‘Adam!’ I called.
Silence.
All around me the glitter of gold was caught by the candle flame. Here, the goldsmith’s wares were stacked on shelves, waiting to be transferred, when necessary, to the shop — something that would never happen now. My hand shook and a drop of hot grease fell on my wrist, making me jump.
‘Adam!’ I cried again.
But the place was empty. He wasn’t there.
It is impossible to describe my feelings at that moment. I remember that I felt sick, so much so that I actually heaved and felt the bile rise in my throat. It seemed as though a black cloud had enveloped my mind, and I had, almost literally, to fight my way free of it, using all my willpower to prevent myself from just sinking down by the cellar wall and giving way to grief. I had been so certain that I had the answer to the problem that the disappointment was even more intense than it would otherwise have been. Indeed, I went so far as to search every corner of the strongroom in the ridiculous hope that I had somehow overlooked my son hiding in the shadows.
Finally, however, I came to my senses and forced myself to consider what I must do next. The thought of returning to Adela without Adam was unbearable, as was the realization that if I failed to discover where he was hidden I should have no option, if I were not to involve the rest of my family in treason, but to go to the sheriff with my story.
It was then that I thought of Mistress Callowhill.
I walked — or half-ran — back to Wine Street and hammered at the door of the wine merchant’s house. One of the men servants answered it and abruptly refused me admission. The master was from home and the mistress could see no one.
I wedged my foot in the door before he could close it.
‘I know your master’s not here,’ I said grimly. ‘I want to speak to Mistress Callowhill and I intend to do so.’
The man did his best to prevent me, but was no match for my height and weight. I pushed him aside easily enough, prepared to search the whole house until I ran my quarry to earth. But this, thankfully, proved to be unnecessary: the wine merchant’s wife and children were seated around the table in the parlour, the elder son, Martin, and his mother obviously discussing the situation and what was to be done. The younger boy and girl looked scared and had been weeping, judging by their tear-stained cheeks. All four were ashen-faced and when I threw open the door, jumped up with startled cries and then stood as though turned to stone.
Martin was the first to recover the use of his voice. ‘My father isn’t here, Master Chapman. I–I’m afraid I must ask you to leave. Something has happened which — ’
‘I know what’s happened,’ I snarled, making him flinch. ‘I know exactly what’s happened! What I want to know is what that traitor has done with my son? Where’s Adam?’
Mistress Callowhill whirled back to face her own son. ‘Don’t tell him!’ she shrieked.
My heart gave a great leap. She knew! This woman knew where Adam was imprisoned. Without stopping to think, she had given herself away.
I didn’t hesitate. As she sank down again in her chair, my knife was at her throat.
‘Tell me!’ I demanded. The tip of the blade pricked her skin. The blood welled and trickled down her neck, a thin ribbon of crimson.
The younger children started to scream and two of the servants burst in, only to be brought up short by the sight of my knife. I’ve often wondered since if I would have had the courage to use it and how different my life would have been if I had. Or indeed, if I would have had a life at all. Looking back on the scene, I firmly believe I was insane enough with fear and grief to have done something desperate.
But I was spared the decision.
‘Mother,’ Martin said quietly, although his voice shook, ‘we can’t be responsible for a child’s death. I must tell Master Chapman where the boy is hidden.’
‘No!’ Mistress Callowhill’s voice rose hysterically. ‘If he finds him, he’ll inform Sergeant Manifold immediately and your father will have lost any chance of getting away. And you know what will happen to him! You know how traitors die!’ The lad shuddered as his mother went on more quietly, ‘There’s every chance your father and the other two will reach Cornwall in a day or so. If he sends back word at once to Master Chapman there’s a possibility that the boy might still be alive.’
I saw Martin hesitate and indecision flicker in his eyes.
‘Martin, if you know where Adam’s hidden, I beg you to tell me,’ I said hoarsely. ‘He’s five years old and must be terrified, waking up alone in the dark, not knowing where he is or what’s happened to him.’
‘If you tell him, Martin,’ Mistress Callowhill said slowly, ‘I shall never forgive you. From henceforward, you will be no son of mine.’
Another moment stretched into eternity and the boy’s hand crept up to his mouth, his gaze flickering between the two of us. Then he said, ‘I’m sorry, Mother.’ My legs almost gave way with relief and it was a second or two before I realized that Martin was addressing me. ‘We’ll have to go to Master Foliot’s house to get his keys.’
I could have wept with joy.
‘I already have them,’ I gasped, pulling them out of my pouch. ‘I thought Adam might be in the goldsmith’s strongroom, but he wasn’t there.’
Martin gave a quick nod as though that somehow settled matters. ‘Follow me then,’ he said.
‘Martin!’ Mistress Callowhill’s voice was now as cold as ice. I felt as if melt water were trickling down my spine. ‘If you do this thing, don’t come back.’
He looked at her pityingly, speaking with a composure far beyond his years. ‘I shall come back, Mother. You and the children will need looking after.’ He turned and left the room.
I followed him out into the street. It was still raining, but the wind, though strong, had eased a little.‘Where are we going?’ I asked.
‘To St Peter’s Church.’ When I exclaimed in surprise, he went on, ‘Do you know the story of how the citizens of Bristol built a wall between the town and the castle during the reign of Edward II?’ I nodded, at the same time forcing him to quicken his pace. ‘Well,’ he continued, ‘according to Master Foliot, the constable of the castle ordered that a tunnel should be dug underneath the wall so that his soldiers could take the people by surprise. Unfortunately for the tunnellers, they broke through in the crypt of St Peter’s Church where members of the patrol who manned the wall every night were warming themselves before going outside again. They immediately drove the intruders back, killing a couple for good measure, then one of them ran to ring the common bell, alerting the whole city to the danger. Lord Berkeley never tried anything of the sort again, and in commemoration of their victory the tunnel was preserved. Master Foliot showed it to me the day he took us around the church. In later years, a door was put at the crypt end and always kept locked for safety‘s sake.’
‘And you think Adam’s there?’
‘I know he is. My father told me so before he left.’
And he was, terrified, sobbing, crouched against the wall halfway along the tunnel which I saw to my horror might well have collapsed, suffocating him. After well over a century and a half, the timbers with which it had been shored up were beginning to rot and the roof was in danger of caving in. I think Martin saw it, too, and it was some comfort to him to know that he had prevented a child’s death, even if he had risked his father’s life to do so.
For the four men — Henry Callowhill, Gilbert Foliot, Sir Lionel and Henry Tudor’s loyal adherent, Reynold Bray — all escaped to Brittany. The talk of Cornwall had been a blind. Wales had been their true destination where a ship had been waiting to take Bray on board at Milford Haven. And the Capet diamonds undoubtedly helped to pay the mercenaries who were responsible for Henry’s triumph two years later. .
But that’s to look forward to an event which, in that late autumn of 1483, seemed inconceivable to any of us. King Richard III ruled the country with justice and mercy and all was well with our world.