‘No, please, sir!’ The boy crouched at Slake’s feet and began to sob.
‘I will. I’ve a mind to. I like tongue. Fried nicely on a piece of white bread. What do you say Mr Medford?’
‘No accounting for taste, Dean. You eat it. I’ll have his fingers, one by one.’
‘No! Please, don’t!’ The boy was shivering in terror and Hildegard stepped forward.
‘I think perhaps he might like to tell us what we want to know if we ask him in a more straightforward manner.’ She knelt down beside the child and asked soothingly, ‘What do you have to tell me, Master Turnbull?’
‘I can’t say. He’ll kill me, My Lady.’
‘You were at St Alban’s with your master, Swynford, weren’t you?’ demanded Medford.
The boy was so frightened the words stuck in his throat. ‘No harm will come to you,’ Hildegard told him with a glance at the two clerks. ‘I’ll see to that. But tell me, were you at St Alban’s Abbey when the archbishop of York’s retinue were in residence?’
The boy nodded but would not look at her.
‘Ask him about the message,’ urged Slake.
‘Well, what do you have to say?’ she whispered. ‘You can tell me.’
‘I can’t! I daren’t – please, My Lady!’
‘Is it something to do with the falconer and what happened to him?’
Between sobs the boy nodded.
‘Then make it easy for us all by telling what you know. You’re quite safe here with us.’
‘He’ll kill me,’ the boy sobbed. ‘He said he would beat me within an inch of my life then leave me to die.’
‘Does he beat you?’
‘All the time.’ The boy was still crouching abjectly on the floor and every few moments a sob would shiver through his thin body. He needs a good square meal or two, thought Hildegard, wanting to gather him up.
‘By “he” I suppose you mean Sir Thomas Swynford?’ demanded Medford.
The boy nodded. ‘He swore he would chain me in a tower like a baited bear and starve me to death.’ He turned a tear-stained face towards Hildegard. ‘He said he’d block up the door so I couldn’t get out and I’d dwindle away like a wraith and then die and nobody would ever know what happened.’
‘I think Mr Medford would have something to say about that. Isn’t that so?’ She raised her head and gave Medford a challenging look.
Medford’s black eyes were boring into hers but he lifted one hand and let it fall. ‘We’ll spirit him away out of Swynford’s reach if we feel he deserves it. Let him tell us about this message first.’
‘Was it from your lord?’ she asked.
He gave a resigned nod.
‘Who did you take it to? Just his position will do. There’s no harm in that, is there?’ Hildegard coaxed.
‘It was to the head falconer at St Alban’s,’ he mumbled.
‘And did you tell him that he was wanted by Master Fulford over some matter to do with the Yorkshiremen’s kitchens? You may nod if it is so.’
The boy gave a small nod then raised his head. ‘I don’t want to starve to death, My Lady.’
‘And nor shall you. Mr Medford will make sure you have plenty to eat. But tell me, did you also give a message to Archbishop Neville’s falconer that he was needed in the mews?’
Again the boy agreed, with a reluctant terrified nod.
‘And tell me, have you heard the name Jarrold of Kyme?’ She felt Medford and Slake lean forward as if taken by surprise at the question.
She looked into the child’s eyes. He was shaking his head and staring straight at her. ‘I’m sorry, My Lady. I’ve never heard of him.’
Hildegard stood up and encountered Medford’s brooding stare. ‘So it’s as we suspected, but why Swynford should involve himself in such diabolical activities remains a mystery—’
‘The victim’s name at St Alban’s is John of Willerby,’ Edwin interrupted. ‘So far he can’t remember much and but for divine intervention he’d have bled to death and Swynford would therefore be guilty of murder.’
‘Don’t worry about him. We’re dealing with him. Who’s this John of Willerby? Never heard of him. Is he from some place in Yorkshire?’
‘His family was. He himself used to work for the old abbot at St Alban’s, so I’m told.’ Edwin looked pleased to be able to supply an answer.
‘And what is his importance to the King?’
‘Is he an informer?’ asked Slake, bluntly.
Edwin shrugged.
‘We have not been advised on that,’ Hildegard told them. ‘If he is, it still makes no sense,’ adding, ‘so far.’
‘So far?’ Medford cocked an eyebrow.
‘It will, master. We shall make sure of it.’
Medford gave a faint smile. ‘Good.’ He got up. ‘Then I’ll leave it with you. Meanwhile we’ll see what else we can get out of this snivelling brat.’ He gestured to Slake. ‘Their documents, Dean.’ He turned to Edwin. ‘You will return here after speaking to the prisoner, Westwode. And you’ll report to me in person.’ He toyed with the papers Slake had thrust into his hand then offered them to Hildegard. ‘Domina.’ He bowed.
Dismissed, Edwin was already moving to the door but Hildegard hesitated. ‘I take it the boy will not now be returning to Swynford. If it is discovered that he has helped us, his life will be in danger. I trust, therefore, that your house servants will take steps to keep him safe and fed?’
‘See to it, Dean.’ Medford yawned.
‘Oh I will, Mr Secretary, I will!’ Slake laughed as if Medford had cracked a good joke.
‘You can’t aspire to such a position, Edwin, even if you had been trained at King’s Hall and your path was open. It involves too close a kinship with cruelty.’ Hildegard turned a worried look on him.
He was uncomfortable. ‘It’s how things are done here. That’s how the Signet Office gets results.’
‘Did they beat the boy before they brought him to us? Is that why he confessed?’
‘I’ve no idea.’
She saw him frown. He knew the answer as well as she did.
‘At least we know the truth,’ he mumbled.
‘The truth?’
‘That Swynford deliberately attacked His Grace’s falconer.’
‘But he had already left when the attack took place. We’d have great difficulty in proving it.’
‘Either he came back covertly and did it himself, or he hired a servant to do it.’
‘And his purpose – to punish Willerby or silence him?’
‘What do you think?’
She frowned. It must be to do with the cross. Neville already suspected that he was being given a warning by having his retinue terrorised. Now it looked as if he was right.
Hand it over or else.
But she could say nothing of the cross to Edwin, and besides, he was already continuing on another tack.
‘I think Swynford wanted to maim Willerby as a warning,’ he said slowly. ‘If he’d wanted to silence him, he could have had him knifed in a back alley somewhere. I think Willerby must know something he shouldn’t. And if it is a warning, it’s to tell others to keep their mouths shut.’ He scowled. ‘If only he’d regain his memory and begin to talk!’
‘We can only be patient.’
Then Edwin surprised her. ‘Mr Medford is treating it as a direct plot against the King.’
‘How so?’ she asked cautiously.
‘The archbishop is close to His Majesty. His enemies plan to attack the King’s supporters first, one by one, then attack the King himself.’
‘Is that what he told you?’
Edwin nodded.
‘Then we’re all in danger.’
Edwin’s hand went to his sword. ‘But what if it’s more complicated than that? Why Willerby?’ he mused. ‘Why him? Is there something more that made them choose him—?’
‘We certainly seem no closer to knowing if there’s more behind it,’ she interrupted, pulling her cloak more securely rou
nd her shoulders as a sign that the conversation was ended. He could not know about the relic Neville was carrying in secret but if he continued to speculate he could stumble across the truth.
He was frowning and seemed determined to tease out the problem until he had a solution, and then he took another path. ‘What if he knew who killed Martin?’ he demanded. ‘And what if Martin had told him a secret that led to his own murder?’
Hildegard was silent. Swynford could not imagine that the falconer knew about the cross. Willerby was surely too far down the scale to have access to such a secret. It must mean that the attack on him had been random, designed to scare Neville into giving them his support. It must be as Medford had suggested.
‘I hate to find myself agreeing with Medford,’ she told him, ‘but the Duke had Neville’s allegiance in the past. Now Lancaster’s in Castile maybe his son might feel he can’t count on His Grace as formerly? Bolingbroke won’t be sure which way Neville will vote when Richard asks Parliament for support. Tough measures might seem the only way to encourage his allegiance.’
And, she told herself, to frighten him into handing over the cross, because certainly they knew it was in his possession.
Edwin kicked at a corner of the step where they were standing but made no reply.
‘We’d better get along to the Tower,’ Hildegard suggested.
When he did not move she asked, ‘What is it?’
‘I hate being taken for a fool,’ he said slowly. ‘There’s something I’m not being told.’
While Edwin went to fetch his cloak from the lodge Hildegard retraced her steps to Medford’s office. A page was holding the door open. Distinctly she heard Slake saying, ‘But that bloody nun will guess what’s happened—’
She turned back.
When they came down a few moments later she was standing on the opposite side of the courtyard in the shelter of a stone buttress. They had Swynford’s page between them, Medford on one side, Slake on the other. As they drew level she stepped out towards them.
‘Well met, masters. I see you’ve brought the little fellow with you. Would you like me to take charge of him? A nun is probably better used to caring for children than you gentlemen.’
Both men stopped abruptly and stared at her with their mouths opening. Medford was the first to recover. ‘Most kind and in keeping with the compassion of your Order, Domina. What would you intend doing with him?’
‘A good meal, a dry bed, a wash and change of clothes? When he’s presentable I believe His Grace the Lord Archbishop of York may find a suitable use for him.’
Medford cleared his throat. He gave a quick glance at Slake. ‘Dean, are you in agreement?’
Slake shrugged. ‘So be it.’
Medford put his hand on the back of the boy’s neck and squeezed. ‘Any trouble from him, Domina, inform me.’ He gave the boy a push.
She watched Medford and Slake walk off and, when she glanced down, little Turnbull slipped his hand into hers.
‘Unfortunately, I have no page with me,’ Hildegard told him as they walked across the great court towards the landing stage where she was to meet Edwin. ‘You may stay with me and run errands for me, and I promise that if you do your work well and honestly I will not beat you nor threaten you with starvation in a tower and later we will decide on more interesting work for you, in keeping with your skills. How does it sound?’
‘Like heaven, My Lady.’
‘I shall, of course, have to ask His Grace’s permission after explaining how you come to be in my care.’
‘I hope he won’t punish me for what I’ve done.’
‘I’m sure he won’t. He is a kind person with a strong sense of fair play. All you have to remember is that his bark is worse than his bite.’
Edwin had already summoned a wherry and was waiting by the steps when she turned up. They took Turnbull on board with them but instructed the oarsman to let them off at York Place. While Edwin stayed in the boat Hildegard escorted the boy to the steward’s office and explained what was needed.
Servants were summoned. The yeoman of the wardrobe took over. He told Hildegard little Turnbull would be washed and combed and told to try on several clean sets of clothes until he found some that fitted, then he would be fed and found some useful work to do. She walked back to the ferry with a lighter heart.
Through the eye slit they could see a group of aldermen in their bright gowns come out of the White Tower and make their way to the nearby Salt Tower.
There were five of them. They had their hoods up as they crossed the yard, but before they passed one by one in front of the guard on the door, they pushed them back so he could see their faces before allowing them through. The prisoner had taken out a lens of polished glass and, cupping Hildegard’s hand in his, he angled it so that it was focused on the entrance to the tower and on the men’s faces as they went inside. He named them as they appeared and disappeared in the polished glass. Their images were somewhat distorted, flickering and uncertain, as the figures passed in and out of it like spirits of the air.
‘That’s the mayor in front, Nick Brembre,’ he murmured close to her ear so the guard could not hear him. ‘At his heels comes his brother-in-law Harry Vanner. No, tilt it a little. That’s it. The next fellow, see him? In the blue? That’s Adam Bamme talking to Will Exton. And the last fellow? Hold still.’ He adjusted the lens. ‘He’s a Bohemian called Petrus de Lancekrona. His sister is the Queen’s first lady-in-waiting. They turn up every day about this time.’ He let Hildegard take the lens and stood back. ‘I guess Alexander Neville would like to know. Now you can tell him you’ve seen them for yourself.’
He took the lens and slipped it inside his pouch with an over-the-shoulder glance at his own guard. Edwin had engaged him in some speculation about bear-baiting and had made sure the man’s back was towards them.
‘Who are they visiting?’ whispered Hildegard.
‘I don’t know but I’d say it was a Frenchman acting as go-between for King Richard. They’ll be the ones doing the negotiations.’
Hildegard stared at him. ‘You believe these rumours about the King fostering a secret agreement with King Charles?’ She was shocked. ‘But that would be high treason.’
‘It’s unfair to call it treason,’ he replied shortly. He moved away from the window but Hildegard did not move. As Neville had told her, Richard’s enemies were claiming that he wanted to make a secret treaty with King Charles to pre-empt defeat when the French invaded and save his own skin by offering certain high-born men as hostages. There was even a rumour that he would offer Calais to the French in his eagerness to keep them from his shores. She had never believed he would contemplate such acts. She did not believe it now.
‘Why would they visit him in a group like this?’ she asked.
‘Talking money, of course. They’re all wealthy guildsmen. They’re the ones Richard has had to turn to for help now his coffers are empty. The French will be driving a hard bargain. Knowing them, they’ll want to deal face-to-face with the city men.’
‘It’s hardly credible the city men will barter away the sovereignty of their own country. What evidence do you have for such a view?’
He shrugged. ‘You’ve seen what I’ve seen. And you must have heard what people are saying. Do you have a better explanation?’ He glanced over to where Edwin, with great resourcefulness, was engaging the guard in a game of dice. ‘What else can they be doing in there?’
Hildegard was just about to turn away from the window when she looked back once more. What she saw made her stop.
She gripped the edge of the embrasure and peered down at another figure who had appeared. The way he walked was unmistakable. Long, swift, confident strides. He made no attempt to follow the others but went to shelter against the wall out of the wind. His white robe billowed in the eddies at the bottom of the tower but from where he stood he could observe the comings and goings around it without being too noticeable at ground level.
‘May I bor
row your glass again?’
Peering through it, she angled it so she could see his face. It was the same friar as before – her rescuer, his hood thrown back, looking up at the sky, a faraway expression on his face. He closed his eyes. It was strangely intimate to see him up close and yet be so distant. When he suddenly opened his eyes he seemed to look straight at her. She hastily handed the lens back to the prisoner. ‘Useful object.’
‘It’s one of Roger Bacon’s inventions. The glass has to be ground with great precision.’
‘Who’s the fellow in white down there?’
‘Oh him,’ said the prisoner, peering over her shoulder. ‘Know him?’
‘Not as such,’ she replied. ‘What’s he doing here?’
‘He has the freedom of the place, in keeping with the power of his lord and master,’ the prisoner said in a scathing tone. He went over to the table and reached for the jug of wine. Edwin had thought to bring some provisions from York Place for him. They had not been told his name and he did not tell them it.
Ignoring his offer of a refilled beaker she sat down opposite and forced her thoughts back to the reason for their visit. ‘Who else have you seen here?’
He downed a mouthful of wine, then putting down his beaker counted them off on his fingers. ‘Only three your people might be interested in. One, the Marquess of Dublin, young Robert de Vere as was, and two, the Earl of Suffolk, the Lord Chancellor, Sir Michael de la Pole, and three, Chief Justice Tresillian – all King’s men and as staunch as you’ll ever find. Like Mayor Brembre down there.’ He gestured towards the window.
‘Anyone else?’ she asked sharply.
He gave her a knowing smile. ‘I am incarcerated here at the invitation of the Earl of Derby but he and the dukes of York and Gloucester have so far been absent.’
‘I shall mention that to His Grace.’
‘My thanks, Domina. I trust it will bring me his fond remembrance.’
‘I believe it will.’
A Parliament of Spies Page 14
