“My cook has roasted a lamb for supper, my lady,” he said pleasantly, leading her back into the solar. “Do you like lamb?”
In spite of her daze, she found the question silly and she laughed. “I am from Yorkshire, my lord. There is naught much else there but sheep.”
“God’s blood,” he exclaimed. “Then we shall have no more mutton while you are staying with me. You must be sick of it.”
“I assure you, I do indeed like it. It will remind me of home.”
“Good, then,” Martin replied with a snort. “I was having terrible visions of the next few months with nary a sheep in sight. I can only take so much fowl, and beef is expensive.”
They smiled at each other, and Martin escorted her into the dining hall.
*
Gaston was welcomedto the Tower by an astonishing array of household troops. Having been notified earlier in the day of his arrival, they had been waiting since noon for him to appear. Just before sundown, he rode the narrow passageway from the Middle Tower and the Byward Tower, into the bailey.
Henry was in the royal apartments, demanding Gaston to him by way of his chamberlain, John Stewart. Leaving his men in the bailey, including his knights, Gaston took de Tormo with him.
Henry was still dressing for dinner when Gaston was announced. As soon as the king caught sight of his Dark Knight, he forgot all about the heavy pendant his servant was trying to hang about his neck. Tall, with a rounded stomach and reddish hair, Henry VII rose to his feet.
“Gaston!” he exclaimed. “How good to see you.”
Gaston bowed a deep, practiced bow for his king; de Tormo was still in the hall. “My lord, ’tis good to see you again as well. I trust you have been well.”
“Indeed,” Henry looked over his most fearsome knight as one would inspect a prize bull. “My God, de Russe, have you gained even more mass? I do not remember you quite this large.”
Gaston’s lips twitched. “Nay, my lord, no more mass. I am as you see.”
Inspection complete and excitement rapidly faded, Henry resumed his seat and his servants finished primping him. “I take it you brought Lady Stoneley here from Mt. Holyoak,” he said.
“’Twas an excellent excuse for a visit to London, I must say. How is Yorkshire faring?”
“Cooperative for the most part,” Gaston replied honestly. He would tell Henry what he wanted to hear before delving into the real reason why he was in London. “Except for a renegade baron, I have had little trouble.”
“Renegade baron? Who?”
“Lord Botmore of Knaresborough. I had to kill his son and in retaliation, he struck down Arik.”
“Helgeson?” Henry looked surprised. “I am sorry for you, then. He was a fine knight. And this Botmore; I have not heard of him. A lesser baron?”
“Aye,” Gaston replied. “He fought with Richard, I am told. I do not remember him serving the king, nor his brother.”
Henry seemed to ponder the statement another moment before moving on. He was an extremely intelligent king with more brains that brawn. He did not need to have any brawn when he had knights like Gaston to do his fighting for him.
“I am pleased, then, to hear that Yorkshire is stabilizing,” he said after a moment. “I had my doubts, you know, even though I have Yorkist blood. England considers me Lancastrian.”
“They consider you Welsh Tudor,” Gaston said. “May I ask how Elizabeth and Arthur are?”
“Well and good,” Henry put his arms up as fancy cuffs were secured to his tunic sleeves. “Arthur will make a fine, strong king one day. He is a brilliant boy.”
Gaston watched as the king’s many retainers finished dressing the man. Even though supper would be a small, informal occasion, Henry always insisted on dressing the part. He was, after all, the king.
“We are supping with Peter Courtenay tonight,” Henry rose on his long, skinny legs as a crimson mantle was placed on his shoulders. “And my Uncle Jasper, of course. A small dinner party. I am sure I will have more questions of you, but for now, I am content. You obviously believe that Yorkshire is contained by your manner, and I will trust you on that matter.”
Gaston knew he would have to broach the subject now, while they were still in private. He found he was actually nervous doing so, not because he feared his king, but because it had never been easy for him to verbalize. He cleared his throat quietly and removed his helm. “My lord, might I have a private word with you before we sup?”
“Of course,” Henry waved at him. Servants and attendants scampered from his presence. “What is it, de Russe? You have reconsidered the dukedom?”
Gaston smiled ironically. “Nay, my lord, not at the moment. What I wish to speak of is far more serious.”
