The Fate of Princes by Paul Doherty Page B

possible and report to me by letter, if his journey home be hampered.
    After Belknap had left, I met once again with the Duke of Norfolk. We discussed general matters, particularly the conspiracies in London and the surrounding shires. Howard was insistent he move back into East Anglia where he could more easily call up levies. We considered the possibility of arresting Buckingham but I agreed with the Duke that such a venture would be highly dangerous and quite impossible to execute. Instead, we decided letters should be sent north to the King, advising him of Buckingham’s treachery and the growing discontent in the south.
    I hung around London for days kicking my heels whilst waiting for the information I had requested fromNorfolk. At last it came. Roll after roll of coroners’ reports, listing those people found dead in the city between the 27th July and the beginning of August. I had chosen those dates deliberately; the man I was seeking had either fled from London or, on the basis that he knew too much about the secret plans of the great ones of the kingdom, would have been brutally murdered. The lists made sombre reading: men and women killed by sickness, accidents or some fierce affray – but most were named, well-known in their wards, whilst those who were classed as strangers were too old to fit the description of the man I was looking for. Eventually, I noticed one. A young man, a stranger, whose throat had been cut, the corpse dumped in a small alleyway off Cheapside.
    I promptly sought an interview with the Duke of Norfolk, now finishing his preparations to leave the capital. He greeted my arrival with obvious annoyance. He was tired of answering questions about a matter he did not give a fig for whilst, as he said, all around us were seething hotbeds of conspiracy.
    ‘My Lord,’ I explained, ‘I realise this matter does not concern you but it does me and, I must remind you, also the King. Is there anyone in your household, one of your retinue besides yourself, who could recognise Slaughter?’
    ‘Why?’ The Duke ceased whatever he was doing and came close. ‘Why, Lovell? What is the matter?’
    ‘I have examined the coroners’ rolls and believe I have found the corpse of a man who matches Slaughter’s description. He was found on the night of August 2nd near Cheapside and has been interred in a pauper’s grave in St. Botolph’s churchyard outside Newgate. I intend to exhume that body, my Lord, and I want someone to view the corpse.’
    Norfolk shrugged, and calling his servant, asked him to send for John Howstead, the sub-controller of thehousehold. Howstead was a young, dour, bitter-faced fellow who greeted my request with dark looks and bitter muttering. However, when the Duke rapped out an order, the fellow grudgingly agreed to accompany me.

Seven
    I remember it was a hot day. The streets were packed and the stench was so offensive I kept a nosegay to my face, as much to ward the smells off as provide a disguise. I had also arranged for two workmen from Crosby Hall to accompany three of my retainers, placed a good few paces behind me as protection against any attack. It was a long, hot walk, down Cheapside through the offal and rubbish of the Shambles, past Newgate prison to St. Botolph’s Church. A dark area of the city. Many of the prostitutes who plied their trade in the locality stood in darkened doorways, hair dyed, faces heavily painted, calling out lewd invitations to us as we passed. Howstead, his face plum-coloured with embarrassment, kept up muttered complaints but eventually shut up when I stopped and glared menacingly at him.
    The priest of St. Botolph’s answered my pounding at his door. At first he was going to refuse, his poxed, sallow features suffused with righteous indignation. He scratched his shoulder-length, greasy hair and considered my request. Finally, I produced both my dagger and the general warrant from the King. The fellow quickly agreed and, after consulting a book