[Roger the Chapman 05] - Eve of Saint Hyacinth (29 page)

'What do we do now?' I asked Timothy. 'Without more evidence there can be no arrests. It would be no more than my word against theirs at present.'

He nodded. 'We stick as close as a burr to His Grace and put as much distance between him and those two as we dare without arousing too much suspicion. Meantime, we think, and think hard, for some way to resolve the problem. Some way to prove to all the world that they are villains.'
 

I was shaken by a momentary doubt. 'And if I am proved to be mistaken?' I demanded.

'Then no harm done, if much time wasted. You've told no one but me? Very well. No need to worry. You're a good man, chapman. And one I'm proud to name as my friend. I shan't betray you.'

Chapter Nineteen

The Duke of Burgundy rode out of Calais the following morning, and the results of his previous day's council of war with King Edward were soon circulating amongst the troops. Duke Richard was to accompany his brother-in-law, along with some of the other lords and captains, back to St Omer, then bear south to join the king and the Duke of Clarence, who were meanwhile to advance with their levies upon St Quentin, its defender, the Count of St Pol, having offered to surrender the town.

Timothy and I were to travel with the duke wherever he went.

'I had a private audience with His Grace as soon as he was dressed this morning and he's agreed to it,' Timothy said. 'I've also requested that he leave Ralph Boyse and young Wardroper to follow on with the rest of the household, although I haven't told him why. It'll give us a night or two's respite from their company and a chance to think. By the way, John Kendall told me that Duke Richard will see you now if you're still of a mind to speak with him.'

The rooms set aside for the duke's private use were even more than usually crowded as iron-bound chests full of clothes, books and music were carried downstairs to be loaded on to the baggage wagons. In a day or two, when the remaining officers and servants had also left, accompanying the king, the house would grow quiet again, a decorous gentleman's residence awaiting the return of its rightful owner.

Duke Richard was today partially armed in breastplate and gorget, with rerebraces on his upper arms and cuisses on his thighs, giving a military aspect to his amber velvet.

For the first time since our arrival in Calais ten days before, it seemed as if we might indeed be going to war and not idling our lives away on some eternal picnic. Yet again I felt a momentary qualm; that uneasiness in the pit of my stomach as I confronted the fact that I might be wrong in my assumptions.

'Well, Roger?' The duke raised his eyebrows. 'You wished to see me?'

'To ask you a question, my lord.'

'I'm listening.'

I hesitated, uncomfortably aware of his quizzical gaze but, plucking up courage, proceeded, 'My lord, when young Matthew Wardroper–'

'Wardroper again,' he murmured. 'That's the second time this morning his name's been mentioned.' I ignored the interruption. 'When he rode after you, the day Great Hal bolted, did ... did you feel that ... that he was trying to rescue you or ... or drive you into the ditch?'

The eyebrows climbed a little higher. 'Blows the wind from that quarter?' the duke said softly. 'A very odd question, you must agree, but I'll try to give you an honest answer. What you make of it I have no wish to know, you understand me? I trust this affair will soon be resolved, and with the least possible fuss. And let it also be clearly understood that I want no man accused of anything without positive proof.' He fingered his chin consideringly for several seconds, then continued, 'Until this moment I have thought Matthew my rescuer, but I admit that your query raises certain doubts in my mind. My whole attention was naturally focused on bringing Great Hal under control and I cannot remember the incident with any clarity, but...'
 

'But?' I prompted eagerly when he paused.

'But the truth is,' he finished flatly, 'that I am no longer sure what happened. That is all I can tell you.' I would have pressed him further, but there was a look in his eye which forbade it. I hoped he would inquire into the reasons for my question, but he curtailed the audience, turning away to greet John Kendall, who had just entered bearing a sheaf of papers for the duke to read and sign, and I had no choice but to bow and quit the room. Nevertheless, I had achieved something. His Grace, far from dismissing my suggestion as arrant nonsense, had as good as agreed that it might have merit and I could not help but see that as a confirmation of my suspicions.

Two hours later Timothy and I rode out of Calais in Duke Richard's train, leaving Ralph Boyse and Matthew Wardroper behind us. But not for long. Soon we should rejoin them and the rest of the levies on their march to St Quentin.

'They must surely make another attempt then,' Timothy muttered. 'If you're right about the meaning of Saint Hyacinth's Day, they haven't much time left. We must be ready for them.' His brow puckered fretfully. 'I should have thought better of young Wardroper. Lionel will be appalled when the truth gets out. He recommended his cousin to the duke's service and will feel responsible for Matthew's treason.'

I said nothing. Above our heads tile banners of England and Burgundy flapped and mingled in the summer breeze, while behind us stretched all the panoply and might of two proud countries caparisoned for war. And on either side of us people went about their daily business as though we did not exist, sharpening scythes, bringing in the hay, tending their bees. It was as much as I could do not to leap from my nag and join them. Duke Richard was not the only person who trusted that this affair would soon be brought to its conclusion.

The rain sluiced down on the field of Agincourt, turning the ground into a sea of mud, the trees dripping mournfully on the encamped English army. It was almost sixty years since Henry of Monmouth had led his decimated troops across that ground to crush the might and chivalry of France and win for his country one of the most resounding victories of all time. But no such glory awaited the present English host as the army took its rest on that famous field.

We had waited in St Omer, entertained by Duchess Margaret and kicking our heels in frustration, for over two weeks, daily expecting a messenger from Calais to say that the king had at last set out for St Quentin. There were murmurings amongst the men about the strangeness of the delay, but for me it only strengthened my conviction that my reasoning was correct: King Edward was playing a deep and devious game. Finally, however, word arrived that the army was at last on the move and that Duke Richard was to join his brothers on the field of Agincourt.

Why King Edward had selected this particular rendezvous I could only guess, but I suspected that it added colour to his bellicose intentions and helped to allay any growing fears that his commitment to the war was less than wholehearted.

As soon as camp had been made, the duke's tents pitched alongside those of his brothers, fires for the men started and shelter scouted for in the neighbouring countryside, Timothy and I went in search of Ralph and Matthew, leaving strict instructions with the Squires of the Body that one of them was to be in attendance upon His Grace at all times. To a man, they looked down their patrician noses and muttered darkly about teaching one's granddam to grope ducks, or the goslings wanting to drive the geese to pasture, but we departed, satisfied that they would not fail in their duty.

We found Matthew easily enough. He was already on his way, in the company of Jocelin d'Hiver and another Squire of the Household, to the duke's main pavilion, to present his devoir and resume his normal duties.

'Where's Ralph Boyse?' Timothy asked him, adding quickly, 'Duke Richard wants him.'

'No longer with us,' Jocelin answered before Matthew had a chance to reply. 'Fortunate devil,' he went on enviously, glancing around at the water-logged plain, the distant, rain-sodden woods of Tramecourt and the men huddled over smoking fires which offered no kind of warmth to their shivering limbs.

'What do you mean?' Timothy demanded sharply.

'Where's he gone?'

'He was sent home to England with a dozen or so others who had developed dysentery,' Matthew explained. 'As Jocelin says, lucky devil.'

I forced myself not to look in Timothy's direction. 'Ralph seemed well enough to me when I last saw him.'
 

'That was weeks ago,' Matthew pointed out with reason. 'There was an outbreak of dysentery in Calais just after you left.'

The third man with them nodded. 'A lot of men were struck down. Some died. Mind you, I don't think Ralph was very bad. In fact until the night before the ship sailed I didn't even realize he was ill.'

'A man can suffer in silence, I suppose,' Matthew expostulated. 'Anyway, Master Steward was sufficiently convinced to send him home. I'll tell His Grace what's happened.'

'I'll do it,' Timothy said swiftly and turned back towards the tent. If Duke Richard denied that he had been asking for Ralph, Matthew might begin to wonder. Later, when the duke was at supper, the Spy-Master sought me out to inquire, 'What do you make of that, then?'

It had at last stopped raining, but the August evening was still dreary and overcast, an impenetrable canopy of cloud hanging low overhead. The ground squelched beneath our feet and there was a chill in the air which had caused my companion to wrap himself in a cloak. I was hardier, used to being out in all weathers, but even I found myself shivering every now and then.

'Ralph was never our assassin,' I answered slowly. 'He is separating himself from Matthew now that we are getting further from the coast and into France. He is no longer necessary to the plan. His French masters - whoever they are, and one of them certainly tried to contact him that night in Calais and has probably since succeeded - have told him to return to England. They wouldn't wish to jeopardize his position in the duke's household. Matthew is now on his own. If he should be caught, Ralph has no connection with him.'

'But we know better.'

'And would have difficulty proving it, provided both Matthew and Berys Hogan keep their mouths shut. But no one as yet, apart from the duke, knows of our suspicions. They still think us floundering about in the dark.'

Timothy stirred up a patch of mud with the toe of his boot. 'Will young Wardroper make another attempt, do you think?'

'I think it probable. Unnecessarily.' I anticipated his question and went on, 'I don't believe that even Duke Richard will be able to change the king's mind in this matter, but there's no way the French can be sure of that until His Highness finally shows his hand and successfully quells all opposition.'

Timothy sighed. 'Let's hope you're right. I worry all the time that perhaps we should be looking elsewhere for some other person.'

'Trust me,' I said with a confidence that frequently deserted me, especially in the long, sleepless watches of the night.

Strangely enough, I slept more soundly that night than I had done for weeks.

I had stood guard with the sentries outside the duke's tent until the hour of Matins and Lauds, when Timothy and two others had relieved us. I wrapped my cloak about me and, scorning the shelter of a baggage wagon, found myself a place beside a camp-fire in the company of half a dozen good Yorkshire fellows. One or two were snoring, lost to the world, but the rest were huddled over the flames, chatting desultorily, unable to sleep despite the fact that it was two o'clock in the morning.

I had no expectation of sleeping either, but I must have lost consciousness within a few minutes, for the next thing I knew I was standing by that empty shrine in the woods near Chilworth Manor where all sound of birds and insects was silenced, where the trees themselves seemed charged with menace. Coming towards me was the shepherd's wife, smiling and nodding.

'Just like his mother, you know,' she said as she passed me. I turned my head to look after her, but she had vanished and in her place was Amice Gentle.

She murmured, 'I'm ready to start stitching when I've measured you.' Then as she smiled, her features dimmed, taking shape once more as those of Lady Wardroper, who was holding a Breton bombardt in her hand. Raising it to her lips, my lady played a stave or two of
C'est la fin
, then walked past me into the trees where, like Millisent Shepherd, she too disappeared. I could feel the heat breaking out all over my body and someone was shaking my arm and shouting…

'Wake up, lad! Wake up! Tha's got too near the fire. Thee hose is alight.'

I awoke to a smell of scorching wool and was just in time to roll clear of the fire before it could do my leg any serious injury. Only a patch of sore red flesh was revealed once I had stripped and examined it.

'Tha wert ridin' the night mare,' one of the Yorkshiremen said to me. 'Tha wert muttering in thy sleep like something's preying on thee mind.'

'It is,' I answered shortly, climbing back into my scorched hose and wincing at the pain in my leg.

'Tha wants a poultice of lettuce and house leek on that,' another man advised me kindly.

I barely heard him, but lay down again and covered myself with my cloak, which had got thrown aside during my tossings and turnings. Sleep had fled, however, and my dream went round and around in my head until I began to assemble order out of chaos. Things which had confused me for weeks suddenly began to make sense and I was able to see the path in front of me more clearly. At last, just before dawn, I fell into a dreamless slumber, awaking refreshed to a world still wet underfoot, but with the sun breaking through the clouds and the mist rising almost knee-high across the rain-washed plain. In the distance, the woods of Agincourt and Tramecourt smudged the horizon and the morning air was acrid with smoke as men everywhere tried to breathe life into last night's burnt-out fires in order to boil a pan of water. From the canvas pouches at their belts each man produced a handful of damp oats with which he attempted to make a little thin gruel. Refusing my companions' generous offer to share theirs with me I departed for the Duke of Gloucester's tents, looking for Timothy Plummer.