walked briskly along a westerly path before turning south along the west wall of the great hall. Most of the old roof had gone, and the hall was now exposed to the elements. Craftsmen and others scampered over the great ribs of the new roof, working desperately against the inevitable onset of the autumn and winter rains.
No one, save one or two of the men-at-arms, spared the activity a glance.
Arundel led them to the doorway of a small atrium in the southern-most part of the palace complex. Inside the atrium, three doors led, in turn, to the lesser hall, the Painted Chamber, and the complex of private apartments known collectively as the Queen’s Chambers.
Where, now, Richard had made his nest.
The atrium was cold and comfortless. Guards stood at each of the three doors; all stared with hard eyes at the newcomers.
Arundel walked over to the two guards standing by the door leading to the Queen’s Chambers.
“The Countess of Hereford and her lady companion wish an audience with the king.” Arundel grinned easily. “I can assure you they carry no weapons save for their feminine charms.”
Mary squared her shoulders and held the guards’ stare; a wan and tight-faced Margaret kept her eyes averted.
One of the guards disappeared, reappearing in a few moments.
“My ladies,” he said, and stood back so that they might pass through the door.
As Margaret followed Mary through she turned and sent Neville a look of such stark terror that he took a half-step forward, stopping awkwardly as Bolingbroke caught at his arm.
And on that look, the fate of the world turned.
The door closed behind them, and Neville was left staring at its blank, wooden face.
“Tom!” Bolingbroke whispered. “Tom!”
Neville took a deep breath and forced himself to turn away from the door.
It would be all right. Margaret would be safe. They would not be long.
Then the door which led to the Painted Chamber opened, and Sir Richard Sturry walked into the atrium.
“My lords!” he said, as if surprised. “Sweet Jesu smiles upon me indeed. His Grace has asked me to transfer back to the abbey some of the registers he has been studying, and I have been wringing my hands at the thought of finding someone—or four or five someones—to aid me in this endeavour.”
He beamed, and threw out his hands. “And here stand my Lords of Hereford and Arundel, and Lord Neville, complete with an able-bodied contingent of men-at-arms. My Lords, may I …”
Bolingbroke smiled. “My men are yours for the asking, Sturry. I cool my heels in this frigid chamber awaiting my sovereign’s pleasure, but there is no reason why they should suffer along with me. Take them if you will, that they may keep warm with some godly work.”
Sturry positively beamed. “This chamber is cold and heartless, is it not? Why not await Richard’s pleasure in the Painted Chamber? I am sure his men,” he half bowed at the sergeant-at-arms, “can fetch you from there if need arise.”
The sergeant opened his mouth to protest, but Arundel spoke first.
“I will vouch for my Lord of Hereford and Lord Neville,” he said. “There shall come no harm from their waiting in the Painted Chamber.”
The sergeant closed his mouth, thinking it over. Arundel and Sturry were trusted confidants of the king, and Arundel a privy councillor besides.
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