Sir Udolf nodded his acknowledgment. “Go upstairs and tell the queen,” he said. Then, turning to the physician, he said, “The meal will be simple compared to what you have at court, I fear.”
“The king will be content with a good soup and some bread,” the physician surprised his host by saying. “He has never been a man to enjoy a heavy, oversauced meal, Sir Udolf. Sauces often hide spoilage of the meat. The king prefers light meals. Watch what the queen eats when she comes to the high board, and you will see her preferences. She has a delicate belly, and always has.”
Sir Udolf nodded and gave the orders to his servant. The queen returned to the hall just as the steward announced that the dinner was served. She and her son joined Sir Udolf at the high board while the others took their places at the trestles below. Edmee and the queen’s tiring woman, Fayme, sat with Alix and her father. The physician had more color in his face now that he was warm again.
“The queen was pleased with the food they brought the king,” Fayme confided to the others. “A nice thick hot soup, fresh bread, butter, and a baked apple. We were able to get him to eat it all. I did not believe in a place so rough there would be good food.”
“We’re fortunate to have a place at all tonight to lay our heads,” Edmee remarked. “My poor wee princeling being robbed of his rightful place and his heritage. Well, if those Yorkist pretenders believe they can hold on to their stolen goods, they’re wrong. You mark my words, the queen will see to it, and we’ll be back in London before you know it.” She popped a piece of meat pie into her mouth. Edmee was an old woman now, at least sixty. No one knew for certain. A hot meal had restored her spirits.
“I do not think that we will be back in London quite so soon,” Alexander Givet said quietly. “I know for a fact that the queen means to send to Queen Marie of Scotland and ask for refuge once the storm has stopped. She means for us to shelter in Scotland. Queen Marie must give her refuge, for their shared blood demands it, but she will be able to do little more than that. Her own child has only recently become king, and he is near our prince in age. It will take time to rebuild our king’s forces. She might even send her son to Anjou for his own safety. He and his father will now be hunted down with an eye towards killing them both.”
“Mary, Jesu, have mercy!” Edmee cried, and she crossed herself. “They would not kill a child, would they?”
“Every moment Henry and Edward Plantagenet live, they present a danger to King Edward of York,” the physician answered. “The father they will kill outright when he is caught. The boy will suffer a tragic accident. It is the way of our world, old woman.”
Edmee and Fayme crossed themselves again.
“Papa, do not frighten us,” Alix said.
“I do not mean to frighten you,” Alexander Givet answered her. “It is the truth.”
“What will happen to us?” Edmee quavered.
The physician shrugged. “Who knows,” he said. “The queen has been leaving many of our retainers behind as we moved north. They were fortunate to be put with other noble families who will weather this storm. We are the last. Who knows what will happen to us, but I suspect nothing. We will take refuge in Scotland, and probably in the end return to Anjou. We three came with the queen when she was brought to England. It will not be so bad to go home again, eh?”
The two women smiled tremulously and nodded.
“She will not cast you two aside,” he assured them.
“But maybe the king will be restored,” Alix said hopefully.
Her father shook his head. “Perhaps” was all he said. Alexander Givet was a realist. Henry Plantagenet had, since his son’s birth, been subject to fits of madness. Some lasted as long as a year. Others but a few days or weeks. But he had never been a successful ruler, and now his condition made it impossible for him to rule at all. The rivalries at court had contributed to his downfall. That and his queen. The nobility did not like having a strong queen who was England’s actual ruler. It had been inevitable that the king would be dethroned eventually, but the Duke of York’s high-handed methods had rubbed Margaret of Anjou and her allies the wrong way. The past few years had been chaotic, and the chaos had but contributed to the king’s fragile mental state. Alexander Givet would not say it aloud, but he very much doubted if Henry VI would ever again sit upon his throne. A madman could not rule England, or any other land.
Sir Udolf had taken the physician’s suggestion. While he and his guests sat eating, his servants were cleaning up two small rooms to house the little prince, his nursemaid, and Alix. The young boy was so exhausted by the day he had lived, he fell asleep at the high board. One of the baron’s servants carried the lad to his bed, old Edmee following in their wake. After thanking their host, the queen and Fayme departed. Alix remained behind to see her father settled for the night.
“Nay,mignon, I am quite capable of putting myself to bed,” Alexander Givet assured his daughter. “The baron and I plan to drink a bit more wine and play some chess,” he chuckled, patting her small hand. “Go and rest yourself.”
The king’s body servant, John, came into the hall on his way to the kitchens for his meal. He had been watching over the king while the others had eaten. “Mistress Alix,” he called to her. “The queen needs you to sing to the king.”
“Go,” the physician said. “I am fine.”
Placing a kiss upon his cheek Alix hurried from the hall.
“She sings to the king?” Sir Udolf looked quizzically at Alexander Givet.
“When the king is restless and the dolor comes upon him, my daughter sings to the king the songs that his mother used to sing to him. It calms him.”
“She is a pretty girl,” the baron said, “and both faithful and true not just to her parent but to her lord and lady, as well I can see. You are truly blessed in your daughter.”
“Your son,” the physician said. “He was not in the hall tonight.”
“Hayle had many things to do for me, and he is devoted to Wulfborn,” the baron answered. “Ah, here is the chessboard all set up for us now. Will you play black or white, my good doctor?”
“White,” Alexander Givet said. “Wulfborn?”
“The name of our estate. This is Wulfborn Hall. Our distant ancestors were Vikings, or so the legend goes. Hayle looks very much like I would imagine a Viking warrior would look,” the baron said. “He is tall and blond.”
The two men sat down to play at chess, talking, sipping at their cups. The hour grew late, and after each man had won, the baron suggested they retire for the night. A servant helped the physician to his bedspace, which was made up with a feather bed and a goose-down coverlet. It was, as the baron had promised, the bedspace nearest the hearth, and the walls were warm. Alexander Givet settled himself comfortably, relieved. He was truly warm for the first time in days, and he prayed they would not have to move on too quickly. These past weeks had been hard on them all.
