The Eve of Saint Hyacinth

Chapter Fifteen

We were on dry land once more, in Calais.

The great fortresses of Guisnes and Hammes frowned down upon us as we landed, but the town itself was in festive mood to welcome ashore King Edward and his two brothers. The summer weather had smiled upon us during our crossing of the Channel, and the richly decorated houses of the wool merchants hemmed us in on either side as the royal procession made its way to Saint Nicholas’s church to give thanks for our safe arrival.

Some of the thousands of advance troops who had lined the harbour to voice their greeting were already encamped on the marshy ground beyond the ditch outside the town, and it had been my expectation that, along with Stephen Hudelin and Humphrey Nanfan, I should be consigned to these miles of tents and baggage wagons which stretched as far as the eye could see from the double walls encircling Calais towards the friendly territory of the Duke of Burgundy. But I had hardly regained my land legs or settled my stomach after the heaving motion of the ship when I was summoned to a house which faced on to the market square, and which had been put at His Grace’s disposal by an obliging merchant (who no doubt considered future patronage worth present inconvenience). There I discovered Timothy Plummer pacing up and down the parlour floor like some caged animal.

‘Is this wise, sending for me so openly?’ I asked as, at a gesture from him, I carefully shut the door behind me.

It was a pleasant room with a fine oaken table in the centre, a large carved armchair and several joint stools. The family plate, an impressive array of silver-gilt and pewter vessels, was displayed in a corner cupboard, rich tapestry hangings decorated the walls and an elaborately ornate staircase led to the upper storey. Our absent host was obviously a very rich man, but that was hardly surprising. As members of the chief English Wool Staple for the rest of Europe, the inhabitants of Calais were in general extremely wealthy.

Timothy spun round to face me, answering snappishly, ‘I’ve had enough of caution. The Eve of Saint Hyacinth is now only six weeks distant and time is pressing. I cannot be everywhere at once and without Lionel, you and young Matthew Wardroper are the only two people in whom I can really trust. Have you anything to tell me?’

I seated myself, straddle-legged, on a stool and folded my arms. ‘Only that Stephen Hudelin and Humphrey Nanfan claim to have been in conversation on Saturday evening at the moment when the Duke’s life was threatened. Each told me so independently of the other and I had no sense of collusion between them. Nor can I see any good reason why they should support one another’s story if it doesn’t happen to be true.’

Timothy was silent for a moment, grimly staring into space. When at last he spoke, it was to tick off a list of names with one hand on the fingers of the other. ‘Geoffrey Whitelock was within your line of vision when that attempt was made and as we know for certain that Ralph Boyse could not have killed Thaddeus Morgan, therefore we also know that he cannot be our man. And now Stephen Hudelin and Humphrey Nanfan would appear to be innocent, unless of course they are in this plot together. That leaves either Jocelin d’Hiver or …’

He broke off and I finished for him, ‘Or someone else beside these five, which we have always feared might be the case.’ Timothy nodded and lapsed once more into silence. ‘So?’ I prompted finally.

He glanced down at me thoughtfully. ‘So we have to concentrate our main effort, from now on, on protecting His Grace’s person. I shall therefore speak to the Duke tonight and ask him to release you and young Matthew Wardroper from your household duties. I shall say that your services are required by me.’

I grimaced. ‘And will His Grace oblige you, do you think? Or will you find yourself at the sharp end of his tongue?’

Timothy shook his head ruefully.‘I’ll have to make him listen to me. It’s for his own good when all’s said and done.’

I grinned and rose from the stool. ‘Rather you than me, my friend. And how will you explain my sudden rise in importance to my fellow Yeomen of the Chamber?’

Timothy shrugged. ‘I shan’t. For the truth is, chapman, that I’m past caring about anything except His Grace’s safety.’

‘Nevertheless,’ I protested, ‘we haven’t yet fully considered the possibility that Jocelin d’Hiver could be our assassin, or that Stephen and Humphrey might be working together. Let me make some inquiries amongst the other members of the Duke’s household who have accompanied him to Calais. If we are to throw caution to the winds why shouldn’t I question people more openly? Let me go to the camp. It’s possible that someone might be able to confirm or deny their story.’

‘Very well. But I want you to return here tonight. With your height and bulk, you’ll prove a formidable addition to those guarding His Grace’s slumbers. You may offer that as an excuse if you like to anyone wanting to know why you are so privileged.’ He added wearily, ‘Take no heed of what I said a while ago. We must still exercise a little caution.’

Half an hour later I was outside the town and being directed to that section of the camp where the less important members of Duke Richard’s household officers were quartered. At least they had tents, whereas the foot-soldiers and camp-followers were condemned to sleeping in the open on the rough, bare ground. Skilfully avoiding both Stephen Hudelin and Humphrey Nanfan, I spent the rest of the day asking among the other Yeomen of the Chamber, pot-boys, servers – everyone, in short, who had also been present in the great hall of Baynard’s Castle on Saturday evening and who had now been brought to wait upon His Grace in France – whether or not they had seen Humphrey and Stephen talking to one another round about the time when Chanticleer had made his attempt on Duke Richard’s life.

My progress was naturally slow, for every question had to be put in such a fashion as to arouse as little suspicion as possible. And in the end I got small satisfaction, for no one seemed sure of having noted the pair in conversation. I was disappointed but resigned, it being only natural that all eyes had been fixed originally upon the mumming and subsequently upon the real drama unfolding in front of them. One server said that yes, he had seen Stephen and Humphrey talking together, but at exactly when in the night’s proceedings he would not care to hazard. It was insufficient testimony for my purpose and when I returned to the house late that afternoon, just in time to help prepare the table for His Grace’s dinner, I had to report failure to Timothy Plummer.

‘No matter.’ He sighed philosophically. ‘As I said before, our chief efforts must now be concentrated on protecting His Grace’s person. You’ve told the others that you will be staying close to the Duke in future?’

I smiled. ‘And can’t pretend that I elicited much response to the news except envy. However, I’m not as sanguine as you are that such a course is the best, if not the only answer to our dilemma. We shan’t remain in Calais for very long, that’s for certain, and what happens once the campaign begins in earnest? It will be far more difficult then to protect His Grace.’

The worried frown once more creased Timothy’s brow and I could almost have sworn that his hair was turning greyer by the minute. But all he said was, ‘We must take each day as it comes and hope that God will grant us a miracle.’

I woke with a start from a dreamless slumber and heard the bells of Saint Nicholas’s church ring for Matins. Even, after more than four years, I still found it difficult to sleep through the night-time office.

For a moment or two I could not recall where I was nor place my surroundings; then I recollected that I was lying fully clothed on a pallet bed in the narrow corridor outside the Duke of Gloucester’s bedchamber. I had watched by his door until midnight, when I had been relieved by one of his Squires of the Body, who was still standing at his post, his right hand resting on the hilt of his sword, ready to draw it at the first hint of danger. A candle in its holder, placed on a shelf above our heads, gave out a faint but steady radiance.

‘You sleep lightly,’ the Squire whispered as I roused myself and sat up, rubbing my eyes and yawning.

‘The bell woke me.’ I shivered. ‘I must find the privy.’

‘It’s in the yard at the back of the house.’ As I got to my feet the lad eyed me approvingly. ‘You’re a stout fellow and no mistake. We could do with a few more of your girth.’

I made no answer, but tiptoed towards the head of the stairwell. Facing it, a narrow window, its shutters set wide to let in a cooling breeze and ensure that those who should be awake did not grow too drowsy in the summer heat, gave on to the market-place. As I passed, I glanced out at the ghostly shapes of the other dwellings around the square – and then froze into stillness. For the street door of a house immediately opposite had opened and a second or two later three men, cloaked and hooded, emerged. There was something furtive in their demeanour; in the manner in which they glanced about them and in the stealth with which they proceeded on their way. They walked in single file, each man hugging the wall of the nearest building and keeping well within its shadow. But their desire for secrecy was thwarted by the light from a three-quarter moon which penetrated between the overhanging eaves and illumined the cobbles. Before I could alert my companion, however, they had vanished into the all-pervading darkness of a convenient alleyway between the houses, so for the present I held my tongue.

I descended through the sleeping house to the courtyard door at the back, where two of the Duke’s faithful Yorkshiremen stood sentry. ‘I need the privy,’ I told them when they challenged me.

‘What, another of you?’ grunted the taller of the pair. ‘You’re the second in as many minutes. Too much guzzling before bedtime, that’s the trouble.’ He opened the door. ‘Knock three times when you wish to come in again. And tell that other fellow to hurry.’

As I slipped outside I took a deep breath of salt sea air, then glanced around to locate the privy. It was at that precise moment that I became aware of a shadowy figure crossing the courtyard towards me from the direction of the outer gate.

‘I was just checking that all was properly barred and bolted,’ said a familiar voice, and to my astonishment I recognized the speaker as Ralph Boyse. What was he doing in the house when I had thought him safely in the encampment outside the town? ‘Good-night,’ he added, rapping softly three times on the door and being readmitted by the guards.

I looked after him thoughtfully before going across to examine the two four-inch-thick, iron-studded oaken leaves set in the high wall which bounded the property. Had Ralph left the courtyard? I doubted it somehow. Firstly, the top bolt of the gate could not be reached except by standing on a ladder or a mounting block. (A swift inspection of my surroundings told me that there was such a block in one corner, but it proved too weighty to be moved by one man on his own.) Secondly, bolts of that size would make a lot of noise when released or shot home, but I had heard nothing. And thirdly, Ralph could not afford to be absent from the house for longer than it would normally take him to use the privy without arousing the suspicion of the guards.

He must have been standing by the gate when he heard the courtyard door open and saw me. Had his presence there really been innocent? Had he truly been doing what he said? And it was in that instant that a voice, speaking barely above a whisper and talking rapid French, sounded close to my ear.

‘Who’s there?’ I hissed, spinning round in bewilderment, unable to locate the source of the noise.

Then I saw that there was a crack, perhaps an inch or so wide and some two inches long, between the jamb of the gate and the wall, where plaster had become dislodged. Whoever had spoken was standing on the other side of the wall and I heard the rasp of his indrawn breath followed by the urgent slap of feet on cobbles as he hurried away. I cursed myself for a clumsy fool, but there was nothing I could do to remedy the situation. I used the privy and returned indoors. Any desire for sleep, however, had fled. My instinct was to seek out Timothy Plummer at once, but I had no idea exactly where within the house he was lodged and dared not risk disturbing others for fear of also rousing the Duke. Instead I lay wakeful on my pallet until such time as it was my turn to resume the watch outside His Grace’s door.

Had that whispered message been intended for Ralph Boyse? It seemed most probable. But who knew that he was here in the house and when had the assignation been arranged? And did it have anything at all to do with the plot against Duke Richard’s life?

Timothy, when I put the question to him next morning, dragging him from his mattress in a quiet corner of the counting-house, was unwilling, to begin with, to pay much attention to my story. Ralph Boyse was innocent, for we had not only established that he could not possibly have murdered Thaddeus Morgan, but in addition he had been unaware of Thaddeus’s visit to Northampton, having been in Devon at the time, visiting a sick relative.

‘Why is he sleeping beneath this roof?’ I asked. ‘Why is he not in camp with the others?’

‘The Duke needs some servants about him,’ Timothy reproved me. ‘And Ralph both plays and sings well as you know. His Grace sleeps badly and sometimes finds music soothing before he retires for the night.’

‘His Grace sent for Ralph?’

Timothy hesitated a moment before admitting, ‘N-no. Now you mention it, I believe Ralph entered the town just before curfew yesterevening and himself suggested that Duke Richard might have need of his services. I was present when his message was delivered. Until then, young Matthew had been singing, but his voice is not so fine as Ralph’s.’

‘And then, of course,’ I added thoughtfully, ‘Ralph had to stay the night. Did he know where His Grace was lodging?’

‘He would only have had to ask, once he was inside the town. But he would have no previous knowledge of the house nor of its peculiarities. Are you sure you didn’t imagine this voice? That you weren’t still half dreaming?’

‘I haven’t yet told you everything,’ I answered. ‘Do you know who lodges in the house immediately opposite this one, on the other side of the market square? It has a very high, pointed gable.’

Timothy looked surprised. ‘Aye. It’s normally the residence of the Mayor of Calais, but for tonight, and for as long as he remains within the town, it is being occupied by His Highness.’

I frowned. ‘The King sleeps there?’

‘Yes. Why do you ask?’ But when I had finished my tale, it was Timothy’s turn to frown. ‘Could you have been mistaken in the house? The Duke of Clarence is lodging next door and I’d put nothing past him, not even midnight assignations.’

‘I made no mistake, of that I’m certain.’

Timothy thought for a moment, then shrugged his shoulders. ‘Perhaps it was necessary for King Edward to have consultation with his captains. There are many secret moves and counter-moves in time of war.’

‘It was two o’clock,’ I cavilled. ‘The dead time of morning. And why would the King hold military talks that did not include his brothers? His two most senior commanders.’

‘How should I know?’ Timothy spread his hands. ‘But you can be sure that it has nothing to do with us. So, what did this voice say to you from the other side of the wall?’

‘I’ve told you, it spoke in French and I know only a little of that language. It was rapid and low, barely above a whisper. Maybe I shall recall a word or two later, as I did on the previous occasion, maybe not. But it seems significant to me that this is the second time in the course of this affair that I have heard French spoken. We must remember that it is Ralph Boyse’s mother tongue.’

‘And also that of Jocelin d’Hiver.’

‘He was not present in the courtyard.’

‘Many people in the town speak French,’ Timothy objected after a moment’s consideration. ‘They have to, in order to deal with their neighbours beyond the Pale. And many of the nobility use an old-fashioned, bastard version of the Norman tongue on occasions.’

‘But who creeps about in the dead of night to speak to people through a crack in a wall? And why here, where it is known that the Duke of Gloucester is lodging?’

My persistence was beginning to convince Timothy that he must take a more serious view of the information I had laid before him. All the same, he was reluctant to accuse Ralph Boyse, a man we thought we had proved innocent of any fell intent towards His Grace. Moreover, the greatest impediment still remained – that until we knew the reason for a plot against Duke Richard’s life, it was wellnigh impossible to point the finger of suspicion at anyone. We parted company, miserable in the knowledge that in over a week we had progressed very little, and that such assumptions as we had made were probably built on sand.

Later that day I accompanied the Duke to the camp, where he had called a muster of his captains, and left him, securely flanked by two of his Squires and with a third guarding the entrance to his tent, while I went in search of Ralph Boyse. The ranks of those who wore the Gloucester azure-and-murrey livery seemed endless, but I found him eventually inspecting the contents of one of the baggage wagons, looking for a small, portable organ which had been mislaid.

‘It’s a favourite instrument of the Duke’s,’ Ralph was saying peevishly to the baggage-master as I approached. ‘And he has particularly requested it tonight when I sing for him.’

‘You’re honouring us with your company again then, Master Boyse,’ I said, quietly coming up behind him.

His head jerked round and I caught the flash of hostility in his eyes before it was swiftly veiled.

‘I am, Roger Chapman. And it seems that you, too, have found favour with the Duke. You appear to be a great deal in his company since we landed in France.’

I laughed. ‘Only because the attempt on his life has unsettled him, although he’d never admit to it, and I’m bigger and stronger than most men.’

‘That’s true.’ Ralph turned back to the wagon where a shout of triumph from the baggage-master announced his discovery of the organ. It was held aloft, its painted pipes gleaming in the sunshine, then Ralph wrapped his arms about it, hugging it against his chest. ‘Are you returning to the town now? If so, we might as well walk together.’

‘No, I’m attending upon the Duke and must await his pleasure. He is in conference with his captains.’

Ralph took a firmer grasp upon the instrument he was holding. ‘A pity,’ he remarked. ‘You might have given me a hand with this cumbersome object. We could have taken turns in carrying it. Never mind. I’ll walk with you as far as His Grace’s tent if you’ll allow it.’

This sudden familiarity demonstrated more clearly than anything else could have done that Ralph was no longer in any doubt as to the true reason for my presence in Duke Richard’s household. I was not a humble Yeoman of the Chamber but a privileged person, and one of whom to be wary. Every now and then he darted a watchful glance at me from the corner of his eyes, but his manner remained polite, although it could scarcely be described as friendly.

‘I should be glad of your company,’ I answered.

We threaded a path through the teeming mass of men and their equipment: armourers, bowmen, cooks and messengers, foot-soldiers, grooms, arrowsmiths and chandlers, all scurrying about like ants, and all trying to serve the interests of their own particular lords at the expense of all the others. Twice I had to assist Ralph over uneven ground when the weight of his burden made him less nimble than he might otherwise have been at avoiding obstacles; and more than once I was forced to lift bodily out of our way some argumentative fellow who was disputing our passage. As usual, my size discouraged any argument.

‘You’re useful to have around,’ Ralph said. ‘How came you to be a chapman?’

‘My mother intended me for the Church,’ I answered cheerfully, ‘but with the blessing of my abbot I decided that I had no vocation and was released from my novitiate. I liked the idea of being my own master and the freedom of the open road.’

‘What part of the country do you hail from? Devon?’

‘No. My home was in Wells, although my motherless child lives with her granddam in Bristol.’ I raised my voice a little so as to be heard above the deafening clamour all around us. ‘But I have often been in Devon and know it well, as I believe you must do. I was told you have a kinsman there. Whereabouts in the county does he have his dwelling?’

My companion did not reply immediately, being concerned to avoid a pothole in the road. But, ‘Near the city of Exeter,’ he said when he had safely negotiated this hazard.

‘A fine place to live.’ I hesitated a moment before continuing, ‘The earth there is such a remarkable colour, so white and chalky.’

Ralph grunted his assent and I noted that he was beginning to sweat. No doubt his burden was heavy.

We parted company close to the Duke’s tent, I to wait until I should be needed to accompany my lord back to Calais, Ralph to find some wagon going in the same direction, or else to trudge the weary way on foot. I watched him thoughtfully as he paused to exchange greetings with an armourer who had just finished hammering out a dent in a cuisse. It had been well worth the effort to seek out Ralph Boyse, if only to learn that he knew nothing of Devon and had never been there. He had no kinsman who dwelt near Exeter, for the soil thereabouts is the deep rich red that accompanies granite.

So where had he been, and what had he really been up to last May, while Duke Richard’s levies had been encamped around Northampton?