The Midsummer Crown

FOURTEEN

Where I should eat my supper was a problem, not because of a lack of inns and alehouses, but because London boasted too many of them. Of the former, to name but a few, I could have my pick of The Bull and The King’s Head in Fish Street, The Paul’s Cross in Crooked Lane, The Boar’s Head and The Greyhound in East Cheap, or The Saracen’s Head near the Ald Gate, while the less salubrious drinking-dens, tucked away in side streets and alleyways were too numerous to identify. In the end, I decided on the inn known familiarly as Blossom’s, just off West Cheap; the inn of St Lawrence the Deacon, the painting of the saint’s head being surrounded by a garland of flowers, hence the nickname.

My reason for choosing Blossom’s was simple. It was the unloading point for carters, particularly those from the West Country. There, they dropped off their goods to await collection by the purchasers and refreshed themselves in the ale room until the arrival of these gentlemen and the receipt of their money. It was just possible, I told myself, but without much hope, that I might encounter someone I knew who could give me news of my family.

Imagine my joy and utter astonishment, therefore, when the first person I laid eyes on as I entered the inn courtyard was my old friend, Jack Nym.

‘Jack!’ I exclaimed in disbelief, clapping him heavily on one shoulder. ‘You here again? What is it this time? Not more Bristol red cloth for the coronation?’

He jumped violently and spun round, fists bunched. ‘Gawd!’ he muttered feelingly when he realized who it was. ‘Don’t do that, Roger. I nearly died o’ fright.’ He eyed me satirically. ‘Still here, are you, shirking your responsibilities an’ leaving that poor wife o’ yours to cope on her own as best she can.’

Annoyed, I clipped him around the ear. ‘I’m not here by my own choice, Jack! I’m here because I was sent for by the Lord Protector. Adela knows that, if you don’t.’

Jack propelled me towards the open door of the ale room. ‘Come on, I want my supper. The lord who?’

We found seats at a table occupied by only three other men, immersed in their own conversation.

‘The Lord. . the Duke of Gloucester,’ I answered irritably. ‘And I’m not shirking my responsibilities. I didn’t ask to be here.’

‘All right! All right! Keep your codpiece on! I was only teasing. You shouldn’t have startled me like that. Stupid thing to do.’ He suspended the recriminations while we ordered supper — bacon collops, sizzling hot and fried to a turn, fresh oatcakes, dripping with butter and a large beaker of ale apiece — before continuing, ‘Yes, since you ask, it is another load of Bristol red cloth I’ve just delivered for use at the coronation. But the point is, Roger — ’ and he swivelled round on the bench so that he could see me more clearly — ‘whose coronation? The young king’s or. . or someone else’s?’

I grimaced. ‘So the rumours have reached Bristol already, have they?’

‘Already?’ Jack was scathing. ‘Rumours were rife long before I left. Bristol’s not the back of beyond, lad! Second city in the kingdom! Besides, anyone who’s been within ten miles o’ Wells this past month or more, will tell you that the place is buzzing with all sorts of tales. It seems as if Bishop Stillington’s hurried departure for London almost as soon as the old king was dead set tongues wagging with a vengeance. Apparently, there have always been whispers around the town that His Grace knew something he shouldn’t. So what’s the story?’

‘How should I know?’

He snorted. ‘You know everything.’ Our food and ale arrived, and for a minute or so there was silence while we both fell to with a will and stuffed our mouths full of bacon and oatcakes. After a while, however, our appetites blunted, Jack returned to the attack. ‘Well? Are you going to tell me?’

In the face of his persistence, I gave in and repeated Bishop Stillington’s story of the late King Edward’s contract with Lady Eleanor Butler, at which he had presided, and his contention that the king’s subsequent marriage was therefore invalid.

‘Which makes all the children of the union bastards,’ I added.

I was interested to know what Jack’s reaction would be. It wasn’t long in coming.

‘Sounds like a Friday tale to me. What’s your opinion?’

I hesitated a second or so, then shook my head. ‘No. I think it’s most likely true.’ Jack looked sceptical and I hurried on, ‘For a start, it’s exactly the same tactics King Edward employed to get his way with the present queen dowager; secret ceremony, secret vows. And in addition, the panic-stricken behaviour of the whole Woodville family since the late king’s death makes me more or less certain that they knew what was coming. I tell you, Jack, that the Duke of Gloucester has been in jeopardy of his life from the moment his brother drew his last breath.’

Jack considered this while he chewed on a piece of bacon.

‘Now that I might grant you,’ he said at last ‘By all accounts there’s never been any love lost between him and Queen Elizabeth’s family. But that don’t make it right for him to depose his nephew and seize the crown for himself, that’s what I say.’

The trouble was that it was going to be what a lot of people said unless the duke made public his other belief; the belief that King Edward himself had been a bastard, the progeny of his mother’s long-ago affair with one of her Rouen archers, named Blaybourne. But that wasn’t my secret to reveal to anyone unless and until my lord of Gloucester did so himself.

‘You’re entitled to your opinion,’ I said lamely.

‘We’re all entitled to that,’ was the cheerful response as Jack called for more ale. ‘Well, now that we’ve met up, Roger, lad, we might as well make a night of it and I’ll tell you all the news from home.’

So much for my decision to go to Crosby’s Place that evening to speak to Godfrey and Lewis Fitzalan! The visit would now have to wait until the following morning. By the time Jack and I eventually parted company, he to his bed in Blossom’s Inn, I to return to mine at Baynard’s Castle, we were both pleasantly drunk. I don’t say we were legless, far from it, but we were most definitely friends with all the world. I had learned that my family were missing me, but getting along without me, thanks to my wife’s excellent management and good sense. I wasn’t quite so happy with the news that Richard Manifold had been seen in Small Street on more than one occasion, but, I told myself stoutly, I could trust Adela. (The sheriff’s officer was a former admirer of hers from bygone days, but it was me she had chosen to marry.) My former mother-in-law from my first marriage, Margaret Walker, was also busy doing what she did best; keeping an eye on, and poking her nose into, everything that was going on in Bristol, ably abetted by her two faithful henchwomen, Bess Simnel and Maria Watkins. So nothing much had changed, except for the state of nervous apprehension that seemed to have the city in thrall. Jack didn’t put it quite like that, but I knew what he meant. It was the same sense of unease that I was encountering everywhere in London.

The streets were quieter now. It was beginning to get dark, the sun disappearing behind clouds streaked with amethyst and gold, long streamers of red and orange fading to a weak and watery rose. The curfew bell had sounded half an hour since and the great gates were shut, but people still moved about within the walls as freely as in the daytime. The ancient Norman imperative of ‘couvre feu!’ no longer meant that people had to stay indoors, provided that they made no attempt to leave the city.

It was growing dusk when I arrived at Baynard’s Castle, but once again, I had no difficulty in being passed by the sentries. One of them even gave me a courteous, ‘goodnight’. The other winked knowingly and made the universal gesture to indicate that I had been out with a woman, guffawing heartily when I shook my head. As I made my way indoors and started to mount the stairs to my room, I reflected that such growing familiarity could only mean I had been here too long. I was becoming a recognizable part of the place. It was high time I solved this mystery and went home to my family. The trouble was, of course, that I was still not a whit the wiser as to Gideon Fitzalan’s whereabouts or why he had been taken than I had been when I arrived. I had learned something, but not enough.

There was still a certain amount of noise, the subdued hum of conversation from behind closed doors or from the bowels of the castle, where some unfortunates continued hard at work, stoking the great furnaces, setting the dough to rise for tomorrow’s bread or fetching and carrying at their masters’ beck and call. But in general, the staircases that led to my room were silent and deserted. I passed a couple of weary-looking pages earlier on, nearer ground level, but as I rose higher, I saw no one. Once or twice, I heard a voice in the distance, otherwise I seemed to have that part of the castle to myself. .

I don’t know what suddenly alerted me to danger, some sixth animal sense, perhaps, that never leaves us. Suffice it to say that I was within sight of the door of my room when the hairs on the nape of my neck began to lift and a shiver ran the length of my spine. I swung round just in time to see the cloaked and hooded figure emerging from the shadows at the top of that particular flight of stairs and coming straight for me, one arm raised. And I caught the glint of metal. . Whoever it was had a knife and was intent on plunging it between my shoulder blades.

I didn’t wait to exchange pleasantries. I grabbed the upraised arm with my left hand whilst hitting out with my right fist. It was not as much of a blow as I could have wished, but I had been taken by surprise and had been unable to put my full strength behind it. It was nevertheless of sufficient force to make my assailant drop the knife and to cause the hood to fall back from his head. To my disgust, however, he was wearing one of those animal masks used in plays and mummings, a cockerel’s head with feathers sticking out at the side, but before I could make a grab at it, he had wrenched his wrist out of my hold and was running down the stairs as though the Devil himself were at his heels. The knife lay where he had dropped it on the ground.

Of course I ran after him, but by the time I reached the bottom of the second flight, he was nowhere to be seen. Somehow, he had given me the slip, but I was in no mood to pursue him further. The ale that I had drunk with Jack was making my head swim and my limbs feel like lead. Only fear and shock had caused me to act with the promptitude that I had done, and now the immediate danger was past I could no longer force myself to that extra effort. All I wanted was to lie down and sleep. I would consider the situation in the morning. I climbed back to my room, bolted the door and fell on my bed fully clothed. In spite of everything, within two minutes I was asleep.

It was the first rays of morning sun, filtering between the slats of my shutters, that woke me.

My throat felt parched and my tongue seemed several sizes too large for my mouth. My breath smelled foul, my good clothes were horribly creased, and for several moments I had difficulty in remembering where I was. But gradually recognition returned. The events of the previous evening came flooding back and caused me to sit up in a hurry. This was a mistake. I groaned and clutched my head, feeling awful and convinced that I was about to throw up at any moment. After a while, however, the nausea passed and I was able to stagger to the window where I threw open the shutters and stuck my head outside. A few bracing gulps of air — one could hardly call it fresh on this particular stretch of the Thames — were enough to bring me completely to my senses.

I sat down again on the edge of the bed and considered what had happened. Someone had tried to kill me. The question was who and why? Strictly speaking, of course, that was two questions, but I felt they were really one. Discover who and I might know why. Discover why and I might know who. It did suggest to me, however, that perhaps I knew more than I thought I did, but the idea did little to cheer me, because for the life of me I had no notion what it was that I knew. There was one thing, though. Whoever had attacked me was going to have a very nasty bruise on his face. Those masks were flimsy, made of little more than stiffened paper and paint, not sufficient protection against the sort of punch that I had landed.

After a while, feeling a little more like my old self, I slid off the bed and reached up to the shelf just inside the door where the candle and tinderbox were kept. Here I had placed the weapon my assailant had dropped before he fled, but close examination of it in daylight revealed nothing more than had the darkness of the night before. It was an ordinary black-handled, long-bladed knife of the sort to be found in any kitchen. No doubt there were scores of them in Baynard’s Castle; far too many, at any rate, for it to be noticed if one went missing. Frustrated, I replaced it on the shelf.

I stripped to hose and a shirt and descended to the courtyard to take my turn at the pumps, before proceeding to one of the sculleries to collect a jug of hot shaving water. Returning to my room — by which time, of course, the water was rapidly cooling — I scraped the stubble from my chin with a knife that was badly in need of sharpening, cleaned my teeth after a fashion, combed my hair and struggled into my other suit of decent clothes before going in search of breakfast.

I looked for Piers amongst those already gnawing away on yesterday’s stale oatmeal biscuits and grumbling about the thinness of the gruel, but there was no sign of him. I wanted his opinion on the events of last night, but although I hung around for as long as I could, I eventually had to cede my place at one of the tables to the importuning of latecomers, the hall being by now packed to capacity. I did ask a number of people if they knew of his whereabouts, but his name was unknown to most of them. The one or two that did recognize it merely shrugged, saying they hadn’t seen him; and remembering Piers’s dislike of sleeping anywhere near his fellow men, this was hardly surprising. Foiled, I at last set out for Crosby’s Place to fulfil my mission of the previous evening; to speak to Godfrey and Lewis Fitzalan.

This was easier said than done. Crosby’s Place was a hive of activity, busier than I, at least, had ever known it.

Even as I approached the main gate, I was thrust unceremoniously back against the wall by a man-at-arms in the Gloucester livery, to allow a horseman, similarly attired, to gallop off in the opposite direction. I recognized him — the horseman, that is — as Sir Richard Ratcliffe, one of my lord Gloucester’s innermost circle of friends, a Yorkshire man to his fingertips and therefore trusted by the duke.

The next obstacle to be surmounted was the gatekeeper who eyed me suspiciously and refused to accept the statement of my business as a reason to let me pass.

‘Where’s your authority? How do I know you’re who you say you are? You might be any pisspot trying to get in. And who are these men you say you want to see? I don’t know of any Fitzwhatsits. Mind you,’ he added fair-mindedly, ‘that don’t mean they ain’t here. Never seen such a crowd in all me born days. The comings, the goings, the to-ings and froings, it’s driving me mad, I can tell you. So you just hop it, my lad, and come back again when you’ve a warrant.’

‘Look-’ I was beginning angrily when, by the greatest of good fortune, Timothy Plummer bustled up to the gate to enquire if Sir Richard Ratcliffe had already left. Upon being told that he had, the spymaster swore fluently and turned to go back the way he had come, whereupon I shouted as loudly as I could in order to attract his attention.

He stopped in mid-stride and glanced over his shoulder. ‘Roger? What are you doing here?’

I explained that I wanted to speak to Godfrey and Lewis Fitzalan. ‘But this fool — ’ I indicated the gatekeeper — ‘won’t let me in.’

The man began to defend his actions with a wealth of angry gesticulation, but Timothy cut him short.

‘That’s all right. I can vouch for this man.’ He motioned me inside and led me in the direction of the house, sending a harassed pageboy to discover the twins’ whereabouts and to bring them to me as soon as possible.

‘And don’t take “no” for an answer,’ was his parting shot as the boy scuttled away. ‘Tell ’em Master Chapman’s here on the duke’s business.’ He waved me to a cushioned window seat in one of the ante-rooms, then sank down wearily beside me. ‘I don’t know if I’m on my head or my heels, Roger. I don’t think any of us do. So much is happening all at once.’ He dropped his voice to a whisper, even though there was no one to overhear us. ‘Hastings will be executed tomorrow, Friday. Oh, don’t look so disapproving: he’s been given a fair trial and a chance to speak in his own defence. But he admits there was a plot to overthrow the Protector. Jane Shore will have to do penance for her part in the proceedings. But that’s about it. In my opinion — and in the opinion of a lot of other people, I might tell you — the duke’s been far too lenient with the other conspirators.’

‘Oh?’ I said curiously. ‘In what way? What’s happened to them?’

‘Nothing. Well, not much. Archbishop Rotheram’s been imprisoned, but it’s my guess that he won’t be incarcerated for long. The duke has too much respect for the Church. That bastard Stanley has been handed over to his wife, who’s to stand surety for his future good behaviour-’

‘But she’s Henry Tudor’s mother!’ I objected incredulously.

Timothy nodded grimly ‘Quite so. But that’s Duke Richard all over. As ruthless as an avenging angel one minute and soft as duck down the next, completely oblivious to his own self-interest. He hasn’t even ordered the execution of that snake-in-the-grass, John Morton, simply given him into the safe keeping of the Duke of Buckingham, who’s packed him off to his castle at Brecknock. That’s in Wales,’ he added condescendingly.

‘I know where fucking Brecknock is,’ I snapped, but hurried on before a wrangle could develop. ‘Is the duke mad, allowing those three to walk free like this? Perhaps not free, but compared with his old comrade-in-arms, Hastings, as good as.’

‘I’ve told you, he ain’t predictable.’ Timothy lowered his voice even further, although the room was still empty. ‘While you were waiting at the gate, did you see a man ride out of here?’

‘Yes. Sir Richard Ratcliffe. Why?’

‘He’s bound for the north with orders for Rivers, Grey and Vaughan to be tried and executed. They’re all to be taken to Pontefract to be beheaded.’

There was a protracted silence. Then I asked again, ‘Why? Surely they present no further threat to His Highness? That plot failed with the upset at Northampton. Their teeth have been drawn.’

My companion drew a deep breath. His voice now was the merest whisper. ‘Myself, I think it’s revenge for Clarence’s death. My lord has always been convinced that the Woodvilles persuaded the late king to sign the death warrant; that without their intervention, Edward would have pardoned his brother. And this revelation of Bishop Stillington has confirmed his conviction. I tell you, Roger, Duke Richard is a wonderful master and the most faithful of friends, but my advice is, whatever you do, don’t make an enemy of him. He can be a dangerous man.’

I vaguely recalled the Duke of Albany once saying something similar which, at the time, I had dismissed as spite. But maybe the Scot had known his cousin better than I had thought.

Before I was able to make any rejoinder, however, the door to the ante-room opened and the page ushered in Godfrey and Lewis Fitzalan. Neither appeared to be in a very good humour.

‘What’s all this about?’ the former demanded truculently, addressing me and ignoring Timothy. ‘Lewis and I have told you everything we know concerning our nephew’s disappearance, chapman.’ I noticed wryly that I was no longer worthy of the courtesy of ‘Master’. ‘The Protector has work for us to do. We can ill be spared at this present.’

His twin nodded in agreement.

Timothy rose majestically to his feet. In spite of his lack of inches, he could impose his presence on a room when he was so minded.

‘I think you’ll find, sirs,’ he said, ‘that His Grace regards your nephew’s abduction as a serious matter, and one which he is very anxious to have resolved. He’ll be extremely displeased, take it from me, if you fail to give Master Chapman — ’ was there the faintest emphasis on my title? — ‘all the help he needs.’

Godfrey flushed angrily and Lewis looked resentful, but they nevertheless stood aside respectfully for the spymaster to leave the room, which he did with magnificent aplomb. Fortunately, neither noticed the wink he gave as he passed me.

‘Well, master,’ Godfrey asked impatiently as the door closed behind Timothy, ‘what do you want to know?’

‘I want to ask if either one of you can think of anything — anything at all, however trivial — that might account for Gideon having been taken? Ransom is clearly not the reason, therefore why him? Whoever snatched him was prepared to go to the length of killing the person he was with in order to make certain of his abduction.’

The brothers seemed somewhat taken aback by this request, but after a moment or two, when I thought they were going to laugh it to scorn, they relented and gave it their serious consideration. In other words, they hummed and hawed a lot and screwed up their faces to give the impression that they were doing a deal of thinking, but all without any result. I don’t really know that I had expected any, but there had always been a faint chance that one of them might dredge up something, some little known, half-forgotten fact, from the depths of memory.

It was a forlorn hope.

‘The truth is that neither of us had much to do with Gideon,’ Lewis admitted at last.

‘Better acquainted with his brothers,’ Godfrey added.

‘Although not much,’ his twin amended. ‘Oddly enough, we’ve no children of our own, but our five brothers more than make up for our lack. We’ve a whole flock of nephews, Master Chapman — ’ he was careful to address me formally, but there was a derisive gleam in his eyes — ‘and keeping track of them all is difficult.’

Godfrey nodded his agreement. ‘You’d do much better to talk to Bevis or young Blaise. They’re the two of Pomfret’s brood nearest to Gideon in age.’

‘Unfortunately,’ I said, ‘they are no longer at Baynard’s Castle. They’ve gone to attend upon the king in the royal apartments at the Tower.’

‘Surely there’s no problem with that,’ Lewis protested. ‘You seem to have the ear of the duke, or at least of that pompous little spymaster of his. I’ve no doubt you could obtain the necessary authorization to speak to the boys if you wanted to.’

This had already occurred to me, and as it was obvious that I should get nothing from the twins of any value — indeed, it had been plain from the start that they knew of nothing that could help me — I let them go and went to seek out Timothy. He, however, had vanished to attend to business of his own, and my request to other ducal officials for a word with the Lord Protector was treated with scorn. It was the lawyer, William Catesby, last seen by me (although he did not know it) in a house in Old Dean’s Lane, who came to my rescue. Overhearing yet another of my pleas to an over-officious lackey, he took me in charge.

‘Come with me, Master Chapman. I know who you are and I know that His Grace will wish to see you.’

I was unaware of it at the time, but I later learned that this unassuming man had just been made Chancellor of the Earldom of March, but I should never have guessed it from his demeanour. His quiet friendliness was in stark contrast to the brusque treatment I had suffered at the hands of inferiors. Within a very short space of time, I was being ushered once again into the duke’s presence.

He came forward to greet me, hand outstretched, and as I knelt to kiss it, I was conscious of an air of suppressed excitement about him. Looking up into his face, I noticed a glitter in his eyes that I could not remember ever having seen before. He had lost his usual pallor and seemed suddenly taller. In spite of his lack of height, he dominated the room.

‘Roger! Have you solved this mystery for me? Do you know what has happened to young Gideon Fitzalan?’

‘Not yet, my lord. But,’ I added, thankful to be able to report some progress, ‘I do know how Gregory Machin’s body came to be found in a locked room.’

He waved me to a chair and sat down himself, listening attentively while I explained the details to him. He always had the ability to concentrate on one thing at a time, no matter how many others were vying for his attention. When I had finished, he took a deep breath and nodded.

‘Now you put me in mind of it, I believe I have heard of such cases. Death is not instantaneous even though the wound is fatal. Well, that would appear to be one part of the mystery solved. But where is Gideon Fitzalan? His uncles tell me that no ransom has been demanded of his father.’

‘No, my lord. Why he has been taken is as great a riddle as where he is being held. Which is why I am asking for your authority to question his brothers. They are at present at the Tower, in attendance upon the. . the. .’ For some reason, I was totally unable to pronounce the word ‘king’.

‘The lord Edward,’ he finished for me.

My gaze jerked up to meet his. The eyes glittered more than ever and the thin lips curved into a triumphant smile. And yet it was the same sweet smile that I had always known. I realized then that he truly believed himself to be the rightful king. And in my heart, I agreed with him.

But I knew that there were hundreds who wouldn’t.