The Green Man

Two

‘Roger, my old friend!’

The familiar voice, accompanied by an equally familiar figure as Timothy Plummer emerged from our parlour, made me jump nearly out of my skin. During the short walk from the Green Lattis to home, I had so convinced myself that my original suspicion had been at fault, that to find it true was a greater shock than if it had never entered my head in the first place.

‘You!’ I exclaimed, recoiling.

‘Me, indeed!’ he returned, arranging his narrow features in a smile as false as a woman’s promise to obey her husband. He added reproachfully, ‘You might sound pleased to see me.’

‘Well, I’m not!’ My reply was uncompromising.

He sniffed the air suggestively. ‘You’ll note I’ve brought my welcome with me.’

I pointed out that that in itself was unusual enough to make me suspicious.

He tried to look hurt, but gave up the attempt after a short struggle and grinned instead. Before he could say anything else, however, Adela appeared from the kitchen clutching a large ladle with which she had been basting the roast.

‘What does he want, Roger?’ she demanded truculently. ‘Whatever it is, don’t agree to it.’

Timothy clicked his tongue reprovingly, but offered no comment; a fact that made me uneasier than ever. This was his cue to wheedle, ‘It’s for Duke Richard, Roger. He needs your services. You can’t refuse him.’ But he didn’t. He merely stared hard at me and said nothing, although with such an air of authority in both look and silence that my heart began to beat uncomfortably fast.

‘Is he staying to supper?’ my wife asked ungraciously, ignoring our unwanted guest by the simple expedient of turning her shoulder to him and addressing me.

I shrugged. ‘I suppose he’ll have to. He provided it, after all.’

Timothy bowed ironically.

‘You’d better come and have it then. It’s ready,’ Adela snapped, and marched ahead of us into the kitchen.

The three children — my daughter, Elizabeth, my stepson, Nicholas, and Adela’s and my son, Adam — were already seated around the table. The latter, who would be four the following month, was now considered old enough to sit on his little chair without the necessity of being tied to it; although the way in which he was wriggling around suggested that a few falls were in store for him before he mastered the art of behaving properly.

Adela had already removed the pork from the spit and put it on a plate which she placed in front of me. She handed me a knife as I took my seat at the head of the table, at the same time waving Timothy Plummer to a vacant stool between herself and Adam. She had boiled some vegetables to accompany the meat — cabbage and root vegetables and those little water parsnips known as skirretts — and she spooned a portion on to each plate as I handed them round, a proceeding accomplished in complete silence. Even our normally ebullient brood seemed cowed, as though aware that something unusual was going on. Finally, when everyone had been served, I said grace and picked up my knife, spearing a mouth-wateringly large chunk of pork on its tip; enough to preclude conversation for several minutes.

At last, however, I had emptied my mouth sufficiently to ask, ‘So, why are you here, Master Plummer? What do you want with me?’

If he noticed the formality of my approach, he ignored it. He put down his knife, sucked his greasy fingers and beamed.

‘Roger, my lad, this is your lucky day!’ I knew at once that I was in serious trouble.

‘You’re going to Scotland.’

Scotland? Scotland! As well be invited to go on a trip to find the elusive Isle of Brazil or the lands of Prester John.

‘No,’ I said flatly.

‘No!’ echoed Adela with even greater emphasis.

‘No!’ yelled Adam at the top of his powerful lungs, giving us, for once, his unstinted support, even if he didn’t understand why.

I paused in the act of chewing and took a deep breath.

‘Tell the Duke,’ I said, ‘that much as I regret having to refuse any request of his, on this occasion I must decline. Scotland is too far afield. It’s a journey that is bound to take months and I cannot abandon my wife and children to fend for themselves for so long. God in heaven, man! You must know what conditions have been like these past months. I haven’t enough money to leave Adela safely provided for, for such a length of time.’ I added bitterly, ‘It’s not like His Grace to be so unreasonable — unless, of course, he isn’t aware of what’s been going on in the country at large?’

‘Of course Duke Richard’s aware!’ Timothy bit back, dropping all pretence at amiability. ‘Especially living in the north, where matters are a great deal worse than they are down here, in the south, I can assure you. But that’s beside the point. Mistress Chapman and your family will be provided for — well provided for, I promise you — during your absence.’

‘No,’ I said again, shaking my head slowly from side to side to make certain that he understood. ‘I am not going to Scotland for any consideration whatsoever, and that is my final word. What? That heathenish country, where the barbarians can’t even speak English like civilized human beings! No, I thank you. And you may tell His Grace of Gloucester so with my blessing.’

Timothy regarded me pityingly while he removed shreds of meat from between his teeth with the point of his knife. Then he heaved a dramatic sigh. (He really should have tried his hand as Judas Iscariot in one of the Easter Passion plays.)

‘I’m afraid you don’t quite understand, Roger.’ He smiled gently. ‘This isn’t a request or an appeal to your friendship or better nature. This is a royal command, not just by the Duke, but by the King himself.’

I refused to believe it. ‘You won’t coerce me into whatever it is you want me to do by telling lies. I will not go to Scotland.’

For answer, Timothy reached into the pouch at his waist and, with his free hand, withdrew a folded parchment with an important looking wax disc attached.

‘The king’s personal seal,’ he said. ‘This is my authority to take you back to London with me, when I return, and from there on to Northamptonshire, to the king’s castle at Fotheringay. Do you want to read it? I believe you can read.’

He knew perfectly well that I could read, and write, too. Brother Hilarion had taught me to do both, and many other things besides, during my novitiate at Glastonbury Abbey. It was not that good old man’s fault that I had rejected the cloistered life and decided on the freedom of the open road. But now that freedom was being eroded. I put up a fight, even though I knew in my heart it was useless.

‘Northamptonshire? Make up your mind. I thought I was going to Scotland.’

Timothy pushed aside his empty plate. Adela had also stopped eating, but that, I could tell, was due to a sudden lack of appetite. I made a pretence of continuing my supper, but I, too, had ceased to be hungry. Only the children continued to mop up the meat and vegetable juices on their plates with hunks of barley bread.

‘Fotheringay first, then on to Berwick and, finally, Scotland,’ Timothy explained.

There was an even more pregnant pause before I said in a taut voice that didn’t seem to be my own, ‘Someone told me that Berwick is under siege.’

‘So it is,’ he answered crisply. ‘It’s all right, Roger. Don’t look like that. You’re not going to be asked to do any fighting.’

I laid my knife down very slowly and deliberately in order to disguise the fact that my hand was shaking. Adela stood up and began pouring ale for us all: some of it was spilled on the table. Timothy smiled understandingly. It was as much as I could do to stop myself from leaping up and rearranging those smugly sympathetic features.

‘Perhaps,’ I said carefully, ‘you might like to explain what this is all about, before we go any further.’

The Spymaster General lifted his horn beaker to his lips. I could tell that he was savouring not just the ale, but the moment, as well.

‘I’m very much afraid, Roger, that this is a predicament for which you have only yourself to blame; a situation which has arisen — as far as you are concerned — because of your inability to keep that nose of yours out of affairs that aren’t your business.’

‘I knew it!’ my wife exclaimed furiously. ‘I knew this would happen one day!’

‘Knew what would happen?’ I shouted, as angry as she was. For Adela to turn on me in front of a stranger was an unaccustomed betrayal.

Timothy waited patiently for us both to calm down. In the interval, I sent the children to play upstairs, and the thud of their feet was soon to be heard overhead — rather like an army on the march, I thought with renewed dismay.

‘So?’ I asked our unwelcome guest, once I had my voice under control. ‘Perhaps you would care to explain how I’ve brought this on myself — whatever “this” is.’

Timothy sipped his ale thoughtfully for a moment or two before replying, then picked his teeth again. At last, he asked slowly, ‘What do you know about the present situation north of the border?’

I could see by his expression that he wasn’t expecting much of an answer. I intended to surprise him, thanks to my friend, the mummer, whose appearance in the Green Lattis this afternoon had been so peculiarly fortuitous.

‘Well, I know, for instance that Lord Howard sailed up the River Forth last summer and burned a Scottish town called Blackness. I don’t imagine the locals were too happy about that, so I would assume that there has been some retaliation in the form of border raiding.’

Timothy’s eyebrows shot up until they almost disappeared into his receding hairline.

‘My, my!’ he remarked, demonstrating exaggerated surprise. ‘Don’t tell me that there is someone in this benighted city who actually knows what’s going on beyond its walls.’ I shrugged, but said nothing, waiting for him to continue. The bastard was enjoying himself hugely. ‘As a matter of fact,’ he went on, ‘the Scots have been giving us trouble for the past two years. More trouble than usual, that is,’ he amended. ‘Which is why His Grace of Gloucester was made Lord Lieutenant of the North, and why he personally oversaw the rebuilding and repair of Carlisle’s walls the winter before the one just gone. And why he and Percy of Northumberland have been raising the border levies.’

‘And why, I suppose, he and King Edward met at Nottingham last autumn to discuss plans for a full-scale invasion,’ I put in, and once again had the pleasure of seeing Timothy both astonished and disconcerted.

‘Roger, you astound me,’ he admitted with a rueful grin. ‘You have had your ear to the ground.’

‘This is a port and, moreover, the second city in the kingdom,’ I pointed out. ‘It’s always full of sailors and itinerants generally, all bringing news of the outside world.’

‘Which is mostly ignored by your fellow citizens,’ was the immediate riposte, not without some justification. The denizens of my adopted town were an inward-looking, self-sufficient race, not much interested in other people’s problems.

‘Look!’ I exclaimed irritably, conscious of the mounting tension inside me. ‘This is all very well, but it doesn’t explain what you are doing here and why I am being commanded — if that’s the truth — to go to Scotland.’

‘Or why it’s Roger’s own fault,’ Adela added.

‘True.’ Timothy scratched his chin and one or two other, more gruesome parts of his anatomy (where, presumably, the fleas were settling down to their own evening meal) before helping himself, unbidden, to another beaker of ale and leaning forward, his elbows planted squarely on the table. He turned to me. ‘What do you know of King James, third of that name, of Scotland?’

‘Nothing whatsoever,’ I answered promptly, then hesitated. ‘Ah!’ A faint light began to illuminate the dimmer recesses of my mind.

‘Ah, indeed!’ smirked Timothy. ‘So? What have you remembered?’

‘I know King James has — or, rather, had — two brothers,’ I answered slowly. ‘He quarrelled with them both and had them arrested. I think I was told … by someone … that the younger …’

‘John, Earl of Mar,’ Timothy supplied, as I paused uncertainly. His small, bright eyes, reminiscent of a ferret’s, stared at me across the rim of his beaker.

‘Yes. Well … whatever his name was … he died in prison in suspicious circumstances. The elder, the Duke of Albany …’

‘Aha! You have no difficulty in recollecting his name,’ my unwanted guest leered at me from the other side of the table.

I continued doggedly, as if he had not spoken. ‘The elder, the Duke of Albany managed to escape and fled to France.’

‘Oh, France is where he eventually fetched up,’ Timothy agreed, ‘at the court of his dear cousin, King Louis; who, with his propensity for stirring up trouble whenever and wherever he can, was no doubt delighted to see him. Yes; three years ago, Albany fled from Scotland to France. At least, that was the official story. You and I know somewhat better, don’t we, Roger?’

I nodded dumbly.

‘We know,’ the spymaster continued, ‘that a few ardent supporters of the Lancastrian cause brought him to Bristol with a view, when the moment should prove propitious, of taking him to Brittany to replace that uninspiring figurehead, Henry Tudor. Both, after all, are descendants of John of Gaunt’s bastard Beaufort line — the Tudor through his mother, Albany through his paternal grandmother — so one was as good as another. And at the time, as I recall, there were rumours concerning Henry Tudor’s health, which was supposed to be failing. Unfortunately for the conspirators, things started to go wrong when a certain pedlar stumbled into their affairs …’

‘Unwittingly,’ I cut in angrily.

‘Oh, I believe you,’ Timothy laughed. ‘Just as I believe that, once having got the scent of a mystery, you were unable to keep that long nose of yours out of what was going on.’

‘I foiled the plot,’ I muttered sulkily.

‘Oh, undoubtedly. You also helped the central player, Albany, to get away to Ireland with the help of those disreputable slavers you call your friends.’

‘I don’t call them my friends,’ I retorted. ‘And they call no man friend!’

Timothy shrugged. ‘Probably not. I’ll take your word for that. But it doesn’t alter the fact that you helped an enemy of this country to escape. Albany would have been a valuable hostage in our negotiations with Scotland.’

‘I don’t see that,’ I argued. ‘Not if King James wanted him dead. Besides which,’ I added indignantly, ‘a year later he was in London, capering around as King Edward’s honoured guest. I saw him myself when I was there at Duke Richard’s request to solve that business of the young Burgundian … And that’s not the only favour I’ve done His Grace over the years.’

‘The duke is aware of that fact.’ Timothy stretched his arms above his head until the bones cracked. ‘Which is why the whole affair of Albany’s escape from Bristol was overlooked and hushed up. If the king had ever found out … well … that might have been a different tale altogether. However — and here, at last, we come to the nub of the matter — Albany has always remembered you kindly. He trusts you, Roger, as he seems to trust no other person, and he wants you with him on this invasion of Scotland.’

I had to wait a moment or two before replying as the children were, by now, rampaging up and down the stairs like stampeding cattle, but when the game took another direction and the noise faded, I asked tautly, ‘Are you saying that the Duke of Albany is a party to this invasion of Scotland?’

‘We’re going to make him king,’ Timothy smiled, at his blandest. ‘King Alexander the fourth.’

‘And what about his brother, King James the third?’ I demanded. ‘Is he going to stand idly by while the English depose him?’

‘Probably not,’ my guest conceded. ‘But he is very unpopular amongst his nobles and in the country at large — or so I’ve been reliably informed by those who should know. Indeed, members of my own network of spies tell the same story. I believe even his Danish wife isn’t over-fond of him.’

‘And hasn’t he any children?’

‘Three sons, but all minors. The eldest is, I think, eight. But His Grace of Gloucester tells me that in the annals of Scottish history, there is something called the Declaration of Arbroath which states that an unsatisfactory ruler can be removed by the will of the people and someone else elected to fill his place. The Scots, it seems, do not place so much emphasis on the importance of primogeniture as we do in this country.’

I drew in a hissing breath. ‘And you’re telling me that the Duke of Albany wants me — me! — to accompany him on this harebrained adventure?’

‘That is the request he has made of King Edward. And that is the request King Edward intends to grant him. And who are you to decide that it’s a harebrained adventure? Some of the wisest heads in the land have decided it’s a plan that should be pursued.’

‘Then some of the “wisest heads in the land” have the brains of idiots,’ I retorted vehemently. ‘Do they seriously expect the Scots to allow the English to choose their king for them? It hasn’t happened in the past, and it won’t now.’

For a long moment, Timothy and I stared at one another across the table. Then he lowered his eyes and coughed, but I knew in that instant that he agreed with me, although he would never admit it.

‘That’s not for you nor me to say,’ he answered in a flat voice, without any trace of emotion. ‘The likes of us obey orders, Roger, my lad. We don’t query what we’re told to do.’

True enough! But I still raised objections.

‘But why in the Virgin’s name does Albany imagine that he needs me? He must surely have retainers of his own, supplied by either King Louis or King Edward.’

‘As a matter of fact, he has his own small household, servants of his brother, Mar, who escaped from Scotland to France after the earl was murdered.’

‘He was murdered then?’ I asked swiftly. ‘It’s certain?’

The spymaster shrugged. ‘Not certain, no. But there are always rumours, and the more colourful the better. The point is, Albany thinks Mar was killed on the orders of their brother. He’s nervous. That, it seems, is the reason he wants you. Not just as a bodyguard, but because he’s convinced you’ll be able to sniff out any plots against his sacred person.’

‘This is ridiculous!’ I exploded. ‘The man will be surrounded not only by his loyal Scotsmen and a whole army, but by the officers of two royal households as well. I am presuming that the king leads this expedition?’

‘That is the intention,’ Timothy agreed. But there was a note of reservation in his tone that made me look at him rather sharply. He saw it and once again shrugged. ‘His Highness has been unwell for some time. His health may … just may preclude his taking part in the invasion. It will … It maybe His Grace of Gloucester and my lord Northumberland who will finally — it is hoped — win back Berwick.’

I gathered from these stumbling sentences, from the pauses and qualifications, that King Edward’s health was a great deal worse than Timothy was admitting to. It was on the tip of my tongue to make further enquiries, and I would have done so, but for the realization that I was being sidetracked yet again.

‘You still haven’t explained why Albany wants me to accompany him. Whether the king leads the army or stays at home, there will still be more than enough men to provide the duke with protection from his enemies. Or,’ I added, as a sudden thought struck me, ‘does he not trust these wonderful new allies of his? Surely he doesn’t suspect the English — his old enemy — of plotting to double-cross him?’

Timothy was betrayed into a laugh, but all he said was, ‘Your tongue will land you in trouble one of these fine days, my lad.’ Then he agreed, ‘Oh, I daresay Albany’s sufficiently uneasy to be wary of our intentions towards him once negotiations are opened with the Scots …’

‘That’s after we’ve trounced them in open battle, of course,’ I sneered.

‘Roger!’ Adela cut in warningly, always frightened that I was going to overstep the bounds of other people’s tolerance.

The spymaster nodded approvingly at her. ‘Listen to your wife, my friend. It’s never wise to be too free with your opinions.’

‘All I said was …’

‘I know what you said,’ Timothy snarled, losing his patience. ‘It’s not necessarily what you say, but how you say it. However, to return to Albany and his fears. I gather from what Duke Richard let fall that he — Albany, that is, — is convinced that his life is in danger, not from the English but from one of his own household. From one of the loyal band of the Earl of Mar’s retainers who joined him in France. He suspects one of them of being in the pay of his brother, King James.’

‘Why doesn’t he get rid of him, then?’

Timothy sighed. ‘No doubt he would if he were sure which one of them it is. But he isn’t. In the opinion of Duke Richard — and, I must say, in my own — it’s nothing but a mare’s nest. Albany is in a highly nervous state, jumping at shadows.’

Understandable, I thought, and was inclined to sympathize with the Scotsman until the full purport of this speech suddenly hit me.

‘You mean,’ I demanded hotly, ‘that I’m being taken along simply to protect Albany from his own stupid fears? That is the sole reason for my being torn from my wife and family, simply because Albany doesn’t trust his own entourage? If that’s all that’s troubling him, why doesn’t someone provide him with a bodyguard from the levies? A nice, tough, burly foot soldier who’ll slit throats first and ask questions afterwards.’

The spymaster peered anxiously into his beaker as though surprised to find it empty. Adela, to my great annoyance, refilled it for him. Timothy raised it in my direction.

‘Try not to be as stupid as you look, old friend.’ I was about to remind him furiously that he was drinking my ale, even if he had brought his own victuals, but he gave me no chance, hurrying on, ‘That’s just the sort of mindless violence we want to avoid. The chances are that no one amongst his household is trying to kill Albany, but if it should prove that one of them is, then we want the right man brought to justice.’

‘I see.’ I recharged my own beaker and took a long, hard swig. I could foresee a rather nasty snag. ‘And if there is such a man, and if he succeeds in his object, but I fail to stop him, where does that leave me?’

Our companion swilled the ale thoughtfully around his mouth. ‘It could affect your popularity,’ he admitted cautiously, after a pause.

‘Oh, undoubtedly,’ I snapped back viciously. ‘I’d probably have to flee the country and offer my services to King James for having rid him, albeit unwittingly, of this Clarence of the north.’

Timothy gave another spontaneous bark of laughter and once more advised me to watch what I said.

‘But seriously, Roger,’ he added, ‘Duke Richard firmly believes that there is no such danger threatening Albany. He holds it as nothing but a nervous disorder of the mind. Nevertheless, he is ready and willing to pander to the duke’s wishes, and if it will make him feel any safer to have you along as his personal protector, then Duke Richard has no intention of gainsaying him. I’m sorry, my friend, but however little you may relish the prospect, on this occasion you have no choice but to obey. It’s an order this time, Roger, not a request. You must be ready to accompany me to London tomorrow — a mount has already been provided for you — and from thence to Fotheringay Castle for an assembly of all the commanders and their levies on the eleventh of June, Saint Barnabas’s Day.’

‘And if I refuse?’ I knew it was only bluster, but I was desperate and there was no harm in trying.

‘Then you will come under armed escort, as my prisoner.’

I glanced at Adela. She was looking sick and white with the thought of my going so far from her and the children and with the fear that I might never come back again. I stretched out a hand and squeezed one of hers, trying to speak bravely for her sake.

‘I shall be all right, sweetheart. I’ll be home again well before Christmas, you’ll see.’ I grinned feebly. ‘The months will fly by without me to distract you. You know you always say that it’s like having four children to look after when I’m around.’

‘He’ll be safe enough,’ Timothy endorsed heartily. ‘And both Duke Richard and my lord Albany have sent purses of money so that you’ll want for nothing, Mistress, in Roger’s absence.’

‘Men!’ my wife exclaimed scornfully. ‘You all think money makes up for everything. Well, it doesn’t make up for a cold, empty bed or for someone to fetch wood and bring in water. It doesn’t make up for someone to talk to after a day of talking to no one but the children.’

I knew this latter statement was something of an exaggeration. If two days passed without Margaret Walker — my former mother-in-law and Adela’s cousin — visiting our house, or my wife visiting hers, I knew nothing of the matter! But I made no comment, merely turning my own reproachful gaze on our guest, even though I knew it was in vain.

‘I’m sorry,’ Timothy said; and to do him justice, he did manage to sound genuinely regretful. ‘But there’s no help for it. Roger must go to Scotland, and that’s an end to it, I’m afraid.’