The Dance of Death Read Online Free Page B

lord of Gloucester,’ he explained glibly to Eloise, ‘wishes to thank Roger personally for accompanying the Duke of Albany to Scotland.’ Whether or not she believed this, there was no means of knowing: the elfin face gave nothing away. Timothy went on, ‘Tomorrow, Roger, you must be fitted for some new clothes.’ At my indignant protest, he eyed me up and down and responded sharply, ‘You can’t go to France posing as a prosperous haberdasher looking like that. And you will need extra baggage and some samples of cloth to give credence to your story.’
    â€˜And what is my story?’ I demanded belligerently. ‘Until this moment I wasn’t even aware of my new calling.’
    He patted my shoulder. ‘Everything will finally be decided upon in the morning. You will both please meet me here, in this same chamber, immediately after dinner, when the details of your journey and of your . . . er . . . “marriage” will be agreed between us. The tailor will also be present to measure you, Roger, for those clothes I spoke of.’
    A moment later, he was gone, whisking himself out of the room before I could raise further objections or subject him to any more of my ill humour.
    â€˜Coward!’ I shouted, but the door had already closed behind him and I found myself addressing solid oak.
    I turned back to my companion, eyeing her askance.
    She laughed. ‘You needn’t worry, Master Chapman. I don’t require your escort around London. I have sufficient knowledge of the streets to be able to take care of myself. I was here with my lord of Albany two years ago.’
    â€˜Just as well.’ I glowered as she rose to her feet and prepared to depart. But nevertheless she intrigued me, and I detained her by the simple expedient of asking another question. ‘Your mother may be French, but I’d swear there’s Scottish blood in you somewhere. Your father?’
    She sat down again. ‘Yes. Maman was French,’ she agreed. ‘She died five years ago. Both my parents are dead, and you’re right – my father was indeed Scottish. He was a member of King Louis’s Scots Guards and died fighting for him, when I was four years old, at the battle of Montlhéry.’
    â€˜Montlhéry?’ I queried, coaxing my tongue around the name, not without some difficulty.
    â€˜Oh, you probably wouldn’t have heard of it,’ she said. ‘It was a battle fought against the king’s own subjects, who wanted to depose him in favour of his brother Charles.’ She added scornfully, ‘They called themselves the League of the Public Weal,’ and spat on the floor in a most unladylike fashion. ‘Common good? They had no thought of the common good! It was pure ambition and greed. I know! My mother told me all about it when I was old enough to understand. Burgundy was one of them. The late duke, Charles of Charolais, as he still was then, fought on behalf of his father, Duke Philip.’ She leaned towards me, suddenly deadly serious, her great violet-blue eyes burning with righteous wrath. ‘Do you know that after he became king – that was the year I was born – Louis bought back Picardy and the Somme towns from Burgundy for four hundred thousand crowns? But then Duke Philip regretted the deal and decided he wanted them back again.’
    â€˜Don’t tell me,’ I interrupted, ‘I can guess what’s coming. Philip wanted them back and to hang on to the money as well. Am I right?’
    She gave a mirthless laugh. ‘Of course you are. So he formed this league with all the other malcontents – the dukes of Brittany, Berry, Anjou, Calabria, Bourbon and I don’t know how many others – all pretending that they were acting in the public interest and that it would be better for the country if they put Charles instead of Louis on the throne.’
    â€˜And did Louis win