Read Online The Fate of Princes by Paul Doherty - Free Book Online

he brought back to the doorway, led me and my companions across the overgrown churchyard to a desolate, shady spot beneath a huge overhanging elm tree.
    ‘The fellow was buried here,’ he mumbled. ‘I forget exactly where.’ He smiled, showing a row of blackenedteeth. ‘I remember the grave was shallow for the ground was hard to break up. It will be even harder now.’ I gestured to the workmen to begin digging. The priest was right, the ground was iron-hard, and the labourers quietly cursed each other, the task, and, with angry glances at me, high and mighty lords. Time and again they uncovered some pathetic sight, the coffin of a small baby or the yellowing skeleton of some derelict. Howstead, unable to bear these sights, walked away. After a while so did I, standing in the cool porch of the church until the shouts and cries of the priest brought me back.
    ‘They have found your corpse, my Lord,’ the fellow observed sardonically. ‘Come! Have a look!’ I moved over, noticing the face of one of the workmen was almost a whitish-green. They had disinterred a shapeless canvas bundle. I took my dagger and, holding the nosegay over my nose and mouth, cut the cheap canvas covering. The corpse lay as it had been buried, naked except for a loincloth, any clothes or jewellery having been stripped by either the priest or those who had buried the body. The stench, even after a few days, was rank and offensive and I had to stop myself gagging. The eyes were shut but the mouth yawned open, the skin dirty, puffy-white and damp; from ear to ear ran a long purple gash. I called Howstead over. He took one look, turned away to vomit, nodding his head in recognition.
    ‘That’s Slaughter!’ he gasped. ‘God damn you but that is Slaughter!’ I patted him gently on the shoulder, tossing coins to both the priest and the labourers.
    ‘Take care of the corpse,’ I said. ‘Howstead, come with me.’
    Outside the churchyard I questioned Howstead carefully. Satisfied with the information, I dismissed him and ordered my three retainers who were waiting there, to follow me at a safe distance. I was glad to befree of that evil churchyard and Howstead’s mournful company, pleased to be in the sun even though I had to make my way through narrow streets, dirty, greasy and darkened by the houses packed next to each other. The upper tiers were gilted and gabled, jutting out to block the sunlight, built according to chance and hazard rather than any set plan.
    I thought of Anne, fresh-faced, vivacious, the cool chambers of Minster Lovell and the lush greenness of its meadowlands. I was tired of London, quietly cursing the King’s task. At last we were back into Cheapside, amongst the stalls, booths, the shop fronts lowered, hanging by chains, the constant din of the tradesmen behind me.
    ‘Fresh fish!’ ‘Sweet plums!’ ‘Apples fresh off the branch!’ ‘Portions of hot meat!’ ‘Wines from Alsace!’ Apprentices plucked at my arm, trying to inveigle my custom, but I kept my head down and they let me go with strange oaths and cries of ‘Go, by cock!’
    Sitting here alone, I realise the contrariness of human nature. Then, I wished to be in Minster Lovell, now I desire to be back in Cheapside with the sun blazing above me and the press of people about me so great I found it difficult to walk. I am sorry – I break my pledge not to look back with the great wisdom of hindsight. At that time I was afraid of being attacked so I kept my face down, taking care to avoid the lords, the young gallants in their silk doublets with fiercely padded shoulders and high waists, their sleeves puffed out in concoctions of velvet, damask and satin. Such men were dangerous; one of them might have recognised me and not every courtier in London, as Norfolk and I knew, was loyal to King Richard. At last I turned off Cheapside, down a number of side-streets, past houses fair and foul. I skirted the Poultry, where the stench of offal from the