‘It’s because Brembre gives the King financial support. It takes Richard outside the control of the council and gives him a power base within the city.’
She remembered the mayor and his secret visits to the Tower and was about to tell Thomas but he was still talking.
‘There are other, more local reasons for the riots,’ he explained. ‘These secret affinities reach into every corner of London life. You can’t buy a stoup of ale without a portion of the price going to pay a protection levy. Men are bought and sold for their affinity. I’m told a man can sometimes have two or even three masters, all rivals. Anybody clever enough to keep afloat in a corrupt set-up like that can end up rich.’
‘Or, if not so clever, dancing on a gibbet?’
‘That’s true. I’m glad to say it’s far less complicated at Meaux,’ he smiled, ‘praise be.’
He called for more wine.
Wishing to avoid discussing her own particular plight, Hildegard told him about her meeting with the two from the Signet Office, Medford and Slake.
‘Apparently Medford believes that Martin and Willerby were attacked as a warning to Neville.’
‘A warning? From whom? I suppose he means Harry Derby aided by his dancing dog, Swynford.’
She nodded. ‘That’s what they seemed to mean.’
‘But? I can see you think there’s more.’
‘What puzzles me, Thomas, is how the attack on
Willerby was managed – we’re told his shouts brought the St Alban’s man running, being on his way back from his false errand to Neville’s cook. But how is it he didn’t meet the attacker leaving the mews? He didn’t mention anyone to you, did he?’
Thomas shook his head. ‘The fiend must have been hiding somewhere.’
‘But where? There’s only a narrow passage between the racks of birds. And the mews itself only leads back into the stable yard. How could he get out without being seen?’
Thomas considered the matter before concluding that he must have hidden behind the door leading into the store and slipped out when the falconer ran to get help. ‘He could have hidden inside the stables, passing himself off as a groom.’
‘But somebody would have noticed an outsider. They would have said something. Where were you when you heard the commotion?’
‘I’d just gone into the saddler’s at the end of the stable block to get my sandals fixed. The saddler was in there with a couple of apprentices mending some harness. We all rushed out when we heard the shouts.’
‘And you saw no one leave the mews?’
‘No. I wasn’t aware of anyone. People were pouring out of the stables to see what was up, just like us.’
‘So there were plenty of people around?’
‘It’s a busy place. That poor falconer, though. He’d have done anything to save his precious bird. The fellow was grief-stricken.’ He stared at her for a moment. ‘Do you think Swynford had one of the St Alban’s men in his pay?’
She didn’t answer.
The kitcheners were beginning to bring in food and a hunk of bread was set down between them. After pushing it first towards Hildegard, Thomas broke a piece off and stuffed it into his mouth. Her head ached. Her bruises ached. Thomas was in a bad state too. She could see him guarding his leg from being brushed by people jostling in between the benches to find their seats.
‘It was an awful day,’ she reminded, ‘rain bucketing down again. Just as it was in Lincoln.’ She toyed with a piece of bread. ‘Maybe little Turnbull will think of something else he can tell us.’
‘Medford’s going to need more than the word of a page if he wants to bring an action against Swynford.’
‘I’m not sure that’s how Medford and his friends do business.’
After eating a few oyster fritters and some watered wine they got up to go. There was a lot of activity around the entrance into the screens passage and when they craned their necks they discovered why. A retinue wearing the King’s livery were swarming into the place. All the Yeomen of the Board were being lined up and inspected. One or two were singled out. The King’s men went on into the kitchens and it looked as if they were going to repeat the exercise, kitcheners of every degree being marshalled for inspection.
It was nothing to do with them. They went outside into the windswept yard.
‘Willerby might have bled to death if the head falconer hadn’t cut short his discussion with Fulford about whether
he sent that message or not,’ Hildegard observed. ‘Both times the attacks happened when we should have been miles away by the time the victims were discovered. But both times, by chance, they were discovered before we left.’
‘Lucky I had to delay to get my sandals fixed,’ Thomas observed. ‘It suggests something hurried, though, perhaps unplanned?’
‘Maybe.’
Hildegard looked up at the sky. Low rain-filled clouds were being raced along by the increasing strength of the wind. Flags cracked on their poles. Flocks of birds were being scattered across the wind like thrown grain. The air smelt fresh, with the scent of the river in it.
Thomas was considering the matter with a thoughtful frown. ‘You mentioned the rain just now. And what I remember is this. You know how it releases the scent of things? There was a strong scent in the mews store. I can’t place it. It was unexpected. I feel …’ he looked puzzled ‘ … I feel it might be important.’
Hildegard was reminded of Lincoln. It had been raining hard that day too and had sent most of the Bishopthorpe men into the cathedral. She recalled the venomous exchange in the chapel. The wet footprints of the two men on the tiles of the chantry floor. The smell of wet fabric, wool, worsted, leather. And that strange smell of pig fat and rosemary from the waterproofs Swynford wore.
She described it to him and he nodded his head in recognition.
Aware of Hildegard’s anxiety at the thought of Hubert travelling the length of England with only a small escort, Thomas suggested that she take the morning to escort him back to St Mary Graces.
‘We might find that he’s arrived while I’ve been over here. They were certainly expecting him at any moment. And,’ he added, ‘my leg’s quite painful. May I beg you to see it as a reason to accompany me back to the abbey?’
Before she could set out she had to visit York Place. She had yet to arrange an audience with the archbishop. ‘Neville’s being most elusive. I haven’t yet managed to inform him about Ravenscar’s reappearance. He’s going to fly into a rage when he does find out. It’ll look as if I’ve been trying to deceive him. I’m not looking forward to it.’ In addition, if Hubert had already arrived in London, he would expect her to have fulfilled her responsibility to the truth and would probably look askance at her failure to do so.
Almost as soon as they set foot inside the palace, Neville’s page ran up. ‘You’re summoned to the audience chamber, Domina, Brother.’
‘When?’
‘Now.’
Here it comes, she thought. Neville must have learnt of her husband’s reappearance. She climbed the stairs with her heart in her mouth. As she followed Thomas inside they were joined by the rest of Neville’s inner circle, his close household staff.
There were grim faces.
Edwin was standing by the archbishop’s lectern with
his writing desk open and, it seemed to Hildegard, deliberately avoided her glance.
Expecting a showdown in front of the entire household, she prayed only that she would be allowed to defend herself before being condemned as a liar and a cheat with no right to the privileges of her Order.
The audience chamber was a large and splendid hall on the first floor, looking out onto the river. The shutters on the many windows were banging back and forth as the wind increased. As everyone had been saying that morning, as they struggled with flyaway cloaks and banging doors, the one good thing about it was that it was keeping Charles of France and his massive fleet of ships pinned in the harbour at Sluys.
Now the archbishop himself came flying in like a hurricane himself. From the first moment it was clear he was in one of his famous rages.
Hildegard’s breath stopped. Was her sin so great? She took a step forward ready to defend herself.
But she was mistaken. His anger was directed elsewhere, as he soon made clear.
‘Everybody present?’ He glared round. ‘Well, people, we can sit on our arses no longer!’
Wondering what was coming next, everyone froze.
‘On the first of October our most gracious Majesty, our beloved King Richard, will do us the honour of opening Parliament. Westminster will be flooded with dukes, earls, barons, bishops, abbots, shire knights, burgesses and every Tom, Dick and Harry in the realm who thinks he has the right to an opinion. And we have a task. We have to discover one thing. Our lives depend
on it.’ He glared round the group once more.
Still no one moved.
‘Which way,’ he growled, ‘are the devils going to vote – with the King, or against him?’
There was silence.
‘Will they cast their vote with their lord, King Richard, or with his uncle, Thomas Woodstock, the so-called Duke of Gloucester, and his lapdog, that bastard Arundel?’
The silence continued.
He glowered at his chamberlain. ‘Do you know the answer, My Lord?’
‘Not yet, Your Grace.’
‘Do you, My Lord Steward?’
‘I’m afraid not, Your Grace.’
‘Do any of you sot wits know?’
There was a general agreement that no one knew. ‘Of course you don’t know. Are we astrologers?’ He glared again as if the answer was being withheld. Hildegard, along with everyone else, waited to see what he expected from them.
‘I tell you this, my dear friends, we cannot sit by and let the opposition destroy us. So what must we do? I’ll tell you what we must do. We must obtain a list of names.’
He thumped his fist on the nearby lectern.
‘Names! Names! Names! We must obtain the names of all the traitors who intend to destroy the King by voting against him.’
He walked to and fro for a moment then turned to glare round the group. ‘Every man jack who intends to vote with the traitors must be found out. Then we shall persuade them to mend their ways. Names, my friends!’ he repeated.
‘Go out and find them. They will vote with us and the King – or be for ever damned!’ He shooed everyone towards the door. ‘Fence-sitting is not within our cognisance.’
With no opportunity to make her confession to the archbishop Hildegard went with Thomas to call a wherry to take them downriver to St Mary Graces where, another cause for alarm, Abbot de Courcy might have already arrived.
As soon as they began to talk to each other the boatman guessed they were northerners. He began to question them about life in ‘the wilds’, as he put it.
‘Not as wild as you southerens imagine,’ Thomas said, stretching his wounded leg on the thwart in front of him. ‘The song school in Beverley, for instance, it’s the best in the country. Most of the royal musicians are trained there.’
‘I’ve heard tell of it,’ agreed the boatman. ‘But the weather? That must be a rare thing to have to contend with every day.’
As the wind was now howling up the Thames like a demon he had little to criticise, thought Hildegard. Waves were slapping against the sides of the boat with one or two spilling over the gunnels into the bottom and their boots were in a continual puddle of water. Fortunately, the tide was with them and they made good way towards St Katharine’s where they were told there was a landing stage. From there it was only a stone’s throw to the Cistercian headquarters just outside the walls.
Hildegard was relieved that she had not had to face the
archbishop in his present mood. A word with the abbot first, if he had arrived, might clarify her situation.
‘What are you folk doing down here, then?’ the boatman continued as they scudded along. ‘Here for this big Parliament King Dickon’s calling?’
‘We are,’ Thomas confirmed. ‘Although, of course, neither of us will have a vote in either chamber.’
‘Who has?’ he grunted. ‘Of course, it’s all about the subsidy again. Taxes, nothing but taxes.’
‘Do you think they’ll manage to raise enough?’ Hildegard asked him.
‘Aye, by fair means or foul.’
‘I thought there was opposition to subsidising the King against the invasion?’ she asked.
‘They’d be mad to withhold their support. And face the cost of London under siege?’
‘The French have been threatening to invade all summer. Surely it’ll never get as far as a siege?’
‘Course it will. The Frenchies are going to march right in. The door’s wide open. Nothing to stop them. They’d be fools not to take the chance while they’ve got it. Then what?’ He took a hand off an oar and drew it across his neck with a slitting sound and grimaced.
‘The barons have got rich on the skirmishes in Normandy,’ Thomas observed. ‘Lootings. Ransoms. They could put some of it back now.’
‘Aye, but pigs will fly, more like. They want their war profits but they expect us Londoners to pay to guard their backsides at home.’
The boatman was looking down the boat, able to gauge their agreement. When Thomas nodded he told
them, ‘It’s down to private citizens to defend the coast. Like when Alderman Philpot got so pig-sick of the magnates’ inertia he equipped his own warships.’ He chuckled with mordant humour. ‘That showed ’em! It narked Arundel and nearly gave Gloucester apoplexy! “A commoner stepping in like that! Who does he think he is?” The answer came back loud and clear. He’s a man doing your job, Your Grace.’ He chuckled. ‘You should have seen Philpot when he sailed back with loot from the two French ships he’d captured! We greeted him like a bloody hero. Cheering crowds. Flags flying! You’ve never seen the like.’
‘We even heard about him up north.’ Hildegard smiled. ‘He must have been quite a character.’
‘Pity he’s dead, God bless him,’ agreed the boatman. ‘The ones that are left are of a different weave. Who is there now?’
‘Who is left?’ asked Hildegard.
‘Mayor Brembre. Sir Nicholas Brembre of Smithfield fame.’
He shut his mouth.
That name again, she registered. ‘Who else?’
The oarsman looked off into the distance. ‘There’s Comberton, Exton, Vanner, one or two others likely to make a pig’s ear of running the city.’
‘What’s this Mayor Brembre like?’ she asked.
‘There’s one thing you can say for him. He puts his money where his mouth is – his coffers are ever open for the King’s use.’
‘So it’s true, he makes loans to King Richard?’ Thomas looked impressed.
‘Lends thousands.’
‘He must be rolling in it.’
The boatman gave a sardonic laugh. ‘Beyond your wildest dreams, Brother.’
‘The King has the combined opposition of his uncles, the dukes who run his council,’ Hildegard pointed out, at the same time wondering where Brembre got his wealth from. ‘It must be hard to have them holding the purse strings. He has no choice but to rely on personal loans from the city men. It’s lucky such men as Brembre exist.’
The boatman was curt. ‘You’re right. The lad needs all the allies he can get. And that’s a fact.’
Out in mid-river they were being drawn along on a frighteningly fast ebb. Great palaces behind high walls, pinnacles with flags snapping in the wind, and the squat Saxon towers of a hundred churches flew by in dazzling succession. They passed a burnt-out building by the water’s edge.
‘Savoy Palace, done for,’ grunted the boatman. ‘Inns of Court over there,’ he nodded towards a cluster of buildings behind a wall, ‘nearly done for. Bonfires in the yard of all their precious documents.’ He was evidently referring to the riots during the Great Rebellion five years ago. A little further on he pointed, ‘Baynard Castle, the Royal Wardrobe, where Princess Joan, God bless her, had to go into hiding.’ There was a sardonic smile on his face. ‘By, there’s some stuff in that there tower I’m told. All their gold-caked robes. Which we’re taxed to hell and back to pay for, I might add.’
Hildegard held on more tightly as the boatman dug one
oar in hard to turn the bows towards the shore. Thomas surreptitiously clutched his bandaged leg as a crosswind sent them bouncing over the waves.
He completed his manoeuvre and brought them alongside the quay.
‘A word of advice,’ he announced as they prepared to disembark. ‘Accept no invitations to Hatcham.’
‘Why’s that?’ asked Thomas with interest.
The boatman’s sardonic smile turned to an evil grin. ‘That’s where the mayor has his own gibbet – at the Foul Oak.’
The shore was swarming with people. Everybody was busy doing something. Stone cutters, carpenters, carriers. The thin and distant clamour of masons rose up from the walls. Their high-pitched whistles directed the massive loads of Caen stone cradled in the hoists as they were lifted into place. Men spidered over the wooden scaffolding built up along the walls where they were being extended.
Everywhere goods were being stockpiled in readiness for the expected siege. The warehouses along the quays were open even though ships could not put to sea because of the blockade.
They saw arms being brought in from the Midlands in hundreds of iron-shod carts, to be stored in the armouries. Wagonloads of arrows were coming in. Horses: destriers, palfreys, dray animals tied in teams of six.
Every habitation, where possible, was being fortified. Religious houses, and there were many, were paying good money to post armed guards at their gates.
Thomas was staring about him in consternation. ‘All
this activity makes the invasion seem more real. I fear we haven’t been taking it seriously enough.’
Hildegard gave a shudder as they began to walk up the lane alongside the wall of St Katharine’s Priory. ‘I keep thinking of the siege of Limoges.’
In that inglorious episode every inhabitant of the once large and wealthy town had been slaughtered by the Prince of Wales, King Richard’s father, and his army.
Thomas was looking with scepticism to where a gang of labourers were deepening the ditch outside the walls to prevent them from being blown up by mines.
‘It’s nowhere near complete,’ he said worriedly. ‘Yet the French have been massing on the other side of the water throughout the whole of this summer past. I don’t understand it. Why are we so unprepared? We’ve known for ages that the French have been busy, firming up their alliance with the usurper King of Castile. Ships have been requisitioned. Men conscripted. Do we have a death wish in this country? Do we want to be invaded?’ He turned to her. ‘You’ll never believe what I heard the other day.’
He wore a look of innocent astonishment on his face. ‘The French have devised a devilish plan to make their conquest more comfortable. They’ve had wooden castles designed which they intend to bring across on ships. Whole forests have been destroyed to supply the wood. They’re going to stack them flat aboard the ships then erect them on the beaches when they land. Presumably they imagine they’ll be safe inside to feast and drink after a day of slaughtering us English.’ He sighed in disbelief and gazed round the work that was still going on. ‘If they come this side of Christmas,’ he muttered, ‘God help us
all. I can’t see that half-built wall being a defence against their trebuchets.’