The Tintern Treasure Read Online Free Page B

was the uncomfortable fact of the young Earl of Warwick, who came before King Richard in the line of succession, but who was barred from the throne by the fact of his father’s attainder. But an Act of Attainder was easily reversed, and considering King Richard had always stoutly declared that George of Clarence’s execution had been entirely due to the machinations of the Woodvilles, why did he not choose to right this apparent wrong? The answer to that, unfortunately, was all too obvious . . .
    Here, I abruptly got out of bed to use the chamber pot. As I relieved myself, I could see clearly where my thoughts were leading me. After all these months, I was forcing myself to accept what, deep down, I had felt all along: that I was not entirely convinced by the validity of Richard’s right to be king. And what was more, as I climbed back into bed, I perceived with a sudden, startling clarity that he might not be entirely convinced, himself.
    And with this thought in mind, I fell asleep and slept uneasily until morning.
    With the coming of daylight, I suppressed the whole idea as nonsense. Of course, King Richard was rightfully king and I was one of his most loyal subjects. Moreover, as I cautiously opened the shutters and looked out on a wet and bedraggled world, the reason for the rumour about the deaths of the princes struck me with the force of a sledgehammer. If the Welsh were rising on behalf of Henry Tudor, what better way to get the dissident Yorkist supporters on their side than to persuade people that Richard had villainously had his nephews murdered? I trusted that the king would be swift to deny it.
    Here, a knock on the door heralded a chambermaid with a jug of hot water for me to wash and shave. I also cleaned my teeth with my customary piece of willow bark, fished out of my pack my one spare shirt which I had resisted putting on until now, having noticed at supper last night that I was beginning to smell, and descended to the ale-room where Oliver Tockney was awaiting me.
    â€˜Has Lawyer Heathersett gone?’
    It was the landlord who answered as he bustled in with a tray of hot oatcakes and small beer. ‘He’s a busy man. He has several days’ business yet to complete in the town. He’ll be back tonight, but you two will be gone by then, I daresay. You’ll be wanting to be on your way. And now the weather’s improving a little, trade’s bound to pick up again.’
    The Yorkshireman grinned at me and winked. ‘I might stay around for a day or so and try selling some o’ my wares in this town. What about you, Master Chapman?’
    â€˜A good idea, Master Tockney,’ I concurred.
    â€˜Then you must both find other accommodation,’ the landlord declared, finally showing his hand.
    We didn’t hurry our breakfast and by the time we finally left the inn, the weather had improved yet again. What clouds there were, shuttling busily across the face of a watery sun, were thin and transparent, like gossamer. It seemed at last as though the gods were smiling and that the terrible storm had blown itself out.
    So Oliver Tockney and I spent a couple of days touting our packs around the town, making sure that we didn’t tread – literally – on one another’s toes, and doing a surprising amount of business among the goodwives of Hereford who had been housebound for too long by the inclement weather and were in urgent need of spending a little money. And for the hours of darkness, which were growing longer with each passing day, we found an ale-house tucked away in Bye Street, where we were offered a couple of verminous blankets and the use of the ale-room floor when the locals had departed. Both Oliver and I suspected that it was something of a thieves’ den, but we didn’t let that worry us. We were strangers and it was none of our business.
    On the third day, we decided it was time to move on. We had covered most of the streets pretty