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

opportunity to make many true friends, and Richard had been among the few.

Then, what had started out as a game with Seymour asking for Elizabeth to kiss him, as a daughter should her stepfather, ended with him tearing her dress from her shoulders. Richard had intervened and the blame for her dishevelled state Seymour had quickly and efficiently laid upon him. The truth didn’t come from Elizabeth, who was too afraid of Seymour, but oddly enough from Seymour’s own wife, Catherine. By then it was too late. Richard had been banished from the house and had returned to his father’s estate, his reputation permanently tarnished.

 

†

Hal was still on his master’s business, and in London now trying to track down Richard Fitzwarren. So far he had not had much success.

Hal’s feet were hurting him. When he wriggled his toes he found that only two on the left foot could move, his foot was so jammed into the leather boot. Hal cursed himself for throwing his old boots, the conviction that these would slacken with wear had been wrong. Hal hopped from foot to foot as he waited for his new companion, David, to join him. Robert Fitzwarren had sent one of his own men to help to track down his brother. Hal didn’t particularly like David, but if he had been asked he would have admitted that at least he wasn’t as witless as Spratty, whose company Hal did not miss in the least.

Robert had suspected Richard would go to London, and in this he had been right. He set his men to find him by enquiry, and they were also to ask for Anne and Catherine de Bernay who might be with him.

David arrived back. “Nah, nothing. This’ll take forever,” he snarled. He had no love for the task and was sick of asking questions of people, sure that if the man they sought did not wish to be found, he would not be using his own name.

“Where next?” Hal asked as the pair walked through the filth of London rotting in the July heat.

“How should I know?” David said hotly, spitting into the gutter.

“Master said he was with Mary.” Hal was talking to himself; thought was not one of David’s strong points. “Well, my brother’s wife, Nancy, is a cook in Derby’s house here in London. Maybe she could find out,” Hal concluded.

“How’s that going to help? She’s not likely to know him is she? And Derby’s not in the bloody city is he?”

“No, damn you, but she might know someone, who might be able to ask someone, who might be able to get someone to find out,” Hal growled though clenched teeth.

“That’s a lot of mights,” David pointed out, spitting again.

“Got any better notions?” David shook his head. “Come on then.” Hal wanted to get his weight back on his arse in the saddle and off his sore feet.

 

†

 

John Somer, Minister for State in fact, but not in name, backed through the door to his private office. One hand clutched two parchment rolls to his chest, the other held a lit lamp emitting a steady yellow glow. Using his elbow he pressed the door closed, let the parchments roll onto his desk, and set to lighting the other two lamps in the room. Placing all three on his desk, Somer seemed satisfied with the level of light and set about organising his papers.

“You would have told me that I’d be paying with my eyesight if I tried to work in such a dark room,” the voice came from the shadows, the tone quite light and carrying with it a sense of amusement.

Somer exclaimed, made to stand quickly, and in the act knocked one of the clay lamps from the corner of his desk. Quicker than Somer, Richard stepped forwards saving the lamp from it’s decent into the floor rushes. Somer, lunging for it at the same moment found his hand closing over the wrist of the other man. Face to face, their hands together on the lamp, their eyes locked.

“It’s hot, can I let go?” Richard Fitzwarren said.

Confusion flittered across Somer’s face for a moment before he realised Richard was referring to the lamp and he lifted his hand away. “Are you burnt? You gave me a shock.”

“Like Althaea, I have, it seems, put the fire out.” Richard fitted both halves of the extinguished lamp back together, the pungent animal fat coating his hands. Pulling a square of linen from his doublet he carefully cleaned them while regarding Somer. “I have saved us both from a burning.”

Somer, recovering from his initial shock, dropped back into a chair behind his desk, waving at another for Richard to take. “I dare not ask how you got in here. I should have my steward’s hide for his carelessness.”

Richard inclined his head but didn’t answer the question.

“Back in England then? I’d heard you’d gone to France after the Seymour affair.”

“I wasn’t left a lot of choice,” Richard replied matter-of-factly.

“I know,” Somer agreed, “he was a man who deserved to fall. He set his sights too high, refused to take any counsel, and put his trust in a child.” Thomas Seymour’s attempt to kidnap the King, even though he maintained he had acted with the boy’s consent, had led him to tread the cold boards towards the block.

“I’d left his service by then, as you know.” Richard replied.

Somer held up his hand, and smiling said, “You can pull me into an evening of Court gossip, but first let me call for food and wine. Richard, it is good to see you, I want to know everything you have been doing since you left England.”

“Everything?” Richard echoed.

Somer pressed his palms to the table and stood. “Everything.”

An hour later there were empty plates on the desk, their wine cups full, and Somer, enjoying the companionship, finally turned the conversation in the direction he knew was of interest to the other man. “If you’ve come to see me then, at a guess, you are on the trail of some of Seymour’s old associates?”

Richard raised his eyebrows. “It would be a fair assumption.”

Somer’s tone became practical and businesslike. “Times have changed, who have you been in touch with so far?”

“There was only Cardon I knew I could trust, that was why I came to you next,” Richard replied honestly.

Somer nodded. “Cardon will serve you well. There’s also Finbrook and Cleater. Both men are still well placed and I use them on occasion, although Cleater is not at Court as much as he used to be, so what he can provide can be a little thin, but he is still--”

“What about Clandyke?” Richard interjected.

“Have you not heard?” Somer looked at his old friend surprised, then seeing the look on Richard’s face he continued. “He was executed two months ago on Tower Green for treason.”

Richard’s eyebrows raised, but he said nothing, sipping at his wine and waving for Somer to continue.

“He was found with papers implicating Northumberland in a plot to take the regency. There was no way that was going to be allowed to stand.” Somer concluded. “He was, of course, working for Northumberland but also for Derby, his silence was a matter of urgency, and now it is assured.”

“Nobody ever said it was a safe game to play,” Richard replied, placing the wine glass carefully back on Somer’s desk.

“Who do you work for now?” Somer asked directly.

Richard met Somer’s enquiring look and smiled. “I work for myself.”

“That’s an honest reply at least,” Somer said as he tapped his fingers against the rim of his cup, his face thoughtful. At length he said, “You can add me to your list of clients.”

“I was hoping you would say that.”

“My loyalties are fixed, just remember that,” Somer warned, “I’m saddled with a role I didn’t ask for, and pleading old age, it seems, will not release me.”

Richard knew why they would not release him. Somer was fiercely loyal, dedicated and trustworthy, a fact known by the current elite. To have a man like that in place as the de facto minister of state provided a block against many of the self-seeking members of the Privy Council. He was dedicated to the Crown, no matter who was wearing it. Trusted by Henry, he had been an automatic choice to continue to guide the administration of the Kingdom under his son. Now Mary was availing herself of his steadfast services.

Their meeting concluded two hours later. Richard leaving by the same route he had used to enter, unseen through the orchard at the rear of Somer’s house.

A short while later he was back in his house in Chapel Street. Two candles burned on his desk, both of them thick with triple wicks, and the light from them cast a steady glow over the papers before him. Richard looked at the folded letter carefully before he broke the seal, a seal that was both none descript and small.

The unfolded parchment revealed a sheet with a detailed order upon it for cloth. The top section described the quality, quantities available, expected arrival dates, and below it was a list with a proposed order. At first glance it appeared a merchant’s missive, a tally of stock and orders. Richard pulled from his doublet a second sheet; opening it he placed it over the first. Holes in the top sheet showed him certain sections of the document below. In a neat hand he copied out the revealed text.

There was a code in place, but if you did not know which sections of text it applied to then it was impossible to break. The cipher applied to less than half of the text on the page. It was a process he himself had provided for Seymour, it was both simple and effective. Even if the cipher was cracked, without this sheet, without knowing which parts of the document to decode, it could not be cracked. These sheets could be changed, and so an old code could be used over and over.

The velum also bore a series of numbers next to the cut outs. These determined the order in which the exposed text was to be decoded. So even if the whole document was decoded little sense could ever be made of it as the relevant sections would be out of order.

The sections copied out Richard folded away the top sheet and began the process of decoding. It was a cipher he had committed to memory, not a difficult task, as the cipher was one he had designed.

Richard read the message on the sheet before him for a second time. Then he pushed himself from the chair and, crossing the room, delivered both the original message and his own decoded sheet to the fire. He watched the sheets quickly curl, blacken and turn to ash.

 

Chapter Sixteen

July 1553 – Lincolnshire

 

†

 

 

Jack set to work again to try and absorb all there was to know about Burton. He had viewed the books of account kept by Guy and satisfied himself of the basic fabric and security of the place; now by degrees he needed to acquire a more detailed knowledge.

His evening with Jamie had ended up as a drunken one, but along the way he had picked up quite a lot of knowledge. The priest inferred that Guy was running Burton to his family’s advantage and that was generating a lot of bad feeling amongst the tenants and villagers. Supplies came from Guy’s preferred sources, usually in Lincoln,