I knew vaguely of Henry Stafford, Duke of Buckingham. He was a descendant of yet another of the third Edward’s brood of sons — if ever a king could be said to have had too many sons it was that lusty monarch — and was therefore cousin, in the second, third or even fourth degree, to every other member of the royal family. I had seen him once, five years earlier, when he had been appointed Lord High Steward at the trial of George of Clarence, but my memory of him was not vivid. If the truth were told, I couldn’t recall his face at all, but I nodded as though I knew him intimately.
Timothy continued, ‘Well, we thought nothing of it and went to bed. But yesterday morning I was wakened with the news that Earl Rivers had been arrested an hour or so earlier. The inn where he was sleeping had been surrounded under cover of darkness and the earl had been taken into custody as soon as it was light. Moreover, Duke Richard and his cousin were already on the road to Stony Stratford to bring the king back to Northampton — which they did several hours later, together with his half-brother, Sir Richard Grey, and another of his kinsmen, Sir Thomas Vaughan, also under arrest.’
Timothy paused to refresh himself with more wine. I broke my promise and asked impatiently, ‘So what was it all about?’
My companion regarded me reproachfully and I hurriedly apologized. He went on, puffing out his skinny chest a little, ‘I was called to see Duke Richard that afternoon and informed that I was to ride to London within the next hour or so with the messengers he was sending to the mayor, to explain his actions. There was a Woodville plot afoot, he said, to take him prisoner until after the king had been crowned and the dowager queen’s family established in all the positions of power.’
‘Sweet Jesus!’ I breathed. ‘But — well, how did he know?’
Timothy became his usual pompous self. ‘Perhaps you don’t realize, my dear fellow — indeed, I suppose there’s no reason why you should — that the Duke of Buckingham is married to Catherine Woodville, one of Queen Elizabeth’s sisters. He was forcibly married to her many years ago by command of the late king, and has deeply resented the fact ever since. Unlike his cousin, he did not consider an upstart Woodville a fit mate for a Plantagenet. My guess is, however, that although he may have scorned her, the lady has always done her best to woo him-’
‘With the result,’ I cut in, ‘that she has told him all about this plot to take Duke Richard prisoner on his way to London. I begin to see. When my Lord of Gloucester, all unsuspecting, and Earl Rivers got to Stony Stratford yesterday morning, the duke would have been. . Been what?’ I frowned.
Timothy gestured excitedly. ‘He would have been told that the king had gone to rest at Grafton Regis. Grafton Regis,’ Timothy explained, ‘is the Woodvilles’ principal seat. It’s where King Edward first met Elizabeth Woodville and where he secretly married her all those years ago. And, most significantly, it’s not many miles from Stony Stratford! Once there, Duke Richard would have been taken prisoner without any fuss and probably died of a “seizure”, like Humphrey of Gloucester in the late King Henry’s reign. Meantime, Earl Rivers and Sir Richard Grey would have been on their way to London to stage a triumphal entry as sole protectors of the young king. And if my Lord Buckingham hadn’t ridden all through the day on Tuesday to apprise my lord of the Woodvilles’ intentions, the chances are that their treacherous plans would have gone smoothly. And that’s why I’m here, in order to foil any other of their little plots.’
I gave a long, low whistle. ‘Dear God. . The dowager queen’s gone into sanctuary, taking the Duke of York and the princesses with her. Are you aware of that?’
‘Of course I’m aware!’ Timothy bade me sit up straight and handed me more wine. ‘And Sir Edward Woodville has put to sea taking most of the fleet with him, not to mention a good half of the royal treasure from the Tower.’
‘And I hear that the Marquis of Dorset was despatched to grab the other half this morning.’
I had, astonishingly, managed to tell Timothy something that he didn’t know.
‘What?’ he yelped, spilling half his goblet of wine down his tunic. ‘Are you sure?’
I nodded smugly. ‘At least, that’s what I was told in the city this morning. And it would seem the natural thing for him to do.’
My companion was already on his feet, the precious glass goblet dumped back on the tray as carelessly as if it had been a wooden beaker.
‘I must go at once,’ he said. ‘I’ll leave you to find your own way out. Your horse is in the stables.’
‘Yes, you said. And thank you for your assist. .’ But he was gone before I could finish the word, a small whirlwind of activity, leaving me to sit pensively on the edge of the day-bed, turning over and over in my mind what he had told me.
If all of it were true — and I saw no reason why it should not be — it was disturbing news indeed. It meant that Richard of Gloucester’s life had already been in jeopardy and could well be again. In my own mind, I doubted if Earl Rivers had planned the duke’s death, only his detention until the Woodvilles had seized power. (I had got to know a little of the earl during the Scottish campaign the previous year, and judged him to be less ruthless than the rest of his family.) But I had no such reservations concerning the remainder of that tribe. One of the dowager queen’s brothers was already at sea in possession of half the royal treasure, having ordered the fleet to sail with him. Another, Lionel, Bishop of Salisbury, was no doubt busy stirring up sedition throughout the capital. And added to this poisonous brew was something that only I and a very few others knew about: Duke Richard’s conviction that the late king had been his mother’s bastard by an archer called Blaybourne and that he was already, given his brother Clarence’s attainder, the rightful king.
This, however, was something the duke was unable to prove, because of Duchess Cicely’s refusal either to confirm or deny the accusation she had made at the time of her eldest son’s marriage. But the information I had brought back from France six months earlier, concerning the christenings of Edward and Edmund, the next brother to him in age, must have confirmed Duke Richard in this belief. And now, to discover that the Woodvilles had been seriously plotting his downfall and possible murder could only exacerbate an already dangerous situation. I shivered. The future seemed suddenly uncertain. It was like looking down a long, dark tunnel and seeing no light at the end. .
I stood up slowly, experimentally testing my legs. But they appeared to have regained their strength, and the dizziness, thanks be to all the saints, had gone. Indeed, I felt remarkably refreshed and clear-headed. Deciding that the wine must be a contributory factor to my recovery, I helped myself to another glass before making my way to the stables to find Old Diggory. The house and magnificent gardens were still so crowded with servants and workmen that no one questioned my presence or challenged my right to be there, and I was able to collect the horse and ride out of Crosby’s Place with no more than the odd inquisitive glance from a couple of busy gardeners and a half-hearted attempt by one of the grooms to discover my identity. I rode off unhindered up the street towards the Bishop’s Gate, continuing to mull over all that Timothy Plummer had told me. But after a minute or so, my own concerns began to intrude upon my thoughts once more, and I stopped worrying about Duke Richard’s affairs to wonder why I found the history of Reynold and Julian Makepeace so disturbing. Julian’s version of his and his brother’s life story had only served to confirm that given to me by the stranger in the Voyager, and I had no reason at all to doubt it. Yet something about it bothered me. But what? The more I chased the possible reason round and around in my head, the more it eluded me. With a sigh, I abandoned the quest. My brain would spew up the answer eventually. Until then I should do well to let it be.