Lady of the Rivers Read online

  At this thougt, so awful to him since he had sworn privately that he would serve and protect her to death, he stopped still and put his hand to a tree trunk to support himself, and bowed his head in shame. She was his lady, he was her knight, and at this, the very first test, he had failed; and now she was somewhere lost in the darkness and he could not find her.

  He raised his head, and what he saw made him blink his eyes, what he saw made him rub his eyes, to see without a doubt, without a shadow of a doubt, the glimmering white light of an enchantment, a chimera, and at the heart of it, gleaming, a little white horse, alone in the forest. But as it turned its head and he could see its profile, he saw the silvery horn of a unicorn. The white beast looked at him with its dark gaze, and then slowly walked away, glancing over its shoulder, walking slowly enough for him to follow. Entranced, he stepped quietly behind it, guided by the flickering silvery light, and seeing the little hoof prints that shone in the dead leaves with a white fire, and then faded as he walked by.

  He had a sense that he should not try to catch the unicorn; he remembered that all the legends warned that it would turn on him, and attack him if he came too close. Only one being in this world can catch a unicorn, and he had seen the capture in half a dozen tapestries and in a dozen woodcuts in story books, since his youngest boyhood.

  The little animal turned off the path and now he could hear the splashing sound of water as they came upon a clearing. He bit his tongue on an exclamation as he saw her, asleep like a nymph, as if she were growing in the wood herself, at the foot of the tree as if she were a bank of flowers, her green velvet dress outspread, her brown bonnet like a pillow under her golden hair, her face as peaceful in sleep as a blossom. He stood waiting, uncertain what he should do, and as he watched, the unicorn went forwards, lay down beside her and placed its long head with the silver horn gently in the lap of the sleeping maid, just as all the legends had always said that it would.

  The sound of a footstep wakes me. I know at once that I am lost in the wood in danger and that I have foolishly slept. I wake in a panic, in darkness, and I jump up, and Merry, who has been sleeping, head bowed beside me, wheels around to stare, ears pricked, as the two of us see the figure of a man, a dark outline in the shifting twilight. ‘Who’s there?’ I say, my hand clenching on my whip. ‘Beware! I have a sword!’

  ‘It’s me: Woodville,’ the squire says and steps closer so I can see him. He looks pale, as if he is as afraid as me. ‘Are you all right, my lady?’

  ‘My God, my God, Woodville! I am so pleased to see you!’ I run forwards with my hands outstretched and he falls to his knees, takes my hands, and kisses them passionately.

  ‘My lady,’ he whispers. ‘My lady. Thank God I find you safe! Are you unhurt?’

  ‘Yes, yes, I was just resting, I fell asleep, I had been walking for so long, trying to find my way back to the road, but then I was so foolish – I sat down and I fell asleep . . . ’

  He stumbles to his feet. ‘It’s not far, I have been looking for you all evening, but it’s not far.’

  ‘Is it late now?’

  ‘No more than eleven. We’all looking for you. The duke is mad with worry. I was trying to follow your tracks . . . but I would never have found you but for . . . ’

  ‘And is my lord duke safe? Was it an ambush?’

  He shakes his head. ‘Some fool of a peasant felling a tree brought down another across the road. No-one hurt; just bad luck that we were there at the time. We were all only afraid for you. Did you fall?’

  ‘No, she ran off with me, but she didn’t throw me. She’s a good horse, she only ran because she was afraid and then she stopped.’

  He hesitates. ‘She led me to you,’ he says. ‘It is quite a miracle. I saw her in the woods and she brought me to you.’

  I hold up the reins I had tied to my wrist. ‘I didn’t let her go.’

  ‘You had her tethered?’

  He gazes around the little clearing, at the silver moonlight on the water, at the shadowy darkness of the trees, as if he is looking for something.

  ‘Yes, of course. But I took her saddle off as you showed me.’

  ‘I saw her,’ he says flatly. ‘She was loose in the woods.’

  ‘She has been here all the time. I held her reins.’

  He shakes his head as if to clear his bewilderment. ‘That was well done. I will put her saddle on her, and I can lead you to the road.’ He picks up the beautifully worked saddle and slides it on Merry’s back. He tightens the girth then he turns to lift me up. For a moment he hesitates, with his hands on my waist. It is as if our bodies have come together, almost without our volition: my head to his shoulder, his hands on my waist. It is as if we are drawn, one to another, like the planets on their wires in my lord’s library. Slowly, I realise that I am filled with an emotion I have never felt before, slowly I realise that this is a longing. I turn my face up towards him, and his darkened eyes look down at me, his hands warm, his face almost puzzled as he feels the desire which is slowly pulsing in me. We stand like that together, for a long time. Then, without a word, he lifts me up into the saddle, brushes down my gown, hands me my hat, and leads Merry through the wood towards the road.

  CASTLE OF CALAIS, FRANCE, JUNE 1433

  We are housed once more in the great castle of the garrison town of Calais, Woodville is greeted as its captain but my lord says he cannot spare him from his side yet to take up residence. I am standing on the battlement at the top of the castle, looking anxiously up at the standard on the tower above my head, which cracks and ripples in the strengthening wind.

  ‘Is it going to be rough?’ I ask my husband.

  He glances at me. ‘You are not afraid? But water is your element.’

  I bite my lip on a retort. Personally, I don’t think that having a water goddess for an ancestress is a guarantee of freedom against sea-sickness, nor, come to that, shipwreck. ‘I am a little afraid. The waves look very high, are they always big? Do they always break so high on the harbour wall? I don’t remember them being like that before.’

  He glances out to sea as if to measure them for the first time. ‘It’s a little rough, perhaps. But we will leave on the next tide. It is too important for us to delay. I have to get to England. I am going to address the parliament, they have to realise that there must be funds released to pay for the campaign season in France. And I have to find some way to get my brother Humphrey to work with our uncle, Cardinal Beaufort. The young king . . . ’ He breaks off. ‘Ah well, at any rate, we have to go and I don’t think the journey will be too uncomfortable for you, and there should be no danger. Can you not calm the waters? It’s Midsummer Eve; surely you should be able to do a little magic on this of all evenings?’

  I try to smile at the weak joke. ‘No, I wish that I could.’

  He turns and goes into the inner rooms. I hear him shouting for his clerks, and to tell the captain that he must complete loading, for we will leave on the next tide, whatever the weather. Woodville comes up with a warm cape and puts it around my shoulders. ‘My lord is worried by events in England. His brother Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester, does not give good advice, his nephew the king is young and inexperienced, and his uncle, Cardinal Beaufort, has his own plans for the kingdom. The two of them, the Duke of Gloucester and the cardinal, try to turn the young king each to their own way of thinking and he is torn between them.’

  ‘Is it safe to sail?’

  ‘Oh yes. It may be a little rough, but I shall see you are comfortable in your cabin, my lady. And Merry safe in her stall. We will sail through the night and in the morning you will wake up in your new country. And my lord will take you to see his new house.’

  ‘Spenhurst?’ I ask, trying the odd name in my mouth.

  ‘Penshurst,’ he corrects me. ‘You will like it, I promise you, it is a most beautiful house in one of the loveliest parts of England, in Kent, which is famous for its apple orchards and fruit gardens. Near to London, but far enough distant that you will n