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

cool and coarse against his cheek. Moving by touch, he edged closer to the worn corner, extending his arm to the invisible. The northern facing wall was subject to the full punishment metered out by the weather and his fingers felt the scooped-out sandstone blocks, eroded away under pressure from the wind, and the slits between the blocks where the mortar had crumbled. A good hold secured with his left hand, his fingers locked into the stone, he moved to step around the corner. It was the trickiest part of the journey; his right foot was unable to find secure purchase on the smooth west-facing wall.

The north wall provided no window embrasure to apply his weight to but offered cracks, dusty with crumbling masonry. He rubbed his foot in the unseen joint, seeking a more secure hold, and heard pebbles skittering from their lofty perch. He moved to the left, allowing room for Richard to join him on the makeshift stairs, smiling a silent greeting as his brother rounded the corner, and together they began a careful descent.

Richard’s progress was quicker, his moves made with a confidence born of familiarity, giving his brother the notion that he had travelled this route before. Jack was slower, more cautious, testing the firmness of cracks and fissures offered by the wall before trusting his full weight to their temporary keeping. He dropped finally into the long grass where his brother waited. The vertical descent had brought them to the foot of the mighty Norman defences outside the security of the curtain wall, and no longer within the stone embrace of Hazeldene.

It was a mile and a half directly across the fields and Richard led them quickly to their destination. Dressed in folded grey, the incandescent disc of the moon showed little light to reveal their passing.

Finally, Richard signed Jack to stop, pulling him down low. Before them, Assingham was picked out in relief, depthless black against the dulled pearl night. The only detail not lost to the dark was due to a defective shutter from where leaked the pale yellow light from a taper.

Richard, dropping to sit in comfort, turned to Jack. “Well, this is Byrne’s chosen spot. What do you think?”

A rustle of stems as Jack settled beside him. “I am, in more than one sense, in the dark.”

“Byrne has been instructed to relay the messages, messages which will support Northumberland’s cause. To throw the hounds a foreign scent we are using Assingham to relay messages. With such as Byrne at the helm, if this venture succeeds it will be a bloody miracle that the Pope should be interested in. He fears to forge the links too firmly in case the day goes Mary’s way and has shirked his task to me. Any questions?”

Jack merely shook his head in response.

“Well, dear brother, what you don’t know is that Assingham’s Lord is a staunch supporter of Mary and, I believe, currently at that lady’s side.”

“This is not sounding so good,” Jack commented. “In fact I think it sounds like more trouble than its worth. Why not have your meetings in the forest over there?” Jack asked pointing in the direction of the trees he knew were there but he could not see.

“Because he pays, so, unfortunately, he calls the tune, and the tune – as unpleasant as those created by his wife – is here,” Richard said dryly. “It does, however, have one or two curious advantages, doesn’t it?”

Jack couldn’t see what advantages there might be but didn’t voice the thought.

“So, who do you suppose will take the day, Mary or the Duke?” Richard changed the subject.

Jack shook his head in the dark. “I know not and care not as long as we get paid.”

“Point well noted, although your desire may be thwarted if the Duke loses.” He paused long enough to give Jack time to absorb that. “If you were to lay a bet, where would you place your coin?”

Richard’s enquiry was a little too lightly put. Jack’s guard was raised; the question was not as idle as it seemed. “Can’t say. I know something of the Duke, but what strengths Mary has I don’t know.”

“I agree,” Richard said, shocking Jack, and pleasing him, with his concurrence.

“Who would you choose?” Jack asked, interested in his brother’s thoughts, and wondering if for once he would share them. There was no reply, only Richard’s laughter, and Jack turned from interested to irritated.

“Both,” Richard said after his laughter had subsided. “Come on, let us deliver a message.”

Deft fingers produced a small square of neatly folded parchment, dazzling brightly against the grey of the night. Richard did not share the cause of his amusement. Pushing himself up and beckoning Jack to join him, they set out to Assingham.

Later that night, after Richard and Jack returned to Hazeldene, there was a fire in the empty stalls in the stables. The alarm was quickly raised and all the animals were safely removed, but before the fire was put out it took with it a good section of the roof and the end wall collapsed.

†

 

Anne De Bernay had been working on the household accounts since early morning. Tired, and with a back stiffened by immobility, she laid the pen to rest and straightened from the desk, groaning. A satisfied smile beheld the ink drying on the last entry in the accounts as glossed wet faded to matte black. The book closed, she laid it on one side of her desk. It was at that point that Gavin came to announce Judith Byrne’s unexpected arrival.

The mean hall provided for its owners and guests with six high-backed chairs pulled in a semi-circle around the fire. The wall they made providing the only seclusion from the rest of the hall, which, by necessity, was where all ate and slept, save its lady and absent lord. Judith was there now, her embroidered skirts arranged to spill in neat and even folds over her knees, silver threaded flowers finding themselves picked out in the firelight. Judith did not stand to greet Anne; it had taken too long to arrange her dress in such a fashion as to avoid most of the filth on the floor.

“I am here to ask a favour, Anne. You can say no. I don’t mean to impose on our friendship, but part of our stables burnt down last night,” Judith said, carefully pulling her riding gloves from her fingers.

“I am sorry to hear that. How can I help? If it’s labour you need, or materials – we have plentiful supplies of timber, not that Peter has added Markham Woods to the Assingham estate, certainly…”

Judith interrupted. “Nothing so costly to you, my dear. We need some space.” Judith saw the puzzled look on Anne’s face and continued.

“Edward is having the stables rebuilt, but on a different plan. They were too small for our needs and much in need of renovation as it was, so Edward wants to pull the remains down and start again. Well, it was my idea really and Edward liked it. We would much appreciate it if you could spare some space in your paddocks. I noticed they were half empty, and if you could it would save us much trouble. Don’t worry about feed. Edward said he’d send up one of his men to look after them, plus a cart of food so it wouldn’t cost you anything.” Judith stopped suddenly, convinced of a positive result.

“We have plenty of space, and I do not suppose a few more horses around would make any difference. Of course I don’t mind, Judith.” Anne smiled.

 

†

 

Richard left Hazeldene shortly after Judith had departed for Assingham and headed into the forest. He approached a clearing where a stone circle from another age still showed through the briar of the forest floor. In the centre another horse was tethered loosely. Its rider sat on top of one of the druids’ stones, impatiently tapping a whip against a riding boot and occasionally cast his eyes around, expectant of a visitor.

“Well, you’re Derby’s man, I believe. What a pleasant morning it is, do you not agree?” said Richard conversationally.

“Do you have it?” the man snapped. “The time is late. I had thought you were not going to arrive. I have a hard ride ahead of me, so if you will hand it over I would be on my way.”

“Oh yes, I have it.” Richard handed over a sealed square of white parchment. The other took it without paying any attention to its contents.

“Next time, see if you can arrive a little earlier, man. Otherwise, I shall have words with your master.” Mounting his horse, he swiftly disappeared from view.

Richard watched him leave, gazing thoughtfully after him and made no effort to depart for some minutes. “I own no master save my poor self,” he said, his only audience the trees. The network, albeit small, was established.

Messages were received from Whickham and left in simple code for collection by the other conspirators’ lackeys. On arrival from Whickham, the man was directed to deposit them in the stables, as directed by Richard who intercepted all communications, as he must, to keep Edward informed.

Richard was also in communication with Derby, who was both a sworn supporter of Mary and a man very interested in receiving letters from an informant in the Duke’s camp. Eager to cover all possible angles, Derby had agreed to send regular messengers to meet with Fitzwarren’s man and collect what information he had. Richard took what pieces of information he gleaned from Whickham and his own network, elaborated on them, and penned letters to Derby. That was how Mary, soon to be Queen of England, first heard the name Richard Fitzwarren, offering what small service he could along with his ever-lasting loyalty.

The first news that Northumberland’s supporters were preparing to back his cause with physical force was no news at all to Derby and Mary. They had their own sources and more than a few of the powerful were less than confident of the Duke’s success. Viewing him as a less than desirable leader, which was what he aimed to be: a king without a crown.

 

†

 

Catherine, returning from the kitchens, saw a man she did not recognise unloading a cart drawn by a tired, dusty-looking horse.

“M’lady.” The fair-haired man said respectfully as he saw her approach.

“Has Lord Byrne sent you over from Hazeldene?” Catherine asked; her mother had told her of the fire.

“Yes, M’lady,” the man replied.

“When are the horses coming?” Catherine asked. She was harbouring a secret hope that there might be a suitable replacement for Clover that she could lay claim to while they were housed at Assingham.

“The horses are already here. We brought them over early this morning.”

“Oh, I see.” Catherine walked round the cart and entered the stable, eager to see the horses. Where only three pairs of nostrils would normally have appeared from the stalls, there were now eight. A pair of enquiring eyes looked down at her as, open-handed, she offered some food from the hay box. A gentle, velvet mouth rubbed across her palm to take the offering. The whiskered skin brushing her hand made her giggle.

“You want some more?” Catherine put her head on one side to match the horse’s own attitude. “Here then, but don’t think I’ve a mind to stand here and feed you all day.” The horse returned for a third helping, the large nose snorting as