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

the pitcher of warm ale. He was further surprised, and a little ashamed, when the jug was emptied and Jamie insisted on paying in full for a fresh one. The discourse so far had covered such general topics as the ill-health of the English monarch, the continued strings of power gathered in fistfuls by Northumberland, the price wars that had starved some of those lucky enough to survive the sweating sickness, plus the inevitable conversation about the ferocity of the storm that continued to rage outside.

“There you go, my son.” Jamie filled Jack’s cup and then his own.

“Please, don’t say that. No one has ever called me son and I would rather you didn’t change that now.” Jack avoided his gaze.

Jamie, under white-flecked eyebrows, continued to observe his companion closely for a moment. But he ignored the black look that Jack had cast over him and to Jack’s further annoyance he said, “Ah, so that’s your curse, is it? There was no harm meant, lad.” From a lifetime of confessions it appeared that the priest saw no barriers to his curiosity, brushing aside Jack’s warning words.

“No, the harm was done years ago,” Jack muttered to himself, draining his cup and attempting to cover his discomfort.

“Troubles you, does it?” Jamie asked bluntly.

“Wouldn’t it bother you?” Jack threw back, the response automatic.

“Well, that does depend, doesn’t it? I know nothing about you. Tell me something and I’ll think on it. If sympathy is the medicine you are looking for though, you’ll not get it from me.” Jamie refilled Jack’s emptied cup. “Now, don’t you look at me like that. There is nothing here to be wary of, only an old man who tries to serve God as best he can. Come on, lad, tell me something of yourself.”

Jack opened with a barb sharpened by bitterness and loaded with resentment. “My mother lives in St Agnes’ Abbey.” He watched with some satisfaction as Jamie’s eyebrows rose towards his reduced hairline. He had used the words often enough to know the reaction they produced. Jamie’s, although mild, was as he had come to expect. “Not then, of course, not when she bore me. Before that, she was a lady-in-waiting.” Jack paused. “Fitzwarren’s lady found out and she went to St Agnes’ after I was born.”

Jamie interjected, “Ah, so you’re a Lord’s bastard, are you?”

Jack cast icy-blue eyes on him as he bestowed upon Jack the title he so resented. The priest did not avoid his glowering look.

“Makes no difference,” Jack growled. “Fitzwarren had four sons; there was never a shortage of heirs. I was, shall we say, an unwelcome sight to his lady. Fitzwarren would have had me in the house but not his wife. So he placed me in his brother’s household where I was brought up waiting on his sons.” Jack stopped; this was as far as he usually went. There was bitterness in his voice. Jack knew his story was not an uncommon one. During his life, as well-travelled as he was, he had heard it from others. Some bore the brand openly and cursed humanity for it, seemingly uncaring; some carried it secretly and silently, ever afraid of discovery. A few laid it to rest and were not burdened by the faults of their fathers. Jack, however, knew he did not fall into the latter category.

“Not a happy life, eh?” Jamie asked, prompting Jack to continue.

“I did better than most, I suppose. What my cousin’s learnt, I learnt; what they did, I did but…” Jack paused, smiling widely at the memory of it, “…better.”

“An arrogant claim,” Jamie reprimanded, then smiling he added, “I’ll allow you it. So you made no friends with them then?”

“Something like that. The youngest of my cousins, Harry, went to London and I followed. I had no wish to stay,” Jack explained.

Jamie expression was still curious. “I’m sure there’s more to your story than just that. Come on then, tell me,” then when Jack did not reply he asked, “Did you get on with Harry, then?”

Jack’s expression remained blank, but he answered the question with a shake of his blond head.

Undeterred the priest persisted. “Did you meet your brothers again?”

This time Jamie did get a reaction. One corner of Jack’s mouth twisted in a wry grin. “Oh yes.”

Jamie leaned close, his eyes fastened on Jack’s. “Go on. You told me there were four sons.”

“Yes,” Jack confirmed. “Peter, Robert, William, and Richard.”

“You know them all then?” Jamie asked.

“Peter was heir but died young. Broke his neck in a fall from a horse. I never knew him.” A voice devoid of emotion gave a factual account. “William joined the church young, but the other two…” Jack’s voice trailed off.

“So, which of the other two, Richard or Robin, did you meet first?” Jamie queried.

“Robert,” Jack corrected.

“Richard or Robert then, which first?”

There was a pause. “Robert,” Jack said. “Harry went to London and I went with him. Harry used to hunt with one of his cousins. A right arrogant bastard he is, Robert Fitzwarren.” He pronounced his brother’s name with malicious precision, it was obvious to his companion that he bore no love for the man.

“Ah, your brother.”

“Yes, but he didn’t know it and I wasn’t about to enlighten him. He’d have had me whipped to death.” Jack stopped again. “I was no more than Harry’s servant.”

“I understand the situation. But there’s a story here, am I right? Go on, lad, tell it.”

Jack turned serious eyes on the priest. “You’re not interested.”

“I am, lad.” Jamie’s tone was sincere.

Jack didn’t know why he had continued. Maybe it was the priest’s insistent questions and his authoritative manner, or maybe Jack just wanted to talk to someone. “You are right about that, there is a story.” Stretching his shoulders, he settled himself back at the table. “There was a hunt. Harry told us we’d join Robert that Saturday. There was nothing unusual in that, but,” Jack paused for effect, “he said Richard Fitzwarren would be there.”

“Ah, your other brother,” Jamie said, and then asked, “Younger or older than Robert?”

“Robert became heir when Peter died. Richard is… You know, I’m not sure if he’s the youngest of the four or not.” Jack’s brow furrowed as Jamie’s explorations led to the discovery that his knowledge of his brother remained incomplete. “Anyway, that’s beside the point. Harry knew there was some feud between the pair. I had heard as much but I didn’t know why. I still don’t know what the crux of it was. Harry told me that the previous time they met, Robert left with half of his ear missing. Needless to say, Harry was looking forward to a fight between the two.”

“You don’t like Harry?” It was more an observation than a question.

Jack paused, recollecting his former master. “No. He is an idiot. Robert has him following like a puppy. He borrows money from him, abuses him and still Harry goes back for more.” Jack stopped suddenly. His eyes returned from the past to focus on Jamie’s face.

“Go on, lad, you can’t leave me there,” Jamie prompted.

Jack looked at his listener’s eager face and continued with his story. “I’d never seen Richard before. I was looking for someone who looked like me. Or Robert.” Robert was added as an afterthought. “So when we arrived, I was holding Harry’s horse and I recognised Robert surrounded by his usual retinue, including Harry. There was no one else there who looked like he could be Richard. Then the horn blew and Harry summoned me to bring his horse. I asked then where Richard was. He laughed and told me that he hadn’t dared to join them. It was obvious that this had been what Robert’s flock had been laughing about. I suppose I was disappointed, but not for long.” Jack took a drink, grinning. “You see, he was already there, on the moor.”

“How did you know it was him?” Jamie asked.

“I knew it must be him when Robert saw him and held up his hand for his rabble to stop. He looked nothing like Robert, believe me.” Jack leant towards Jamie in a confidential manner and said, “Robert looks like the scraps from a bantam fight. You know what I mean, all colour and baubles.”

Jamie laughed. “I know the type, all piss an’ wind.”

“Exactly. Richard, he was in the distance, was dressed in black: cloak, boots, jacket, hair, horse, the lot. He sat up there on the moor, leaning slightly forward in the saddle, watching Robert. Harry rode up to join Robert and I followed, more than a little curious by now, I can tell you. Robert yelled at the top of his voice, ‘We have our quarry!’” Jack paused, looking closely at Jamie to see if he comprehended the implication of Robert’s intent all those years ago. Not convinced, he added, “meaning Richard.”

“Yes, lad, I’m with you. Get on with it,” Jamie said briskly.

Satisfied with his listener’s understanding, Jack continued. “The group, on Robert’s command, went bellowing up the hill after him. There were trees as you crested the top of the moor about a quarter mile ahead, and Richard was riding towards them, not quickly though. Robert demanded a bow. Now I’ll give him this; he is a fine shot. Richard saw what he meant to do and turned his horse to the trees, but he was too late. I saw the animal later, straight through the neck, clean as you like.” Jack sat shaking his head at the memory of it. He reached for the jug to fill the cups.

Jamie moved quicker. “I’ll do that, lad. Did he get to the trees then?” The story paused in the wake of a fresh assault of white lightning, followed by a seemingly cataclysmic boom.

The thunder subsided and Jack took up the tale once more. “The horse fell, I saw it go down, and the rider seemed to go under it. Robert rode like hell across the moor. I was at his side when he got there and I expected to see a man pinned beneath the beast. Anyway, he wasn’t. He must have stayed low so we couldn’t see him and made it into the cover of the trees. Robert was as mad as the devil. He was sure he had trapped his brother.” Jack stopped, laughing at the memory of Robert’s blustering wide-eyed disbelief. “Robert ordered his men to flush him out; there wasn’t much cover, maybe half an acre or so of wood in a hollow. They rode off round the back of the trees to try and drive him to Robert. I couldn’t believe it. I knew for sure he meant to take the man’s life.”

Jack stopped, the story running on before his eyes, denying Jamie a narrative.

“So you did something, eh?” Jamie prompted him again.

“Aye, I did. They went off to my left and right but I knew he must have gone straight into the trees from the horse; it made sense because it was the closest path to safety. So I sought to follow him. Maybe, I thought, I could find him first.”

“Did you?”

“If you’ll let me, I’ll tell you,” Jack snapped. “No, he found me. I wasn’t dressed well enough to be taken for one of Robert’s followers and he took me for a servant or a stable hand or such like. He was behind me; I must have walked straight past him.” There was still a measure of