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

too real for her liking. Jack continued to deftly parry Martin’s advances but made no attack of his own.

“You bloody milksop, have you no balls?” Martin jibed as his attack continued.

“I think,” said Jack lightly, “I have had enough of your insults.”

The speed of Jack’s next moves was not one Martin was prepared for. In two steps and four lightning-fast blows that were heard but not seen, Jack’s erstwhile assailant stood disarmed, with a sword-point at his throat. He moved backward as Jack continued to walk towards him. Jack grinned and lowered his weapon, turning back to Dan and Catherine.

Martin, obviously not finished, decided on wrestling as his next track, so determined was he to get Jack on the ground. He lunged. Jack caught his arm around his neck and deposited him with a rib-jarring impact in the mud in front of him. “Lesson two: don’t be so bloody predictable,” Jack said from where he stood over Martin.

“One of these days they’ll have you, by foul means or fair,” Dan said, laughing from the sidelines.

 

 

 

†

 

 

 

“You wanted to see me?” Jack looked around the church interior, it was the first time he had visited Jamie’s stone church in the village, and the priest, now in his vestments, looked wholly different to the one he had spoken to in the fields.

“I did, come with me lad,” Jamie who had been stood near the font, headed towards a door in the wall behind the altar.

Jack, given no choice, followed him. Walking up the aisle of the Norman church towards the altar and then setting his steps towards the door Jamie had disappeared through. It was low, and he ducked through it, finding Jamie on the other side already setting two wooden cups on a table next to an earthenware jar with a leather stopper.

“I’m assuming you’ll not object,” Jamie said, pouring out two measures from the bottle.

Jack took his and sniffed it before he put the cup to his lips, a moment later he gasped as the liquor hit his throat. “God’s bones, what’s it made from.”

Jamie grinned. “I knew you’d like it. It’s made locally in the village.”

Jack took another tentative mouthful, and held his cup out for a refill. “I am assuming you didn’t ask for me to come here to sample your village aqua vitae?”

Jamie poured another good measure into the cup Jack held out. “No, you are right. It’s Guy.”

“Guy?” Jack exclaimed. “I turned him off, on your advice, if you remember.”

“I know,” Jamie’s tone was conciliatory. “It seems there was more to it than I first thought.”

Jack groaned and pulled out a chair from under the table, the legs scraping loudly on the stone flagged floor. Dropping into it he turned his sapphire blue eyes on the priest. “Go on then, tell me what’s happened.”

Jamie placed his hands palms down on the table and regarded Jack with serious eyes. “Guy had been charging the villagers a fee to use the mill, and that was on top of what Hastley had charged. When you turned Guy off Knoll, the miller, started charging it instead. So there was no benefit to the village in turning Guy off, it just swapped one thief for another.”

“What’s this got to do with me?” Jack said coldly.

“It’s your mill, you need to stop Knoll of course,” Jamie explained patiently.

“It’s not my mill, it’s my brother’s,” Jack pointed out accurately, “I don’t want to get involved in your local disputes, take this to the assize.”

“You are right, it’s not your mill, but you are acting as Fitzwarren’s steward, and if Knoll is taking money then it’s money you are not getting. I know several of your tenants are in arrears,” Jamie stated bluntly.

Jack drained the cup and held it out in front of Jamie, who obligingly filled it, his eyes never leaving Jack’s. “I hate mills,” was all Jack said.

Jamie smiled. “So you’ll do something about it then?”

Jack emptied the cup and placed it on the table. “Yes, old man, I will.”

Jamie beamed and filled Jack’s cup for a fourth time.

 

 

 

†

 

 

 

Jack stood on the bank to the mill pond and let his eyes run over the structure before him. The mill was made of whitewashed stone, contrasting sharply with the dark wheel that turned, dipping it’s paddles into the pond. Hastley must have had some money, Jack mused, to have had this built, it was shame he’d taken his wealth with him when he had abandoned Burton.

John Knoll was the master miller and he worked with the help of two assistants, when Guy had given him a tour of the manor and the surrounding lands he had been introduced briefly to him. Stepping through the open door into the dusty, dim interior, he found the man he was looking for shouting at his assistant who was hastily threading cord through a flour bag to fasten it shut.

Knoll looked up at the intruder and scowled until he recognised Jack standing in the doorway. “Master Fitzwarren,” Knoll greeted Jack.

Jack nodded in acceptance of the greeting, and said simply, “A word if I may.” Jack promptly stepped back through the door and waited outside for the miller to join him.

“How can I help, Sir?” Knoll said, emerging and dusting the white flour from his hands.

Jack laid a cold blue stare on the miller. “I’ve been advised that charges are being levied on my tenants for using the mill.”

Knoll regarded him with an equally cool look. “That might have been the case, Sir, when Guy was the steward, but it’s not something I know anything about.”

“So if I question some of my tenants they’ll deny paying you for use of the mill?” Jack asked slowly, watching Knoll carefully.

“That’s right, Sir, they don’t pay me for use of the mill,” Knoll stated bluntly.

“That’s good then,” Jack replied, casting another hard look over the miller before he left. Now he had to talk to the tenants. He’d ask Jamie which ones to approach, he had, after all, set him up for this task. It would remain to be seen who got to speak to them first – Jack or Knoll. Jack’s hope was that the practice would cease and that he would not have to go the trouble of finding a replacement miller.

Chapter Twenty

 

 

 

Richard found himself quickly admitted to Derby’s presence, he was however surprised when he found the Earl wasn’t alone but was involved in a heated conversation with a man he recognised. The man was John Somer, plainly dressed, as was his habit, in dark clothes that did not mark him out as a man of note. Richard had taken a few steps back respectfully and waited for the Earl to conclude his business.

The conversation closed soon after with Somer collecting papers from the Earl’s desk. “I will see what I can do, if you wish to get this past Parliament they will scrutinise every word, every turn of phrase, I am warning you.” Somer concluded.

“I agree, and that’s why I wish you to take it to them all beforehand so when it is formally presented there won’t be any trouble. Mary wishes for her nobles to be united,” Derby concluded, already looking in Richard’s direction. His business with Somer, as far as he was concerned, was concluded.

Somer turned, his eyes caught Richard’s for a moment, but there was no spark of recognition and he merely inclined his head in greeting as he moved past him towards the door.

The Earl waited for the door to close in the frame before he turned his attention to Richard. “Busy times I am afraid, and I am getting too old for court life.” He heaved a sigh and ran a hand through his thinning hair. “Mary is pressing for her marriage to Philip and it seems the job of placating Parliament has fallen on my shoulders.”

“I am sure you are equal to the task,” Richard replied carefully.

“Let us speak candidly. There are many nobles who support Mary, but the marriage and alliance with Spain is one they fear. They fear what they do not understand, they are like children in the dark,” the Earl said.

If Richard thought the Earl’s assessment of the situation was slightly too simplistic he did not say so, he just nodded in agreement.

“The terms of the deal are to be drafted by Somer, and he will, I hope, provide the Queen with a settlement that all parties will be happy with. Renard, the Spanish Ambassador, as part of the marriage negotiations is seeking a permanent solution to the issue of the lady Elizabeth,” Derby concluded.

“A permanent solution?” Richard echoed the Earl’s words.

“There are two. The woman is married off and removed from the political scene that way, any claim to the throne then would be vested in her offspring, or she is tied to Wyatt and follows him up the steps to the scaffold,” Derby stated bluntly.

Richard nodded, his face thoughtful. “The latter course does prevent a political volte-face should the need arise.”

“You are right, and that is exactly what I want. You have a shrewd mind. So tell me, if Elizabeth is removed, where will the doubters turn then?”

Richard paced across the room to the window and stared through the small leaded panes, what lay beyond was obscured by the rain drops that blurred the view.

“Courtenay would be the logical answer,” Richard replied slowly, “although his claim would only really be viable if he was tethered to Elizabeth, without that his lineage is a little tenuous being only Edwards VI’s second cousin, and...” Richard paused.

“And the man is a fool,” the Earl interjected.

Richard, ignoring him, continued. “Any claim the Gray name had was obliterated by Northumberland’s botched plot. Ideally you should remove Courtenay and Elizabeth.” Richard stroked his chin, then added, “But after you get Parliament’s approval for the match.”

“Why after?” Derby demanded.

“If Mary dies in childbirth you will have handed England to Spain, if Elizabeth is named as heir then you will get your deal. Then remove her from the succession after Mary is married.” Richard supplied.

“It’s a different matter marching the heir apparent up to the scaffold,” Derby replied.

“Not really, she is already closely linked to Wyatt, if he confesses now then it will be a little inconvenient, however if evidence is unearthed after the union with Phillip then the case could be brought against her,” Richard said, turning back from the window to face Derby. “Courtenay has been linked with the conspirators already, so ideally a single trial and the removal of them both together would be an ideal solution. If that was known by those who disfavour Elizabeth as heir it will ensure their support. It will also make those Parliamentarians who fear to support Mary’s marriage because they dread a loss of sovereignty sign as well, they will see Elizabeth as the bulwark against a Spanish invasion.”

Derby looked at Richard in dismay. “You cannot broker a deal to two factions who are so closely linked. These men do talk to each other, you know. We’ll be made to look like fools.”

“Men will believe what they wish to believe, and additionally they will believe in something that they can influence. Those who believe you will send Elizabeth to the scaffold a suitable time after Mary’s marriage will choose to believe that because it will be Parliament who will finally approve the executions, especially if there is rumour that Wyatt has made her complicit in his plans. Why then