Free The Dance of Death by Kate Sedley

banquet.’ He grimaced ruefully. ‘Truth to tell, I feel a fraud. You and I both know how little credit can be attributed to me for what is being hailed as a great victory over the Scots. We got Berwick back and a part of the Princess Cicely’s dowry, but we failed completely to put Albany on the Scottish throne. There was no great battle. The old enemy was not defeated.’
    â€˜None of that was your fault, my lord,’ I protested. ‘The Scots lords were ready with their own plan long before we crossed the border.’
    â€˜You think so? You think it was planned?’
    â€˜Possibly. They’re a crafty nation. Your Grace has no cause to demean what you achieved. As you say, Berwick is English again and with luck will remain so.’ I began to sidle towards the door. ‘Her Grace of Gloucester and Prince Edward are both in good health?’
    A shadow crossed the thin, careworn face. ‘As well as they ever are, I thank you. I know I should bring them south for the winter months, but . . .’ He trailed off and shrugged again.
    Once more, I was briefly conscious of the disproportion of his shoulders, but then the illusion of lopsidedness was gone. He rang a small silver hand-bell that was on the tray with the flask and goblets and, to my astonishment, stepped forward and embraced me.
    â€˜You’ve been a good friend and servant to me, Roger, over the years and I wouldn’t have you think that I’m ungrateful. Don’t let this mission to France worry you. If things should go wrong – which I by no means expect – I shan’t let them hail you off to the gallows.’
    Which was very pretty talking, I thought to myself, provided the duke didn’t first find himself dead by poisoning or a mysterious accident. Or if I didn’t. Because if the queen’s family did happen to get even the merest whisper of what I was about, I’d be far more likely to end up in some Parisian alley with a dagger in my back than find myself arraigned for treason. That would mean a trial with witnesses and evidence, and the Woodvilles wouldn’t want that: it would bring everything into the open. Secrecy and no questions raised in people’s minds were the better option. I recalled the Duke of Clarence’s obscure death in the Tower – drowned, the rumour had it, in a butt of malmsey wine. He had had a trial of sorts – I had been present at it, amongst the spectators – but it had amounted to little more than a shouting match between him and his elder brother. And it had ended abruptly with nothing really resolved: no explanation of why the king, after years of enduring brother George’s vagaries and betrayals, had suddenly decided to be rid of him. Had Clarence also been digging around in this particular bed of worms? Had it occurred to him that if their mother’s story were indeed true, and Edward were really a bastard, then he was the rightful king? Loyalty to his brother wouldn’t have stayed his hand, as it stayed Prince Richard’s . . .
    My uneasy thoughts were interrupted as I realized the duke was bidding me goodnight. The servant who had poured the wine for us was again in the room, waiting to show me out. I knelt and kissed my lord’s hand, catching his eye as I rose to my feet. His expression was wry and he gave me a half-guilty smile.
    â€˜God be with you, Roger,’ he said. And, almost as if it were forced from him, ‘Good luck.’
    There was no answer to that. I bowed, swung on my heel and left the room.

Five
    Outside the chamber, I found the lackey who had earlier served the wine waiting for me. I raised my eyebrows in enquiry.
    â€˜I’m to conduct you to your room, master.’
    I shook my head. ‘There’s no need. I know where it is.’
    â€˜I’ll accompany you,’ he insisted stubbornly. ‘The duke’s orders. I’ve to see you’re comfortable