LITMIR.BIZ

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full of such carrion, which attracted these large birds in considerable numbers. Goodwives might chase them away but they were surely of help to the unfortunate gongfermers, overwhelmed by the task of waste disposal in the city. Over the years I had learned that most of the citizens did not share the Tower garrison’s intense dislike of ravens. Stopping briefly to watch, I admired the birds’ glossy black feathers, which seemed to throw off blue and green reflections under the stray rays of sun that pierced the gloom under the overhanging timber-framed houses flanking the alley.

      When I reached the apothecary’s shop in the black monks’ walled enclave, I took it upon myself to ask whether any harm could come of taking too much of the vervain potion but was reassured that its soothing qualities were potent but harmless, so I gave an order for several bottles. While this was being fulfilled, I stole an hour to pay a visit to my mother, who rented rooms in the Blackfriars’ extensive demesne. Katherine, Lady Vaux, to give her official title, although her friends called her Kate, was a popular resident of the tenements there, which had been built to house the widows and families of knights killed on the battlefield. Whenever I called in, I usually found some other lady with her, seeking comfort or advice from one who was known to be wise and well acquainted with grief. On this occasion however, I found my mother in the process of teaching her maidservant, Jess, how to write but the instant I arrived she put aside the waxed tablet they had been using and shooed the girl away into the scullery.

      ‘What a treat to see you, Gigi!’ she exclaimed, embracing me warmly and delighting me, as she always did, with the use of my childhood nickname and the slight foreign lilt in her voice. I had always thought her a handsome woman, whose dark features I had inherited, although sadly not, in my view, her marvellous warmth and generosity. ‘I expect you have been very occupied with your bride-in-waiting. And I gather Lady Margaret is now ruling the kingdom, while her son is closeted away learning the laws and liberties of England. How is my old friend? In her element I warrant.’

      Her friendship with the king’s mother went back more than thirty years, to when she had been a maid of the chamber to Queen Marguerite. They were much of an age and Lady Margaret had been a maid of honour at court before her brief but fruitful marriage to Edmund Tudor, King Henry VI’s half-brother.

      ‘Indeed. She is officially presiding over the Privy Council,’ I said, taking a seat on the carved settle beside the well-stoked fire. ‘I don’t sit in the council obviously, but I can imagine her style of leadership rather resembles the red dragon on King Henry’s battle banner, breathing flames of fire.’

      My mother shrugged and gave a rueful smile. ‘She may be fierce in public but she was always the kindest of friends. I would never have married your father if she had not promoted our match with the king. Even after Edward of York took the throne and forced us to flee back to Piedmont she always wrote to me. And what would I have done with you and Nicholas when poor Queen Marguerite begged me to stay with her as she was taken prisoner to the Tower? Margaret took you in and refused any payment.’

      Her memories of that time always made her a little sad. England had been in turmoil. Edward of York had been victorious at yet another bloody battle in which my father was killed, fighting alongside Queen Marguerite’s treasured only son, who also died. In mourning and despair, the two bereaved friends were taken captive to the Tower of London and that is how my brother and I had gone to live with the present king’s mother. Although neither royal nor noble, the life of the Vaux family had not been without incident.

      I nodded in acknowledgement. ‘It’s true that she’s always been generous and now she is also working hard on behalf of her son. While he is closeted away making plans for England, my lady leaves Coldharbour after Prime and rarely returns before Compline. But we talk together at supper and she tells me that she misses you greatly. However I can assure you that she doesn’t miss a Mass, even though these days her chaplain has to follow her around like a lap dog.’

      This picture made my mother laugh. She had poured two cups of ale from a jug and carried them over to sit down beside me. ‘Margaret’s always been punctilious in her piety; but I hope you’re not implying that I was once her lap dog,’ she added, passing me a cup.

      My walk had made me thirsty and I sipped eagerly before responding, ‘Far from it, Mamma. You will always be Lady Margaret’s greatest friend. If you were ever anyone’s lap dog it was Queen Marguerite’s. There is no denying that you were a martyr to her.’

      For the second time that day I found myself recalling my first childhood visit to the Tower when, after the encounter with the raven, I had found my mother still trying hopelessly to console the bereaved and captive former queen. Out of her mind with grief, Queen Marguerite had taken one look at me and dissolved into tears, wailing, ‘I lost my one child, my beautiful Prince Édouard, slain in battle; only seventeen and dying unshriven!’

      I had then endured a sobbing hug that lasted for what seemed like an age. Subsequently, during the scant hour’s visit I had been permitted, it had been impossible for us to share our own grief over my father’s battlefield death alongside the prince, without his mother’s continuous keening as an accompaniment. Then, after the French king at last paid her ransom, Marguerite had somehow persuaded her faithful companion to go back with her to Anjou and leave my brother and me with Lady Margaret. During the next six years I saw my mother only once, when she managed to escape to England for a brief visit. As a result I always wondered whether such selfless loyalty should have taken precedence over motherly love.

      Now my mother regarded me solemnly. ‘You are right, I was. I admit it. But look what a superb education you received as Lady Margaret’s ward. Few girls are granted such a chance and you have made the most of it.’

      I nodded again and took another gulp of ale. After a pause I added, ‘I see you are teaching Jess her letters.’

      She rolled her eyes. ‘Well, I’m trying, but she makes a better scullion than a scholar.’

      It was my turn to laugh. Now in her early forties, my mother had never known the luxury of having her own household or even bringing up her own children and yet she displayed a sense of humour and a zest for life that never ceased to surprise me. Where I wore dark clothes out of choice, she preferred to dress in light colours, sewing her own kirtles in blues and pinks and somehow acquiring gowns in colours like mustard yellow and dove grey, trimmed with rabbit fur, and displaying her widowhood only in the rather old-fashioned white veils she chose to wear. Or perhaps she could not afford to replace them with the new headdress fashions, as a result of having served an impoverished ex-queen and being short of funds all through the York years.

      I changed the subject. ‘What news of Nicholas? Has he taken possession of the Vaux honours yet?’

      After King Edward seized the throne, his first parliament had confiscated the properties of all those Lancastrian landholders who had fought against him. Thus on reaching his majority, my brother had been denied his inheritance. Now that King Henry had taken the throne he expected to reclaim it.

      My question kindled the light of battle in my mother’s eyes. ‘No, and he is very keen to do so. King Henry has called a parliament for November and promises it will revoke the attainders; then it will be a matter of reclaiming the manors, but I imagine in some cases that may not be easy.’

      ‘I thought King Edward granted you your dower lands when you returned from France after Queen Marguerite died.’

      ‘Yes, he did, but I have been subsidising Nicholas and the income barely covers our basic needs. I am hoping my well-connected daughter will acquire me some employment in the household of the new queen, when we have one.’ She gave me an inquiring look. ‘When is that likely to be, do you know?’

      ‘No – and neither does Elizabeth. She fears King Henry may even call the marriage off.’

      ‘Surely not! His mother would never let him do that. Margaret has promoted that marriage for years and there is no doubt it would do much to placate persistent Yorkists. Why should he back out now that he has the throne?’

      ‘Perhaps because he wants to establish a Tudor dynasty.’ I laid stress on the Tudor name, recalling the words of Usher

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