‘Not that I know of. As I said, it was hushed up after the Tudors came to the throne. For Henry VII married Edward IV’s daughter, the present King’s mother. There was an Act of Richard’s -’

‘The Titulus Regulus.’

‘You know of that?’ He looked at me with sudden concern. ‘I am not sure we should be talking of such things, even now. I have not thought of it for years.’

‘You must be one of the few who remember it.’

‘Yes. Not many reach eighty-six,’ he said proudly. ‘But it was only rumour, even then.’

I got up suddenly. ‘Sir, I have just remembered something. I was so interested in our talk, I forgot I have an appointment.’

Brother Swann looked disappointed. ‘Must you go so soon?’

‘I fear so.’

‘Well, perhaps I shall see you again. I am often here in the mornings, by Brother Davies’s good fire.’ He looked at me, sudden sadness in his eyes. ‘He indulges me. I know I talk too much and distract people. But you see, sir, all my contemporaries are dead.’

I took his hand, thin and light as a bird’s claw, and pressed it. ‘You have a store of memories to be proud of, brother. Thank you.’ And with that I went out. My head was in a mighty whirl.

Chapter Thirty-eight

I WALKED RAPIDLY BACK through Hull, my head down against the buffeting wind. My mind was racing, making calculations, connections.

So I had been right all along when I hazarded to Barak that Edward IV might have been illegitimate, and Blaybourne his father. But Blaybourne had not been done away with as old Brother Swann surmised; he had survived to write a confession on his deathbed. I remembered those few words I had read, in that rough uneducated hand: ‘This is the true confession of me, Edward Blaybourne, that I make in contemplation of death, that the world may know of my great sin…’ He must have died before 1483, when old Cecily Neville made her announcement, or, as Brother Swann had said, surely she would have produced him as evidence of her claim.

And in the Tower, back in April after the conspiracy was discovered, someone had confessed on the rack to the existence of those papers, but had not known where they were nor who had them. The conspirators’ policy of limiting information to those who needed to know had served them well. Bernard Locke, taken to the Tower, did know that Oldroyd had the papers, but ironically they had feared to torture him because he had connections and because the evidence against him was thin. Meanwhile they had arrested Broderick. My guess was that he did know something about the papers, but they had been unable to get him to talk in York and decided to bring him south.

And what of the other documents in that box? Probably more evidence about Blaybourne, to support his claim. Like the Titulus. And that family tree was a sort of aide-memoire. I asked myself who knew about the Blaybourne story now. The King and the Privy Council would have known for months. When I told Maleverer that Oldroyd had spoken the name Blaybourne before he had died, he had taken it to the Duke of Suffolk. The Duke knew what that name meant. He would have told Maleverer then. That explained his saying that it all went back to Cecily Neville. I remembered the rest of Oldroyd’s words: ‘No child of Henry and Catherine Howard can ever be true heir. She knows.’ I stopped dead in the street. Of course. He meant no child of theirs could be true heir, not because a child of Catherine Howard’s might be Culpeper’s, but because Henry was the grandson of an archer. And when he said, ‘She knows,’ he had meant Jennet Marlin, who had just knocked him off his ladder. ‘This is not about Catherine Howard at all,’ I said aloud.

IN OUR ROOM AT the inn Barak was stumping around; he had abandoned his stick, too soon in my opinion, and was limping around the chamber, wincing as he put his foot to the floor.

‘Be careful,’ I said.

‘It’s all right if I put only a little weight on it!’ He took a step forward, winced again and sat down heavily on the bed. ‘Fuck it!’

‘Jack,’ I said, sitting on my own bed next to his, ‘I have found something out.’

‘What?’ There was irritation in his tone, but when I told him what Brother Swann had told me, and of what I had deduced on the way back, he whistled.

‘Jesu.’ He was silent a moment, letting it all sink in, then he looked at me. ‘So it’s true, the King is truly the grandson of a Kentish archer.’

‘That’s how it looks.’

His eyes were wide. ‘And the King knows – he’ll have known since the existence of these papers came out.’

‘And will have been told I found the papers, and lost them. No wonder he wanted to hurt me at Fulford. And no wonder the rebels were desperate to get those documents, if Blaybourne’s confession is in there.’

‘Yet Bernard Locke wanted Jennet Marlin to destroy them, to save his skin.’

‘Yes. It’s an irony.’

‘But how the hell did that confession get from Blaybourne in Kent, assuming that’s where he went back to, into the hands of the Yorkshire rebels? And if it’s – what – over sixty years old, why only use it now? Why not during the Pilgrimage of Grace five years ago?’

I stroked my chin. ‘Robert Aske and the commons did not want to overthrow the King then, only Cromwell and Cranmer. And maybe they did not have the papers then.’

He looked at me keenly. ‘So you think this has nothing to do with Catherine Howard and Culpeper at all?’

‘No. The fact that Jennet Marlin killed him certainly puts a new light on Oldroyd’s words. When he said, “She knows,” I think he meant Jennet Marlin.’

He heaved a sigh of relief. ‘Then we’re in the clear. Tammy will be mightily relieved when I tell her.’ He thought a moment. ‘Will you tell Maleverer what the old lawyer said?’

‘There’s no point. He knows about Blaybourne already. No, there is no reason to do anything. We can forget about it, and about Catherine Howard, and go home.’ I shook my head. ‘Taking two dangerous secrets with us, about Blaybourne and the Queen. But we must keep our mouths shut.’

‘I wonder if the conspirators have those papers now.’

‘Who knows?’ I waved a hand. ‘If so, let them do what they will, let them print a thousand copies of Blaybourne’s confession and post them round the streets of York and London. I do not care any more.’

‘You could perhaps tell Cranmer what you suspect about Jennet Marlin never having the papers,’ he mused. ‘It might be of some help to them in unravelling the conspiracy.’

‘I’ll think about it.’

‘You should do it.’

‘I’ll think on it,’ I repeated irritably. I realized that despite the fact they were mostly papists, part of me was with the conspirators. ‘Anyway, Jesu knows when we’ll get back,’ I added, nodding at the window. It had started raining again, a high wind blowing big drops against the pane.

‘We’ll get there eventually, I suppose. Back to Lincoln’s Inn.’

I looked at him. ‘You are still coming back to work with me? You haven’t changed your mind?’

He nodded. ‘I still want to come back. It’s time to settle down. I shall be seeing Tammy,’ he added, giving me a challenging look.

I hesitated. ‘I know she still blames me in some way for that woman’s death. Oh, she is making herself friendly again, it would not do to make an enemy of the man who employs you, but I can see she still blames me. It is not fair.’

Barak looked uncomfortable. ‘Tammy finds it hard to accept Jennet Marlin is dead. She knows you are not to blame, but – women are illogical.’

I grunted. ‘Tamasin can be clever enough when it suits her. Like faking that robbery. Like making up to me now, because she knows on which side her bread is buttered.’ I wondered whether to tell him about the rosary, but thought, he will only believe the story that she has it because it was her grandmother’s. True or not, he will take her side, for that is what people in love do.