C Sansom - Sovereign

‘Churl! Churl!’ she shouted excitedly. ‘You’ll chip that edge! Master Dereham, you must watch them, I have to make ready!’

‘I am a secretary, not a steward,’ Dereham growled. On closer inspection I did not like his mien. He looked well enough in his short coat lined with beaver, an enormous gold codpiece underneath, but his narrow handsome face was shifty.

‘Then fetch the Queen’s Chamberlain!’ Lady Rochford snapped over her shoulder as she swept past me. I looked at the other staircase, where a group of men were struggling with the largest mattress I had ever seen, so wide and thick it threatened to fall back and suffocate them.

I felt a sharp poke in the ribs. I jumped and whirled round to find Sir James Fealty in an ankle-length robe of fine brocade with puffed shoulders and a wide fur trim, frowning at me. Recorder Tankerd stood by him, like me in a good black robe, fiddling nervously with the buttons. A knapsack with gold edges hung over his shoulder, no doubt containing his speech. Fealty’s servant Cowfold stood holding the petitions, bound together with red tape and sealed with wax.

‘Why are you standing around?’ Sir James snapped at me pettishly. ‘I need everyone together! Where is Brother Wrenne?’

‘I have not seen him yet.’

‘Come outside. You should be with your horses. And Brother Tankerd, stop messing with your buttons, you will have them off. And as for your employers, I am angry to hear their news. I hope they know what they are doing!’

‘The city councillors are adamant they will not change clothes till they are beyond the city.’

Fealty gave a snort, then marched to the door. I gave the city Recorder a look of commiseration as we followed. Fealty’s face brightened a little as he descended the steps, though, for Giles Wrenne was at the bottom, and a groom stood at a respectful distance holding three horses by the reins. One was Genesis, who whickered with pleasure at seeing me.

‘Good morning, Matthew,’ the old man said cheerfully. Looking at him today one would not have guessed he was ill. He looked well set up in his best robe; his jewelled cap was in the old high-crowned style, a touch of individuality.

Sir James fussed about getting the petitions placed in the saddlebags on Wrenne’s big horse, his long wispy beard blowing from side to side in the light breeze. When all was settled and we were mounted he pointed to the gate. ‘The city delegation is outside, you will ride to Fulford with them at the guards’ signal.’ He raked us with his eyes for a moment. ‘Remember all I told you, do not disgrace me.’ We waited while a little group of courtiers passed us and rode through the gate; among them I saw Lady Rochford and Rich. As we made to follow them I heard someone call ‘Good luck, Master Shardlake!’ and turned to see Tamasin Reedbourne standing on the steps, looking on. She wore yet another fine dress, a blue and orange one today. I briefly raised a hand to her. I wondered how much was left of her grandmother’s inheritance.

ON THE OTHER SIDE of the gates, the Bootham was crowded with men on horseback, all in their best finery. I estimated there must be near two hundred of them. I recognized the mayor at the front, his face almost as red as his robes. We pulled to a halt beside them and waited. A little way up the road a crowd of thirty mounted soldiers waited, their horses resplendent in rich cloths.

I studied Wrenne. He was looking round at everything, and had an air of suppressed excitement about him. ‘What a crowd,’ I said. ‘Who are they all?’

‘The city council and guild officials. And the local gentry from the Ainsty. We should set off soon.’

‘What is the problem with the councillors getting changed?’ I asked Tankerd.

‘They have been asked to meet the King dressed in dull and sombre clothes, to show their humility for their part in the rebellion five years ago. But they were adamant they would not change till they were outside the city, lest the common folk see them and mock. Sir James is worried they may mess up their robes while they are changing, as it is to be done in the fields. Mayor Hall has been in a great floughter, caught between the council and yon Fealty.’

Something flickered in front of my vision, and I realized the wretched feather had come loose in my cap again. I pulled it off and fiddled with the pin, careful not to break the delicate feather vane. Then the guard captain called ‘Fall to! Fall to!’ and I had to jam it back on my head as everyone began to move forward. We followed the procession of councillors as they rode under Bootham Bar, the soldiers clattering behind us.

We rode through a deserted city. Every window was crammed with faces, though, as the Yorkers watched us pass. In the night the streets had been covered with sand and ashes that dulled the clatter of hooves, and as we rode by men with rakes darted out behind us to smooth them again. In some streets garlands of white roses had been hung across the way, and here and there a gaily coloured carpet or cloth flew from a window, but these were few. I remembered Giles telling me how gay and colourful the Yorkers had made their city for King Richard III, and turned to look at him.

‘How is the investigation of Master Oldroyd’s death going?’ he asked me.

‘The King’s coroner is investigating now.’

‘He was a skilful man, it was strange he should fall in his cart. Some in the city say he must have been pushed from his ladder, but surely that cannot be?’

‘I do not know,’ I answered uncomfortably.

‘There has been quite a chapter of accidents at St Mary’s, has there not? Maleverer must be concerned.’

‘He is.’

‘Are you still involved?’ he asked.

‘No. Not any more.’

We were passing towards another gate now, Fulford Gate it must be, festooned with garlands. I wondered, would they nail the heads and bits of men’s bodies back afterwards?

Beyond the gate there was a straggle of houses but after a few minutes we found ourselves in flat open country, green pastures and brown ploughed fields dotted with patches of water after yesterday’s rain. The road had been put in good order, potholes filled up.

A little way ahead a number of carts was drawn up beside the road, watched by servants and half a dozen soldiers. Here the city officials dismounted. In uncomfortable silence they removed their finery and put on long robes of a dark, saddle-tawny colour that they took from the cart. It was strange watching Mayor Hall undress, his red face frowning, then thrust stringy white arms into the plain robe. The servants packed the finery carefully into boxes in the cart, and the councillors’ caps too; evidently they were to go bareheaded. I glanced over the fields; in the distance a husbandman could be seen leading a team of oxen in the first winter ploughing. I thought suddenly of my father.

The captain carefully pulled a little portable clock from his pouch. ‘Fall to!’ he called again. The councillors mounted and we rode on a little further, to where a big white stone cross stood by the road. Here fences had been knocked down to create an open space extending into the pastureland on either side. The captain dismounted and went to stand on the plinth of the cross. In a loud clear voice he ordered all to dismount and stand in ranks of twenty, councillors in front, officials like Giles and I to one side, the others behind. Giles handed me the petitions from his knapsack.

‘Here, you must keep these till the King comes. Remember, you hand them to me then.’ I nodded and grasped them to my chest, wishing they were less heavy. Tankerd, with a nervous twitch of his eyebrows, hitched the gold-edged knapsack over his shoulder and went off to join the councillors. The grooms collected the horses and led them into the pasture. The captain surveyed us then went to stand in front of us, looking down the Fulford Road. ‘Now we wait,’ Giles said quietly. I stretched my neck, for it ached again, then winced as it gave a painful click.