The Order of the White Boar by Marchant Alex

Author:Marchant, Alex [Marchant, Alex]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Published: 2017-10-01T16:00:00+00:00

*

In the days that followed I saw nothing of Ed as he recovered from his illness, but rather more of the Duke. He would go away for a day or two at a time on business and before long news came that he was summoned to London to attend Parliament in January. But, despite having much to arrange, it didn’t stop him riding out with Roger, Alys and me many afternoons when he was at home.

‘It gets me out from under the nurses’ feet in the sick room,’ he joked.

Alys whispered to us that he often took a turn watching his son all night during his sickness and the Duchess had urged him to go riding for fresh air and exercise. But why he chose to ride with us rather than the gentlemen of his household was at first a mystery.

Then one fine clear day, he rode with us to the top of Pen Hill. There he turned Storm around and, as our chatter died away, gazed back towards the valley. Most of the snow had melted away, just pockets remaining in sheltered hollows. The hills in the distance were blue, like smoke.

His hand shielding his eyes against the low winter sun, the Duke said quietly, ‘This was my favourite place when I was a page. I would ride up here with Francis in all weathers and hawk, or chase, or simply watch the folk go about their business in the dale.’

There was no emotion on his face, but was there a tug of wistfulness in his voice?

Roger shattered the stillness of the moment.

‘If you had said before, Your Grace, we could have brought Lady and another hawk and seen if we could raise some sport.’

The Duke shook his head, as though scattering his memories.

‘Nay, lad, not today. I think I prefer a quiet ride in these days. But perhaps you could bring Edward when he is well again. I would that he could become strong and happy amongst his friends as I did.’

The meaning of his last words escaped me then, and for many weeks after, but we all three promised to do our best for his son.

On those rides, we always brought Murrey and Alys’s pup, by now named Shadow as it followed her everywhere. They scampered after our ponies, learning to keep out of the way of their hooves, and were picked up to be carried across the saddle bow or tucked into doublet or mantle when they tired. On this afternoon Murrey, as usual, was the first to flag. She whined plaintively as her spindly legs began to wobble and she dropped behind.

As I swung down to scoop her up, the Duke reined Storm back to wait. Alys and Roger carried on ahead, unaware, Shadow still bounding along at their heels.

Murrey was soon snuggled within my doublet, her tiny head sticking out the unbuttoned top, eyelids drooping with sleep.

As we set off again, riding side by side, the Duke spoke.

‘Matthew, as you may know, I must soon ride to London.

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