The Burgundian's tale

But the expression on the rugged, weather-beaten countenance remained noncommital.

The early-morning streets were as crowded and noisy as ever, the muck-rakers getting in everyone’s way as they tried to clear the central drains of yesterday’s filth and debris — a thankless task, as people were refilling them as fast as they were emptied. Several friends and acquaintances hailed me, staring with interest at my companion, but I made no attempt to enlighten them as to what was going on. How could I? I didn’t know myself.

We crossed the bridge leading to the Barbican Gate and entered the outer ward of Bristol Castle. This presented a livelier scene than usual — a number of supercilious young men, in a livery with which I was unfamiliar, either lounging around sneering at the locals and the building’s sorry state of disrepair, or being very busy about nothing in particular. The sergeant-at-arms forced a path between them with a ruthlessness that gladdened my heart, and led me to a chamber on the ground floor of the great keep.

It was a cold, damp little room which would also have been airless but for the fact that there was a crack in one of the inner walls that I could have put my fist through. The floor oozed water from an overflowing sink-hole in one corner, and there was a general smell of decay and corruption. Days when the Bristol dungeons had housed such eminent prisoners as King Stephen and the elder Hugh le Despenser, favourite of the second Edward, had long gone, and the City Fathers were reluctant to spend money (which could be put to far better use feathering their own nests) on the unnecessary upkeep of the castle.

The room’s only furniture consisted of a table, at present bearing a flagon and a couple of mazers, and two stools, on one of which, facing the door, sat Timothy Plummer. He rose as I entered and held out his hand.

‘Roger, my friend! It’s good to see you again.’

I was immediately suspicious. Somebody once said that he feared the Greeks, even when they came offering gifts. I knew what he meant. I particularly feared Timothy Plummer when he was at his most civil and urbane. He waved me to the other stool and poured us both some wine — the best Rhenish, he assured me, rightly confident that I wouldn’t challenge him. Whatever it was, it was wine such as I hadn’t tasted in years (if ever) and far beyond my pocket. I grew even more uneasy.

‘All right, Timothy,’ I said, ‘what do you want?’

He smiled. ‘Blunt as ever! But I suppose it saves time. Just a little favour for Duke Richard, that’s all.’

‘I see … And what exactly does this little favour entail?’

He took a sip of wine and smiled again. ‘A visit to London. Nothing that will test your powers of deduction too heavily.’

‘Oh, no,’ I said firmly. ‘I’m not planning on going to London just at present, not even to please Duke Richard, dearly as I love the man.’ I wanted to get right away from the hustle and bustle of city life: I had promised myself long spring days of quiet and solitude, watching the rosy-fingered dawn come up over the distant hills, walking knee-high through the early-morning mist and listening to lark song.

Timothy seemed worryingly unperturbed by my adamant refusal.

‘A pity,’ he remarked cheerfully, pouring me more wine. ‘But I’m afraid, Roger old friend, that you have no choice. My Lord of Gloucester has requested your services and I don’t intend he should be disappointed. We leave Bristol this afternoon, so you’d better go home and pack anything you might need. A horse will be provided for you — at His Grace’s expense, of course.’

‘And how,’ I enquired coldly, ‘do you intend forcing me go with you if I refuse?’

He pushed aside his own mazer and settled forward on his stool, arms folded in front of him on the table.

‘There’s the little matter of your treasonable activities last summer,’ he pointed out, ‘helping an enemy of King Edward to escape my clutches. Oh, I know the proof is a bit thin, but I could make things very unpleasant for you, Roger, if I put my mind to it. For you and your family. If I made a few enquiries in Marsh Street among your Irish friends, for instance, I feel sure I could gather enough evidence to substantiate a case against you. At the time, I turned a blind eye to what you did because I couldn’t see there was anything to gain by charging you. Besides, I like you. We’ve been friends for years, and you’ve rendered Duke Richard good service. I’d hate to see you die a traitor’s death. Agonizingly protracted and very messy. So, you see, I feel sure you’ll be sensible and do as I ask. Or rather, as Duke Richard asks.’

I stared at the spy, so angry with both myself and him that I was temporarily struck dumb. In a futile gesture, I sent my mazer spinning, watching his look of horror as the precious Rhenish spilled across the table top and smiling as he was forced to leap to his feet to avoid being drenched with the stuff.

‘You — you — you fool!’ he bellowed. ‘Wasting decent wine!’