He lays it down gently and begins moving the books, revealing those that lie beneath, sighing as he does so. She leaves him to it and finds the maid standing in the hallway, staring in silence at the cobwebs that festoon the lamps above her head. The candles are so old they are almost orange. Mistress Daud has disappeared. Katherine opens her mouth to say something but faced by such blankness, she can think of nothing. Thomas has to be called away from the books.

When they leave the maid closes the door on them, and they stand on the steps frowning at one another.

‘Something awry, there,’ Thomas suggests.

He is right, but what is it? They stop in the sunlit street, the cobbles warm under their feet, the smell of fresh horse dung in the air. Flies and bees drone, catching the sun. Katherine turns and looks up at the windows of the jettied storeys of the house. Mistress Daud is there, staring down at them through a thick pane. After a moment she steps back into the gloom, her face rippling through the glass, and is gone.

They stand in the road a moment longer. Thomas is staring south to where the flat lands that lie beyond the walls dissolve in the summer’s haze.

‘The priory is a day’s ride from here,’ he says.

She looks at him.

‘And so is Cornford Castle,’ she says.

Before he can say more they hear a horse clattering up the road towards them. The rider is standing in the stirrups, lashing at its rump. They step off the road to let it pass. Its flanks are white with sweat.

‘In a hurry,’ Thomas says.

By the time they reach the crown of the hill a crowd of people is gathered by the cathedral gate. Someone is shouting something. A bell begins ringing.

‘What is it?’

The stationer is packing away his wares. He turns to them.

‘Have you heard?’ he asks. ‘Richard of York has come from Ireland. He has landed in Chester this last week and is making his way to London. The rider says he has a man walking before him carrying his sword of state, and it is upright.’

‘What does that mean?’ Katherine asks.

‘Only kings progress in such a fashion.’

‘So?’

‘The Duke means to claim the throne.’

They turn to one another.

‘You see,’ she says. ‘I told you the fighting isn’t done yet.’

21

THE NEXT MORNING, when Sir John emerges from his drink-induced slumber, they tell him of Richard, Duke of York’s arrival in England.

‘I must get up,’ he says. ‘We must get to London. We must see him. He will reverse Warwick’s decision in the matter of Cornford Castle. I am certain of it.’