“Our Lady be thanked, no. We had news. Something was carried out in the Princess’s bed, put aboard a boat, and smuggled to the Wardrobe in Carter Street.”
Fulk’s lips came together in a hard line.
“By the Cross, the ice is thin. We have got rid of these good sheep, but should we be betrayed——”
“We shall be, with Simon of Sudbury. Wat and John Ball have their thousands still—beasts who have tasted blood.”
“Then whither go we, since the Tower is ours no longer?”
“To the Wardrobe, sir, to comfort the Princess.”
The trumpets sounded, and the King’s company unwound itself into a trail of steel and colour. Fulk rode forward on his white horse, Salisbury beside him, Cavendish close on his other flank.
“King Richard! King Richard!”
Fulk’s eyes glittered. He spoke to Salisbury under his breath.
“Sir, my tongue burns in my mouth. The promises I have made these poor fools!”