Brian Wainwright - The Adventures of Alianore Audley

‘All right,’ I said, ‘as long as my husband doesn’t object.’

‘Roger?’ Cousin Edward laughed. ‘It was Roger who suggested it. Said it’d keep you out of mischief!’

Why on earth Roger thought that I needed to be kept out of mischief I can’t imagine. It’s not as if I was ever the sort to cause trouble. However, the reality of life is that a woman has no choice but to obey her husband. Most of the time, anyway.

Middleham was no better than I remembered. The air of romance had not yet had time to settle over it. The only consolation was that we had some good friends with us in the household. Rob Percy was now one of Richard’s chief officers, and so was Francis, Lord Lovell, another of Warwick’s former esquires, and another joker. It was these two who set up the trick fountains in the pleasance, working from a book of plans Richard had brought back with him from Burgundy. After that, you always had to be careful where you stood to sniff the flowers, or you could get a very nasty shock. I find distinctly limited amusement in having several gallons of icy Yorkshire water unexpectedly shot up the inside of my skirts, but I suppose it wouldn’t do for us all to laugh at the same things.

Richard and Anne were still uncertain of one another. He was very fond of her, it’s true, but he’d married her to secure her inheritance and she’d married him because to be Duchess of Gloucester was a slightly better paying career than third assistant scullery maid in a pie shop. Despite what some people will tell you, it was neither a love-match nor a forced marriage, but somewhere in between, like most decent arrangements between sensible adults.

Roger and I were allocated a tower to ourselves, which caused some resentment, I can tell you. The top floor was given over to my work, and here I would sit, reading the information that came in from my agents in the field, or writing my regular report to Will Hastings. I had to avoid spending too much time up there. My official appointment was as one of Anne’s women, and in a job like that it does look a tad suspicious if you never show your face in your lady’s solar. Besides, in my experience people always develop serious doubts about anyone who seems to have a taste for the solitary life. Refuse to socialise with your colleagues in a noble household and it’s not long before everyone from the kitchen turnspit to the lord of the castle is convinced that you’re several blackbirds short of a full pie.

We did not, of course, spend all our time at Middleham, but most of the riding forth that had to be done to establish Gloucester as the biggest cheese north of Trent was done by the men, or a select group of them. We ladies usually had to be content with the odd trip as far as York, or the ultimate excitement of an excursion to the flesh pots of Sheriff Hutton. Roger and I were lucky if we got away to Horton Beauchamp for three months in a year. Richard could always find work for us, and was the type who thought nothing of asking us to drop everything and ride up from Gloucestershire, as if he imagined that we lived in the next castle down the road from him. The pretext was often some triviality, like the Scots crossing the border and burning half of Northumberland.

I eventually bore my husband three sons, Thomas, Richard and Henry, and one daughter, Constance, although not necessarily in that order. Children are all very well in their place, but they do tend to get in the way of one’s professional commitments, and after the fourth I started to take regular doses of Tegolin’s Love Potion Number Nine . Yes, I know that some ladies swear by lumps of wool soaked in vinegar, but personally I could never stand the taste, and besides, it’s damned inconvenient to have to catch a sheep every time you fancy a little bit of horizontal jousting.

The one advantage of living in a great household is that there are always lots of women around who are only too willing to pick up spare children from the floor, wave rattles at them, wipe whatever needs wiping, and so on. At Middleham even the Duchess was into this sort of thing, but I have to say that I was not. My own contribution to the co-operative nursery tended to be at the other end of the age group, as I was always on the look out for bright esquires and damosels to recruit for my intelligence work. You may find this hard to believe, but suitable candidates came along about as regularly as pink horses. Still, at least I can say that I taught many a northern clodhopper how to dance without standing on the skirts of his partner’s gown, and many a taciturn northern wench to sparkle in company and sew a straight seam. No one can say that Alianore Audley has not done her bit for the Renaissance.

The Earl of Northumberland gave Richard a degree of hassle in the early days. This chap, whose full name was Henry Algernon Percy – a distant relative of that subtle charmer, Rob had rather a high opinion of himself. Indeed, if it had been much higher they’d have needed to extend God’s dais to make room for another throne. He didn’t care for young Gloucester poking his nose into Percy affairs, pinching his retainers and so on, and he went into a frightful sulk. Letters flew here and there, royal commissions were set up, and after lengthy negotiations the bacon was carved up between the two of them. From then on Northumberland added to the many attractions of Middleham by becoming a regular guest. In my mind’s eye I can still see him sprawling in the big chair next to Richard, swinging his Warden of the Marches badge about on its chain, and refusing to socialise with anyone below the rank of baron. I decided that he required some very serious watching, and included some malicious reports about him in my despatches to Hastings. I didn’t actually hear him say that the Queen was an ugly old Lancastrian cow, but I’m sure he thought it, and so it wasn’t really a lie to pass this on.

On the other side of the Pennines was my dear old friend Lord Stanley. He who had let the side down at Blore Heath. Now, in fairness to Thomas Stanley, he had not singled my father out for special treatment. He hadn’t turned up at Barnet or Tewkesbury either, despite having served in Warwick’s government. In point of fact he’d never shown his face at any battle worth mentioning, with the sole exception of Towton in 1461, where he slipped up and fought on the Yorkist side. I suspect that even there he was jolly close to the back, guarding the line of retreat or something.

Unfortunately, this particular flower of chivalry had enormous power in Lancashire, and had no wish to share it with Cousin Richard. He had a running feud with the Harrington family over Hornby Castle, and, to cut a long story short, Richard took sides with the Harringtons, who often dropped in at Middleham for a stag hunt and a couple of quarts of old ale. This led to some trifling scuffle. I was sitting on a window-seat at Middleham when it all happened, and so I’m afraid that I can’t give you full details of the deployments, or of the tactics used. However, I understand that the technical term used by knights for what took place is ‘A Complete Cock-up’. Anyway, Richard’s own banner was lost, and carried off by the Stanley forces.

Gloucester was less than made up.

To make matters worse, a letter came up from King Edward which made it clear that he backed Stanley in all this. He appointed Richard to head a Commission that was to force the Harringtons to give up the disputed lands! My briefing from Hastings said that some people thought that Richard was growing a shade too large for his boots. You could almost smell the Woodvilles on the paper. I discussed the intelligence despatch briefly with Anne before tearing it into quarters and hanging it on a nail in the garderobe. Why did I bring Anne into it? Because she was a hell of a sight brighter than she let on, that’s why. I bounced everything of a delicate nature off Roger, or Anne, or both of them. They were both pretty shrewd judges, and depending on what they said I knew whether to (a) give Richard a direct security briefing myself, (b) give Anne the ammunition to fire for me, or (c) just keep my mouth shut. (Option (c) applied in this case, if you’re in any doubt.)