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

he could clearly hear the sound of feet scuffling on the wooden floor. Jack was about to take one more step upwards when the unmistakable sound of a woman’s cry came through the door.

Jack didn’t even feel for the latch on the door in the dark, a shoulder against it and he was through in a moment, the wood swinging back and slamming noisily into the wall on the other side. The room he was in was Dan’s, moonlight spilled in from the two open shuttered windows, and in the opposite corner of the room was another door. Crossing the room in three quick steps he yanked it open, beyond in the corridor he found Catherine, on her knees, and behind her, one hand wound in her hair and another about to land a blow, was Alan.

“Let her go,” Jack growled.

Alan straightened immediately at the sound of Jack’s voice. Catherine, his hands still caught in her hair, screamed as she was pulled backward. Alan untangled his hand and levelled a boot towards the girls back, kicking her forwards. She fell sprawled on the floor screaming between them. Alan headed along the short corridor and towards the wide stone steps that led back down to the hall and then to the yard. Jack jumped over the girl and was about to take the first step down in pursuit of Alan when the noise of Catherine’s sobbing stopped him.

Cursing under his breath he let Alan go, and turned back to the girl who was still laid on the floor. “Are you hurt? What did he do?” Jack was on his knees on the floor next to her in a moment.

“I’m alright,” Catherine sobbed.

“Come on, up you get.” Jack had a hand under her arm and pulled her quickly to her feet. He couldn’t leave her in Dan’s room, it didn’t lock. The room with the books of account did, but he didn’t have the key. Jack realised he’d no choice but to lose valuable time and take her up another flight of stairs to the room she used there and lock her in.

“I’ll be back soon, give me the key.” Jack said quickly as he opened the door to Catherine’s room and deposited her inside. Quickly she passed him the key, Jack pushed the door closed and locked it before running down the corridor taking the stone spiral steps two at a time. As he passed the hall his shouts brought the card players tumbling out after him and in a moment they were all in the yard. The gate stood open and the confused form of Froggy Tate was standing in the middle staring at them all.

“Where’s Alan?” Jack demanded.

“He said he’d an urgent message to take to the Master, I helped him saddle a horse and he’s just left,” Froggy provided.

“Which route did he take?” Jack shouted, heading towards the stables.

“I didn’t look,” Froggy replied, “the Lincoln road I expect.”

“Martin, Marc, you are with me,” Jack ordered.

The men exchanged uncomprehending glances but moved to obey and soon three more horses thundered through the open gateway.

They returned when the first light of dawn was breaking over the low fields. Whatever direction Alan had taken had not been the one they had chosen, and after two hours of pointless pursuit it became obvious that they had lost their quarry.

Jack, exhausted, unlocked the door to Catherine’s room. She was asleep on the bed, dressed, her face red and it was obvious what she had spent the night crying. Her eyes opened when she heard Jack opening the door.

Jack leaning against the door frame smiled and shook his head. “At least one of us got some sleep!”

“Did you find him?” Catherine asked, her voice quiet.

“No,” Jack shook his head. “Come on, I’m going to the kitchen, and you can tell me what happened while I have something to eat. Tilly is about to take some bread out of the ovens, chasing Alan half way to London has made me hungry.” Jack extended his hand towards her and Catherine, sniffing loudly, took it and he led her down to the lowest floor where the kitchen was located.

Catherine sat opposite Jack in silence while he gave his undivided attention to the food placed before him. Half a loaf of warm bread, cheese and ham slices disappeared before he raised his eyes to look at her.

“Tell me then, what happened?” Jack asked before he folded another slice of pink meat into his mouth.

Catherine sniffed. “I was going up the stairs when Alan opened the door to Dan’s room and pulled me in, I think he wanted to …”

“Did he say anything?” Jack pressed, watching her closely.

“No, he threw me on to the bed, I crawled off the other side and got through the door into the corridor near the chapel and that’s where you found me,” Catherine swallowed hard, her red-rimmed eyes meeting his.

“Alan’s a cur. I told Richard to get rid of him.” Jack had returned his attention to the platter in front of him.

“Is he gone?” Catherine asked.

“Oh he’s gone alright, there’s no chance he’ll come back here again, not now he knows I’m after his hide,” Jack replied, then looking up from his food he added, “I’ll have a word with Froggy, he’s nice enough, got a daughter of his own somewhere or so he keeps telling me, so if you are not in your room you can keep Froggy or me company.”

Catherine nodded. “Thank you.”

“Hungry?” Jack asked. Catherine nodded, and he slid his empty platter towards her, grinning. “Me too. Fill that for me while you get yourself something.”

 

 

 

†

 

 

 

At the end of March Dan rode into the manor courtyard, his horse mud-spattered, where he encountered Mat.

“Where’s the master then?” Mat asked, taking the reins as Dan dropped from the saddle.

“At court, if you please,” Dan replied.

“Too much of the bloody good life! He’ll come back fat and with manners,” Mat quipped.

“Well manners wouldn’t be such a bad thing, would they?” Dan replied absently as he looked around the yard. “Where’s Jack? I have a message for him.”

“In the yard round back with Catherine,” Mat replied as he began to lead Dan’s horse towards the stables.

“Catherine! Jesus! Is she still here?” Dan exclaimed.

“She is, and she’s a tongue on like a viper’s, wonder where she gets that from?” Mat called back over his shoulder.

Jack was leaning over the fence, a foot on the lower rail, watching as Martin and Marc swung wasters at each other, iron reinforced wooden training blades.

“For the Lord’s sake, Martin, I’ve seen women in the bedroom fight better than you,” Jack jibed.

The men round the ring laughed: Martin’s face flushed. He was a man whose swordplay was basic and his wit equally so. If there was heavy work to do it would fall to Martin, his skill at arms was certainly of secondary importance. His eyes narrowed, goaded by the insult he turned on Jack, exposing his back to his opponent. Before he could make a retort Marc had neatly kicked him in the back of the knee, and Martin collapsed into the mud. A moment later Marc, laughing himself, had the wooden point of the blade prodding none too gently into the fallen man’s chest.

“You bastard!” Martin cursed, twisting his head to observe Jack from where he lay. “That was your fault!”

“The lesson is, do not get distracted, and do not lose your temper.” Jack grinned as Marc pulled Martin from the mud. “Richard has yelled far worse than that at me over the years,” he said to himself.

“Mat said I’d find you here,” Dan said, coming to stand next to Jack.

“Dan! It’s good to see you. Any news from London?” Jack smiled broadly at the big man coming towards him.

“Master’s still there. I don’t know what he is up to and I don’t want to know. Wyatt’s in the Tower and not long for this world. Mary’s got Elizabeth under armed guard at Whitehall and my money says she’ll not be long behind Wyatt.” Dan pushed himself away from the fence to look past Jack at the girl that stood to his left. His head close to Jack’s he said quietly, and with some passion, “Have you lost your bloody mind? What’s she doing here? You must be mad bringing a woman here.”

“Not mad, Dan. Believe me, I had no choice.” Jack looked around him; there were too many about now. “I will tell you later, now hush.”

“You still look a mite too clean over there, Jack. Get in here.” It was Martin, still mad at Jack, and covered in mud.

“You’ve had one good lesson for today; are you sure you want a second?” Jack said lightly, his blue eyes bright with amusement.

“You’ll not be giving me any lessons! Get in here. I’ll show the lassie there what you are really like,” Martin gestured at Catherine. “With your fancy clothes and your fine manners, you’re no man, that’s for sure.”

“It does look like you’ve annoyed Martin,” Dan said, then added, “Mind you, he has a point. You are starting to look a little too well fed and too well dressed to be standing around tilt yards.”

“Angering Martin is hardly difficult,” Jack scoffed loudly enough for Martin to here, “teaching him some skills in the tilt yard, on the other hand, is a task I am not equal to.”

“I heard that,” Martin growled from the other side of the fence.

“You were meant to, you dolt,” Jack shot back.

Martin’s face, red already with anger, deepened in hue as his brain acknowledged the insult.

“Go on, teach him a lesson. I could do with a laugh,” Dan said quietly and grinned.

With a flourish, Jack unwound his cloak from his shoulders and dumped it in Catherine’s arms. “Hold that, and stay with Dan.” Agilely vaulting the fence, he turned his attention to the muddy Martin.

Martin grinned back at him. “You’re not going to forget this, Jack.” He had in his hand one of the wooden wasters, with their iron cores they carried the same weight as a real blade and were capable of breaking bones if not cutting flesh.

Jack had in his hand another of the training blades that had been propped against the fence post. Hefting it in his hand he gauged the weight.

“Come on, man,” Martin said, annoyance and impatience in his voice.

Jack had not made any move. He stood, weight on one foot, sword pointed down, watching Martin and smiling.

“I’m ready whenever you want to start,” Jack said idly.

“Go on, Martin, flatten him,” Marc urged from the sidelines.

Catherine had moved up to stand next to Dan, Jack’s cloak still bundled in her arms.

“So how are you, Catherine?” Dan asked, his eyes still on the players in the ring.

“Very well thank you,” Catherine replied quietly, her eyes also on Jack and Martin.

“It’s getting dark. Get on with it or we’ll be here all night,” Dan called over loudly to Martin.

Martin finally made his move. Stepping forward he swung the wooden edge towards Jack, who adeptly shifted his weight to his other foot, side-stepping the swing. The wood whistled menacingly but harmlessly through the air inches from his ear.

Martin swore. “Fancy footwork will not help you.” He swung again and this time Jack’s blade engaged. Catherine watched, hardly breathing. The venom in Martin’s strokes looked