‘Why is he sleeping beneath this roof?’ I asked. ‘Why is he not in camp with the others?’
‘The Duke needs some servants about him,’ Timothy reproved me. ‘And Ralph both plays and sings well as you know. His Grace sleeps badly and sometimes finds music soothing before he retires for the night.’
‘His Grace sent for Ralph?’
Timothy hesitated a moment before admitting, ‘N-no. Now you mention it, I believe Ralph entered the town just before curfew yesterevening and himself suggested that Duke Richard might have need of his services. I was present when his message was delivered. Until then, young Matthew had been singing, but his voice is not so fine as Ralph’s.’
‘And then, of course,’ I added thoughtfully, ‘Ralph had to stay the night. Did he know where His Grace was lodging?’
‘He would only have had to ask, once he was inside the town. But he would have no previous knowledge of the house nor of its peculiarities. Are you sure you didn’t imagine this voice? That you weren’t still half dreaming?’
‘I haven’t yet told you everything,’ I answered. ‘Do you know who lodges in the house immediately opposite this one, on the other side of the market square? It has a very high, pointed gable.’
Timothy looked surprised. ‘Aye. It’s normally the residence of the Mayor of Calais, but for tonight, and for as long as he remains within the town, it is being occupied by His Highness.’
I frowned. ‘The King sleeps there?’
‘Yes. Why do you ask?’ But when I had finished my tale, it was Timothy’s turn to frown. ‘Could you have been mistaken in the house? The Duke of Clarence is lodging next door and I’d put nothing past him, not even midnight assignations.’
‘I made no mistake, of that I’m certain.’
Timothy thought for a moment, then shrugged his shoulders. ‘Perhaps it was necessary for King Edward to have consultation with his captains. There are many secret moves and counter-moves in time of war.’
‘It was two o’clock,’ I cavilled. ‘The dead time of morning. And why would the King hold military talks that did not include his brothers? His two most senior commanders.’
‘How should I know?’ Timothy spread his hands. ‘But you can be sure that it has nothing to do with us. So, what did this voice say to you from the other side of the wall?’
‘I’ve told you, it spoke in French and I know only a little of that language. It was rapid and low, barely above a whisper. Maybe I shall recall a word or two later, as I did on the previous occasion, maybe not. But it seems significant to me that this is the second time in the course of this affair that I have heard French spoken. We must remember that it is Ralph Boyse’s mother tongue.’
‘And also that of Jocelin d’Hiver.’
‘He was not present in the courtyard.’
‘Many people in the town speak French,’ Timothy objected after a moment’s consideration. ‘They have to, in order to deal with their neighbours beyond the Pale. And many of the nobility use an old-fashioned, bastard version of the Norman tongue on occasions.’
‘But who creeps about in the dead of night to speak to people through a crack in a wall? And why here, where it is known that the Duke of Gloucester is lodging?’
My persistence was beginning to convince Timothy that he must take a more serious view of the information I had laid before him. All the same, he was reluctant to accuse Ralph Boyse, a man we thought we had proved innocent of any fell intent towards His Grace. Moreover, the greatest impediment still remained – that until we knew the reason for a plot against Duke Richard’s life, it was wellnigh impossible to point the finger of suspicion at anyone. We parted company, miserable in the knowledge that in over a week we had progressed very little, and that such assumptions as we had made were probably built on sand.
Later that day I accompanied the Duke to the camp, where he had called a muster of his captains, and left him, securely flanked by two of his Squires and with a third guarding the entrance to his tent, while I went in search of Ralph Boyse. The ranks of those who wore the Gloucester azure-and-murrey livery seemed endless, but I found him eventually inspecting the contents of one of the baggage wagons, looking for a small, portable organ which had been mislaid.
‘It’s a favourite instrument of the Duke’s,’ Ralph was saying peevishly to the baggage-master as I approached. ‘And he has particularly requested it tonight when I sing for him.’
‘You’re honouring us with your company again then, Master Boyse,’ I said, quietly coming up behind him.
His head jerked round and I caught the flash of hostility in his eyes before it was swiftly veiled.
‘I am, Roger Chapman. And it seems that you, too, have found favour with the Duke. You appear to be a great deal in his company since we landed in France.’
I laughed. ‘Only because the attempt on his life has unsettled him, although he’d never admit to it, and I’m bigger and stronger than most men.’
‘That’s true.’ Ralph turned back to the wagon where a shout of triumph from the baggage-master announced his discovery of the organ. It was held aloft, its painted pipes gleaming in the sunshine, then Ralph wrapped his arms about it, hugging it against his chest. ‘Are you returning to the town now? If so, we might as well walk together.’
‘No, I’m attending upon the Duke and must await his pleasure. He is in conference with his captains.’
Ralph took a firmer grasp upon the instrument he was holding. ‘A pity,’ he remarked. ‘You might have given me a hand with this cumbersome object. We could have taken turns in carrying it. Never mind. I’ll walk with you as far as His Grace’s tent if you’ll allow it.’
This sudden familiarity demonstrated more clearly than anything else could have done that Ralph was no longer in any doubt as to the true reason for my presence in Duke Richard’s household. I was not a humble Yeoman of the Chamber but a privileged person, and one of whom to be wary. Every now and then he darted a watchful glance at me from the corner of his eyes, but his manner remained polite, although it could scarcely be described as friendly.
‘I should be glad of your company,’ I answered.
We threaded a path through the teeming mass of men and their equipment: armourers, bowmen, cooks and messengers, foot-soldiers, grooms, arrowsmiths and chandlers, all scurrying about like ants, and all trying to serve the interests of their own particular lords at the expense of all the others. Twice I had to assist Ralph over uneven ground when the weight of his burden made him less nimble than he might otherwise have been at avoiding obstacles; and more than once I was forced to lift bodily out of our way some argumentative fellow who was disputing our passage. As usual, my size discouraged any argument.
‘You’re useful to have around,’ Ralph said. ‘How came you to be a chapman?’
‘My mother intended me for the Church,’ I answered cheerfully, ‘but with the blessing of my abbot I decided that I had no vocation and was released from my novitiate. I liked the idea of being my own master and the freedom of the open road.’
‘What part of the country do you hail from? Devon?’
‘No. My home was in Wells, although my motherless child lives with her granddam in Bristol.’ I raised my voice a little so as to be heard above the deafening clamour all around us. ‘But I have often been in Devon and know it well, as I believe you must do. I was told you have a kinsman there. Whereabouts in the county does he have his dwelling?’
My companion did not reply immediately, being concerned to avoid a pothole in the road. But, ‘Near the city of Exeter,’ he said when he had safely negotiated this hazard.