‘Because everywhere he goes, he sticks his nose into things. He is practically a legend in these parts, you know. Ask anyone north of the Tyne and they’ll tell you all about the Battle of Windy Knowe, or the Hot Trod in Teviotdale, or any number of other tediously heroic narratives. At some point he captured the Earl of Dunbar and negotiated his ransom with his wife.’
‘Agnes of Dunbar?’
‘The very same. She took a fancy to him, and although he has never admitted it, I’m quite certain they played the beast with two backs. The point is that she and Dunbar were already thinking about how to arrange permanent peace between Scotland and England, and she recruited John as an ally and go-between. After John left the borders, Harry decided to step in and maintain the contact. Being Harry, he didn’t bother to get leave to do this, he just went ahead and did it.’
Merrivale thought for a moment. ‘Where is Harry now?’
‘Here in Newcastle. He was about to go north to the family seat at Warkworth, but I insisted he wait and see you.’
‘If there really is a peace party in Scotland and Harry is in touch with them, this could be helpful.’
She made an impatient gesture. ‘My brother, for all his faults, is a subtle and clever man. Harry has trouble fastening his own garters. Agnes will cut him into collops and serve him on toast.’
Merrivale nodded. ‘Can you arrange for me to meet Harry? If so, I would be grateful.’
‘He is lodging at the castle. I will send my maid with a message.’
‘There is no need,’ said a pleasant voice from the door. ‘My servants will be happy to oblige.’
The newcomer was a man of medium height, with an unremarkable face save for a pair of intelligent brown eyes, clean-shaven with carefully trimmed hair. His silk coat was a rich and expensive blue trimmed with sable. ‘Sir Herald,’ he said, bowing. ‘My apologies for not being here to welcome your arrival. My house is yours.’
‘Master Blyth,’ Merrivale said. ‘I am grateful for your hospitality.’
‘Her Grace has informed me of your mission,’ said Blyth, ‘and Lady Mary has given further details. I am entirely at your service. If there is anything I can do to assist, you have only to ask.’
‘Thank you. What is the latest news?’
Blyth walked forward, taking a sip from the cup of wine a servant offered. He took something from the pocket of his coat, and Merrivale saw it was a small handful of birdseed. He whistled softly, holding out his hand, and the linnets fluttered down to perch lightly on his outstretched fingers and peck the seed from his palm.
‘The Scottish army has completed its muster at Perth,’ he said. ‘They have not broken the truce, not yet, though we expect that any day. The first blow is likely to fall in the east, probably on Berwick. Then it will be our turn.’
‘Are you prepared?’
Blyth smiled. ‘You mean the bustle you saw on the river? Everyone is scrambling to ship their last cargos before the Scots come. Do not fear; when they do arrive, they will find us ready. The walls are strong and well-defended, and we also have plenty of money.’ He smiled again. ‘If we cannot resist the enemy, we will buy them off. And I have already sent my most precious valuables, my wife and children, away to safety in York.’
He shook his hand gently and the linnets flew away to light on the rail again. ‘Ah, here is my steward coming to announce dinner. Shall we go down?’
* * *
They ate in the great hall, its walls painted with rural and hunting scenes under dark wooden rafters. A coal fire glowed in the huge fireplace. Servants brought them salmon pie with figs and damsons, chicken in almond sauce, meatballs glazed with saffron, a sweet cake flavoured with rosewater and elderflower, a dish of rice with raisins and cinnamon that Merrivale had not tasted outside of Italy, and bowls of fruit and candied nuts and sweetmeats, all beautifully presented. A dog wandered in partway through the meal, glanced once at the guests, and stretched out on the mat before the fire and went to sleep.
Blyth talked of Newcastle and its trade, telling them about his fellow merchants and the cargos they shipped across the North Sea and into Scandinavian waters. ‘Wool is important and always will be. But the new industries we are developing up here, coal, iron and steel, salt, lead; that is where the new wealth is coming from. Given time, we will rival Bruges and Hamburg for prosperity.’
‘What about Durham?’ Lady Mary asked. ‘I understand the priory is rich, and becoming richer every day.’
‘Yes, the monks of Durham are formidable rivals. But they will overreach themselves, I think. Their pursuit of wealth is reckless, and they are squandering resources. Farming land is being turned over to mining, but many of their seams are in boggy ground and cannot be mined deeply. And because they can sell coal at a good profit, they are turning to charcoal for their smelting operations. They have already felled most of the woodlands in Weardale, and are rapidly depleting the rest. Some of the other religious houses are following the cathedral’s lead.’
Merrivale thought about the woodcutters. ‘What will they do when they run out of woodlands?’
‘It is an excellent question. The peasants had rights to use those forests for wood-gathering and pannage for their pigs, but now those rights are gone. It will cause unrest, I am certain of it.’
At the end of the meal they sat drinking glasses of spiced hippocras. The glow of the fire reflected orange light off Tiphaine’s gown. ‘Tell me how I may help you,’ Blyth said.
‘The truth is, I barely know where to begin.’ And that really was the truth, Merrivale thought. ‘My commission is to investigate the reliability of the northern lords, and remind any waverers where their duty lies. But I am also informed that there are doubts about the loyalty of some of the townsmen. I understand his Grace the archbishop has asked you to investigate.’
Blyth seemed reluctant to answer. ‘His Grace has honoured me with his trust,’ he said finally. ‘I fear I have done little to earn it.’
Merrivale waited. ‘There are two separate questions,’ Blyth said. ‘If their interests were threatened, would our merchants negotiate with the Scots? Would they pay blackmail, or even offer their allegiance to the enemy, in order to protect their businesses and their lives? The answer is yes, many of them would. I will be quite candid with you, my friends. In the right circumstances, rather than let everything I have worked for over the past twenty years go to waste, I might do so myself.’
‘So might any of us,’ Merrivale said quietly.
Blyth was startled. ‘Even you?’
Merrivale could feel Tiphaine watching him. ‘The instinct for preservation is a strong one,’ he said. ‘There are times when it overrides everything else. What is the second question?’
‘Whether any of the merchants of Newcastle are deliberately plotting with the Scots. If they are, I don’t know about it. I know all of my fellow members of the Guild Merchant personally. I know their wives, their families, their business interests, who they trade with and in what ports. Not one of them has had any trade or correspondence with Scotland since hostilities began two years ago. And yet, the rumours of Scottish influence persist.’
‘That influence may not be coming directly from Scotland,’ Merrivale said. ‘There may be intermediaries involved. In Durham, for example, or in Hexham.’
‘Hexham?’ Blyth looked startled for a moment, but then comprehension came. He nodded. ‘You mean Gilbert de Tracey. Do you think he is a traitor like his brother?’
‘That is one of the things I am endeavouring to find out,’ said Merrivale. ‘Do you know him?’
‘I have done business with him in the past. I made some investments in the Staple through him, and I also helped him invest in a shipping venture to transport sea coal to London. But I cannot say I know him well.’
No one did, Merrivale thought. He asked the same question he had asked the archbishop. ‘What did you make of him?’
‘He was always very correct and fair in his business dealings. As a
man, which I think is the question you are asking, I did not find him particularly likeable. But he was an excellent business partner.’
‘Have you heard if Tracey made any large investments or transferred any large sums of money? Especially during this past summer?’
Blyth shook his head. ‘The London merchants would know more, of course, but doubtless you have already asked them. So far as I know, his business, like that of most moneylenders, went quiet over the summer when the king and most of his court were away in France. My London office made a few small loans to the queen, and I believe Tracey did the same, but there was little else. Then word came of the victory at Crécy and the death of his brother. He announced he was taking orders and began liquidating his business. I understand he gave everything to charity.’
Merrivale shook his head. Mary and Tiphaine watched him. ‘The Chancery investigated his gifts to charity. Between the first and tenth of September, Gilbert de Tracey gifted twelve thousand marks of silver to Saint Paul’s Cathedral, a further three thousand to his own London parish church, and five thousand to Hexham Priory.’
Blyth raised his eyebrows. ‘That will keep the canons in cakes and ale for a good few years.’
‘His landholdings were transferred directly to Saint Bartholomew’s Hospital,’ Merrivale continued. ‘Along with other smaller donations to shrines and religious houses, the total comes to about thirty thousand marks, or twenty thousand pounds. That is less than one-fifth of his estimated total fortune.’
Blyth looked incredulous. ‘He was certainly worth more than twenty thousand, but a hundred thousand?’
‘At least. As you suggested, the London merchants helped to build up a fairly complete picture of his investments and holdings. And that is on top of any portable wealth such as coin, ingots and jewellery. All of that has vanished as well. The question is, where is it all? What did Tracey do with it?’
‘Have you asked him?’
‘I intend to. But if you have heard anything useful, I would be grateful.’
‘If you were going to hide a large amount of money, where would you hide it?’ Lady Mary asked.
‘Overseas,’ Blyth said. ‘I know it is illegal, but there are ways of doing so. Have you checked with the foreign merchants, the Italian banks and the Hanse merchants at the Steelyard?’
‘The Chancery is looking into it,’ Merrivale said. ‘They had found no evidence before I came north.’
Blyth was silent for a moment. ‘There is another possibility,’ he said. ‘If Gilbert de Tracey was in league with his brother, it is possible that he was also financing whatever scheme Edward was involved in. In which case, the money may have already been spent. What Gilbert liquidated and gave away was all that remained.’
‘Edward was also raising money,’ Merrivale said. ‘He was buying up plunder from the common soldiers at a high discount and reselling at a profit.’
Blyth nodded. ‘It’s a common practice. But Edward de Tracey would have needed more money than that.’
‘Yes,’ the herald said, ignoring the look on Tiphaine’s face. ‘I suspect he would. What you are suggesting is certainly one possibility. But I need to be certain.’
‘I can make inquiries,’ Blyth said. ‘I have my own connections with the foreign merchants. Licit or illicit, the transport of large quantities of coin and bullion always attracts attention. Someone, somewhere, will know something.’
He drained his cup and rose to his feet. ‘And now, ladies, Sir Herald, if you will forgive me, I have a large number of letters on my desk requiring attention. Shall we gather after vespers for supper and a glass of wine? I have engaged a lutenist to play for us, a Flemish player whom I first heard in London. He is excellent.’
‘Your hospitality does you great credit, sir,’ said Lady Mary sweetly. They waited in silence until the door had closed behind their host, and Lady Mary rolled her eyes.
‘Honestly!’ she said. ‘He feeds birds out of his hand! Exquisite taste, beautiful house, fine clothes, food that could have come from the king’s table; oh, and he can call up stray Flemish lutenists at a moment’s notice. Really?’
‘I wonder what his wife looks like,’ said Tiphaine, starting to giggle.
‘Oh, I can guess what she looks like,’ said Lady Mary. ‘Tall, very blonde with blue eyes and skin like new milk, and one of those prim little mouths like you see on badly painted madonnas. He probably feeds her out of his hand, too.’
She looked around the brilliant painted hall. ‘I don’t like this place. I prefer my husband’s household, with people brawling and shouting at each other and throwing bones at the dogs. And speaking of the Percys, where is Harry?’
* * *
Harry Percy arrived ten minutes later, brushing dust off his coat as he entered the hall. He was a big, square-jawed man in his mid-twenties with a shock of untidy fair hair. ‘Sorry, sister,’ he said, kissing Lady Mary’s hand. ‘Only just got your message. Came as soon as I could get away.’
‘Where have you been?’ she demanded.
‘Corbridge,’ said Percy. ‘The captain received a report of a Scottish raiding party coming over the border. Someone thought they had seen them around the old Roman wall. He asked me to ride out and take a look.’
‘Did you find them?’ Merrivale asked.
‘Not a sign. Just a rumour, this time,’ Percy said soberly. ‘Give it a few days and the rumours will be real enough.’ He looked at Lady Mary. ‘Why did you want to see me?’
As usual, she came straight to the point. ‘What’s all this about you being in correspondence with the Earl of Dunbar and his wife? Don’t try to deny it. John Crabbe told me all about it.’
Harry Percy’s face fell. ‘I’m a bit thirsty after all that riding,’ he said. ‘I don’t suppose there’s a glass of wine handy, is there?’
Lady Mary picked up a handbell from a side table and rang it. A servant arrived with wine, and Harry drank half his glass at a gulp. ‘It’s like this,’ he said. ‘My brother told me John Grey had been in contact with the Countess of Dunbar, about possibly opening peace negotiations. After John and Richard went south, the whole venture seemed to lapse. I thought I’d try to revive it.’
‘Why?’ Merrivale asked bluntly.
Percy was silent for a moment. ‘I looked at my father,’ he said finally. ‘He is a violent, bitter old man who hates the Scots and will fight them until the day he dies. So do most of his friends, and so do many on the Scots side. And that’s the problem, you see. They’re just fighting and fighting, and they have no idea why any more. John Grey talked with Countess Agnes, and they decided it had to stop. I didn’t understand at first, but I have done a lot of thinking since, and I agree with them.’
Merrivale studied him for a moment. Clearly, Harry Percy was nowhere near as unintelligent as his sister-in-law made him out to be. ‘What contact have you had with the Countess of Dunbar?’
‘Not much, so far. I wrote to her last winter and suggested a meeting, and she replied that she was considering the matter. Then I went off to France with the army over the summer, but I wrote again when I returned home. This time she offered to meet me.’
‘This could be a trap,’ Lady Mary said immediately.
‘It could,’ said the herald. ‘When and where is the meeting?’
‘Tomorrow afternoon, at a bastle house called Black Middens. It’s in Tarsetdale, north-west of Bellingham. I am to go alone.’ He looked at Lady Mary. ‘Of course I know it could be a trap. I’m not stupid, you know.’
Tellingly, Lady Mary said nothing. It could indeed be a trap, Merrivale thought, part of a plot to discredit the Percys; or Sir Harry might genuinely be in league with the Scots. The third and least likely alternative was that all of this was true, and Agnes of Dunbar really was holding out an olive branch to her enemies.
There was only one way to find out. ‘I will go to Black Middens in your place,’ he said. He raised a finger to forestall Percy’s protest. ‘No, Sir Harry. I hold the queen’s
writ in this matter. You will abide by my decision.’
‘And what am I meant to do?’ the other man demanded.
‘You will go to Warkworth, where you will help your father raise as many men-at-arms and archers as possible and bring them to join the archbishop’s army. That is the queen’s command.’
‘Don’t be an ass, Harry,’ said Lady Mary. ‘You are neither a spy nor a diplomat. This is Master Merrivale’s profession.’
Sir Harry looked unhappy, but he recognised force majeure. He swallowed the rest of his wine and set the cup down. ‘I shall take my leave, then,’ he said. ‘Er… Sir Herald. Will there be any trouble about this? My writing to Lady Dunbar, I mean. There is a truce, after all. I really was trying to do the right thing.’
‘I understand,’ said Merrivale. ‘Good evening, Sir Harry.’
* * *
The lutenist was every bit as good as promised. Afterwards they made polite small talk for a while, and then Blyth departed to feed his birds. Lady Mary and Tiphaine retired too. Merrivale sat for a while and stared at the glowing fire, piecing together everything he had learned today and on the ride north.
He had seven days before the truce expired. Seven days to find out whatever the Countess of Dunbar was plotting with Harry Percy, unravel the mystery of Gilbert de Tracey’s money, and persuade the northern barons and the Disinherited to stand firm in their loyalty. The first should probably be easy enough, assuming the meeting at Black Middens was not an ambush. The second two were beginning to feel like the labours of Hercules.
He rose and went up to his chamber. Tiphaine was standing in the middle of the room, still in her blue gown, hands at her sides. They looked at each other. ‘Your hair has grown,’ he said after a while.
‘Perhaps the sea air was good for it,’ she suggested. ‘Are you any closer to knowing who he is? The man from the north?’
‘I suspect he is not Harry Percy. Apart from that, no. And time is running out.’
A Clash of Lions Page 6