‘You called Clarence your master just now,’ I accused him.
Humphrey looked uncomfortable for a fleeting moment, then smiled guilelessly. ‘My late master, I should have said, for at that time I was a page in Duke George’s household. I told you,’ he added defensively, ‘that I fell out with a fellow servant and wished for another place. His Grace persuaded his brother of my usefulness.’
‘I remember. It was the manner in which you spoke of my lord of Clarence, as if you still regarded yourself in his service.’
‘Nonsense!’ Humphrey tried to change the subject. ‘Sweet Saviour, it’s hot! I could do with a drink of ale.’
‘Where were you the other evening,’ I asked, ‘during the mumming, when the attempt was made on Duke Richard’s life?’
He turned his head sharply, regarding me with a sudden curiosity which he had not displayed before. I could see his suspicion deepening and the swift calculations going on behind his eyes as he pieced together certain incidents of the past six days, the days since I had become one of Duke Richard’s servants.
‘What does it matter to you?’ he asked abruptly. ‘You don’t suspect one of the Duke’s own people, surely? His Grace has explained what happened. A madman got in from outside.’
I shrugged in an attempt to appear unconcerned. ‘No reason. Just interest, that’s all.’ I forced a smile. ‘You take me up too quickly, Humphrey.’
He stared hard at me for a moment longer until, apparently satisfied of the innocence of my intent, he too hunched his shoulders. ‘Why shouldn’t I tell you? It’s no secret after all. I was talking to Stephen Hudelin. You can ask him if you wish. He’s only over there, walking alongside the cart containing His Grace’s silver.’ He raised his voice. ‘Stephen! Come here! You’re needed.’ And when the older man had quickened his pace to catch up with our wagon, Humphrey continued without wink or nod or any change of expression that I could see, ‘When that madman tried to kill Duke Richard where was I? Our friend Roger Chapman wants to know.’
Stephen glanced at me in his usual surly fashion. ‘He was talking to me,’ he said. ‘But what does it have to do with you?’
Chapter Fifteen
We were on dry land once more, in Calais.
The great fortresses of Guisnes and Hammes frowned down upon us as we landed, but the town itself was in festive mood to welcome ashore King Edward and his two brothers. The summer weather had smiled upon us during our crossing of the Channel, and the richly decorated houses of the wool merchants hemmed us in on either side as the royal procession made its way to Saint Nicholas’s church to give thanks for our safe arrival.
Some of the thousands of advance troops who had lined the harbour to voice their greeting were already encamped on the marshy ground beyond the ditch outside the town, and it had been my expectation that, along with Stephen Hudelin and Humphrey Nanfan, I should be consigned to these miles of tents and baggage wagons which stretched as far as the eye could see from the double walls encircling Calais towards the friendly territory of the Duke of Burgundy. But I had hardly regained my land legs or settled my stomach after the heaving motion of the ship when I was summoned to a house which faced on to the market square, and which had been put at His Grace’s disposal by an obliging merchant (who no doubt considered future patronage worth present inconvenience). There I discovered Timothy Plummer pacing up and down the parlour floor like some caged animal.
‘Is this wise, sending for me so openly?’ I asked as, at a gesture from him, I carefully shut the door behind me.
It was a pleasant room with a fine oaken table in the centre, a large carved armchair and several joint stools. The family plate, an impressive array of silver-gilt and pewter vessels, was displayed in a corner cupboard, rich tapestry hangings decorated the walls and an elaborately ornate staircase led to the upper storey. Our absent host was obviously a very rich man, but that was hardly surprising. As members of the chief English Wool Staple for the rest of Europe, the inhabitants of Calais were in general extremely wealthy.
Timothy spun round to face me, answering snappishly, ‘I’ve had enough of caution. The Eve of Saint Hyacinth is now only six weeks distant and time is pressing. I cannot be everywhere at once and without Lionel, you and young Matthew Wardroper are the only two people in whom I can really trust. Have you anything to tell me?’
I seated myself, straddle-legged, on a stool and folded my arms. ‘Only that Stephen Hudelin and Humphrey Nanfan claim to have been in conversation on Saturday evening at the moment when the Duke’s life was threatened. Each told me so independently of the other and I had no sense of collusion between them. Nor can I see any good reason why they should support one another’s story if it doesn’t happen to be true.’
Timothy was silent for a moment, grimly staring into space. When at last he spoke, it was to tick off a list of names with one hand on the fingers of the other. ‘Geoffrey Whitelock was within your line of vision when that attempt was made and as we know for certain that Ralph Boyse could not have killed Thaddeus Morgan, therefore we also know that he cannot be our man. And now Stephen Hudelin and Humphrey Nanfan would appear to be innocent, unless of course they are in this plot together. That leaves either Jocelin d’Hiver or …’
He broke off and I finished for him, ‘Or someone else beside these five, which we have always feared might be the case.’ Timothy nodded and lapsed once more into silence. ‘So?’ I prompted finally.
He glanced down at me thoughtfully. ‘So we have to concentrate our main effort, from now on, on protecting His Grace’s person. I shall therefore speak to the Duke tonight and ask him to release you and young Matthew Wardroper from your household duties. I shall say that your services are required by me.’
I grimaced. ‘And will His Grace oblige you, do you think? Or will you find yourself at the sharp end of his tongue?’
Timothy shook his head ruefully.‘I’ll have to make him listen to me. It’s for his own good when all’s said and done.’
I grinned and rose from the stool. ‘Rather you than me, my friend. And how will you explain my sudden rise in importance to my fellow Yeomen of the Chamber?’
Timothy shrugged. ‘I shan’t. For the truth is, chapman, that I’m past caring about anything except His Grace’s safety.’
‘Nevertheless,’ I protested, ‘we haven’t yet fully considered the possibility that Jocelin d’Hiver could be our assassin, or that Stephen and Humphrey might be working together. Let me make some inquiries amongst the other members of the Duke’s household who have accompanied him to Calais. If we are to throw caution to the winds why shouldn’t I question people more openly? Let me go to the camp. It’s possible that someone might be able to confirm or deny their story.’
‘Very well. But I want you to return here tonight. With your height and bulk, you’ll prove a formidable addition to those guarding His Grace’s slumbers. You may offer that as an excuse if you like to anyone wanting to know why you are so privileged.’ He added wearily, ‘Take no heed of what I said a while ago. We must still exercise a little caution.’