The Dance of Death

Four

Throughout my life, I have frequently observed that whenever I have been reminded of some past event, long forgotten, a further reference to it occurs within days. Or, in this case, hours. .

I repeated, ‘Treason.’ My heart began to pound and I felt breathless. I was in a state of shock, not the first shock I had received that day, but this was by far the worst.

Timothy shifted uncomfortably and avoided my gaze. ‘It depends how you interpret the word “treason”,’ he said at last. ‘If it’s treasonable to want to right a wrong, then I suppose you could call it that.’

I barely heard him. ‘I’ve always thought my lord of Gloucester so loyal to his brother.’

That brought my companion’s head up with a jerk as he fixed me with a gimlet eye. ‘And so he is,’ he answered fiercely. ‘And so will he always be as long as Edward lives. But you saw for yourself, last May at Fotheringay, how ill the king was then, and you’ve seen him again these past weeks. You can’t have failed to notice the deterioration in him even in that short time. There’s no reason why an injustice should be perpetuated if he. .’

Timothy broke off, but I was able to finish the rest of his speech for him in my head. If Edward died, there was no reason for the Duke of Gloucester to extend that lifelong loyalty to his nephew — who, on his mother’s side, was one of the hated Woodvilles — if what he suspected should prove to be fact.

‘Why doesn’t the duke just ask his mother for the facts?’ I demanded bluntly. ‘The duchess once offered to declare Edward a bastard, as I was reminded only a short while ago. If it was indeed the truth, what’s to prevent her doing so again?’

‘Not “again”,’ Timothy corrected me. ‘The duchess never actually lived up to her word, if you remember. It was a threat that was never carried out. And you could argue,’ he went on, repeating almost verbatim what I had said earlier to Eloise, ‘that she was so furious she would have said anything at the time to prevent Elizabeth Woodville becoming queen.’ He grinned. ‘I’m sorry, Roger. You’re not going to wriggle out of this trip to France so easily.’

‘But the stupidity of it!’ I exclaimed. ‘The expense!’ That surely should be an argument to appeal to Timothy’s heart and pocket. ‘When all my lord of Gloucester has to do is ask his mother to confirm or deny the accusation she made all those years ago. As possibly the rightful king-’ But here I stopped, frowning. ‘What about Clarence’s son, the young Earl of Warwick?’

‘Barred from inheriting on account of his father’s attainder. And for God’s sake, keep your voice down! You’re not wrong when you say that this could be interpreted as treason.’

Frightened, I lowered my voice to a whisper. ‘And Clarence’s daughter?’

‘Same reason, of course. Besides, what dolt would want a woman on the throne? We nearly had one once, and look what an unmitigated disaster Matilda was all those centuries ago.’

‘You still haven’t answered my query,’ I hissed. ‘Why doesn’t the duke ask his mother for the truth?’

‘I haven’t enquired,’ Timothy snapped back. ‘It’s not my place. I just carry out my orders. At a guess, I’d say it’s not the sort of question a man wants to ask his mother. “Did you cuckold my father while he was away fighting the French?” Especially if the rumours are true and the man concerned wasn’t even a member of the nobility, but a common archer.’

‘There are rumours, then?’

‘There are always rumours,’ was the brief riposte.

Silence reigned for a moment or two while I studied the paper in front of me once again. The more I read it, the more I could see the desperate need for secrecy, even from my travelling companion. If Duchess Cicely’s claim had been a lie, prompted by nothing other than anger at Edward’s clandestine marriage, and if the king was truly her eldest son by her husband, the late Duke of York, then what I was about to get involved in was in very truth high treason, and enough to get me hanged, drawn and quartered. I broke into a cold sweat.

‘You realize I’m putting my head in a noose?’ I demanded. ‘I have a wife and children dependent on me. I have every right to refuse.’

Timothy nodded. ‘His Grace knows that and would do everything in his power to protect you if things should go wrong. It’s why he wants to speak to you himself.’

‘To over-persuade me, you mean. To assure me that it will all be as simple as falling off a log.’

‘There’s no need to take that tone. Believe me, the duke fully appreciates the risk you’re running on his behalf. But as I said, you’re the only person he trusts completely. And you must see that this is something he needs to know. If King Edward is really a bastard. .’ The spymaster gestured with his hands.

‘Then, of course, his children have no claim to the crown,’ I finished. I tapped the paper, realizing as I did so that the deaths of Jeanne Lamprey and Reynold Makepeace had been almost completely driven from my thoughts. Dabbling in treason focuses the mind wonderfully. ‘So, who is this man I have to find? This Robin Gaunt? What is he like, and where does he live?’

Timothy looked guilty, always a bad sign. ‘Well, we know he probably lives in Paris. He did ten years ago, at any rate.’

Oh, marvellous! Paris is one of the largest, most highly populated cities in Europe and here was a man who possibly might live there.

‘What street?’ I asked coldly.

‘Ah!’ Timothy smirked and tried to put a brave face on things. ‘We don’t actually have that information.’ He added hurriedly, ‘He is English.’

I expelled my breath in silent fury. ‘It says here that he was one of the Duke of York’s men-at-arms when York was governor of France in the early forties, but that he stayed on after the English withdrawal because he’d married one of Duchess Cicely’s French tiring-women who didn’t want to leave. Doesn’t it perhaps occur to you that by this time he also might speak French like a native?’

‘He still has an English name.’

I let rip with a string of oaths that even put Timothy to the blush — ‘Really, Roger!’ he protested — and he could be pretty foul-mouthed when he put his mind to it, I can tell you.

‘Do you seriously understand how impossible this is?’ I fumed, fairly spluttering with rage. ‘You know I can’t speak French. You’ve forbidden me to take Mistress Gray into my confidence. Yet you expect me to wander all over Paris on my own — and how I’m to do that without arousing her suspicions, I’ve no idea — searching for a man who might not even live there any more, and if he does, is quite likely no longer distinguishable as an Englishman. You’re mad!’

‘You’ll manage,’ Timothy assured me winningly. ‘You always do.’

‘Bollocks!’ I stormed. ‘I suppose you can’t even tell me what this Robin Gaunt looks like?’

‘Ah, now there we might be able to help.’

‘Dear God, a miracle! Don’t tell me! Some ancient codger who knew Gaunt forty years ago, when they were soldiers together in France, but who hasn’t set eyes on him since.’

‘Well, yes,’ Timothy admitted, plainly unnerved by my perspicacity. ‘One of my agents only tracked him down the day before yesterday. We haven’t spoken to him yet — we thought it best to leave that to you — but it’s definite that he fought alongside Robin Gaunt and was garrisoned in Rouen with him. His name is Humphrey Culpepper and he lives in Stinking Lane, just off the Shambles. At least he’ll be able to give you some idea whether Gaunt was tall or short, fat or thin and if he had blue eyes or brown. I’m informed that Culpepper’s hair is grey now, so it’s probable that Gaunt’s is, too.’

‘Do you really think,’ I asked wrathfully, ‘that a soldier would have any idea of the colour of another soldier’s eyes? Especially after forty years! Your idea of military life needs some revision, old friend.’

‘Well, he may be able to tell you something useful,’ Timothy snapped, exasperated, and knowing, I suspected, that my anger was justified. He was nobody’s fool and could appreciate as well as I could that I was being sent on a well-nigh impossible mission.

He got up. The evening had drawn in while we were talking and it was nearly too dark to see one another clearly, but he wouldn’t send for candles: he didn’t want anyone else in the room.

‘What do I do with this?’ I queried, indicating the paper on the table and also rising to my feet.

‘Put it away, but for the Lord’s sweet sake keep it safe. No one must be allowed to set eyes on it but yourself. If anyone were to read those questions that you must put to Gaunt and his wife, it wouldn’t take them long to work out what it’s all about. And I don’t need to tell you, Roger, to watch yourself. If any Woodville agent gets a whisper of this, I wouldn’t give much for your chances.’

‘Thank you.’ I bowed ironically. ‘It’s always good to be reassured. And what do you reckon the chances are of a Woodville agent getting to know about this mission of mine? How much do you trust the men you employ? Can you guarantee they are all completely loyal?’

Timothy tried to look affronted. ‘Of course!’

I knew what that meant: no, but I’m not admitting as much. Well, who could blame him? He, too, had his loyalties until they were proved to be misplaced.

‘I’d better take you to see the duke,’ he said, ‘or it will be time for him to dress for the mayor’s banquet. Put that paper away for now, and later, I suggest you try to learn its contents off by heart and then destroy it. Do you have a good memory?’

‘Good enough.’ I wasn’t going to relieve his mind by telling him that, from boyhood, my memory had always been excellent with almost total recall of people, incidents and places. (Even in old age, memory is my greatest gift or I wouldn’t be able to write these memoirs. My children would probably inform you that I make half of it up as I go along. But what do they know?) And in this case I felt that Timothy was right. Better by far to make an effort to commit my instructions to memory than to be caught with them in my possession. For the time being, I folded the paper into its creases and put it in the pouch at my belt with the rueful reflection that it was rather like pocketing a live coal.

Duke Richard was alone when I was eventually ushered into his presence. There had been some delay, Timothy and I being forced to wait in an ante-room while His Grace, a loving parent, had said goodnight to his bastard children, my lord John and the lady Katherine. The boy accompanied his father everywhere, a handsome, bright, intelligent youth with a ready smile for everyone (very different, people whispered, from the delicate, legitimate son who stayed mostly in the North with his mother). Lady Katherine was slightly older, a beautiful girl of very nearly marriageable age, visiting the duke while he was in London. They had both wished Timothy and myself a charming ‘Goodnight and God be with you’ as they passed where we sat. Then a page appeared and called my name.

I raised my eyebrows at Timothy, but he shook his head.

‘No,’ he muttered. ‘I thought I told you. My lord wishes to see you alone.’

The duke was seated beside a leaping fire, wearing a long chamber robe of amber velvet, his slippered feet stretched towards the flames. Candles had been lit, sending ripples of orange and gold licking across the walls, a draught making one of them splutter until it was suddenly extinguished in a puff of clouded blue smoke. A small table, close to the duke’s chair, supported a flask and two goblets of fine Venetian glass, glowing blood-red in the half-light.

As soon as I entered, the duke rose from his seat, hand extended. I knelt and would have kissed it, but he withdrew it, smiling.

‘No, no, Roger! Get up, man. I was going to shake your hand. I owe you a great deal, more than I can ever repay, from the time of our very first meeting. You have just endured a long and arduous trip to Scotland at my and the king’s behest — and not without its dangers, I’m given to understand — and here I am asking you to. . to. .’

‘Commit treason, Your Highness?’ I thought it best to get things straight from the beginning.

I must have spoken more sharply than I realized because his hand fell back to his side and he flinched. He sat down again in his chair and indicated that I should take the one opposite him, on the other side of the hearth. After a moment or two while he stared into the fire with its glowing caverns and ash-fringed logs, there was a silence so profound that I could hear the popping of resin in the wood. Suddenly panic-stricken, I wondered what was to be my fate, and whether my outspokenness had really landed me in serious trouble at last.

Nothing happened, however, except that the duke finally raised his eyes, regarding me steadily, a half-smile curling the corners of his thin lips. ‘Some might see it as such, I suppose, but rest assured that my loyalty to my brother has never wavered, nor will it do so, as long as he lives. I love him too much.’ The smile deepened. ‘When I was a child, I thought him the most splendid being I had ever seen, over six feet tall and as fair as a Nordic god. I would have gone to the ends of the earth for him. I still would. But. .’ Another silence, then he asked abruptly, ‘Master Plummer has explained the matter to you?’

‘More or less, my lord. He didn’t really have to. My-my instructions made everything plain to me. By one of those odd coincidences, I had been reminded of your lady mother’s. . er. .’

‘Outburst? At the time of Edward’s marriage?’

‘Yes, as Your Grace says. Outburst. Strangely enough, I heard reference made to it only an hour or so ago, so that when I read what you had written — ’ I tapped the pouch at my belt — ‘I. . well, I understood.’

A servant, who must have entered the room unobserved by me, slid out of the shadows and poured wine from the flask into the two goblets, presenting one to the duke on bended knee and handing me the other with much less ceremony. Indeed, to my annoyance, a little of the wine slopped on to my sleeve. I glared and received a smirk in return. Duke Richard, who had gone back to staring at the fire, waved a hand in dismissal. The man made himself scarce.

‘So, Roger!’ As the latch clicked, my royal host returned his gaze to me. ‘You think me capable of treason?’

I swallowed some wine to give myself courage and leaned forward. ‘My lord,’ I said desperately, ‘if you believe the Duchess of York to have been telling the truth all those years past, why do you not ask her to confirm or deny it now?’

He nodded. ‘It would seem the obvious course, I agree. But a great deal has happened in my mother’s life over the past eighteen years: eight grandchildren — I am referring here only to the offspring of the king and queen, you understand — and her strong affection for the eldest of them, my niece, Elizabeth. Also, I suspect that the duchess’s deepening religious experience would inhibit her from repeating the accusation. Furthermore — ’ he smiled wryly — ‘it’s no easy matter to ask your mother if she was unfaithful to your father.’

‘I don’t see that,’ I argued, the wine making me bold. ‘She has only to say, “No, I was so angry at the time that I made it up. Of course it isn’t true.”’

Duke Richard set down his half-empty goblet. ‘But how would I know if she is telling the truth now?’ he asked quietly. ‘As I’ve said, nearly two decades have gone by. Circumstances have altered. And remember, she didn’t implement her threat eighteen years ago when her rage was white-hot.’

The fire leaped and crackled. I leaned even closer, resting my elbows on my knees. ‘But what if, my lord, when you ask her, your lady mother admits that what she avowed back then was in fact true? You would have your answer.’ And I should be spared a fool’s errand to France, I thought.

The duke gave a short laugh as though he knew what I was thinking. ‘To set your mind at rest, Roger, I have come as close as a dutiful son dare to begging her for confirmation of her words.’

‘And Her Grace has denied them?’

He sighed. ‘If only she had. No, my mother remains evasive, easily turning aside a question that is not quite a question and which she is confident I shall never ask openly or force her to answer unequivocally.’ He smiled conspiratorially, inviting me to share his exasperation. ‘You know how women enjoy mystifying us men, not wishing to say yea or nay but not wanting to let us off the hook that easily, either. They like to keep us in suspense. It makes them more interesting.’ He added hastily, ‘I mean no disrespect to my mother. I owe her a son’s love and obedience, which she will always have until the day she dies. It’s just that she’s. . a woman!’

From all this, I gathered that the duke had not asked the duchess for a direct answer to a direct question, that he might have tried to prise the truth out of her by indirect ones and that Duchess Cicely was saying nothing one way or another. But what did strike me most forcibly, although it was more by the tone of his voice than by what he had actually said, was that Duke Richard desperately wanted his mother’s eighteen-year-old accusation to be true. Why?

The reason, I supposed, was obvious: if his beloved brother really was no son of the late Duke of York, but the bastard of an archer, then he, Richard of Gloucester, was rightful heir to the throne of England and not the half-Woodville brat at present called the Prince of Wales. (Indeed, he was already the rightful king.) He had to know the truth: rumours and suspicion were no good to him. But how was he to discover it after forty years if the one person who knew the answer refused to reveal it?

I wondered how long Timothy Plummer had been in the duke’s confidence. Long enough, obviously, for his agents to have tracked down a man who had served under the Duke of York’s command in France all those years previously and who, moreover, had a wife who had been one of the duchess’s tiring-women in Rouen, where King Edward had been conceived and born.

But ‘tracked down’ was hardly the term to use. This useless bunch of so-called spies had merely heard of a man who had once lived in Paris and were unable to say if he were living there still. Nor could they describe him, apart from the fact that he was English and his dame French. At least I had a name, Robin Gaunt, although, heaven knew, he might well have changed it to something more Gallic in the intervening forty years.

I must have been looking grim, for the duke suddenly leaned over and seized one of my hands between both of his.

‘Roger, forgive me for asking you to do this. I’m perfectly well aware that you haven’t yet been home to your wife and children. Believe me when I say that neither they nor you will suffer financial hardship in your absence. But you realize how delicate a matter this is and there is no one else that I can trust with it.’

‘Timothy Plummer?’ I suggested drily.

He shook his head. ‘He can’t be spared: I need him on other work. And you are completely unknown in France. You can travel as Mistress Gray’s husband and it will be the perfect disguise.’

‘And yet she’s to be kept in the dark regarding my mission. Without her to speak French and translate for me, I’m likely to prove a broken reed, and so I warn Your Highness. And how I’m to escape from her for maybe hours at a time, and without arousing her suspicions, I’m not sure.’ I added daringly, ‘Perhaps, my lord, you have a suggestion?’

The duke smiled and gave me the same answer as Timothy Plummer: ‘You’ll manage.’

I sighed, keeping my temper. ‘I can only hope,’ I retorted acidly, ‘that the confidence you and your spymaster profess to have in me is not misplaced. I give Your Highness due warning that, in this instance, I may fail you.’

He released my hand and rose to his feet. I followed suit. ‘I refuse even to contemplate your failure. You will find this Robin Gaunt for me and find out what he knows.’

‘And if I do but he knows nothing, my lord? What then?’

He shrugged, the gesture showing up the slight unevenness of his shoulders, caused by the overuse of his sword arm from a very early age. ‘Let’s not anticipate defeat,’ he said. ‘Godspeed, Roger. I shall hope to see you the week after next when you return.’ He must have noticed my dismayed expression, because he laughed. ‘Don’t worry. If you haven’t returned by the time I leave for the North, make your report to Master Plummer and he will send an express messenger to Middleham.’ He rubbed a weary hand across his forehead. ‘And now I must dismiss you. I have to dress for this banquet.’ He grimaced ruefully. ‘Truth to tell, I feel a fraud. You and I both know how little credit can be attributed to me for what is being hailed as a great victory over the Scots. We got Berwick back and a part of the Princess Cicely’s dowry, but we failed completely to put Albany on the Scottish throne. There was no great battle. The old enemy was not defeated.’

‘None of that was your fault, my lord,’ I protested. ‘The Scots lords were ready with their own plan long before we crossed the border.’

‘You think so? You think it was planned?’

‘Possibly. They’re a crafty nation. Your Grace has no cause to demean what you achieved. As you say, Berwick is English again and with luck will remain so.’ I began to sidle towards the door. ‘Her Grace of Gloucester and Prince Edward are both in good health?’

A shadow crossed the thin, careworn face. ‘As well as they ever are, I thank you. I know I should bring them south for the winter months, but. .’ He trailed off and shrugged again.

Once more, I was briefly conscious of the disproportion of his shoulders, but then the illusion of lopsidedness was gone. He rang a small silver hand-bell that was on the tray with the flask and goblets and, to my astonishment, stepped forward and embraced me.

‘You’ve been a good friend and servant to me, Roger, over the years and I wouldn’t have you think that I’m ungrateful. Don’t let this mission to France worry you. If things should go wrong — which I by no means expect — I shan’t let them hail you off to the gallows.’

Which was very pretty talking, I thought to myself, provided the duke didn’t first find himself dead by poisoning or a mysterious accident. Or if I didn’t. Because if the queen’s family did happen to get even the merest whisper of what I was about, I’d be far more likely to end up in some Parisian alley with a dagger in my back than find myself arraigned for treason. That would mean a trial with witnesses and evidence, and the Woodvilles wouldn’t want that: it would bring everything into the open. Secrecy and no questions raised in people’s minds were the better option. I recalled the Duke of Clarence’s obscure death in the Tower — drowned, the rumour had it, in a butt of malmsey wine. He had had a trial of sorts — I had been present at it, amongst the spectators — but it had amounted to little more than a shouting match between him and his elder brother. And it had ended abruptly with nothing really resolved: no explanation of why the king, after years of enduring brother George’s vagaries and betrayals, had suddenly decided to be rid of him. Had Clarence also been digging around in this particular bed of worms? Had it occurred to him that if their mother’s story were indeed true, and Edward were really a bastard, then he was the rightful king? Loyalty to his brother wouldn’t have stayed his hand, as it stayed Prince Richard’s. .

My uneasy thoughts were interrupted as I realized the duke was bidding me goodnight. The servant who had poured the wine for us was again in the room, waiting to show me out. I knelt and kissed my lord’s hand, catching his eye as I rose to my feet. His expression was wry and he gave me a half-guilty smile.

‘God be with you, Roger,’ he said. And, almost as if it were forced from him, ‘Good luck.’

There was no answer to that. I bowed, swung on my heel and left the room.