The Burgundian's tale

‘Well?’ she asked abruptly, as I was ushered into her presence, and ignoring Bertram who, this time, had insisted on sticking close to me. ‘What have you to tell me, Master Chapman.’

I bowed low. (It seemed like a good idea.) ‘At present, Your Grace, I cannot give you a name, but in a day or so, I believe it might be possible.’

‘Why can’t you tell me your suspicions now?’ she demanded imperiously. ‘If, that is, you really have any.’

‘Suspicions are not proof, madame. I have no desire to blacken anyone’s name without good cause.’

She made no answer for several seconds while she considered this, then nodded, as though satisfied. ‘Very well. But I return to Burgundy soon. I should like to know the truth before I leave.’

I regarded her straitly. ‘Madame … Your Highness, the truth is not always what we want to hear.’

She raised her eyebrows. ‘Is that a warning?’

‘A caution, perhaps. No more than that at present.’

The Duchess bit her lip, then, as trumpets blared throughout the castle, nodded a curt dismissal, rising swiftly to her feet and summoning her ladies about her.

The King and Queen had arrived.

Eighteen

I was consumed by a sense of irritation. Was this what I had been summoned to Baynard’s Castle for? Was this what I had forgone my rest and supper for? A delay while My Lady the Duchess finished an elaborate toilet, half a minute of questioning and then dismissal? Was that really it? My Lady had asked nothing, and I had told her nothing, that could not have been settled by sending one of her servants to the Voyager. My annoyance, however, might have been much greater had it not been for my interview with the Earl of Lincoln, and the sudden revelation that had been vouchsafed me while I was there. My visit had not, after all, proved to be a complete waste of time.

It was, in fact, to prove even more rewarding.

As the Duchess sailed regally from the bedchamber, surrounded by a bevy of pretty and not-so-pretty young women, all chattering animatedly in French, a language in which, alas, I am not at all proficient, Bertram gripped my elbow and indicated that we should leave.

‘We’ll go down by the eastern turret stairs,’ he whispered, ‘and out past the stables. That way, we’ll miss all the fuss of the King and Queen’s arrival.’

‘And the arrival of all their hundreds of retainers, and the bowing and scraping and speechifying,’ I added nastily. I was still smarting under a sense of outrage and the confirmation of my belief that those set in authority over us are often arrogant and thoughtless, with no consideration for mortals less fortunate and important than themselves.

‘Well, yes, there’s that as well,’ Bertram agreed, eyeing me curiously. ‘Has something happened to upset you, Roger?’

‘Master Chapman to you, my lad,’ I snapped, refraining from boxing his ears, but only because I was following him down a very narrow and ill-lit staircase.

‘My, my! You are annoyed,’ Bertram replied, turning his head to grin cheekily at me over one shoulder. ‘Mind you, I understand. The Dowager Duchess can have that effect on some people.’

Our descent ended in a corner of the castle’s brilliantly lit and frantically busy outer courtyard, where the royal party’s horses were being rubbed down, watered, fed and stabled while their owners sat through several hours of banqueting and festivities in the great hall. There was still some activity with late arrivals. Rich satins and furs gleamed dully in the flickering light of dozens of torches, and a thousand rainbows glimmered among the flash and sparkle of gems.

‘I’ll take you to the gate,’ Bertram offered, before adding pompously, ‘After that, I must leave you. I expect I’ll be needed.’

I was just about to ask in my most scathing tone, ‘What for?’ when all other thoughts were driven from my head by a brief glimpse of the Duchess’s groom who had been breakfasting in the Voyager that morning.

‘Don’t bother! I’ll find my own way out,’ I flung at Bertram, before plunging into the crowd of ostlers stable boys and grooms, shouldering and elbowing them aside and keeping a sharp lookout for my elusive quarry. Finally, I saw him, leading a handsome bay mare into an empty stall. He kicked the lower half of the door shut behind him.

By the time I was near enough to lean my arms along the top of the half-door and peer inside, my friend was rubbing the bay down with a handful of straw.

‘You are the Dowager Duchess’s groom who’s putting up at the Voyager in Bucklersbury, aren’t you?’ I enquired, more to attract his attention than because I had any doubts on the matter.

The man jumped and turned, straightening his back and advancing into the patch of torchlight near the door in order to see me better. He considered my face thoughtfully for a minute or two, then nodded. ‘I remember you. We were talking at breakfast. But I can’t stop now. You can see I’m busy. It’s like a madhouse here tonight.’