Lancaster and Gloucester reached the floor and tried to elbow their way through the throng of dancers toward their gibbering father. A bull-masked woman tripped and fell headlong into Lancaster, and the duke fell over, pulling Gloucester down with him.

The dancers ignored the two princes struggling on the floor, leaping over them as if it were part of the dance, their quick feet slamming time and time again into the two men’s heads, sending them floorward again.

Then let us swill, boys, for our health; Who drinks well, loves the commonwealth;

And he that will go to bed sober,

Falls with the leaf still in October.

THE BLACK Prince hefted the sword and lunged at the first of the demons which had surrounded him.

The demon ducked, as graceful as the most accomplished dancer, and the blade swept harmlessly over its head.

“Damn you!” Raby swore, trying to get away from Tyler.

“We can do nothing … nothing,” Tyler yelled. “It is out of our hands now!”

The Black Prince, clearly close to collapse, took a deep breath, steadied himself by leaning the blade momentarily on the ground, then lifted it into a huge sweep through the air that should have taken off five demons’ heads.

The blade swung through the air, the sound of its passing a sweet and clear song.

EDWARD CAPERED and gamboled as if he were a yearling colt let loose into the field for the first time.

The dancers screamed with enthusiasm. Indeed, the entire hall was on its feet, roaring and cheering the ancient king in his dance of stupidity.

Lancaster and Gloucester finally managed to get to their feet and pushed roughly through the infernal mummers.

Edward turned, and saw them.

“My boys!” he yelled. “Come join my dance!”

He threw up his hands, kicked up his heels, and bellowed forth again: Drink today, and drown all sorrow,

You shall perhaps not do it tomorrow:

Best, while you still have it, use your breath;

There is no drinking after death.

He stopped suddenly, a stunned expression on his face, his cheeks draining of all color. For an instant his eyes appeared to have regained their sanity, and he blinked.

“Edward?” he said, his voice puzzled. “What do you there?”

THE BLACK Prince could no longer maintain his grip on his sword. It dropped from his hand, and he wavered on his feet.

“Edward!” Raby screamed.

The Black Prince blinked, as if surprised to find himself surrounded by demons.

“Father?” he said.

And then he jerked, and dropped to the ground.

“EDWARD!” THE king screamed. “No!”

He made as if to take a step forward, but then he contorted in a massive convulsion, and fell with a horrible thud to the floor.

Lancaster dropped to his knees beside his father, but he was too late. Edward III had abandoned his earthly realm.

THE DEMON closest to Raby and Tyler turned, its face twisted and malevolent.

“Drink today,” it hissed, “and drown all sorrow, for there shall be no drinking tomorrow.” And then all the demons were gone, and the storm was abating, and Raby and Tyler were left alone with their milling horses to stare at the Black Prince’s body half buried in the cold, cold snow.

“DRINK TODAY,” the mummer whispered, turning to stare at Thomas, “and drown all sorrow, for there shall be no drinking tomorrow.”

The circle of carollers and mummers drew back and silence filled the hall with its cold, horrible weight as every eye fell on the body of Edward III.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Midnight of the Feast of the Nativity of

Our Lord Jesus Christ

In the first year of the reign of Richard II

(Saturday 25th December 1378)

— YULETIDE —

— III —

THERE WAS SUCH A COMPLETE silence and stillness that some distant, disassociated part of Thomas’ shocked mind wondered who would be brave enough to first break the icy enchantment.

Who else, but Lancaster.

Still on his knees before his father’s body, the duke looked up, stared, then noticed the hundreds of people staring shocked and silent at the corpse.

“Get out!” he yelled, his face contorting so violently the veins corded the length of his neck. “Get out!”

The circles of carollers and masked mummers broke first, running madly in every direction for whatever exit they could find.

Then the assembled revelers murmured, like a storm rustling through a sapling forest, and abandoned their laden tables with a great sigh.

Hal Bolingbroke was one of the few not to move. He stood a few places up the table from Thomas, staring at the tragic tableau before him: his grandfather’s corpse, his father still kneeling before it, his uncle, Gloucester, standing and slowly wringing his hands in grief and indecision.

“No,” Hal murmured.

“No!” he suddenly yelled, and, leaping over the table, made several ineffective lunges at the last of the departing mummers and carollers in an attempt to seize their sleeves.

“No!” he cried again, trying to get his father’s attention. “Don’t let them leave!

Who, what, lies behind those masks?”

Lancaster stared, then leaped to his feet. “Seize the mummers!” he yelled to the guards.

But it was too late. They had melted into the crowds, and flowed through the doorways.

They had gone as if they had never been.

WESTMINSTER HALL had not completely emptied; many stayed to further witness the unfolding tragedy, and perhaps determine how best they might use it to their advantage.

Prince Richard, who had sat—apparently—whey-faced and stunned as his grandfather collapsed and died, moved from his place on the dais toward where Lancaster and Gloucester now stood a few feet from the body.

His eyes were narrowed and thoughtful.

He was, after all, one corpse closer to the throne.

Simon Sudbury, the Archbishop of Canterbury, hurried past Richard, intent on giving Edward whatever last rites might benefit his cooling flesh and departing soul.

Katherine still sat at her place at the High Table, both hands clasped to her cheeks, her gray eyes wide and shocked. She was trembling so badly her entire form shook.

Margaret quickly regained her composure and, as Richard and Sudbury joined Lancaster and Gloucester, she moved toward Katherine, murmuring to Thomas as she passed that her lady needed comforting.

Geoffrey Chaucer stood with arms folded, his head tilted to one side. His eyes regarded the entire scene with sharp intelligence, as if he were storing away images and words to be used, perhaps, in a commemorative poem.

There were six or seven other nobles who had stayed, peers of the realm. A king had died, and a new one must be crowned, but in the meantime the realm would be governed by council.

Thomas stood where he had first risen, absolutely still save for his eyes which flitted from one person to the next.

Who man, who demon?

As Lancaster sighed, rubbed his eyes, and prepared to speak, Thomas’ eyes

settled on one figure, lurking in the shadows at the rear of the hall where many candles and torches had blown out as doors were hastily thrown open for the horrified exit of the revellers.

John Wycliffe, standing with burning eyes, thinking only the Devil knew what.

“The king is dead,” Lancaster said, “and only God knows when the Black Prince will arrive to claim his heritage. We must move, and fast, to maintain order within the realm. I call a meeting of the Privy Council for dawn. Gloucester, will you see that guards are sent out to fetch those councillors not present here in this hall?”

Gloucester, glad to have something to do, nodded and moved away.

“I shall attend as well!” Richard said, his voice shrill and demanding.

Lancaster began to shake his head, then changed his mind. “Yes, you must attend.

My Lord Archbishop,” he turned to Sudbury, “will you and yours see to my lord father’s body?”

As the group broke up, Lancaster spoke quietly to Bolingbroke. “Hal, do whatever you must to find those mummers. Use our spies, and our paid eyes and ears. Do you understand?”

Hal nodded, and, as he walked away, stopped briefly by Thomas. “We must talk,”

he said. “You and I, and, I think, my father.”

Then he was gone.

THERE WAS little Thomas could do for the moment. He could take no part in the meetings and whisperings that attended the death of a king, even if he believed he knew who—or what—might be behind it.

Not for the moment.

Lancaster, Hal at his side, would need to ensure that rapid, practical measures were taken to prevent any outbreak of disorder. But once they had been attended to, then Thomas knew he must talk to Lancaster and persuade the duke to grant permission for Thomas to move north to Bramham Moor friary.