[Roger the Chapman 05] - Eve of Saint Hyacinth (31 page)

'Ralph Boyse,' I said promptly. 'It was his job to find that out, which he did by gaining leave of absence from Your Grace and going to Chilworth Manor in the guise of a travelling minstrel. It had to be before Matthew took up his position in Your Grace's household, but Ralph knew all his movements from Master Arrowsmith, through Berys Hogan. The day after he quit Chilworth where, amongst other songs, he had sung
C'est la fin
to Lady Wardroper, Ralph was in Southampton. Both the butcher and his wife made mention of him. Mistress Gentle said that the minstrel spoke in a Yorkshire dialect and Ralph Boyse came from that county. I suspect that he met with one of King Louis's agents and gave him a full and detailed description of young Matthew. He also informed him of the day on which Matthew would leave for London. The agent then recrossed the Channel and reported to his masters, who at once looked round for a young man as like Matthew Wardroper as possible, who was willing to undertake a dangerous mission. If a detail or two, such as the colour of his eyes, did not tally, it was of little consequence.

Ralph knew that Lionel had not seen his cousin for many years and it was highly unlikely that in the short time between Matthew's arrival in London and Your Grace setting out for France either of his parents would visit him.'

The duke nodded. 'So! King Louis's spy-masters duly found their young man, who took ship for England. And then what happened?'

'He landed at Southampton, made his way to Chilworth Manor very early in the morning of the day that Matthew set out for London, followed him, probably caught up and fell into conversation with him in the forest and then, at the right moment, killed him and dragged the body deep into the undergrowth, where he buried it. I suspect that d'Amboise also buried the saddle and the horse's other accoutrements before turning the animal loose. It would soon be seized upon, most gratefully, by one of the woodlanders.'

There was a long silence inside the tent. Outside, sentries called softly to one another, a horse whinnied, the growl of muttered conversation disturbed the darkness as sleepless men tried vainly to take their ease.

At last the duke said slowly the one thing I had been dreading to hear, 'You haven't yet told me, Roger, why the French should desire my death.'

I heard Timothy's quick, involuntary intake of breath and it was all I could do not to look at him for guidance.

'Your...Your Grace,' I stuttered helplessly, 'I - er I...'

Duke Richard's eyes never left my face, but suddenly he took pity on me and smiled. 'Peace, peace. I'm not going to ask you. It's not that I think you don't know, but I'm beginning to have my own suspicions. If I am right although I pray to God that I'm not - then it is a subject better left alone. What's to come will be between the king and me.' He stared grimly in front of him, the jaw hardening, the eyes like steel. Then he roused himself and tried to smile. 'I've kept you both too long from your rest. Tomorrow we set out towards St Quentin. It will be a wearisome march.' He rose and held out his hand for us to kiss.

Once outside the tent, Timothy exhaled a long-drawn-out breath. 'Thank God that's done with. Trust His Grace,' he added proudly, 'to be in step and also to be wishful of sparing us embarrassment. What will you do now then, chapman? Your job here's finished. You're free to go. Not that you've ever been otherwise. No one would have kept you against your will, but you know that. Are you off back to England in the morning?'

I shook my head. 'I'II march with you as far as St Quentin and see what happens. I can't return home without knowing whether or not my suspicions have some foundation.'

'Yours and the duke's,' Timothy grinned, clapping me on the shoulder. 'Very well then, we'd better get some sleep. Let's find a good fire to warm us.'

Some days later, as the English army approached the walls of St Quentin, the city guns boomed out over the countryside, killing several of our men and horses. The Count of St Pol had apparently returned to his rightful allegiance. And within the hour messengers arrived with the news that King Louis and his army had advanced as far as Compiègne.

That was on the eleventh day of August. Within the week, English and French ambassadors met at Amiens to talk of peace and the following day, the Eve of Saint Hyacinth, they returned to St Quentin with King Louis's propositions. In return for the prompt withdrawal of the English from France and a seven years' truce he offered King Edward an immediate payment of 75,000 crowns and an annuity of 50,000 crowns; the Dauphin and the Princess Elizabeth were to be betrothed; and finally both kings were to go to the other's aid if either was threatened in the future by rebellious subjects.

King Edward accepted and only two of his captains opposed him - the Duke of Gloucester and Louis de Bretaylle.

'Well, you were right, chapman,' Timothy said, as we strolled together around the walls of St Quentin, its guns now fallen silent. 'All hell's broken loose in His Highness's tent, with our lord and Captain de Bretaylle accusing him of breaking faith. As I passed the royal pavilion a while ago I heard one of them shouting that although in his time King Edward has won nine victories, this is a disgrace which will outweigh them all.'

'What about the other lords?' I asked. 'Does none of them condemn His Highness?'

'What? With King Louis scattering pensions and expensive gifts among them as liberally as leaves fall from trees in autumn? There's no chance of that. But he won't bribe Duke Richard and that makes all the rest of 'em furiously angry. John Morton's always hated the duke and he'll dislike him even more after this. Anyway, be prepared to move, lad. We're off to Amiens it seems, to be royally entertained by the French while the final details of the treaty are hammered out by the lawyers.'

'And Julien d'Amboise? What's to happen to him?'
 

Timothy's lip curled. 'Oh, he's to be treated as a prisoner of war and returned to his family. It wouldn't be politic to execute the son of the Comte d'Amboise. But messengers have already been despatched to London with orders for Ralph Boyse's arrest. He, poor sod, won't escape the hangman's noose. But that's the way the world turns, chapman, as you well know.'

I nodded. 'And as I predicted, it was all for nothing. King Edward won't be influenced on this occasion by his brother.'

Nor was he swayed by the arrival of a furious Charles of Burgundy, who thundered into the camp the following day and accused His Highness, in tones so loud that everyone could hear, of perfidy and ended by taunting him with the victories won by former English kings over the French.

Crécy, Poitiers, Agincourt were names tossed into the bright summer air. Then the duke departed, refusing to have anything to do with the peace.

We marched to Amiens where, outside the town, the inhabitants, acting on their sovereign's orders, had set up hundreds of tables laden with food and drink. We all fell on the food like ravening wolves and then lay about in the meadows for the rest of the day, our bellies distended, and more than half-drunk. The whore-houses were also opened up to the English troops and a long procession of men staggered in and out of the main gates until they closed at curfew. I hasten to record that I wasn't one of them.

Brothels and their inmates have never tempted me. You can catch too many unpleasant diseases from them and I need to be fit.

No one bothered me or expected me to perform any duties. All those in attendance upon Duke Richard knew by now that I was not really of his household and would be quitting their ranks very soon. The duke, his face ravaged by disappointment and anger with his eldest brother, called me to his tent and asked what he could do for me, but he already knew the answer.

'Nothing, Your Grace. I'm happy as I am.'
 

'If you won't join my service or allow me to help you in any other way, at least let me make you the gift of a horse.

You could travel further, sell more, on horseback.'
 

I considered the offer for a few moments, but then declined. 'Your Grace is generous, but I prefer my own two legs. They're more reliable.'

He laughed, but the sound was forced, as though he and mirth had become strangers. 'In short, you refuse to be beholden to me.'

I regarded him steadily. 'I prefer to be my own man.'
 

He sighed. 'And I respect you for it. If only,' he added bitterly, 'more men thought as you do. Do you tarry long enough to go to the bridge at Picquigny tomorrow?'

'Picquigny, my lord? Where's that?'

'A little village near here, on the banks of the River Somme, where King Louis and my brother will meet to sign this inf– this treaty.'

'And will you go, my lord?'

'No, but those of my men who wish to may do so. It might be a spectacle worth seeing and I should not wish to prevent them.'

'Perhaps I shall go as well then. God be with Your Grace, now and always.' I knelt and kissed his hand. The fingers were as cold as ice.

'And God be with you, Roger my friend. I trust that our paths will cross again in the future.'

On King Louis's orders a covered bridge had been built across the River Somme at Picquigny, divided in half by a wooden grating through which he and his fellow monarch could parley; a device which lessened the threat of assassination at the hands of the untrustworthy English. (For every Frenchman worth his salt knows that we all conceal devils' tails beneath our tunics and hose.) King Louis also took the added precaution of ensuring that his approach to the bridge was from open ground, while our king was forced to advance along a narrow causeway between marshy flats. In addition, four Englishmen were stationed on the French side of the bridge and the same number of Frenchmen on the English, further hostages against misfortune, and neither sovereign was accompanied by more than a dozen attendants.

Amongst his following King Edward had chosen the Duke of Clarence, the Earl of Northumberland, Lord Hastings and John Morton. In King Louis's retinue several of his men were dressed exactly like him in order to confuse any would-be assassin, with the result that the French looked a far shabbier company than the English. This was because the outward trappings of kingship seemed to mean nothing to Louis, who was robed in a motley assortment of old and faded garments which would have put a mountebank to shame. King Edward, on the other hand, was wearing cloth-of-gold lined with red satin and a black velvet cap in which sparkled a diamond fleur-de-lys as a compliment to his host. No greater contrast could have been imagined than between these two men, one so tall and still handsome, even if running a little to fat, the other stooped and ugly, with glossy, protuberant eyes and an overpoweringly large and bulbous nose.

Timothy Plummer, who had come with me to Picquigny, whispered, 'Duke Richard kept his word, then. There's no sign of him anywhere.'

I shook my head. 'Nor will be. He'll have no truck with anything that smacks of betrayal.'

It was a lovely summer's morning, voices carrying well on the still, clear air; and so it was that from our position near the bridge we could hear something of what was being said. Both kings made speeches in French, then someone on our side spoke up in English, saying there was an ancient prophecy which foretold that an honourable peace should be made at Picquigny between the two countries.

Timothy muttered in my ear, 'We've always got a bloody prophecy whatever the occasion. That's something you can bet on.'

I begged him to be silent as I wanted to listen, but the two monarchs were now embracing one another through the wooden bars of the grille and speaking in French. A missal was brought, together with a fragment of the True Cross, on which both men swore to keep faith with the articles about to be concluded between them; and a parchment containing the terms of the treaty being duly signed, the Peace of Picquigny was thus safely concluded. The two kings then withdrew to Amiens to talk in secret, but only after King Louis had made some jest which set the English in a roar and which I later got Jocelin d'Hiver to translate for me. It seemed that King Edward had been invited to Paris to amuse himself with the ladies and had also been promised the Cardinal de Bourbon as his confessor, a churchman who would easily grant him absolution for any number of sins committed. King Edward had replied that he had always heard that His Eminence was a jolly good fellow.

And it was on that note of ribaldry that the greatest invasion of France ever embarked on by an English army came to its inglorious end.

After witnessing the events at Picquigny I took ship at Calais and made my way to London and Baynard's Castle, where I changed into my own clothes and retrieved my pack and staff. I lingered long enough to see the return of King Edward as, early in September, he and his brothers rode through the streets of London. Although everyone cheered, the huzzas were thin and mainly directed towards Duke Richard. I had heard sufficient mutterings among the people to convince me that they felt bitterly let down by what had happened.

The following day I set out for Bristol. My troubled conscience told me that I had been away from my little daughter for far too long and that she would grow up not knowing who I was unless I spent the winter with her. And the thought of winter quarters, of being cosseted and well fed by my mother-in-law, Margaret Walker, was not unpleasant. Already there was a chill in the air as evenings grew shorter and the darkness closed in. It would be good to sit by a fire again, my child on my knee, while the cold and the rain did their worst outside.