Seed of the Broom Read online

  All this she explained to Richard as gently as possible. “It is my throne,” Richard exclaimed.

  “But you are too young and it will take time to organize and gather forces.”

  “My cousin informed me that Lord Lovell was directing a campaign and that my Aunt Margaret in Flanders would offer support.”

  So, John had spoken when she had asked him not to! “On the outcome of that your circumstances may change but then again they may not,” Kate reasoned.

  “I ask no man to die for me while I sit in comfort,” he replied, arrogant and yet touchingly brave.

  “And if you die, what then? The cause is lost.”

  “I would rather die a hero than live the life of a coward!”

  “That is a noble thought. But it is not nobility that will gain you a throne but cunning. You would do well to take as an example the Tudor. Ah yes, you pucker your lips but by slyness and cunning he has won himself a throne. But the evil deeds of ‘Those who turned once, may yet turn again’.”

  “And in the meanwhile I must hide within your skirts?”

  “Indeed you must.”

  He turned then and ran from her, impetuous and proud. He would need careful handling. Suddenly Kate felt all her youth slipping from her. She had been pushed into a dangerous responsibility and because she had loved the man who had done the pushing, she would endeavor to succeed no matter the cost.

  Chapter Two

  The cold and dark of winter left them in isolation. Messengers did not arrive. Beyond the coast the land was snowbound. They lived on salted meat, sometimes a little fresh fish arrived, compliments of one of the people on the estate. Kate began tapestry. Richard spent his time with the Blacksmith. By the time Spring had arrived he had learned to make horseshoes. He could saw logs and took pleasure in grooming horses--hardly suitable occupations for the scion of a royal house.

  Each day he rode out with Kate, no matter the weather. He grew taller and his body became less that of the boy. His handsome face sent the serving wenches into spasms of delight, giggling and blushing when he addressed them.

  Edgar occasionally brooded on the lad’s good looks. “The Mellors were never so,” he declared. Once he even caught the scullions murmuring that indeed Richard must be a changeling child, for they recalled that Lord Mellor’s son had been a sickly infant.”

  “Every crop produces some good fruit,” Kate said optimistically, trying to calm his fears even while she herself brooded. No one who had seen Edward the father, would miss the resemblance. He had all the glamour and glory of his father the Sun of York. However, no one came. They were forgotten in their remote landscape. A widow and her stepson, no political threat to the stability of the new monarch, why bother about them? There were more dangerous enemies to pursue. Kate had become, if not altogether complacent, certainly easier in her mind.

  During the middle of the afternoon she frequently climbed the spiral staircase. This she called her hour of rebellion and she enjoyed her time alone on the ramparts. Once there she took off her cap and unwound her hair. It was an exhilarating feeling letting the wind plow through the waving tendrils.

  From this vantage point she could see the far off hills and smell the delicious scent of ozone pouring up from the sea behind her. The light was grayish, yet something, a mass of dark weaving shapes, honed into her vision. She leaned close to the ramparts, squinting into the distance, the mass formed into the shape of horsemen … an army? No, there was not that many.

  Quickly, she gathered her clips and cap and without stopping to fasten up her hair, she ran to the stairway, almost stumbling down in her haste. She began to call before she even reached the apartments.

  “Edgar…Richard…I….” But they were already there, assembled in the great hall, a panting shepherd giving the news. Horsemen, twenty or more had crossed the river. They were riding towards the castle. Lovell, Kate thought, some to claim Richard.

  She ordered Richard to his apartments. He started to protest, standing firm. “Richard, please do this for me.” In the end he compromised. He would wait behind the curtained recess. There was no longer time to argue, already the hollow sounds of hooves striking the cobbled courtyard could be heard.

  As Richard slid behind the curtain, servants fled the hall, leaving only Edgar and Kate. There was a hammering on the door, loud enough to splinter the wood. The sound of raucous male voices. A command. “Open this door in the name of the King.”

  “Dear Lord, protect us,” Kate murmured, crossing herself, then clasping the jeweled cross at her throat.

  “Enter in peace,” she cried.

  The door was opened by a large burly man. His eyes traveled the hall. Then he stepped inside and, pulling the door wide, he held it open.

  “There is just a woman and a steward,” he called over his shoulder.

  A man came and stood in the architrave. He was tall, wide at the shoulders, with long, thick, straight, dark hair brushing the collar of his yellow doublet. He was wearing dark breeches and high riding boots. Around his shoulder was a jeweled medallion. Not then a common soldier. His eyes arrogantly swept the hall and then alighted on Kate His eyes were very green and very hard like perfect emeralds. They showed no emotion whatsoever and there was contempt in the way they perused her.

  “Who are you? Why are you here?” Kate asked. She felt nervous but endeavored not to show it. Almost of its own accord her chin tilted, her eyes matching his gaze. She would not look away!

  He stepped deeper into the hall. From within his doublet he took a roll of parchment. “And who might you be?” he asked holding the parchment in his clenched hand.

  “I am the Lady of Mellorsdale.” His eyes lightly traveled her, then lingered on her tousled hair. A dark brow crested. Her hair…she had forgotten her hair that was tumbling wildly about her. She would not rush to cover it for the sake of appeasing him. He may think what he would! She tilted her chin and met his stare.

  With a slowness that Kate sensed was deliberate, he stared at her before speaking. “That Lord Mellor, traitor, supporter of the claim of the usurper, Richard Duke of Gloucester…”

  “King Richard the Third of England and he was no usurper!” Kate declared unable to stem the flow of words. She felt Edgar nervously plucking her skirt, but she ignored him and his whispered caution as he murmured, very softly, for her ears only, “Lady take care.”

  “I was not aware that Mellor had a wife,” the man said. There was a lilt to his voice that was not unpleasant, but proved he was not from hereabouts. “Nevertheless.” With deliberate slowness, he undid the roll of parchment and consented to read. “All property of the said traitor Mellor of Mellorsdale….” And here he paused, his eyes running insolently over her. “Land and dwellings are to be confiscated by the Crown.”

  “You cannot do that!” Kate protested, hardly believing what she was hearing. “No law would permit it!”

  “I have not done anything. ‘Tis the King’s decision. The King it is who makes the law, it is the King who can do anything that he wishes and he wishes all lands of traitors to be confiscated.”

  “The King cannot do that. What of Lord Mellor’s son, he is innocent of all so called treason.”

  “So called treason? What do you mean by calling it so called?” he asked, his brow cresting.

  “How could Mellor be a traitor if he was fighting in the army of the man who was King at the time?”

  “Woman, I do not argue politics with the likes of you!”

  “The likes of me?” she demanded.

  “Women! Gloucester was an usurper, a murderer, why am I being trapped into saying these things?” he questioned no one. “The King has declared that these lands and this castle are forfeit. That is all there is to it!”

  “But it belongs to the boy,” she insisted.

  “I daresay a place can be found for him.”

  “A place? How dare you talk of a place. These lands are held in trust for him by me. Steward bring me the lord’s Will.”
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  “He might Will what he may. That does not alter the legality of the King’s decision. Traitors cannot expect to go unpunished.”

  “He was not a traitor. How can he be a traitor who fought for his rightful King?”

  “I have told you once, Madam, that I do not argue politics with women.” He turned to the man who had first entered and told him to find quarters for the men, then he demanded that Edgar make the lord’s apartments ready for him.

  “But sir, the lady has those,” Edgar said weakly.

  “She has them no longer,” he declared arrogantly.

  “How dare you command my steward. I shall not give you my apartments!” Kate would not stopped, again ignoring the muttered warning from Edgar.

  The man stepped closer to Kate. He was younger than she had first realized and his hair was not black but a deep auburn. His long narrow eyes bored into hers. His lips although well shaped, with the lower fuller than the upper, now became a tight line.

  “I am Efan Caradoc and I am now Lord of Mellorsdale,” he announced with an arrogant turn of his head.

  Kate gasped. “You dare to usurp my husband’s title and land. You are no better than a common thief.”

  “Lady, you test my patience.” The words were said in little more than a whisper, but there was more menace there than in anything that had gone before.

  “Perhaps sir, it is possible to appeal?” Edgar broke into the silence, sensing real danger.

  “You may try, of course, but I give you little hope. This nest of vipers will be cleansed. The King will have no more of these fighting factions. We will all rest happy and in peace under the Tudors.”

  “Nest of vipers, are we? Well let me tell you the only vipers are those that came from France to wage war on the rightful King of England.” She turned to the steward who was white with terror, “So Edgar, you are speaking of justice. You cannot expect any justice from these foreigners.”

  She heard Edgar moan very softly, but she would not show any fear to this man. He had dared to invade her home, to deprive her and Richard of that home. The fact that she too was an impostor of sorts and did not really belong and that Richard never would truly belong here, had fled her mind.

  Caradoc stepped nearer to Kate. “You dabble in treasonable statements, Madam.”

  “Pardon me, then I am mistaken. By your name and accent I took you not to be an Englishman.”

  “I am not English. I am Welsh but since some long years have not the Welsh and the English been wedded together?”

  “It is a marriage that I regret,” she sneered.

  “I suppose my ancestors also regretted when Edward’s siege took their lands but it is a marriage that is legal.” He turned to look at Edgar. “And perhaps you would now go and do what I asked. Remove the lady from her apartments.”

  “Edgar, I forbid you to do so!” Kate roared, hands clenched at her sides. Edgar stood still, common sense telling him one thing, loyalty the opposite.

  “Lady I have had enough,” Caradoc reached out an arm and seized Kate’s wrist. “You shall cool your temper below!” He bent his head, pulling her hard up against him. She tried to move, but it was impossible, he was too strong and his grip was firm and hurtful.

  “Unhand my mother sir!”

  Richard slid from behind the curtain. Quiet and dignified, he moved easily across the room.

  “So, Mellor’s spawn,” Caradoc’s mouth turned into the semblance of a smile.

  “Unhand my mother,” Richard said again. Kate envied him his calm, the ability to be firm and yet cool, while she seethed and boiled. Caradoc let go of Kate suddenly. Her wrist burned, but she would not touch it or examine it, not while he was watching.

  “We shall look for fresh apartments. Come, mother,” Richard took her hand in his. “Edgar do as this man commands. We shall appeal to a higher justice.”

  “At least you have a kind of dignity,” Caradoc said. “Noble even in defeat, is it?”

  “I am not defeated, sir. As to my nobility, that is something you are born with. You cannot acquire it, no matter who your friends.” There was a haughty kind of grandeur in the way that Richard spoke. Kate envied him that. She knew she was far too emotional.

  However, Caradoc smiled, seeming not to take offense. “I do not aspire to the nobility, young Mellor. I know where I come from and it is not the nobility.”

  “That is as well for you,” Kate could not stop the words from tumbling out, “for you would never acquire nobility in a million years.”

  “And you, too, Madam, it is something that you lack. You are no more noble than my sergeant. In fact, you are less!”

  “Why you….” But Richard pulled on her arm and urged her to move away.

  They had crossed the room and were almost through the alcove when Caradoc said. “And please do something about your hair. If you are a happy widow at least try not to show it!”

  “No!” Richard said as Kate went to turn around, a fiery retort bruising her tongue. “He is trying to bait you. Give him no satisfaction.”

  They climbed the spiral staircase, Richard running ahead, then along the dimly lighted corridor until seemingly without consideration he wheeled off through an archway and into a set of chambers not dissimilar to those they had occupied. Although the furnishings were powdered with mildew, the air damp and stone floor without the benefit of a rug, or even rushes, they were not at all uncomfortable.

  Richard announced firmly. “These will do for us.”

  “I do not see why…,” she began, intending to say that with a good clean they would be all right, but he did not wait for her to finish. His expression one of absolute fury he demanded. "What are you about? Whose rights are you defending. Mine? I own no title to these lands. I demand no title.”

  “Richard,” Kate said reasonably. “I am fighting for justice.”

  “Justice for yourself, you mean. The steward’s daughter looking to better her lot.”

  “Oh Richard,” she murmured, feeling the barb pierce her heart. The words stung, not because it was an untruth, but because she had not believed that Richard could even think in such a way, and especially not think of her in such a light.

  “Now because of you I am virtually a captive. You should have let me go with John of Gloucester.”

  Behind his ill temper there was fear. She recognized it, for she too was fearful--not for herself, for she did not care what the Tudor and his henchman did to her. What she feared absolutely was what should happen to this bud of the white rose.

  “We have to pretend, Richard. For a little while we must endure. I swear that if this man intends to go through with his claim…”

  “Go through with it? He has gone through with it. The low born dog has enriched himself by his treachery. He will never relinquish what he has been given.”

  Ignoring this truth, Kate went on. “They will come again. I know it. They will somehow enable us to get away. We shall go to Burgundy to your Aunt Margaret. I swear no harm shall come to you!””

  “You can give no such oath,” Richard turned away and crossed the room. Once out in the corridor, he bellowed. “Edgar…come!”

  The words bounced off the stone walls, echoed down the hollow corridor, then exploded into the hall. Efan Caradoc titled his head and raised an eyebrow. “The calf bellows like a bull.” The command came again. “Edgar, come at once!” Caradoc’s eyes narrowed, “and still he commands like a young lord.”

  “He is a young lad, my lord, time will cure his impetuosity.”

  “But can I spare the time to allow him to grow out of his arrogance, or for the lady to learn to hold her tongue? Perhaps I should send the boy as a page to some other house and the lady to a convent. Both should learn humility.”

  Edgar nervously plucked at the folds of his gown. His knees were trembling, his mouth dry. “My lord knows best, of course but it is early times yet. They both have been through so much. Time shall temper their arrogance. I do beg you to be patient, my lord.”
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  “Patient? Patience is for old women and priests. I have never achieved patience. I am too impatient to even try!” He smiled coldly. “Nor have I achieved a charitable attitude, since no man has ever shown me or mine any charity…and English lords came and drove my people from their rightful lands, without charity or patience. Now the time has come for me to return the compliment.”

  “And you will of course, my lord but…”

  Again the bellow came, bouncing into their ears. “Edgar I demand your presence at once!”

  “I would take a great delight in chipping a piece from that lad’s tongue.” For a moment Edgar thought the lord intent on this, for he strode across the hall and then paused, before he too bellowed into the chilling gloom. “Do not call again. Edgar shall come when I say. Hold your tongue less I serve it to my hounds.”

  Richard’s reply was cut off before he made it. Kate already close behind him, pressed a hand over his mouth.

  “To survive we had best keep out of his way,” she said. “He is a barbarian.”

  Richard struggled from her embrace. “And you are a fool!”

  He ran from her then, taking the staircase, running higher and higher, seeking the comfort of the ramparts. Kate did not follow him. She felt he needed the time alone. If she judged him true, he wished to cry and that was something that he had to be allowed to do in private.

  * * * *

  That night there was the sound of such frolicking from the hall that sleep for Kate was impossible. Drinking, singing and endless noise, with the screams of the female camp followers as they were chased, not provoked, nor fearful screams either, but the kind that came from an hysterical kind of joy.

  They were the same kinds of sounds that used to emanate from the court of young Richard’s father, that licentious court that had always had a compliment of whores. To this Bacchanalia, she and Richard had been invited. She thanked God that she had had the wit to refuse. Obviously Caradoc had meant to humiliate her. At least now he could only pour that humiliation on her head from a distance.