Brian Wainwright - The Adventures of Alianore Audley

‘I am not going anywhere,’ she said, with a set of the mouth that reminded me of King Richard in a stubborn mood.

‘You must,’ I cried. ‘You don’t understand. Tudor’s men are probably in York by now. They’ll be here in a matter of hours, and they’ll take you to London to be married to that slimy Welsh toad. Surely exile in Flanders is preferable to that. If I were in your place, I’d slit my throat with my own hand before I’d allow the obnoxious little pig within twenty feet of me, let alone in my bed.’

‘That wouldn’t solve anything, and it certainly wouldn’t bring Richard back. Have you ever heard of duty, Dame Beauchamp? Have you ever heard of fate? You see the prophecy has come true, after all. I shall be Queen, and I shall pass my father’s blood to my children.’

‘Your son will be the most disgusting king in English history, with the possible exception of his father,’ I snapped. ‘How about that for a prophecy?’

She started to cry then, which was just the right tactic. No one could ever be angry with Bessy for very long. Sweet, helpless princesses have only that one card to play, and they play it for all it’s worth, believe me.

Roger and I talked things through. Short of abducting Bessy by force – which Roger told me was definitely not on – there was nothing more we could do. There was little joy in the thought of taking young Warwick to Flanders without her. We knew that that poor boy would never make a king. We were well up the proverbial creek, with only our tongues for paddles.

‘I think we’d better make our way home to Horton Beauchamp, and wait until the heat goes down,’ Roger suggested.

‘You ain’t just whistling Greensleeves , honey,’ I nodded. ‘Let’s hit the trail, before Tudor and his bunch of oiks start knocking on the door.’

We were too late. Not that Tudor turned up in person, you understand. He wasn’t gentleman enough to make it his first business to present himself to Bessy. However, he did send Sir Robert Willoughby to collect her, Warwick, and any other titbits he could snap up. Willoughby had an expression on his face that made you think he’d made a career out of sucking lemons. He was the sort of chap who’d ask the Pope for a special dispensation before he allowed himself as much as a sly grin.

‘Sir Roger and Dame Alianore Beauchamp,’ he drawled. ‘You are my prisoners. For you, the Wars of the Roses are over.’

‘Sir Roger and his lady are members of my household!’ It was Bessy. She was posing on the staircase, looking down at us all along the length of her nose, already practising her part as Queen of England. I’d picked up a few tricks from Elizabeth Woodville myself. Bessy had learnt the complete repertoire. I was amazed by the change in her. Willoughby shrivelled up like a little slug in a shower of salt.

‘My lady, I have my orders,’ he protested.

Bessy took another two steps towards him. She was wearing the most expensive gown in Yorkshire, and her hair was loose, a golden stream so long and thick that she could have walked out naked in it and still maintained her modesty.

‘Then you had better be careful how you carry them out,’ she hissed. ‘It would be really sad if the King were to receive a few critical comments about your behaviour, sir. Your lack of respect.’

Willoughby realised that he’d forgotten to bow, and did so, very deeply. His hat fell off, because he’d forgotten about that as well.

‘My understanding,’ he said, ‘is that Sir Roger Beauchamp fought against the King at Bosworth, and that his wife was a most dangerous Intelligence Agent of the Usurper Gloucester.’

Bessy started to laugh. It was a beautiful laugh, and I thought it was never going to end. The castle echoed with it. Even poor Warwick, who scarcely had the wit to know a cow from a sheep, began to howl with delight.

‘King Henry is so kind,’ she got out at last, sobbing with the anticipation of her own joke. ‘He must have realised that I needed cheering up. He’s sent me his Court jester!’ Willoughby could only splutter. A beetroot would have looked pale pink next to his face, believe me.

‘Alianore Beauchamp an intelligence agent!’ Bessy roared. ‘Oh, God, that’s so funny! It takes her all her time to carry my train without ripping the gown off my back. She was a waiting-woman to Queen Anne, you fool, and now serves me in the same capacity. As for Sir Roger, I can give you my categorical assurance that he has not been any further south than York for several weeks.’

Roger and I did not fool ourselves. We were still prisoners. But, thanks to Bessy, we were not in close confinement, and we had a long journey to London ahead of us during which we could think up a few tricks. Moreover, since Guy was classed as a mere menial, we were able to send him off to Horton Beauchamp to take care of the shop. We knew he’d take the children into his own house if the worse came to the worse.

‘I owe you a big one.’ I told Bessy. We were on our way to York, riding in the middle of what had become a very bloated company. The locals were not mad keen on Henry Tudor, but they were more than prepared to turn out for his future wife.

She shrugged. ‘You were Richard’s faithful servants. And my father’s before that. I’ll do all I can for you both, and I hope it’ll be enough.’

‘It will,’ I nodded. ‘When Tudor sets eyes on you, he’ll bite all the way through his leek. You’ll be able to twist him three times round your little finger.’

‘We’ll see,’ she said.

I slipped a little package of documents into her hand. ‘In the meantime, take care of these,’ I requested.

‘What are they? Nothing that smacks of treason against the new government, I trust?’

‘A few little snippets about the Stanley family. Just hold them for me, in case I’m searched. If you hear of anything nasty happening to me, or to Roger, pray give them straight into Tudor’s hands. He’ll be grateful, I promise you. There’s also this…’

‘This’ was the gold Richard had given me. I’d kept a couple of pieces back, but the bag was too heavy, bulky and suspicious to keep on my person for very much longer. ‘Put it to good use,’ I said. ‘It’s amazing how reasonable people become when they’ve received a decent drop. Don’t let anyone think that we Beauchamps are too proud to buy our freedom, because we’re not.’

When we reached London, Roger was arrested and lodged in the Tower. He was in good company there, with Surrey, Northumberland, and young Warwick, as well as assorted lesser men.

I was left with Bessy, who was placed at Westminster in the care of her mother. Elizabeth Woodville was back on form again, and anxious to remind everyone that she was King Edward’s widow, and not, as we had established, merely his principal mistress. This suited Tudor’s book, of course, because he naturally wanted Bessy to be regarded as the heiress of the House of York.

I kept my head down, and my tongue between my teeth. Every move we made was watched, although not by Henry Tudor himself. He was a distinctly laggardly suitor.

I was not impressed when he did turn up to inspect Bessy. His accent somehow combined Welsh, French, and an anxiety to be rid of both. His clothes hung awkwardly on his scrawny carcass, his red hair was thin and straggly, and he had a tight, mean mouth. You understood why he kept his lips so close when you saw his teeth, which looked as if they’d been picked out in yellow and green paint. He struck me as the sort who’d steal the pennies from the eyes of a corpse.

To make matters worse, he pulled out a harp from behind his back and sang some ghastly song. I almost crawled under the bed, but Bessy smiled, and praised him, and generally made every possible effort to please. She was good at that sort of thing. Not that it made him hasten back for more of her company, because it didn’t. There is an apt, two word description for a man like Tudor. Ignorant is the first part. The expletive of your choice is the second.