The five of us with the children and Arbella — and it struck me forcibly that the Godsloves, who had originally been six in number were now only three — went to St Botolph’s, before breakfast, for early Mass. (St Botolph, I’m ashamed to confess, was not a saint I was well acquainted with, although I knew that in Lincolnshire he was considered of sufficient importance to have a town named in his honour. Unhappily for the poor man, due to our lazy English predilection for shortening everything whenever possible, St Botolph’s Town had rapidly become St Bo’s Town, and is nowadays called simply Boston.) The other members of the congregation, standing together in the nave, eyed Oswald and his sisters curiously, having been alerted by my questioning to Celia’s disappearance; but either they were not on sufficient terms of intimacy with the family, or were too indifferent, to enquire further. The only person anxious for news was Father Berowne, who, as soon as the service was over, scurried across to Oswald, laying an eager hand upon his shoulder.
‘Have you heard anything?’
Oswald shook his head. ‘But we are keeping a watch on Dr Jeavons’s house, near Alder’s Gate. We think he may know something.’
The priest’s eyes widened in surprise and he was plainly agog to hear more, but Oswald hurried us all away, back to the Arbour. Thankfully, Arbella insisted that he and I stay and eat breakfast, plying us with hot porridge, oatmeal cakes and honey and pickled herrings.
‘You’ll make yourselves ill if you don’t eat properly,’ she scolded, ‘and I repeat, where will that get you? You’ll be of no use to Celia if you’re laid up in bed.’
There was much to be said for this common sense view of things, but I regret to say that I was the only one, apart from the children, who took her advice and made a hearty meal, a fact which earned me reproachful looks from the others. But my appetite had returned, and after a week of near starvation when I was sick, I needed to build up my strength.
A Sabbath calm reigned as Oswald and I rode through the Bishop’s Gate, and I could see that the work was nearly finished. There was only one small stretch of wall still under repair and that would probably need less than a week to complete. But the site of Sybilla’s accident reminded me of something I had been meaning to say.
I turned to my companion. ‘It occurs to me that this enemy of yours must have money.’
‘Why do you say that?’ Oswald spoke sharply.
‘Because, if we’re right, he, or she, has already bribed someone to kill your stepbrother, Reynold Makepeace, and your half-brother Martin, and someone else to attempt the murder of Sybilla. You don’t persuade ruffians to do that sort of work for a pittance. If they’re caught it means Tyburn and the rope’s end for them. And then again, you have to know where to find these people.’
‘You’re right.’ Oswald took a deep breath. ‘And who fits that description better than Roderick Jeavons? I’ve never yet encountered a poor physician, and I happen to know that he inherited money from his wife. Besides which, he has a large practice. He probably meets all kinds and conditions of people, some of whom most likely can’t pay his bills. Threatened with the debtors’ prison, I’ve no doubt some of them would be desperate enough to carry out his evil work for him. Don’t you see? He’s been trying to scare Celia into marrying him, but now he’s grown too impatient to wait any longer and he’s abducted her.’
I was about to point out the many flaws in this convenient theory, but at that moment we were brought to a standstill by total confusion outside of Crosby’s Place. Carts were again blocking the road while sweating workmen carried in yet more furniture and a number of leather, brass-bound clothes chests.
I leant from the saddle and tapped the nearest man on the shoulder. ‘What’s going on?’ I asked. ‘I understood, from what I heard one of you fellows say, that Duke Richard is going to stay at Baynard’s Castle with his mother. That is, when he finally gets here.’
The man turned a hot, red face up to mine. ‘Well, he’s got here, Master Nosey,’ he snapped. ‘Leastways, he’s getting here today. This morning sometime. And ’e can’t go to Baynard’s Castle ’cause Duchess Cicely ain’t in London yet, so it’s all hands to the pump here, I’ll tell you! Look, you and your friend’ll have to wait until we get these coffers in, then we’ll move one o’ them carts out yer way.’
‘Is the king with him?’
‘O’ course the king’s with him! They were leaving St Albans at the crack o’ dawn, and the mayor and aldermen have all ridden to meet ’em. Where you been? Don’t you know nothing? Look, I’ve got to get on. The king and his party’ll be riding in through the Cripples’ Gate any time soon.’
The speaker and his mate strained and heaved the remaining chest on to their shoulders and vanished through the gates of Crosby’s Place. I raised my eyebrows and looked at Oswald, but he seemed as bemused as I was and shook his head.
‘I must admit I’ve heard nothing,’ he mumbled guiltily. ‘At least, if I have, it. . it just hasn’t sunk in.’
The truth was, of course, that we had both been so absorbed by the riddle of Celia’s disappearance that the rumours and murmurings in the city had completely passed us by. Events in the larger world had ceased to interest us. But now it seemed that, at long last, on this Sunday morning, the fourth of May — on what had originally been designated his coronation day by the Woodvilles, had their plans not miscarried — the young king was finally about to enter his capital, three and a half weeks after his father’s death.
Even if we had been inclined to doubt our informant’s word, we should have been convinced of his veracity long before we reached the Poultry and pushed our way on towards West Cheap. Not only was the Great Conduit running with wine instead of water, but the mass of people had become so dense that we were forced to dismount and proceed on foot, stabling the horses at a convenient inn. Fortunately, Oswald had chosen to don his lawyer’s robe, which gave him instant authority amongst the crowd, while I had been bullied by Adela into wearing my second set of decent clothing, blue hose and a yellow tunic, and my despised hat, with its fake jewel and upturned brim. I therefore looked to be a citizen of some substance, a totally erroneous impression which my height and girth did nothing to dispel.
At the corner of Wood Street, where the road from the Cripples’ Gate joins the Cheap, it was almost impossible to move for the press of bodies hemming us in on all sides. Nevertheless, by dint of much shoving and heaving on my part and haughty glares from my companion, Oswald and I managed to force a passage through the crowds until we were very nearly in the front row of those being held back by a line of men-at-arms. And here we had to remain, it being impossible to go any further until the royal party had entered the city and passed us by. Oswald might fume, but I was curious to see our new young king and was glad of the enforced delay.
But as I peered over the heads of those in front of me, all I could see at the present moment were four great carts, rumbling and swaying across the cobbles, piled with weapons and armour. I turned to my neighbour, a large, red-faced man, who informed me that he was a chandler by trade, for enlightenment.
‘What’s going on?’ I shouted, trying to make myself heard above the clang and clatter of the bells from a hundred churches.
He yelled something in reply that I didn’t quite catch, but then, thankfully, some of the bell ringers took a rest from their labours and the noise diminished a little.
‘They say,’ the chandler repeated, dropping his voice to a more conversational level, ‘that these are the weapons gathered by Earl Rivers and the rest of the Woodvilles for use against the Duke of Gloucester when they planned to take him prisoner at Stony Stratford.’ He nudged me in the ribs. ‘Here you are! Here are the criers now, to cry the tale.’