He shrugged. ‘Only something to the effect that the English army was great enough to sweep across Europe to the very gates of Rome itself without any help from him. Also that he will be ready to join forces with us later, after he has finished pillaging Lorraine. Of course, he didn’t put it quite so bluntly, but that’s what he meant,’ Matthew added with a grin, but sobered quickly. ‘Tell me when you’re ready to meet Master Plummer, won’t you? I’m dying of curiosity to hear what it is that you’ve discovered.’
‘I haven’t discovered anything,’ I protested. ‘Matt, I know this is hard, but I want you to stay with the Duke this evening.’ His face fell ludicrously and he pouted defiantly. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘It’s a lot to ask, but I promise you shall know all presently. I need someone to keep an eye on Ralph Boyse. He’s singing for Duke Richard tonight. I overheard one of the pages say so.’
He hesitated, but only for a second before his sunny nature reasserted itself. ‘And you swear faithfully to tell me later? Oh… very well, then.’ He smiled at me, and I had a sudden, vivid recollection of Lady Wardroper as I had seen her five weeks ago at Chilworth Manor. ‘But what about the others? It won’t be easy to keep watch on all of them.’
‘Never mind the others,’ I answered tersely and walked away, leaving him staring.
The rest of the day passed swiftly. The council of war came to an end and the lords returned to their various lodgings, the Duke of Burgundy remaining for the night with the King.
By the time I reached the tavern Timothy was already seated in the courtyard, waiting for me, two brimming mazers on the bench beside him and one in his hand. ‘Where’s Matt?’ he demanded.
‘I’ve persuaded him to stay behind and keep watch on Ralph Boyse who’s entertaining His Grace this evening.’ I sat down and drank some ale.
‘Why Ralph in particular?’ Timothy asked. ‘What about the other three?’
‘Because I no longer believe they’re any threat to the Duke,’ I answered, a statement which caused my companion to raise his eyebrows.
‘Why not? What information have you uncovered?’
‘As yet nothing that you’d really call information.’ I sipped my ale. ‘Let that be for the moment.’
‘If you know something,’ Timothy began threateningly, then took a look at my face, paused and shrugged. ‘Very well. For the moment. So! You say you know the reason for the plot against Duke Richard.’
I took another swig of ale before replying. ‘I said I think I know. How serious is King Edward about this war do you imagine?’
Timothy choked as he swallowed his drink the wrong way. When he had recovered his breath he demanded incredulously, ‘What makes you ask such a question? How serious! Deadly so, that’s obvious to even the meanest intellect. The French, poor sods, have done nothing to invite it. It’s the old, old story. He who is King of England should also be King of France. It’s the same claim which has sparked all the wars of the last two hundred years. It goes back to Isabella Capet, the wife of the second Edward.’
I rubbed my chin thoughtfully. At the other end of the bench a young couple were staring soulfully into one another’s eyes, those of the young man, slightly protuberant, shining like dark, ripe plums. In richness of colour they reminded me of Matthew Wardroper’s.
‘I believe the King to be playing a deeper game,’ I said slowly. ‘I believe him to be in touch with King Louis. To have been in touch with him for some long time. King Edward needs more money than Parliament is prepared to grant him for the extravagances of his queen, her family, his mistresses and his court. King Louis wants England under his thumb. And how better for both men to achieve their aims than for King Louis to pay King Edward a generous annual sum of money on condition that he withdraws from France, never to trouble her borders again?’
Chapter Eighteen
Timothy said, ‘I’d lower my voice if I were you. You’re talking treason as well as nonsense. But even if what you say were true, do you think His Highness could persuade his lords and captains to agree? You know full well that Duke Richard, for one, would never be party to such a betrayal of the people’s trust.’
‘And that’s my point,’ I cut in swiftly, moderating my tone as Timothy had advised. ‘But first, reflect upon the others surrounding His Highness: that noted turncoat and spendthrift, my lord of Clarence; the Queen’s brother, Earl Rivers, and her son, the Marquess of Dorset, reportedly profligates both and always in need of money; the King’s bosom friend, Lord Hastings, yet another spendthrift by what I’ve observed of him; John Morton, a man who, to judge by his shifty glance, is eager to stir up trouble wherever and whenever he can; and all the rest of the court. Do you think any of them so high-minded that they could resist a bribe? Or, more importantly still, do you consider that any one of them has sufficient influence over the King to force him to change his mind once he’s made it up?’ Timothy slowly shook his head, his attention caught and held. ‘Of course you don’t. Except …’
‘Except Duke Richard,’ my companion whispered hoarsely.
‘Duke Richard,’ I repeated, ‘who has remained totally loyal to the King throughout his life, whose opinion His Highness values, whose good regard, I suspect, is as necessary to him as breathing. And this same man is the very one who would try with every means at his disposal to persuade the King against the course he’s set his heart on. King Louis would know this. How much easier, therefore, to remove, if possible, the obstacle in his path rather than trust to chance that King Edward will not heed his brother?’
Timothy chewed his bottom lip. ‘But why by the Eve of Saint Hyacinth?’
I shrugged. ‘How do I know? Maybe it is about that time, Saint Hyacinth’s Day, that the two kings have agreed to reveal their hands.’
‘Yes… You mean they’ll both play out the charade of going to war for a certain period…?’ He broke off, spluttering. ‘W-what am I saying? This is a farrago of nonsense from an overheated brain! Why am I listening to you?’
‘Because I’m offering the only plausible explanation you’ve yet heard for the threat to Duke Richard’s life.’
‘Psha!’ Timothy made a noise like a cat sneezing and waved his hands excitedly. ‘What proof do you have?’ But when I had given him my evidence he was even more dismissive than before. ‘Is this all? It’s nothing, chapman, and well you know it. There may be a dozen reasons for His Highness’s behaviour.’
‘Name one.’
‘His health may not be as good as it usually is. The strain of raising money for the invasion must have taxed even his great strength. Or it could be a woman. It’s no secret that he’s tiring of his present mistress, Elizabeth Lucy, and on the look-out for another. Perhaps the lady is proving more difficult to shake off than he imagined. Then there’s the constant feuding between Clarence and the Queen’s relations. Keeping the peace amongst them all can’t be easy for someone who likes domestic harmony. And then of course there have been two attempts on his favourite brother’s life. Although I doubt but what he’s accepted our lord’s version of events: a foiled attack by a madman and an accident.’ Timothy paused, casting around for anything else which might occur to him. Finally, he spread his hands and hunched his shoulders. ‘Well, there are four sound reasons for the King’s malaise – if indeed there is such a thing outside of your imagination.’