Sovereign (49 page)

‘You said yourself the
Titulus
seemed to be scraping together everything, no matter how shaky, to justify Richard usurping the throne. Where is the evidence?’

I looked at him. ‘Perhaps in that jewel casket?’ I pointed at Cecily Neville’s name at the head of the tree. ‘If one of her children was a bastard that would explain
Maleverer’s remark when the papers went missing. “Cecily Neville. It all goes back to her.” ’

Barak stroked his chin. ‘There are two sons beside Richard III.’

‘Yes. George Duke of Clarence who was the father of Margaret of Salisbury, who was executed this year, and Edward IV. The grandfather of the present king.’

‘If the Clarence line were being called into question, that would be useful for the King. He’d want to make it public.’

‘And the conspirators would not. They’d have destroyed any evidence, not kept it hidden and protected. So the allegation must have been aimed at Edward IV, the King’s
grandfather. Whom it is said he much resembles.’

Barak looked at me with a horrified expression. ‘If Edward IV was not the son of the Duke of York —’

‘The one through whom the royal bloodline runs – in that case the King’s claim to the throne becomes very weak, far weaker than the Countess of Salisbury’s line. It rests
on his father’s claim alone, Henry Tudor.’

‘Who had but little royal blood.’

I pointed to the tree. ‘If I am right, those names marked in bold represent a false line. They are all Edward IV’s descendants.’

‘So who is supposed to have fathered Edward IV?’

‘Jesu knows. Some noble or gentleman about the Yorkist court a hundred years ago.’ I raised my eyebrows. ‘Perhaps someone called Blaybourne.’

Barak whistled, then thought a moment. ‘I never heard of any family of note with that name.’

‘No. But many noble families went down in the Striving between the Roses.’

Barak lowered his voice, though the lodging house was quiet, the clerks all at dinner. ‘These are serious matters. Even to talk of doubting the King’s descent is treason.’

‘If there were evidence, and it were to be released at the same time as evidence about Catherine’s dalliance with Culpeper, that could truly rock the throne. It would turn the
majesty of the King into a complete mockery.’ I laughed incredulously.

‘It’s no laughing matter.’ Barak was looking at me narrowly.

‘I know. Only – great Henry, nothing more than the descendant of a cuckoo in the royal nest. If I am right,’ I continued seriously, ‘the information the conspirators had
was the most potent brew imaginable, challenging both the King’s own legitimacy and that of any children Catherine Howard may have. I imagine it was planned to reveal it when the rebellion
got under way. Only it never did, the conspirators were betrayed before it could start.’

‘Betrayed? Don’t you mean discovered? The informer did the country a service.’

‘Discovered, then. And the papers were spirited away, hidden in Oldroyd’s bedroom.’ I looked at him. ‘Until the time was ripe to try again. Broderick told me once the
King would fall soon. Perhaps he meant, when all this comes out.’

‘You think another rebellion is brewing? But York is sewn up tight. There’s never been such a well-guarded city.’

‘It’s quiet now, but when the Progress leaves the soldiers will go too. Then York will be left to the local constables, and who is to say where their sympathies lie? And the people
here have hardly welcomed the King. Remember what Master Waters said about the Council of the North not being able to afford to have a city full of discontented traders. Cranmer himself admitted
they hadn’t got to the bottom of the conspiracy. Many leaders escaped and the authorities are still after information from those locked up on suspicion, like Jennet Marlin’s
fiancé.’

‘And Broderick. But it’s all supposition. Dangerous supposition too,’ Barak added.

‘Is it? It explains the wording of the
Titulus Regulus
, and the way that family tree is set out. And Maleverer’s remarks about Cecily Neville.’

‘It doesn’t help us towards guessing who is trying to kill you.’

‘No. But it shows why someone connected to the conspiracy would want me dead if they thought I had read what was in those papers. Perhaps they know my links to Cranmer and think I am
waiting to get back to London and tell him the story, leaving Maleverer out of the picture.’ I got up, opened the lamp and set the scribbled family tree alight.

‘Is that necessary?’ Barak asked.

‘Oh, I think so.’ It burned quickly; I dropped the remains on the floor and stamped on them. I stood thinking a moment, then turned to Barak. ‘What would you do, if you were a
member of the conspiracy who had escaped arrest? Perhaps hiding out in some refuge with that cache of papers?’

He considered. ‘I’d wait till the Progress and all the soldiers were safely back in London. Then I’d try and revive my networks in the north, being very careful about informers
this time.’

‘And keep your networks in the south going too. At Gray’s Inn perhaps.’

‘Then I’d raise my standard when the time was ripe. And make any proof I had about Henry’s ancestry, and Queen Catherine, public. I’d probably wait till the spring. A
winter campaign would be hard, with men to feed and clothe.’

‘That’s what I’d do too. And if Catherine Howard was pregnant by then, so much the better when her dalliance with Culpeper was exposed.’

‘What about all the oaths the local gentlemen have taken to the King? If there was evidence the King was not the true King, would those oaths still be valid?’

‘No. No, that would overturn everything.’

Barak shook his head. ‘So Maleverer could end with
his
head above the gates of York?’

‘Possibly.’ I sat down again. ‘And part of me thinks, would that not be a sort of justice, seeing how sore oppressed the people are here?’

Barak frowned. ‘Those conspirators would have the Pope back, and they’d have allied with a foreign power. The Scotch, and where you find the Scotch, the French are never far
behind.’

‘A sea of blood could be spilled,’ I said.

Barak scratched his head. ‘Do you think . . .’

‘What?’

‘That the King knows the Blaybourne story? Knows he may not be the legitimate heir. He must do. Maleverer took the name to the Duke of Suffolk, and that was when the hue and cry started.
If the Duke knows, the King knows.’

‘So he knows he may not be the true King, but carries on anyway?’

‘Wouldn’t you?’

‘I suppose I would,’ I answered. ‘But he doesn’t know about Catherine and Culpeper. He can’t. And I am not going to Maleverer with the story. If he got wind
I’d worked out what the
Titulus
meant, our lives might be worth little.’

‘Dead men tell no tales, eh?’

‘I wouldn’t put it past him. The King can’t stay here for ever. And we have passage booked on a fast boat from Hull.’

You should tell Cranmer when we get back,’ he said.

‘We’ll see.’

‘Tamasin will have to return with the Progress. That could take weeks. She doesn’t show it but she is frightened after Lady Rochford’s interrogation.’ He looked at me and
in that moment I saw how much she had come to mean to him. ‘Is there any chance you could get her a place on the boat?’

‘That may be difficult. There is no official reason for her to return early.’

‘We could make up some story about a sick relative.’

‘I’ll do what I can,’ I said. ‘But let’s wait till we get to Hull.’

‘Thank you.’ Barak looked relieved. ‘Why is the King going back to Hull, anyway? He’s already been there once.’

‘He has plans for strengthening the town’s defences.’

‘It’s a long way to drag the Progress.’

‘He’s the King. He can do what he likes. And I must get Giles a place on the boat too. I feel a responsibility for that old man. It is as though he had taken the place of my
father.’

‘Poor old devil. You wouldn’t think he was so ill to look at him. And he was sharp enough at the hearing today.’

‘Yes, he was. But Dr Jibson says there is no hope for him,’ I answered heavily.

‘You didn’t agree with him about turning away that woodsman’s claim?’

‘No. But he knows the political realities up here.’

‘Will we be able to finish with the petitioners tomorrow afternoon?’

‘Ay. Then our work will be done.’

‘Perhaps we could go to town in the morning. Get a break from this place.’ He reddened. ‘Tamasin said she and Mistress Marlin are going shopping tomorrow. For some sewing
materials to repair the Queen’s linen. I said I might be at St Helen’s Square around ten thirty. I haven’t seen her today. But I’m supposed to stay with you.’

‘I’ll have to come too then. Be your chaperone. It’s all right. I could do with getting out of here too.’

N
EXT MORNING DAWNED
fine and sunny, but with a chill wind. The King, they said, had gone hunting again. We set off into the city. It was market day and
York was busy; we passed officials from St Mary’s arguing with some merchants, evidently buying up more stores.

Tamasin had told Barak she and Mistress Marlin would be visiting a shop in Coneygate that sold fine fabrics. We arrived in St Helen’s Square shortly after ten. I glanced down Stonegate
towards Oldroyd’s house, remembering the day the glaziers had surrounded us there. We might have come to grief if Master Wrenne had not happened along then. On the other side of the square
people were going in and out of the Guildhall.

Barak nodded at St Helen’s church on the corner. Where the churchyard faced the street, a bench had been set under a tree.

‘Let’s sit there for a bit,’ I said.

‘You’ve taken a fondness for sitting under trees.’

‘Your back is safe against the bark,’ I said quietly. ‘And you can see who’s coming.’

‘They have to pass this way to return to St Mary’s,’ Barak said. ‘It’ll look as if we’ve just stopped for a rest.’

We entered the churchyard and sat on the bench. The graves were covered with fallen leaves, red and yellow and gold. It was a restful spot.

Barak nudged me. ‘There’s the Recorder waving at us,’ he said.

I looked up. Recorder Tankerd had come out of the Guildhall. Seeing him reminded me of Fulford. I waved back and he came over to us.

‘Taking a rest, sir?’ he asked. His look at me was curious, appraising. Perhaps he wanted to report back to his colleagues about how I looked after being mocked by the King. Well, no
doubt I looked tired and strained, though there were other reasons for that.

‘Ay. We have a morning’s leisure before tackling the rest of the petitions this afternoon.’

‘Have the hearings gone smoothly?’

‘Very well. Brother Wrenne knows what he is doing.’

‘No lawyer in York is more respected. But he is taking on no new work, I hear. Perhaps he is retiring at last.’

‘He is ripe in years,’ I answered evasively.

‘And has begun to look his age recently.’

I did not reply, and Tankerd smiled uncertainly. ‘Well, I must be off. The council has been asked to press the Ainsty farms to deliver all their produce to St Mary’s, even the seed
corn. But they are offering a good price. It looks like it may be a while before the Scotch King comes. Well, good day.’ He paused a moment, then said quietly, ‘What the King said to
you was shameful, sir. I am not the only one who thinks so.’

I looked up in surprise. ‘Thank you.’ I paused. ‘They do not all laugh, then, at the Guildhall?’

‘By no means, sir. It was a cruel jest, it has not improved the King’s reputation.’

‘Thank you, Brother Tankerd. That is good to know.’

He bowed and left us. I sat watching him go.

Barak nudged me. ‘Here they come.’ I looked up to where Mistress Marlin and Tamasin were walking slowly up the street. Behind them an armed servant carried a large box, full of
sewing materials no doubt.

‘Good morning!’ I called.

The sun was behind us, and Jennet Marlin squinted frowningly for a moment before recognizing us. She hesitated.

‘May we rest here a moment, mistress?’ Tamasin asked sweetly. ‘I have been standing all morning, I would be glad to sit down.’ She certainly had skills in diplomacy.

Mistress Marlin looked at us, perhaps guessing this meeting was no accident. She hesitated, then nodded. ‘Yes. Let us rest a few minutes.’

I stood up and bowed her to sit there.

‘There is not room for all of us,’ Tamasin said. ‘Come, Master Barak, let us sit under that tree. I will show you the fine stuff we have bought.’

‘Eh? Oh, yes.’ Barak followed Tamasin as she led the way to a secluded spot under an oak. I was left with Jennet Marlin. The servant went and sat down on the grass at a respectful
distance. I smiled at her uncertainly. ‘Well, Mistress Marlin. How do you fare?’ She looked tired and preoccupied, her large eyes unhappy. Untidy brown curls had escaped from her hood
and she brushed them from her forehead. ‘Have you any news from London?’

‘No. And still no word of when we may leave this wretched city.’

‘The Recorder says they are buying up still more provisions.’

‘The men will be getting restless in camp, breaking out at night as they did at Pontefract.’ She sighed deeply. ‘By our Lady, I wish I had never been persuaded to come on this
enterprise.’ She looked at me seriously. ‘Bernard, my fiancé, was supposed to accompany us.’ She hesitated. ‘In fact, he was to have the job you have now. Working on
the petitions.’