‘No. Nor Stephen Hudelin, nor Jocelin d’Hiver, nor Humphrey Nanfan. They will remain here under the watchful eye of young Wardroper. But we two must go with the Duke just in case none of the four proves to be the guilty person and danger threatens from another quarter.’
I shifted my position slightly in order to obtain a better view of Duke Richard, straddling his horse beside his brothers in the centre of the square. I noticed that today he sat a different saddle. I spoke to Timothy without turning my head. ‘I haven’t asked if His Grace’s girth was deliberately cut yesterday morning. I took it for granted.’
‘And right to do so,’ Timothy responded glumly. ‘There was no possibility of a mistake. The leather was almost new and the break was clean. A knife, or some other sharp instrument, had been used to slice it through.’
‘What did the grooms say?’
‘Swore that all the harness had been closely inspected as usual before the Duke set out. They’re good, sound Yorkshiremen. Been in the Duke’s employ for years, both at Middleham and at Sheriff Hutton. There’s no cause to doubt their word or actions. Like all his northern levies, they’re both zealously protective of his person.’
I shrugged. ‘I don’t doubt it for an instant. The horses were tethered on the outskirts of the camp for over two hours and more while the Duke went about his business. Anyone could have got at them. Ralph Boyse was in the camp throughout that period, as I’ve told you. Have you inquired about Humphrey and the others?’
‘The three of them were absent from the Duke’s lodgings all morning. This is attested to. Apart from that, however, their whereabouts are unknown. They could have been inside the walls, but no one can say for certain.’
‘What do they say themselves?’
Timothy sighed. ‘His Grace has strictly forbidden any general questioning of the household. It will only draw unwelcome attention, he thinks, to this threat upon his life.’ Timothy straightened his back as the distant sound of trumpets echoed from the landward side of the town. ‘Nevertheless, I have ventured to ignore his commands in the case of our particular friends.’
‘With what result?’ I prompted as everyone in the square now came to attention, the tips of bills and halberds glittering in the sunshine.
‘Naturally enough, considering the circumstances – for rumour of the true cause of the mishap has spread like wildfire in spite of the Duke’s attempts to keep it secret – they all claim to have been in Calais about their own or His Grace’s business.’
‘That’s nothing to their credit. The girth may well have been tampered with before Duke Richard set out for the camp but after the animal left the stable. The leather could have been sliced almost through, but not quite, leaving the motion of the saddle on the homeward journey to complete our assassin’s handiwork.’
Timothy shook his head decisively. ‘The cut was clean. No part of the strap was frayed.’ He was pleased with himself. ‘You’re not the only one, chapman, who knows what to look for, or what conclusions to draw from the things you see.’
There was no chance just then for further conversation. With the banners and pennants of Burgundy hanging limply above her head in the noonday heat, and with the sunlight gleaming on the ubiquitous collar of the Golden Fleece, Margaret, Duchess of Burgundy, rode into Calais and the crowded market-place.
In appearance, she was very like her two elder brothers, tall and big-boned with the florid Plantagenet complexion. When she had dismounted, she first made obeisance to King Edward before rising from her curtsey to be embraced more informally by all three men. From my position of vantage, with only a single row of halberdiers between me and the main players in this little scene, I noted that although the Duchess warmly greeted both her eldest and youngest brother, it was George of Clarence whom she was most delighted to see. She held him longer in her arms, kissed him more soundly and clung to his hand more possessively when the royal party and the most privileged of their respective retainers finally moved inside the Hotel de Ville.
Those of us left outside in the square immediately relaxed, the soldiers allowing their shoulders to slump and their grip on their bills and halberds to slacken. The rest of us began to disperse about our various business. Timothy rubbed the back of his neck, his short stature having made it necessary for him to crane over the heads of the guard of honour in order to see what was happening.
‘Where’s the Duke of Burgundy?’ I asked. ‘Why hasn’t he come with the Duchess?’
My companion snorted. ‘You may well ask. He isn’t called Charles the Rash for nothing. Apparently, he’s gone dashing off to besiege some tinpot town called Neuss just because the Mayor, or Burgomaster, or however they term ’em here, has annoyed him. Our own lord’s hopping mad, by all I hear, and even Duke George ain’t too pleased about it.’
‘And King Edward?’ I asked. ‘What does he say?’
‘Strangely enough, he’s not too bothered by all accounts. Mind you, it’s not surprising, really.’ Timothy smiled the superior smile of one who was in the innermost counsels of the high and mighty. ‘I don’t know as I’d worry too much about having Duke Charles constantly dancing attendance at my elbow. And I dare say His Highness’d rather have his brother-in-law’s room than his company.’
I rubbed my chin thoughtfully, but made no further comment on the subject.
Instead, ‘What do you think caused the Duke’s mount to bolt yesterday when it did?’
Timothy hunched his shoulders. ‘Someone in the crowd let out a whistle. Didn’t you hear it? Well then! There’s your answer.’
‘But it didn’t affect the other horses.’
‘Maybe they ain’t so high-strung as that bay of the Duke’s. It’s always been a funny-tempered animal. It was why my lord of Clarence sold it to his brother in the first place. There was no one in his stables who could handle it, including himself.’ Timothy glanced sharply at me with an arrested expression in his eyes. ‘You don’t think…?’ he began, then pulled himself up short, shaking his head. ‘No. That was over a twelvemonth since.’
We had by now reached the house where the Duke was staying and thankfully entered its portals, leaving the market-place to the burning midday heat and the wilting halberdiers and billmen: poor souls who must wait for the Duchess to emerge from the Hotel de Ville and then escort her to her overnight lodgings. I agreed with Timothy that he was probably right to discount the fact that the Duke of Clarence had been the bay’s original owner and we separated just inside the door with a parting injunction from him to remember that I was riding with the Duke tomorrow to St Omer. I nodded and watched his retreating back as he bustled away about his own affairs. It seemed to me that there were times when Master Plummer was far too complacent about his powers of reasoning for Duke Richard’s safety.
I stood for several seconds, head bowed in thought, recalling the scene in the market-place. Had the Duke been riding the bay this morning? I fancied not. He had been mounted on a chestnut mare, if memory served me aright, and I intercepted a scurrying page to ask if he knew where my lord was stabling his horses.
‘In Pissoir Lane,’ came the answer.
This I found without much difficulty, every local inhabitant knowing where the public urinals were located. The stables stood at the opposite end of the alleyway, next to the smithy, and my azure-and-murrey livery gained me immediate access. I was directed without hesitation to the half-dozen stalls reserved for the Duke of Gloucester’s horses and the two grooms accepted me with the same lack of reservation. As Timothy had told me, they were plain, blunt Yorkshiremen, who addressed each other as Wat and Alfred, and I came straight to the point, knowing that I need not beat about the bush.