He appealed to Eleanor from the beginning. He was more sophisticated than Margery. He was not a witch; he was a soothsayer. He wore a long black cloak and his breeches and surcoat were also black. His appearance was impressive. The blackness of his garb was relieved only by a heavy gold chain which he wore about his neck.
He had penetrating eyes in a thin white face; there was an aura of another world about him. Eleanor was sure that he could help her.
He said he would consult the signs. Consultations were costly because they demanded so much of him and if he were to continue his work he must be aloof from financial worries.
Eleanor waved all that aside. She was ready to pay what he asked. She took a sapphire ring from her finger and gave it to him as a start.
Roger was delighted. He saw the beginning of a rewarding association.
The first meeting sent the Duchess’s spirits soaring.
Roger stared at her over the strange objects he was handling on the table. He muttered to himself while Eleanor listened intently. Then he came to her and knelt.
‘I hardly dare say what I see,’ he murmured.
‘Tell me! Tell me!’ she cried. He took her hand and kissed it.
‘My lady, I see the Queen of England.’
‘Who is she … a bride for Henry … ?’
‘My lady … you are to be the Queen.’
She was beside herself with delight. ‘Tell me more. Tell me more …’
‘I can see no more now … my lady. This one fact overshadows all else.’
He went back to his stool. He stared and muttered. Then he buried his face in his hands.
‘The powers have left me,’ he said. ‘They have given me this blinding fact and they say that is enough … for now …’
‘Then when …’
‘I will commune with the powers … if that is what you wish. I need special implements. They are costly … I have never dealt with such as this. I shall need time …’
‘Time … time … what for?’
‘To acquire what I need.’
‘There must be no delay.’
‘Delay … my lady …’ He lifted his shoulders.
She took a chain from her neck. ‘Take that. I will pay for what you need.’
‘My lady, I will give up everything to work on this.’
He was working on it. But he could go no further. She was going to be Queen, he said. The powers, however cajoled, would tell no more than that.
He would consult with a man he knew – that was if Eleanor was agreeable to bring another into the case. She must be warned that his services would be costly.
Impatiently she shrugged her shoulders.
‘Spare nothing,’ she said. ‘I want to know how this can come about.’
Thus she met Thomas Southwell who brought a further respectability into the proceedings because he was a canon of St Stephen’s, Westminster.
He confirmed Roger Bolingbroke’s prophecy that Eleanor would be the Queen of England. But he said it would not come about easily.
What did they mean by that?
‘There is someone in the way, my lady,’ said Thomas Southwell.
‘But if it is ordained that I am to be Queen he will be removed, surely?’
The two men looked at each other. It was not quite as easy as that. It was true that Roger had seen her in her regalia being crowned at the Abbey, but now that his vision had cleared it was made known to these seers that the brilliant destiny could only be reached if the lady had the courage to surmount a certain obstruction. Someone stood in the way. The King.
‘I did not need to spend a fortune to discover that,’ retorted Eleanor coldly.
The men were alert. She was getting impatient.
‘The King has to be removed before he marries,’ said Thomas Southwell. ‘It can be done. Margery has special skills in this art. She should be called back.’
‘Margery has been working on it for years and nothing has happened.’
‘Margery has never worked with us.’
So the two wise men and the wise woman came together and Margery made an image of the King which she said would take her a few weeks because it was not merely constructing it in wax which had to be done but life had to be breathed into it. She had to repeat incantations over it every night. It must be done in accordance with the laws of witchcraft otherwise it would be useless.
‘And when it is done?’ asked Eleanor.
‘It shall then be placed in a warm spot near a fire but not too near, and there it shall be left until the wax melts … But that must be gradual. Then as it melts, so shall the King’s life ebb away.’
‘We have tried it already.’
‘Not with us,’ said Roger Bolingbroke.
She believed them. She knew that Roger had a good practice near St Paul’s, that people of the Court visited him in secret and the fact that a canon of the Church was with them ensured success.
Eleanor waited.
Humphrey rode through the city towards Westminster. The people cheered him and that was a comfort. Strangely enough he had retained his popularity in spite of his failures. The people seemed to like some people and forgive them a good deal. They had never liked the Cardinal. They still thought of him as ‘Bastard’. It amazed Humphrey often how the most humble people attached such importance to birth and despised those who, although far above themselves, were not of the highest.
He was growing a little tired of all the conflict, but his feud with his uncle Cardinal could still arouse fighting excitement in him; he could see though that the Council was swaying towards Beaufort. Perhaps in time the people would.
He had squandered men and money in Jacqueline’s cause; he had married beneath him – not that he regretted that. Eleanor had been worth it. She could still please him, which was amazing considering how jaded he was. And she was loyal to him – or was that to herself? As he rose she had risen with him.
Oh, he was tired. He would go to the palace and there shut himself in with a new book which had just been sent to him. He was interested in the author and if he thought the book worthy he would arrange a pension for him.
He could hear shouting in the streets. Outside a house a crowd had assembled and guards were arresting a man.
Some malefactor, he thought. I wonder what his offence is?
The man was dressed in black – a strange-looking creature. ‘Who is he?’ he asked one of his attendants.
‘My lord, it is the soothsayer, Roger Bolingbroke. It has been said for a long time that he deals in black magic.’
‘Another of them. There are too many witches and such like in the country.’
He rode on to Westminster.
Eleanor was delighted to see him. They embraced warmly. Later she asked about the health of the King.
‘Never very robust,’ said the Duke. ‘It often amazes me that my brother should beget such a son.’
‘Not so well as normal, then?’ she asked.
‘Oh … he always looks sickly to me.’
She was exultant. It is working, she thought. Very slowly the wax was melting. When it had disappeared completely the King would be dead.
‘You had a good journey, my love?’
‘Oh fair enough. The people of London cheered me.’
‘Bless them. They have always been loyal to you. I set my trust in the people of London.’
‘I saw a fellow being arrested near St Paul’s.’
‘Oh?’ She was not interested. She was thinking of the slowly melting wax figure.
‘Some sort of witch. It’s time we looked into their activities a little more. Perhaps this is a sign.’
A sudden fear touched the Duchess.
‘A sort of witch … a man, did you say?’
‘They’re as bad as the women. This one looked the part. He was all in black … looked like the Devil himself.’