‘If you’ve got a request,’ one sentry told me roughly, ‘come back tomorrow. My lord’s holding a Court of Petition in the morning.’
‘It’s not a request,’ I answered impatiently. ‘At least, tell the Duke I’m here! The matter is urgent.’
Both men burst out laughing. ‘And who do you think you are, my jumped-up cocky?’ the taller one asked, while the shorter said menacingly: ‘We don’t let any poor bastard in off the street who’s deluded enough to think he has something of importance to say to His Grace. Besides, for all we know, you might have a knife hidden under that cloak.’
I held my cloak open so that they could see I was innocent of weapons — only to remember too late that when I had picked up Matilda Ford’s knife, I had stuck it in my belt for safe-keeping. At the sight of it, unsheathed, both sentries seized me and dragged me inside.
Well, at least I was in, but not quite in the manner I had foreseen. Vociferously, I protested my good intentions, trying to drown my captors’ shouts for assistance. I wondered how on earth I was going to convince them that I was not a would-be assassin. I sent up a desperate prayer for help. Surely God could not desert me now.
He didn’t. The first man to arrive on the scene in answer to the sentries’ summons, was the man I had rescued from the over-zealous pieman.
‘What’s going on?’ he asked indignantly. ‘This noise can be heard in His Grace’s private apartments. I hope there’s a good explanation …’ His voice tailed off as he recognized me. ‘What are you doing here?’ he demanded.
The shorter sentry, who had just been about to brand me as a suspected criminal, hesitated. ‘Do you know him?’ he asked my little man.
‘We have a brief acquaintance,’ my friend was beginning, but I interrupted him urgently.
‘I have to see the Duke. At once! I think I‘ve found Lady Anne Neville.’
To say his mouth fell open would not be too much of an exaggeration. His lower jaw almost touched his collar. ‘You’re sure of this?’ he demanded sharply.
It was my turn to hesitate. If I told the truth and admitted that I had not seen the lady face to face, I might again be suspected of bad intentions. Besides, in my own mind, I was completely certain. So I took a deep breath and said: ‘Yes. I know where the Lady Anne is hidden.’
The little man turned to the sentries. ‘Let him go,’ he ordered. ‘I’ll vouch for him.’ And to me, he added: ‘Come this way!’
The sentries reluctantly stood aside, having relieved me of both my stick and the knife. They were still unconvinced and deeply suspicious. I gave them what I hoped was a reassuring smile, and followed my guide across the outer courtyard and through a door to the inner, which housed the bakehouse, laundry and kitchens. The wall torches, high up in their iron sconces, had already been lit, flaring against the old stones with a noise like torn parchment. In this courtyard there was far more hustle and bustle; a constant whirl of activity and chatter, without which the great and the mighty seem unable to live. Men and boys in the livery of the Duke of Gloucester scurried self-importantly about, without ever, or so it appeared to my jaundiced eyes, actually achieving anything.
I was led up a narrow stone staircase, along an equally narrow passage, up another twisting stair, all the time having to flatten myself against the wall as people forced their way past me. My little friend was growing impatient at the delay, and finally cried out: ‘Holla! Holla! Make room! Make room! We are about the Lord Richard’s business!‘ I can’t say it had an instantaneous effect, but our progress did speed up a little. Finally we reached an archway shrouded by a leather curtain, which when pulled back, revealed an ante-chamber. Into this, I was ceremoniously ushered. I had a feeling that the little man was enjoying his moment of glory.
A young man, seated behind a table and busy with important-looking documents, raised his head inquiringly as we entered. My friend hissed in my ear: ‘John Kendal, His Grace’s secretary.’
‘What can I do for you, Timothy Plummer?’ John Kendal asked. ‘And who’s this you have with you?’
‘His name’s Roger Chapman and he has very important news for the Duke.’
The secretary‘s eyebrows rose in patent disbelief and he looked me up and down. I returned his gaze as steadily as I could in the face of such unnerving scrutiny. But he evidently liked what he saw, because he smiled suddenly and nodded.
‘What might this news be, Roger Chapman? And I warn you, it will have to be very important indeed for His Grace to see you at this hour. It is the time of day he spends with his mother and children.’
‘He’ll see me all right,’ I answered boldly. ‘I think I know the whereabouts of Lady Anne Neville.’
The room into which I was shown was not a large one, but it was luxurious. A fire of scented pine logs burned on the hearth, and the rushes on the floor were mixed with an abundance of dried flowers. There were at least three armchairs, their backs delicately carved with patterns of birds and intertwined leaves, and four or five joint stools. A low table against one wall supported a silver ewer and goblets of fine Venetian glass, which winked and glowed in the firelight. The walls were hung with tapestries depicting the fight of Hercules with Nereus, first as a stag, then as bird, dog, snake and, finally, as a man. A myriad wax candles — or so it seemed to my dazzled eyes — hung in a copper chandelier from the ceiling.
Two children, a girl and a slightly younger boy, were playing on a rug — something I had never seen before — in front of the fire, and I knew they must be the Duke’s two bastards. Seated in one of the armchairs, also close to the hearth, was a formidable-looking woman with strongly marked features. This, without doubt, was the Duchess of York, mother of the King and the Dukes of Gloucester and Clarence, sister of the late Earl of Warwick, and mother-in-law of the Duke of Burgundy. And, if all stories were true, an extremely redoubtable lady.
Duke Richard himself was on his feet as I entered. He was wearing a long, loose robe of dark red, sable-trimmed velvet, with black satin slippers heavily embroidered in gold thread. He was obviously resting after the cares of the day, and had it been for any other reason, I should have felt guilty at disturbing him. His thin face was sallow in the flickering candlelight, and there were dark shadows beneath his eyes, as though he had been sleeping badly. I learned later that the Countess of Desmond had once described him as the handsomest man in London, after his brother Edward. He certainly did not look it that night, but he was a man whose physical appearance was very much dependent on his state of health and the peace, or otherwise, of his state of mind.
He had been informed by John Kendal of the reason for my visit, and I could sense the tension in that slender body as I approached and made my obeisance. He held out a hand, prismatic with rings, for me to kiss.
‘I understand,’ he said in a voice which was slightly breathless, ‘that you have some idea where my cousin, the Lady Anne Neville, might be. If that is so, tell me at once. But first, tell me how you knew that she was missing.’
I stood upright, dwarfing his slight, dark figure, but he was used to that. Both his remaining brothers were big, golden-haired men.
‘Your Grace,’ I said, ‘that is part of a story which, with your permission, I will tell you as briefly as possible, because I need your help for my own purposes, once you have rescued the Lady Anne. If you will be gracious enough to hear me out.’
He hesitated, clearly anxious to know only one thing, but his natural courtesy overcame his impatience. He sat down in one of the other two armchairs and indicated that I should begin.
Chapter 18
‘Sit down, lad, and have some wine. You look exhausted.‘ Thomas Prynne urged me to a seat in the ale-room, where Master Parsons, his legal worries temporarily forgotten, was regarding me goggle-eyed. ‘I presume this hullabaloo at the Crossed Hands inn has something to do with you? His Grace of Gloucester seemed very friendly before you parted company.’