Kate Sedley - The Dance of Death

‘Well, yes,’ Timothy admitted, plainly unnerved by my perspicacity. ‘One of my agents only tracked him down the day before yesterday. We haven’t spoken to him yet — we thought it best to leave that to you — but it’s definite that he fought alongside Robin Gaunt and was garrisoned in Rouen with him. His name is Humphrey Culpepper and he lives in Stinking Lane, just off the Shambles. At least he’ll be able to give you some idea whether Gaunt was tall or short, fat or thin and if he had blue eyes or brown. I’m informed that Culpepper’s hair is grey now, so it’s probable that Gaunt’s is, too.’

‘Do you really think,’ I asked wrathfully, ‘that a soldier would have any idea of the colour of another soldier’s eyes? Especially after forty years! Your idea of military life needs some revision, old friend.’

‘Well, he may be able to tell you something useful,’ Timothy snapped, exasperated, and knowing, I suspected, that my anger was justified. He was nobody’s fool and could appreciate as well as I could that I was being sent on a well-nigh impossible mission.

He got up. The evening had drawn in while we were talking and it was nearly too dark to see one another clearly, but he wouldn’t send for candles: he didn’t want anyone else in the room.

‘What do I do with this?’ I queried, indicating the paper on the table and also rising to my feet.

‘Put it away, but for the Lord’s sweet sake keep it safe. No one must be allowed to set eyes on it but yourself. If anyone were to read those questions that you must put to Gaunt and his wife, it wouldn’t take them long to work out what it’s all about. And I don’t need to tell you, Roger, to watch yourself. If any Woodville agent gets a whisper of this, I wouldn’t give much for your chances.’

‘Thank you.’ I bowed ironically. ‘It’s always good to be reassured. And what do you reckon the chances are of a Woodville agent getting to know about this mission of mine? How much do you trust the men you employ? Can you guarantee they are all completely loyal?’

Timothy tried to look affronted. ‘Of course!’

I knew what that meant: no, but I’m not admitting as much. Well, who could blame him? He, too, had his loyalties until they were proved to be misplaced.

‘I’d better take you to see the duke,’ he said, ‘or it will be time for him to dress for the mayor’s banquet. Put that paper away for now, and later, I suggest you try to learn its contents off by heart and then destroy it. Do you have a good memory?’

‘Good enough.’ I wasn’t going to relieve his mind by telling him that, from boyhood, my memory had always been excellent with almost total recall of people, incidents and places. (Even in old age, memory is my greatest gift or I wouldn’t be able to write these memoirs. My children would probably inform you that I make half of it up as I go along. But what do they know?) And in this case I felt that Timothy was right. Better by far to make an effort to commit my instructions to memory than to be caught with them in my possession. For the time being, I folded the paper into its creases and put it in the pouch at my belt with the rueful reflection that it was rather like pocketing a live coal.

Duke Richard was alone when I was eventually ushered into his presence. There had been some delay, Timothy and I being forced to wait in an ante-room while His Grace, a loving parent, had said goodnight to his bastard children, my lord John and the lady Katherine. The boy accompanied his father everywhere, a handsome, bright, intelligent youth with a ready smile for everyone (very different, people whispered, from the delicate, legitimate son who stayed mostly in the North with his mother). Lady Katherine was slightly older, a beautiful girl of very nearly marriageable age, visiting the duke while he was in London. They had both wished Timothy and myself a charming ‘Goodnight and God be with you’ as they passed where we sat. Then a page appeared and called my name.

I raised my eyebrows at Timothy, but he shook his head.

‘No,’ he muttered. ‘I thought I told you. My lord wishes to see you alone.’

The duke was seated beside a leaping fire, wearing a long chamber robe of amber velvet, his slippered feet stretched towards the flames. Candles had been lit, sending ripples of orange and gold licking across the walls, a draught making one of them splutter until it was suddenly extinguished in a puff of clouded blue smoke. A small table, close to the duke’s chair, supported a flask and two goblets of fine Venetian glass, glowing blood-red in the half-light.

As soon as I entered, the duke rose from his seat, hand extended. I knelt and would have kissed it, but he withdrew it, smiling.

‘No, no, Roger! Get up, man. I was going to shake your hand. I owe you a great deal, more than I can ever repay, from the time of our very first meeting. You have just endured a long and arduous trip to Scotland at my and the king’s behest — and not without its dangers, I’m given to understand — and here I am asking you to. . to. .’

‘Commit treason, Your Highness?’ I thought it best to get things straight from the beginning.

I must have spoken more sharply than I realized because his hand fell back to his side and he flinched. He sat down again in his chair and indicated that I should take the one opposite him, on the other side of the hearth. After a moment or two while he stared into the fire with its glowing caverns and ash-fringed logs, there was a silence so profound that I could hear the popping of resin in the wood. Suddenly panic-stricken, I wondered what was to be my fate, and whether my outspokenness had really landed me in serious trouble at last.

Nothing happened, however, except that the duke finally raised his eyes, regarding me steadily, a half-smile curling the corners of his thin lips. ‘Some might see it as such, I suppose, but rest assured that my loyalty to my brother has never wavered, nor will it do so, as long as he lives. I love him too much.’ The smile deepened. ‘When I was a child, I thought him the most splendid being I had ever seen, over six feet tall and as fair as a Nordic god. I would have gone to the ends of the earth for him. I still would. But. .’ Another silence, then he asked abruptly, ‘Master Plummer has explained the matter to you?’

‘More or less, my lord. He didn’t really have to. My-my instructions made everything plain to me. By one of those odd coincidences, I had been reminded of your lady mother’s. . er. .’

‘Outburst? At the time of Edward’s marriage?’

‘Yes, as Your Grace says. Outburst. Strangely enough, I heard reference made to it only an hour or so ago, so that when I read what you had written — ’ I tapped the pouch at my belt — ‘I. . well, I understood.’

A servant, who must have entered the room unobserved by me, slid out of the shadows and poured wine from the flask into the two goblets, presenting one to the duke on bended knee and handing me the other with much less ceremony. Indeed, to my annoyance, a little of the wine slopped on to my sleeve. I glared and received a smirk in return. Duke Richard, who had gone back to staring at the fire, waved a hand in dismissal. The man made himself scarce.

‘So, Roger!’ As the latch clicked, my royal host returned his gaze to me. ‘You think me capable of treason?’

I swallowed some wine to give myself courage and leaned forward. ‘My lord,’ I said desperately, ‘if you believe the Duchess of York to have been telling the truth all those years past, why do you not ask her to confirm or deny it now?’

He nodded. ‘It would seem the obvious course, I agree. But a great deal has happened in my mother’s life over the past eighteen years: eight grandchildren — I am referring here only to the offspring of the king and queen, you understand — and her strong affection for the eldest of them, my niece, Elizabeth. Also, I suspect that the duchess’s deepening religious experience would inhibit her from repeating the accusation. Furthermore — ’ he smiled wryly — ‘it’s no easy matter to ask your mother if she was unfaithful to your father.’