"Because of what his father was."
Chapter 7
Again the tower room at Hunsdon and again Sir William Oldhall standing at the window, gazing out, his hands behind his back. He might have been no more than considering his fields where the grain was standing golden ripe and the harvest was begun.
More likely he was not.
Joliffe, standing behind him and across the room, able to see only sky beyond the window, was holding in his impatience for Sir William's response to his word of Hampden's death. When told of it, all that Sir William had done was turn away to the window, and there he had stayed these several minutes.
The better years of Joliffe's life had been spent as a traveling player, wandering England's roads, sometimes footsore, occasionally hungry, always homeless save for the cart that carried the band of players' few belongings. That he saw those as better years than this standing silent attendance on someone who paid him better than he'd ever been paid as a player told him nothing about himself he did not already know. But he also knew quite clearly the choices that had brought him to this and that he would likely make them again if he had to, given one thing and another.
But then, if ever he went back to being a traveling player, he'd now be able to afford a horse to ride and daily meals and forego the footsore and hungry part, which did add appeal to the possibility.
He was considering that and the small drift of a thin cloud across the window's view of sky when Sir William turned around and said, "I'm going to Ireland. My lord ofYork has to be warned."
That was so far aside from anything that Joliffe had expected that he said somewhat blankly, "About Hampden's death?" It had not seemed that great a matter. Except to Hampden, of course.
"No. Fastoif."
"Fastoif?" Joliffe echoed. "Sir John Fastoif?" Famed, like Matthew Gough, as a captain in the French war. Except Fastoif had seen what was coming far enough ahead that he had left the war, sold all his interests in France, and was now living comfortably and very rich in England.
"Him. Yes. You know there are to be commissions of oyer and terminer all over England to deal with all the troubles there've been these past months." Commissions of royal officers and other men appointed to hear reports of crimes and determine indictments. "Fastoif is named to the one for Norfolk and Suffolk, and he s sent me warning there's word been given—not official, not in writing, but with no doubt about what's meant—that the commissioners are to find out evidence against my lord of York."
Knowing the question was stupid even as it came out of his mouth, Joliffe blurted, "Evidence of what?"
"Of treason," Sir William said grimly. "That York stirred up all these uprisings and rebellions against the king this spring and summer past."
Joliffe held back startled exclaim against that; instead said with a steadiness he did not feel, "Treason. Allege it against him while he's in Ireland, beyond readily defending himself."
"Yes," Sir William said bitterly. He paced away from the window and across the room, tapping his fingertips on the desktop as he passed. "The charges would be laid and his property seized before he could do anything about it. Then he would be told to come back and face trial."
"And if he refused to walk into that trap, if he stayed safe in Ireland declaring his innocence, he would be charged with open rebellion and condemned anyway," Joliffe said. He turned to watch Sir William at his pacing. "Very smoothly done."
"Nor will Fastolf's commission be the only one that's been told." Sir William reached the far wall and turned back. "They've likely all been given to understand the same. Let even one of them 'find out' evidence against him ..." He tapped at the desk again as he passed. "... and he'll be charged with being traitor to the king. And that . . ." At the window again, Sir William turned and
Chapter 7
Again the tower room at Hunsdon and again Sir William Oldhall standing at the window, gazing out, his hands behind his back. He might have been no more than considering his fields where the grain was standing golden ripe and the harvest was begun.
More likely he was not.
Joliffe, standing behind him and across the room, able to see only sky beyond the window, was holding in his impatience for Sir William's response to his word of Hampden's death. When told of it, all that Sir William had done was turn away to the window, and there he had stayed these several minutes.
The better years of Joliffe's life had been spent as a traveling player, wandering England's roads, sometimes footsore, occasionally hungry, always homeless save for the cart that carried the band of players' few belongings. That he saw those as better years than this standing silent attendance on someone who paid him better than he'd ever been paid as a player told him nothing about himself he did not already know. But he also knew quite clearly the choices that had brought him to this and that he would likely make them again if he had to, given one thing and another.
But then, if ever he went back to being a traveling player, he'd now be able to afford a horse to ride and daily meals and forego the footsore and hungry part, which did add appeal to the possibility.
He was considering that and the small drift of a thin cloud across the window's view of sky when Sir William turned around and said, "I'm going to Ireland. My lord ofYork has to be warned."
That was so far aside from anything that Joliffe had expected that he said somewhat blankly, "About Hampden's death?" It had not seemed that great a matter. Except to Hampden, of course.
"No. Fastoif."
"Fastoif?" Joliffe echoed. "Sir John Fastoif?" Famed, like Matthew Gough, as a captain in the French war. Except Fastoif had seen what was coming far enough ahead that he had left the war, sold all his interests in France, and was now living comfortably and very rich in England.
"Him. Yes. You know there are to be commissions of oyer and terminer all over England to deal with all the troubles there've been these past months." Commissions of royal officers and other men appointed to hear reports of crimes and determine indictments. "Fastoif is named to the one for Norfolk and Suffolk, and he s sent me warning there's word been given—not official, not in writing, but with no doubt about what's meant—that the commissioners are to find out evidence against my lord of York."
Knowing the question was stupid even as it came out of his mouth, Joliffe blurted, "Evidence of what?"
"Of treason," Sir William said grimly. "That York stirred up all these uprisings and rebellions against the king this spring and summer past."
Joliffe held back startled exclaim against that; instead said with a steadiness he did not feel, "Treason. Allege it against him while he's in Ireland, beyond readily defending himself."
"Yes," Sir William said bitterly. He paced away from the window and across the room, tapping his fingertips on the desktop as he passed. "The charges would be laid and his property seized before he could do anything about it. Then he would be told to come back and face trial."
"And if he refused to walk into that trap, if he stayed safe in Ireland declaring his innocence, he would be charged with open rebellion and condemned anyway," Joliffe said. He turned to watch Sir William at his pacing. "Very smoothly done."
"Nor will Fastolf's commission be the only one that's been told." Sir William reached the far wall and turned back. "They've likely all been given to understand the same. Let even one of them 'find out' evidence against him ..." He tapped at the desk again as he passed. "... and he'll be charged with being traitor to the king. And that . . ." At the window again, Sir William turned and
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