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

finger at
Durvassal. The Warwick livery was muddied, there was a deep scratch on the
peachy skin of one smooth cheek and the boy had broken the latchet of one red
leather shoe. Thomas composed his face into the semblance of severity. ‘Nicky,
it's not good sportsmanship to pick on smaller boys. Aren't there enough about
of your own age?’
     Durvassal withdrew into a sulky silence,
intent upon his ruined shoe. He had to tread carefully. He had begged to be
allowed on this campaign and if he fell foul of his lord he would be sent back
home, banished to the solar and set to fetching and carrying for the ladies of
the household. Nicholas had ambitions far above the mundane and domestic. The
other child was about seven years old, small and wiry, with a mop of fair hair
which haloed his head and a pair of eyes dark as ivy berries in his urchin
face.
     Durvassal said, ‘He's a thief, My Lord,
stealing from the baggage wagons as they unloaded. I caught him with half a
loaf of bread and a cheese, but will you look at what he has round his neck and
tell me if you've ever seen a guttersnipe with the like of it.’ He stepped forward
then and thrust a hand into the breast of the child's shirt, to pull out a gold
finger ring, threaded on a leather thong. But the smaller boy didn't have
Durvassal's inbred respect for authority and the presence of two such great
lords as Derby and Warwick did not prevent him from sinking even white teeth
into Durvassal's hand. Nicholas let out a yell of rage and pain and sprang
back, sucking the injury.
     Thomas shook the child hard. ‘You are a
savage! Let me look at that.’
     Harry laughed. ‘You'd best muzzle him
first. Do you know who's talking to you, brat?’
     ‘I know.’ The boy darted out his pink
tongue at Harry but allowed Thomas Beauchamp to examine the ring he wore about
his neck. It was a lady's ring, an amethyst in an unusual setting, the bezel
shaped like two hands, raised to clasp the stone between tiny fingers. He
turned it into the September sunshine to read the posy within the band - 'Lora
- pensez de moy' - 'Think of me'.
     ‘Where did you get this?’ Beauchamp let
the pretty object lie in his palm; a lady's ring, the gift of a husband or
maybe a lover.
     ‘It's mine!’
     ‘I asked where you got it.’
     ‘I've told you, it's mine. I had it when
I was small, from my mother.’
     ‘I don't believe you. If your mother had
something of that worth she would have sold it to clothe her ragamuffin family.
How did you come here and whose suite are you with?’
     ‘I came on my own.’ The child was
stashing his ring away again inside his shirt.
     ‘Liar!’ Warwick shook him again.
     ‘I don't tell lies!’ flashed the boy. ‘I
ran away from London. I wanted to join the army and go to Ireland. I wanted to serve the Lord Harry there because he's the greatest knight in Christendom - or
so they said!’
     Beauchamp grinned across at Lancaster's heir. ‘Your fame spreads wide, Hal. Then there's someone lost this brat; some
woman will be tearing her hair out over his disappearance.’
     ‘No,’ said the boy, ‘I'm a fosterling. I
told you, I ran away.’
     ‘Because you were ill-treated?’
     ‘No, I wasn't.’
     ‘Harry, you can have him, you found him. You
can sort out his domestic problems. Go and sit on the Lord Harry's knee and
pour out your troubles. Succouring women and children, particularly women, of
course, is part of the knightly ideal.’
     ‘Then I can stay?’ The dark eyes lit up.
     Beauchamp said, ‘Why did you run away -
apart from following the lure of the Lord Harry's charisma?’
     The boy was obviously struggling with the
unfamiliar word. He said, ‘I was to be apprenticed to a London merchant. I
thought I'd rather be a knight than a fletcher; learn to use weapons not just
to cobble them together.’
     ‘What's your name?’
     ‘I'm not going to tell you.’
     ‘Yes, you are. You'll be made to tell!’
     ‘Shame on you, My