The Green Man

Six

It took us almost another week to reach the city of York, with a number of nightly stops along the way, while the mounted advance guard, of which I was one, waited for the sluggishly moving army to catch us up and pitch camp. The first night, we slept at Leicester, where the abbey reluctantly provided bed and board for the Dukes of Gloucester and Albany and other such nobles as could be accommodated, without actually turning the monks into the fields to find what comfort they could on the hard ground.

Because of Albany’s insistence on my continued presence in his bed at night and at his side during the day, I was assured at all times of the best lodgings to be had; better even than that accorded to many of the minor nobility, who were obliged to take shelter in the various local houses or hostelries available to them. Some, indeed, were forced, on occasions, to have their tents removed from the baggage waggons and pitched alongside the common soldiery, bivouacking in the open countryside. Squires, body servants and the like were lucky to find room wherever they could.

I expected that the continuing favour shown to me by Albany would arouse resentment amongst his immediate household, and was vaguely surprised when the five of them persisted in treating me with the same contemptuous tolerance that they had displayed since I was first introduced into their midst in London. None of them liked me — or seemed not to, at any rate — and all avoided my company when they could; but there was no actual animosity, no overt hostility, not the slightest indication that they had the least suspicion why Albany had asked for me to be his personal bodyguard when he had the five of them to take care of him.

I put this point to the duke that first night after we left Fotheringay, when we rested at Leicester Abbey. But he shrugged the question aside, anxious to discuss the incident with the bay.

‘Pegasus would never have reared like that unless provoked. Did you see anyone touch him, Roger?’

The mattress we were sharing was a hard one, promising a poor night’s rest, and I was tired out after half a day’s riding; a bad augury for the long days in the saddle which lay ahead. Moreover, I could not rid myself of the growing belief that Albany had no real need of my protection and that I had been wrenched from my home and family without good reason.

‘No,’ I snapped — but then thought better of my ill temper (or of showing it, at least). After all, I was as much the servant of his grace, the Duke of Gloucester, as of Albany, so I added in a more conciliatory tone, ‘I saw nothing, my lord. Murdo and Donald were behind you and Davey was in the crowd. I saw him. But not near enough, now I come to think of it, to do the horse a mischief. John Tullo, of course, was at the bay’s head. Why, my lord? Do you truly think that one of them tried to unseat you?’

‘You saw what happened. I could have been thrown. At best, I could have been made to look a fool in front of all those arrogant English fools, sniggering up their sleeves. At worst, I could have been killed. And I tell you, Pegasus doesn’t play tricks of that sort. Not with me. Someone goaded him on purpose.’

‘It might have been an accident,’ I protested. ‘There was a great press of people all round. The noise alone could have frightened him.’

Albany scornfully dismissed this suggestion. ‘For the love of Mary, he’s used to it! Pegasus is a French horse, given to me by Cousin Louis. If you’ve never heard a flock of Frenchmen all screeching at once, you don’t know what noise is. I told you I’m in danger, Roger, and I meant it. One of those five has sold himself to my brother James and doesn’t intend that I shall be king.’

He was managing to convince me again. Slowly, but ineluctably, I was being drawn once more into the net of his suspicions. Perhaps I had never really escaped it: it was just homesickness that made me pretend I had.

So I told him of the previous night’s incident and of the green silk ‘leaf’ I had found in the ante-room. Now, he was seriously alarmed, and so far forgot what was due to his position as to jump out of bed himself to test the bolt on the door. But, of course, there wasn’t one. Abbeys, as a general rule, don’t have locks and bolts. They are the houses of God and, as such, are free of access, one brother to another. The cell we were occupying had been made as comfortable as possible, but it gave on to a badly lit passageway without the luxury of an ante-room or a guard of any sort.

Albany was in no doubt as to what must be done.

‘You must sleep outside, across the doorway, Roger. It’s warm tonight. Wrap yourself in your cloak. You won’t be cold.’

He was right. I wasn’t cold, but it was damnably uncomfortable, in spite of a pillow for my head, and I tossed and turned, dozed and woke all night, angry and resentful. I wondered, in those brief intervals, when I managed to gain a few moments relief from my bodily aches and pains, why mention of the Green Man affected Albany with such profound unease. I had noticed it when I first broached the subject to him. Did it hold some special significance for him? And who was the man in the mask, anyway? My original thought had been that it could be neither of the squires, but further consideration changed my mind. Either one of them could have planted the ‘leaf’ for me to find with a view to exonerating himself. Whatever had roused me the previous night — and I was still uncertain what that had been — could have been caused by Donald or Murdo creeping into the duke’s chamber, reaching through the bed curtains and touching my arm, perhaps, before scurrying back to the ante-room and feigning slumber. Something of the sort …

But here I must have fallen into my final sleep of total exhaustion and was only wakened again by the abbey bells tolling for Prime, and by the general hurry and scuffle of men scrambling to get dressed and be on the march again as soon as possible. We were, in fact, saddled up and on the move while the mist still lay thick upon the ground, and had left Leicester behind us, a dark smudge on the horizon, before it dissolved like smoke trails blown on the wind.

We rode northwards for Nottingham, a mere distance, or so I was told, of between twenty and thirty miles, and where our mounted vanguard would wait for the rest of the army to catch us up while my lord of Gloucester held a council of war. And it was indeed barely mid-afternoon when we rode across the hills encircling the town and ascended to the massive fortress that is Nottingham Castle, towering above the surrounding houses on its dark up-thrust of rock.

Nottingham is a royal castle, so there was no makeshift accommodation here. My lord of Albany was accorded every deference and given a bedchamber, two ante-rooms and his own private garderobe in keeping with his status as a future king.

‘Well, at least we can shit in private, if only for a night,’ he remarked jocularly as one of his many chests of clothing was carried into the bedchamber by two of the castle’s lackeys. ‘I do so hate baring my arse to the public gaze. Make the most of it, Roger. When we finally get to Berwick — if we ever do — and join the siege, it’ll be a different story. We’ll be lucky if it’s a hole in the ground with the whole of the army looking on. You’re not a fighting man, I believe.’

‘Your Grace knows full well that I’m a pedlar,’ I answered drily, unpacking my few modest belongings from a saddle-bag, which I had humped indoors myself, through various dark and dingy passageways smelling of dirt and damp to this large and airy chamber strewn with fresh rushes and flowers. ‘I assume your lordship doesn’t wish me to accompany you to the council meeting this afternoon?’

The duke grimaced sourly. ‘I doubt your presence would be welcomed. But I want you close to me at the feast this evening, mind that! So to prevent a repetition of the night before last, you’d better spend the time I’m in council getting yourself fed in the kitchens. I can hear your belly rumbling from here.’

‘I’m not surprised,’ I grumbled. ‘A handful of dried oats was all I got for breakfast, and another one for dinner when we stopped on the road.’

Albany laughed. ‘And a big fellow like you needs some feeding, eh?’ There was a rap on the outer door. ‘Ah! No doubt this is my summons to the council-of-war.’ He shrugged. ‘I thought everything had been decided before we left Fotheringay. Why do Englishmen like to talk so much?’ Davey appeared in the inner chamber, but before he could say anything, Albany nodded. ‘All right. Tell whoever it is I’m coming.’ He glanced back over his shoulder. ‘Remember what I said, Roger. Get yourself fed.’

I didn’t need telling a third time.

Davey went with me into the bowels of the castle where one of the many kitchens had been cleared to make room for trestles and benches, and which was already full of a chattering, munching throng of servants and hangers-on belonging to the nobles who were now in conclave somewhere above us.

‘There are Murdo and Donald and Jamie,’ the page said, steering me towards a table set right against the far wall. ‘They’ve saved places for us.’

I wasn’t at all sure that I wanted to eat in the company of the Scotsmen, but before I could demur, Davey had seized me by the elbow and was propelling me across the room. And after looking about me in vain for another empty seat, I allowed him to do so without protest.

I found myself seated between Davey and Murdo MacGregor. For a time, while I filled my empty belly with hot mutton and barley broth and a hunk of black bread — served with a bad-tempered thump and splash by one of the castle scullions — the four of them ignored me. In truth, they were also too busy eating to say much, but they did, every now and then, mutter to one another in their own broad Scots tongue. I let them get on with it.

Eventually, however, the edge of everyone’s appetite was blunted and the noise of wagging tongues increased. I had scraped my bowl clean and was sitting, picking scraps of mutton from between my teeth, staring into the distance at the chattering throng, seeing, but not seeing, when I was suddenly addressed by Donald Seton in English.

‘I’m told, Chapman, that you were once a novice at Glastonbury Abbey. Before you took up peddling, that is.’

I blinked, jerked out of my reverie.

‘Who told you that?’ I asked.

He shrugged. ‘I forget, but it doesn’t really matter. Is it true?’

I nodded. ‘What of it? I’ve never made any secret of the fact. Why should I? I left before I took my vows. I discovered that the contemplative life was not for me. Nor the celibate life, either.’

He laughed. ‘All right! No need to take that defensive tone! I’m not blaming you. A religious house is no place for an able, red-blooded man, as I can see you are.’ Murdo nodded in agreement, but I didn’t much care for the cynical grin that accompanied the nod. Donald went on, ‘What interests me — us — ’ he made a little gesture that included his fellow squire — ‘is Glastonbury itself.’ He hesitated for a moment, glancing first at Murdo, then at Davey, as though uncertain whether or not to continue, before returning his gaze to me. The pause was prolonged before he added, with seeming inconsequence, ‘They say you have the “sight”.’

‘Who are these mysterious “they”?’ I demanded irritably. ‘Who have you been talking to?’

‘Do you have the “sight”?’ Murdo interposed, ignoring my questions.

‘Not as my mother had it, no. But I do sometimes have dreams. They don’t, however, foretell the future, but they do, on occasions, guide me along the right path.’

‘You say your mother had the “sight”?’ It was Davey’s turn to speak. ‘You inherited your gift from a woman?’

‘My mother was generally acknowledged to be a woman,’ I replied with heavy sarcasm. ‘And I don’t claim that what I have is a gift. It’s merely my mind clearing itself by way of dreams.’

‘It’s a gift,’ Davey repeated obstinately, ‘inherited through a female.’ He nodded at the other two. ‘I was right. He belongs to the old world as well as this one.’

‘What old world?’ I demanded, playing innocent.

But by the pricking of my thumbs, I had already guessed the answer. He meant the pre-Christian world; the world of faerie; the pagan world of our ancestors, who worshipped the gods of the trees, the goddesses of the lake, the inhabitants of the hollow hills. I felt the sweat suddenly stand out on my brow. I glanced anxiously around me to make sure that we could not possibly be overheard.

But all our neighbours were too busy talking themselves hoarse to pay any attention to us. We might as well have been alone, in the middle of a field or on an island. Nevertheless, this was dangerously heretical talk and I made an effort to change the subject. Before I could even form a thought, however, let alone actually say anything, Donald forestalled me.

‘This is why we are interested in your time at Glastonbury. They say entrance to the Otherworld lies beneath the Tor. Do you know of anyone who has ever found it?’

One of my faults — one of my many, should I say? — is that I can never forbear airing my knowledge (when I have any to air, that is). It was the same now. Although I knew full well that we were on perilously forbidden ground, I couldn’t help saying, ‘Beneath the Tor is supposed to be the home of Gwyn-ap-Nud, son of Nud, the Wind God, and lord of the Wild Hunt. Also occasionally known as Avallach, the Fisher King.’ I took a deep breath. ‘Look, such talk is not only dangerous but foolish, so just let’s …’

‘Have you ever been there?’ Donald interrupted ruthlessly.

‘Or your mother, perhaps?’ Davey added. ‘Has she? In the old times it would have been the goddess of the lake who ruled. It would be her handmaidens, even today, who have the power which is handed down from generation to generation to enter the Otherworld.’

‘This is becoming nonsensical,’ I snarled. ‘My mother died many years ago, but in any case, I never asked her such a foolish question. Mind you,’ I couldn’t restrain myself from adding, ‘there is a legend that a holy man, named Collen, once found his way inside the hill, guided by a beautiful girl.’

‘Like Thomas the Rhymer,’ Davey said eagerly, and the others nodded, even James Petrie, who had so far contributed nothing except a puzzled frown as he tried to follow a conversation that was largely unintelligible to him. But he obviously recognized the name of this Thomas the Rhymer. He said something in rapid Scots to the other three.

I asked, ‘Who’s Thomas the Rhymer?’ and then immediately regretted the question. I was only prolonging a discussion that would be better terminated as soon as possible. Indeed, I half rose to my feet, preparatory to lifting one leg over the bench, but curiosity got the better of me and I sat down again.

Davey slid me a sidelong glance of triumph. ‘In Scotland, the Eildon Hills are said to conceal the entrance to the Otherworld. Thomas was led inside by the Queen of Elfland, herself. The Otherworld, unlike our Christian one, acknowledges women to be the equal of men and accords them equal importance.’

‘Why was he called the Rhymer?’ I asked rather stupidly.

Murdo gave a superior smile, while Donald looked down his nose. Davey gave a little crow of laughter.

‘Because he made rhymes, of course,’ he said. ‘I should have thought that was obvious.’

This time I did get up and stepped over the bench. The crowd in the kitchen was beginning to thin out as servants and retainers finished eating and went in search of their masters. The noise had decreased accordingly: kitcheners and scullions were busy removing empty bowls and dishes, sweeping the remains of broken meats and bread into their aprons, stretching across the shoulders of those diners still seated.

‘You and your companions would do well to watch your tongues, Master Davey,’ I told him. ‘They’ll wag once too often.’ With this parting dart, I was about to stride away when I recollected my unanswered question. ‘Who has been talking to you about me?’

Murdo chuckled deep in his throat. ‘An old friend of yours. My lord of Gloucester’s Spymaster General. One, Timothy Plummer.’

I was astonished. I hadn’t clapped eyes on Timothy since we parted company in London after he had handed me over to Albany.

‘I didn’t know he was travelling with the duke,’ I said.

Donald gave a short laugh as he, too, finally stood up, yawning and rubbing his belly.

‘I don’t suppose we know half the people who are travelling in Gloucester’s train, what with the chaplains, the doctors, the musicians, the lawyers … You’d be lucky to catch a glimpse of your little friend.’

‘How did you, then?’

‘Quite by chance, I overheard him talking to my lord.’

‘Albany? But why were they discussing me?’

‘How in Hades should I know? Should I go barging in demanding information of my betters? All I know is that I came upon them talking together just before my lord went into the council chamber. I couldn’t help hearing something of what Master Plummer was saying, although I didn’t know who he was then. My lord informed me of his identity.’

‘And what exactly was Timothy Plummer saying about me?’ I enquired indignantly.

Donald shrugged. ‘Simply that; that you had once been intended for the church and had entered the monastery at Glastonbury. I think it must have been in response to some information my lord was seeking. But what, I have no idea.’

‘Then I shall ask him.’

In the event, however, I held my tongue, at least for the time being. The council of war had plainly rattled Albany and he was in the foulest mood I had ever seen him in. I saw the two squires exchange white-eyed glances and, together with the page, they made themselves scarce, giving their master a wide berth and leaving me to bear the brunt of his ill-temper. I was uncertain what had caused it, but from various remarks he let drop, and from the way he proceeded to vilify some of the other council members, I came to the conclusion that there were those who regarded the attempt to replace King James with his brother on the Scottish throne as a grave mistake; a stumbling block to any negotiations to regain the Princess Cicely’s dowry and to win back Berwick.

‘They’re fools!’ Albany stormed, pacing up and down his chamber. ‘The only way the English will get back either is by making me king. I’ve already sworn fealty to Edward.’

‘Berwick is already under siege,’ I dared to point out. ‘It might yet be won back by force.’

‘It’s been under siege for months,’ sneered Albany. ‘Why can’t the idiots see that I’m their only hope.’

‘Duke Richard …’ I began.

Albany swung round to face me.

‘Duke Richard will do what he considers most advantageous for this country,’ he snapped, adding, ‘I don’t trust that man.’

I was genuinely shocked, so much so that I was moved to expostulate.

‘His Grace of Gloucester is considered a man of the greatest probity,’ I said, and I could hear the anger trembling in my voice. I took a deep breath and continued more moderately, ‘He is a very religious man. His word is considered his bond. His loyalty to King Edward has been the cornerstone of his life, unlike his brother, the late Duke of Clarence.’

I was suddenly aware of Albany’s ironic glance, and recollected that I had heard him described on more than one occasion as a ‘Scottish Clarence’. He had undoubtedly heard the phrase, too, and I waited for the vials of his wrath to break over my head. But one thing I have to say in Albany’s favour; he had a sense of humour and was never so set up in self-conceit that he couldn’t take a joke at his own expense. He laughed and shrugged.

‘All that may be true,’ he admitted. ‘In fact, it is true. Loyaute me lie is Gloucester’s motto. But I have often thought him a man who has carefully weighed up the alternatives in life, and then acted in what he considers to be his best self-interest. But also,’ Albany added thoughtfully, ‘I think him a man who could lose that self-control if ever he allowed his emotions to get the better of him. He hates the Queen and all her family with a depth of loathing that has bitten deep into his soul, but, for his brother’s sake, he suppresses it so rigorously that he is almost unaware of it. One day, maybe, it will take him by surprise. That’s why I say I don’t trust him. Any man who exerts such command over his feelings won’t let himself acknowledge just what his real feelings are. Such men, in my estimation, are dangerous.’

‘Your Grace seems to know a great deal about my lord Gloucester,’ I sneered, forgetting my place in my anger. ‘I wouldn’t have thought him a man to take anyone so far into his confidence.’ I didn’t add, ‘especially you,’ but it was implicit in my tone.

Albany’s eyes flashed dangerously. He had been sitting on the bed, but now he slid off and came to stand close to me. He was nearly as tall as I was and could look at me face to face.

‘Be careful, Roger,’ he said quietly. ‘It’s true that I owe you something for your help three years ago. It’s also true that I need your help now. But don’t think that entitles you to speak to me as you please. Remember, I am a future king.’

But this reminded him of his original grievance and he resumed his pacing up and down the bedchamber floor, fulminating for the next ten minutes against those English lords who had hinted that he might be more of a liability than an asset in treating with the Scots.

‘Earl Rivers had the gall to suggest that when James is either dead or deposed, my eldest nephew, Rothesay, might be the better alternative to be placed on the throne. A boy of nine! I ask you! No kingdom prospers when the ruler is a child, and so my lord of Gloucester was quick to point out to him.’ He glanced at me and I raised my eyebrows, although saying nothing. The stormy look left Albany’s face and he grinned reluctantly. ‘Yes, all right. He did back me in that. But I still don’t altogether trust him. And now, go and find James Petrie for me. I need to change. Cousin Richard has arranged a hunting expedition in Sherwood Forest for the rest of this afternoon, to sharpen our appetites for the feast this evening.’

‘I’m not hunting with you,’ I said, appalled.

‘Dear, sweet Virgin, of course you’re not!’ he exclaimed, and burst out laughing. ‘Your horsemanship’s abysmal. Donald and Murdo will accompany me. If the traitor is either of them, I shall be safe with so many other people around.’

I found this hard to reconcile with what little I knew of hunting, particularly in a forest where it seemed to me that the chances of meeting with an accident were naturally high, and which offered the potential assassin opportunities not to be found elsewhere. However, it appeared that my services were not required, so, having despatched James Petrie to my lord’s chamber, I was left with time on my hands.

I went in search of Timothy Plummer.

I eventually ran him to earth in the council chamber, seated at the head of the table in what had obviously been my lord of Gloucester’s chair, and talking low and earnestly to a couple of nondescript-looking men whom I guessed, judging by their shifty expression and the way in which they blended effortlessly into the background, to be two of his spies.

He was plainly none too pleased to see me and sent the men away as soon as he saw me.

‘What are you doing here?’ he demanded abruptly. ‘Why aren’t you with Albany?’

‘Hunting? Really, Timothy, you should know better than that. Even the duke knew better than that. But he was willing to dispense with my invaluable protection in order to pursue the pleasures of the chase.’ I hitched one knee over a corner of the table and sat on it, an inch or two from Timothy’s chair. ‘Is this the way wars are always conducted?’ I asked disgustedly. ‘With pauses for feasting and hunting and general jollification? It’s a miracle any actual fighting gets done at all.’

He took a lofty tone. ‘You know nothing about anything, my lad, that has to do with your betters. You just stick to what you’ve been hired to do. Watch Albany’s back and keep your eyes on that precious pack of Scots he’s got around him. He seems pretty certain that one of them means him a mischief. Do you have any idea which one?’

I said I hadn’t, but then went on to tell him about events at Fotheringay and the strange business of the man in the Green Man mask. I even produced the silk leaf from my pouch and laid it on the table in front of him. Timothy seemed unimpressed, flicking it back to me with a careless finger.

‘Well, it appears to lend credence to Albany’s fears, at any rate. So just make sure that nothing happens to him.’ The Spymaster scraped back his chair from the table and rose. ‘We’re holding you responsible for his safety, Roger. Try to remember that. You don’t want to find yourself hanging from the end of a rope.’