The Burgundian's tale

‘What will you do now?’ Lionel asked. ‘About the murder, I mean.’

Before I could reply, Dame Broderer said firmly, ‘He needs an introduction to the household in the Strand. But tomorrow, everyone will be abroad to see the state entrance of the Dowager Duchess into London. Judith won’t miss that. She might even be summoned to wait on Her Highness as an old friend and retainer of the Princess. So call here the day after tomorrow, chapman, and I’ll take you to see Judith and Godfrey then.’

I was tempted to refuse: I have always liked to do things in my own way and my own time. But the dame’s offer would cut many corners, and I knew that Duke Richard would like this murder solved as soon as possible for his sister’s sake.

‘You’re very kind.’ I picked up my pack from where I had dropped it beside my chair, bowed once again to them both and took myself back to the Voyager.

‘Well, I call that very underhand and sneaky,’ Bertram declared somewhat indistinctly, as we ate an excellent supper of stewed neck of veal with leeks and cabbage. ‘I’m the one who’s supposed to be helping you with this case, not some old woman.’

‘Dame Broderer is only in her forties,’ I reproved him.

‘That’s what I said: old.’

‘And,’ I went on severely, ‘she’s a very well-looking woman for her age.’

He would have continued the wrangle, but I suddenly realized how tired I was, how long and busy a day it had been. I had risen at the crack of dawn to continue our journey into London; I had been to Baynard’s Castle to meet the Duke and to the Broderer workshops and Lionel’s home. And even though it was still light, I was ready for my bed. Home, my wife and children seemed as distant from me as the moon. I needed to be quiet, to reorientate my thoughts and let my spirit get in touch with theirs again. So, to Bertram’s great indignation, I suggested he return to the castle as soon as he had finished eating, and inform Timothy Plummer of such progress as I had made so far.

‘Come back early in the morning,’ I said, ‘and we’ll go to see Duchess Margaret’s entry into the city together.’

‘I may. I may not,’ was his lofty parting shot.

But I knew that he would.

I slept badly. I was lonely. Not for the first time in my life, my own company proved to be no satisfaction. I missed Adela. I missed the children. I even missed Adam. I wondered if I were sickening for something.

I awoke, bad-tempered and unrefreshed, to an inn and a city already humming with life and the anticipation of pageantry and spectacle. And by the time I had finished a breakfast of oatcakes and honey, cold boiled mutton and a mazer of ale I, too, was beginning to relish the prospect of seeing a bedecked and bedizened London, ready to welcome home one of its own. Margaret of York had been young, pretty and popular when she had left for Burgundy twelve years earlier. She might now be older, staider, wiser, even plainer, but she would receive the same rapturous applause.

‘The procession’ll be coming through the Ald Gate,’ Bertram informed me, arriving just as I was finishing my meal. ‘Cornhill, the Poultry, Stocks Market, past the Grocers’ and Mercers’ Halls, where the Duchess will be greeted by some of the Guildsmen, then along West Cheap — more greetings, and probably gifts from the goldsmiths: they’re an ingratiating lot — St Paul’s, the Lud Gate and along the Strand to Westminster, where the King and all the royal family will be waiting to greet her. Not the Prince of Wales, of course. He lives at Ludlow.’ Master Serifaber wrinkled his nose in indignation ‘You’ve had boiled mutton!’ he accused me. ‘Not fair! All I had was a pickled herring.’

I laughed. ‘Yes, that sounds like the kind of breakfast I remember at Baynard’s Castle. The Duchess of York isn’t the most generous of providers, if I remember rightly.’

My companion poured the remainder of the ale from the jug into my mazer, and drank. ‘Duchess Cicely’, he said feelingly, ‘expects everyone to lead the same sort of ascetic, religious life as she does at Berkhamsted. I’m glad I don’t belong to her household. Thank heaven Duke Richard is more liberal in his ideas. That’s one thing to be said for living in Yorkshire: plenty of good food.’

He sniffed again, piteously, so I ordered him a plate of boiled mutton and some oatcakes. When, finally, he could make himself understood once more, he enquired, ‘Where do you want to watch the procession? West Cheap or Westminster? Duke Richard, Duchess Anne, Duchess Cicely and all their followers — hundreds of ’em: I couldn’t be bothered to count — rode to Westminster very early this morning, so Fleet Street and the Strand should have cleared a bit by now.’

‘I’ll abide by your decision, lad. Whichever you recommend.’

‘Well …’ Bertram ran his tongue around his teeth, making sure that he had found every last scrap of meat. ‘Westminster will be just about as crowded as West Cheap, but with my livery I can probably find us both a place among my lord’s retainers.’ He patted his chest importantly.