The Weaver's Inheritance (2 page)

Margaret spoke so nonchalantly that the hairs started to rise on the nape of my neck, like those of an animal scenting danger. I knew my mother-in-law’s desire for me to marry again, recollected her attempts at matchmaking during the past year or two, and decided there and then that long before Jack Nym set out again for Hereford, I would be off on my travels.

It wasn’t that I didn’t want to take another wife, but I wished it to be in my own time and of my own choosing. Besides, although my mother-in-law did not know it, I already had a lady in my eye. She was a certain Rowena Honeyman who lived with her aunt in the town of Frome, and whom I had met during the past summer in circumstances which I was not, as yet, prepared to divulge to Margaret, who was bound to disapprove of them. In any case, I had no idea what Rowena’s feelings were towards me, and until I did, silence was golden. Our acquaintance had been brief and difficult, confined to a few days in early September, and we had not seen each other since. But I thought of her often.

I realized that Margaret was speaking, and was forced to beg her pardon.

‘I’m sorry, Mother, my mind was elsewhere. What were you saying?’

She gave me a sidelong glance and cleared her throat, starting to spin.

‘I said I thought it was a long time for poor Adela to have to wait for Jack Nym. Two or three months he reckoned, before he gets sent that way again.’ Margaret was suddenly very intent on her work, avoiding my eyes. ‘I thought that perhaps if you went to fetch her as soon as the Christmas season is over, she and her little boy could be settled in here well before the end of January.’

There was a protracted silence, while Elizabeth escaped my slackened grasp and crawled away, unchecked, to pursue her investigation of the logs.

At last I answered coldly, ‘You have begged me, after what happened last year, never to go more than a mile or so beyond the city gates in wintertime. But now you’re asking me to travel to Hereford. And what about your cousin and her son? Do you think it will be better for them to walk so many weary miles in the coldest part of the year, rather than ride the whole way with Jack Nym in the spring?’

There was another silence while I waited with interest to discover how my mother-in-law would deal with this eminently reasonable argument. I knew exactly what was in her mind; that this Adela Juett and I would be forced into each other’s company for ten or twelve days, in circumstances that could not help but forge some sort of bond between us. I watched, in grim amusement, the various expressions which flitted across her face as she struggled to find an answer, and smiled at her obvious vexation as she came reluctantly to the conclusion that there was none. But Margaret Walker was not a woman to be worsted when she had set her heart on something. She stopped spinning, raised her head, chin jutting belligerently, and looked across at me.

‘I want my cousin and her son here, under my roof, as soon as possible. I should have thought, after all I’ve done for you, that it would be a small repayment for you to oblige me in this.’

I returned her stare, as nonplussed as she had been a moment or two earlier. I was caught, and I could tell by her triumphant smile that she knew it. She had never before reminded me of all that I owed her, looking after Elizabeth for the past two years while I went my carefree, irresponsible way. She wasn’t going to pretend that what she was asking me to do had any rhyme or reason to it, except of course to herself. She was simply calling upon me to pay my account. Not to do so would be worse than churlish.

‘Well?’ she demanded, raising her eyebrows.

I glared back at her, but then my anger evaporated. I had no real objection to being on the road, for I was already growing restless, and I reflected that there was no way in which she could
make
me fall in love, or even contract a marriage of convenience with her cousin. She had no idea that I was already armoured against such a possibility, bewitched by a pair of periwinkle-blue eyes and hair the colour of ripe corn. And who was to say that Adela Juett would wish to have me for a husband even if I were to offer for her?

‘If that’s what you want, Mother,’ I answered pleasantly, ‘of course I’ll oblige you.’ I saw her expression sharpen from triumph to suspicion. ‘I’ll set out as soon as Christmas is over.’

*   *   *

The mystery in which I was to become embroiled during the next few months, unlike some of my previous adventures, had no connection with the greater happenings unfolding in the country at large; but I was to become a spectator of these events simply because I chanced to be in certain places at particular times. The first occasion was at Tewkesbury sometime around the middle of January, 1477.

I had set out from Bristol as soon as Christmas was done, arriving in Hereford just over a week later and making my way to the inn where Adela Juett lived and worked. Once my mission was explained, she seemed perfectly willing to accompany me, shrugging off the hardships which a walk of so many miles would entail, especially with a young child to fend for.

‘We can take it in turns to carry him,’ she said. ‘I’m strong and used to his weight. Don’t think that I shall expect you to be the only packhorse. And no doubt we shall be offered a ride by any carters we happen to meet on the road.’

She was as good as her word, shouldering the burden of young Nicholas as often as I would allow, and coming close to losing her temper on several occasions when I refused to let her take him from me. Whenever we heard the rumble of a cart in the distance, she would urge me into the middle of the track where we could clearly be seen by the driver; and Hereford had hardly been left behind before we were perched somewhat uncomfortably on top of a wagonload of turnips, the first of many similar journeys. The boy’s presence also ensured us shelter at any cottage along our route where there was no nearby inn or ale-house to offer accommodation, and some of the goodwives were reluctant to accept recompense for their trouble.

Nicholas Juett was a sweet, sunny-natured child with an endearing smile and the huge, velvety-brown eyes of his mother. He also had Adela’s dark wavy hair and soft red lips, which made him the immediate target of almost every female who encountered him; but he suffered the shower of kisses rained upon him with a commendable lack of grievance. In this he again resembled Adela, for she spoke little and never complained; and on an afternoon of lowering skies and gathering cloud, when a light flurry of snow had already presaged the threat of colder weather, we had been on foot for several long and wearisome miles, but still she remained resolutely cheerful.

It was getting dark as we approached Tewkesbury. For the past half-hour, I had been aware of more traffic on the road than might normally have been expected at that season of the year, both coming from and going towards the town. There were a surprising number of men-at-arms, and amongst the badges which had caught my eye were the Black Bull of Clarence, the White Boar and Red Bull of my lord of Gloucester, the Gold Lion of the King’s brother-in-law, the Duke of Suffolk, and the White Rose and Sun in Splendour of King Edward himself. Something was afoot in Tewkesbury and curiosity drove me forward, quickening my step in spite of the weight of young Nicholas Juett, who lay sound asleep in my arms.

‘Make for the nearest inn,’ I advised my companion. ‘We’re all tired and need rest.’

It had been my original intention to seek shelter in one of the guest-halls of the Abbey, but the town was so crowded that I doubted if the monks would be able to accommodate us. But neither could the first two hostelries at which we applied. I was beginning to feel worried when a hand clapped me on the shoulder.

‘Well, fancy seeing you here, Chapman,’ said Timothy Plummer.

Chapter Two

A harassed pot-boy brought two cups of wine, one for Timothy and one for myself, before hurrying away to serve other customers in the crowded ale-room.

This inn was as full to overflowing as the others from which we had been turned away, and my travelling companion and I would have been hard-pressed to find any lodging for the night had we not fallen in with Timothy Plummer. But one word from him and a couple of young squires, sporting the Duke of Gloucester’s livery, had removed themselves from the merest cupboard of a room, which was now happily occupied by Adela and her son. As for myself, I was invited to share Timothy’s bed in an adjoining chamber.

Timothy Plummer was the Duke of Gloucester’s Spy-Master, and he and I were old acquaintances. We had first met six years earlier, when I had been enquiring into the disappearance of Clement Weaver, the Alderman’s son; since then, our paths had crossed on two further occasions. Each time, through chance or force of circumstance, I had been able to render Duke Richard a signal service, and therefore I had Timothy Plummer’s trust.

‘Very well,’ I said, taking a gulp of wine in order to wash down a supper of rabbit stew, wheaten bread and cheese, ‘you know why
I’m
here, but why are you? Why is the town so crowded?’

Timothy choked over his drink. ‘Where have you been these past few weeks? All right, all right! You’ve been walking to Hereford, I haven’t forgotten! But I should have thought you might have heard the news of Duchess Isabel’s death somewhere along the way. Indeed, she died on the twenty-second of December, before, according to you, you left home. Did no word of it reach you in Bristol?’

I stared at him. ‘I’ve heard nothing. But … Duchess Isabel? Clarence’s wife? I saw her at Farleigh Castle only last summer. She looked tired, it’s true, but I thought that due to the fact that she was heavily pregnant. Did she die in childbirth?’

‘Shortly afterwards. The child died too. And yesterday was the day of her funeral. She’s been lying in state here for the past three weeks, before being buried in the Abbey. Duke George, as you may know, holds the Honour of Tewkesbury.’

I didn’t know, but neither did I confess my ignorance. ‘Poor lady,’ I said. A fresh thought struck me. ‘Are the Duke and Duchess of Gloucester here? It must be a great blow to the Duchess to lose her only sister.’

Timothy grimaced. ‘She’s not strong herself, and the news made her too ill to travel.’

‘So Duke Richard came alone?’

‘No, no!’ My companion was growing testy. ‘He sent his bastard son, Lord John, to represent him. That’s why I’m here – to watch over the boy and make sure he comes to no harm. Duke Richard has gone to London to consult with the King and to set a date for the convening of the Great Council, next month. Duke George rode to join them as soon as the funeral was over.’

I was puzzled. ‘Why is a Great Council being called?’

Timothy set down his empty cup and sighed. ‘You
have
been out of the world, Chapman, haven’t you? The Duke of Burgundy was killed while besieging the town of Nancy two weeks or more ago; before January was a few days old, at any rate.’

I gaped, remembering Charles the Bold as I had seen him the year before last, in Calais; vibrant with life and putting up the backs of all around him. He was, or had been until so recently, brother-in-law to our own English Princes, having taken as his second wife their sister, the Princess Margaret, by whom he had hoped, no doubt, to have a son to succeed him. But there had been no children of the marriage and now he was dead, leaving as his sole heir his daughter, Mary, who must surely be the greatest matrimonial prize in the whole of Europe.

I was still confused however. ‘But why does the King need to convene a Great Council?’

Timothy heaved another sigh. ‘Use your common sense, man,’ he pleaded. ‘What do you think happened the moment the news of Duke Charles’s death reached the French court?’ When I made no answer, he continued wearily, ‘King Louis at once announced that Burgundy had reverted to the Crown of France, and our spies report that he is even now mustering his armies to take possession of it. Surely you understand what that means!’

Of course I did. I couldn’t live in a weaving community without knowing the vital importance of Burgundy to the English cloth trade. It was one of our biggest markets.

‘Then it’s war,’ I said slowly, twisting my cup between my fingers. ‘This time, we shall really go to war with France.’

Timothy Plummer shook his head. ‘It’s not that simple, my friend. You’ve forgotten the pension King Louis pays King Edward.’ My companion lowered his voice and took a careful look around to ensure that no one was listening. ‘Fifty thousand crowns a year isn’t lightly to be tossed aside by a man who has to support a greedy wife and her equally rapacious family.’

‘So … what’s the answer?’

‘A strong husband for Mary of Burgundy; someone who will devote himself to her interests and halt King Louis in his tracks. And that’s chiefly what’s worrying Duke Richard.’

‘In heaven’s name, why?’

Timothy bent his head closer to mine, and his voice sank almost to a whisper. ‘Think, man, think! The Duke of Clarence is now a widower. He’s Dowager Duchess Margaret’s favourite brother. You’ve only to note how his retainers and followers are already puffing themselves up with a new-found importance to guess what’s in Prince George’s mind.’

‘But … would it be such a bad thing if my lord of Clarence married the Duchess Mary? It would keep Burgundy firmly yoked to England, and surely that’s in His Highness’s interest. In all our interests!’

Timothy grunted and signed to a passing pot-boy to refill our cups, waiting until this was done before replying.

‘Oh, yes! It’s what every cloth merchant in the country wants, I’ve no doubt, as well as more money for his goods; something he’s not likely to get if King Louis controls the Burgundian exchequer. The Guilds are always sending deputations to London as it is, to demand that a better price be negotiated for their wares. And, I might add, none are so vociferous as the weavers and fullers and tenters from your part of the world. I had to accompany Duke Richard to London last October, and there was a company of men from Bristol there then, pestering everyone concerned, including the King, with their extortionate demands.’

‘Well, there you are then! If the Duke of Clarence were to marry his stepniece…’