‘I only arrived in London last Friday.’
Julian heard the defensive note in my voice and grinned sardonically. ‘You do know something. I thought you must as soon as you said you’d been brought back to London by the duke.’
‘It wasn’t for that reason. .’ I broke off, realizing that my denial had also been a tacit admission of the truth.
‘Not for that reason,’ Julian repeated. ‘So there is some substance in the rumours.’ He took a deep breath. ‘The people won’t like it, Roger. In fact they’ll deeply resent it. They’ll hate Gloucester for it. And on what grounds can he claim the crown? Not just because of the king’s youth, surely! We’ve had child sovereigns before, two of them not all that long ago. Not one of their uncles ever proposed removing either the second Richard or the late King Henry because of their age.’
I hesitated, wondering if I was at liberty to disclose the truth, anxious to come to Duke Richard’s defence. After a moment’s deliberation, I decided that Bishop Stillington’s disclosure was bound to be become public knowledge before long.
I said, ‘Those cases, and others before them, were different. They were true kings.’ Julian raised his eyebrows in startled enquiry, but made no comment, continuing to sip his ale. I went on, ‘You don’t have to say who told you this, but the Bishop of Bath and Wells has informed my lord Gloucester that twenty years or more ago, he betrothed the late king to the Lady Eleanor Butler in a solemn, but secret, ceremony that he regarded as binding as a marriage. That, of course, was before Edward wed Elizabeth Woodville in an equally clandestine fashion. The bishop therefore regards this second marriage as bigamous and the children of it as illegitimate.’
My companion looked at me open-mouthed, unable for a few seconds to say anything at all. Finally, he got out, ‘Dear sweet Virgin and all the angels!’ His eyes narrowed suspiciously. ‘Do you believe this story?’
I drank some ale. ‘I can’t see any good reason not to,’ I said at last. ‘If you’re thinking that it’s a conspiracy between church and state, let me tell you that Robert Stillington has never sat in Duke Richard’s pocket, as the saying goes. I doubt if the duke could have identified him with any ease until these past few days. My lord has lived in the north as much as possible, coming south only rarely, while the bishop’s diocese is in the heart of my own west country. Indeed, I was born and brought up in Wells. No, it was the Duke of Clarence Stillington was so friendly with.’
‘Clarence?’ Julian lowered his beaker and waited for me to continue.
I nodded. ‘Their names were linked on more than one occasion. About seven years ago, I witnessed one of their meetings at Farleigh Castle near Bath. The duke was in residence there for a day or two, and the bishop had ridden over to see him. Nothing sinister in that you might think. A courtesy visit to acknowledge Clarence’s presence in the neighbourhood. But. .’
‘But?’ Julian prompted.
I shrugged. ‘It’s difficult to describe exactly, but there was something conspiratorial in their dealings with one another that struck me as decidedly odd. And then, at the time of Clarence’s execution two years later, Bishop Stillington was incarcerated in the Tower. Oh, he wasn’t imprisoned for long because he paid a hefty fine to the king for his release. But nevertheless, you could regard it as significant.’
Julian poured us both more ale.
‘You think that this Stillington had told Duke George the same story? You think that this was why the king suddenly decided to rid himself of Clarence?’
I was pleased with his ready understanding. ‘I feel sure it must have been. After all, Edward had put up with his brother’s fits and starts, his disloyalty, his treachery and disobedience for years. He’d forgiven him time and time again in spite, I’ve no doubt, of the queen and her family all clamouring for the duke to be got rid of. But then, I think, George suddenly — and very stupidly, he was a very stupid man — threatened the king with what he knew. Threatened to make it public.’
‘So the king had him executed.’ Julian nodded slowly. ‘It’s a good theory, Roger, and I feel you may well be right. But surely such a claim should be referred to Rome so that a papal court could give its verdict. It shouldn’t just be acted upon as if it were the inviolable truth. Is a betrothal as sacred in the eyes of the Church as a marriage?’
‘I don’t know. I’m no theologian. Stillington seems to think so.’
There was silence for a moment or two. From the shop, we could hear Naomi’s voice upraised in a popular ballad of the day, singing decidedly off-key.
The apothecary grinned apologetically. ‘She’s no ear for music, I’m afraid.’
‘Neither have I,’ I assured him. ‘I couldn’t hold a tune to save my life.’
We listened painfully to another refrain before Julian asked, ‘Do you think, then, that the Lord Protector will claim the crown on the basis of young Edward’s bastardy? And, of course, that of his brother and sisters? But why doesn’t he wait and do it legally through the papal courts?’
I drank some more ale and gazed steadily at him across the rim of my beaker. ‘Can’t you work it out?’
After a second or two, he laughed softly. ‘The courts might find in favour of the king?’
‘I think it more than possible. No one wants to dispossess a child. And no doubt for a substantial bribe, the pope would be willing to declare the original vows between King Edward and the lady Eleanor Butler null and void.’
‘Is she still alive?’
‘I don’t think so.’
Julian sucked his teeth thoughtfully. ‘Is it your opinion,’ he asked, ‘that the duke has been planning this. . this coup for a long time?’
I was annoyed by the question. ‘Sweet Jesus, no! King Edward was ailing, it’s true, but I don’t think anyone expected him to die. It came as a terrible shock to everyone, including Duke Richard. No, no! I feel certain, knowing him as I do, that such a thought had never crossed his mind.’
I was lying, of course. I knew, no one better, that it was not the bastardy of his nephew, but of his eldest brother that had been preoccupying the duke. But that was another story, and not one I was prepared to discuss with Julian Makepeace. Or with anyone else for that matter.
I got to my feet, a little unsteadily it must be admitted. The apothecary’s ale was potent stuff and I had drunk three beakers of it.
‘I mustn’t trespass on your hospitality any longer,’ I said. ‘You must have work to do.’
‘Nothing that can’t wait,’ he protested. ‘Sit down again. You haven’t told me yet why you were recalled to London.’
‘Neither have I.’ I resumed my seat but refused his offer of more ale.
He gave an understanding smile. ‘So?’ he urged. ‘Why have you returned?’
I knew very well that I wasn’t supposed to discuss the disappearance of Gideon Fitzalan and the murder of Gregory Machin with anyone not already in the know, but I badly needed to talk the matter over with someone not personally involved, and I trusted Julian Makepeace. He was a good man and, moreover, had an intelligent mind that might be able to offer a solution which I had overlooked.
But when I had finished relating the events at Baynard’s Castle, his only comment, accompanied by a mystified shake of his head, was, ‘A strange business. A very strange business! I don’t envy you, my friend. A murder in a locked room, that smacks of witchcraft. Are you completely satisfied that this Gregory Machin’s room was indeed locked, or that there was no possible second way for the murderer to have entered?’
I smiled wearily. ‘Completely satisfied on both counts.’ I couldn’t help adding, with a touch of bitterness, ‘What an incompetent fool you must judge me to be.’
He stretched out a hand across the table. ‘Forgive me! I spoke without thinking. Of course I don’t judge you to be either incompetent or a fool. But what, then, is the answer? Apart from supernatural means? And I gather — from your manner rather than anything you’ve said — that you don’t favour that solution. Am I correct?’