Day of Wrath (24 page)

‘You needed your rest, my Lord. A man can't go on for ever.'

It was true. He did feel restored. He drank down the ale and wolfed down the food.

‘I needed that, too. Now fetch me my cloak, Geoffrey, and tell the grooms to get Harry ready. It's a good way to Portsmouth and it's likely to be a rough ride.'

*   *   *

Harry, too, was well rested, and raced along the Portsmouth road, passing the carts of farmers bringing their produce into the towns along the way. They were riding into the strong south-westerly wind and the rain had turned the surface of the road into a muddy swamp. Not that Harry cared. He galloped along, splashing mud everywhere, only snorting with disapproval when a particularly violent gust of wind hit him in the face. It took them two and a half hours to cover the twenty miles to Portsmouth and then they took the lower coastal road to the small castle at Southsea, which the Admiral of the Fleet used when he was in Portsmouth. The sea looked grey and angry that morning and very few fishing vessels had ventured out. But he knew that the King's fleet was anchored out at Spithead and he felt sorry for the men who were forced to remain on board and tend to the vessels.

At the castle, an old, crudely built stone keep, one of the army guards led Harry away to the stables. Then Nicholas was taken to a room on the ground floor where men in armour were clustered round the open fire. They stopped talking when he went in, and politely made a space for him to dry off in front of the fire. It wasn't long before he heard footsteps coming down the stone, newel staircase, and Sir Ralph Paget, Lord Admiral of the Fleet and recently created Earl of Southampton by the King, came into the room. He was a big, military-looking man, tough, vigorous, with a short, stumpy brown beard and hair cut short round his bullet head.

‘You're welcome, Lord Nicholas. Come upstairs and we can talk in peace. Here, boy,' he said to one of the servants, ‘take his Lordship's cloak and see that you dry it off properly. It's a foul day, both on land and sea. I pray God that those ships out there won't end up scattered all over the Solent.'

Nicholas followed Southampton upstairs to a small room. There was a bed in one corner and a rug on the floor, which made the room appear more comfortable. A log fire smouldered in the stone fireplace, and a servant came in with a tray of food and drink. Southampton kicked the logs into a blaze and invited Nicholas to stand in front of it and dry himself off. With steam rising from his clothes, Nicholas ate the food gratefully and drank deeply from the jug of ale.

‘I suppose you're here in connection with the King's visit,' said Southampton when Nicholas had finished eating. ‘I'm not at all happy about it myself. We hoped that with Mortimer out of the way that would mean the end of this conspiracy, but it seems that isn't so. We now have this new threat and I'm damned if I know what to do. It's all very well to clear the streets and increase the guard but what's the use if we don't know the name of the person we're after and where he's operating from.'

‘You got on to Mortimer pretty promptly.'

‘Yes, but we had a tip-off.'

‘Who was that?'

‘Fitzroy, of course. Lord Gilbert was approached by Mortimer, who wanted him to join the conspiracy. But Fitzroy would have nothing to do with it. Too much to lose, I suppose. Mortimer was a fool to take Fitzroy into his confidence because Fitzroy went straight to the King and told him everything. Then, as soon as I intercepted the letters to Pole with Mortimer's signature on them, we could run him in. But as you know, Mortimer told us nothing, and Fitzroy says he doesn't know who Mortimer's accomplices are.'

‘And you believe him?'

‘Have to. Can't arrest every landowner in the county because we don't trust him. Have you in next, Peverell. After all, you lived next door to Mortimer and you must have discussed the King's policy with him.'

‘We talked politics, not treason.'

‘Amounts to the same thing these days. Keep your mouth shut, Peverell, and confine your conversation to estate management.'

‘Thanks, I might take your advice. But what had Fitzroy got against Mortimer that he informed on him?'

‘He had to, in order to save his own skin. Otherwise, as soon as the King heard he'd been talking to Mortimer, who'd been under suspicion for some time, he'd order his arrest. As it is, I wouldn't like to be in Fitzroy's shoes. He'll have a job keeping his nose clean. But as he's Lord Lieutenant of the county, he's needed to raise a muster when the King comes. I'm uneasy, though. These musters are not made up from trained soldiers. We haven't got a standing army, as you know. They're just ordinary citizens armed with pikes and harquebuses if they know how to fire them, which they don't. We don't know who they are and one of them could be this Ultor – what a damned stupid name that is! I think we'll have to confine Fitzroy's muster to your end of the county. I don't trust them poking their noses into everything round here.'

‘The King's in just as much danger when he's with me, as when he's here with you.'

‘It's not quite the same. You can at least confine him to your house. When he's reviewing the fleet he'll be at Domus Dei down on the Hard, right out in the open, standing around for an hour or more. Anyone could take a pot shot at him. I wish to God he'd come to Porchester instead of Portsmouth. He can't come here. It's only big enough for a handful of soldiers. Certainly nowhere to entertain the King. It's just a tower – there are plans afoot to rebuild it, but that's in the future – and he can't see the fleet from here. It'll be a nightmare trying to hold on to him down on Portsmouth Hard.'

‘The King's got a mind of his own, and he'll not change it. God, man, if you think you've got a job keeping the King under control, just think of me. When I last saw him he was talking about going hunting!'

Southampton whistled. ‘This is getting worse by the minute. I suppose he sneers at travelling in a coach and will want to ride here on horseback?'

‘That's the general idea. Wants to show himself off to his loyal subjects, and ignores the fact that anyone not so loyal could shoot him down.'

‘Then there's only one thing we must do, and that's find Ultor damn smartly. I wonder if the devil lives locally or is he only an infrequent visitor?'

‘I'm sorry to say I think he lives in my area. Could be a Marchester man, of course. There's a nest of traitors in the cathedral as I'm sure that traitor, Catchpole, the Precentor, wasn't the only one to murmur against the King's policy. Let me remind you that my steward and his girlfriend overheard Mortimer talking to someone, probably Fitzroy, as it happens. The poor devils were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Hayward, my steward, was murdered. We know now that Mortimer ordered his death. But the girlfriend, Bess Knowles, died after Mortimer's arrest. This implies that someone else stepped into Mortimer's shoes and took over where he left off. And he's still at large.'

‘So this Ultor took over straight away after Mortimer's arrest?'

‘Yes, I'm sure he made a pact with Mortimer. Should Mortimer fall, his mantle would fall on Ultor's shoulders. But this is all speculation. So far we have no proof that Bess Knowles's death had any connection with her boyfriend's murder. She was pregnant. The Coroner said the death was due to natural causes.'

‘Still, it's a coincidence. You'll have to keep a good eye on your patch. Get some spies out there, people you can trust, someone who can talk to everyone and not arouse suspicion.'

‘I've got just the right person.'

‘Good. Who is he? One of your servants?'

‘No, a girl.'

‘Good God, man, are you mad? Look here, Peverell, this is a serious matter. We're talking about high politics, not a church outing. Whatever made you think that a girl could be any use at all in espionage?'

‘She's intelligent, well informed, independently minded. Gets around on her own horse, is liked by everyone, and no one suspects her. She's already investigating something that I admit is a bit far-fetched, but she thinks it's important and she might be right. After all, we have to keep an open mind if we're to find Ultor before the King comes.'

‘I agree with you about that, Peverell, but a girl!' He looked keenly at Nicholas. ‘I suppose she's in love with you; and by God, you're in love with her, aren't you? This is no time for romance, Peverell. You'll get nowhere with all this airy-fairy romantic nonsense. You always were too soft for your own good. Wake up, man. We're talking about the King's life here.'

‘Love doesn't come into it, Sir Ralph. I like her, and she goes everywhere and reports to me. That's all.'

‘Well, what is she investigating at the moment?'

‘She wants to know why an old lady who's never done anyone any harm should suddenly be suspected of witchcraft.'

Southampton laughed derisively and slapped Nicholas on the back. ‘Sometimes, Peverell, you drive me mad. You live right up in the clouds. Witches are two a penny. Apart from putting the old curse on someone, I've never known them to dabble in treason. Unless they put a curse on the King, of course, then we'd string them up.'

‘She's done nothing. She's more of a local healer than a witch.'

‘Then tell that girl of yours to stop wasting time on her. I say, Peverell, is she pretty?'

‘I suppose she is, but that's not the point. She's as sharp as any man.'

‘Well, good luck to you. If you're going to have a female spy it's just as well if she's pretty. No trouble in getting people to talk if you've got a pretty face. However, I think I'll place my bet on the Sheriff if we're going to find this Ultor. Wenches are all very well in their place but best kept away from politics. Now, if you've eaten sufficient, let's go through the security arrangements for the King's visit. You know you'll have to increase the number of guards on your house?'

‘The King's sending down some of his yeomen.'

‘Thank God for that. They, at least, can be trusted. Don't let anyone get near the King whom you don't know. Treat all strangers with suspicion. You can rest assured that no harm will come to the King when he's under my protection. I can't say the same when he's with you. Now let's get down to business. I've got a chart over there with all the King's movements mapped out on it. As far as I'm concerned he's not going to take one step outside proscribed limits. If I were you, I'd do the same.'

‘I've just told you, my Lord, he wants to go hunting.'

‘Then you must try to dissuade him, Peverell. Remember William Rufus.'

*   *   *

Jane arrived at Peverell Manor only to be told by Geoffrey that Nicholas had long been gone.

‘Can I ask where he's gone to?'

‘You can ask, but I can't tell you. More than my life's worth. Let's just say that he headed west.'

Then she remembered he'd said he had to see the Earl of Southampton. Well, she thought, there was nothing for it, she'd have to conduct her own investigations. Someone wanted Agnes out of the way and was setting about it in a devious way. But she was going to find him whether Nicholas helped her or not.

Chapter Eighteen

It was still raining when Jane arrived at Abigail Butcher's house. She lived in a tiny, timber-framed house, its walls made of a daub of clay and dung mixed with straw and twigs. A pig was rooting around in the piles of rubbish which littered the yard, and she scuttled off grunting and squealing when she saw Melissa. Jane tied her horse to a tree and went into the yard. The rickety front door was open and she peered into the dark interior where a woman was crouched in front of a smouldering log fire, stirring the contents of an iron pot. She looked up when Jane knocked and smiled. Jane was well known to her. The Butchers were one of the few really poor families in the village and Jane often dropped in a batch of eggs or some honey when she went past.

The wind was blowing the smoke back through the hole in the roof, and Jane could only just see the two boys and the girl, sitting on the damp mud floor watching the pot with hungry eyes, like three cats. Two chickens, perched on the wooden bed head, started up in surprise as she went in and flew out of the front door, squawking angrily. The children jumped up to welcome her. They were polite children, as Abigail was strict with them, and they tried not to look too eagerly at the pots of honey she'd brought with her. Jane hugged them all, and gave the eldest boy one of the pots.

‘Here, Simon, go and share this with your brother and sister.'

Simon took the pot and they rushed to the table where they greedily scooped out the honey with their fingers, licking up every drop.

‘Don't eat it all,' said their mother. ‘Save some to put on your gruel when it's ready.'

They grinned across at her and went on eating. Jane went over the fire and looked closely at Abigail, who was still weak from childbirth. She was a young woman, still in her twenties, but already the strain of bearing four children in five years was beginning to show in her tired, worn face. Her long hair hung in lank strands round her face and her torn brown dress was mud-stained and hardly covered her body. However, she was pleased to see Jane and told her to bring up a stool and dry herself off.

‘The fire's got the sulks today,' Abigail said, giving it a poke. ‘It takes a long time to get the food cooked. It's good of you to come, Mistress Warrener. Just take a look at those three with the honey.'

Jane waved across at the children. ‘How are you, Abigail? Are you getting a bit stronger after Daniel's birth?'

‘Ah, the poor darling. He was just a wee bit of a thing. Didn't really know who we were or where he was. But the Lord gives, and the Lord takes away. Blessed be the name of the Lord.'