Roseblood by Paul Doherty Page A

speak on the logical premise that you will.’
    He paused and stretched across to grasp Simon’s arm. ‘Raphael, your father is a survivor; he is also a man whom my mistress and the Beaufort lords trust with their very lives.’ He removed his hand. ‘Indeed, Master Simon Roseblood is more Beaufort than the Beauforts.’ He produced a sealed document from the folds of his robe. ‘This is from the Lady Margaret, so that you know I am to be trusted.’
    Simon broke the red blob of wax, moved the candlestick closer, then passed the document to Raphael. The contents were stark and simple. Written undoubtedly by the Lady Margaret herself, the letter introduced Reginald Bray, her ‘trusty and well-beloved clerk’, to Simon Roseblood, ‘close friend and henchman’ of her late beloved father, the good duke. It went on to describe how Bray wore her signet ring on the little finger of his right hand – Raphael glanced quickly at this – whilst around his neck hung a medal of St Maurice, her dead father’s patron saint. Raphael could see that the letter had not been opened and resealed, so the description given was in full accord with what he now saw.
    ‘Very good.’ He handed the document back. ‘So you are whom you claim to be. A rare enough event in this vale of tears.’
    ‘Amadeus Sevigny?’ Simon asked.
    ‘A mailed clerk. York trusts him as my mistress does you, though Sevigny is not liked by the duke’s wife, Dame Cecily, the so-called Rose of Raby.’
    ‘Why not?’
    ‘We’ll come to that; I have my suspicions. However, let me assure you, Sevigny is cunning and skilled. He played a hand in Jack Cade’s revolt.’
    ‘My brother was—’
    ‘I have heard about that, though Sevigny would not be involved. He is too cunning to start a blood feud. Plotting politics is his skill. The destruction of York’s enemies by process of law, hence Candlemas turning King’s Approver. Our noble sheriff, Malpas, is too ignorant for such a ploy; he lacks both the courage and the wit. Sevigny wants to block you and,’ Bray squinted through the gloom, ‘more dangerous for us, subvert your allegiance.’
    ‘Never!’
    ‘War is coming, Raphael. Men will assemble with the commissioners of array, wearing York’s livery with Lancaster’s beneath. The lords, the merchants and even the clergy will change sides as fast as a rat scuttles. Men will be bought, body and soul.’
    Simon snorted with laughter and grasped Raphael’s arm. ‘We are as one on this.’
    ‘Good.’ Bray looked serenely at Raphael.
    ‘My father speaks for me.’
    ‘Ever the lawyer,’ Bray grinned. ‘Which is what I am as well. Now, LeCorbeil. He has undoubtedly spied on you. He followed you into this friary to frighten you as well as to create the illusion that he can come and go as he wishes, threaten, menace, but never be held to account. Your ferocious response will give him food for thought. I understand that in the tourney at the Inns Court you won a reputation for such swordplay.’
    Raphael shrugged, slightly embarrassed at the praise.
    ‘Now, LeCorbeil, what do you know of him?’
    Simon summarised what he had said in the Camelot Chamber at the Roseblood. When he had finished, Bray nodded in agreement.
    ‘LeCorbeil’s leader is undoubtedly a man of great wit and sharp mind. He is a mummer, a shape-shifter, appearing here and there.’ Bray held up a warning finger. ‘He leads a group just as skilled and highly organised. They are masters of the crossbow—’
    ‘But there are many such,’ Raphael interrupted.
    ‘No, no. Listen,’ his father declared. ‘I have heard of this. Master Reginald, I suspect what you are going to say.’
    ‘In the last great conflicts in France,’ Bray continued, ‘when the English lords went on chevauchée or laid siege to castles, the number of English captains killed was quite significant. Reports came in of master bowmen who singled out the English commander and, when given the opportunity, loosed a