The Plymouth Cloak

CHAPTER 6

Neither of us slept well that night. To begin with, we were not tired. A day spent lazing in our room, with nothing to do but eat and doze, had left us wide awake and full of energy.

Both of us were men used to hard work and constant activity, and such a state of idleness did not agree with our constitution.

Over and above that, however, the Falcon's failure to arrive on time was an irritating delay which we could well have done without, disliking as we did each other' s company. But even that we might have endured with stoicism — for there are many reasons why a ship can be detained at sea — had it not been for my growing conviction that someone had been spying on us at the quayside.

My first inclination had been to blame an overheated imagination, but the more I thought about it, the more convinced I became that I had indeed seen a man loitering in the mouth of the alleyway.

'Then where did he go?" Philip demanded, with all the truculence of one willing himself not to believe. 'You say that when you looked, there was no one there.'

'There were plenty of houses for him to step inside, on both sides of the street.'

Philip Underdown snorted. 'Hovels, all of them. A finical man like our friend from the Abbey would be disinclined to trust himself inside one of those.' He laughed mockingly. 'He might dirty his fine clothes.'

But he was talking to convince himself. He knew as well as I did that if the man were a hired assassin, or a Woodville retainer, the fine clothes and delicate deportment were nothing more than a blind to mislead us. Such a man would not be put off by the consideration of muddying his dress.

These thoughts continued to haunt us throughout the evening, and proved the basis for a spasmodic, but acrimonious, discussion as we sat in our bedchamber, listening to the shouts and noisy laughter drifting up from the aleroom downstairs. And although these grated on our overstretched nerves, the comparative silence which followed the curfew bell was even worse. We finished the ale which the obliging Moll had brought us, and decided that it was time to sleep, neither of us anticipating much success.

Strangely enough, I was asleep almost before my head touched the pillow, but immediately I began to dream. It was the same dream! had had a month or so earlier, in the Hospital of St Cross, in Winchester. I could again feel the wind on my face as I walked slowly forward beneath the interlacing trees, see the crescent moon above the clouds, feel the rough, stony path beneath my feet. And I was seized by the same all-pervading fear as I stumbled over the body…

I awoke once more in a state of sweat and panic, unsure for the moment of my surroundings. Then I heaved myself out of bed and crossed the room to open the shutters, which gave on to the yard at the back of the inn, taking in great gulps of salt sea air.

'What is it? What's the matter?'

I turned my head to make out Philip Underdown, his feet already out of bed, his dagger clasped in his right hand.

'Nothing,' I said, feeling rather foolish. 'A nightmare, that's all. I've suffered from them since childhood.' My description was not strictly accurate, but I felt that to tell the truth, that my dreams were often like glimpses into the future, would be to lay myself open to even more of his contempt and scorn. As it was, he laughed derisively before lying down again.

'An uneasy conscience, perhaps,' he suggested, not without malice.

'Perhaps.' I was in no mood to argue. I leaned out to reclose the shutters, when I noticed, for the first time, the slip of crescent moon hanging above the chimney-pots of the town. The sense of foreboding gripped me yet again and I shivered. A breeze had sprung up, blowing in from the harbour, and as I reached for the second shutter, the noise of creaking wood sounded from somewhere below me. Glancing down, I saw that the shutters of the room immediately under ours were swinging wide on their hinges. Someone had prised them open in order to enter the inn.

'He's here!' I hissed at Philip. 'He's in the house! There's no time to get help or try to trap him. Push one of the beds across the door.'

He needed no second bidding; and even as we manoeuvred his bed into position, there was a tell-tale groan from one of the stairs. It was a tread somewhere in the middle of the flight, and I had noticed its board was loose as we returned to our room yesterday afternoon. Moments later, the latch of the bedchamber door was quietly lifted and the door eased inwards, only to come up against the unyielding barrier of the bed. There was a second's pause before it was tried again; then, to the accompaniment of a faint, muffled curse, we heard footsteps retreating hurriedly down the stairs. I moved rapidly to the window and leaned out, hoping to catch a glimpse of-the intruder, but he used the front door, as we discovered when we went in search of assistance, leaving it unbolted and standing open.

John Penryn, roused from sleep, was grimly apologetic, particularly when it was found that the downstairs shutter had been left unbarred, an oversight of which our enemy had taken full advantage. He must have been prowling round the inn, trying all the doors and windows; and had I not been awake yet again, we would have had a repetition of the incident at Buckfast, this time, perhaps, with fatal results.

After we had returned to our room, Philip to sleep in my bed and I in his, where he had replaced it across the doorway, I lay awake for a long time, thinking. Was tonight's intruder Silas Bywater, who had managed to return to Plymouth well ahead of the time expected by getting a ride from a passing carter? Alternatively, was he our assailant of the Abbey, and if so, who was he and what was he after? Was he an agent of the Woodvilles? In which case, he was more concerned with taking Philip's life than with the letter he was carrying. Or was he working for the Lancastrian dissidents, whose main aim must be to prevent Duke Francis of Brittany withdrawing his support from Henry Tudor? And to that end, King Edward's conciliatory missive had to be prevented from arriving.

There was, of course, a third possibility; that tonight's interloper had been neither Silas nor the gentleman of Buckfast, but a different assailant altogether, who, in his turn, might be either a Woodville or a Lancastrian agent…

My head began to spin, and in spite of myself, I slept.

I awoke feeling neither refreshed nor rested, to find Philip Underdown already up and dressed. The girl, Moll, was tapping at the door, calling out that she had our shaving water and breakfast outside, but could not get in. Quickly I pulled on my boots and jacket and helped my companion move the bed back to its normal place.

We shaved first, before the water cooled, but my blackhandled knife needed sharpening and I was left with almost as much stubble as I had started with. Philip cut himself twice. We ate little, our appetites diminished by worry and the uncertainties of another day. It was, moreover, Sunday, and the church bells were already summoning people to Mass.

A sharp knock at the bedchamber door made us both jump, such was the state of our nerves after the events of the previous night. But it was only John Penryn.

'There's a man downstairs, asking for you by name,' he said to Philip. 'He said to give you this.'

Philip took the silver disc which the landlord held out to him and laid it down on his bed with a sigh of relief. I could just make out from where I was sitting that it was engraved with a coat-of-arms.

'Let him come up,' he said. 'He's a King's Messenger, like me.'

I stood up. 'We'll come down, if you can find us a comer of the ale-room where we shan't be overheard or disturbed.' I met Philip's furious gaze calmly. 'There will be safety in numbers. I don't suppose it's impossible to steal one of those tokens, or to obtain it by other nefarious means. If the landlord here and a couple of his men will stay within call, I shall feel safer.'

John Penryn gave me his backing, but in the event our caution was unnecessary. No sooner did Philip clap eyes on the other man than he hailed him by name.

'Simon Whitehead, what brings you to Plymouth?' The newcomer, a short, sturdy man whose hair was so fair as to be nearly white, and whose eyelashes were almost invisible, motioned us both to sit opposite him at a table in the furthest comer of the ale-room from the door, where the landlord had placed him. Three mazers of ale stood ready for us, together with a dish of oatcakes. John Penryn and the two tapsters with him were waved away, and, satisfied that no danger threatened, they departed about the morning's business.

Simon Whitehead nodded at me. 'Who's he?' he asked suspiciously.

'It's all right. He's the Duke of Gloucester's man," Philip answered, feeling, no doubt, that any other explanation would take too long. 'You can talk in front of him. Where have you come from and how did you know I was here? You've obviously come to find me.'

'I was on the King's business in Falmouth when news arrived that the Earl of Oxford has invested St Michael's Mount. Three days ago, on the last day of September.' Ignoring our exclamations of astonishment and horror, Simon Whitehead recruited his strength with a gulp of ale and continued: 'Apparently he'd anchored in Mount's Bay, and then he and his followers — not above a hundred men in all, so I've been reliably informed- disguised themselves as pilgrims, with cloaks and broad-brimmed hats, waited for low tide and walked across the causeway as bold as you please. Said they were a group of palmers who had arrived by sea — true enough, I suppose — to make their offering at the shrine.' Simon snorted in exasperation.' They were admitted without any questions being asked, and on reaching the upper court, threw off their cloaks, drew their swords — and that was that. They've expelled the monks and the garrison, and sent out raiding parties into the neighbouring villages for food. It goes without saying that they'll try to stir up insurrection, but I'll be surprised if they succeed. A few disaffected men perhaps, but no great numbers. Nevertheless, Sir Henry Bodrugan and the Sheriff, Sir John Arundel, have ordered all ships in the area to remain where they are for the time being, while messengers are despatched to London to inform the King of what has happened, and to receive his instructions. This, of course, includes the Falcon, which on Thursday was anchored in Falmouth roads. Is indeed still anchored there, awaiting developments. Fortunately, the Master knew me to be lodged in the town and had himself rowed ashore the following day in order to ask me to carry an urgent message, letting you know of the delay. Like me, he believes that King Edward will issue pressing orders for him to continue with his mission, but until these orders are actually received, the Master dare not disobey Sir Henry or Sir John.'

'And in the meantime?' Philip Underdown's tones were clipped; his eyes held fear.

Simon Whitehead took a swig of ale and helped himself to another oatcake.

'You stay here.' He shrugged. 'The Turk's Head offers a comfortable enough billet. John Penryn will ask no questions.

It will probably be only a matter of days.'

'No.' Philip slammed his empty mazer down on the table with a ferocity that made the other man jump. 'I'll not stay here. There have been two attempts on my life the past two nights, and I'll not remain tamely waiting for a third.' The landlord, who was attending to our wants himself, overheard the last remark as he approached our table with a second jug of ale.

'There are always the cellars,' he reminded Philip quietly. When the other man shook his head vehemently, he added: 'No ghosts. Just the best ale and wine this side of the Tavy.'

'And the duty not paid on any of it, I'll be bound,' Simon Whitehead said, grinning.

John Penryn gave an answering grin, but made no comment, merely glancing in inquiry at Philip.

My companion was adamant. 'No, I tell you! I'll not be mewed up down there.' And he gave a slight, almost imperceptible shiver. 'Why should I endure such discomfort?' 'Then we stay in our room,' I said, 'until such time as the Falcon drops anchor in the Cattewater. We can drag one bed across the door, as we did last night, and answer it to no one but Master Penryn or Moll. We should be sufficiently safe to guard against any intruder.' But I have to admit that my heart sank as I made the suggestion. Five, possibly six, days of Philip Underdown's company in what would virtually be a prison was more than I could contemplate with any equanimity. And it would be all of that before the Sheriff's messengers could get to London and the King, even riding day and night, and bear his answer back again. And even when that was accomplished, the Falcon had still to sail up the coast to Plymouth.

It was almost with relief that I heard Philip say: 'No! I’ll not put up with it!' He looked at Simon Whitehead. 'Are you returning to Falmouth?'

The other man glanced obliquely at the landlord, who circumspectly withdrew leaving the jug of ale on the table.

Simon refilled his mazer and answered: 'I must. I have unfinished business there. Why? What is it you want me to do?'

'Get a message to the Master of the Falcon. Tell him I shall be in Plymouth again a week from today. Until then, I intend to lie up at Trenowth Manor, across the Tamar. Roger and I will leave tonight and cross by the ferry. After that, we ride northward under cover of darkness, arriving at Trenowth in time for breakfast.'

I knit my brows. 'And what tale do you tell the goodman of the house for wishing to remain a sennight under his roof?. The weather is not yet severe enough to provide excuse.'

'I shall tell Sir Peveril the truth. He and his lady are sworn supporters of the House of York. They'll not fail us.' Simon Whitehead chewed his lower lip. 'I happen to know that Sir Peveril and Lady Trenowth have been in London since August, and mean to stay there until the winter.'

'All the better. We can think of a story to satisfy the servants, and in any case they won't ask too many questions.

This time of year, when the travelling minstrels and jugglers and acrobats are all settling into their winter quarters, life on the manor starts to get boring. They'll be glad of any distraction, and the women will be particularly pleased to see a fine young fellow like Roger here.' Philip smiled suddenly, his teeth showing whitely against his tanned skin. 'And of course, I shall be delighted to make any woman free of my company, whatever her age.'

'You're familiar with Trenowth Manor?' I asked, not at all happy with the prospect thus sketched out for me. It seemed a foolish risk to take, when we might be reasonably safe at the Turk's Head. On the other hand, recalling my misgivings of a few minutes earlier, I realized that I was not so averse to the idea as I had at first thought.

'I know all this area as well as I know the environs of my native city. I told you, my brother and I worked out of Plymouth for many years.' Philip folded his hands together on the table before him, regarding Simon Whitehead and myself with a challenging stare.

Simon Whitehead finished his ale. 'It makes no difference to me where you wait. I'll certainly carry your message to the Falcon's Master, but after that, my part in this affair is finished. And now I must get some food, some rest and a change of horse before I start my ride back to Falmouth this afternoon. God be with you.'

He gave us both a brief nod before getting to his feet and going in search of John Penryn. My companion and I were left sitting at the table.

What makes you think we won't be followed to Trenowth Manor?' I asked. 'Our unknown gentleman has proved himself very persistent.'

'As I said, it'll be dark. There are a number of ways out of this town and John Penryn knows all of them. For a consideration, he and two of his men will go with us as far as the outskirts and make sure that we are not being followed. You can trust him.'

'And what of the horses? Two animals in the streets after curfew is bound to attract attention from the Watch.' 'Their hoofs will be muffled, and Penryn knows the hour in which every street is patrolled. The Watch can't be everywhere at once, or no felon would be able to make an honest living.' He smiled thinly at his joke and emptied what remained in the jug into his mazer. 'You're too innocent, my friend. It's easy to see that you've had no dealings with criminals."

I forbore to enlighten him, simply asking: 'And how do we get across the ferry?'

'We rouse the ferryman from sleep and dangle our purses in front of him. He'll take us across fast enough if there's money in it. So now, if we're to travel throughout the night, I suggest we get some rest. We'll need it if we're to make Trenowth by tomorrow morning.'