The Eve of Saint Hyacinth

Chapter Seven

The outer courtyard was full of people, the castle being, for the moment, home to two separate households, those of the Dowager Duchess of York and of her youngest son, Prince Richard. With the invasion of France already underway, and with the King and his two brothers making preparations to follow in less than a sennight, it was only natural that to the ordinary, everyday business of bed and board should be added the bustle of military consultation. Security was close, with double the guards on every gate to the number I recalled from my previous visit. Timothy Plummer’s face, however, seemed to open each door as if by magic, and in no time at all I was shepherded along a maze of passageways, up numerous flights of narrow, twisting stairs until we reached a room high up in one of the towers, where Lionel Arrowsmith and his young cousin awaited us.

The former was seated in a carved armchair, his injured foot resting on a stool, while the latter, his features pale and drawn, prowled up and down, every muscle taut with anxiety. As I entered with Master Plummer, two pairs of eyes, one hazel, one brown, were turned towards us.

‘Well?’ the elder demanded brusquely. ‘Was it Thaddeus Morgan?’

Timothy nodded and bade me make myself comfortable. I drew up a stool from a corner of the room while he lit another of the candles which stood in their holders on the table. ‘There’s no point sitting in the gloom,’ he commented.

‘Never mind that!’ Lionel’s voice was laced with panic and he pulled himself forward in his chair with his good left hand. ‘How does this pedlar come to know so much that he can quote Thaddeus’s name? And where’s the other little runt who came to fetch us?’

‘Gone home. I have Roger Chapman’s word that he’ll hold his tongue,’ Timothy answered placidly.

‘A chapman’s word!’ Lionel’s tone was scathing. ‘Have you taken leave of your senses?’

‘No. Nor will the Duke think so when I tell him. For the truth is that Master Chapman here is well known to His Grace and in the past has done him two great services. My lord would trust him with his life, there’s no doubt of that. Which, Roger, is precisely what’s at stake.’

I stared at him, frowning. ‘You mean… someone is trying to kill Duke Richard?’

Timothy sighed deeply. ‘That’s the long and the short of it, I’m afraid.’

‘But who?’

Lionel Arrowsmith gave a snort of laughter. ‘That’s what we were hoping to discover tonight, but someone got to Thaddeus Morgan before us, and as a result we’re as much in the dark as ever.’

‘Why would anyone want to kill my lord of Gloucester?’

‘If we knew that,’ Timothy answered with asperity, ‘we might know where the danger lies. Conversely, if we knew the name of the traitor we might have a motive for the crime.’

‘But if you know neither name nor motive,’ I demanded reasonably, ‘how can you be sure an attempt is planned on His Grace’s life?’

Timothy Plummer sat down in the window embrasure, stretching out his legs and leaning his back against the stone. ‘That can wait for the moment. First and foremost, you have some questions to answer, chapman.’ Lionel Arrowsmith nodded vigorously in agreement. ‘How do you come to know as much as you do? What circumstances led you to connect me with Thaddeus Morgan? And how did you come by his name?’

‘There’s no mystery,’ I answered. ‘I’m quite willing to tell you.’

When I had finished the broad outline of my story, but omitting those incidents which I felt had no direct bearing upon the matter in hand, there was silence for several seconds.

Then Timothy Plummer stirred. ‘A remarkable chain of events. Remarkable. Or, as you say yourself, perhaps the hand of God was here.’

But my other two listeners had different preoccupations.

‘You… you called at home and… and saw my lady mother?’ Matthew Wardroper stammered eagerly. ‘How was she?’

‘In health,’ I answered, but was given no chance to enlarge upon the subject before Lionel Arrowsmith cut in. His voice was tinged with hysteria.

‘You overheard every word that Thaddeus Morgan and I were saying last night? You were concealed behind a bush and we didn’t even know you were there? God’s toe-nails! Why didn’t we think to search the ground before we spoke? Why didn’t Thaddeus? Surely a man of his experience must have realized the possible danger that we ran! And if you could eavesdrop, who else might not have done the same? Timothy, I’m sorry! I’m a fool! An idiot! Report me to the Duke! Have me whipped for negligence! Never trust me again!’

‘Hold hard, Lal,’ Timothy begged him. ‘It’s too late for regrets and I doubt there was more than one long-nosed interloper skulking about the Priory walls at that time of night. No offence, chapman, but you do have the habit of making other people’s business your own.’

‘None taken,’ I replied cheerfully and decided that for the moment I would say nothing of that other shadow I had seen. Master Arrowsmith was plainly in no condition at present to bear up under such a revelation and a twice-injured man, I felt, had the right to some consideration. I was longing to ask how he came by his double misfortune, but curbed my tongue, suspecting that all would be revealed in time.

‘My mother, Master Chapman.’ Matthew Wardroper was once more clamouring for my attention. ‘You say she was well?’

‘Indeed, yes,’ I smiled. ‘And it’s true what I was told. You are extremely like her in appearance.’

He seemed pleased with this and turned to his cousin. ‘I told you, Lal. It’s what everybody says.’

Lionel shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t remember, not having set eyes on Aunt Maud for so long.’ He was not to be cheered, still sunk deep in a mire of self-blame. I guessed him to be devoted to the Duke. But then, so were most of Prince Richard’s followers. He was a man who inspired love and affection in those privileged to know him intimately, although to those who did not, he could seem cold and withdrawn.

Timothy Plummer rose to his feet. ‘Matt,’ he said, addressing the younger man, ‘it’s time you returned to your duties. There’s nothing further you can do here. You did creditably tonight and I’ve no doubt His Grace will thank you personally in the morning. Now, off with you. I want a word with your cousin and the chapman.’

Matthew Wardroper’s face crumpled ludicrously. ‘But… but I thought I was to help, to take Lal’s place, now that he’s laid up with a broken ankle. You both agreed that you could trust me; that I’m the only member of the Duke’s household who joined it after you knew of the threat to His Grace’s life.’

Timothy clapped him consolingly on the shoulder. ‘Lad, that was before Roger Chapman providentially came poking and prying into our affairs. Look at him. He’s twice the size of you, great gawk that he is! There’s no reason for you to risk your neck when he’ll do it for you.’

I made no comment, accepting the spirit in which these words were uttered rather than jibbing at their content.

‘But… but I want to help!’ Matthew protested, almost crying.

‘And so you will do, lad,’ Timothy assured him, ‘by concealing your knowledge of the chapman’s true identity when he joins the ranks of the Duke’s servants tomorrow.’

‘Wait a moment, Master Plummer!’ I intervened, also standing up. ‘This is going too fast. I’ve agreed to nothing yet. And shall not, either, until I know more about what mischief is afoot, or what danger I may be involved in.’

‘There you are, you see!’ Matthew was triumphant. ‘You’d do much better to put your trust in me.’

‘Oh, go to bed, lad!’ Lionel said wearily, leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes. ‘Tim’s right, the chapman can make two of you, and if he’s trustworthy – which I’m certain he is if he’s known to His Grace – then I’d rather he ran any risks that might need to be taken instead of you. Aunt Maud and Uncle Cedric would never forgive me if harm befell their only chick. They’d be bound to hold me responsible.’

Timothy nodded. ‘And in any case it’s high time you were getting back to your dormitory. Your fellow Squires of the Household will be wondering where you are. Or the Duke may want you to sing to him. You have a fine voice. His Grace remarked on it only yesterday within my hearing.’

‘Ralph Boyse’s is finer. The Duke won’t need me if he’s around.’ Matthew looked sulky, rubbing the knuckles of one hand against the palm of the other like a small child seeking comfort. It struck me that he was a little younger in ways, and less spirited, than I had gathered from Millisent Shepherd’s description of him. Perhaps it was this slightly immature streak in his son’s nature that Sir Cedric found it hard to tolerate. Moreover, Matthew’s eager inquiries after his mother’s health suggested an even fonder closeness to Lady Wardroper than I had already imagined.

Lionel gave a short bark of laughter, in which I thought I could trace a tinge of resentment. ‘Ralph’s not on duty tonight, so he’ll be otherwise engaged.’

Matthew considered this for a moment before enlightenment apparently dawned. ‘You mean with Berys Hogan,’ he chuckled. He added more seriously, ‘I’m never sure which of you two it is she really cares for.’

‘Berys is betrothed to Ralph,’ Timothy said firmly. He frowned at Lionel. ‘You’d do well to watch your step there. You and she are both playing a dangerous game.’

Lionel shrugged, trying to appear indifferent, but a little colour stole into his pallid cheeks. ‘You’re an old woman, Timothy,’ he protested. ‘She and Ralph have a pact that as long as they’re unwed they’ll not interfere too much with one another’s pleasures.’

Timothy Plummer, insulted by the epithet applied to him, retorted angrily, ‘Berys told you that no doubt! And you believed her? Well, more fool you, that’s all I have to say. But then, you proved yourself a deal too simple and trusting last night, Lal, didn’t you?’

‘Friends! Friends!’ I exclaimed hurriedly, laying my hands on a shoulder of each. ‘Don’t, for God’s sake, turn on one another at such a time as this. If Duke Richard really is in danger, he needs you to work together.’

Both men looked shamefaced.

‘Aye, that’s true enough,’ Timothy Plummer admitted. ‘The last thing we must do is squabble among ourselves. Forgive me, Lal. It was only concern for you that made me speak as I did. Ralph Boyse can turn ugly on occasions. I’ve seen it.’

Lionel was quick to accept the apology. ‘I’m sorry, too, for what I said. I didn’t mean it.’

‘Then that’s the end of that.’ Timothy snapped his fingers with relief. ‘Now, we’ve much to discuss with the chapman, so Matt, for the last time, be off with you! And on your way back to the dormitory, get one of those idle pages to run to the buttery and bring up some wine to us here. A good malmsey, tell him. None of that inferior stuff from Crete. That’s only fit for the lower servants.’ Matthew departed unwillingly, dragging his feet, but at last the tower door shut behind him. Timothy waved me back to my stool and drew up one of his own. ‘Right!’ he continued. ‘Make yourself comfortable and let me explain.’

It seemed that in the two years (or almost two years) since I had last seen Timothy Plummer he had risen to become chief Spy-Master in the Duke of Gloucester’s household. This, I gathered, was a position undefined and unacknowledged in the ducal rolls, but one, none the less, of very great importance, as everybody of any moment employed agents to spy on one another.

‘For instance,’ Timothy said, drawing his stool closer to mine and lowering his voice a trifle, ‘I know for certain that Stephen Hudelin, Yeoman of the Chamber, is a spy for Lord Rivers, the Queen’s eldest brother. And through him, probably for the whole Woodville clan. I am almost equally sure that Humphrey Nanfan, also a Yeoman of the Chamber, works for my lord of Clarence, while Geoffrey Whitelock, Squire of the Household, is in the pay of the King.’

‘Wait!’ I protested. ‘Wait! Are you asking me to believe that both King Edward and the Duke of Clarence set spies about their own brother?’

Timothy glanced at Lionel Arrowsmith with a resigned shrug of his shoulders before turning back to me. ‘Chapman, can you really believe that anyone at court truly trusts anybody else? If so, you must be very simple-minded.’

‘I can see that the King wouldn’t trust my lord of Clarence,’ I answered hotly. ‘He’s proved himself a traitor on more than one occasion. But His Grace would surely never suspect my lord of Gloucester of working against him!’

‘You may well be right,’ Timothy replied, settling his elbows on his knees and leaning forward. ‘But how can he ever be certain beyond all doubt that the Duke’s patent dislike of the Queen and her numerous family might not, some day, turn to a more active hatred? Besides,’ Timothy spread his hands, ‘it’s only tit-for-tat, when all’s said and done. We have our own agents in the King’s and brother George’s households.’ He saw my expression of horror and laughed. ‘You are an innocent, Roger, aren’t you? Now, where was I?’

He went on to enumerate two more members of the Duke’s entourage who were suspected of being spies: Jocelin d’Hiver, yet another of the score or so Squires of the Household, who might, or might not, be in the pay of Charles of Burgundy’s Spy-Master General, and the man already mentioned that evening, Ralph Boyse, whose mother had been a Frenchwoman and who could, just possibly, be guilty of a dual allegiance.

‘But in God’s name,’ I expostulated, ‘if you know, or even suspect, that these men are up to no good, why do you not advise the Duke’s steward to dismiss them?’

Here a page arrived with a tray bearing a bottle of malmsey and three beakers, which he placed on the table and then withdrew. Timothy Plummer poured out a measure of wine, carefully tasted it, then filled the beakers to the brim before answering my question.

‘That would be very poor strategy. A foolish thing to do if you think about it carefully. At least we know who these men are and can keep them in our eye. If it suits us, we can even give them false information to pass on to their masters. But dismiss them and they would only be replaced by other agents, perhaps more skilful at concealment.’

Once before, I had been given a glimpse of the spider’s web of intrigue and constant double-dealing which surrounded kings and princes and had not liked it then any more than I liked it now. Even on such brief acquaintance I could well imagine the petty jealousies, the back-biting, the factions, the whispering and the strife which tore at the very foundations of every European court, and had no wish to be part of such a world. But if Richard of Gloucester’s life was truly in danger, then I had no choice except to do whatever lay within my power to protect him, however reluctant I might be to get involved. For, from our very first meeting, he had commanded my heart.

‘Very well,’ I told Timothy Plummer, ‘I accept that the enemy you know is better than the one you don’t. But you haven’t yet explained why you believe the Duke to be in mortal peril.’

‘Thaddeus Morgan brought me the news at the beginning of May, while we were on our way south from Middleham. He was heading north to Yorkshire, when he heard that the Duke and his levies had reached Northampton and were resting there for two or three days. He therefore sought me out, so as to warn me of a very strong rumour circulating among the Brotherhood that an order had gone out for Duke Richard’s death.’

‘Wait,’ I said, holding up a hand. ‘Who or what are the Brotherhood?’

It was Lionel Arrowsmith who answered. ‘The Brotherhood, also sometimes known as the Fraternity, is a network of vagabonds, rogues and petty criminals from the stews and sewers of every country throughout the length and breadth of Europe and probably beyond. These men sell information for money and are invaluable as spies, provided that you pay them well.’

Timothy Plummer nodded. ‘No one knows who the fountain-head is, nor even if there is one, nor where the organization begins and ends. No man goes by his proper name, and each has two other Brothers – one on his right hand and one on his left, so to speak – with whom he shares information, gathered from Heaven alone knows what sources; a rag-bag of rumour and gossip from which every man picks such items as he thinks he can sell, and for which he believes he can find a customer. And that is the sum total of my knowledge of the Brotherhood and probably as much as anyone knows. Thaddeus Morgan, or whatever his rightful name was, was known to my predecessor, His Grace’s previous Spy-Master, and was necessarily made known to me. And very useful he’s been,’ he added bitterly, ‘worth his weight in gold. He will be sorely missed.’

‘Someone else will no doubt take his place,’ Lionel said drily, ‘once his death becomes noised abroad. You have only to wait patiently, Tim, and you will be approached. As, of course, will be the Spy-Masters of King Edward, my lord Rivers, His Grace of Clarence …’

‘I don’t understand,’ I interrupted. ‘You mean that all these people know that Duke Richard’s life is under threat? Why then does the King do nothing about it?’

‘No, no!’ Timothy Plummer finished his wine and poured himself a second beakerful. ‘A Brother will only approach one Spy-Master at a time, the one he thinks will be most interested and who will therefore pay him most handsomely. It is a point of honour with these men never to sell the same information twice over.’

‘And you trust them to keep their word?’

‘Oh yes.’ Lionel stretched out his empty beaker for me to refill. ‘These men have their loyalties and think it bad luck to break faith.’

I twisted my own beaker, still half full, between my hands, afraid to drink too deeply after what I had already consumed that evening. I needed to keep a clear head. ‘So what else,’ I asked Timothy, ‘could Thaddeus Morgan tell you concerning the danger to His Grace?’

‘Only that rumour said it would come from within his own household and that the blow must fall before the Eve of Saint Hyacinth… But from which particular direction it would threaten was more difficult to determine, and there was a delay of several weeks before he could offer us any further information. Then, when finally he was able to promise us a name and with it, possibly, a motive, there was a further wrangle over the amount of gold demanded by himself and his informer. That money was handed over last night, as you know, and the identity of the would-be assassin ought now to be in our possession.’

‘Instead of which,’ I finished for him, ‘Thaddeus Morgan is dead and you are none the wiser.’ I pondered for a moment or two on all that he had told me and one fact puzzled me more than the rest. ‘You mentioned the Eve of Saint Hyacinth,’ I added slowly. ‘That would be the sixteenth of August, about seven weeks hence.’

‘So you see, chapman,’ Lionel Arrowsmith said, ‘that time grows pressing, particularly so since we are now completely cut off from any source of further information.’

‘But why the Eve of Saint Hyacinth?’ I pressed. ‘By then His Grace will most surely be in France. And why should a limit be put upon the deed? What will happen on the Eve, or even the Feast, of Saint Hyacinth that makes the Duke’s execution unnecessary after that date?’

Timothy raised his eyes from the contemplation of his once-again empty beaker and fixed them on my face. ‘Is that how you read it, chapman? That if we can keep His Grace from harm until then, his life will no longer be in jeopardy?’ His voice sounded a note of desperate hope.

‘I may be wrong,’ I admitted, ‘but for the moment I can see no other construction to be placed upon the condition. If, that is, you understood Thaddeus Morgan aright.’ Timothy grimaced. ‘I didn’t see him again after our first encounter, but that was the message Lionel brought me.’

‘And it was what Thaddeus told me,’ was the indignant answer. ‘Do you think me such a fool that I could misinterpret his meaning?’

Timothy raised a hand. ‘Softly, softly, Lal! No one is accusing you of anything. But it has needed the chapman here to point out its importance. Neither of us has been thinking very clearly.’

‘Understandably enough,’ I consoled him. ‘You have both been more concerned with the threat to the Duke. Sometimes it wants a latecomer to the game to see things which have been previously overlooked.’ Each man relaxed a little at these words. I went on, ‘Let’s forget that problem for a while, however, and consider the events of the past few hours. Master Arrowsmith, you were due to meet Thaddeus at Three Cranes Wharf this evening. Why you were unable to do so is all too painfully apparent. How did you come by this broken ankle?’

Before Lionel could reply Timothy cut in with a laugh, ‘The same way he came by his broken arm, by falling downstairs. And the same flight each time. The top step is badly worn and Lal is a follower of fashion. When indoors, and liable to attend upon His Grace, he insists on wearing long-piked shoes. A very stupid and dangerous fashion, as he has now proved twice over.’

‘All right! All right!’ It was plainly a sore subject with Lionel. ‘But who could have expected lightning to strike in the same place more than once? I promise to give up my piked shoes, Tim, if it will make you happier.’

It was my turn now to get my own back for having been called simple-minded and innocent earlier on in the conversation. ‘Did neither of you ever consider,’ I asked, ‘that the falls might not have been accidents? That someone deliberately caused Master Arrowsmith to trip in order to try to prevent his meetings with Thaddeus Morgan?’