Wheel of Fate (24 page)

‘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.'

And indeed men in the Gloucester livery, men with stentorian voices, had caught up with the wagons and were repeating the same story to the crowds. ‘See! Here are the Woodville arms, the family crest and motto on this piece of harness. And on this! It was intended to overwhelm His Grace's forces and take His Grace, himself, prisoner. And who can say but that his life, itself, may have been in danger!'

There was much more in the same vein before the wagons and the criers passed on to regale the crowds waiting in Cheapside and the vicinity of St Paul's with the same information. I heard a good deal of indignant muttering among the people around me, and cries of, ‘Hang the bastards!' or ‘Hanging's too good for 'em!' But I also noticed that quite a few of my neighbours, including the chandler, looked sceptical.

‘You don't believe in this plot against the Duke of Gloucester?' I asked him.

He pursed his lips. ‘We-ell . . . Frankly, I dunno what to think, sir. (Adela was right: decent clothes certainly fooled people.) What do we know about the man, after all? He's lived away up north for years and years.' The chandler spoke of the north, as did most southerners of my acquaintance, as though it were the dark side of the moon. ‘Oh, he's been in London now and again, I grant you, but not for any length of time. Not so's you could get to know him. He was always loyal to the late king, I grant him that; not like the other one, the Duke of Clarence. Regular turncoat he was. But as I say . . .' He broke off, shrugging, then added, ‘All those arms and things they just showed us, they could be left over from the Scottish campaign, last year.'

‘You don't believe the Woodvilles would try to seize power?' I felt in duty bound to defend Duke Richard, even though I felt a worm of doubt wriggling around in my own entrails. I suppressed it firmly. ‘Do you know that Sir Edward Woodville has put to sea, taking half the royal treasure with him? And if there was no plot against the duke, why did Queen Elizabeth rush into sanctuary as soon as she heard of her brother's and son's arrest?'

My new friend was saved from answering by the sudden pealing forth again of the bells as the ringers returned to the fray with renewed vigour, refreshed by their well-earned break. Moreover, the cheering from higher up Wood Street was growing louder and more insistent by the minute. A moment later, the first of the City fathers, resplendent in fur-trimmed scarlet, came into view, followed by three hundred of the most eminent burgesses, dressed in violet velvet. Then came the Lord Mayor and his aldermen and the hundreds of Welshmen who had accompanied the king from Ludlow, together with my lord of Gloucester's Yorkshire troops. It was probably a good half hour before the last of them had passed, and the impatience of the crowd had reached a pitch of frenzy that had become not only unpleasant, but dangerous as well as bodies pressed against one another on all sides, making it almost impossible to breathe. I was sweating profusely and, glancing at Oswald, I was afraid that he might be going to faint.

There was a sudden, blessed lull in the shouting and cheering before it started up again, but this time laced with a quieter, more reverential note. The ‘oohs' and ‘aahs' of the women onlookers, further up Wood Street, could be detected amongst the more vociferous greetings of the men, and we guessed that the young king had finally come into view. It must, however, have been another ten minutes or so before he reached the turning into West Cheap, but at the eventual sight of him people, even men, choked with emotion and several women burst into tears.

He rode a white palfrey and was dressed in blue velvet, that fair hair, which he inherited from both his parents, gleaming in the pale spring sunlight; ‘Almost,' breathed some fanciful person behind me, carried away by the emotion of the moment, ‘as if he has been blessed by heaven.' (I could see that sentimentality was going to be the order of the day.) On his right hand rode his uncle of Gloucester, and on his left – somewhat, I think, to everyone's surprise – his uncle-by-marriage, Henry Stafford, Duke of Buckingham. Both men were arrayed in unrelieved mourning black, with not a jewel nor any splash of colour in sight; and the unfortunate impression conveyed to my eyes, at least, and no doubt to some others, was that of a prisoner escorted by his gaolers.

It was an impression underscored by the expression of bewilderment and sullen defiance on the young sovereign's face. But then, I thought, a boy of twelve, abruptly robbed of the company of an uncle and Woodville kinsman whom he had known and trusted for all of his short life – a man he had grown up with – and thrust into the company of another uncle whom he barely knew, had every reason to be upset, if not frightened. Knowing my lord of Gloucester as I did, I had no doubt that he had not only treated his nephew with every kindness, but that he had had good reasons for his arrest of Earl Rivers and Sir Richard Grey. (Unlike the chandler, I was quite ready to believe that the wagonloads of arms belonged to the Woodvilles and had been intended for use against the duke and his retainers.) But the young king could hardly be expected to regard his Uncle Richard's actions in that light. I noticed, also, that one side of the boy's jaw seemed swollen and that he rubbed it from time to time, as though it hurt him. He was slow to respond to the crowd's ecstatic cheers of welcome, and only did so when prompted by one or the other of his uncles.

As the king and two dukes finally drew abreast of us, I could not help wondering what was going on in Prince Richard's mind. Was he remembering that information I had brought him back from France, the previous year; the story of the two christenings? Was he thinking that he was really the rightful king, and not this scion of the detested Woodvilles? The thought had barely crossed my mind before I was suddenly aware of him staring straight at me over the heads of the intervening crowds, and I saw his eyes flicker in surprise and recognition. It was only for the briefest moment, then he turned away to acknowledge the cheers of the people to his right. But I was certain he had seen me, and once again cursed my height.

It must have been yet another half hour before the tail of the procession finally passed us, but by that time everyone was congregating around St Paul's where a service of thanksgiving for the king's safe arrival was to be held. It would be impossible to push on to Old Dean's Lane and I said as much to Oswald.

He nodded wearily. ‘Let's go home,' he said.

FOURTEEN

I
t was not, however, to be that simple.

It seemed as if everyone in London, as well as his brother and his wife, had gathered in and around Cheapside to see the young king's entry into his capital. It was almost inevitable, therefore, that Oswald and I would chance upon someone whom we knew. Or, rather, that they would chance upon us, for neither of us was looking for company. Oswald was sullen and ill-tempered because his plans had been thwarted and yet another day must pass before one of us – in all probability me – could return to Old Dean's Lane to find out if Roderick Jeavons had at last come home.

For my part, I was busy assessing the scene I had just witnessed, particularly mulling over in my mind the angry and chagrined expression on the face of Lord Hastings, who had been riding several paces to the rear of the king, his handsome person lost among the crowd of other dignitaries and nobles pressing in upon their sovereign. I had little doubt that he was furious at this relegation to a minor role when he had had, quite justifiably, every expectation of occupying the place now usurped by Henry of Buckingham. After all, it was he who, since the death of his lifelong friend and master, King Edward IV, had constituted himself chief champion of the Duke of Gloucester against the Woodvilles, interpreting, both verbally and in writing and in the most favourable light, the former's action at Northampton. In his shoes, I should have expected to be rewarded with the distinction of being at least second-in-command to the man who was now the true ruler of the country. I could foresee trouble ahead, and was thankful that it was none of my business. But I didn't envy Timothy Plummer.

As Oswald and I turned eastwards along Cheapside – where the crowds had now thinned out, everyone hurrying towards St Paul's – making for the inn where we had stabled the horses, a hand smote me on the shoulder and a pleasant voice queried, ‘Master Chapman?'

A glance behind me revealed the smiling face of Julian Makepeace, attired in his Sunday best and with an equally smiling and smartly dressed Naomi clinging to his arm. He went on, ‘I thought I recognized your back. You've come, like us I suppose, to get a glimpse of our little king.' He glanced down teasingly at his housekeeper. ‘Naomi, here, is near swooning with excitement. All her maternal instincts have been aroused by that angelic young face. Hers and nearly every other woman's in the crowd, I imagine.' He suddenly caught sight of my companion and jerked out his hand. ‘Why, Oswald, my dear brother, how nice to see you again. We don't meet nearly often enough. Indeed, it's hard to recollect when we did last speak to one another. And how are my stepsisters? Nothing further untoward has befallen you all, I trust?'

Oswald, ignoring his stepbrother's hand, gave a groan and looked imploringly at me, plainly unable to cope with the thought of an explanation; so I drew Julian, together with his companion, into the side of the road, beneath the shelter of a shop's overhanging gable, and gave him the facts of Celia's disappearance as briefly as I could. He was horrified and at once offered his services if there was anything we thought he could do.

‘Anything at all,' he insisted. ‘Don't hesitate to call on me at any time. Business is not so brisk these days that I can't shut up shop for an hour or two.' He turned back to Oswald, looking doubtful. ‘You say you suspect Roderick Jeavons of having a hand in Celia's disappearance? No, no, my dear brother. I think you're making a mistake, if you'll pardon my saying so. I know Dr Jeavons and I simply can't believe him capable of being the author of all your troubles; of paying someone to murder Reynold and our half-brother. Impossible!'

Oswald's face flushed a dark, angry red. ‘If that's all you have to say, I'll bid you good-day, Julian. I appreciate your offer of help, but it won't be needed.'

The apothecary grimaced apologetically. ‘I'm sorry, Oswald. I had no intention of offending you. And the offer stands. If there is any way at all in which I can be useful . . .'

‘We'll let you know at once,' I said. ‘And thank you.'

He nodded, smiled ruefully and walked away, Naomi still clutching his arm. I stared after him for a moment or two, unable to fathom why the sight of him suddenly made me feel so uneasy. Something he had once said to me – or was it, perhaps, something that he had not said? I was no longer certain – gnawed at the edges of my mind, but try as I might, I still could not work out what it was.