‘You’re very cheerful, Roger,’ a voice said reproachfully out of this seemingly empty landscape.
I nearly jumped out of my skin and whirled around, raising my cudgel, ready to strike.
‘For God’s sake, softly, man! Softly!’ urged the voice, which I now recognised as that belonging to Timothy Plummer.
A moment later, I saw him sitting beneath an ancient oak, some of whose branches reached out to spread across the road.
‘By the Virgin, you gave me a fright,’ I protested, clambering up a little knoll to join him and throwing myself down by his side. ‘What on earth brings you to this part of the world?’
‘You’re a great gawky fellow,’ he complained, forced to shift himself so that I could lean my back against the tree trunk. ‘What did your mother have in her milk to make you so big?’
‘Never mind that. You haven’t answered my question. What brings you here?’
‘Information,’ was the uninformative reply.
‘All right,’ I said, gathering up my cudgel and pack. ‘If you don’t want to tell me…’
He pushed me down again. ‘Don’t get offended.’ He nodded towards the sleepy houses, basking quietly in the sun, and I realised that from this vantage point, we could plainly see the whole of Keyford laid out before us. ‘It looks peaceful enough, doesn’t it? I’m beginning to wonder if I’m not here on a wild goose chase, after all.’
‘What are you expecting to happen?’ I asked curiously, adding, ‘Nothing much ever does here.’
The Duke of Gloucester’s Spy-Master rubbed the tip of his nose. ‘I don’t suppose much news of what’s been going on in the outside world has reached you in Bristol, has it? No, I thought not,’ he continued sourly, when I shook my head. ‘I never knew such a city for being so engrossed in its own petty affairs or in those of its immediate neighbours. The inhabitants always know more about Wales and Ireland than they ever do about London, let alone France.’
‘Tell me, then,’ I invited. ‘What has been happening in this great outside world of yours that’s so important?’
Timothy Plummer grimaced. ‘The Duke of Clarence, my boy! He’s what’s been happening.’
‘Brother George?’ I frowned. ‘I remember now that when we met in Tewkesbury, you told me that Duke Richard was afraid he’d offer for Mary of Burgundy’s hand in marriage … He didn’t, did he?’
‘Almost at once. And, of course, Dowager Duchess Margaret lent him all her support. But by God’s grace, and as Duke Richard had predicted she would, Mary refused him.’
‘But that wasn’t the end of the story?’
My companion shrugged. ‘Knowing Clarence, would you expect it to be?’
I reached into my pack and produced two apples that the goodwife had given me from her winter store, to sustain me during the remainder of my journey. I handed one to Timothy and we munched for a moment or two in silence.
‘I also seem to remember, ‘I said at last, ‘that at that same meeting, you prophesied Duke George would blame the Queen and her family if Duchess Mary did refuse him.’
Timothy took another bite of his apple and nodded gloomily. ‘Which is precisely what he has done. But then, you don’t need to be an astrologer to forecast Clarence’s reactions. All his life he’s been like a spoilt child, stamping its little feet and screaming, “Look at me! Look at me!’”
‘I know he’s always hated the Queen and the rest of the Woodvilles. But be fair! The marriage must have come as a nasty shock to him.’
‘It came as a nasty shock to everyone,’ snorted Timothy. ‘Duchess Cicely ranted and raved at the King for days, and even went so far as to hint at his bastardy. But it’s all a long time ago now; thirteen years since the wedding, and everyone has learned to make the best of it. Or, at least, to dissemble their feelings.’
‘Except the Duke of Clarence,’ I murmured. ‘So, what has he been up to?’
Timothy shrugged. ‘So far he’s contented himself with being as unpleasant as possible. He’s absented himself from court without the King’s permission on a number of occasions. Then, when he does deign to put in an appearance, he makes his Chief Taster taste every morsel of food and drop of drink before it passes his lips, the inference being, of course, that the Queen and her relations are trying to poison him. His manners, even towards his elder brother, are atrocious, while he treats Earl Rivers as though he isn’t there at all. Still, the King must take some share of the blame for that. His Highness put the cat among the pigeons as far as his brother-in-law’s concerned.’
I was intrigued. ‘What did he do?’
Timothy regarded me in exasperation.. ‘You really don’t hear anything down here in this western fastness, do you? Or is it simply that any news that doesn’t concern trade and market prices isn’t interesting to the people of Bristol?’
‘Just tell me a plain story,’ I begged. ‘I must move on soon.’
‘The King,’ Timothy explained, and grinned with sudden pleasure at the recollection, ‘offered Earl Rivers as England’s official candidate for the new Duchess of Burgundy’s hand. He guessed, naturally, that Mary would refuse Anthony Woodville — which she did, even more peremptorily than she had Clarence — but he knew how the offer would infuriate his brother, and I suppose he couldn’t resist cutting George down to size. The trouble is,’ my companion added, the grin fading, ‘there was an almighty row, and Duke Richard is being forced, as usual, to play piggy-in-the-middle. His health is suffering accordingly, and he looks thinner and more careworn than ever.’
This I could well imagine, for the Duke of Gloucester seemed to have spent the whole of his adult life acting as peacemaker between his two remaining elder brothers. That he appeared to love them both equally was his misfortune, for his loyalty still lay as it always had done, with King Edward.
‘So, what has all this to do with your being here, in this out-of-the-way spot?’ I asked yet again.
Timothy took the last bite from his apple and threw away the core. ‘This out-of-the-way spot,’ he reminded me, ‘is part of Clarence’s holdings in this county, and Farleigh Castle can’t be many miles distant. One of my spies in Duke George’s household thinks mischief may be brewing here, but he’s unable to discover exactly what. All he’s heard so far is the merest whisper, the merest breath of rumour. He’s one of my very best men, which means that if there is any truth in the story, the Duke must, for once, be keeping the details extremely close — which in itself is a worrying sign. Clarence usually can’t keep his mouth shut.’
I was still nonplussed. ‘But there’s nothing and no one of any importance here,’ I protested. ‘What harm could he — or she or it — possibly do either to His Highness or to the Woodvilles in Keyford?’
‘It might not necessarily be physical harm,’ Timothy demurred. ‘Insult, insinuation, both are grist to Clarence’s mill in trying to stir up popular support and sympathy on his own behalf. Howbeit, I’m here to keep watch for a day or two. If nothing comes of it…’ Once again, he shrugged. ‘Like you, I’m baffled by my man’s report, but I trust him enough not to ignore any of his information.’ He glanced along his shoulder at me. ‘Now it’s your turn to tell me what brings you here.’
I knew he would be interested in my tale, for our friendship — if that is not too strong a word for it — had started during my hunt, six years earlier, for the missing Clement Weaver, and to some extent the search had involved both him and his master, the Duke of Gloucester.
He heard me out in silence and then laughed. ‘Come and work for His Grace, Roger, as he’s asked you to do on more than one occasion. You’d be invaluable to him — and to me. Your nose leads you straight into the thick of any mystery that’s in the offing, and your natural curiosity won’t let you rest until you’ve solved it.’