A Queen's Spy by - (black authors fiction .TXT) 📖

“Shift over, Robby,” Jack said.

Robby obliged, joining Marc on another bench. Before Jack could sit down a cat jumped up next to Dan. Jack scooped a hand under the belly of the tabby mouser, and deposited him on the floor. The cat, deprived of the hope of tidbits from Dan, switched its attention instead to the newcomer. Jack, a scrap in his hand, threw it towards the cat.

Dan informed him that the Master was out, and that he didn’t know where he was. Jack settled for passing what meagre news he had collected from the men to Dan. On the whole, he was happy they would all stay where they were for a few more weeks, but after that, they would grow restless. The only problem he had come across was that Alan had duped Froggy into allowing him to use all of the group’s money on a dice game. Froggy was ready to leave; he was so terrified of the Master’s wrath. Jack had managed to replace some of the lost silver, and informed them curtly that they were farm labourers, so they knew where the remainder would come from.

Alan, however, Jack had spoken to alone. He had ignored Jack’s rebuke, telling Jack that he was no worse than him. Jack was renowned for being a willing participant in any game where coins swapped hands, and it was also known that he often lost heavily. Alan had no way of knowing that Jack’s most recent losses had led him to enter a deal with a pawn broker, and to Richard almost losing his life on Peter Hardwood’s sword. Faced with his own error in another, Jack had felt his temper rise. Alan had turned away; he held the bastard brother in no great esteem. Rational thought had become lost to Jack’s mind. Wheeling the heavier man round with a brutal grip on his shoulder, he had delivered an accurate and teeth-cracking punch. Alan had no chance to deflect the blow or lessen its impact and had been sent staggering backwards, footing lost, ending in a heap at Jack’s feet.

“Must have been a bit of a shock to Alan then,” Dan observed. He had no particular liking for the man. While he respected his skill with a knife, trouble started too easily around him. He had set himself up as a minor leader who regarded himself as below the Master but somewhere definitely above Jack, for whom he harboured a dislike he did not bother to hide. That was probably a mistake, Dan reflected, for while the Master nursed his temper and used it harshly but sparingly, Jack’s ruled his head all too often. Alan would bear a grudge; it would remain to be seen how he exercised it.

“I’m sure it was, but the bugger deserved it. Anything of interest happen here while I’ve been away?” Jack said, accepting a lump of fresh, warm, dark bread from the loaf Dan held.

“Ah well, let me see. Master’s horse threw a shoe.” He eyed Jack, a slight smile on his face. “But not his rider again.” Jack looked innocently back at Dan. “Mat’s down at the blacksmith’s now.” He paused. “Then there was Byrne back yesterday. Nothing’s happening yet by the looks of it.” Dan stopped when he heard the voice in the doorway.

“Robby!” Richard said. It was only one word but it was enough to make Robby stand, his meal forgotten in front of him.

Insolence and anger in the form of Richard leant dangerously against the doorframe, darkening the room. Robby said nothing; his jaw moved as if trying to form a forgotten word, hands clasping and unclasping before him.

“Struck dumb?” the hard voice asked. “That’s a shame, for now you will be unable to offer me a defence.”

Robby’s eyes widened. “I…”

Richard moved from the doorway to face Robby across the table.

“I will give you a chance.” The cross of the knife’s hilt rose between them. Cool fingers released their slender hold and the point embedded itself in the table with a soft thud. “Take the knife before me and I shall judge you innocent.”

“And…and if I don’t?” Robby stepped back, but his way was blocked by Marc.

The smile Robby received in reply had no humour in it. The Master simply placed both of his hand’s palms down on the table, waiting.

Licking his lips, Robby wiped his sweating hands on the front of his jacket, then moved to match the Master’s stance.

Jack stopped breathing, eyes not leaving his brother’s impassive face.

“Whenever you like,” the Master invited.

Robby breathed heavily, his eyes dropped to the knife.

There was a flash of movement and a second soft, sinister thud. Even Jack found he winced at it. The knife was in Robby’s hand, pinning it through flesh and bone to the table.

†

The latch lifted. Dan shouldered the door hard, forcing the chair behind it to squeal across the boards. He found Richard flat on the floor, his face within folded arms, a wine pitcher next to him.

“Go away,” Richard said quietly.

“Get up.” Dan kicked the wine jug, sending a fuming spray of liquid over the prone man. “I knew you were drunk when you took Robby on, and I see you’ve come here to finish.”

“I said go away.”

Dan grunted. A huge hand scooped an arm from the floor and began to pull Richard to his feet. He was not as drunk as he had assumed. The lithe form twisted free, moving quickly to stand a pace away. “Ha! I don’t need your help.”

Dan dropped back and fell into the chair. He spoke sadly, “You have a lot left to learn.”

“You wish to teach me a lesson?” Richard laughed. “What in? Humility, yet that is not for me. Perhaps honour? No, that was beaten from me long since. Surely you could not think morality? Too late, the corrupt cannot become pure. Or maybe faith, possibly faith, for I confess I have none. Could it be charity, could it? No, I have had enough of charity’s acid kisses. Then it must be hope, oh no…” He faltered and laughed harshly. “Hope then, that inspires the spirit, holding the promise of trust, belief, confidence…” An arm outstretched caught the fireplace. He sagged against it, and from there he dropped to his knees. “Am I such a despairing, desperate, lamenting fool? Ruined and undone? For hope is most surely dead.”

Dan sighed. “You’re drunk.”

“Very.” The voice was weary and resigned. “You came to find out why Robby ended up with a knife through his hand?”

“I did.” Dan’s voice was cold.

“Ask Marc and leave me alone.”

“I will ask him, but I’ve a mind to sit here a while,” Dan settled back easily into the only chair in the room.

“Please, please, leave me to my own torment, for pity’s sake,” Richard begged.

Dan sighed but stayed where he was until Richard succumbed to a drunken, uneasy slumber. Throwing a cover over the younger man he retrieved the paper he had waited patiently for.

“God no…” He spoke on a breath to the quiet room. Folding the confession, he took it into his care. No wonder the lad was blind drunk.

†

“Robby will you hold your bloody hand still!” Jack grasped Robby’s wrist firmly and pulled it towards him.

Robby yelped. “Be careful will you!”

Blood had seeped through the rag wrapped around the hand that was balled in a tight fist around the wound.

“It’s you own fault. The eighth commandment might be thou shalt not steal, but you know what the eleventh is, don’t you?” Jack roughly pulled the filthy material from Robby’s hand.

“No, what is it?” Robby said through gritted teeth.

“Don’t get caught. How did he find out anyway?” Jack asked, examining the hole in Robby’s hand with a critical eye. Blood was still trickling from the wound, but luckily the blade had been a slender one, sliding between bone and sinew and the flesh was not badly cut.

“I tried to sell it,” Robby confessed.

“Oh for God’s sake, that’s a breach of the twelfth then as well – thou shalt not be bloody stupid. Turn your hand over, there that’s right.” Jack pressed the hand flat, and Robby winced.

“At least it’s your left hand,” Jack observed.

“Well the Master would hardly make it my right, would he? I’d be no bloody use to him then, would I?” Robby observed morosely

“You’re lucky he didn’t turn you off,” Jack replied as he began to rebind the wound after plugging the holes with a greasy cream held in place with wild garlic leaves.

“We could do without him, we don’t need him, none of the lads like him. Why don’t you take over?” Robby said, watching Jack.

“I would have turned you off,” Jack replied, his eyes on the task before him.

“Well maybe I wouldn’t have been forced to steal in the first place if you’d been in charge,” Robby whined. “If he’d pay me what I’m worth then I wouldn’t have had to steal, would I?”

“Robby, he pays you enough. It’s not his fault you lost half your wages to Mat at cards is it?” Jack replied.

“Mat cheats, it wasn’t my fault,” Robby spat back.

“No, he doesn’t, Dan told me you were drunk. Mat’s good, learn your lesson and don’t try and beat him unless you are sober.” Jack tied a final wrap of reed mace round the injured hand to keep everything in place, securing it with a knot under Robby’s thumb.

“God, that stinks!” Robby commented, his nose wrinkling.

“No more than you do,” Jack observed as he finished his task and pushed Robby’s hand back towards him.

†

Dan returned to Richard’s room early the next morning. Richard lay, head pillowed on his arm where he had slept, beneath crumpled covers in front of the now dead fire.

“You know about Robert then?” Dan asked.

“I knew. Surely you cannot be so naïve as to believe Robert’s pure hatred springs from some childhood incident?”

“No…” Dan considered his answer. “I thought it was because of Lady Elizabeth.”

“Oh no, Robert’s hatred is for selfish reasons. He would not trouble himself over things that affected him so little, although I admit it didn’t help.” Richard rubbed hands over his face. “There is some humour, is there not?”

“Is there?” Dan asked sarcastically. “Go on, tell me what happened and then I’ll share what I know.”

Richard looked for a moment as if he would resist, but then began, surprising Dan. “I went back home, penitent and most humble. My father knew I was not guilty of assaulting Elizabeth. It was well known by then that I was Seymour’s scapegoat. It was Seymour who laid his filthy hands on her—not me—but accusations like that don’t bury themselves easily and I am sure there were plenty who chose to believe it. Anyway, my father uneasily accepted me until he could find some way of disposing of me. Robert…well, Robert set out to encourage me to leave sooner, and lost half of his ear for the trouble.” There was a bitter smile on his face. “I suffered a good beating as well. Steven was the family priest, Lord bless the fool, he told me then that it pained him to see Robert, base born bastard that he is, heir—and a poor one at that. Simple fool! He thought the truth would triumph and took his case to my father, told him that he knew his wrong and that he