The Plymouth Cloak

CHAPTER 2

There was silence for perhaps ten seconds before the Duke spoke again. When he did so his voice was a little sharper, a little more urgent.

'You understand that what I am about to tell you is of the greatest secrecy; that I trust you implicitly.' He gave a faint, wintry smile. 'Until Timothy Plummer mentioned to my secretary that he had seen you in Exeter earlier this morning, I was at my wits' end to know what to do. Whom to employ.' He shrugged and added bitterly: 'It's not easy nowadays to put faith in anyone.' And I knew that he was thinking yet again of his brother George, and possibly also of that other George, his cousin, the Archbishop of York, now immured in Hammes Castle.

I said quickly: 'Your Grace need have no fear. You can trust me implicitly.'

'If I were not convinced of that fact I should not be talking to you. Your presence here is fortuitous, but it seems like an answer to prayer. And who knows? It may well be.'

I guessed that he was probably right. God was calling in the second part of the debt I owed him for renouncing the chance to become one of his priests. I determined to have a brisk word with the Almighty; to ask Him just how long this was likely to go on, but now was neither the time nor the place. Instead I smiled, albeit with clenched teeth, and murmured: 'God moves in mysterious ways, Your Highness.'

The Duke glanced at me, a trifle suspiciously I thought, and then went on: 'You cannot be unaware of the rumours of invasion which have been plaguing the country all spring and summer; of the fact that Duke Francis is said to be backing Henry Tudor's claim to the English throne and is ready to send a contingent of Breton ships and men to reinforce that claim. Even as we speak, the Earl of Oxford is cruising in mid-Channel, waiting for the opportunity to attack yet again somewhere along our shores.' He lowered his eyes and began fiddling with his rings, slipping one of them repeatedly on and off his thumb. 'Nor can you be ignorant of the fact that … that certain people very close to the King and myself have been implicated in this treason. In short, my brother and my cousin. ' There was a protracted pause, then he raised his eyes and continued more cheerfully: 'However, the King and I are by no means convinced of Duke Francis' s complicity in this matter. Not one of our agents, either in Brest or St Malo, has reported seeing anything which could be construed as an invasion fleet. Nevertheless, we have decided to dispatch a messenger to Brittany with a letter for the Duke.' Again he shrugged. 'Its contents are of no consequence either to you or to the man selected for the task. Suffice it to say that certain assurances have been asked for and promises made. But it is vital that the letter reaches its destination safely.' He rested his elbows on the arms of his chair and regarded me straitly above his clasped hands. 'You are wondering what your part is in all this. Let me explain. '

I was indeed wondering and, for a few brief, panic stricken seconds, had been afraid that I was the selected messenger. But a moment of reflection soon allayed my fears. For such a mission it was necessary to employ a man who knew Brittany well and was familiar to its Duke. This could not apply to me who, at that time, had never left the country and knew nothing of life beyond seas. I muttered something indistinctly and hoped that Duke Richard would mistake it for enthusiasm.

He went on: 'The man chosen by His Grace, the King, for this extremely important errand is one known to us and one whom we have used before.' He unclasped his hands and got up abruptly, going to stand by the burnt-out fire, staring down into the embers. After a while, he said in a rasping lone: 'His name is Philip Underdown and I do not altogether trust him. He has an unsavoury past and therefore many enemies. My brother thinks I'm too nice, but I should prefer it if we did not have to use such people. But beggars can't be choosers, and the very nature of the work demands a certain deviousness of character not to be found among honest men. He raised his head and turned it once more in my direction., As I said just now, there are many people who wish Philip Underdown harm, and it will be your job to ensure that he gets safely to Plymouth and see that he embarks on the ship waiting to carry him to Brittany.'

'But … But why does Your Grace not send an armed escort with him?' I stuttered. 'Surely your soldiers are able to provide him with better protection than I can?'

The Duke smiled faintly as he returned to his chair; a smile which gently mocked my naivety. 'And advertise to every enemy agent that here is a King's messenger going on an important mission to the Breton court? Our purpose would be divined immediately, Duke Francis forewarned and his mind poisoned against our proposals before our messenger had even set foot on Breton soil. King Louis of France would see to that, even if Jasper Tudor and his adherents failed to do so. No; the King would prefer his letter to remain a secret until it is placed in Duke Francis's own hands, where he can read its contents without bias. So I want Philip Underdown protected until he is safely aboard the Falcon, which will be waiting for him in Plymouth harbour the day after next. After that, your responsibility will be at an end and you may return here to collect your pack. It will be taken care of for you while you are away. You will leave this afternoon and spend the night at Buckfast Abbey, setting out again early tomorrow morning, which should allow you time enough to arrive in Plymouth before nightfall.' A sudden thought struck him and he asked with some anxiety: 'You can ride?'

A firm denial might have been my chance to extricate myself from a task which I was beginning to view with the deepest dismay and apprehension. But honesty, together with the feeling that God had, for some particular reason, singled me out for this mission, forced me to admit: 'A little. I used to ride the plough horses when I was a lad, either with or without the ploughman's permission.'

The Duke laughed. 'In that case, we must find you a nice quiet mount for your journey and hope that the experience doesn't prove too painful.' He rose to his feet, walked across to the door and opened it, speaking to someone outside for several minutes before coming back and sitting down again. 'Now, are there any questions you wish to ask me?'

There were dozens, but the most burning was who exactly was threatening Philip Underdown? The Duke was unable to give a satisfactory answer.

'Maybe no one, or there may be several different sources of danger, as I have already hinted. There must be many people from his past life who wish him ill, and it would be naive to imagine that his work for my brother and myself during recent years has passed completely unnoticed. We ourselves are perfectly well aware of the identity of a number of foreign and Lancastrian agents working in this' country. Some have been arrested, others left to continue with their work. That way we are able to confuse our enemies with false information.’ He smiled sadly. 'I can tell by the expression on your face that this world of intrigue and deception is new to you. I only wish I could have left your innocence intact, but alas, I need you. I have sent for Philip Underdown and he will be here shortly, as soon as my men can rout him out from whatever tavern he is in at present.' There was yet another pause, and it seemed to me that the Duke was turning something over in his mind, something of importance. But when he spoke again, all he said was: 'You say you rode plough horses as a boy. Who was rich enough to employ horses rather than oxen?'

'The Bishop of Bath and Wells,' I remarked, venturing on, a conspiratorial grin. His earlier remark about Bishops and their creature comforts emboldened me to believe he would share my wry amusement. Instead, my remark appeared to launch him on a further train of thought, and for several moments there was absolute silence between us. Finally, his eyes sought and found mine. He rubbed the side of his nose With one long, slender finger.

'I must be honest with you, much as it goes against the grain. There is possibly another source of danger threatening Philip Underdown. He has recently been in the company of my brother, the Duke of Clarence, who … who believes him to be an agent of the Tudors. You see what a double game we are forced to play!' He drew a deep breath which caught in his throat. It was obvious, to me at any rate, that he was extremely fond of this difficult elder brother, in spite of all that George of Clarence had done in the way of personal enmity, treachery and betrayal. Duke Richard went on: 'What I am about to say is for your ears only, to be discussed with no one. But I feel in the circumstances that it is only fair to tell you, as I am making you responsible for Philip Underdown's safety. My brother George has a secret, if one may call it that, for he is incapable of keeping anything totally to himself. Hints, innuendoes, knowing remarks all advertise to anyone interested that he knows something they do not. I have made it plain to him that whatever he knows, or thinks he knows, I want no part in it; but even so, I have been unable to escape the knowledge that it concerns something to the discredit of the Queen's family. Now, the Woodvilles are very powerful, as you may well know, and have their spies and agents everywhere. There is bound to be at least one in the Duke of Clarence's household, but he is heedless of the danger and thinks himself, as the King's brother, immune to the Woodvilles' reprisals; And perhaps for now he is. But other people are not, and it is my fear that he may have imparted his knowledge — or suspicions — to Philip Underdown as a presumed agent of the Tudors. If this is so, the Queen's family will have heard about it and they, too, may be seeking to destroy him. This is speculation on my part, but I tell you so that you may be even more on your guard.'

I digested this new information and came to the conclusion that it was danger from this particular source which was the real reason behind the Duke's concern for his messenger's safety. It was on the tip of my tongue to demand why he did not ask this Philip Underdown straight out if the Duke of Clarence had confided any dangerous information to him. Then I realized that he could not depend on receiving an honest answer. A man who was playing one devious game would not shrink from playing two. I sighed. It was evident that I was going to have my work cut out protecting this shady character. I was not looking forward to the next couple of days.

The door opened and Timothy Plummer reappeared. He shot me a brief, curious glance before bowing to the Duke and announcing: 'Master Philip Underdown.'

The man who entered the room had all my attention, although he merely bestowed on me a quick flick of his very dark eyes. These were of that deep brown which is almost black; of a density of colour that disguises expression and makes the thoughts behind them difficult to read. His hair, thick and curling over the well-shaped head, was equally dark, his skin swarthy. He was tall and powerfully built; a man who looked more than capable of giving a good account of himself in a fight. I began to feel my part in his protection was unnecessary, until I reflected that no man can meet danger head-on and also guard his back. I rose and pulled myself up to the full extent of my own considerable height.

The Duke was completely dwarfed between us, although, strangely, I did not realize it at the time. His was the presence which still dominated the room, nor did he himself seem aware of his lack of inches.

'Philip,' he said quietly, 'this is an old friend of mine, Roger Chapman. He will ride with you to Plymouth and see you safely aboard the Falcon. If there is any trouble, he will be there to help you.'

Philip Underdown's heavy eyebrows had risen at the introduction, and his mocking glance became slightly more respectful as he assessed my size and fighting capabilities. Nevertheless, his tone was dry as he asked: 'You're an expert with the sword and daggers?'

The colour flooded my face. In those days I blushed easily, and with my fair skin it was impossible to conceal the fact. All the same, I answered steadily; 'I've never learned the art of swordsmanship, but I'm expert with a cudgel. You have to be on the open road. Mine is downstairs with my pack, or I should be happy to give you a demonstration.'

'Not in my presence, Roger,' the Duke reproved gently. 'But we both take your word for your proficiency. Isn't that sort of stout cudgel known as a Plymouth Cloak in this part of the country?'

'It is, Your Grace. They say that the first thing travellers do, when landing at Plymouth from abroad, is to cut themselves the biggest branch they can find from the nearest tree because of the number of rogues and cut-purses and outlaws who attack them while crossing Dartmoor.'

The Duke laughed. 'A fine commentary on the state of our royal highways in Devon. The old name for it was Dyvnaint — the land of the dark valleys. It seems that those dark valleys still remain and are put to good use by criminals. I must speak to my brother the King about it when an opportunity arises. Meanwhile, I trust your Plymouth Cloak is sufficient protection for you.'

'Properly handled, it can crack a man's skull wide open or break his legs. Your Grace need have no fears on that score. I am well able to take care of myself.'

'Good. Then I think that is all. Roger, as I have already indicated, you will leave your pack here and collect it when you return. You will-both take your dinner in the Bishop's kitchen and travel this afternoon as far as Buckfast Abbey, where you will seek asylum for the night. Tomorrow, Friday, you will press on to Plymouth, and by high tide on Saturday the Falcon should be lying in Sutton Pool, ready to take you, Philip, on board and carry you to St Malo.' The Duke turned to me. 'I should like a few moments alone with Philip. Wait in the ante-room for him. God be with you, Roger. 1 am once again in your debt. '

I bowed and went out, closing the door carefully behind me. A young man sat at a table in the outer room, busy with some papers. I recognized him from my visit two years before to Baynard's Castle in London as the Duke's secretary, John Kendall. He glanced up and nodded me towards a bench against one wall, before bending his head again over his work. He was dressed for travelling, ready to accompany his master on the first stage of his journey northward that afternoon. I should have liked to talk, to bring into the open some of the doubts and fears buzzing around inside my head; to have discussed the unexpected turn which my fortunes had taken. But he plainly had no wish to be disturbed, so I sat mumchance, staring down at my feet and only glancing up when the outer door opened.

At first, I thought it was a child who stood silhouetted against the bustle of the corridor beyond. Then I realized that it was a man, a dwarf, wearing the blue-and-murrey livery of the Duke of Gloucester. He was a little over three feet high and moved with the ungainliness of all his kind, the result of a body too heavy for the stunted legs. And his eyes held that sad, lost look that I have since seen in the eyes of other dwarfs; bewilderment mingled with outrage at the cruel joke played on them by Nature, making them the butt of their fellow men.

At that time, however, this was the first dwarf I had encountered at close quarters, although I had seen one or two at a distance. It was very fashionable then, and had peen for some years, for the rich and well-to-do to employ the services of at least one midget in their households; to pet and pamper and kick and abuse them according to mood and fancy. These little men acted as pages, train-bearers and, on occasions, jesters. In some houses, they were treated as little more than pet dogs.

John Kendall raised his head and said irritably: 'Not now, Paolo. His Grace is busy.'

The dwarf broke into a spate of rapid Italian — at least, I presumed it to be Italian because of its similarity to Latin and also because of the man's name. The secretary curbed his annoyance with an obvious effort and replied courteously in the same tongue. (I doubt if the Duke ever knowingly tolerated unkindness towards one another among his personal servants. The ones I met were all devoted to him.) The little man shrugged and was turning to go when the door to the inner room opened and Duke Richard emerged, followed closely by Philip Underdown. John Kendall and I sprang hurriedly to our feet. As I sketched an obeisance, I caught sight of Paolo's face.

He was looking not at the Duke, but beyond him, at his companion, with an expression compounded of hatred and fear. As I watched, Philip Underdown's eyes singled him out with a glance of mocking comprehension, then slid away again, as though the dwarf were of no more interest or importance than one of the late autumn flies which had entered through the open casement and were now buzzing drowsily about the room.

The Duke's eyebrows rose when he saw the dwarf, and John Kendall hastened to explain.

'Paolo wondered if Your Grace wished him to go with the advance party this afternoon, or to wait and follow with the rest of the baggage wagons tomorrow.'

Duke Richard smiled affectionately at the little man. 'Wait, Paolo. You would find it too tiring to come with us today.' He nodded dismissal and turned once more to me, holding out his hand. 'I shall not be here when you return, Roger Chapman, but you have my grateful thanks now and always. Once again, God be with you. I must go now. I am promised to dine with Bishop Bothe at eleven o'clock, so I shall leave you and Master Underdown to get better acquainted.'