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

to make the first moves in his bid for the throne.

The physicians who had attended Edward were secured in locked rooms in the palace, guarded by men handpicked from Northumberland’s household. They had no need to fear for their lives, they would be released when news of Edward’s death finally broke. A heavy guard remained on the royal chambers and Edward’s personal servants were secured inside his private rooms, also unable to leave.

The success of the plan revolved around ensuring the routine of the past weeks continued, food was sent for and empty dishes were returned under the watchful gaze of Northumberland’s most loyal officers. Laundry went out in woven baskets and fresh snow-white linen returned. His physicians, sworn to silence, were escorted from the rooms they occupied to Edward’s suite where they sat on hard chairs in an ante room until such time as they were escorted back again. They were instructed to keep up the ruse until they received a message from Northumberland.

The news, however, did leak. One of Northumberland’s men had been heavily bribed. He had little opportunity to get a message out from the palace, instead he devised a way to send a signal. In Edward’s bedchamber the hangings had been drawn around the sides of the bed so the corpse could not be seen. The man gave the servants blunt orders to extinguish the fires and open the windows to make the room as cold as possible to preserve the King’s flesh and stop it from putrefying.

The three full length glass paned windows were pushed open to admit the cold winter air, the agreed upon sign to those watching that the King had breathed his last. The young king had been dead less than an hour before the news of it began its rapid journey across England.

Mary was asleep but soon the house was alive with tapers and fires. The courtyard was lit by torches in brackets as men led sleepy horses from the stables to dispatch vital messages to inform Mary’s loyal followers that the time was now.

†

 

In the dark, time is difficult to calculate, especially if the moon cannot be seen to provide guidance as to the passing of the hours. Catherine had no idea how long she had lain in the loft. The stable roof, she was surprised to find, was warmer than she had thought, and several times she had to stop herself from getting just too comfortable and falling asleep.

When a man came crawling through the hole made by the removed planking at the back of the empty stall, followed quickly by a second man, Catherine was instantly alert. She had a perfect view of the vacant stall and watched as they moved swiftly to the security of darkness in an unoccupied box. They had disappeared so far into the shadows that, after a time, Catherine was unsure if they were still there; there seemed to be no movement and the horses were surprisingly still. It was some time before three more arrived, less carefully than the first two, and with no fear of being observed. The three stood in the stall propped against the partition wall, but their low mutterings were not decipherable from the distance of her lofty perch.

Then one of the first to arrive spoke from the darkness. “Well, gentlemen, good evening.”

The effect was physical. Catherine’s eyes widened and the breath caught painfully in her throat; immobile she watched, transfixed. The three men turned instantly, seeking the speaker.

“Fitzwarren,” one of the later arrivals said, “I hear our plans have changed. So when do we move?”

“Tomorrow,” Richard replied. “Assingham is an easy target with women and old men. If the work is done right there will be no escapees to run and tell of the happenings here. I will lead the advance as planned; everything is as we agreed. Geoffrey, you will follow us as arranged?”

Geoffrey Byrne, Edward’s son, inclined his head in confirmation.

“So, it’s come; the King is dead,” one of the other three, darkly dressed, voiced what everyone was thinking.

There was a quick guarded conversation amongst the three. “We meet tomorrow, then.”

The business of the night concluded, the three left through the back of the stall and Catherine heard the noise of horses moving away into the distance. Richard also appeared to be standing quietly listening for the retreat of the visitors before moving to leave himself. His companion moved from the shadows to join him.

Catherine lay unmoving in the dark, listening to the last retreating horse.

Assingham to be taken by force! The King dead! Tired though she was, sleep was beyond her as she tried to think what to do, for even now that she was aware of their intent, she could find no plan of action that would frustrate it.

 

†

 

His brother’s apology and, for once, openness, had fired Jack’s determination, and he had made up his mind about something that had plagued him all afternoon: Robby. He was going to find out what was being planned and stop it.

Jack found him easily, woke him and pulled him, half asleep, outside and into the shadows near the kitchens. Robby rubbed the sleep from his eyes and swayed a little, the evening’s ale having not fully left him.

“Robby! Robby!” Jack gave him a good shake.

“God, Jack, what do you want? What’s happened?” Robby groaned.

“Nothing as yet, I want to know what Alan’s up to?” Jack demanded.

“I told you earlier that Alan said just to wait. I can’t tell you anything more than that. Is that what you got me up for?” Robby was getting angry.

Jack ignored Robby’s irritation. “Come on, there’s no harm in telling me, is there? It’ll be done in a day. I want to know what's happening. We all need to know when to act.” But Jack was not fooling Robby, who took a step back.

“I dunno. I dunno. I’m not too sure I can trust you. So leave it, Jack, I’m not going to say,” Robby hissed.

Jack smiled. “Robby, ah… no, Robby.” Jack quickly caught hold of the man’s arm as he made to duck past him. “Tell me and I’ll let you go. I’ll say nothing to Alan or Pierre, but if you don’t…”

Robby understood the threat, but the terror of what might happen to him at Alan’s hands was worse than his fear of Jack, and he writhed against the grip. He was no match for Jack and in a few moments he found himself face down in the yard with the weight of the other man on top of him.

“Now,” Jack spoke through clenched teeth, “tell me.”

A break in the arm just below the elbow encouraged Robby to tell Jack everything he wanted to know, the pain of shattered bone too much.

Jack set off to put an end to Alan’s insurrection, reasoning that it was the route he would have used later in the day anyway, so if Robby had not spoken the truth, he could continue and carry out Richard’s bidding.

 

†

 

Hal and Spratty knew the road he would take. They knew him as one of Harry’s household, tied now to a worthless master, Richard Fitzwarren, and not as the bastard brother of the same. He was not their goal, but a goodly prize, and one which, with sufficient persuasion, would lead them to Robert’s own brother.

Alan had set the trap for Jack, not for the Master. He reasoned that this way he would get rid both of them. He’d told Robby to let Jack in on his plans and had guessed rightly that Jack would beat the rest from Robby to protect his worthless brother. From Jack, Hal and Spratty would find the Master, and once he was gone no one would stand in Alan’s way. He didn’t tell the others that Jack was to be the first target, he knew many of the men liked the Master’s bastard brother.

Chapter Eleven

 

†

 

Jack saw them before they had recognised him as their target. They were Harry's men, mounted and waiting, near enough where Robby had said they would be. Jack knew he was right when both of them pulled their horses together and blocked the road, steel drawn, watching him intently.

Bringing his mare to a stop and holding her on a short rein he cast his eyes around for more, but it seemed there were just the two in front. The man on the right began to advance. Jack pressed his heels into the soft flanks and she obligingly stepped backwards down the track. Only a dozen paces, but it had lengthened the distance between the two men. If the one before Jack realised that he now faced him on his own it did not show in his visage, which was creased with eager delight.

Jack’s gaze switched between the short blade he held and the man’s face. He could only pitch a swing if he brought his horse to the right of Jack’s. It was a matter of position and only one of them had ridden in a melee.

Jack tightened his hold on the mare, shortened reins pulled her head down and around, a simple ploy designed to convince his opponent that he was in retreat. His attacker took the opportunity and kicked his horse hard, she lunged forwards, his blade raised he bore down on the fleeing man.

Only Jack was not in retreat. Wheeling the mare round, her flanks crashed into the other horse. Too close now, his attacker could not swing the blade, and Jack got in a painful jab to his ribs with the hilt of his own sword before the two horses separated.

Jack had his horse turned back to face his aggressor before the man had even begun to bring his own horse back to the fight.

The drawn blade in his right hand, reins tightly held in his left, Jack guided his mare sideways slowly. Keeping his opponent in front of him, preventing him from moving to his right, and at the same time quickly gauging the skill of his attacker. Jack knew now that the mounted man before him was both incautious and badly skilled. He should be no match for himself as long as he didn't make a mistake. Knowing he needed to finish this before second man joined the fray, Jack spurred his mare forward, hind quarters kicking out she agilely passed the other horse. The speed took his opponent by surprise, as did the back swing that Jack delivered in the moment before he turned the mare back to face his attacker.

The blade had run the full length of the back of the man’s arm and the tooled edge had sliced through leather and linen to deliver a neat bleeding cut. The injury was to his right side, and as Jack readied himself for a second attack the man, shrieking in pain, dropped the blade from his hand. His horse, lacking commands, bolted across the road, threatening to unseat her rider.

Jack turned his attention back to the second mounted man, who had hurriedly stowed his blade and was preparing to abandon his companion. Jack prepared to follow, but sense stopped him. He might end up wither neither of them if he gave chase, and the easy quarry was the man on the spooked horse in front of him.

 

†

 

Catherine knew she couldn't go to the Byrnes for help. If Edward’s cousin Richard was involved then so might Edward.