Kate Sedley: The Plymouth Cloak

'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.'

John Kendall followed his master out of the room, the dwarf hard on his heels. Philip Underdown and I were left facing one another, like two wary animals unsure of their ground.

Each was resentful at being saddled with the other, but we had no option in the matter and were forced to make the best of things.

Philip Underdown expressed what I was thinking. 'I can't pretend I'm pleased to have you with me. You're likely to prove more a hindrance than a help as far as I can see. I'd do a damn sight better on my own. God alone knows what maggot has got into the Duke's head, but he's foisted you on to me and there's nothing I can do about it; although I don't mind telling you I tried while I was alone with him in there.' His head jerked towards the inner room. 'But he insists you come with me to Plymouth, so I'll have to put up with you for the next two days. Are you ready to eat again? According to His Grace, that was the remains of your breakfast I saw on the table.'

'I'm always ready to eat,' I answered with a cheerfulness I was far from feeling. I was no more looking forward to Philip Underdown's company than he was to mine.' According Io His Grace, they're expecting us in the Bishop's kitchen. Shall we go and find it?'

When we were finally seated at a comer of one of the long tables in the outer scullery, surrounded by all the hubbub and uproar attendant upon the King's brother dining with the Bishop, I determined to take the Duke's advice and get to know my companion better. Knowing more about his past might possibly be of assistance later. As two large bowlfuls of beef stew were placed before us, I said: 'The dwarf, Paolo, didn't seem to like you very much, from which I gather you two have met before.'

Philip Underdown laughed, a sound without any warmth in it, and dipped a hunk of bread in the steaming broth. 'Oh, we've met all right. He's the reason I was recruited into this employment in the first place.' He saw my look of incomprehension and laughed again. 'My brother and I were traders. We bought and sold anything that could be got cheap and disposed of it at a profit. We fought our way up from small beginnings until we had our own ship. Then our horizons widened; Ireland, Italy, France, Brittany. I've made a small fortune in my time — and lost it. Drink. Gambling. And of course women.' His teeth showed momentarily in a predatory grin. 'Then, on that last trip home from Italy, two years ago, we were attacked by pirates off the Corsican coast. My brother was killed and the vessel badly damaged. I managed to make it back to these shores and up the Channel to London, but I knew the old Speedwell would never go to sea again, so I paid off the crew and set about selling the cargo as quickly and as profitably as I could, with the prospect of having to start from scratch once more.'