Roseblood (36 page)

‘York has won the day,’ he began. ‘He and his Neville allies will show no mercy. He’s probably dispatched Warwick to hunt down any leading royalists who’ve escaped. He will collect his forces, let them rest, then march on London. He will enter in glory, the conquering hero; his faction within the city will welcome him with open arms. The bells will ring, the incense clouds gust back and forward as hymns of thanksgiving are chanted in the churches. York will separate King and Queen and keep them under comfortable but secure arrest. Oh, he will act the part, the loyal servant of the King trying to protect the crown and the royal dignity, but in fact he’ll be plotting furiously. He’ll gain control of the Tower and have himself appointed leader of the Council, which of course he’ll pack with his own retainers. All appointments, both church and state, will have to be approved by him. Wouldn’t you agree, Master Bray?’

Beaufort’s man seemed numb with shock at the growing realisation that the family he had served so loyally faced catastrophe.

‘Master Bray?’ Sevigny repeated, ‘Would you agree with what I have said?’

‘Yes, yes, I would. The Lancastrian lords will retreat to their castles and fortified manor houses. York will not have it all his own way, but it will take months for the opposition to gather.’

‘And London?’ Simon asked.

‘York will be prudent,’ Sevigny replied slowly. ‘Oh, he’d love to purge the city council, arrest those who oppose him and lop their heads off, but London harbours the mob. York doesn’t want to stir this up. I suspect he will only target those who actually fought against him. Now,’ he pointed at Raphael and Gabriel, ‘like me, you are protected by both the Crown and Holy Mother Church as sacrosanct envoys; that’s our reason for being here. Master Simon, I strongly suggest that your sons look after the Roseblood; you will definitely be a wanted man, having fought against York at St Albans. It’s exile for you, at least for a while.’ He paused, listening to the sounds outside. ‘The sooner you go, the better,’ he insisted. ‘We must hurry you to the nearest port.’

Simon came over and crouched close to Sevigny, clasping his hand.

‘And you, my friend,’ the taverner whispered, ‘must go to London. My sons will hold the Roseblood. I charge you with protecting Katherine.’

‘I swear.’ Sevigny gripped Simon’s hand tighter. ‘Katherine is my life, and she always will be.’