‘If that’s what you want, Mother,’ I answered pleasantly, ‘of course I’ll oblige you.’ I saw her expression sharpen from triumph to suspicion. ‘I’ll set out as soon as Christmas is over.’
* * *
The mystery in which I was to become embroiled during the next few months, unlike some of my previous adventures, had no connection with the greater happenings unfolding in the country at large; but I was to become a spectator of these events simply because I chanced to be in certain places at particular times. The first occasion was at Tewkesbury sometime around the middle of January, 1477.
I had set out from Bristol as soon as Christmas was done, arriving in Hereford just over a week later and making my way to the inn where Adela Juett lived and worked. Once my mission was explained, she seemed perfectly willing to accompany me, shrugging off the hardships which a walk of so many miles would entail, especially with a young child to fend for.
‘We can take it in turns to carry him,’ she said. ‘I’m strong and used to his weight. Don’t think that I shall expect you to be the only packhorse. And no doubt we shall be offered a ride by any carters we happen to meet on the road.’
She was as good as her word, shouldering the burden of young Nicholas as often as I would allow, and coming close to losing her temper on several occasions when I refused to let her take him from me. Whenever we heard the rumble of a cart in the distance, she would urge me into the middle of the track where we could clearly be seen by the driver; and Hereford had hardly been left behind before we were perched somewhat uncomfortably on top of a wagonload of turnips, the first of many similar journeys. The boy’s presence also ensured us shelter at any cottage along our route where there was no nearby inn or ale-house to offer accommodation, and some of the goodwives were reluctant to accept recompense for their trouble.
Nicholas Juett was a sweet, sunny-natured child with an endearing smile and the huge, velvety-brown eyes of his mother. He also had Adela’s dark wavy hair and soft red lips, which made him the immediate target of almost every female who encountered him; but he suffered the shower of kisses rained upon him with a commendable lack of grievance. In this he again resembled Adela, for she spoke little and never complained; and on an afternoon of lowering skies and gathering cloud, when a light flurry of snow had already presaged the threat of colder weather, we had been on foot for several long and wearisome miles, but still she remained resolutely cheerful.
It was getting dark as we approached Tewkesbury. For the past half-hour, I had been aware of more traffic on the road than might normally have been expected at that season of the year, both coming from and going towards the town. There were a surprising number of men-at-arms, and amongst the badges which had caught my eye were the Black Bull of Clarence, the White Boar and Red Bull of my lord of Gloucester, the Gold Lion of the King’s brother-in-law, the Duke of Suffolk, and the White Rose and Sun in Splendour of King Edward himself. Something was afoot in Tewkesbury and curiosity drove me forward, quickening my step in spite of the weight of young Nicholas Juett, who lay sound asleep in my arms.
‘Make for the nearest inn,’ I advised my companion. ‘We’re all tired and need rest.’
It had been my original intention to seek shelter in one of the guest-halls of the Abbey, but the town was so crowded that I doubted if the monks would be able to accommodate us. But neither could the first two hostelries at which we applied. I was beginning to feel worried when a hand clapped me on the shoulder.
‘Well, fancy seeing you here, Chapman,’ said Timothy Plummer.
Chapter Two
A harassed pot-boy brought two cups of wine, one for Timothy and one for myself, before hurrying away to serve other customers in the crowded ale-room.
This inn was as full to overflowing as the others from which we had been turned away, and my travelling companion and I would have been hard-pressed to find any lodging for the night had we not fallen in with Timothy Plummer. But one word from him and a couple of young squires, sporting the Duke of Gloucester’s livery, had removed themselves from the merest cupboard of a room, which was now happily occupied by Adela and her son. As for myself, I was invited to share Timothy’s bed in an adjoining chamber.
Timothy Plummer was the Duke of Gloucester’s Spy-Master, and he and I were old acquaintances. We had first met six years earlier, when I had been enquiring into the disappearance of Clement Weaver, the Alderman’s son; since then, our paths had crossed on two further occasions. Each time, through chance or force of circumstance, I had been able to render Duke Richard a signal service, and therefore I had Timothy Plummer’s trust.
‘Very well,’ I said, taking a gulp of wine in order to wash down a supper of rabbit stew, wheaten bread and cheese, ‘you know why I’m here, but why are you? Why is the town so crowded?’
Timothy choked over his drink. ‘Where have you been these past few weeks? All right, all right! You’ve been walking to Hereford, I haven’t forgotten! But I should have thought you might have heard the news of Duchess Isabel’s death somewhere along the way. Indeed, she died on the twenty-second of December, before, according to you, you left home. Did no word of it reach you in Bristol?’
I stared at him. ‘I’ve heard nothing. But … Duchess Isabel? Clarence’s wife? I saw her at Farleigh Castle only last summer. She looked tired, it’s true, but I thought that due to the fact that she was heavily pregnant. Did she die in childbirth?’
‘Shortly afterwards. The child died too. And yesterday was the day of her funeral. She’s been lying in state here for the past three weeks, before being buried in the Abbey. Duke George, as you may know, holds the Honour of Tewkesbury.’
I didn’t know, but neither did I confess my ignorance. ‘Poor lady,’ I said. A fresh thought struck me. ‘Are the Duke and Duchess of Gloucester here? It must be a great blow to the Duchess to lose her only sister.’
Timothy grimaced. ‘She’s not strong herself, and the news made her too ill to travel.’
‘So Duke Richard came alone?’
‘No, no!’ My companion was growing testy. ‘He sent his bastard son, Lord John, to represent him. That’s why I’m here — to watch over the boy and make sure he comes to no harm. Duke Richard has gone to London to consult with the King and to set a date for the convening of the Great Council, next month. Duke George rode to join them as soon as the funeral was over.’
I was puzzled. ‘Why is a Great Council being called?’
Timothy set down his empty cup and sighed. ‘You have been out of the world, Chapman, haven’t you? The Duke of Burgundy was killed while besieging the town of Nancy two weeks or more ago; before January was a few days old, at any rate.’
I gaped, remembering Charles the Bold as I had seen him the year before last, in Calais; vibrant with life and putting up the backs of all around him. He was, or had been until so recently, brother-in-law to our own English Princes, having taken as his second wife their sister, the Princess Margaret, by whom he had hoped, no doubt, to have a son to succeed him. But there had been no children of the marriage and now he was dead, leaving as his sole heir his daughter, Mary, who must surely be the greatest matrimonial prize in the whole of Europe.
I was still confused however. ‘But why does the King need to convene a Great Council?’
Timothy heaved another sigh. ‘Use your common sense, man,’ he pleaded. ‘What do you think happened the moment the news of Duke Charles’s death reached the French court?’ When I made no answer, he continued wearily, ‘King Louis at once announced that Burgundy had reverted to the Crown of France, and our spies report that he is even now mustering his armies to take possession of it. Surely you understand what that means!’