Master Foliot had been entertaining and entertaining lavishly. I remembered the second armchair, the flask of wine, the two fine Venetian glass goblets. (I had presumed they were Venetian, so much of the finest glassware came from Italy. But what did I know?) An important customer he had claimed, but suddenly I began to wonder if that were really true. Could it possibly have been the man I later saw leaving the house in St Mary le Port Street, a man who might possibly be a Tudor agent? No, no! That was ridiculous! Everyone knew that Gilbert Foliot, close friend of the mayor and sheriff, a member of the Fraternity of the Shrine of St Mary Bellhouse and whose late wife had been a Herbert, was a loyal supporter of the House of York, none stauncher. And yet, as I had so recently been reminded, the setting aside of King Edward in favour of King Richard had played havoc with the allegiance of many Yorkists. And the vicious rumours now circulating of the death of young Edward and his brother must have alienated many more waverers who were still uncertain whether the substitution of uncle for nephew had been a good thing or no.
