The Traitor's Daughter. Joanna Makepeace

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ as the lair of the red dragon, contemptuously speaking of the Tudor King’s personal device of the red dragon. To Philippa’s father, the present English King would always be a usurper who had unlawfully taken up arms against his true King, Richard III, and, aided by traitors, had defeated him at the battle of Redmoor near Bosworth, where Wroxeter’s friend and liege lord, King Richard, had been slain. Now Philippa’s father was a proscribed traitor within his own home land, living in exile, unable to accompany his wife and daughter on this journey on threat of a hideous death should he be discovered and arrested.

      Cressida made no answer, but Philippa could tell that her mother also was not impressed by the coincidence of the somewhat ominous inn sign.

      The tap room appeared as crowded as the other tavern had been, but slightly less noisy. Talk stopped as the eyes of the men gathered round the scratched and stained tables were turned upon the newcomers in open curiosity. Philippa considered that they all looked vaguely alike to her, medium-sized, sturdily built men, dressed in homespun, dark avised; their language, which had come to her in snatches when they had entered the room, was totally incomprehensible to her.

      Peter engaged in talk with a slightly taller shambling fellow who announced himself as mine host. He, at least, appeared to speak English, though his accent was very marked and singsong in rhythm.

      “I require a private room for my sister, Mistress Weston, and her daughter, my niece. I am escorting them to visit a sick relative who lives near to Ludlow. Can you oblige, master innkeeper?”

      The man shook his head emphatically. “I have but one private chamber which is already spoken for. The ladies must make do with the common sleeping room. There are but two women sleeping there tonight. You must sleep down here in the tap room, or the stable if you would prefer that.”

      Peter turned to confer, but Cressida said hastily, “Peter, I would much prefer to sleep within the stable with Philippa and you nearby. Can that be arranged?”

      The innkeeper scowled and the men seated nearby within earshot whispered to their neighbours. It seemed that only certain members of the company understood English and needed a translation of what had transpired. Curiosity increased. Strangers, most likely, some merchant’s wife and daughter, were usually content enough to share the women’s common sleeping chamber. An atmosphere of resentment seemed to grow within the tap room, making the ale-stinking place chillier than it had been at the outset when they had entered.

      “Aye,” the innkeeper growled, “if the lady insists, but if it’s food ye want you’ll have to be fetching it yourself. I can’t be waiting on folks across the courtyard. I’ve customers in plenty in here. You can eat here if ye’ve a mind to, all of ye.”

      Cressida smiled politely and once more shook her head. “Innkeeper, I mean no offence. It is just that we are wearied and would eat and sleep in quiet. We shall be glad to see to our own needs, they will be simple enough, some ale, perhaps, and bread and meats or cheeses.”

      “Oh, aye.” The man turned away, then taking a lanthorn from a hook behind him, came from his place nearest to the ale barrel in present use and moved towards the inn door.

      “Come this way then, folks and I’ll show you the way to the stable. I take it ye’ve no horses of your own?”

      “I intend to buy mounts for the land journey tomorrow,” Peter informed him. “We have only lately disembarked from the carrack, La Grande Dame, just in from the port of Bruges. My sister’s husband had been living there for some years as he has business interests there.”

      The innkeeper sniffed and moved in his clumsy, shambling walk to the door, opened it and held up the lanthorn so they could see only dimly across the unlit courtyard. “Directly opposite is the stable door. There are only three stalls occupied at the moment. The lord who has taken my private bedchamber has a horse stabled there with that of his squire and my own cob is there as well. There’ll be plenty of room for the three of ye, and there’s clean straw in plenty for your beds.”

      Peter thanked the man civilly and took the proffered lanthorn, murmuring that he would take particular care with it within the stable, then the three of them stepped outside into the mist—shrouded air again.

      The cobbles of the courtyard were slick with rain and mist and they were forced to watch their steps, the ladies holding their skirts high to avoid any ordure or refuse from the inn or stable as they crossed.

      “My pardon, my lady,” Peter murmured, “I had thought to provide you with better accommodation than this poor place this night. God’s blood, it appears that what they say about this benighted land of Wales is true, the inhabitants are barbarians. Did you hear those outlandish peasants chattering in their singsong tongue?”

      “Peter,” laughed the Countess, “remember that I lived in the Welsh Marches throughout my childhood. We had many Welsh servants at the manor and, though I could not speak their tongue, I grew to respect and like them very much. We would have been regarded with just as much outright curiosity wherever we had fetched up. We shall do well enough if the stable is dry and we shall have privacy which is most important.”

      “Yes, mistress, but you have had a rough time of it on board ship and I hoped for better conditions for you both than these.”

      “I prefer to have you within call, Peter,” Cressida said quietly, “and I am sure you and my lord have slept in many worse places than this over the years.”

      He glanced at her sharply and Philippa glimpsed a wry twist to his lips as he pushed wide the stable door and held up the lanthorn for them to enter before him. The missions the Earl had undertaken for the Duchess Margaret in her relentless intrigues against the Tudor king had often meant danger for them both and, indeed, they had many times been forced to live for quite long periods of time in disguise and in vastly uncomfortable circumstances.

      The warmth and familiar scent of horseflesh met them and they heard the restless movement of wickering within the stalls as the horses were both disturbed by their unexpected arrival and alarmed by the sudden lanthorn light. Peter held the lanthorn high, glimpsed a hook suspended from the thatched roof to hold it and hung it securely. Surprisingly the place looked well kept. Obviously it had been cleaned that very morning, possibly in expectation of the arrival of the lord the innkeeper had spoken of. Philippa moved to inspect the mounts. Two were sturdy Welsh cobs, she surmised, one belonging to the innkeeper and the other to the lord’s squire. The third horse was a black courser, a large, heavy-boned, finely muscled animal, extremely valuable, she guessed. Of the three, this one was the most restive and she moved closer to the stall and spoke gently, reassuringly.

      “Steady there, my beauty, we mean you no harm nor any to your master.”

      Cressida uttered a sharp warning as her daughter reached out a hand to pat the creature’s velvet nose, aware of how dangerous destriers could be, bred for warfare as they were, but Philippa turned, shaking her head gently. She was patient and the sound of her soft voice did eventually reassure the animal and it stood docilely while she ran her hand gently down its silky well-brushed nose.

      “There, there, I have no apple for you. Perhaps I will have tomorrow. I will try to find some and reward you all.”

      Philippa adored horses and had very little opportunity to ride, let alone own a mount while at her parents’ lodging at Malines. Her father had been forced by limited means to hire mounts only when he had need, but he had managed to have his daughter taught to ride and she was glad now that she would have no problem during their journey to Gretton.

      Peter had busied himself, piling up clean straw in one of СКАЧАТЬ