London - Edward Rutherfurd [193]
And then there was the other matter, which she had not yet told him about.
So when Ida heard someone in the courtyard, it was her husband she was expecting. It was with surprise, therefore, that, a moment later, she saw a different figure entirely.
It was Silversleeves. She had never seen him like this before.
Bull strode rapidly past St Paul’s. He was wearing a cloak of the deepest blue, lined around the collar with ermine. His broad face was set in a bluff expression that gave little away, but his heart was singing. Everything had gone to plan.
The meeting of the aldermen had taken place in a chamber behind closed doors. There had been careful discussion, of course; several strategies had been suggested. But the group of seven had been well prepared. Months of working discreetly on the minds of their colleagues had now come to fruition. Their arguments had been cogent. They knew what to do, and how. The meeting had finally agreed to place everything in their hands, and at this moment a messenger was quietly slipping out through Ludgate.
Only one other thing had been agreed. If the strategy of the seven was to work, then discretion was advisable. The bargaining position must not be revealed. Absolute silence about the meeting would need to be maintained. “And then,” Bull muttered with deep satisfaction, “the day will be ours.”
He was surprised, when he reached home, to find Pentecost Silversleeves awaiting him. A glance told him that the Exchequer clerk was in a sorry state. He had been pacing up and down the courtyard for almost an hour. Rushing up to the merchant now, he begged him for news.
Though his face showed nothing, the merchant thought quickly.
“You are on your way to Longchamp?” he asked. Silversleeves nodded. “Then you may tell him,” he said carefully, “that London is loyal.”
Minutes later, the relieved Exchequer clerk was on his way to the Tower, leaving Bull alone with his thoughts.
Did I lie? Bull wondered. No. No Bull ever lied. “I just said London was loyal,” he said out loud.
He had not said loyal to what.
It was shortly after dark when young David Bull saw the strange little procession. All afternoon he had been watching from Ludgate for signs of the approaching forces, but though there was a rumour that they were close to Westminster, he had not seen them. At dusk the gates had been shut.
So who were the party of twenty hooded horsemen being led quickly through the quiet streets by men with torches and lanterns? He saw them near St Paul’s and followed them curiously down the incline towards the Walbrook. At the London Stone, the procession paused. Three of the riders went up a lane opposite; some of the others dismounted. Still curious, David drew closer. There was no one else in the street. The horsemen were clustered together and he did not quite dare approach them, but after a moment he noticed a large figure holding a lantern detach himself from the group and go towards the shadowy lane. Running up behind him, David touched his arm and softly enquired, “Can you tell me, sir, who are these men?” And was amazed, as the figure turned round, to see in the glow of the lantern the large, heavy-set face of his father.
“Go home!” Bull hissed to his startled son, and then, in a low voice, “I’ll tell you about it later.”
Obediently David turned to go. Unable to resist, however, he hesitated for a moment. “But who are they, Father?” he whispered.
He was truly astonished when his father muttered, “It’s Prince John, you fool. Now go.”
It had been a relief to Ida to hear that her husband and his fellow merchants were loyal. Alone that afternoon, she had even quietly congratulated herself. Clearly, her influence had begun to do some good. Crude merchant though he was, there was decency in Bull. She would express her approval that evening.
There was also the other matter to discuss, she thought. It would be well to talk about that too.
At first, then, when David came in that evening and told her what had happened, she could not quite