The Witch of Eye by Mari Griffith

Author:Mari Griffith
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Accent Press
Published: 2016-07-21T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Early autumn 1439

Magister Roger Bolingbroke and Canon Thomas Southwell were sitting next to each other on a bench outside the library at the Palace of Westminster. Between them, carefully wrapped in a padded, soft leather bag for protection was the precious astrolabe.

‘Her Grace has surely not forgotten us,’ said Southwell, drumming his fingers on the scrip balanced on his plump knees. ‘How long do you estimate we have been waiting?’

Bolingbroke looked at him over his spectacles. ‘Mmm? I’m sorry, Canon, what did you say?’

‘I said we seem to have been waiting for ... ah, here’s Hume.’

Walking briskly towards them was the Duke and Duchess’s secretary, Canon John Hume, a tall, taciturn man who wore a belligerent expression.

‘Her Grace has sent for you,’ he said. ‘Today, she would like you to attend her in her private withdrawing room. Follow me.’

Southwell turned to Bolingbroke, his eyebrows raised in an enquiring arc as they got up from the bench and prepared to follow Canon Hume. With purposeful strides, Hume led the way, towering head and shoulders above the rotund Canon Southwell who scuttled behind him, anxious to keep pace. Bringing up the rear, the stooped figure of Magister Bolingbroke was bent protectively over the astrolabe he carried.

Hume said nothing and offered no explanation for the change of plan. The two clerics followed him away from the public areas of the palace where these meetings usually took place, and towards the rooms where the royal family had their private accommodation.

‘Your advisers are here, Your Grace,’ said Hume as he opened a door and showed them into the presence of Her Grace, the Duchess of Gloucester.

‘Gentlemen,’ she greeted them, ‘I’m pleased to see you.’ She turned and gestured imperiously to her maid. ‘That will be all, Jenna. You may leave me.’

‘Thank you, Your Grace.’ Jenna curtsied then, picking up a cup, a dirty plate and a basket of embroidery threads, she left the room, closing the door quietly behind her.

The Duchess rose from her chair and took a seat at the head of the table, gesturing to Southwell and Bolingbroke to be seated on either side of her.

‘Now,’ she said, ‘I expect you are wondering why I have decided to receive you here rather than in the library where we usually meet.’

‘It is a pleasure to meet you anywhere, Your Grace,’ said Southwell, ‘and we are very privileged to be invited to attend you in your private withdrawing room. Are we not, Bolingbroke?’

‘Quite so, quite so,’ said Roger Bolingbroke, staring about him at the rich colours of the tapestries, which hung on every wall. He was seldom privy to such obvious wealth.

‘Magister Bolingbroke, I trust you’ve brought the astrolabe with you?’

‘Of course, Your Grace.’ He began unpacking the precious scientific instrument. ‘In fact, I particularly hoped you might want us to use the astrolabe for you today, since I have spent a great deal of time working with the instrument of late, perfecting my techniques, and I feel entirely at ease with it. I seem to have mastered the art of using it for divination.

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