The Dance of Death (15 page)

I knew I should refuse. Here was my first opportunity to demonstrate my strength of will.

Of course I said yes.

The lights from the barges coruscated across the water, amber and white and red. Musicians played softly, strains of popular airs wafting gently towards the shore. The moon hung low in the night sky, adding to the fairy-like quality of the scene. The neighbouring wharves and warehouses had melted into the encroaching darkness, so that they were no more than faint stains on an inky cloth.

The Dowager Duchess of York, leaning heavily on an ebony stick, but still straight-backed and magnificent in black velvet trimmed with sable, received her guests accompanied by her younger son, the Duke of Gloucester, impressive in cloth of gold and yellow brocade, with jewels flashing on both breast and fingers, but looking tired and strained, I thought, in the flaring light from a myriad torches. Anthony Woodville, Earl Rivers, on the other hand appeared relaxed and smiling as he alighted from his barge and knelt to kiss the duchess's outstretched hand. He had chosen to wear royal purple, a fact that had doubtless not gone unnoticed by his hosts, and could possibly have accounted for the tightening of the muscles around the duke's thin mouth as he stepped forward, in his turn, to greet the arrivals.

That cocky little bastard Edward Woodville, who was also being honoured for his part in the Scottish expedition, strutted up the water-stairs arrayed, suitably enough, in peacock-blue (or a colour as near as the dyers could make it). He saluted his hostess with a flourish that would not have shamed that showy bird itself, before turning, with ill-concealed condescension, to the duke. He must know, as everyone else did, that each day brought fresh speculation concerning the king's health. Did he already see himself, as uncle to King Edward V, on an equal footing with Richard of Gloucester?

Trumpets sounded as the principal guests were conducted indoors, the remainder of their retinues left to straggle after them, a gaudy throng, chattering like so many magpies as they followed in their masters' gorgeous wake. Eloise and I were standing respectfully to one side of the steps in company with other servants and people of no account who had come to watch Earl Rivers's arrival. One of the last to mount the water-stairs from Sir Edward Woodville's barge, not so splendidly dressed as some of the others and plainly one of the lesser fry, turned his head to stare at the spectators. I caught my breath.

I recognized him instantly, even without his hat.

It was the smart young gent of the blue feather.

Nine

I lowered my head and edged behind two or three of the other spectators. Although my movements were slight, Eloise turned to look at me.

‘Is something wrong?' she asked.

She missed very little and her suspicions seemed easily aroused, a fact that worried me. Not only was I under orders to keep the duke's private mission hidden from her, but I realized that I was accumulating a number of secrets of my own: noticing Blue Feather in Stinking Lane the previous day; seeing a man – I was now certain it had been a man – being landed at the castle water-stairs in the early hours of this morning; my trip to Southwark and the murder of the boatman Jeremiah Tucker; the fellow who had been desperate to avoid my company in the common hall this evening; now the knowledge that Blue Feather was a member of Edward Woodville's household; and, of course, the start of it all – seeing my smart young gent the day before yesterday in conversation with a woman who must be an inmate of the castle. I couldn't help wondering if I was being wise in keeping all this to myself: the answer to which was a resounding ‘No!' But it was too late to do anything about it now.

It did cross my mind, however, that I might confide in John Bradshaw. He, after all, was the man responsible for my safety and well-being in the coming days, and had proved himself not to be above taking matters into his own hands when and if he considered it necessary. Nor, if I had judged him aright, was he the sort to read me a homily or stigmatize me as a stupid, lying bastard with the brains of a louse who was liable to wreck the whole carefully laid scheme. I decided I could probably do worse than make a clean breast of things to this eminently level-headed and sensible man. If I got the chance, I would do so.

I became aware that Eloise was shaking my arm.

‘Roger! I asked you if anything is wrong.'

‘What? Oh, no. The light from the torches was hurting my eyes, that's all.'

She didn't believe me, naturally, but she made no further comment. In any case, by this time all the guests had disappeared inside the castle, including the stragglers, and those of us who had come out to watch were also slowly wending our way back indoors.

‘Well, there won't be any games of chance in the common hall tonight, not with it being given over to the kitcheners. I suppose there's nothing for it but to go to bed.' Eloise didn't sound as if she found the prospect very alluring.

‘We do have an early start tomorrow,' I pointed out. ‘The castle courtyard at sunrise, with all our gear packed and ready to be loaded on to the horses.'

She grimaced. ‘You and I won't find that a hardship, surely? We experienced enough dawn marches with the army during the summer.'

‘How that used to upset my lord Albany.'

‘Didn't it just!' We both snorted with laughter.

We had paused, without my realizing it, at the water-door of the castle, through which, by now, everyone else, both high and low, had vanished. Only Eloise and I were left, staring out over the Thames, the lights from the Woodvilles' moored barges strung like a necklace along the side of the wharf, their drowned reflections spangling the river. The night was very quiet. Every now and again the shouts of oarsmen reached our ears, but distantly, from the Southwark shore, faint and far off, while from within the castle a thread of music wound its way down the stairs and along the corridors to lie, sweet and trembling, on the evening air. It all added to the intimacy that our moment of shared reminiscence had engendered.

Eloise was standing close to me, shivering a little inside her cloak. It seemed a perfectly natural gesture at the time to put my arm about her shoulders and draw her even closer for warmth. She put up her face, the soft lips quivering, the violet-blue eyes widening in expectation, and before I knew it, I had lowered my head and kissed her. And it wasn't just a kiss. She wrapped her arms round my body, straining against me with every fibre of her being.

My first thought was, however could I have lived alongside her for months and not realized she was a woman?

My second was, what in the Virgin's name was I doing? I was a happily married man with three children, those innocent little darlings who depended on me for their daily bread (not to mention their meat, honey, comfits, clothes and other highly expensive goodies).

Frantically, I struggled free of Eloise's clinging embrace. I pushed her from me almost roughly and supported myself with one hand against the wall, breathing heavily. I saw those wonderful eyes momentarily darken with anger; then she recovered her poise.

She tossed her head and laughed. ‘Oh, Roger! My dear “husband”! I can see that I'm going to have to guard my virtue with you.'

‘You're going to . . .' I spluttered indignantly. ‘I was under the impression there for a moment that . . . that . . .'

‘That what? That I was about to seduce you? Don't flatter yourself.' She spun on her heel and went inside, leaving me alone with the night and my misgivings.

I awoke from a broken, uneasy dream in that hour just before daybreak when it is still dark but there is a slight but subtle change in the light – enough to warn you that it will soon be dawn and that it is useless to go back to sleep.

It had been a disturbed night. To begin with, as if my own conduct was not a sufficient worry – my urge to bed Eloise was overwhelming – there was the added anxiety as to what her motive might have been. Adela would tell you that, like most men, I consider myself irresistible to women, but that's a wife talking and isn't necessarily true (or even meant to be believed). Second thoughts had warned me that Eloise would use her charms to try to satisfy her curiosity. She must have worked out by now that there was something she wasn't being told, whatever Timothy said to the contrary. But added to this was the sudden fear that she could be a French spy. What did we really know about her, after all? Timothy may think he was being very clever and using her for his own ends, but perhaps the shoe was on the other foot. Moreover, he only had her word that her mother had been distantly related to this Olivier le Daim. I should have to be careful to guard my tongue in her presence.

I had just, finally, been drifting off to sleep, feeling as though I had all the weight of the world on my shoulders, when the Woodvilles and their retinue began taking their leave. The chief guests and their hosts sounded relatively restrained; I was able to make out my lord of Gloucester's and the duchess's sober tones, and a voice I vaguely recognized as Earl River's held only the merest intimation of a slur. The rest of the party, however, had evidently done themselves proud, and once Duke Richard and his mother had withdrawn from the scene, the wine started to talk – and guffaw, sing, shout and generally make merry. Everyone seemed to be as drunk as a lord (except, perhaps, the lords themselves), and judging by the splash and the ensuing cries of alarm, one person at least had missed his footing and fallen into the river.

After that, I dozed fitfully until, as I say, I awoke in the stifling dark but with the knowledge that daybreak was not far off, even if the first rays of light had not yet crested the rooftops. I decided I might as well get up, knowing that it would take me longer than usual to dress myself in my unaccustomed finery. I had swung my legs to the floor before I realized that my bruises from yesterday's encounter with the Goliath of the castle kitchens had developed and stiffened nicely overnight. Riding a horse was going to be even more of a trial than usual.

By the time I was decked out in tight brown hose and green tunic over one of the cambric shirts, struggling with laces, points and buttons, I was in no very pleasant frame of mind. I stuck the hat on my head, draped the cloak over one arm, tucked my travelling chest under the other and descended to the common hall, where we had been promised an early breakfast. No one else was about yet, so I left the chest on a bench and made my way out to the courtyard for a breath of fresh air in order to clear away the cobwebs of the night.

Somewhat to my surprise, John Bradshaw was before me, just dismounting from one of three horses already saddled and bridled, two of which were in the charge of a young groom and were presumably intended for Eloise and me. (Indeed, on closer inspection, I could see that one of the saddles was a lady's.) The spy's ruddy complexion was even ruddier in the light from the wall cressets, which had not yet been doused.

He nodded to me. ‘You've taken my instructions to be up early to heart, Roger. That's good. I like a man who can get up in the mornings.'

I didn't contradict him, merely indicating his horse and remarking, ‘You're no slugabed yourself. Out and about at this time of day?'

He grinned. ‘As you see. I thought I'd best ride across to Southwark, to the White Hart, as soon as curfew was lifted, to make certain that our friend Lamprey would be ready and waiting when we got there.'

‘A wise precaution,' I agreed. ‘Or that he was there at all, I suppose. A man in his frame of mind might easily have absconded.'

John Bradshaw shook his head. ‘I don't think he'll do that now. A week, a month ago maybe. But a man can't grieve for ever, however great the loss.' He threw his reins to the groom with instructions to see that all three animals were fed and watered and ready for the road as soon as we and, of course, the lady had breakfasted. ‘Is your box down here?' he added to me. When I said that I had left it in the common hall, he told the poor lad to fetch it and make sure that the contents were transferred to the saddlebags. ‘Mistress Gray can do her own,' he chuckled. ‘I daresay there are things she won't want pawed about by a stable boy.'

The groom looked offended at this lowly description, but contented himself with sniffing loudly and asking, ‘And yours . . . my lord?'

The sarcasm was lost on John Bradshaw, who gave no sign of noticing it. ‘Already done,' he answered briefly, before turning aside and taking my arm. ‘Let's see if Goliath and his men can produce anything more sustaining than cold porridge and small beer.'

Eloise had still not put in an appearance and we had the common hall to ourselves, choosing a table as near to the kitchens as possible so that we benefited from the heat on this raw late October morning. John Bradshaw's name seemed, after all, to carry some weight because we got porridge and oatmeal cakes, both piping-hot. Even the ale had been warmed.

My companion lowered his voice, leaning confidentially across the table towards me. ‘I've told Lamprey as much as he needs to know about this mission, but not a word more. Well, come to that, I don't know everything myself. That's your privilege.' Was there a sour note in there somewhere? I didn't think so. John Bradshaw was too professional a man to harbour petty jealousies, a fact he confirmed almost straight away. ‘And a good thing, too. In my experience, a secret shared with even one person is no longer a secret. Shared with more than one, you might as well shout it from the housetops. My job is to see that Mistress Gray is kept occupied enough to allow you time to do whatever it is you have to do.'

‘And Philip's?' I asked.

‘To see to the horses and generally do what he's told,' was the uncompromising answer.