I saw the Duke of Gloucester’s sudden frown and quick glance round, the first swiftly smoothed away with a pleasant smile and the second curbed in mid-movement.
‘I’m sure there was no danger of that, my lord. Our Cousin of Scotland is noted as an equestrian of great style and flair. And now, gentlemen, we must set forward if the army is to be even halfway to Leicester by nightfall.’ There was a general murmur of assent. Duke Richard turned once again to Albany. ‘You are recovered, Cousin?’
‘Recovered?’ Albany’s tone was disdainful. ‘What is there to recover from, my lord? As you can see, the animal is perfectly well-behaved now. He has always had a little playfulness in his disposition.’
But playfulness, I thought to myself as I mounted my own placid steed, was not the word I would have used. The bay had been seriously put out by something. He had most definitely been harmed in some way; a dig, a prod, a cut, maybe, with the tip of somebody’s knife. I had seen the whites of his eyes as he reared. And I had seen the whites of Albany’s, too. There had been a moment, albeit fleeting, when he had been terrified.
I was not surprised, therefore, as we rode out through the great gates of Fotheringay, when he turned his head and said curtly, ‘Stay close, Roger.’
‘Yes, my lord.’
I took up my position a pace or two behind the rump of his horse, not caring who I jostled out of my path as I did so. I tried to picture to myself the scene as John Tullo had led up the bay for the duke to mount. The two squires had definitely been there, and either one of them could have made the animal rear. Any movement in that crush would have passed unnoticed, and I had been too busy contemplating the unwelcome ride ahead of me to pay Murdo and Donald any particular attention. It was inexcusable: I knew full well that after the events of the previous night, I should have been alert and on my guard against mischief. I was failing in my duty; and if any harm were to befall Albany, it would be the worse for me. I owed it to myself, as well as to the duke, to be more vigilant.
It was as the brilliant cavalcade streamed across the flat Northamptonshire plain, banners bravely waving and flapping taut in a freshening breeze, that I had a sudden, clear vision of that tableau in the courtyard. I could see again the two squires and the tension on Donald Seton’s face as John Tullo had led the bay forward for Albany to mount. I wondered that it had not struck me at the time that the man was as taut as a fiddle string. Had he been waiting for something to happen? Or had he simply been afraid that some mischief was brewing? I tried to recall the look on his companion’s face, but Murdo’s expression rarely, if ever, gave anything away.
I let my imaginary gaze roam over the rest of the crowd, but saw nothing except a blur of bodies. And then, suddenly, just as I was giving up on what I felt certain was a fruitless exercise, a face stood out from the throng; a delicate face with fair, wavy hair escaping from beneath a green cap worn at a rakish angle; large eyes that, close to, would prove to be violet-blue. A pretty, womanish face.
Davey!
Six
It took us almost another week to reach the city of York, with a number of nightly stops along the way, while the mounted advance guard, of which I was one, waited for the sluggishly moving army to catch us up and pitch camp. The first night, we slept at Leicester, where the abbey reluctantly provided bed and board for the Dukes of Gloucester and Albany and other such nobles as could be accommodated, without actually turning the monks into the fields to find what comfort they could on the hard ground.
Because of Albany’s insistence on my continued presence in his bed at night and at his side during the day, I was assured at all times of the best lodgings to be had; better even than that accorded to many of the minor nobility, who were obliged to take shelter in the various local houses or hostelries available to them. Some, indeed, were forced, on occasions, to have their tents removed from the baggage waggons and pitched alongside the common soldiery, bivouacking in the open countryside. Squires, body servants and the like were lucky to find room wherever they could.
I expected that the continuing favour shown to me by Albany would arouse resentment amongst his immediate household, and was vaguely surprised when the five of them persisted in treating me with the same contemptuous tolerance that they had displayed since I was first introduced into their midst in London. None of them liked me — or seemed not to, at any rate — and all avoided my company when they could; but there was no actual animosity, no overt hostility, not the slightest indication that they had the least suspicion why Albany had asked for me to be his personal bodyguard when he had the five of them to take care of him.
I put this point to the duke that first night after we left Fotheringay, when we rested at Leicester Abbey. But he shrugged the question aside, anxious to discuss the incident with the bay.
‘Pegasus would never have reared like that unless provoked. Did you see anyone touch him, Roger?’
The mattress we were sharing was a hard one, promising a poor night’s rest, and I was tired out after half a day’s riding; a bad augury for the long days in the saddle which lay ahead. Moreover, I could not rid myself of the growing belief that Albany had no real need of my protection and that I had been wrenched from my home and family without good reason.
‘No,’ I snapped — but then thought better of my ill temper (or of showing it, at least). After all, I was as much the servant of his grace, the Duke of Gloucester, as of Albany, so I added in a more conciliatory tone, ‘I saw nothing, my lord. Murdo and Donald were behind you and Davey was in the crowd. I saw him. But not near enough, now I come to think of it, to do the horse a mischief. John Tullo, of course, was at the bay’s head. Why, my lord? Do you truly think that one of them tried to unseat you?’
‘You saw what happened. I could have been thrown. At best, I could have been made to look a fool in front of all those arrogant English fools, sniggering up their sleeves. At worst, I could have been killed. And I tell you, Pegasus doesn’t play tricks of that sort. Not with me. Someone goaded him on purpose.’
‘It might have been an accident,’ I protested. ‘There was a great press of people all round. The noise alone could have frightened him.’
Albany scornfully dismissed this suggestion. ‘For the love of Mary, he’s used to it! Pegasus is a French horse, given to me by Cousin Louis. If you’ve never heard a flock of Frenchmen all screeching at once, you don’t know what noise is. I told you I’m in danger, Roger, and I meant it. One of those five has sold himself to my brother James and doesn’t intend that I shall be king.’
He was managing to convince me again. Slowly, but ineluctably, I was being drawn once more into the net of his suspicions. Perhaps I had never really escaped it: it was just homesickness that made me pretend I had.
So I told him of the previous night’s incident and of the green silk ‘leaf’ I had found in the ante-room. Now, he was seriously alarmed, and so far forgot what was due to his position as to jump out of bed himself to test the bolt on the door. But, of course, there wasn’t one. Abbeys, as a general rule, don’t have locks and bolts. They are the houses of God and, as such, are free of access, one brother to another. The cell we were occupying had been made as comfortable as possible, but it gave on to a badly lit passageway without the luxury of an ante-room or a guard of any sort.
Albany was in no doubt as to what must be done.
‘You must sleep outside, across the doorway, Roger. It’s warm tonight. Wrap yourself in your cloak. You won’t be cold.’
He was right. I wasn’t cold, but it was damnably uncomfortable, in spite of a pillow for my head, and I tossed and turned, dozed and woke all night, angry and resentful. I wondered, in those brief intervals, when I managed to gain a few moments relief from my bodily aches and pains, why mention of the Green Man affected Albany with such profound unease. I had noticed it when I first broached the subject to him. Did it hold some special significance for him? And who was the man in the mask, anyway? My original thought had been that it could be neither of the squires, but further consideration changed my mind. Either one of them could have planted the ‘leaf’ for me to find with a view to exonerating himself. Whatever had roused me the previous night — and I was still uncertain what that had been — could have been caused by Donald or Murdo creeping into the duke’s chamber, reaching through the bed curtains and touching my arm, perhaps, before scurrying back to the ante-room and feigning slumber. Something of the sort …