[Roger the Chapman 05] - Eve of Saint Hyacinth (24 page)

'It was two o'clock,' I cavilled. 'The dead time of morning. And why would the king hold military talks that did not include his brothers? His two most senior commanders.'

'How should I know?' Timothy spread his hands. 'But you can be sure that it has nothing to do with us. So, what did this voice say to you from the other side of the wall?'
 

'I've told you, it spoke in French and I know only a little of that language. It was rapid and low, barely above a whisper. Maybe I shall recall a word or two later, as I did on the previous occasion, maybe not. But it seems significant to me that this is the second time in the course of this affair that I have heard French spoken. We must remember that it is Ralph Boyse's mother tongue.'

'And also that of Jocelin d'Hiver.'

'He was not present in the courtyard.'

'Many people in the town speak French,' Timothy objected after a moment's consideration. 'They have to, in order to deal with their neighbours beyond the Pale. And many of the nobility use an old-fashioned, bastard version of the Norman tongue on occasions.'

'But who creeps about in the dead of night to speak to people through a crack in a wall? And why here, where it is known that the Duke of Gloucester is lodging?' My persistence was beginning to convince Timothy that he must take a more serious view of the information I had laid before him. All the same, he was reluctant to accuse Ralph Boyse, a man we thought we had proved innocent of any fell intent towards His Grace. Moreover, the greatest impediment still remained - that until we knew the reason for a plot against Duke Richard's life, it was well nigh impossible to point the finger of suspicion at anyone. We parted company, miserable in the knowledge that in over a week we had progressed very little, and that such assumptions as we had made were probably built on sand.

Later that day I accompanied the duke to the camp, where he had called a muster of his captains, and left him, securely flanked by two of his Squires and with a third guarding the entrance to his tent, while I went in search of Ralph Boyse. The ranks of those who wore the Gloucester azure-and-murrey livery seemed endless, but I found him eventually inspecting the contents of one of the baggage wagons, looking for a small, portable organ which had been mislaid.

'It's a favourite instrument of the duke's,' Ralph was saying peevishly to the baggage-master as I approached. 'And he has particularly requested it tonight when I sing for him.'

'You're honouring us with your company again then, Master Boyse,' I said, quietly coming up behind him.

His head jerked round and I caught the flash of hostility in his eyes before it was swiftly veiled.

'I am, Roger Chapman. And it seems that you, too, have found favour with the duke. You appear to be a great deal in his company since we landed in France.'

I laughed. 'Only because the attempt on his life has unsettled him, although he'd never admit to it, and I'm bigger and stronger than most men.'

'That's true.' Ralph turned back to the wagon where a shout of triumph from the baggage-master announced his discovery of the organ. It was held aloft, its painted pipes gleaming in the sunshine, then Ralph wrapped his arms about it, hugging it against his chest. 'Are you returning to the town now? If so, we might as well walk together.'
 

'No, I'm attending upon the duke and must await his pleasure. He is in conference with his captains.'
 

Ralph took a firmer grasp upon the instrument he was holding. 'A pity,' he remarked. 'You might have given me a hand with this cumbersome object. We could have taken turns in carrying it. Never mind. I'll walk with you as far as His Grace's tent if you'll allow it.'

This sudden familiarity demonstrated more clearly than anything else could have done that Ralph was no longer in any doubt as to the true reason for my presence in Duke Richard's household. I was not a humble Yeoman of the Chamber but a privileged person, and one of whom to be wary. Every now and then he darted a watchful glance at me from the corner of his eyes, but his manner remained polite, although it could scarcely be described as friendly: 'I should be glad of your company,' I answered.

We threaded a path through the teeming mass of men and their equipment: armourers, bowmen, cooks and messengers, foot-soldiers, grooms, arrowsmiths and chandlers, all scurrying about like ants, and all trying to serve the interests of their own particular lords at the expense of all the others. Twice I had to assist Ralph over uneven ground when the weight of his burden made him less nimble than he might otherwise have been at avoiding obstacles; and more than once I was forced to lift bodily out of our way some argumentative fellow who was disputing our passage.

As usual, my size discouraged any argument.

'You're useful to have around,' Ralph said. 'How came you to be a chapman?'

'My mother intended me for the Church,' I answered cheerfully, 'but with the blessing of my Abbot I decided that I had no vocation and was released from my novitiate. I liked the idea of being my own master and the freedom of the open road.'

'What part of the country do you hail from? Devon?'
 

'No. My home was in Wells, although my motherless child lives with her granddam in Bristol.' I raised my voice a little so as to be heard above the deafening clamour all around us. 'But I have often been in Devon and know it well, as I believe you must do. I was told you have a kinsman there. Whereabouts in the county does he have his dwelling?'

My companion did not reply immediately, being concerned to avoid a pothole in the road. But, 'Near the city of Exeter,' he said when he had safely negotiated this hazard.

'A fine place to live.' I hesitated a moment before continuing, 'The earth there is such a remarkable colour, so white and chalky.'

Ralph grunted his assent and I noted that he was beginning to sweat. No doubt his burden was heavy.

We parted company close to the duke's tent, I to wait until I should be needed to accompany my lord back to Calais, Ralph to find some wagon going in the same direction, or else to trudge the weary way on foot. I watched him thoughtfully as he paused to exchange greetings with an armourer who had just finished hammering out a dent in a cuisse. It had been well worth the effort to seek out Ralph Boyse, if only to learn that he knew nothing of Devon and had never been there. He had no kinsman who dwelt near Exeter, for the soil thereabouts is tile deep rich red that accompanies granite.

So where had he been, and what had he really been up to last May, while Duke Richard's levies had been encamped around Northampton?

Chapter Sixteen

We did not return to Calais for our belated dinner until close upon noon, by which time my stomach was rumbling with hunger.

The reason for the delay was the duke's insistence on visiting his levies, walking around that part of the camp where his own particular troops were mustered and following in my footsteps of earlier that morning. He displayed an interest in the comfort and welfare of his men shown by very few of the other commanders, asking pertinent questions and displaying considerable knowledge concerning the answers. (This should not have surprised me, however, because this young man, who was my own age exactly, had been Admiral of England, Ireland and Aquitaine by the time he was eleven years old.)

At last, however, the duke was ready to leave and return to the town, a decision I silently but heartily applauded, and not just because I was famished. The familiar way he moved among the soldiery, stopping to speak to the roughest and ugliest of characters, filled me with the greatest apprehension; and on more than one occasion I urged his Body Squires to stand closer to him, even presuming to mount guard over him myself. How easy it would be, I reflected, for someone to produce a knife from beneath his tunic and slide it between his victim's ribs.

Duke Richard gave no sign of noticing these manoeuvres, except for a slight lift at the corners of his wide, thin mouth. However, when at last he turned to go, back to where the horses had been tethered at the edge of the vast encampment, he brushed against me, murmuring so low that only I could hear, 'It's time I put you out of your misery, Roger Chapman.'

He and his Squires cantered leisurely over the paved causeway which led eventually to Calais's landward gate.

The rest of us were on foot, swinging along at a vigorous pace, but unable, nevertheless, to keep abreast of the horsemen. I was relieved therefore to see a party of the duke's retainers, headed by the unmistakable figure of Timothy Plummer, riding out across the lowered drawbridge to meet us. I was also pleased to recognize Matthew Wardroper amongst the group. There was something reassuring about the sight of his slender, upright figure, mounted on a chestnut gelding. Moreover, it was good to know that here, at least, was one man free from the taint of any suspicion.

I was less pleased, a moment later, to note Ralph Boyse, still clutching the portable organ, standing in the crowd lining the roadside to watch the duke and his retinue pass.

Why was he not safely in Calais by now? It was an hour and more since we had parted company; ample time for him to have reached and entered the town, even hampered as he was by his burden. I tried to keep him in view as my fellows and I drew level with the onlookers, but there were too many people milling around the edge of the causeway, and on more than one occasion he vanished from sight.

The two parties of horsemen had by now met and mingled, Timothy Plummet and his escort closing in behind the duke who, even at a distance, was patently none too gratified to see them. He was doubtless displeased by this public demonstration of concern.

Suddenly, above the general hubbub, there sounded a brief but piercing whistle. Almost immediately Duke Richard's horse careered off the track and began a headlong gallop towards the deep ditch which surrotmded Calais's double circle of wails. For a moment nobody moved, unable to take in exactly what had happened, and then for a few short seconds after realization dawned we all waited for the duke, deservedly famous for his equestrian skills, to bring the maddened beast under control.

'Jesus!' breathed the man next to me, those of us on foot having slowed to a halt. 'His saddle's slipping. The girth's broken.'

'Or been cut,' I muttered grimly under my breath.

We all started to run, knowing full well that it was hopeless. We could never catch up. It needed another horseman, and a skilled one at that, to overtake and check the bolting thoroughbred, a high-spirited animal and difficult enough to handle at the best of times. The duke's entire mounted retinue was already streaming in pursuit, but I placed little faith in the ability of any one of them to prevent the tragedy so obviously impending. If the duke did not break his neck, he must, barring a miracle, be seriously injured in a fall.

The cumbersome ornamental saddle slithered first to one side, then to the other of the horse's back, and Duke Richard twice avoided being thrown by the merest hair's breadth and his own superb skill as a rider. But the ditch was getting closer by the second. Once the animal stumbled into that nothing on earth could save either him or the duke from an extremely dangerous tumble.

Then, with disaster looming, young Matthew Wardroper seemingly came out of nowhere, reaching his master's side at breakneck speed, leaning across to snatch at the runaway's bridle and flinging a steadying arm about the prince's shoulders. There was a moment of wild confusion when it looked as if both men and their mounts must plunge together down the steep, rolling slope into the bottom of the ditch; but at the very second when all appeared lost, Duke Richard wrenched his horse's head to the left and veered sharply away from the edge, taking Matthew Wardroper with him. The blown steeds came to a stop a furrow's length from the brink, standing docilely while the two men dismounted.

I was near enough by now to see that young Matthew looked considerably more shaken than the duke, who put up both hands to ward off a host of anxious retainers.

'I am perfectly safe. There is nothing to be alarmed about,' I heard him say, before he was blocked from my view by a sea of bodies.

And he was the only one of us who looked calm and unruffled as, twenty minutes later using a borrowed saddle, he rode over the drawbridge and into the town at the head of his retinue.

The following day I found myself, more by chance than design, wedged next to Timothy Plummer as the three princes, supported by their immediate household officers and friends, crowded into the market square of Calais to await the arrival of Margaret, Duchess of Burgundy. After the formal greetings and exchange of presents, King Edward and his two brothers, accompanied by their sister, would withdraw for rest and relaxation into the Hôtel de Ville, where they would be able to discuss more intimate family matters.

Timothy edged a little closer and whispered in my ear, 'Have you been told that tomorrow my lord and the Duke of Clarence will escort the duchess back to St Omer?' I shook my head as he grinned, taking his usual pleasure at imparting unwelcome news. 'True, I assure you. And I have arranged with His Grace that you shall be one of his following. Can you sit a horse?'

'I have ridden, although not recently. Does Ralph Boyse go with us?'

'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.'