Brian Wainwright - The Adventures of Alianore Audley

They shook hands, after John had spat on his.

‘Do I have any say in the matter?’ I asked, being the romantic sort.

‘Alianore,’ Roger said, rather reprovingly, ‘of course you have some say. Do you think we’re living in the Dark Ages? You get to choose your wedding gown.’

A few days later John intercepted me on my way back to work from the palace chapel. ‘Beauchamp has withdrawn his offer for you,’ he said.

I awoke from my dreams with a nasty start. I’d thought it too good to be true.

‘He withdrew it at my request,’ my brother went on. ‘He didn’t want to stand in your way once I told him about the great good fortune that’s dropped into your lap.’

I didn’t say anything. I didn’t trust myself. The floor looked particularly dusty, and I didn’t want to have to pick myself up from it.

‘The new offer for you is truly exceptional,’ he said. ‘A once in a lifetime chance. Almost beyond belief. The King wishes to speak to you.’

Oh, God, I thought, it’s a ward or it’s a reward. Either some little boy heir, still carrying the marks of his tutor’s birch across his behind, or else some battered warrior with bad breath who’s won the prize for killing the most Nevilles.

Richard of Gloucester was in the room with his brother. He began to look awkward as soon as I walked in. I swear you could see the hump growing on his back.

Edward seemed to be talking in Chinese. He wasn’t of course. It was English, and the King’s English at that. It was just that I couldn’t make sense of it. He seemed to be saying that he wanted me to marry Gloucester.

I tapped myself on the side of the hennin, trying to make the wax drop out of my ears. No, it wasn’t a joke, he really wanted me to be the Duchess of Gloucester. I had one prime qualification. I wasn’t a Neville.

Boy, did I have to think quickly!

‘No way!’ I said.

I didn’t look at John. I didn’t need to. I’d heard the click as he’d unbuckled his belt.

‘I’m not up to the job,’ I went on hurriedly. ‘For one thing, I’m not a virgin. I’ve been Lord Stanley’s mistress for the last six months.’

‘You’ve been what ?’ This was John exploding. If there was one man on earth he hated it was Thomas Stanley. He’d not forgotten how our old friend had stood aside at Blore Heath. ‘Stanley’s whore? You’re no sister of mine!’

This was a really stupid remark. Of course I was his sister, albeit of the half-blood. We had the same father. But I suppose you understand what he was getting at.

Why did I tell this great big obvious lie? It was the first thing that came into my head, that’s why, and there wasn’t time for a better invention. I couldn’t marry Richard. He was too young for me, and, besides, I knew that he had his heart set on little Anne Neville. What man in his senses would not fall in love with the heiress to half the Warwick estates? Anyway, I am not of the stuff from which duchesses are made. If you gave me more than half a dozen waiting-women I’d not know what the hell to do with them all.

The Monday following Cousin Edward sent for me again. I had the strangest suspicion that he wasn’t planning to induct me into the Order of the Garter.

‘Welcome, Cousin,’ he said. ‘I’ve a task for you. Your mission, if you choose to accept it, is to nip over to France and win George Clarence back to our side.’

‘What if I don’t choose to accept it?’

He smiled. Edward had a lovely smile when he was putting pressure on you. ‘I happen to know a convent with a really nice line in punishment cells. With the full agreement of your brother Audley I’ve made you a provisional booking for six months. You’ve far too much colour in your cheeks, Alianore. Very unfashionable. A few weeks in a pitch dark room would work wonders.’

‘I believe that France is quite pleasant at this time of the year,’ I said. ‘What do I have to do?’

‘Hastings will give you your final briefing,’ he replied, grinning. He withdrew into the next room, where the Queen was awaiting him.

Will Hastings was the Lord Chamberlain, and Edward’s bosom buddy. A real creep. He stepped forward, slid his arm around my waist, and led me over to a small table.

‘This is your special equipment,’ he told me. There was a bag of French coins, a horn of invisible ink, and a garter with a knife in it. And a letter. ‘Careful with that,’ he said, lifting it up and waving it about. ‘It might explode. It’s from Georgie’s mummy, and she’s just a tad cross with him.’

‘Is this all I get?’

‘You’ll have an escort as well. What more do you need? Intelligence reports indicate that Clarence should be willing to bite. Now that Warwick has done a deal with the Lancastrians, poor Georgie is left out in the cold. Redundant. Like the proverbial spare cock at a wedding. Persuade him to come home.’

‘How?’

Hastings grinned, and gently squeezed my right tit. ‘Think of something.’

I told you he was a creep.

There were two men in my escort.

Guy was an archer de la maison . What’s that? Well, he gets the same wage as an esquire, plus a house for his wife, and he can shoot the balls off a fly at a hundred paces. A useful chap to have around. Any more questions?

I didn’t recognise Roger Beauchamp at first glance. He was disguised as a yeoman servant, with not a piece of shining armour in sight. We didn’t want to attract too much attention, did we?

Roger was inclined to be a bit stand-offish. He’d heard the tale about Stanley and me, and was not overly impressed. He wasn’t discourteous, or anything like that, but I sure knew that he wasn’t going to vote for me to be Damosel of the Year.

We were soon on the road to Southampton. To be honest, I was quite glad of the change. Life as a Court lady isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. I was sick of toadying to Elizabeth – I’m-too-sexy-for-my-hennin-Woodville. It involved too much wear on the knee joints. And once you’ve seen one tournament, brother, you’ve seen them all.

We landed at Barfleur. Roger carried me ashore, partly because I didn’t want to get my feet wet, and partly because I had only just stopped sharing my breakfast with the seagulls.

‘Put me down, my man, and go and hire some horses,’ I said, in my best, haughty voice. I hadn’t waited on the Queen all those months without learning a few tricks. ‘Be quick about it, and don’t let these Frogs cheat you, either.’

It took ages to find where Clarence was staying. This was largely because none of the damned ignorant French peasants seemed to understand English. (They expect us to invade them every fifty years or so but they can’t even be bothered to learn our language.) It turned out he was inland, at a place called Valognes. I decided that we had gone far enough, and halted outside a dirty little inn a few miles down the road.

‘Help me down from my horse, varlet,’ I told Roger, still laying on the arrogance, ‘and then secure us some rooms in this unworthy dump. Fetch me a menu while you’re at it.’

He did. I read it while I was lolling on the luxurious comfort of my straw mattress. There was a marvellous choice. Either cabbage soup, or soup made from cabbages. They really know how to live, the French. No wonder that Henry the Fifth was so keen on the place that he went back year after year.

‘I have the subtle impression that you’ve been trying to wind me up,’ said Roger.

‘Does that trouble you?’

‘Not at all. It’s just that if you ever talk to me like that again, I’ll pull you straight off your sodding horse and spank your arse.’

‘Promises, promises,’ I said.

‘I’ll remind you,’ he went on, ‘that I’m the one who gets to decide where we stay. I’m the leader of this expedition.’