‘That messenger, Rowan. He came on a horse, didn’t he?’
Rowan opened his mouth to reply, but his father was already walking to the tavern where they’d seen the man arrive. Thomas had to thump a stable boy to get the horse, but he and his son were thin and the animal was grain-fed, able to carry them both. They passed the dumbfounded messenger as he walked back just a little while later. The fishermen hooted with laughter at the man’s appalled expression as he watched his horse ridden away, slapping their knees and holding on to each other to stay upright.
21
In his rooms in the White Tower, Derry came awake by grabbing the hand that had touched him on the shoulder. Before he was even fully aware, he had a blade against the shocked face of his servant, pressing a line in the cheek below the eye. As quick as he had moved, he took a moment longer to understand he was not under attack and he put the blade away with a muttered apology. His servant’s hands were shaking as the man lit a candle and placed it under a glass funnel to spread the light.
‘I’m sorry, Hallerton, I’m … not in my right mind at the moment. I see assassins everywhere.’
‘I understand, sir,’ Hallerton replied, still pale with fear. ‘I would not have woken you, but you said to come if there was news of Lord Suffolk.’
The older man broke off as Derry swung his legs over the bed and stood up. He was fully dressed, having collapsed on to the blankets just a few hours before.
‘Well? Spit it out then, man. What news?’
‘He’s taken, sir. Arrested by Cardinal Beaufort’s men as he tried to report to Parliament.’
Derry blinked, his mind still foggy from sleep.
‘Oh, for Christ’s sake. I sent him a warning, Hallerton! What on earth was he thinking to come to London now?’ He rubbed his face, staring into nothing while he thought. ‘Do we know where they took him?’
His servant shook his head and Derry frowned, thinking hard.
‘Fetch me a bowl of water and the pot, would you?’
‘Yes, sir. Will you be needing me to shave you this morning?’
‘The way your hands are shaking? No, not today. I’ll shave myself, make myself neat for Speaker Tresham. Send a runner to his offices in Westminster announcing me. No doubt the old spider is already up and doing this morning. It is still morning?’
‘It is, sir,’ Hallerton replied, searching under the bed for the porcelain pot waiting there, already quarter-full with dark urine. Derry groaned to himself. He’d gone to bed with the first light of the sun in the sky. It hardly felt as if he’d slept at all, yet he had to be alert, or Tresham and Beaufort would have their scapegoat. What had William been thinking to come meekly into their hands? The trouble was that Derry knew the man’s pride well enough. Suffolk wouldn’t run, even from charges of high treason. In his own way, William was as much an innocent lamb as the king himself, but he was surrounded now by wolves. Derry had no illusions as to the seriousness of the charges. His friend would be torn apart unless Derry could save him.
‘Stop fiddling around with the damned pot, Hallerton! And forget Tresham. Where is the king this morning?’
‘In his chambers here, sir,’ his servant replied, worried at the woolly dullness of his master. ‘He remains abed and his servants say he is still suffering with an ague. I believe his wife is with him, or close by.’
‘Good. Announce me there instead. I will need the fountainhead if I’m to find a way through for William. Go, man! I don’t need you to watch me piss.’
Derry placed the pot on the blankets and sighed in relief as he urinated into it. Hallerton left quickly, calling for other servants to attend the spymaster. He raced down the steps of the White Tower and out across the open sward beyond, slowing only a fraction as he passed marching files of heavily armed soldiers. The Tower of London was a maze of buildings and paths and Hallerton was sweating by the time he reached the king’s personal chambers and announced the imminent arrival of his master to the servants there. He was still arguing with the steward of the royal bedchamber when Derry came up panting behind him.
‘Master Brewer!’ the king’s steward said loudly. ‘I have been explaining to your servant that His Royal Highness King Henry is unwell and cannot be disturbed.’
Derry went past them both, simply pressing a hand on to the steward’s chest to hold him back against the wall. Two stern-looking soldiers watched his approach and stepped deliberately into his way. Derry had a sudden thought of Lord York attempting to reach the king in Windsor and he almost laughed.
‘Step aside, lads. I have standing orders to be allowed to reach the king, day or night. You know me and you know that is true.’
The soldiers shifted uncomfortably. They looked past Derry to the king’s steward, who folded his arms in clear refusal. It was an impasse and Derry turned in relief at the sound of a woman’s voice on the floor above.
‘What goes on? Is that Master Brewer?’ Margaret called as she came halfway down a set of oak stairs, peering at the group of men gathered there. She was barefoot, dressed in a long white sleeping robe with her hair tousled. After a moment of dull shock, all the men looked at their boots rather than stare at the queen in such a state of undress.
‘Your Highness, I don’t …’ the king’s steward began, still looking down.
Derry spoke over him, suddenly feeling that time pressed on them all.
‘Suffolk has been arrested, my lady. I need to speak to the king.’
Margaret’s mouth opened in surprise and the king’s steward stopped talking. The queen saw the worry in Derry and made a quick decision.
‘Thank you, gentlemen,’ Margaret said in clear dismissal. ‘Come, Master Brewer. I will wake my husband.’
Derry was too concerned even to enjoy his small victory over the steward and clattered up the steps behind Margaret. As they walked down a long corridor, he passed rooms that stank of bitter chemicals. Derry shuddered as the air seemed to thicken. The king’s chambers smelled of sickness and he sipped his breath to avoid drawing in too much of the bad air.
‘Wait here, Master Brewer,’ Margaret said. ‘I will see if he is awake.’
She stepped into the king’s personal rooms and Derry was left to kick his heels in the corridor. He noticed two more soldiers watching him suspiciously from one end of it, but Margaret’s permission put him beyond their reach in all ways. He ignored them while he waited.
By the time the door opened again, Derry had readied his arguments. They died in his throat as he saw the pale figure of the king sitting up in bed, his thin white chest wrapped in a cloak. Derry could still remember the bull-like frame of the boy’s father and sadness came in a surge as he closed the door and faced King Henry.
Derry knelt, with his head bowed. Margaret stood watching him, her hands writhing together as she waited for Henry to acknowledge his spymaster. When the silence stretched unbroken, it was she who spoke at last.
‘Please stand, Master Brewer. You said Lord William has been arrested. On what charge?’
Derry rose slowly and dared to step closer. Without looking away from the king, he replied, searching for some spark of life that would show Henry was aware and understood.
‘For high treason, my lady. Cardinal Beaufort’s men arrested him when he came back from Kent last night. I’m certain Tresham is behind it. He said as much to me a few days ago. I told him then that it was a charge that could lead only to disaster.’ He stepped closer still, within arm’s reach of the king. ‘Your Grace? We cannot let William de la Pole go to trial. I feel York’s hand in this. Tresham and Beaufort will put Lord Suffolk to the question. On such a charge, there are no protections. They will insist on proving the truth with hot irons.’