The Marquess of Dorset, in company with his friend and ally Lord Marrott, had slipped away from the Abbey’s sanctuary one night when the moon was shrouded and the streets were empty. Two mornings later Lord Marrott took breakfast at a small house overlooking the Cock and Pie fields outside St Giles village just beyond London’s wall. Here an upstairs chamber, although cramped and less than comfortable and smelling faintly of damp thatch, was furnished with a great trestle on which seven platters and cups were set. His lordship took his place at the head. Several of the other guests were barely less illustrious. To either side sat Thomas Rotherham, Archbishop of York and John Morton, Bishop of Ely. Other less-notable gentlemen represented their more notable but cautiously absent masters. In place of the Countess of Richmond came her receiver general, Reginald Bray; in place of the dowager queen came her late husband’s secretary, Oliver King; and in place of an oblivious King Edward V came his personal doctor, John Argentine. Finally Lord Hastings’ legal associate John Forster pulled his chair to the table, cleared his throat and asked the first question.
‘I have full knowledge of his young highness’s daily routines,’ promptly answered the doctor. ‘And I can ensure that on whatever day is nominated, his highness the king will be accessible and fully prepared.’
‘I do not believe,’ stated the Archbishop of York, ‘that the royal person should be removed from the royal chambers or held in any other place with even the slightest hint of force. That would be most improper, and risk his highness’s antagonism. This must be done, if it is done at all, with the greatest respect.’
‘It is in his highness’s own interests,’ said John Morton flatly.
‘Quite right, my lord bishop,’ smiled Oliver King. ‘His highness’s best interests are the only concern of his mother, the queen. And we do not have any adequate assurance that the Lord Protector holds that same degree of altruistic consideration for our new monarch – nor, it seems, for his maternal family.’
‘But my lord,’ John Forster said quietly, ‘if his lordship Earl Rivers is reinstated to hold joint administrative powers, as you have suggested is the Protector’s present intention, there will be no further need of action. My associates and I will be more than content, I assure you, and will choose to hold our peace. But my Lord Hastings has spoken to me specifically regarding this, believing adamantly that Lord Rivers will not return. He assures me that your information is entirely erroneous and perhaps maliciously advised.’
Marrott shifted a little uncomfortably in his seat. ‘That remains to be seen, sir. As yet any verification is inconclusive and our plans therefore remain equivocal. But we do not have the luxury of time on our side, which is why we have approached your absent friend at this stage. Should Earl Rivers be unable to claim the position we hope for, then Lord Hastings will discover a great deal to his advantage.’
‘And meanwhile risks his life,’ said John Forster, unblinking.
‘It will never come to that,’ interrupted Lord Marrott. ‘We are not men of inexperience, sir, nor casual self-seeking amateurs.’
‘My mistress seeks consideration only for her noble and displaced son,’ interrupted Reginald Bray with deference. ‘After the coronation, with the king under the proper influence of his maternal family, then Henry Tudor, Earl of Richmond, claims the hand of one of the royal princesses in marriage. If not the eldest, the Princess Elizabeth, then the younger, Cecily. And so expects his welcome return to English soil.’
‘What advantage to us in that, sir?’ demanded Doctor Argentine.
‘Allies, powerful allies,’ sighed Reginald Bray. ‘Both my lady and her son are staunch supporters of your cause, as you must surely realise, my lords.’
Oliver King doubted this, but said, ‘I believe we are united in our intentions. Her highness the queen has instructed me to speak on her behalf. She wishes the king removed from the Protector’s control. While the Protector holds the legal guardianship of the realm, with the king’s majority not officially achieved, his highness’s authority is greatly diminished. But once he is crowned, and with his mother, uncles and half-brothers behind him, he may reinstate the full power of his preferred relatives. Absolute preference will then be bestowed on all those lords who have assisted in the elimination of all present obstacles.’
Rotherham spoke carefully. ‘His highness must be placed in his mother’s loving embrace.’
The Bishop of Ely frowned. ‘The Protector must be permanently removed.’
‘Personally I cannot condone violence,’ hesitated the Archbishop of York. ‘A political solution must be found, and nothing attempted until his highness is able to make his own proclamations.’
‘And if his highness does not agree?’ said Mister Bray.
‘He will,’ said Doctor Argentine. ‘The king is, after all, just twelve years of age. The Royal apartments in The Tower are magnificent indeed, but he feels most solitary and misses his relatives and friends. So, he will be guided by my advice, and the messages I bring from his loved ones.’
‘But be sure his highness is not told too much, nor permitted to confide his knowledge to others,’ said Mister Forster at once. ‘If my Lord Hastings’ collusion is discovered, he will not keep silent. I fear you will all be incriminated.’
‘There is no risk. No risk at all,’ sighed Lord Marrott. ‘We have the support of the highest lords in the land, the most subtle minds and the sharpest intellects. Do you suppose we have so little control over our own security? The Marquess of Dorset and I left sanctuary as easily as a man leaves his bed each morning. We were not even seen by the city’s scavengers. I doubt the Duke of Gloucester has yet discovered we are gone.’
Outside, the day was pleasant under a mild sun, and the sharp little breezes from the distant river did not impinge, nor flurry the slow white clouds above. Aimlessly crossing the cropped green of the open fields, a shepherd tapped his crook, leading his small huddle of sheep to the shade of an oak, its roots in the stream. There the shepherd sat, hitching up his smock, easing his back and dabbling his bare toes in the water. He seemed an unusually young man to so lack ambition, yet unusually tall for a farmer’s boy. But although his features were deeply shadowed beneath his old straw hat, a prominent nose at least once broken, denoted a less-than-patient temper, and a remarkably firm set to the mouth suggested a man who was interested in more than his sheep.
It was some hours before Andrew returned to Bishopsgate. Late in the afternoon he entered the Crosby annexe, threw off his hat and marched into the parlour. For once no fire had been lit and the boards were streaked with sunshine. He sat beside the empty hearth, stretched his legs and called for Casper.
‘Wine,’ said Andrew. ‘And then tell me how your mission finished.’
Casper poured wine for them both. ‘Went well,’ he said. ‘Remarkable well, as it happens. Like yours did, I’m guessing. Set up the constabulary for a quick arrest, ’ave we, then?’
Andrew drained his cup, poured himself another and smiled. ‘Not yet. Marrott and his friend are keeping interesting company, and at the moment are more useful out free than held in custody. I shall keep them under watch for a few days more. And you, my friend?’