Chapter Thirty-Nine

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

ISMAY MARCH 1471

And then did the Earl of Warwick remove himself from the side of King Edward. First Warwick counseled and enticed George, Duke of Clarence, to wed his eldest daughter without the advice or knowledge of King Edward. Wherefore the king took great displeasure with his brother and Warwick both.

Then did John Neville, brother of the Earl of Warwick, enter into a conspiracy, the object of which was to seize King Edward. As soon as this reached the king's ears by spy, he found himself compelled to consult his own safety and take flight to the port of Bishop's Lynn, in Norfolk. Here, finding some ships, he caused himself and his followers, nearly two thousand in number, to be conveyed across the sea to the Duke of Burgundy. These events took place about the festival of Michaelmas, in the Year of Our Lord 1470, it being the ninth year of the reign of the said king Edward.

In this manner did the Earl of Warwick gloriously triumph over the said king Edward.

* * *

From the moment that rumors of Warwick's doubtful loyalty to King Edward began to filter up to Havencross, Ismay carried a hard stone of dread in her chest. She dealt with her fear in much the same way she'd learned from Duchess Cecily—to prepare as thoroughly as possible for the worst scenario. Long ago Ismay had laid plans for her son's safety, beyond that offered by Edward. Now her wisdom was repaid.

She would never let anyone in England lay hands on her son for political purposes.

Perhaps it had been foolish to name the child after his father, but the moment their son was laid in her arms Ismay had felt Edmund with her. She gave the child her surname, branding him a bastard, but that needn't destroy his future so long as she taught him to keep his expectations in hand.

Which, she admitted, was not much of a problem for a nine-year-old whose greatest excitement was riding his little mare and whose greatest hope was to someday see the great city of York. He had the fair hair and blue eyes of his father and the king, but in features and curiosity he reminded Ismay of the youngest York child, Richard. She liked to think she'd given him his love for Havencross.

When Edward was betrayed by John Neville, forcing the king and eighteen-year-old Richard, his last loyal brother, to flee to Burgundy, Ismay could only give thanks that she hadn't been forced into her first proposed marriage. She wasn't terribly surprised by Johnny's switch in loyalties—and not in the slightest by Warwick's. He had always struck her as too clever, too ambitious, and too proud to stay in a king's shadow forever.

Just so long as the kingmaker kept his ambitions firmly in the south.

It was mid-March when the warning system Ismay had put into place throughout Northumberland and York sounded the first alarms. The warning was simple: the Earl of Warwick was coming to Middleham. Not unexpected—the northern castle had long been his home. But at only seventy miles from Havencross, it was enough to raise her fears.

It was unlikely Warwick would come to Havencross, she told herself. It had been more than eleven years since the earl had laid eyes on Ismay—odds were he had long ago forgotten her. Even if rumors of her bearing a bastard child had filtered through to him, what would he care? Bastards didn't matter.

Still, Ismay followed her plan. The first point of which entailed upsetting Edmund. "No leaving the immediate grounds for now," she instructed her son.

"For how long?" he asked.

"Until I say otherwise."

He thought for minute—like his father, Edmund took time to think before he spoke.

"Do you hear me?" she asked, when he made no reply.

"Yes, Mother."

Unfortunately, Edmund also had his royal uncle's trick of appearing to agree and then doing whatever he wanted.

The second time his tutor had to drag him back from the direction of the old icehouse, Ismay knew she'd have to tell her son something more.

She sat him down in the solar, his mouth and chin stubbornly set and blue eyes refusing to meet hers.

"Edmund, do you remember what I told you about your father's death?"

He couldn't keep from showing interest, for Ismay rarely referred to anything from the past. His gaze shot up to his mother's. "He died in battle."

"Yes."

"There were lots of battles, then," he added. "But not anymore."

"Sadly, Edmund, there have been battles this winter." When he perked up with excitement, she said, "And the only thing you have to remember about battles is to stay far away from them."

He sighed. "Which is why we live here."

"Yes. But sometimes, no matter how hard we try, battles will find us. It is possible, Edmund, that Havencross might be visited by unfriendly men this spring. If that happens, I must be able to find you quickly—and you must be willing to do whatever I ask. You trust me, don't you?"

"Yes, Mother." His eyes were round and wide, his chin stubborn. "But if the men come, I must defend you."

So like his father. "If these men come, Edmund, the only thing that matters is that they not find you. They will not hurt me—armed men don't threaten women." Ismay prayed for forgiveness as she told her son that blatant lie, but she needed him to respond to her every command instantly in case the worst were to happen.

For the next three days, Edmund stayed near her, obedient and subdued, and she prayed that this would be the worst of it. She hated that Warwick had the power after all these years to affect a boy he probably didn't even know existed.

Just in case it wasn't, she sent all the servants away to York with her steward—except for Edmund's tutor, whose help she would need in extremity. When the steward protested, Ismay said, "Have a holiday, buy supplies, go to church and pray. I don't care what you all do. But you are not to return until I summon you. It shouldn't be more than week." After all, how long could Warwick linger at Middleham? He was attempting to take over a country—he would need to be everywhere at the same time.

Two days after the servants left Havencross, the last warning sounded late on a Thursday afternoon as the sun faded rapidly in the west. Ismay found Edmund with his tutor, James Ascham, in the schoolroom across from her bedroom. Keeping her voice light, she said, "Edmund, go and get your warmest cloak and boots, please."

He paled. "They're coming?"

"It will be all right," she told him. "They think to catch us unawares, but they don't know how clever your mother is."

Edmund bit his lip, then tore out of the room to do as he was told.

"Time to go?" Ascham asked.

"You know what to do. Ride west to Carlisle and send a message to Scotland."

"And when I return?"

"Go directly to the old icehouse, where I showed you, and make your way to Edmund in the tunnel. He will be about a quarter-mile along, in a hollowed-out space large enough for him to stand up and move about a little. You know where to take him?"

"Back to Carlisle."

"But only for one day," she reminded him. "If I have not reached you by tomorrow evening, take him across the border. My mother's family will be waiting.

"Lady Ismay, are you sure about all this? It seems unnecessarily complicated to me. We could all ride hard for Scotland."

"There is no such thing as too complicated when it comes to the Earl of Warwick. Don't worry, I doubt it will come down to Scotland. I plan to meet you in Carlisle," she said with forced confidence. "There's no need to frighten Edmund more than necessary. I expect we'll all be safely back at Havencross by nightfall tomorrow."

She could see Ascham's awareness of what she wouldn't say—that with a woman and a small boy in the party, they couldn't outride armed men to the border. Ismay was the delaying tactic, the bait giving her son time to disappear. She could also see that the tutor wanted to argue, to beg her to come with him. She'd known for some time of Ascham's personal interest in her.

"I've made my decisions," she said firmly.

Ascham did as he was told and rode off, and Ismay collected Edmund, who had a small scrip packed with whatever he thought necessary to take on this journey. She slipped Edward's livery badge inside the scrip. She'd given the ring with the king's seal to James Ascham in case he needed it. Even from Burgundy, she trusted that Edward would do what he could for his brother's son.

Then she led Edmund to the old priory chapel, where she'd married his father. "We've done this before," she reminded him. "It's just an adventure. You have plenty of candles and the food we took to the cavern. Remember? Then you wait, for me or James to come and get you. As long as you have food and light, you are not to come out of the tunnel without one of us, is that clear?"

"Yes, Mother." He hugged her and, at the last moment, clung to her hand. "Come hide with me," he whispered, and Ismay's heart broke wide open. Come hide with me, Edmund had urged her all those years ago at Ludlow Castle, before he'd kissed her for the first time.

"I can't, Edmund. You have to be brave. And promise me that, no matter what, you won't come out until either James or I come for you. Promise me."

"I promise," he said almost soundlessly.

As his fair head vanished with the lit candle and Ismay dragged the false grave slab over the tunnel's opening, she prayed to the young man she had loved, the sweet boy who had left her with this gift: Keep your son safe, Edmund. Promise me.

She had almost taken too long—as Ismay crossed the forecourt, she heard the faint thunder of approaching riders. She left the gate open and fled up the many stairs to her solar, where she had a clear view.

Seized suddenly by the terror she had resolutely kept hidden for so many weeks, Ismay frantically counted the horsemen and, more important, searched for the identifying banner.

She'd known what it would be, and yet she'd hoped. For George, maybe; as detestable as his actions had been, he surely held her in fondness, and he was by all reports as changeable a man as he'd been a boy. She'd known him since he was tiny, and she could use that, could twist all his mixed-up loyalties against him.

But it was not the royal banner with its three silver bars that marked George, Duke of Clarence's distance from his brother's throne. No, the banner floating on the Northumberland wind tonight was the white bear and ragged staff on a field of red: the banner of the kingmaker himself, the Earl of Warwick.

Ismay knew, in that moment, there would be no clemency. Warwick dealt only in death.