‘Earl Rivers,’ Andrew said, ‘now suddenly requires proof in writing of his official appointments concerning the prince, and in particular of his personal authority to muster and arm troops in the prince’s name. I have been reliably informed that in reply, copies of original letters signed by his highness have now been forwarded to Ludlow. Yet the country is at peace, the Welsh Marches show no sign of rebellion and the king is a comparatively young man in excellent health. I therefore consider the danger close and closing.’
Catesby frowned. ‘The earl has every right to own copies of his letters patent, and would never be refused. But he has held his official position for many years without requesting such written confirmation. To suddenly require proof of the authority to raise armed troops must surely be seen as suspicious.’
‘This has been dealt with privately,’ Andrew said. ‘The king will be unaware of Rivers’ request.’
Catesby nodded, still frowning. ‘I see. Indeed, with the weather grown mild, I understand his highness arranged to go boating next week and says he will catch a fish for his own supper before Easter interrupts all his pleasures. So, why, at such a seemingly ordinary moment, does Rivers make such an extraordinary request?’
‘Indeed, it is quite clear,’ Andrew said. ‘I had hoped my own endeavours would have seriously delayed any attempt on the king’s life. But it seems not. I now have in my possession the two last packets of arsenic ordered by Marrott, yet clearly the plot goes ahead. They have evidently discovered another supplier without my knowledge.’
‘Have we failed then, my lord?’
Andrew paused, looking over Catesby’s head to the long window and the spire of St Paul’s cutting through the winter clouds. He sighed. ‘I have recently lost a good friend who was helping me in this business. Marrott arranged his death, but the orders must have originated elsewhere. I do not forget such things. Hastings now has Throckmorton’s confession. But has the king yet taken precautions?’
‘I have no idea,’ Catesby said, drumming his fingers on the writing table in front of him. ‘My Lord Hastings has attended his highness less regularly of late, since, as you know, there were serious problems that divided them. My lord’s warnings were dismissed as troublemaking and jealousy. He is now negotiating for the return of his position as Master of the Mint, but the king has refused to see him.’
‘Refused?’ Andrew snorted. ‘Hastings is the Lord Chamberlain of England. After the king he is one of the most powerful men in the kingdom.’
‘His lordship’s power comes directly from the king’s hand. Yet he is reduced to passing messages through the king’s mistress,’ Catesby smiled. ‘You see, Mistress Shore also occasionally shares my Lord Hastings’ bed.’
‘One way of getting and supplying information.’ Andrew nodded. ‘But hardly discreet. Do you have similar access?’
Catesby shook his head and laughed. ‘No. But they say Dorset has. Mistress Shore may be the king’s favourite, but evidently she despises exclusivity. They are all generous men, I’m sure. Perhaps she’ll accept your advances too, my lord, if you care to combine spying with amour.’
‘Dorset?’ Andrew turned suddenly and frowned. ‘What nonsense is this? Lord Hastings entrusts secret information to a woman who climbs into Dorset’s bed?’
‘What better way to get information, my lord?’
‘And what better way to make dupes of three of the most important men in the country? You had better make sure, my friend, that Mistress Shore doesn’t also travel to Wales.’
The great bells of St Paul’s marked three of the afternoon as Andrew left Mister Catesby’s chambers, clamped his hat back on his head, adjusted his coat over the pommel of his sword, and strode up Cheapside. He then cut through the back alleys towards Bishopsgate. Turning left at Fynkes Lane, he finally approached a small doorway off the main street and, without knocking, pushed open the door and marched in.
A very large man was squatting on a stool by the hearth, his nose buried in a mug of ale as he stretched his feet to the small fire. At his side sat an elderly woman. She was mid-sentence when Andrew Cobham walked in.
Margery Blessop stopped speaking at once. She scrambled up and curtsied with a distinct creak of the knees.
‘My lord. How – unexpected. If I’d known … may I offer beer, perhaps, my lord? We’ve no wine. Times are hard, my lord.’
‘Bloody are, too,’ objected Borin, peering up bleary-eyed from the chipped brim of his earthenware mug. ‘Come in good time, you have, my lord. Was squealing to burst my ears, she was, and all about having no money, as if I’m to blame. Not my fault if his lordship done a runner.’
Andrew waved away the cup of beer hurriedly offered. ‘Baron Throckmorton’s absence must be a disadvantage, Blessop, since he was your only source of employment. So I have come to offer another.’
Borin brightened. ‘Mighty obliging you were last time, my lord,’ he acknowledged. ‘Pay me the same again, and I’ll do whatever you asks. You can surely trust me, my lord.’
Andrew smiled slowly. ‘What an interesting assertion,’ he said. ‘I shall certainly keep it in mind.’
Margery Blessop hovered at Borin’s shoulder. ‘My boy is right willing and clever, my lord, and as trustworthy as they come. And now, my lord, won’t you sit with us while you discuss your business? It’s good beer, for it comes from the baron’s own cellars.’ She kicked her son’s rump and hissed at him. ‘Get up, you lout, and give the stool for his lordship to sit.’
‘I’ve neither desire to drink nor to sit,’ Andrew said. ‘But I wish to talk with your son alone, so I require you to leave, madam. And not upstairs, since I know every word can be heard above. You will kindly leave the house. No doubt you have some errand to perform?’
Used to obeying the nobility and determined to oblige, Margery scurried to the peg and hung up her apron, and left the house, slamming the door against the bluster of winter winds outside.
Andrew turned immediately to Borin. ‘Now, Mister Blessop. To business. There are several things I wish to discuss. There are two men I wish to see with some urgency, and you will find them for me. I have only a vague idea of their names, but I know their descriptions and who they work for. But first there is another matter entirely. You have recently been, let us say, deserted by your good wife. Under the circumstances, since you laid false witness leading to her arrest, I understand she will not be returning to you, and I am not interested in your complaints or self pity. However, I should like you to tell me something about her.’
Each day the slow waning slog of winter prepared for a mild spring. The northern wastes mellowed and the ice melted, while in the south the snowdrops pushed through the hard earth, and in their squashed barns the cattle birthed their calves and the first lambs wriggled damp from their mothers’ wombs.
In a bright new gown given by Andrew from the collection at Crosby’s, Tyballis went to market. Her headdress was neatly starched white, her sleeves were palest blue camelot trimmed with dark blue velvet, and her blue woollen gown, though the prettiest she had ever owned, was hidden by a new padded waistcoat striped in badger, laced in scarlet and attached to flowing skirts of deepest turquoise. She had plucked her forehead and her eyebrows, patted her cheeks to make them pink, and dabbed a little honey on her lower lip.