The King's Dogge (45 page)

‘You mean everyone would have still supported Gloucester if he had been content to remain as protector?' he clarified.

‘Yes.'

‘Course they would,' he slurred. ‘No one would have backed Tudor. That's why he never dared to invade until Richard became king.'

I trusted Broughton as I trusted no other man, but I found it hard to believe that men could think in this way.

‘Are you sure?'

He looked at me sadly, pitying my ignorance.

‘Come down from the lofty heights of the court, Francis, and see facts the way ordinary men see them. Richard of Gloucester split the supporters of the House of York when he became king. He may not have found the promotion from protector to king difficult, but it was hard for a number of other people.'

I made no response, and he traced two circles in the spilled wine thoughtfully.

‘Then again,' he murmured, ‘two young princes might have been little problems for Gloucester, but they became large ones for many of his subjects.'

‘But would you risk your life and your lands fighting for an unknown Welshman? Henry Tudor has no right to the throne.'

Broughton shrugged.

‘How much of a right does Gloucester have?' he asked quietly. ‘Francis, I don't know who will fight for Tudor, but then I can't say who will fight for Richard either.'

‘Abingdon, my lord!' Hoton pointed ahead.

I grunted in acknowledgement.

‘Do you reckon that Master Catesby's messenger will have arrived there yet?' he asked conversationally.

I shrugged. I was in no mood to talk. Ever since I had thought back to what Broughton had said, I had recalled a number of other conversations and incidents and none of them had cheered me. For a start, Broughton's assessment had been devastatingly accurate. In taking the crown, Richard had divided the followers of the House of York; support for him was ebbing away as the malicious rumours against him multiplied and spread. I suspected that by now our regime was a minority one, and one which was growing progressively weaker. For all that, Richard's own position was tenable provided the great nobles backed him. The problem was that too much power was concentrated in the hands of but three of them, so it would be the troops of the Duke of Norfolk, the Earl of Northumberland and Lord Stanley who would comprise the majority of our army. Catesby doubted the loyalty of Lord Stanley though, arguing that he would be unnatural to fight against his stepson, Tudor. Ratcliffe and I disagreed. We argued that Lord Stanley had proved loyal to Richard since his coronation; he had made no attempt to support his stepson at the time of Buckingham's revolt and, we pointed out, there was no evidence to suggest that he was going to do so now. While Catesby had agreed grudgingly, we were all privately suspicious of Lord Stanley's intentions, which was why, when matters came to a head, neither Ratcliffe nor I had known what to do.

‘So what do we do?' asked Ratcliffe frantically. ‘Stanley's asked permission to leave court and administer his estates.'

‘The timing is curious. At court we can keep an eye on him, but let him go and he may join Tudor if he chooses.'

‘I know that!' howled Ratcliffe. ‘So what do you suggest, Francis?'

I was saved the necessity of answering as at that moment Catesby sauntered into the council chamber. He had clearly overheard us, as an amused smile lit up his features.

‘If you forbid Lord Stanley to return to his estates, it is, of course, just possible that the perceptive peer might conceive the idea that you don't entirely trust him,' he began in his normal teasing voice.

Ratcliffe snorted impatiently.

Anyone could work that out!' he snapped. ‘But let him go and he could lead 6,000 men to back Henry Tudor when he invades.'

Ratcliffe glared at his rival.

‘What's your suggestion then?'

Catesby waved his hand airily.

‘Let Stanley go,' he said cheerfully. ‘Show him you trust him.'

Ratcliffe snorted.

‘Even from you that's foolish in the extreme.'

‘Foolish?' Catesby regarded him with an amused smile. ‘Yes, I suppose you would see it that way. But then, of course, we all have our limitations.'

I interposed myself between the two of them.

‘Tell us your whole plan.'

Catesby grinned malevolently.

‘We'll release Lord Stanley, Francis. We'll let him return to his estates, but on one condition.'

‘Which is?'

‘His son, Lord Strange, comes to court in his place before Tudor's invasion.' He smirked. ‘We'll call him a guest, of course, but others may see him as a hostage.'

Catesby shrugged fair-mindedly.

‘Naturally men will always disagree on terminology, but we'll all agree on one thing.'

‘What's that?'

He clicked his fingers delightedly.

‘Is it not obvious? Why, at the precise time that Lord Stanley declares for Henry Tudor, his son will be dispatched to the divine realm.' His eyes twinkled as he beamed at us. ‘How likely is it that Lord Stanley will join Henry Tudor now?'

‘Knowing that if he does so he'll be causing his own son to be executed?' Ratcliffe said slowly.

‘Executed!' Catesby's voice was shrill with surprise, and he gave Ratcliffe an amazed look. But then he raised his hands in apology.

‘My dear Ratcliffe, you must forgive me, but I do not know how it is that, even after working alongside you for two long years, your lack of vision still has the capacity to astonish me.'

‘What are you proposing?' I asked horrified.

Catesby gave me a friendly pat on the shoulder.

‘Something more likely to catch the imagination, wouldn't you say? After all, Lord Stanley might see his son's martyrdom as an acceptable price for securing the throne for his stepson, Henry Tudor.'

‘I would very much doubt it.'

‘But why take chances, Francis?' Catesby's genial chuckle filled the chamber. ‘Now, put yourself in the place of Lord Stanley and tell me are you going to rebel against the king when you knew that such an act would cause your son to be blinded?'

I winced.

‘Then castrated.'

Ratcliffe shut his eyes.

‘Before being put on the rack to be finished off!' Catesby's glittering glance swept over us. ‘Now surely you will agree that such a threat with its lengthy – or should I say lengthening – conclusion will prove a sufficient deterrent.'

‘There's a message for you, Francis.' John Sante, the elderly Abbot of Our Lady rummaged through an untidy mass of scrolls on the table next to him.

I waited in a fever of anxiety, but eventually the short-sighted Abbot recognised the royal seal and passed the parchment over.

I skimmed through it quickly. Predictably Catesby's information was detailed. Tudor had already entered England at Shrewsbury and was moving slowly in an easterly direction. So, Tudor lacked the numbers to march on London. That was excellent news. I read on, cheered. Despite reports of Tudor's army numbering more than 10,000, Catesby's own assessment put the rebel numbers at around 5,000. Reports from deserters, he added, indicated that the majority of these were French and Scottish troops. So Tudor had not added significantly to the numbers he had landed with. This was far better than I had hoped for. I glanced through the rest of the report in delight, but there was nothing of substance.

‘I am commanded to join the king and his army at Leicester!' I told John Sante.

He eyed me gravely.

‘I trust that everything is satisfactory?' he enquired.

‘Of course.'

He made no response, but his courteous silence pricked my conscience. John Sante had known my family a long time and, having worked with him on a couple of occasions, I knew him to be both intelligent and discreet.

I handed him the scroll. He studied it myopically and at length returned it to me.

‘It would appear to be a straightforward matter,' he said quietly. ‘Surely 5,000 rebels cannot prevail against the might of England. Nevertheless, I shall pray for you, Francis.'

I thanked him and knelt for his blessing. When I rose, he smiled at me and pointed to Catesby's scroll.

‘There is one phrase in Master Catesby's report that puzzled me,' he began.

I handed him the scroll and he pulled it close to his eyes. Satisfied that he had selected the right sentence, he pointed at it. I read it carefully for, in my haste, I had overlooked it and now it made my blood ran cold.

‘I trust that our northern contingent will join us soon…'

Alone in my guest chamber, I read and re-read the line that the short-sighted Abbot had spotted. On the surface, it was a mere factual statement that our men in the North had not joined the main army yet, and this was what I had told John Sante. But Catesby was never superficial – the key sentence was a coded warning. Catesby did not believe that Northumberland and his men were coming to join Richard's army. I cast my mind back wearily to the time when Catesby had first shared his misgivings with me.