The King's Man (The Order of the White Boar Book 2)

by Alex Marchant

  ‘Well, I, for one, am pleased to see you,’ I said before Alys could respond. ‘And of course you will be of help,’

  He threw me a grateful glance – although in truth I had said it as much to reassure me as him.

  ‘I don’t know how,’ Alys shot back. ‘Unless he can read that message without opening it.’

  ‘Message?’ asked Roger.

  ‘From the King to Master Ashley. Matthew brought it. From the battlefield.’

  ‘What does it say?’

  ‘We don’t know. And Matt doesn’t want to open it.’

  ‘But it may be important.’

  Both of them were staring at me. Alys’s eyebrow arched.

  ‘That’s what I said.’

  The creamy parchment, the thick blob of scarlet wax upon it, was still clutched in my hand.

  Alys’s quick eyes were watching as my fingers turned it over and over.

  ‘It doesn’t bear his signet.’

  ‘No,’ I said slowly. ‘Perhaps it was to be secret. He said I could travel more easily than one of his men if…’

  I hesitated.

  Her face was set firm.

  ‘That decides it, then. A secret message, sent when he was thinking – thinking that he might lose the battle. And he did. And now Master Ashley...’

  She took the message from my hand, glancing at my face. When I didn’t move or speak, she deftly broke the seal and unfolded the parchment.

  ‘It’s in code.’

  Disappointment tinged her voice.

  ‘Then it isn’t just instructions to keep me from the battle.’ I tried to smile.

  Alys skewered me with a glare.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing. It’s just...’ It was my turn to bite my lip.

  Roger was squinting over her shoulder at the scrap of parchment.

  ‘If it’s in code, surely you can break it? You made it seem so easy when we were at Middleham.’

  ‘That was different, Roger. We had a book to help us.’

  ‘As the King wrote it, he was consulting a book,’ I said. ‘I think it was the cipher book Ed found at Middleham.’

  ‘The same book? There were code tables written in it. Perhaps he used one of them. It’s in proper letters.’

  ‘It didn’t take him long to write.’

  ‘Then maybe it’s a substitution code like ours was.’

  Roger and I placed Master Ashley’s desk back upon its feet while Alys fetched a candle. By its light the three of us pored over the message.

  It was just four lines long.

  Clyayvbdkl cypluk, Hsz hsslz nvlk nhha zsljoa, olypuuly tl ola wshu. Ullt kl qvunluz hhu tpqu gbz vw Tljolslu. Hsz ql uvkpn olia vu, b rbua clyayvbdlu Thaaold gvukly adpqmls.

  Kpjrvu

  ‘Do you think that’s a signature, there at the bottom?’

  ‘He’d usually sign letters Ricardus Rex – King Richard in Latin – but this is just one word.’

  ‘Could it be “Richard”?’

  ‘The two Rs would be a useful clue... but no, it’s six letters, not seven.’

  ‘So not “Gloucester” either then.’ I remembered the single word he had signed on the paper on the day of my beating,

  ‘He was King, Matthew, not just Duke any longer. I wonder if it could be “England” in Latin – “Anglia”... No – the first and last letters are different. Perhaps it isn’t a signature after all...’

  Tiredness was stealing back over me now after my ride, but a name wormed its way back into my brain.

  ‘How about “Dickon”?’

  ‘Maybe. I remember the Queen and Lord Lovell calling him that...’

  Alys fished some parchment, a pen and a pot of ink up from the floor and scribbled letters on it.

  ‘You know, it might be. If the K is a D, and the P an I, and it is a simple substitution code... then, counting back... Matt, I think you’re right. D – I – C – K – O – N. There. But how strange that it is so straightforward. If I’ve broken it so quickly, how long would it take one of Tudor’s spies if they’d got hold of it?’

  As she traced out the rest of the cipher and then started to decode the message, dread clutched at me. If it were so easy, perhaps it was just a note to keep me safe away from the battlefield. Had all my horror at betraying King Richard’s instructions and the terror of my ride from Leicester been in vain?

  ‘But it’s nonsense.’ Alys broke through my thoughts.

  ‘What?’

  ‘It means nothing. Unless it’s a code within a code.’

  I peered at what she’d written. Two words only. ‘Vertrouwde vriend.’

  ‘It’s not nonsense,’ I said. ‘It’s Flemish.’

  ‘Really?’ said Roger, craning his neck to see.

  ‘I picked up some in Bruges. Master Ashley is fluent in it. That means “Trusted friend”.’

  ‘And the King was exiled there when he was young,’ recalled Alys. ‘Perhaps he knows – knew it as well.’

  ‘And how many of Tudor’s spies would? Most Flemish merchants switch to French or English when abroad – they don’t expect anyone to learn their language.’

  Excited now, Alys worked on, deciphering the rest of the message and soon laid before me the words ­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­–

  Vertrouwde vriend, Als alles goed gaat slecht, herinner me het plan. Neem de jongens aan mijn zus op Mechelen. Als je nodig hebt on, u kunt vertrouwen Matthew zonder twijfel.

  Dickon

  With the little Flemish I knew, it was a struggle to translate it, but eventually, with some guesswork, I had it.

  Trusted friend, If all goes wrong, remember the plan. Take the boys to my sister at Mechelen. If you need to, you can trust Matthew without question.

  Dickon.

  ‘The boys?’ asked Roger.

  ‘His nephews,’ I said. The pale faces from my dream swam before my eyes. ‘The princes that were.’

  ‘Edward and little Richard? Then they’re —’

  ‘Alive.’

  Tap, tap, tap.

  ‘Of course they are,’ snapped Ays. ‘Did you ever doubt it?’

  ‘But the rumours. During the rebellion.’

  ‘About King Richard? Matt, surely you can’t have believed them!’

  ‘No, of course not,’ I protested. ‘But —’

  ‘But what?’ She stared at me, exasperated. ‘Matt, those rumours were put about by Henry Tudor and his mother – to turn unthinking people against the King.’

  I ransacked my memory. Where had I first heard them? Of course – from Hugh. And he from his uncle. And his uncle had fought for... Lord Stanley.

  What a fool I’d been to even think twice about them.

  To my relief, Alys had moved on.

  ‘But where are they? Still in England?’

  A groan from behind us. We turned.

  While we had been talking and working on the code, Elen and Simon had been sitting next to Master Ashley, and it struck me now that for some minutes Elen had been making small soothing noises. The patient’s eyes were open and he was struggling to sit up. Elen propped another cushion behind his shoulders.

  ‘Bring me the message,’ he croaked out.

  My cheeks were warm with guilt as Alys took him the unfolded parchment, its seal broken in two.

  He squinted at it, then waved it away.

  ‘Not that – the other. Matthew?’

  He coughed and pain racked him. Elen held the cloth against his head until the spasm ended, then dribbled water from a flask into his mouth.

  ‘What other?’ asked Alys.

  ‘Did they find it?’

  She gestured about the room. ‘How can we tell?’

  ‘Not here. Matthew? I didn’t tell them.’

  My master was seized by a fit of coughing again, but this time was able to reach for the flask himself.

  Alys glanced at me, her eyebrows raised.

  I stepped forward.

  ‘I can find it, sir, if yo
u can tell me where.’

  Master Ashley nodded with effort.

  ‘He said I could trust you, boy. That day he first brought you here. And now again. Was he right?’

  ‘Aye, sir.’

  ‘Richard wasn’t always a good judge of men. But sometimes I think he saw in them something of himself. Something he could place his trust in. I have failed him in this, but will you serve him one more time, Matthew?’

  ‘Of course, sir. If I can.’

  ‘Then go to the print house. The upper case. The box of letter Rs. Behind there. If they didn’t find it...’

  They hadn’t. In minutes I was back bearing a morsel of parchment, scarce bigger than the plain seal it carried. But I also brought ill tidings.

  ‘Master, the printing press.’

  ‘What of it?’

  ‘They’ve wrecked it. Torn it apart.’

  His eyes closed an instant, as though immensely weary. Then they blinked open again.

  ‘No matter, boy. A press may be mended – or bought anew in Flanders. People, however... The message, Matthew. Open it.’

  It contained one word, in King Richard’s own hand.

  ‘Gipping.’

  ‘So,’ said Master Ashley, ‘You must ride into Suffolk.’

  23 ‘Ever My Uncle’s Man’

  They allowed me two hours to snatch some sleep while they prepared for the journey. That was all we could spare – more perhaps than we should.

  Master Ashley, regaining some of his strength with a mouthful or two of wine that Simon brought for him, had spent it on worrying that Tudor’s men would return. Or that Master Lyndsey would break down under questioning and talk of people and places connected with his business.

  ‘It seems Tudor has spies everywhere, maybe the Stanleys too. Perhaps more even than Richard suspected, for all the many agents he had himself. Those agents may all be targeted. That may help us if it spreads their men too thinly. Though they may of course be more concerned with finding out how the city will receive Tudor.’

  Alys shot a look at Roger and me, a faint shake of the head, a warning in her eyes.

  Master Ashley took another sip of wine from the cup Simon held to his lips, before continuing.

  ‘But if they still suspect me, they may keep watch on all my contacts too in case they will lead them to the boys.’

  ‘Why would they be so desperate to find them?’ Roger asked.

  ‘Tudor cannot afford to let the boys live. They say he will overturn the law on young Elizabeth’s illegitimacy so that he can marry her and make her his queen.’

  ‘If he does that, then surely Edward would be the real King,’ said Alys. ‘Both he and Prince Richard have a better claim to the crown.’

  ‘Aye,’ agreed Master Ashley. ‘And he will not stand for that. From all I’ve heard, he intends to rule, not place young Edward back on the throne. He will not offer the boy his oath of lifelong loyalty, for all his declarations against his bastardy. Tudor is an ambitious man – he will not put aside his desire to be king. If he finds them, he will kill them.’

  His words stunned us all into silence. Alys, of course, was the first to speak again.

  ‘If the boys are in such danger, why did King Richard not send them out of the country before?’

  ‘I imagine he remembered his own time of exile, and perhaps not fondly, though it was then that we met, in his moments of respite with his brother in Bruges. And with the shifting politics on the continent, the boys might fall into the hands of his enemies, like Tudor himself – one moment in friendly Brittany, the next in France.’

  He paused a moment, thoughts scudding across his weary eyes like clouds in a storm-filled sky.

  ‘I think perhaps he hoped they could live anonymous lives out in the country until they were old enough to move to loyal households as squires like any other noble lad – when the rumours and threat of rebellion had withered and died away. Like old Henry Bolingbroke did with the Mortimer heirs many years ago. And it was working. After Buckingham, what talk had there been of them? And once Tudor was gone...’

  He shook his head, his face pale and drawn, showing his age for the first time since I’d known him.

  ‘Now no more talking. Sleep, boys, while the girls make things ready for you. You have a long dangerous ride ahead of you.’

  Another one, I thought morosely as I settled myself in a borrowed blanket.

  To my surprise, when Elen shook me awake, I found not only Roger, as agreed before I slept, but also Alys kitted out ready for the journey.

  ‘You’re not leaving me here,’ she said when I tried to object. ‘Ralph Soulsby will be coming to claim me in marriage. Nothing will make me forget that he and his father rode with the Stanleys. Princess Elizabeth may have to resign herself to marrying Tudor, but no duty to Dame Grey could ever make me wed a traitor.’

  ‘We spoke of it while you slept,’ said Elen. ‘Master Ashley agrees it will be for the best.’

  ‘I offered to give up my place to her,’ said Roger, smiling more broadly than he had a right to do at that time of night. ‘But your good master said I might be useful to you both on the road. Though for the life of me, I cannot think how.’

  ‘Safety in numbers, perhaps,’ muttered Alys darkly. ‘What other use you may have escapes me too.’

  He bowed his agreement.

  Unsure though I was that the plan was a good one, I knew there was no point in arguing with Alys if she had made up her mind. And in truth, I would be grateful for her company as well as Roger’s. Perhaps it would be almost like those days long ago in Middleham when the three of us had often ridden out together on the moors as the Order of the White Boar. Although one other member of the Order would always now be missing...

  Shaking away the memory, I turned to Elen.

  ‘What about you? What will you do?’

  ‘Oh, I’ll stay here and help Master Ashley and his wife. I’d only slow you down if I came too – I’m not so good a horsewoman.’

  ‘You will be careful? It may be dangerous here. With Tudor on his way...’

  She placed a hand on my arm to quiet me.

  ‘Don’t worry, Matthew – of course I will be careful. And Simon will be here with us. He tells me he has been training with you all summer in case of emergency.’

  To my surprise, Simon blushed to the roots of his hair at her words and hurried off into the hallway, murmuring something about fetching our bundles.

  It was well after midnight when the three of us set out. Sometime while I slept, Roger and Simon had helped Master Ashley at last to his chamber, but Mistress Ashley had emerged from hers – to find out what was happening, then to make sure we had all we needed for the journey.

  Her eye was blackened and her cheeks cut and bruised where she had been struck during the attack. She embraced me as I stood dumb in shock at her appearance, then leant on both Simon’s and Elen’s arms on the entrance steps to see us off.

  Master Ashley had insisted we take fresh horses from his stable and Simon and Elen had swathed their hooves in cloth to muffle the noise as we rode out of the courtyard into the dark deserted streets. At our heels slunk the two hounds, mirror images of dark and light against the cobbled roadway.

  The moon, just past full and sinking towards the west, cast crazy shadows from all the buildings nearby. If there were any spies lurking in those shadows, we did not see them.

  How, then, we came to be pursued we didn’t know.

  *

  It took many hours of hard riding to reach our destination. But as I had hoped, King Richard’s boar badge still commanded loyalty in these early days after the battle. The country was waiting, watching, hardly breathing in this twilight between the golden sun of Yorkist rule and the dark unknown of the Tudor future. We trusted that the dragon symbol of the victorious usurper would not be welcomed so readily – if we were pursued.

  Some had not had news of the battle and questioned us before we could leave them and hasten on our way. Others w
aved us on with a good will and long faces.

  As Master Ashley had advised, we made our way north from London first using the system of post-horses that King Richard had put in place when he was still Duke, to send his brother news of his wars in Scotland. In this way, at every post-house we had fresh horses. When we turned off that route, the final pair had to take us far further – to Gipping Hall itself. Though fine horses, we had pushed them so hard that they were dripping with sweat and lather as we clattered on to the cobbles of a wide stable yard.

  The sun had long since retired, and darkness pressed upon us, as, dazed with exhaustion and filthy from the journey, and following a few words of explanation, the three of us were ushered towards the nearby mansion, as the grooms came to lead our mounts away.

  With the uproar of our arrival in the stable yard, a messenger must have been sent to the house. Lady Tyrell herself was at the main door to greet us, surrounded by serving men holding torches aloft. Several were armed, and all rather elderly.

  ‘Alys! Alys Langdown! What are you doing here?

  A formidably tall woman, Lady Tyrell pushed her way past the servants and rushed forward to embrace Alys. As she took her arm and led her into the house, she said,

  ‘You mustn’t worry about the men, my dear. Since we heard the terrible news, we’re having to be extra careful. But of course all the younger men went to fight for the King. Most of them haven’t yet returned.’

  She glanced askance at Roger and me, but said nothing to us so we simply followed them into the great hall. A fire was blazing there despite the warm evening, and Lady Tyrell ushered Alys to a seat beside it.

  ‘Sit down, my dear, take some wine. Some bread and cheese, perhaps – or I can ask the cooks to bring something hot, though it is so late? You look fit to drop, my dear. Tell me why you are here. I haven’t seen you since we were last at court together. After poor Queen Anne...’