Read Online The Lords of Arden by Helen Burton - Free Book Online Page A

announced that he would have to go to
Ireland. Ireland had problems. Ireland was a commitment; the Holy Land must be deferred for two to three years, it was regrettable but… So the court
began to move northwards leaving Queen Philippa at Woodstock awaiting the birth
of her second child. She had given England her heir four months before
Mortimer's death when the baby's youthful father was still only seventeen; the
little prince was flourishing.
     ‘Only we aren't going to reach Ireland, are we?’ It was a statement. Thomas Beauchamp was sitting on a mounting block in
the middle ward of Nottingham's gaunt castle.
     William the Norman had caused Nottingham to be built, there on its sandstone cliff above the River Leen. William Peveril
had overseen the building of the square, Norman keep and had been its first
castellan. There, on the spur overlooking the valley of the Trent, it must have
seemed impregnable but it had been twice destroyed during the Anarchy and it
had taken the hated Prince John, Lionheart's brother, to revive its former
glories and to build upon its legacy of dark deeds. Only two years ago, Edward
and William Montague had taken Roger Mortimer and dragged him away to trial and
execution. Edward hated Nottingham but it made a convenient staging post on the
road north.
     It was a warm sunny morning in late
September with more than a lingering touch of summer in the blue skies and
nowhere a hint of the frosts to come or a stirring of the air to presage the
equinoctial gales. Beauchamp had left the claustrophobia of his splendid room,
high in the keep, to take the morning air, Will Lucy at his side. The Earl wore
only a white linen shirt, flung carelessly over his scarlet hose, and a pair of
riding boots; his dark hair was uncombed and chaotic. Lucy was armed and garbed
in a surcote bearing the family arms - three silver pikes, standing on their
tails, eyes heavenwards. He was only a tenant of the de Beauchamps and could
not afford to slouch about, half dressed, like his young lord and master; there
were appearances to keep up. The king was out riding with Montague; Beauchamp
saw no need to stand on ceremony.
     ‘Everyone on this bloody expedition knows
we'll never leave these shores. Why is the word left unsaid that must be on
everyone's lips? Why is Ned so devious?’
     Will Lucy was cleaning his nails with the
point of his dagger. He said, ‘What word?’
     ‘Scotland! We all know that's where we'll
end. Why can't he come out and say so?’
     Lucy joined him on the mounting block. ‘Something
to do with placating the Pope and, after all, the King can't be seen openly
supporting the Scottish claimant. Philip of France may still be musing over his
postponed crusade but one whisper of where Edward's loyalties really lie and
he'll rush to young King David's aid, revive the Auld Alliance and we shall
have more on our platters than ever we bargained for. So we must make a
leisurely progress north - and plan for Ireland. You'll enjoy Ireland.’
     Thomas grinned. ‘It will be very much
Ultima Thule if the Scots cross the border, and they will of course.’ He paused
at sight of Harry of Derby, approaching them across the cobbles of the
courtyard, one hand gripping Warwick's own page by the ear, the other arm
spanning the waist of a smaller boy who was protesting volubly. ‘Starting a
nursery, Harry?’ laughed Beauchamp, jumping from the block and sauntering towards
him. Lancaster's son loosed the unfortunate Durvassal's ear and set the other
child on his feet where he immediately made a dash for it. Beauchamp shot out
an arm and hauled him back, planting him squarely before him, to face Derby. Harry had found a seat at the tail of a cart; flour spattered the green brocade
sleeves of his surcote.
     ‘Caught these two engaged in a rare bout
of fisticuffs. For a little one he gave a good account of himself but this
rogue of yours can give him three years at least.’
     Beauchamp sighed and crooked a