The Tintern Treasure (19 page)

‘Now where is he going?' I muttered in Hercules's ear, before it occurred to me that the man could just as easily have left his mount at one of the ale-houses in Redcliffe as elsewhere.

But at the bottom of High Street, he made no attempt to cross the bridge, instead walking slowly the length of the quay, looking up at the ships berthed alongside. Suddenly, by one particular ship, he stopped and again looked round, as though something, some noise or movement, had made him suspicious. Hurriedly, I drew back into the shadow of one of the cranes, praying that Hercules would not choose that particular moment to register a further protest at the long delay in getting home. I felt him quiver, but he remained silent, some of my tension obviously communicating itself to him.

After several moments, the stranger seemed satisfied. He turned his head away and gave vent to a piercing whistle. Almost immediately, as though he had been waiting for the signal, a sailor appeared, leaning over the side of the ship and peering down at the wharf. My quarry stepped deliberately into the light of a lamp hanging from the bow, raising a hand, and the sailor nodded. Within a minute or two, he had lowered the gangplank which the stranger mounted before vanishing below deck. The gangplank was then withdrawn.

It had all happened so quickly and so unexpectedly that I was left standing in the shadow of the crane, completely bewildered. Was the man fleeing the country? Or was he simply a foreigner returning to his home? If the latter, then he was not Walter Gurney. If the former, why this precipitate flight? Surely not because of my message that I wished to speak to him. That made no sense. Even if he had guessed I was the emissary of Jane Spicer, all he had to do was make it plain that he had no interest either in her or in returning to Gloucester and that would have been that. I couldn't have forced him.

And there was another, more important question. If this man were indeed the one I had seen last night in the courtyard of the Despenser manor, what had he been doing in Gilbert Foliot's old house? He had had a key, which suggested that the goldsmith knew him, or at least knew of him as a friend of his friend, and had been willing to give him access to the shop . . .

I was suddenly conscious of how quiet and still everything was. Faintly, in the distance, I could hear singing from one of the dockside taverns, but the wharf itself seemed deserted, eerily silent, striped with shadows of the warehouses and cranes. It was long past curfew now and I was uncomfortably aware of my proximity to ‘Little Ireland'.

I decided that it was high time I went home.

‘I wasn't expecting you,' Adela said as I walked into the kitchen. ‘You said you might be away two nights, and as curfew sounded over an hour ago, I naturally thought . . .' Her voice tailed away and she smiled a little guiltily. ‘Not that I'm not pleased to see you.' She came over and kissed me warmly before going on, ‘It's just . . . well . . . Richard's here.' She hurriedly placed a finger on my lips. ‘Before you say anything hasty and which you might regret later, I didn't invite him. He arrived just as the children and I were sitting down to supper.' Of course he did! That man had a nose for Adela's cooking that would have put a greyhound to shame. ‘So naturally I felt I must ask him to join us. He has no one, Roger. He gets very lonely.'

I snorted derisively. ‘Then perhaps he should find a good woman to look after him. I resent sharing my wife.' I seized her roughly around the waist and returned her kiss with interest.

She laughed and traced the curve of my cheek with her forefinger. ‘You've no reason in the world to be jealous,' she said.

I knew I hadn't. That didn't stop me, however, from indulging in a little childish petulance.

‘Where is he?' I asked.

‘In the parlour, playing at fivestones with the children.'

My parlour! My children!

Adela smiled at the expression on my face and kissed me again. ‘Someone's playing with your toys, is that it? Without your permission.' I flushed, feeling stupid, and she went on, ‘Sit down at the table and I'll heat up the pottage for you. Did you manage to speak to this Walter Gurney?'

I sank down thankfully on a stool and began pulling off my boots. Hercules started to bark, nosing his bowls and generally indicating that he, too, was in need of attention. So while my wife bustled about, attending to my wants and his, I gave her a brief history of my visit to Keynsham and of all that happened during the past hour or so since my return home.

‘As a matter of fact,' I concluded, ‘I'm glad Richard is here. There are some questions I want to ask him.'

Adela stirred the pottage as it began to bubble in its pot over the fire. ‘In that case, you'll be pleased to see one another,' she said. ‘He came here hoping for a word with you.'

I was immediately suspicious. ‘Now what does he want? When that man starts to pry, it usually means there's trouble brewing.'

My wife ignored this and put down a plate of offal scraps for Hercules, who fell on them with all the ravening hunger of a dog who has never had a decent meal in his life. I drew up my stool to the table, stretching and easing my stockinged toes, and waited for my supper.

Adela sat opposite me while the pottage came back to the boil and questioned me about the events of the evening. Who did I think it was in the goldsmith's old house? Why had I not returned and informed Master Foliot of what I had seen? What did I think the stranger could possibly have been up to? Where did I think he was going onboard that ship?

Thankfully, at this point, the stew began to bubble, demanding her attention. And, once a steaming bowlful was placed in front of me, I was able to stuff my mouth too full to give her any coherent answer. Hercules, having wolfed down his portion, came across to see what he might wheedle out of me. He received short shrift.

I had just asked for a second bowlful when Richard walked into the kitchen. ‘The children are tired of beating me at fivestones,' he said, ‘and have gone upstairs about their own . . .' He broke off, suddenly becoming aware of my presence. ‘Roger!' He even managed to sound faintly pleased to see me. ‘You're back! Good! I've been wanting to speak to you.'

‘So Adela tells me. And I wish to have a word with you, so sit down and we can talk while I eat.'

Adela, to my great annoyance, immediately fetched him a beaker of ale from the barrel in the corner, but as she also brought one for me, I stifled the impulse to utter the acid comment which was hovering on the tip of my tongue and started on my second helping of pottage.

Richard waited until I had swallowed my first mouthful before enquiring, ‘Well? What is it you wish to say?'

‘There are three ships berthed at the wharf by the bridge. Do you happen to know whereabouts they're from?'

‘Doesn't the Quay Master know?'

‘I haven't asked him.'

I could see that this answer annoyed my companion – he went red with suppressed irritation – and that he was longing to tell me to consult the proper authority, not bother an important and busy man like himself. But he wanted something from me in return and was afraid that if he angered me, I would refuse my help.

He sipped his ale. ‘Let me see,' he said, stroking his chin, a silly, pompous habit he seemed to have acquired lately. ‘There was a ship arrived yesterday morning from Bordeaux. Cargo wine, I think. I believe that's anchored along the Backs. But as for the other two – you mentioned three ships? – then I'm sorry, I can't help you. Although . . . Wait! Now I come to think of it, someone did mention that a Breton ship had been berthed there for several days and wondered what it was waiting for because it had been unloaded and reloaded on the day of its arrival.'

‘A Breton ship,' I muttered, laying down my spoon and wiping my mouth on the back of my hand.

There was silence for a few moments, except for the children thundering overhead. Then Richard snapped, ‘Are you going to tell me what this is all about? Plainly you find this information disturbing. I should like to know why.'

So, between mouthfuls of pottage, I told him briefly of my evening's adventures, but without laying too much stress on the name of Gilbert Foliot.

‘And now,' I said, ‘I should like to hear what it is you want to say to me.'

Richard hesitated, obviously mulling over what I had told him. Then, after a moment or two's reflection, he nodded. ‘Very well! A friend of His Worship the Mayor – what I'm telling you is in the strictest confidence – returned from London this morning. Whilst there, he was told, or heard a rumour, I'm not sure which, that an old friend of yours has secretly been sent here on account of some treason or other which may be brewing in the city. As you can imagine, His Worship is deeply worried by this information.'

‘What old friend of mine?'

‘That little man who worked for the king when he was Duke of Gloucester. One of his spies, I should imagine. And every time he appears, you seem to vanish with him to London.'

‘Timothy Plummer,' I said grimly. ‘And he's the King's Spymaster General. Well,' I added with more than usual determination, ‘if he thinks he's haling me off anywhere this time, he will have to think again. I'm not going.' Adela was looking unhappy, so I stretched out a hand and squeezed one of hers reassuringly. She managed an unconvincing smile.

Richard shook his head. ‘No,' he corrected me, ‘I don't think he's here to look for you. Not on this occasion. The understanding of His Worship's friend was that Master . . . Plummer, did you call him?' I nodded. ‘That Master Plummer is in the city, but probably in disguise. Now, mind you, Roger, the Mayor has impressed upon me that all this is most secret! His friend has no right to this information and it could mean serious trouble for both him and his informant if it were to be made public. Suspicions must not be aroused. Do you understand me?'

‘Perfectly,' I said. ‘In that case, why are you telling me? Adela, too?'

My wife grimaced mockingly. ‘Me, especially, when it's well known that women are notoriously unable to hold their tongues.'

Richard's face softened as he looked at her. ‘I'd trust you, Adela, with my life.' He turned back to me and his features hardened again. ‘The mayor and sheriff want your help, Roger. You are the only person who knows this Timothy Plummer well. If it's true he's in disguise, you may be able to penetrate it. If that should happen, then naturally you would be curious as to what he's doing here. Who is he watching? What does he suspect?'

‘What if, supposing he tells me, he enjoins me to strict secrecy, as you have done?'

Richard regarded me straitly. ‘I feel certain you could find a way round that.'

The implication, of course, was that I was a devious, conniving bastard. It didn't make me feel any more charitable towards my uninvited guest.

‘The situation may not arise,' I said. ‘I may not recognize Timothy. Or the whole story may be a bag of moonshine. However, if there should be a grain of truth in it, if treason is being hatched in this city, then I would advise you to have that Breton cargo ship searched without delay. Unless, that is, it has already set sail on the evening tide.'

Richard looked startled. ‘Why? What has the Breton ship . . .?' He broke off, obviously furious with himself and his own stupidity. ‘You think the man you saw boarding her this evening might be a Tudor agent?'

‘It's possible. Yet Bristol has always been deeply loyal to the Yorkist cause. I've never heard any Lancastrian sympathies expressed.'

Even as the words left my mouth, I could have given his answer myself.

‘But you wouldn't, would you? Not to you of all people.' Richard drained his beaker, frowning. ‘Yet what would anyone be plotting here? Very well, we know that Henry Tudor with his Breton mercenaries has been sailing off the south coast for the past week or so, trying to get a foothold on land and that he has now returned to Brittany, disappointed. But he wouldn't have chosen Bristol as a landing place, not with the River Avon to negotiate before he reaches harbour. Any seaman will tell you that the Avon with its hidden rocks is a treacherous beast.'

I finished my ale and Adela fetched us both more.

‘All the same,' I pressed, ‘I'd have that Breton ship searched immediately. Unless, as I said earlier, she's already sailed on this evening‘s tide.'

‘Her captain won't have risked sailing in the dark,' Richard said positively.

‘He might,' I argued. ‘It would depend on how desperate he is to get his additional “cargo” away.'

‘The man you followed?'

‘Yes.'

Richard rose reluctantly to his feet, swallowing his ale in just two gulps. ‘I'd better be off,' he said.

Adela fetched his cloak and hat and saw him to the door. Then she came back and sat down again at the kitchen table. ‘What is this all about, Roger?' she asked me.

I shrugged. ‘I've no more idea than you have, sweetheart.'

‘Is that the truth? You haven't . . . You haven't already spoken to Master Plummer?'

I raised one of her hands and kissed it. Adela looked suitably surprised at this wholly uncharacteristic gesture. ‘I promise you,' I said, ‘that I had no more idea of Timothy being in Bristol than you had. Nor do I know what it is he wants here. Not me, that's for certain; not if he's skulking around in disguise.' I grinned. ‘I wonder what he's pretending to be this time.' I thought for a moment, then went on: ‘But I should guess that his presence here – if, that is, the rumour is true and he really is in the city – might have something to do with the man I saw.'

‘You suspect a conspiracy? On behalf of Henry Tudor?'

I bit my lip. ‘I can think of no other explanation. All the same, it doesn't make sense. What Richard says is true. No invasion fleet would have risked sailing up the Avon, and if troops had landed at the river's mouth, the city would have had ample warning to shut and bar the gates against them. No, if the man I followed is working for the Tudor, then he's here for an entirely different reason.'