The Burgundian's tale

When Bertram had duly bowed and departed to kick his heels outside the bedchamber door, Lincoln leaned his head back against a cushion, which had been thoughtfully placed on the edge of the tub by one of the pages, and regarded me with his frank, wide-mouthed grin.

‘I understand my aunt, Her Grace the Dowager Duchess, has sent for you?’ I nodded, and he laughed outright. ‘Don’t let her fluster you, Roger. She’s an impatient woman who thinks that everyone should dance to the pace of her own tune. All the same’ — his eyes narrowed — ‘have you discovered anything yet? Anything at all? If so, you can tell me. I can keep a secret.’

I shook my head. ‘I prefer to have the whole story, Your Highness, before giving away any part of it.’

The Earl made a moue of disappointment. ‘Poor stuff,’ he complained. ‘Haven’t you any idea at all who might have killed the Burgundian?’

‘There are one or two clues that point in a certain direction,’ I admitted, ‘but they’re not of sufficient strength to justify my making my suspicions public just yet.’

‘I’ve told you. I wouldn’t say a word to anyone,’ he wheedled. ‘On my word of honour.’

It was my turn to laugh aloud. ‘Your Highness, you are surrounded by people, all of whom have ears. If I said anything to you now, it would be all over the castle by nightfall. Don’t you agree?’

I gestured at the Master of the Bath and the three pages, and towards a fourth servant with a large sheet draped across one arm, standing ready to towel his royal master dry the instant Lincoln should step from the tub. As I did so, it occurred to me how alike two of the pages were to one another: blue-eyed and fair-haired, tall and well built. I glanced from one to the other with interest.

The Earl, following my eyes and at once understanding what had attracted my attention, let out a roar of raucous laughter that brought a reproving frown to the face of his Master of the Bath.

‘You’re looking at Edmund and John and thinking how alike they are — isn’t that so?’ I agreed with an inclination of my head. Lincoln grinned. ‘You’ll see that particular cast of countenance frequently in the royal palaces of my uncle, the King.’ I must still have looked nonplussed, for he gave another shout of laughter and said, ‘Think, man, think! His Highness has never been renowned for living like a monk. If, that is, monks ever do live like monks!’ (He was convulsed with merriment at his own wit: he was still quite young — only eighteen.)

I realized belatedly what the Earl was trying to tell me: that the two boys were bastard sons of the King. Not the sons of high-born ladies, of course, but offspring of some of the chambermaids and kitchen maids His Highness had seduced. For Edward Plantagenet, fourth of his name, was known to have an almost insatiable sexual appetite that no one woman — and probably not even two or three — could satisfy.

Lincoln signalled to the man holding the towel that he was about to get out of the bath just as a knock fell on his chamber door and Bertram reappeared, to announce that the Dowager Duchess was now ready to receive me. The Earl held out his wet right hand.

‘Then I won’t keep you, Roger. As I told you, my aunt of Burgundy is not a woman who can brook delay. But I’m very glad to have seen and spoken with you again, even though I can’t be said to have gained much by it. You’re as close as an oyster. But I have good memories of our journey together from Bristol to London, and those convivial evenings we spent on the road. I trust we shall meet again soon.’

I kissed the hand he had extended and smiled. ‘Your Highness is very gracious. And you need not feel too downcast. If it’s of any comfort to you, you have just given me a valuable clue — the key to something that has been puzzling me for the past two days.’

‘And can you now divulge the name of the murderer?’ he asked eagerly, his boyish face agog with excitement.

I shook my head. ‘Let us simply say, My Lord, that you have provided another stepping-stone to help me on my way.’

‘But you do have a name in your head?’

‘I do, Your Highness. But it may not be the right one.’

Lincoln gave a crow of laughter. ‘You’re a cautious one, chapman, and no mistake. I’d never hesitate to entrust a secret to you. And now, you mustn’t keep my aunt waiting any longer.’ And as I was going out of the door, he called mischievously, ‘Good luck!’

The Dowager Duchess was ready for the evening’s festivities, resplendent in a gown of cloth-of-silver tissue, the Order of the Golden Fleece in brilliant enamels hung about her neck. Diamonds, emeralds and rubies sparkled in riotous profusion over every inch of her royal person, and a magnificent gold crown, set with enormous pearls, rested on her once famous golden hair. This was now demurely hidden beneath a veil of white silk, and I wondered, meanly, if there were any grey in it that the Duchess was happy to conceal.