The Tower Grave (14 page)

             
“Pass your pack then,” John said, to which Chris complied. “Now get going,” he said, grinning.

             
Chris’ face showed utter disbelief and he turned to the others in plea, making Jake and David howl in laughter.

             
“Bloody hell, guys,” he said as he chanced a final glance at Charlotte who smiled affectionately at her lost teammate and shrugged.

             
“Sorry Chris,” she said, smiling, and broke into laughter herself as he shook his head and ran off again.

Part Two

Thirteen

15
th
June 1483

             
“Ok, so are we clear?”

             
“Yes, John, we’re clear,” Jake replied as he ducked through the tiny exit door of their usual tavern and led his team out into the busy streets of London outside the Western Tower gate. The bustling, dusty street between the gallows of the Tower Hill and the busy, boat-ridden River Thames was awash with trade stalls and their over-vocal, chuckling owners. The loose, unsupervised children and the customers that browsed and bartered at the stalls were a clear display of the contrast of wealth and poverty throughout the city.

             
“Shall we discuss it again?” John continued, whilst looking around at the mayhem he had grown used to.

             
“No, John,” Charlotte replied as she followed up behind them with David. “We’ve worked these streets and taverns hard in the two weeks we’ve been here. De Rougemont and Du Lac are well known names now. You know it doesn’t take long for rumours to spread in this place.”

             
“I know, but let’s do it again,” he said, making the others roll their eyes. They’d become accustomed to his meticulous planning and repeated briefings, but as much as they mocked it, they couldn’t doubt its effectiveness. With sufficient modern day jewellery and precious stones, they’d rented a suitable apartment with stables inside the Aldgate of London Wall and had begun to visit markets and taverns immediately on John’s directions. Within days, word had spread highly of the wealthy Rougemont family and in turn their request to attend Royal Court had been promptly approved.

             
“The smell always gets me down,” Jake murmured to David who remained continually fascinated by everything around him.

             
“You’re joking?” he replied. “Food, manure, the people?”

             
“Grease and shit, you mean, Dave?”

             
“And that shit smell doesn’t come from a horse either,” Charlotte added. “I can tell the difference.”

             
“That’s the smell of one of the world’s busiest rivers and the diet that fed it, you two. Sailors from across Europe and Northern Africa, London’s aristocracy, the beating working class that kept this city moving forward in a time of such discovery.”

             
“Yes and every single one of them went to the toilet in the street by the smell of it. What is he doing?” said Charlotte, looking round.

             
Stopping briefly for a flat-bread pouch filled with boiled mutton and vegetables, John dropped a few coins into the grubby hands of the toothless food seller and turned back to the group with his mouth full and gravy running down his chin.

             
“Listen,” he said through full cheeks making Charlotte wince. “Only Jake and I will speak to guards. When we’re in, if you can, you two mingle in the court and keep your eyes open for clues. Once we’re in, we can go back, but if we’re kicked out we’re done. We have to get it right and get approval, ok?”

             
“Are you ready to mingle?” David asked Charlotte.

             
“I think so,” she replied, blowing through her cheeks. “Well we’ll work it out I’m sure.”

             
“Ok, you know the full plan,” John added. “Let’s just get in and become part of this thing. Then we’ll take it from there.”

             
They passed through the first, unmanned gate on the outer wall without incident and found themselves in a narrow, cobbled street surrounded by a small, slow moving crowd of well-dressed Londoners. Approaching the inner gates, Charlotte glanced up nervously at Jake who winked down at her, giving her reassurance. As they reached the final steps, the two soldiers on the door stepped forward and the larger of them spoke; his accent muffled by his hideously broken nose.

             
“State your names and business,” he said formally looking from John to Jake and back again.

             
“Sir John and Sir Jake de Rougemont, Mademoiselle Charlotte Du Lac and her uncle David Du Lac,” said John confidently. “We have business before the King and the Duke of Gloucester.”

             
The soldier raised his eyebrows and looked them over.

             
“Rougemont,” he said quietly in thought. “Go through and good luck.”

             
John stepped inside between them as relief washed over him, and as he did, the large gloved hand of the soldier stopped him in his tracks and caused him to look up.

             
“From France?” he said.

             
“Yes, we arrived two weeks ago.”

             
“I heard. Listen, things are complicated here at the moment. The King, The Duke, no one knows why King Edward hasn’t been crowned. Word is they seek to depose him.” He glanced around, ensuring he was not overhead. “He has the throne and for some reason was brought here by the Duke but now hasn’t been seen for a while. It’s the Duke of Gloucester who you need to impress. Richard the Duke runs this country and will soon be king for sure.”

             
John smiled then glanced seriously at the hand still on his shoulder making the guard snap it back to his side instantly.

             
“Thank you, soldier,” he said, and nodded at David who dropped a few coins into huge, gloved mitt. “Your name, Guard?”

             
“Sykes, Sir. Sergeant Robert Sykes.”

             
“Very well, Sergeant. Thank you.”

             
John continued through the Gatehouse and into the quieter sloping avenue inside the walls.

             
“Well done, John,” Jake whispered at his side. “That was a fine display.”

             
John smiled at him and led them towards the White Tower in the direction of the crowd of people around them. They slowed at the back of a small queue as they approached the guarded doors and John began to listen to conversations around him until they all ceased in response to a commotion at the front.

             
“Well? What do you want, Peasant?” a tall and skinny, chain-mailed guard said from the height of his steps.

             
“I have been wronged, Sir,” the voice of a man in front of the crowd uttered. “The knight, Sir Spence, mistook my words as insolence and seized half my land outside of the City. I didn’t...”

             
“Yes, yes. So you keep saying. What are you here for?”

             
“To state the truth and reclaim my land on the word of the Duke.”

             
The guard released a short, bark of a laugh before frowning seriously.

             
“You expect me to let some urchin farmer in front of the king without invite or acceptance, to moan about half a field of shit? No, piss off.”

             
“I will not,” the man replied, defiantly. “I beg you, Sir. It is all I have and I have children to support. Please?”

             
“You will not?” the bully soldier exclaimed in rage. “Get up here,” he screamed as he leant down and hauled a young man in rags roughly up the steps and into the team’s view.

             
“Jesus, he looks like he hasn’t eaten in weeks,” Charlotte whispered behind them as the man struggled upright.

             
The soldier drew a long sword from his hip and held it up to the man’s face.

             
“Do you think I should let you live for your insolence, boy?”

             
The farmer raised his chin in silence then looked the guard in the eye as he spoke.

             
“Then kill me, guard, or let me in,” he said, firmly.

             
The soldier grinned curiously.

             
“And you think the king’s court is going to listen to you and not punish you for wasting their time? Do you think they won’t punish me for letting you in for that matter?”

             
“I must try, Sir.”

             
The soldier studied the farmer for a short while before nodding silently.

             
“Very well,” he shrugged. “Go get ‘em, urchin,” he said, stepping aside and allowing the young man to enter. Shaking his head as he passed, he turned back to the waiting crowd and began to usher them through politely.

             
The rest of the crowd, including the team, seemed to pass without trouble and they drifted through a large hall, up a flight of stairs and into a large, well decorated court room on the first floor.

             
From John’s eyes, the long room was busy with activity. Aside from the relaxed, mailed army-officers seated at long tables, and the lines of servants, ushers and guards standing formerly around them; the milling crowds of men and women included chattering groups of long gowned ladies and small knots of whispering men huddled randomly throughout. At the far end of the room, a scruffily formed queue stood in front of the crowd and waited for whoever was seated in the large, wooden chair that was obscured from John’s view.

             
Charlotte and David stood back and melted into the crowd as John and Jake proceeded to the front and waited in the crowd to see the Duke.

Fourteen

              “Do you reckon we’ll be on next?” Jake asked John quietly after over an hour of waiting.

             
“Brother, you are like a child!”

             
“They just all ask the same things, John. Trades, disputes, there’s so many.”

             
“What do you think we’re here for?”

             
“Yeah, yeah, I know. Where’s Charlotte?”

             
“She’s at the back with the short, blonde man in the bronze top.”

             
They slowly moved forward in the crowd until they got sight of the man who would soon become King Richard the Third. With jaw-length, straight, dark hair, he sat twisted and hunched over in his wooden throne, but watched with wise eyes as each applicant and query approached his feet. John paid attention, taking mental notes of the language and proceedings that were met with success until something interesting caught his attention.

             
“Dispute of land against nobility,” called the usher. “Complainant Richard Brierly attends court, My Lord.”

             
John elbowed Jake and they turned to watch as an audible shuffle sounded around the room. The farmer from the front gate edged his way to the front of the crowd and knelt low in the face of the Duke.

             
“Brierly?” the Duke asked, seeming to untwist as he finally sat upright in his throne. He tucked wisps of his hair into his red, beret-like hat, and his blue eyes gazed deeply into the farmer’s as he waited. “Well? Rise and speak, boy,” he said.

             
The farmer took a deep breath and spoke clearly as though well-rehearsed.

“My Lord, I am Richard Brierly. Thank you for hearing my case. I own a small wheat farm and mill to the North of the City with my family. Earlier this year, after the winter thawed, my farm was crossed by a nobleman and his entourage in their carts. My Lord, I had recently sowed the seed of my crops and the procession would have cost me much of my harvest.” He looked to the Duke expecting a response but continued in the silence that remained. “I addressed the nobleman and asked him to
travel the road around my farm rather than plough through it. He refused and his henchmen threatened me.”

             
“I see,” interrupted the Duke. “And what happened next?”

             
“I explained they had no right to threaten me; that it was my land and my crops, and that they must go around. I was beaten and told I would forfeit half my land for my insolence.”

             
“And did you?”

             
“I thought not at first, My Lord. A week or so went by, and then a group of armed men arrived and fenced off half of my land and crops. They remain there still and intimidate my daughters in my absence. My Lord, I come here to beg your word to have my land returned.”

             
“Have your land returned...,” Richard, Duke of Gloucester said in thought. “And can you tell me again in your own voice the name of the nobleman you accuse?”