The Vaughans were quite amused when they discovered that I was planning to go with them to Brecon, but they didn’t give me any serious hassle. We set off first thing in the morning, before it was properly light, and I rode next to Thomas Vaughan himself, at the head of the procession. I was amazed by just how many men were following us. I’ve no idea where they all came from at such short notice, unless there’s a trapdoor leading to an underground kingdom in that part of the world, but I’d be very surprised if there were less than a thousand in the tail. Each time we came to a clump of trees, or some fork in the road, a few more rolled up to join in the fun.
Thomas Vaughan handed me a strip of red cloth, and told me to tie it about my right arm. He gave another piece to Guy.
‘What are these for?’ I asked.
‘Field signs. Any man not wearing one is likely to end up dead, see.’
‘Surely a woman will not be harmed, will she?’
He grinned, showing off his huge teeth. ‘Not killed, perhaps. But some of my boys are, as you might say, apt to get a little carried away on these occasions. Better to be safe than sorry.’
‘I was rather hoping we could keep the lid on civilian casualties. King Richard already has serious image problems, you know.’
‘Oh, we’ll keep it to a minimum, right enough,’ said Vaughan airily. He turned to one of his brothers, and muttered something in Welsh that set them both laughing.
I delved into the folds of my gown, and drew out my Commission. I opened it, and handed it to Vaughan. It said:
To whom it may concern:
The bearer of these presents, Dame Alianore Beauchamp, enjoys our full confidence and is acting in accordance with our commands.
All Sheriffs, Mayors, Constables, Bailiffs, and others our Officers are ordered to render her their full assistance.
RICARDUS REX
P.S. Anyone not complying with this Instruction will receive Extremely Negative Vibrations. RR
(This last bit was written in Richard’s own hand, at my request.)
This took some of the wind out of Vaughan’s sails. You could see he was impressed. ‘All right,’ he conceded. ‘We’ll just kill those who resist. That’s fair enough, is it?’
I nodded. ‘I’ve no problem with that. And, of course, there’s nothing to stop you looting the castle from top to bottom. I’m sure the King will be only too pleased to give you a grant of everything you liberate. Though I’d not bother with Buckingham’s wardrobe if I were you. Violet won’t go with your eyes.’
He laughed. ‘We’ll burn what we don’t take. It should be quite a day out, one way and another.’
The garrison of Brecon were not expecting an attack. The gates were open, the drawbridge was down, and people were wandering in and out as they fancied. I’d expected to have to come up with some brilliant plan to get us in, and I was deeply disappointed to find that I’d been cudgelling my brains for nothing.
There was an odd arrow shot at us, and a few half-hearted blows struck, but the defenders were a handful of boys and old men, and they had the sense not to make too many objections. The Vaughans flooded everywhere, breaking down doors and smashing windows in their haste to get to the portable property, and I dived into my saddlebag, searching for my hand-gonne. I primed it carefully, and got a light for my slow-match from the torch carried by a passing Vaughan on his way to fire the granary.
‘Useless things those,’ grunted Guy. ‘You mark my words.’
‘They’re a bit handier than a longbow when you’re working indoors,’ I answered. ‘Plus you don’t need strength to fire one. Don’t be so damned old-fashioned. Come with me. We’re looking for Buckingham’s papers, especially letters from the other conspirators. It’s vital evidence, and the Vaughans are likely to burn it if we don’t get to it first. Leave everything else to our friends.’
‘A few gold coins would come in handy,’ he objected.
‘You’ll get more than a few, and from the King himself, if we pull this off. Come on.’
It was chaos in the castle, as you can imagine, with women screaming, children bawling, dogs barking and the Vaughans smashing their way into everything, tearing down tapestries, and knocking Buckingham’s furniture all over the shop.
We had to start somewhere. I decided to slip through a doorway at the dais end of the hall, and climb the stairs into the upper chambers. Guy was right behind me, his bow slung over his shoulder and a damned big knife, an anelace, in his hand. There were Vaughans ahead of us, arguing about the revised ownership arrangements for the chapel furnishings. We went further up the stairs, and came to a parting of the ways.
‘Try in there,’ I told Guy. ‘I’ll go up to the next floor.’
The stairs beyond this point were a lot narrower, and damp from the rain that had poured in through an arrow slit. I really needed three hands at this point, one for my gonne, one for my slow-match, and one for my skirts, and however I arranged matters the two provided by God were not really able to cope with the task. I slipped and caressed the stonework with my forehead.
‘Oh, dear!’ I said. ‘How frightfully irritating!’
When I reached the top of the stairs I emerged into what was a large and surprisingly well lit room. It was so bright that I was able to see that when I’d fallen I’d managed to burn a hole in my gown with the slow-match.
‘Oh, dear!’ I said again. Or at least, I said something along those general lines.
I reverted to my inspection of the room. It contained six clerks’ desks, on each of which was a portion of a newly written Chronicle. There were umpteen copies in all, purporting to be a history of the reign of King Richard III, and containing the most unimaginable lies. Richard was supposed to have sent men to the Tower to smother the Princes with pillows, but that was only the start of it. He had stabbed Henry VI to death with his own hand, drowned Clarence, and slain a helpless Prince Edward of Lancaster at Tewkesbury. (The way they put it, you’d have thought that the Prince was about ten, and just playing with his toy soldiers.) They even went into Richard’s babyhood, claiming that had lain two years in his mother’s womb, and that he had been born with teeth, and hair down to his shoulders. I ask you! Who could believe such idle nonsense? It made Tegolin’s tales of giants and fairies seem as prosaic as an account roll.
There was a large fire burning in the grate. It was just the place for such poisonous rubbish, and I stacked the completed volumes and the partial copies onto it, taking great pleasure in watching them catch light and begin to curl up. I’d just finished this job when I became aware of a furtive movement in the adjoining chamber. I snatched up my gonne and slow-match and pushed the dividing curtain aside. There, clutching a gilded box in his hands, was John Morton, Bishop of Ely! I’d thought he was with Buckingham, but the little toad had abandoned his new friend, and slipped back to Brecon with the intention of covering his own tracks. (I found out later that Buckingham was bogged down somewhere near Weobley, unable to get his army across into England because of the floods, and equally unable to hold it together. Morton was not the only deserter by any means, although I suspect that he was one of the first.)
‘All right, Morton,’ I said. ‘My finger’s kind of itchy on this slow-match. One false move and I’ll fill you so full of lead that they’ll not know whether to bury you or weigh you in for scrap.’
‘I am a Bishop,’ he cried, as if I needed to be reminded of the fact. ‘Kill me and you’ll burn in hell for all eternity.’
I grinned at him. ‘At least I’d have the satisfaction of knowing that you were already there waiting for me,’ I said, coldly. ‘You forget. The King’s reward will make me a very rich lady, well able to afford enough pardons from Rome to line my coffin. Put that box down, real slow, and then place your hands where you wear your mitre.’