The Dreams of Kings

by David Saunders

  Simon was given a false identity, which only he, Queen Margaret, and Pierre de Brézé, knew. In his new existence, he was to be called Robert Furneys. He was then placed into the service of the spymaster whose name was John de Bothall, a travelling merchant who visited all the towns and castles in the north of England. It was the perfect cover to gather information useful to the Lancastrian cause. John de Bothall instructed Simon in the art of espionage. In his new life, he was the orphaned son of a clerk raised in a monastery – hence his skills in language and penmanship. All the necessary paperwork was acquired to support this story, and with the help of the spymaster, Simon was able to obtain employment at Middleham Castle.

  During his time at Bamburgh Castle, Simon had been in the company of Queen Margaret many times. To begin with, she had taken to gently flirting with him, then later, when she had looked at him, her eyes had started to betray her longing. He, of course adored her and slowly over the weeks they became braver – a stolen kiss, a hand touched, a secret look. On the day he was leaving for Middleham Castle, she had entertained him in her private apartments, where she gave him a gold ring set with a small sapphire as a sign of her favour. Inside, were engraved the words ‘To The Brave’.

  ‘Come back safely to me’, she had said, before kissing him with a passion that took his breath away.

  Simon had hungrily returned her kiss, his hands caressing her body.

  Finally, breathlessly, she had broken free. ‘I will need you with me in years to come’, she had whispered, huskily. Her eyes had shone with desire as Simon pulled her towards him…

  Warwick’s booming voice brought Simon’s thoughts to a close. He looked with pride at the gold and sapphire ring that hung on a chain around his neck, then, once again, lowering the piece of wood panelling, listened intently.

  In the Great Controller’s office, John Tunstall bowed low, then after showing the required amount of acquiesce, drew himself up to his full height. He looked up at the earl who now loomed large in front of him. The Earl of Warwick stood, feet apart, hands on hips. John swiftly scrutinised him. Fine velvets, silks and fur, clothed his hard, muscular body. Burnished gold glowed from his rings and buckles; around his neck, his gold chain of office – Chamberlain of England – gleamed with dominance. His whole countenance radiated authority; the rich royal blood that flowed through his veins bred the arrogance and ruthlessness of one who wielded absolute power. John could feel the energy and dynamism radiating from this man who was king in all but name.

  Warwick’s small eyes adjusted to the dimness of the room. ‘Thomas, have you told the boy the identity of our new guest, and of his duties?’ he enquired.

  ‘Yes, my Lord,’ replied the Great Controller.

  John was astounded – it had never crossed his mind that the Great Controller had a name. He had always been this enigma, this tall, black manifestation that dispensed orderliness and discipline throughout the castle.

  Warwick inspected John with an experienced eye – he had not attained his high office without the ability to judge a man’s character accurately. He could see through the complexities of any individual’s nature and recognise their core attributes, their strengths and failings; if they carried courage and conviction within them or spineless impotence.

  John returned the earl’s inspection with a steady gaze.

  ‘Young Tunstall,’ barked Warwick. ‘You are now aware of your new duties; I expect you to attend to them with due diligence at all times. Is that understood?’

  ‘Yes, my Lord,’ replied John.

  The Earl of Warwick clapped his hands and dismissed John from the room.

  As the door closed, Warwick turned to the Great Controller. ‘I think young Tunstall will excel in his new role. He has the same character as his father.’

  ‘I agree,’ replied the Great Controller. ‘I chose him with care; I only hope that Duke Richard will find him agreeable.’

  ‘Oh, he will, Thomas, he will. Their characters will fit each other as a hand in a glove.’ Warwick waved the Great Controller back to his seat and then made himself comfortable in the chair vacated by John. His face creased into a grin. ‘I have excellent news, Thomas: the French are about to cease all financial aid to that French whore, Margaret, and at the same time that scrawny peacock, De Brézé, will be recalled to France by Louis, along with his troublesome mercenaries.’

  ‘Excellent news,’ replied the Great Controller. ‘So the negotiations are now fully completed?’

  ‘Yes, our diplomacy has finally surmounted all of the problems. They will formalise the treaty on the first of January then it’s adieu to French Louis and his feckless meddling.’

  ‘And the Scottish problem, my Lord?’ asked the Great Controller.

  Warwick’s brow knotted slightly. ‘That’s not so cut and dried. They are aware that the French funding will cease, but not of the swiftness of it. We know from our agents that the Scottish Regency Council are becoming increasingly disheartened. Their will to continue support for Henry and his French whore is cooling, so much so, that they have agreed to send emissaries to negotiate a truce with Edward on April 25 at York city.’

  ‘So they are hedging their bets. They want to be sure that the French have finally withdrawn before committing their intent.’

  ‘Exactly!’ exclaimed Warwick. ‘Once they know that the French have withdrawn, and along with them, their money, then those Scottish bastards will be more than ready to cease their hostilities and retire back across their border.’

  ‘What then the fate of our royal Lancastrian foe?’ queried the Great Controller.

  ‘Ah…’ Warwick sighed. ‘This great game of kings and queens will be concluded. The ultimate manoeuvre – the coup de grâce – will finally be applied to Henry and his whore.’

  Rising from his chair, Warwick leant across the desk until his face filled the Great Controller’s vision. ‘It’s finally checkmate, Thomas!’ he roared as he thumped the desk, scattering the Old Owl’s paper defence. ‘It’s checkmate!’

  Behind him, Simon heard the door to the depository open and his heart quickened. He immediately went to replace the small piece of wood panelling, but in his urgency, he caught one side of the panel on the edge of the recess. As he pushed it home, it gave a loud audible click. His heart started to beat even faster, his mouth became instantly dry; he knew he had just possibly made a mortal error. He stood, and walked quickly up the aisle, away from the wall. Turning left at the end, he walked towards the door.

  Bent low over the desk by the door, absorbed in his task, was one of Simon’s fellow clerks. He was turning the pages of the great ledger as he sought the location of a stored document. Simon’s sudden appearance made him jump. ‘Oh, Robert, you startled me!’ the clerk exclaimed.

  ‘Sorry my friend,’ muttered Simon, a nervous smile on his face. He brushed past the clerk and walked quickly out of the depository.

  The clerk cast an eye over Simon’s retreating back. It had seemed to him that there was a curious awkwardness about this fleeting encounter. A quizzical expression formed on the clerk’s face, but he shook his head and returned to his task.

  Black Skullcap observed Simon slipping quietly back behind his desk, and raised an eyebrow.

  Simon knew his prolonged absence had been noted, and along with the other two mistakes he had made within the last five minutes, he felt the cold unforgiving creature of menace begin to stalk him. Intuition quickened his pulse. He could feel the beat of his heart filling his ears as he ran over the threatening signs: first, the noise of replacing the piece of wood panelling, which may or may not have been heard. Second, because of his agitated state, he had not handled the encounter with the clerk in the depository with his usual calmness, and third, Black Skullcap was now taking a more than passing interest in him. Glancing furtively around the outer office, Simon gathered his thoughts. He had two options: stay or go? He looked across at Black Skullcap, who was thankfully now fully absorbed at his desk, whilst the industry of t
he other clerks continued unabated.

  His decision made, Simon rose from his desk for the last time. The information he had was priceless. It was imperative that Queen Margaret knew of this impending betrayal of her allies. If only he could communicate the news to her within the next two days, then there was a small chance that she could – maybe – change their minds. If not, then the Lancastrian cause was lost.

  Simon did not look at Black Skullcap as he moved towards the exit, but felt his eyes fasten on to his back, following his every move. With great effort, he compelled his unwilling feet to walk slow and steady; his body tensed, waiting for that hand on his shoulder or the shouted command to stop. His breath came in short bursts as his courage tried to abandon him. He turned the corner and approached the stairwell.

  Now, at last out of view, Simon sped down the steps two at a time. He checked his breakneck descent as the last of the steps disappeared from beneath his feet. Then, composing himself, he walked out into the castle courtyard. It seemed as if a hundred pairs of eyes were watching him. He suppressed the urge to run.

  Smothering his foreboding, he unassumingly sought out the spymaster, John de Bothall, who had arrived the night before, during the first snows of winter. It was one of his regular visits, during which Simon would secretly furnish him with information that was helpful to the Lancastrian cause. When John de Bothall left the castle, Simon’s intelligence would be dispatched to Queen Margaret, to be used in the fight against the Yorkist regime.

  Simon found the spymaster laying out his wares for a viewing later that evening.

  John de Bothall was surprised and alarmed to see Simon so early as their meeting was scheduled for much later that night. His stomach churned as he saw the anxiety on Simon’s face. His young agent quickly informed him of the invaluable information he had just heard, and the danger he had generated acquiring it.

  Simon took his leave with the spymaster’s blessing to abandon the castle and ride with all speed to Queen Margaret. He had conceded that the situation within the castle was now uncertain; danger was uncurling from its slumber. This betrayal by their allies had to be relayed with all haste to the Lancastrian forces. As he walked towards the Great Keep, he realised that his time at the castle was now exhausted; his season of luck was over. The portcullis was raised, the drawbridge was down; safety beckoned. He sauntered out through the great, arched gate and turned left towards the stables. No one questioned him; clerks came and went on castle business at all times.

  Picking the best mount from the general pool of horses, he rode away into the gathering dusk. The winter horizon merged into the land, the snow-laden sky threatened. It was going to be a long, hard, cold night.

  The Great Controller watched as the door closed behind the Earl of Warwick. He slowly turned to his left, for just after the earl had thumped the desk, he had heard a slight noise – a click – that had emanated from behind his left ear. There was something sinister about it; something odd. He studied the tapestry hanging behind him; it depicted the four seasons. John de Bothall had given it as a gift to him on the last Embertide of Michaelmas, over two years ago, and he remembered the merchant had installed it personally.

  He went to the edge of the tapestry and lifted it up. He looked at the wood panelling behind it. Nothing untoward, there, he thought. Must be an old man’s mind playing tricks. He was about to release the tapestry when he saw a small area of light forming a small circle on the panelling. His face creased into a frown. Placing the tapestry back down, he studied the front of it intently. The area he was looking at depicted a harvest scene, carts laden with wheat, being pulled by oxen. He peered closer – he had an old man’s eyesight as well as an old man’s hearing. Maybe, he was imagining the whole thing, until…his mind filled with consternation; his eyes were incredulous as he saw the source of the light. He let out a gasp. A wheel on one of the carts had a hole at its centre, and it had been stitched ingeniously, so not there by accident. He studied the wood panelling, and finding what appeared to be a carved area, pressed his fingers against it. It moved.

  The Great Controller stepped back from the tapestry, realisation spreading across his face. In the quiet stillness of his office, he collected his thoughts. Someone had been spying on him. He knew that once he raised the alarm, pandemonium would break out, but for now he could think – he needed to know who had done this, who had access to the room next door and for whom were they spying. Anger started to build within him. That poisonous click, he reasoned, was but a small key. The smallest key, he grimly thought, can open the largest door, and by God, this door will be opened by the time I have finished.

  The Great Controller shouted for Black Skullcap. The cut panel in the depository was discovered and this confirmed a traitor had been at work. The clerk who had seen Simon in the depository told his story. Black Skullcap confirmed it and the order was given to seal the castle. The portcullis slammed down and the garrison began the search for Robert Furneys.

  John de Bothall had decided to leave the castle at dawn the next morning. He too felt the danger closing in, but reasoned, because there had been no alarm sounded, the spyhole must still be undetected. Robert Furneys would be missed by morning, of course, but nobody would know the reason for his absence. But when he heard the shouts of ‘seal the castle’, he realised that he had made a grave mistake; he should have left with his young agent. Leaving all his wares behind, he made his way immediately towards the Great Keep. His horses were in the stables just outside the castle. If he could reach them, he could be away from the castle in a few moments.

  He was approaching the gate when the portcullis rattled into place, trapping him inside. As it fell, so did his spirit. He realised it would not take them long to link him to the fugitive they were seeking. He had recommended Simon for the clerk’s job, and he had supplied the tapestry. He also travelled to each of the earl’s castles on a regular basis. Consternation settled on him; he tried to control the distraught, fearful impulse that was forcing panic into his body. He frantically looked around for another way of escape, then with a sinking heart, he saw Thomas and George – the Hallet twins – two of the finest fighting men-at-arms in the castle, walking quickly towards him. Their grim expressions instantly spelled his ruin. Suddenly, his arms were pinned to his sides.

  ‘Going somewhere?’ asked Thomas Hallet.

  John de Bothall shook his head, but his eyes betrayed his anguish.

  ‘The Great Controller would like a word with you because you’ve been a naughty boy,’ continued Thomas Hallet.

  ‘Oh, such a naughty boy,’ said George Hallet. ‘He’s found a flaw in that lovely tapestry you gave him and he would, if you can spare the time, like to discuss it with you.’

  The Great Controller looked down at John de Bothall kneeling in front of him. This man, he thought, knows who all the agents are in the Lancastrian spy network. He is the one who places them in their positions, collects the information, and sends it back to Queen Margaret. This, he was sure of, but for now he pitied this man. John de Bothall’s dedication and bravery to the Lancastrian cause was to be admired. But when, with dread, he watches the torturer slowly unwrap his tools of the trade, and sees them glinting by the light of the red-hot brazier…when he looks into the cold, detached emotionless faces of his persecutors, he will realise that he has just entered Hell and his courage will desert him – as it would any man.

  John de Bothall, noted the Great Controller as he studied him, was still a complete man; still whole, but not for much longer. Once the earl’s tormentors had finished with him, he would be a bloody mess with limbs broken, flesh ripped, skin burnt to the bone – death would be a release for him, but not yet. First, he had to pay with blood. First, he would confess to all the information sent to the Queen – how it was sent, by whom, and then the names of other traitors hidden within the earl’s many residences. Retribution would be swift and barbarous on all involved.

  The Great Controller lent down and grabbed John de Bothall
by the hair, roughly jerking his head back. ‘Warwick wants blood for this outrage,’ he snarled. ‘Lots of it, and yours is only the first.’ He stood back and watched as John de Bothall was dragged out to begin his ordeal of pain. Even if he revealed all that he knew before they even touched him, the torturers would still work on him for hours to make sure they had squeezed every piece of information out of him.

  He looked over at Black Skullcap, who was nervously moving from foot to foot. Warwick had wanted his blood as well, for it was Black Skullcap’s misfortune to have employed that traitorous clerk. He had let him escape, and he would have to pay the price. The Great Controller would do his best to save him, but the earl was in no mood to show mercy. He nodded. Two men-at-arms grabbed Black Skullcap, and he disappeared through the door, crying for mercy.

  The Great Controller sat wearily at his desk. Robert Furneys – who was Robert Furneys? he pondered. He was a very brave young man who had escaped in the nick of time. Scourers had been dispatched to hunt him down, but it was now dark and snowing hard. He’d had a good start and the fresh snow would cover his tracks. The Great Controller assumed he must have gone north towards the Lancastrian strongholds, but he doubted they would find him. Anyway, it was too late for Queen Margaret to change events now – the die was cast; her fate sealed. One small fish may have escaped, but a far bigger one had been caught in his net. John de Bothall would reveal the whole Lancastrian spy network. Not only were Holy Henry and his Queen finished politically and militarily, but their intelligence-gathering would be totally destroyed.