The Green Man (11 page)

‘This is becoming nonsensical,' I snarled. ‘My mother died many years ago, but in any case, I never asked her such a foolish question. Mind you,' I couldn't restrain myself from adding, ‘there is a legend that a holy man, named Collen, once found his way inside the hill, guided by a beautiful girl.'

‘Like Thomas the Rhymer,' Davey said eagerly, and the others nodded, even James Petrie, who had so far contributed nothing except a puzzled frown as he tried to follow a conversation that was largely unintelligible to him. But he obviously recognized the name of this Thomas the Rhymer. He said something in rapid Scots to the other three.

I asked, ‘Who's Thomas the Rhymer?' and then immediately regretted the question. I was only prolonging a discussion that would be better terminated as soon as possible. Indeed, I half rose to my feet, preparatory to lifting one leg over the bench, but curiosity got the better of me and I sat down again.

Davey slid me a sidelong glance of triumph. ‘In Scotland, the Eildon Hills are said to conceal the entrance to the Otherworld. Thomas was led inside by the Queen of Elfland, herself. The Otherworld, unlike our Christian one, acknowledges women to be the equal of men and accords them equal importance.'

‘Why was he called the Rhymer?' I asked rather stupidly.

Murdo gave a superior smile, while Donald looked down his nose. Davey gave a little crow of laughter.

‘Because he made rhymes, of course,' he said. ‘I should have thought that was obvious.'

This time I did get up and stepped over the bench. The crowd in the kitchen was beginning to thin out as servants and retainers finished eating and went in search of their masters. The noise had decreased accordingly: kitcheners and scullions were busy removing empty bowls and dishes, sweeping the remains of broken meats and bread into their aprons, stretching across the shoulders of those diners still seated.

‘You and your companions would do well to watch your tongues, Master Davey,' I told him. ‘They'll wag once too often.' With this parting dart, I was about to stride away when I recollected my unanswered question. ‘Who has been talking to you about me?'

Murdo chuckled deep in his throat. ‘An old friend of yours. My lord of Gloucester's Spymaster General. One, Timothy Plummer.'

I was astonished. I hadn't clapped eyes on Timothy since we parted company in London after he had handed me over to Albany.

‘I didn't know he was travelling with the duke,' I said.

Donald gave a short laugh as he, too, finally stood up, yawning and rubbing his belly.

‘I don't suppose we know half the people who are travelling in Gloucester's train, what with the chaplains, the doctors, the musicians, the lawyers … You'd be lucky to catch a glimpse of your little friend.'

‘How did you, then?'

‘Quite by chance, I overheard him talking to my lord.'

‘Albany? But why were they discussing me?'

‘How in Hades should I know? Should I go barging in demanding information of my betters? All I know is that I came upon them talking together just before my lord went into the council chamber. I couldn't help hearing something of what Master Plummer was saying, although I didn't know who he was then. My lord informed me of his identity.'

‘And what exactly was Timothy Plummer saying about me?' I enquired indignantly.

Donald shrugged. ‘Simply that; that you had once been intended for the church and had entered the monastery at Glastonbury. I think it must have been in response to some information my lord was seeking. But what, I have no idea.'

‘Then I shall ask him.'

In the event, however, I held my tongue, at least for the time being. The council of war had plainly rattled Albany and he was in the foulest mood I had ever seen him in. I saw the two squires exchange white-eyed glances and, together with the page, they made themselves scarce, giving their master a wide berth and leaving me to bear the brunt of his ill-temper. I was uncertain what had caused it, but from various remarks he let drop, and from the way he proceeded to vilify some of the other council members, I came to the conclusion that there were those who regarded the attempt to replace King James with his brother on the Scottish throne as a grave mistake; a stumbling block to any negotiations to regain the Princess Cicely's dowry and to win back Berwick.

‘They're fools!' Albany stormed, pacing up and down his chamber. ‘The only way the English will get back either is by making me king. I've already sworn fealty to Edward.'

‘Berwick is already under siege,' I dared to point out. ‘It might yet be won back by force.'

‘It's been under siege for months,' sneered Albany. ‘Why can't the idiots see that I'm their only hope.'

‘Duke Richard …' I began.

Albany swung round to face me.

‘Duke Richard will do what he considers most advantageous for this country,' he snapped, adding, ‘I don't trust that man.'

I was genuinely shocked, so much so that I was moved to expostulate.

‘His Grace of Gloucester is considered a man of the greatest probity,' I said, and I could hear the anger trembling in my voice. I took a deep breath and continued more moderately, ‘He is a very religious man. His word is considered his bond. His loyalty to King Edward has been the cornerstone of his life, unlike his brother, the late Duke of Clarence.'

I was suddenly aware of Albany's ironic glance, and recollected that I had heard him described on more than one occasion as a ‘Scottish Clarence'. He had undoubtedly heard the phrase, too, and I waited for the vials of his wrath to break over my head. But one thing I have to say in Albany's favour; he had a sense of humour and was never so set up in self-conceit that he couldn't take a joke at his own expense. He laughed and shrugged.

‘All that may be true,' he admitted. ‘In fact, it is true.
Loyaute me lie
is Gloucester's motto. But I have often thought him a man who has carefully weighed up the alternatives in life, and then acted in what he considers to be his best self-interest. But also,' Albany added thoughtfully, ‘I think him a man who could lose that self-control if ever he allowed his emotions to get the better of him. He hates the Queen and all her family with a depth of loathing that has bitten deep into his soul, but, for his brother's sake, he suppresses it so rigorously that he is almost unaware of it. One day, maybe, it will take him by surprise. That's why I say I don't trust him. Any man who exerts such command over his feelings won't let himself acknowledge just what his real feelings are. Such men, in my estimation, are dangerous.'

‘Your Grace seems to know a great deal about my lord Gloucester,' I sneered, forgetting my place in my anger. ‘I wouldn't have thought him a man to take anyone so far into his confidence.' I didn't add, ‘especially you,' but it was implicit in my tone.

Albany's eyes flashed dangerously. He had been sitting on the bed, but now he slid off and came to stand close to me. He was nearly as tall as I was and could look at me face to face.

‘Be careful, Roger,' he said quietly. ‘It's true that I owe you something for your help three years ago. It's also true that I need your help now. But don't think that entitles you to speak to me as you please. Remember, I am a future king.'

But this reminded him of his original grievance and he resumed his pacing up and down the bedchamber floor, fulminating for the next ten minutes against those English lords who had hinted that he might be more of a liability than an asset in treating with the Scots.

‘Earl Rivers had the gall to suggest that when James is either dead or deposed, my eldest nephew, Rothesay, might be the better alternative to be placed on the throne. A boy of nine! I ask you! No kingdom prospers when the ruler is a child, and so my lord of Gloucester was quick to point out to him.' He glanced at me and I raised my eyebrows, although saying nothing. The stormy look left Albany's face and he grinned reluctantly. ‘Yes, all right. He did back me in that. But I still don't altogether trust him. And now, go and find James Petrie for me. I need to change. Cousin Richard has arranged a hunting expedition in Sherwood Forest for the rest of this afternoon, to sharpen our appetites for the feast this evening.'

‘I'm not hunting with you,' I said, appalled.

‘Dear, sweet Virgin, of course you're not!' he exclaimed, and burst out laughing. ‘Your horsemanship's abysmal. Donald and Murdo will accompany me. If the traitor is either of them, I shall be safe with so many other people around.'

I found this hard to reconcile with what little I knew of hunting, particularly in a forest where it seemed to me that the chances of meeting with an accident were naturally high, and which offered the potential assassin opportunities not to be found elsewhere. However, it appeared that my services were not required, so, having despatched James Petrie to my lord's chamber, I was left with time on my hands.

I went in search of Timothy Plummer.

I eventually ran him to earth in the council chamber, seated at the head of the table in what had obviously been my lord of Gloucester's chair, and talking low and earnestly to a couple of nondescript-looking men whom I guessed, judging by their shifty expression and the way in which they blended effortlessly into the background, to be two of his spies.

He was plainly none too pleased to see me and sent the men away as soon as he saw me.

‘What are you doing here?' he demanded abruptly. ‘Why aren't you with Albany?'

‘Hunting? Really, Timothy, you should know better than that. Even the duke knew better than that. But he was willing to dispense with my invaluable protection in order to pursue the pleasures of the chase.' I hitched one knee over a corner of the table and sat on it, an inch or two from Timothy's chair. ‘Is this the way wars are always conducted?' I asked disgustedly. ‘With pauses for feasting and hunting and general jollification? It's a miracle any actual fighting gets done at all.'

He took a lofty tone. ‘You know nothing about anything, my lad, that has to do with your betters. You just stick to what you've been hired to do. Watch Albany's back and keep your eyes on that precious pack of Scots he's got around him. He seems pretty certain that one of them means him a mischief. Do you have any idea which one?'

I said I hadn't, but then went on to tell him about events at Fotheringay and the strange business of the man in the Green Man mask. I even produced the silk leaf from my pouch and laid it on the table in front of him. Timothy seemed unimpressed, flicking it back to me with a careless finger.

‘Well, it appears to lend credence to Albany's fears, at any rate. So just make sure that nothing happens to him.' The Spymaster scraped back his chair from the table and rose. ‘We're holding you responsible for his safety, Roger. Try to remember that. You don't want to find yourself hanging from the end of a rope.'

A
s we continued northwards, it became ever more obvious that the devastation in these northern shires, occasioned by the recent, terrible weather, was greater by far than anything we had experienced in the south. Although an uncertain June had brought bouts of tremulous sunshine, much of the soil was still waterlogged, and such shoots as had dared to thrust their way above ground, were pallid and weak. The people working the land were grey-faced and despondent, barely lifting dull eyes from the toil of grubbing in the earth to watch our brave cavalcade pass by. Facing the prospect of yet another bad harvest, they had no time to waste on the vagaries of their lords and masters. It was all one to them if Berwick were an English or a Scottish town, and was of small importance beside the fear of death, disease and empty bellies. It's true that as we moved into sheep country, there were a few raised fists, and a few raised voices, also, demanding to know why England had not gone to Burgundy's aid in her war with France. But, generally speaking, apathy and despair held the bulk of the population silent.

I stayed close to Albany, riding behind the two squires, watching carefully for any hostile move on the part of either one of them; or on the part of Davey Gray, James Petrie or the groom. However, as the days went painfully by, nothing happened except that I became ever more weary and saddle-sore, while the conviction grew in me that the threat from his late brother's retainers was merely a figment of Albany's over-fertile imagination.

Eventually, I told him so and demanded to be released from his employ.

‘My lord, I beg you to tell Duke Richard that you have been mistaken and no longer have need of my services.'

It was the evening of the 17th day of June, and the entire army was encamped outside the walls of York in readiness for the Duke of Gloucester's triumphal entry into the city the following morning. This was the heartland of Prince Richard's vast northern palatinate, and he would have been less than human had he not wanted us all to see how revered and beloved he was by those whom he regarded as his own special people. Albany, already short-tempered at the prospect – realizing, perhaps, that he would never command such devotion – was in no mood to grant my request or even to consider it.

‘Do you think I'm a fool?' he barked. ‘A hysterical woman who jumps at shadows? Besides, it's not just these five, one of whom
may
– all right! I admit it –
may
have been suborned by my brother, James. But there are those, too, in the English camp who wish me ill and doubt my good intentions once the Scottish crown is set on my head. No! I will not release you, Roger. You are the only person I trust wholeheartedly; the only person who has proved himself my friend – and that at some risk to himself. Now, please don't raise this subject again, or I shall be forced to advise my cousin Gloucester that you are unwilling to obey his orders.'

Albany had gone very red in the face, and I found myself wondering, in a detached kind of way, if he might not die of an apoplexy and so relieve me of the necessity of looking after him. He was obviously working himself up for another such outburst, accompanied by the further possibility of a seizure, when, just at that moment, James Petrie's tall, emaciated figure entered the crimson silk pavilion, anxious – or so I gathered from Albany's reply – to know what clothes his royal master would be wearing on the morrow. His agitation made it plain that Scotland's honour must be upheld amidst this horde of Sassenachs.