The stories featured here could have happened during the same decades as the Albin and the Jouster series. Many are outtakes from the books. I am adding notes showing where each book begins. That will not only help you navigate but provide spoiler alerts as needed.
1459 Near Ludlow
Anthony Woodville lay awake in the mid-October darkness, holding his hand over his cold nose. He prayed King Henry's army would win. He prayed that he would prove brave in battle. This would be a step toward becoming a knight. He had dreamed of that for most of his nineteen years. It was growing light outside his tent. He wondered why no horns had sounded. Wrapping up in his great cloak and taking his sword, Anthony ventured out into the frosty light.
At first he saw no one. A few steps around a tent revealed the light of a cooking fire. Anthony smiled to himself, This is an odd way to begin a day of battle.
By the fire, he found an old man heating a kettle of water. 'Is this not late to be rising for battle?' Anthony asked him.
The fellow gave him a toothless laugh and explained. 'There will be no battle today. Captain Trollope came to us in the night with his men from Calais. They had agreed to help the Duke of York but refused to fight against King Henry. When they saw the royal banner, they knew York meant to fight against the king's troops. They came to us seeking forgiveness and offering aid.'
Anthony looked around with a strange, hollow feeling. 'No battle?' he repeated. He thought, Why did I sharpen my sword and pray so long?
There was no battle. The Duke of York and his kinsmen fled from England. His nephew, the Earl of Warwick could not even return to Sandwich for the fleet he had gathered by piracy.
The rebel earls have come from Calais and captured Henry VI. Claiming to be his faithful subjects, they have no excuse to hold the Duchess of Bedford's second husband and their son.
Puffy clouds frolicked on deep blue sky. Their shadows lay almost directly below them when Lady Bedford and the younger children arrived. Lionel, nine, came at full gallop on his gray with Martha close behind on her brown horse. Soon little Jacquetta, Mary, and Catherine came trotting along. Their governess watched them carefully. Anne and Joan rode behind their nurses. Edward, who was only two, rode before her mother, the duchess of Bedford. Behind them pikemen, servants, and carts clogged the road.
Anthony and Margaret hurried out to meet them in the courtyard. Soon Anthony was swarmed by a brother and five little sisters asking questions all at once. 'Were they mean to you?' 'Did they hurt you?' 'Is Father here?'
With a smile that lit up her face, Duchess Jacquetta dismounted. The way opened for her through the press. ''Tis the answer to many prayers to see you here.'
'Including mine.' Anthony knelt to receive her blessing.
'May Our Lord grant you your heart's desires.' She hugged him as he rose.
'Most of them, I have here,' he said enjoying the warmth.
Jacquetta brushed the hair back from his forehead and gazed at him with sparkling eyes. Her lavender veil rippled back over her shoulders. "Is your father here?'
'Yes, Mother. We came straight from Greenwich.'
She looked around for Lord Rivers, her beloved husband. "'Where is your father?"
"He is dressing up to meet a duchess."
Duchess Jacquetta laughed. "He was not so formal, in Sandwich, when he was stolen from my bed."
book #1 Stealthy Waters
Middleton, November 1460
Because of the flood, the chickens had started roosting in the rafters above the Haywards' heads.
Is our cottage still standing? Albin wondered. Through sprinkling rain, Albin and Garvin, his father, walked back to their cottage.
Garvin asked, "What can we do for the chickens?"
Albin rubbed his earlobe. "Can they care for themselves?" Do chickens have a patron saint? "'Tis sad they will not come if we call them."
They found the cottage standing in nearly a foot of water. The wattle showed in more places than before. They stepped over the threshold. Albin looked up into the dimness. He saw movement. As his eyes adjusted he counted. "I see the rooster and six hens," he reported.
His father frowned. "We cannot go up after them. What can we do?"
Albin rubbed his earlobe vigorously. "The cottage will come down soon. We need to make a hole in the roof so the chickens can escape."
"We need a billhook."
Garvin frowned. "My Uncle Sedgley has one from the war in France."
The old man couldn't hear them very well. Albin picked up the rusty billhook and tried to demonstrate the plan.
Uncle Sedgley suddenly had energy enough to grab the billhook. "You could break my roof!"
Albin nodded and bellowed, "We need to break our roof." Then he grabbed the weapon and whisked out the door with it.
The old man tottered after them, shouting something.
Albin stabbed at the roof. He managed to frighten the chickens. By breaking a stick, he pulled down a wad of thatch.
With a frightened cackle, one hen swooped down and out the door. I wish they would all do that.
"Here," Garvin took the billhook and pulled down a little more thatch.
Uncle Sedgley waded in and shook his head. "This cottage is about to come down," he shouted.
After Albin and Garvin each took another turn, the hole was bigger than any of the chickens. "I think we should leave them now to get used to their new door," Garvin said.
Garvin returned the billhook. "Thank you, Uncle Sedgley." Using it for a walking stick, the old man started shuffling home, muttering.
Albin looked back at the cottage roof and saw the rooster standing on it. The cottage shuddered. I hope the chickens find a roost that will not fall.
book #2 Battle in Spring Sleet
Breaking a Bridge
River Aire, March 1461
[I took this fiction out of the book because I feel sure that Lord Scales's men were not the ones who broke the bridge. They probably used it to get to what became the battlefield.]
Lord Scales bellowed to his army, “We can keep the Duke of Norfolk and his army from crossing the river here.” The baron held aloft the small keg. “We will destroy the bridge.”
That solid, stone bridge! Albin felt like laughing. He had admired how the rockwork held without mortar tighter than a leg joint.
The baron pointed at the bridge. “We will lower strong men over the sides of the bridge to open spaces between the stones and fill them with this black powder.”
Albin shaded his eyes and gazed at the swift-flowing river.
Six volunteers stepped forward. Albin made a face. George would be one of them.
They helped George and the others over the edge of the bridge and gave them large iron picks and hammers.
“Men!” The baron’s voice was tiring. “We also need six fast runners to light the fuses.”
This I can do. Albin stepped forward. George would be too slow for this job.
Lord Scales chose other young men and then looked at Albin.
Albin nodded. “I am fast, my lord.”
Lord Scales pressed his lips together thinking, and then nodded.
Albin, the baron, and the other runners climbed up the arching bridge. The picks rang a rhythm on the keystones of the bridge. Albin and the other runners watched Lord Scales pour black powder from the keg onto six rags. The baron tied each rag full of powder into a bundle and added a long fuse. “These are your wicks. At my signal, light them and run to join us on the bank.”
When the holes were ready, the baron gave the bundles to the men below to shove into the gaps they had made. Others helped the workers back onto the bridge. Albin grinned as George and the others walked away. The baron gave the runners each a burning rush light and left.
Albin sheltering his flame behind the bridge side. He reached over the side of the bridge and grasped the fuse.
Lord Scales called, “Now!” Albin lighted the fuse and stepped back. It went out. He tried again. Men were hollering, “Run! Run!” The others were running. Did mine go out again? The other runners were off the bridge. Albin started to take another look.
It must be burning. He ran to the others. Seeing men with their hands over their ears, he turned and covered his ears too. Suddenly there was a roar. Bridge stones and dust flew into the air. Then, like beads slipping off a string, stones splashed into the river to both ends. The waves slid downstream. Only the supports showed where the bridge had been.
book #3 The Enemy's Embrace
The Fate of Grafton
This story, seen from Albin's point of view, continues in The Enemy's Embrace.
Agatha found Hannah cleaning a stained-glass window in Grafton's great hall. Hannah was muttering to herself. Agatha raised one minimal eyebrow. I think I can learn her latest complaint. "How are you this sunny, spring morning?" Agatha asked.
"Stuck doing this stupid job." Hannah turned and waved the little stick she was using. "What is the point of all this scrubbing ? The manor will be seized by that …"
"Don't say it, Hannah. If you mean the Duke of York, be careful. He is huge—over six feet tall—and not far away. Besides, our duchess needs to negotiate with him." She blinked back tears. Oh that her first son could come back!
Hannah made a face. "But I shall not proclaim that giant …"
Agatha raised her hand in warning. "He became king by winning a huge battle."
Agatha looked at the window. It pictured Jesus calling fishermen to be his disciples. The June sun shone through much blue glass representing water and sky. Agatha looked at Jesus's face with sunshine streaming through it. Just so I saw the joys of life through Anthony's face. Now he has gone to heaven and we are without any joys. I am sure he went straight to heaven. I cannot imagine a finer knight.
Then she realized Hannah was speaking. "Whatever he is, that duke will drive us out of our home."
Agatha sighed. "Have you any idea where you will go? Might you stay and serve the new owner?"
"No! I will not serve a friend of that –"
"I might be expected go to Burgundy with our duchess." Agatha's minimal eyebrows drew together. I may have to choose between my own parents, brothers, and sisters and this big, kindly Woodville family.
Hannah snorted. "How would you fare in Burgundy?"
"Not well outside of the household. I have never worked on learning French." And I am not likely to learn much now. My mind barely works at all. She sighed and rubbed her forehead.
Servants in black hurried quietly around the hall, clearing away breakfast. At least my hero died honorably in battle.
The steward came into the room and Hannah returned to work. "It seems stupid to clean a house we are going to lose."
Agatha took a step closer. "Have you not heard? That duke you like so little—our duchess has invited him to dinner."
"What!" Hannah spoke too loudly and whirled around to face Agatha. "That –is coming here!"
Agatha motioned for quiet. The Steward walked over. "What is the trouble here?" he demanded.
Hannah hung her head. "I seem to remember our enemies too well."
"This is a difficult time," he agreed. "We must bury our feelings and remember peaceful times when the lords were friends." He raised an instructive finger. "Let us remember that King Edward IV is no foreign invader. He is descended from King Edward III through both his father and his mother."
"Will he be coming here?" Agatha asked.
"Yes, in only three days." He gestured across the room. "We must make this place shine and serve the best food his grace ever tasted. Flavor may help the duchess's negotiations for her husband. The duchess and her daughters can charm him with kind words, sweet music, and playful glances. 'They might even save Grafton for us all."
Both women gasped. "Does he hold Lord Rivers?" Agatha asked. No wonder the workers have sped up.
The Steward nodded. "Yes, our baron was captured in the battle and brought down to London. Our duchess needs to convince King Edward that the baron will serve him well."
"Is that possible?" Agatha asked.
The steward smiled hopefully. "She is the king's godmother." He moved on.
As Hannah returned to her scrubbing, she muttered, "That is worth scrubbing for."
That afternoon Agatha was ironing elegant gowns. All of them were black. In spite of her best efforts, she sprinkled them with some tears. Tears seem frivolous. The loss of Lord Anthony does not call for drops of water but for rolling boulders.
Katherine Woodville, age eleven, came bounding in. "Is my gown ready? I need to try it on."
"Which one is it, my lady?" Agatha returned the iron to the stove. "Would it serve your ladyship to try it on as it is and then bring it back to be pressed?"
"I suppose." The girl looked through the stack of satin gowns and sighed. "'Tis as hard to find as a certain raven." They spread the gowns out so she could recognize one with a narrow ruffle across where her breasts were beginning to swell.
Katherine started to leave and turned back. From pouting lips, she said. "We might not be going to Burgundy at all."
Agatha's eyes widened. "Surely you desire to keep your home."
"I suppose, but I do not want to be stuck here all my life."
Agatha smiled at the pretty girl. "You shall marry a great lord and live in half a dozen castles."
Katherine shrugged. "I suppose. But I would hate to wait here seven years."
Agatha watched her storm out of the room with her arms full of black satin. She can have little idea of the world, living here in a family of fifteen who love one another. No, only fourteen. The finest of them all is gone. But his father may return. 'Tis no surprise that the Duchess of Bedford eloped with Sir Richard. Few love with such grandeur and grace. I shall not. Perhaps I belong in a convent. My heart died in the Palm Sunday snow. Agatha labored on.
The next day, she found herself hanging white table cloths out to dry. A youth with the use of only one arm helped her. It was good to tell about the Woodvilles to someone who knew very few of the stories.
She glanced at is dangling arm. "You have suffered a loss too."
"Yes, indeed. Middleton Manor has lost a fine baron. We can never do so well again."
"His widow is here, you know," she said.
The youth nodded. "Might your duchess marry again?"
Agatha was shocked. "How could she—ever. " How could I marry either.
Much later, she fell exhausted on her pallet and wept for an hour and more.
While the Woodvilles entertained the king and the kitchen staff ran steadily turning out excellent food, the clothing makers had very little to do.
"Are you still at that window!" an older woman asked Agatha.
She shrugged. "I have seen a cat, a dog, and four squirrels."
The woman chuckled. "Has it come to this?" She and Agatha sat down on the window seats. "Would you like to go to Burgundy?" she asked.
"It matter little to me. It would be sad to leave this family—or my family."
"Then you are over half way to accepting whichever comes."
My feelings are so near dead—. She mended her own best dress. Other women were talking about the Woodvilles. "Lord Rivers would be able to teach jousting."
Another nodded. "He certainly has done well with his sons."
At least I saw Anthony practicing his jousting. I am even more thankful I saw him at prayer. Surely he is in heaven even now.
Late in the evening, Agatha heard cheerful sounds. She made her way to the solar and found the duchess, three daughters, and Lady Scales. "Come with me to the chapel," the duchess was saying. "Let us return thanks for this joy."
The ladies trooped out leaving Hannah and another worker behind. "What is it?" Agatha asked.
"Edward is holding both barons. They are in the Tower of London."
"Both—?" Agatha rubbed her forehead. I am making no sense of this.
Hannah gave her a humiliating look. "Lord Scales."
Agatha's world tilted and everything looked strange. "Lord Scales lives?" She could hear others chattering and laughing. What a frivolous way to greet the return of life.
book #4 Entering the Castle
Visiting a Child
[I seriously doubt Anthony Woodville was anywhere near Cardiff in 1463.]
Sir Anthony Woodville knocked at a thatched farm cottage near Cowbridge, Wales. A woman with full lips and luminous green eyes answered the door. She held a baby in her arms. “Tony!” She stepped back in astonishment.
Gwentlian and her husband have a child. “I congratulate you. What is the baby’s name?”
She looked at him archly. “He is Adam. I am starting afresh.”
Anthony nodded. “Congratulations to both of you.” He took another step into the firelit room. The shadow of a string of onions danced on the ceiling. “I have less than half an hour,” he said. “But I do want to see Margaret.”
From behind a sturdy table, a girl stood and looked at him. Thick brown hair framed her pale face. Sir Anthony smiled. “Margaret.”
Margaret came toward him very sedately for a six-year-old. She did not stare long at her visitor. Long lashes veiled her dark eyes as she looked down at the ladle she was carrying. Playfully, she asked, “What would you like in your stew?”
“Do you remember Anthony Woodville?” Gwentlian asked her. “He came last May.”
“Does she truly cook?” he asked Gwentlian.
“Nay. ‘Tis all pretend. She has served me many a dish of apricot leaves and pits.”
Margaret raised her chin and announced, “I will learn to bake.”
Anthony squatted down near her. “What do you wish to bake?”
She looked squarely up at him. “Chicken pie.”
Anthony smiled. “A very good choice. I am sure I would like it.” So close to her gaze, Anthony suddenly realized he was empty handed. How could I have come to my daughter without a gift? What have I that a little girl might like? “Can you draw?” he asked.
Gwenlian scoffed. “What has she to draw with besides a stick in the dust?”
“Find her some charcoal.” Anthony started digging through his pack and brought out a roll of paper. He gave his daughter five sheets. “You will find a way to make beautiful pictures on this.”
“I need paint,” Margaret said.
Anthony glanced at Gwentlian who shook her head. “When you are older,” he promised. “Maybe someone can show you how to fold paper flowers.”
“Lilies but no white roses,” Gwentlian said slyly. “Show him what you are making, Margaret.”
The girl went to a wall hung with clothes and brought back a small, tan item from a peg. She spread out an apron.
Anthony lifted a corner and admired the stitches that staggered across it. “When you are ready to make your own kirtle, I will send you the material. What color do you like?”
“Purple,” Margaret said.
Anthony's arching eyebrows shot up. She has the tastes of an empress. “I will see what I can do,” Anthony promised. Giving her a quick kiss on the cheek, he departed. As he rode back to town, he wondered. Does she see herself as the granddaughter of a royal duchess? Are others jealous? I try to give her only things that her neighbors have.
She is as beautiful as her mother.
book #5 A Hollow Vow
[In A Hollow Vow, Albin must ride across the site of the Battle of Towton by himself.]
A Hollow Vow
The Killing Field
In York, Albin shivered. I expect to be able to sleep so near the killing field? He frowned. Of course, I did before the battle. But then, I expected our army to win.
At a monastery, he did sleep and then eat a hearty breakfast. As he rode on, he talked to his horse. "Smokey, I know we are crossing the battlefield, but—in less than two years—nothing looks the way I remember." He gazed across the waves of fields stretching into the distance. He told Smokey, "Our great army stretched for a mile across one of these. Another huge army came up the hill attacking us. The wind carried their arrows into our ranks before we could get one near theirs. Then it started to snow." He patted Smokey's neck. "You are glad you were not here. I barely dodged a crazed horse with an arrow in its neck."
When they reached the River Aire, Albin drew rein. "They have done a good job of rebuilding the bridge. It was frightening to cross it half destroyed." He looked at the patches of mushy old ice along the bank. The water looks calm now. England looks calm too, but there are unseen currents.
A Kitchen for News
The news I learn from Mistress Hays always seem to be right. Albin headed for her kitchen.
There, a bright-eyed, birdlike woman looked around from watching a man pound dough. Although she was well over sixty, she was in charge. She wore a big, leather apron and had a wreath of gray hair wrapped around her head. “You are late for dinner, Albin,” she said in a cracking voice. Two men looked up from their work.
Mistress Hays pointed to Albin’s useless arm. “Are you better than when we served dinner to the king?”
Albin smiled. “My arm is still like an overcooked bean. But my job is better. I just carried a message from Middleton."
The queen of the kitchen smiled between her wrinkles. "You like being a messenger."
"Indeed I do. 'Tis such a free feeling to ride mile after mile. And I seem to get along well with the horses." He swallowed some of the beer she handed him and wiped foam off his lip. "What news here?"
She gave him a teasing look. "The dead are making the news."
Albin started. "Ghosts?"
Grinning, she shook her head. "King Edward and his cousin of Warwick have been reburying their fathers and the king's brother."
"Then his grace must not be expecting an invasion from Scotland after all."
Mistress Hays laughed. "Who would lead it. Somerset is with the king."
Cousin Birdface in 1463
As soon as Albin arrived at his parents’ new cottage in Middleton's village, Birdface bounded in the door. A soft and wavy beard made his huge nose less extreme and hid his receding chin.
Albin stroked his cousin’s beard. “That is nice! It does make you look much better.”
Birdface smiled. “Maybe that is why people call me Edmond now. Better, I played the hero.”
Albin’s eyes widened. “How?”
“Rosamond called for help. A squire was trying to steal a kiss."
“Little wonder, Genovefa’s sister is a lovely girl." The image of Genovefa and her great fan of hair came clearly to Albin's mind.
“I went to her aid.” Edmond grinned broadly.
“Birdface the hero! I hope you did not lose a fight to the squire.”
Edmond tossed his head. “No, I think he decided Rosamond was beneath him. Since then, she has danced with me three times. He held up three fingers. She makes me feel I am all right.”
Albin clapped him on the back. “You have always been better than ‘all right.'"
“And—Thomas decided to go in with me on the wagon. We almost have enough money for all four wheels. He has a tree we can use to make the box.”
Albin clapped his cousin on the shoulder. “Good for you, Birdface.
"Rosamond always calls me Edmond."
Albin made a silly, smiling face. "Bir—um, Edmond, Rosamond is a lovely girl. Do you…"
"I love her, Albin." He flung out his arms. "It would be the greatest possible joy to spend my life making her happy."
Albin smiled. "Why not? You are a kind and steady fellow. You could make her happy." He clapped his cousin on the arm. "Yes, I will speak for you to her and her parents."
Birdface sees London
Birdface got to go with Albin on an errand to London. Birdface’s beard seemed like a fringe on his grin as he tried to see everything in the city. He saw a duke on horseback followed by a score of armed men. Birdface watched children throwing filth at a man locked in the stocks. “I wonder what he did to them.”
Albin shrugged his good shoulder. “Maybe nothing. Some people just like to throw filth.”
They turned a corner and entered yet another dim street overhung with upper floors. “Can you really find your way through these streets?” Birdface asked.
Albin nodded. “Use buildings as landmarks, Birdface. A street vender may not be in his place.”
Birdface's jaw dropped when he saw a dwarf dancing for pennies. What fun it is to watch Birdface gawk at everything!
The cousins hurried on past a woman with pies to sell. Suddenly Albin turned around.
“What?” Birdface asked.
“Do you see those men down by the knife shop?”
Birdface looked and nodded. “Two big men. Oh! Are those the men who are after you?!”
Albin nodded. “Have they moved on?”
“They are coming this way.”
Albin walking through the nearest door.
“A bath, gentlemen?” a broad man greeted them with a broad smile.
“How much?” Albin asked. “Is the water hot?”
Birdface turned from watching out the door. “Okay, they have passed.” The cousins continued walked on down the street. “I think we need archers. We can hardly take them alive.”
“Did you see their clothes?” Albin asked. “Were they wearing a badge?”
Birdface wore a puzzled frown. "What?"
"The picture that their lord puts on everything. I am proud to wear Lord Scales's scallop shell."
Birdface frowned. "Except when it makes you target of huge men."
As they walked on, Albin kept trying to help Birdface remember. “The cloth was blue. Was there a picture, an animal maybe?”
They were back at the Scales home when Albin asked, "Did the picture have chains on it?"
Suddenly, Birdface grinned. "Yes! It had chains on each side of a square things with bars."
"Yes!" Albin slapped him on the back. "'Tis the Beaufort portcullis!” He took Birdface by the shoulders and whispered. “They are Somerset’s men. When they captured me, one of them called Margaret a queen. Somerset is a traitor to King Edward!”
A Name to Drop
Leicester, England, March 5, 1463
“What?” Albin roused from sleep and looked at the shadow that was Squire Baldwin.
“Plato,” Baldwin repeated. “The Wydevilles talked about Plato over their books.”
Albin tried to clear the fog of sleep. “A food?”
“A person.” Baldwin chuckled. “I think he was a wise man who told how governments work.”
“He would have been wise enough not to wake his bunkmate.” Albin frowned and turned on his other side. Traveling with Baldwin, who was still in his teens, could be fun—in the daytime.
“Oh, sorry. But I do think we could use his name to sound more like students.”
“I think I would like a good snore about now.” But now he was awake. “Yes” he thought. “We can name some wise men and say we like or dislike their ideas. Just as long as we meet no real students.”
Two Giant Brothers
Albin was resting in the common room when two huge men came in. He gasped and covered his mouth. Those are the men who captured me. The iron was hot. I barely escaped branding. Bending down, Albin began scratching a tiny crumb off the tail of his tunic. Saint somebody, you defended me then. But now I am in town, I can learn who you are.
He watched through his eyelashes until the men were talking with the waiter. Carefully, he got up and slipped out the door. He hurried to the nearest church. Inside, he found—no one. With a sigh of disappointment, he dropped to his knees and settled into prayer. Who are you, the saint who answered my prayers when those giants captured me?
Before Albin had finished two 'Pater Nosters,' a friar came in with a wax-board.
He may be a teacher. Albin strode over to the friar and bowed to him. "Please, father, I have a question."
The friar smiled. "I am no priest, but I will help you if I can."
"Thank you. I am a messenger for a baron. Who is the patron saint of messengers?"
The friar scowled in thought. "Saint Joseph aids travelers." Then he straightened and smiled. "You have a powerful patron. Archangel Gabriel is the patron of messengers. He is one of the seven who stand always before the throne of God." The friar took a step closer and lowered his voice. "Is there someone you fear?"
Albin nodded. "Two giant brothers who captured me last spring. Gabriel must have helped me because I was able to talk my way free."
"Do these men serve some lord?"
"Somerset," Albin said.
"The duke?" The monk's eyebrows rose in surprise.
"What are they doing here? King Edward sent the duke to his castle in Wales."
I know. I helped encourage that move. Images from the riot in Northampton flitted through his mind.
"Where are they now?" the friar asked.
"At the inn. I think they were ordering dinner."
"Then, if you are ready to ride, this could be the best moment to do so."
Albin thanked him and headed for the stable.
Monica and Daphne
Monica laid a hand in her brow. "Daphne, you are twenty—already an old maid."
"Mother, there is not a bachelor in Thetford worth a second look. Besides, how can I think of marrying when my spirit died on the Palm Sunday Field?"
Monica frowned into a pan with greasy water in the bottom. "For a girl with a dead spirit, you seem awfully lively."
"All our neighbors know I lost my one love. I can name two women, even older than I am, who lost their intended husbands. 'Tis not our fault, 'tis York's."
Monica put a finger over her mouth. "Shhh! Edward of York is our king now." She looked around for a place to set the pan she was holding, but found none. "I know what you truly want. You want to see the world—all of it. That is not the purpose of life—and it cannot be done anyway. You might get to London—but be sure you know how to escape it again."
She dumped a bone off a platter. A spotted dog snapped it up and took it under the table. Monica looked back to her daughter. "Riston is nice boy. He helps his crippled uncle. Besides, he likes you."
Daphne held her temples. "We have been over this many times. He is clever as a post. I would be mothering him all my life. He would probably beget stupid children—a herd of them." She huffed. "My father has offered to take me along with the troop. The costumes do need my care. Do you think my father cannot protect me?"
Monica sighed and stacked the pan on the platter. They had been over this many times. "Strong as he is, your father cannot protect you from the world."
Daphne chopped the air in frustration. "Do you want to lock me in a convent?" She returned to reason. "Thetford is not safe either. My father can only protect me if I am with him. The plays have taught me much about how to defend myself."
Monica turned and looked straight at her. She realized she was looking up into her daughter's troubled brown eyes. She wants this badly. I no longer need help with her little brothers. She might meet a man she would like to marry. We will have this argument every day she is here. I can no more tie her to the land than I could her father. They are travelers. She gave her daughter a kiss. "Let us go to the priest and ask his blessing for protection on your adventure."
book #6 The King's Beloved
“You saw a poor sample of London, Edmond," Albin said. "I think I can show you even a bit of some palaces.” Albin pointed toward the south.
Edmond leaned on his rake handle and gazed toward the horizon. “I would love to see these things, Albin,” he admitted to his cousin.
“Oh, you must!” Albin answered. “London is a feast to be savored by the young.”
Edmond sighed. “Must? I am a married man now. I must care for my wife and my home."
“I am happy for you in that.” Albin twirled an orange maple leaf. “But this may be your last chance to go. Look, Rosamond will be just fine with her mother and sisters so near. After you have children, you could be trapped here.”
Edmond frowned. “I like not to think I am trapped. Rosamond and I love each other. I may not see a lot of earth, but I enjoy a bit of heaven.”
book #7 A Winter Bride
Jacquetta's 1465 Christmas Letter
Dear Friends, I greet thee well,
Elizabeth's coronation dominated 1465 for us—and many others. Our Anne married Henry Bourchier and Joan married Anthony Grey. I believe they will get along quite well.
John and Catherine seem to be enjoying themselves—on horseback of course. (She is amazing for being nearly seventy.) I wish I could say the same for Katherine and Henry, Duke of Buckingham. Much of their problem is youth. I pray they will outgrow their unfriendliness and become comfortable adults together.
Our Lionel does well with his Latin. I can imagine him becoming a bishop.
I have a wonderful colt who I expect to grow up into a fine horse for travel. That is important now many of my children are scattered across England.
One unfinished story involves the emprise the queen gave to Anthony last spring. He has invited the bastard of Burgundy to fight him for it. It cannot happen soon enough for Anthon y, but Burgundy has gone to war with the King Louis of France. (I encouraged King Edward to side with our long-term friends in Burgundy. I do not trust that slippery French king.)
May your herds and crops thrive. May God and Our Lady shower you with blessings through 1466.
Jacquetta of Luxemburg
"What is in there?" Baron Rivers demanded. He pointed at a covered object Baldwin Green had his arms around. Tall as Baldwin was, it almost came up to his eyebrows.
Lord Anthony smiled, "That, dear father, is a wedding present for Margaret." He whisked the linen cover off of a basket shaped like a bird cage.
Lord Rivers peered between the willow wands. He moved around and took another look. "What are those lizards doing in there?"
Anthony chuckled. "At least you didn’t ask where the bird went."
Lord Rivers sniffed. "Neither do I suppose birds turned magically into these creatures."
Baron Anthony flung out an arm toward them. "These are imported chameleons"
Baldwin set the basket under a tree as directed. "Stand back a little and watch," Lord Anthony told his father. As they did, the blue chameleon turned yellow.
"Amazing," Lord Rivers said. "But it hardly seems like a wedding present."
Anthony frowned in frustration. "You have a better idea? If not this—what would they like?"
Baron Rivers smiled. "It so happens that Lord and Lady Maltravers need a change of horses."
"Horses!? Surely they have many."
"They could visit Grafton in three days. But that would take another change of horses. Your mother and I are giving them a pair of horses. Your brothers are arranging for the horses to be kept at a good stable in Leighton Buzzard. I think they would like some help."
Baron Anthony rested his chin on a crooked finger in thought.
His father raised an eyebrow and waited. "I know 'tis not showy—certainly not like these lizards, but it will be useful and appreciated."
Lord Anthony stiffened. "I need not be 'showy.'"
"Talk to John and Richard about it," his father advised. "Oh, and find a place to hide these lizards. I think they will make an excellent Christmas present. Most likely, we will all be at Sheen Palace. Now, there is a place to be showy."
Baron Anthony laughed. "Before our king and new queen." He looked down at the chameleons. "Can you two put on a royal show?"
A Winter Bride
The Magic Disk
Aha, I shall show her my magic disk. He brought a bulging metal disk out of his pocket.
"What is that?" Daphne asked.
Albin opened the cover. A needle lay across the middle of the space. Albin turned the disk and Daphne watched as the needle adjusted to point the same direction. "Do you know which way 'tis pointing?" Albin asked. Daphne squinted up the road the had just covered. "North," she said. "Does it always do that?"
He handed it to her and she turned it clear around. "That is wonderful! We could use something like that for our travels."
Albin nodded. "I needed this compass so much that Lord Scales bought it for me."
Daphne gave a dismissive wave. "I don't believe you get lost."
Albin told her about a time when he did.
A Gift of Peril #8
Setting the Record Straight
Bruges, April 24, 1465
The guard challenged Master Walter and Albin at the door of the finest home in Bruge.
Albin grinned. I understood the guard’s French!
“We come from King Edward of England seeking Count du la Roche, the grand bastard of Burgundy,” Master Walter answered. The guard motioned the captain over and the herald repeated it.
“He is not here,” the captain said.
“Do you know where he is?”
“Not I.” The captain pinched his lips together. “Can you tell us, in French, about King Edward’s marriage?”
“Oui,” the herald said.
“Come in. A good story is likely to get you supper and a bed for the night.”
“We accept,” Master Walter said.
They spent hours drifting around the courtyard. Albin helped ask the whereabouts of the count du la Roche. Inside, Albin gazed about the hall. A display of swords made him shuddered, so he studied the tapestries. These pictures are not like what I see in England—even in palaces. I must look closer. He saw deep landscapes and round figures. How do they do that?
The travelers enjoyed a fine supper. The lord of the hall called to Master Walter. “Give us the news from England.”
In his rich, deep voice, Master Walter told how King Edward married secretly on May Day and did not tell his council until late September.
Albin smiled. I saw him on May Day looking oh so pleased!
“Who is she?” the lord of the house asked. “I have heard that she is a commoner.”
“Not so.” Master Walters held up his hand. “She is the niece of the Count du St. Pol.”
The man combed is fingers through his beard. “Then she is the daughter of Jacquetta of Luxembourg?”
“Exactly. She is the oldest child of that lady. We are here on behalf of Jacquetta of Luxembourg’s oldest son.”
The man nodded. “To buy?”
“No, sir, we have a challenge to joust with the Count du la Roche. That is why we seek him.”
“Ah,” He wore a longing look. “That would be fine sport to see.”
-Outtake from A Gift of Peril
Meeting a Veteran
Albin saw the ferry crossing the Great Ouse. It was going away from him. Albin sighed. I am likely to wait half an hour for the ferry. He looked around for something to explore.
A man with a long, white beard peered at him from under bushy, white eyebrows. He motioned Albin to join him on a bench.
“Were you ever in battle?” the man asked.
“Yes,” Albin said. “I was at the Palm Sunday field. Now I have but one good arm.” He stroked the useless one a bit.
The man looked at him intently. “Were you an archer?”
Albin nodded. He felt a grinding bitterness. I was an archer, now I am nothing.
“May Saint Sebastian keep you,” he said. “Remember, 'tis a proud thing to be an archer.” He nodded his head so his beard flapped. “We destroyed the French on Saint Crispin’s Day.”
Albin turned toward the man with the white beard. “You were at Agincourt? I have longed to meet such a man.”
“I was there, indeed. The French far outnumbered us. Worse, we were cold, hungry, and worn out from coughing. No one expected to see England again.” He nodded a dozen times. “King Henry was with us every step. He must have prayed us up a miracle.
“The field was muddy and the French horses often slipped and struggled. But...” He laid a withered hand on Albin’s arm. “It was our arrows that won the day. I put one through some count’s breastplate myself. He fell with a splash of mud. We tore up those fancy Frenchmen, we archers.”
Albin nodded but felt a chill of sadness. “Our baron told us of King Henry, his chivalry, and his valor.” His son may also be a King Henry but he seems best at praying. And yet he did not ‘pray us up a miracle’ on Palm Sunday. Nor was he with us. He stayed in York with his queen while others led the battle.
All too soon the ferry arrived. Albin thanked the old archer and wished him well. Clucking to his horse, he led it onto the ferry.
outtake from Gift of Peril
A Fish Tale
"Yesterday, a merchant angered Lord Scales." Daphne gasped and Albin made a calming motion. "I know that is unusual."
Daphne grinned. "And a great blessing for you." She leaned closer. "What happened?"
Albin wore a puzzled frown. "The man said something about a mermaid. Do you know about that?"
"You do not know!" Daphne drew Albin farther into their quiet corner. "One of my duchess's ladies is from Burgundy. She told me a legend. Folks say that one of the Duchess of Bedford's ancestors was a mermaid. She married a man after he promised not to look at her—I forget—it may have been at certain times. Anyway, he broke his promise and saw her with her fish tail. She flew away."
Albin laughed. "'Tis a strange move for a fish."
Daphne flapped her hands in frustration. "Oh dear, there is more to the story than I remember. I doubt if it has been written in English, but they know it in Burgundy."
Albin looked worried and Daphne patted his arm. "I do remember that this 'mermaid' was not mean. In fact, her magic did good things."
Albin eyes had been growing wider and wider. "This is told of the family of Luxembourg? No wonder the poor duchess is accused of witchcraft! Clearly Lord Scales wants no one to tell this at all."
In London, Albin and Baldwin came to Baynard's Castle. Baldwin pointed. "King Edward's mother lives here. Duchess Cecily is beautiful and folks call her the rose of Rabe."
A gray-haired man was sitting on the ground near by. He was leaning against the castle wall. "I built it," he said.
But Albin asked the man, "This castle?"
The man nodded with a grin.
Albin asked, "What did you do? How many men were working on it? Were you using a crane?"
The man ignored the big squire and answered Albin. "The crane brought stones up to us on the walls. I have no idea how many men worked on it. There were over a hundred of us."
Albin talked about it on the way home.
Baldwin shook his great head. "I could learn much traveling with you."
Book 9 Woodvilles Rising
The little man and his assistant cut the mold open. Albin half expected Lord Scales to tumble onto the floor. But he stepped away and turned to look at the mold. The little man was explaining how they would use it to form the body cast. "My assistant can deliver it to the ship," the little man assured the baron.
Lord Scales signaled stop. "I have not settled this with the captain. When should I come for the casting?" He turned to Albin. "I wish you could speak Italian and go to Milan with it.
Two hours and a dinner later, they arrived at the wharves. The Saint Nicholas rocked gently on the River Thames. Albin gazed up into the rigging and pictured the ship under full sail. Ships are beautiful to see and miserable to ride.
Lord Scales talked to the captain and hired space for the casting and for the two men to accompany it.
The baron turned to Albin. "You can find me a trustworthy Italian. Many Italians live around here."
Albin was back the next day. He bought a beer and sipped at it for an hour. He learned where the bartender came from and who some of his Italian customers were. The man did not respect Stephano. "He needs to dry his eyes and go to work. He needs to be like Aroldo Ponte. He will do any job to keep a home for his family." The barkeeper spread his hands. "And they are both from Milan."
"Where can I find Aro--?"
"Aroldo Ponte. He often works in the stables at The Sun Dial."
Asking three more people brought Albin to Aroldo. He was moving barrels into a wine cellar. "Aroldo," he called.
The man wiped his hands on his tunic and walked over. He looked Albin up and down. "And whom may you be?"
"A servant looking for someone from Milan," Albin answered.
"You found one. My beloved and I fled that city four years ago. Our fathers refused to let us marry. Now we have love, two children..." He sighed. "..and little else."
Albin nodded. "Do you know of Antonio Marketti in Milan?"
Aroldo laughed. "He is married to my cousin Sophia." His smile brightened. "Are you looking for armor? He makes the best. Do you serve a jouster?"
"Lord Anthony Woodville," Albin proudly announced.
"Ahh! London awaits a great tournament. My kinsman can make him a fine suit of armor etched with any pattern your lord desires. "
Before sunset, Albin introduced Aroldo Ponte to the baron.
"I have a translator," Lord Scales explained, "Do you have any experience with armor?"
The man shrugged. "I can polish it without naming any parts."
The baron grinned and shifted forward. "Can you find this Antonio Marketti?"
"Si, he is married to my cousin."
"Your English seems good, but that may not be important if you are with Nicolo."
Aroldo met Nicolo the next day. They do not seem friendly, but that is not necessary.
The baron and Albin accompanied the casting from the shop to the ship. Nicolo and Aroldo both watched to see where it was stored. The baron nodded. "It should be safe there." He looked at the Italians. "And I will pray for your safety and the ship's."
"The great ladies have both broken contracts for the children's marriages. " Daphne grinned and her eyes sparkled with mischief. "You will remember that Thomas Grey was promised to a daughter of Lord and Lady Hastings. She is still unborn."
Albin sucked in his breath. "I will not forget how Lord Scales received that news. He supposed Hastings was disposing of some love-child got on a miller's daughter. He was ready to slay the man."
Daphne laughed. "Who could have guessed that she would become our queen? Now she can break that promise without risk. So the ladies have contracted to marry their children together."
Albin whistled. "This is going to infuriate somebody."
"Lord Hastings is such a close and loyal follower of King Edward that I think he will not fuss. But his lady is a Nevil."
Albin swung out his hand. "Anyone who is not a Nevil is married to one. 'Tis a wonder the king escaped marrying one of these cousins of his." He laughed. "He had to do it in the dark. I probably told you about seeing the king riding to and from her home on May Day."
In April 1465, Albin visited Brussels with a lot of time to admire the art.
He studied a tapestry picture with the swan boat. An armed knight in a white surcoat stood in the boat. Albin grinned. Did no one tell him to sit down in a boat? And he is weighed down with armor too!
An old woman came along, pointed at the tapestry and asked something.
Albin smiled and spread his hand. “I want to hear the story, but I have not the French.”
The woman smiled. “I English little. See the lady? Men say she kill her brother. The knight come to save her. See? He win the trial by fight. The knight say she must never ask his name. She marry him.” The woman pointed to the picture of the knight. “He leaving. She ask. He tell her. Then he must go away.”
“Thank you, um—merci Madame.”
Book in progress: #12 Hide Me on Stage
The King's Vacati on
In the spring of 1469, King Edward must have felt like a winner. He had a queen he loved and three daughters who were growing beautiful like their mother. He had a satisfactory treaty with the powerful Duke of Burgundy—who was now his brother-in-law. In fact, he had several in-laws married to great lords of England—and even Wales.
In the North, John Nevil dispersed Robin of Redesdale’s rebels. In the West, Courtney and Hungerford could never trouble him again. Warwick was in Calais where, hopefully, he would mind the fleet and the English Channel and stay out of trouble. If that wasn't enough, Edward also gave him responsibilities in the north: Westmoreland, Cumberland, and York.
Edward felt free to take a trip. He was thankful for many things and would enjoy returning thanks at a shrine or two. East Anglia could use some attention, especially given the quarrel over Caister Castle. Then he had an inspiration: he would take the dukes of Norfolk and Suffolk with him and mediate their quarrel. He could even demonstrate to his youngest brother, Richard of Gloucester, how it was done.
He chose the shrines at: Bury Saint Edmonds and Walsingham. The latter specialized in babies. He had certainly been blessed with daughters. Now if St. Joseph and the Virgin Mary would just explain to God how badly he needed an heir…