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

said, on that you will have to trust me.” Then, after a lengthy pause, “Will you?”

“You give me little choice,” was the unsatisfactory reply.

Richard dropped his head into his hands, his hair fell to obscure his eyes and his voice held an edge of anguish. “Is it so hard? Trust is not based on choice or lack of it. It is belief, pure simple belief, and something that neither you nor I can inspire.”

“I will…”

Richard stopped him. “Do not sully such with mere words; they assure me not at all. Actions are what you shall be judged by. Can we not for once stand united?”

Jack tipped the ale jug towards him. “How many of these have you had?”

“So is your answer no?” Richard replied, the smile falling from his face.

“Yes, the answer is yes. But …”

“Here comes the caveat! Go on,” Richard groaned.

“Tell me next time. Alan would not have escaped, if you had told me,” Jack said.

“It’s a shame he did, that was a score I was looking forward to settling,” Richard murmured.

Richard reached across suddenly, clapping Jack on the shoulder and jolting the cup in his hand, sending beer to soak the wood.

“Careful!”

Richard ignored him. “Here, drink, and I will tell you a tale that will cheer you.” Richard filled both their cups, none too steadily, from the pitcher, ale sluicing over the side of Jack’s to pool on the table.

“And what would that be then?” Jack said moving his arms to avoid the spreading pond.

“One of loyalty,” Richard announced grandly. “Marriage is the tale, who and what and where and why. Surely you did not think I had come to Burton because I craved the country air?”

“I can fairly assume that as it would be impossible to find a creature willing to tie themselves to you, this must not be your own state of wedlock you are referring to,” Jack replied dryly, but his eyes were alight with eager curiosity. His brother rarely shared anything, however, when he did it was often news worth listening to.

“Most wholly unfair,” Richard rebuked good humouredly. Then, his tongue loosened by the ale, he told Jack much that he already knew of the planned Spanish match, Jack listened without commenting, giving Richard his full attention. “So, Renard, the Spanish Ambassador, perceives that the Protestant threat is too great,” Richard concluded.

“By that I am assuming you mean Elizabeth?” Jack questioned.

“Something like that. The current grand scheme runs thus: when Northumberland set Lady Jane on the throne he did it via ‘The Devise for the Succession.’ How he got Edward to sign this is still a mystery. However, this purports to make Jane and her heirs the successors to the throne,” Richard mused, tapping his fingers on the table.

“Which would have secured Northumberland’s place. Yes, I know, but it didn’t work, and I still haven’t quite forgiven the shit for nearly taking us with him,” Jack’s tone was acid. “Can you get back to what you were going to tell me about?”

“Yes, yes,” Richard said, then a confused look on his face, he asked. “What was I going to tell you about?”

“Christ! A marriage, remember?”

“Ah yes. So, the facts are well known. Northumberland fell and Mary is Queen and so on. However, when Northumberland wished to secure Edward’s signature, he went to a lot of trouble and produced a lot more evidence, I suppose with the intent of using it to persuade Edward to sign. The Archbishop of York secured these documents, and I know of only part of their contents. They contain, amongst other items, documents relating to the circumstances of Elizabeth’s birth, and Renard has a desire to use them to have her removed from the royal scene, playing at great lengths on Mary’s hatred of her mother’s successor,” Richard explained as he twisted the cup in his hand.

“Anne Boleyn’s indiscretions are legendary, Henry made sure of that. There is nothing new there,” Jack observed.

“The new thing is that someone has dug out some documentary evidence. False or true, it doesn’t matter. Her parentage has been called into question and someone is prepared to use it. They are being brought south to London for that very purpose. It plays on Mary’s fears and her hatred of Elizabeth; it might be all she needs to finally make a decision. Renard hopes so.” Richard drained his cup, inspected the empty interior, and refilled it.

“So, for whatever reason, and I am sure you have a good one, we are to either help or hinder with the delivery of these documents,” Jack observed, his words carefully placed.

“Correct, almost,” Richard answered, smiling.

“Go on.” Jack groaned. “I knew I’d get it wrong.”

“Renard has requested they be brought to him in London. The Archbishop of York, as you know, fell at Mary’s hand. Whether from a desire to save his own neck, I don’t know, but he divulged the existence and whereabouts of these papers. Renard being everywhere and anywhere became aware of them, and they are to be transported from York to London by some of his men.”

“So you want to intercept them?” Jack wished his brother could be straightforward, just for once.

“Ah, there is a final complication,” Richard countered, the words blending together, an apologetic expression on his face.

“God! Go on,” Jack exclaimed.

“Bishop Gardiner does not want Elizabeth to fall. He would much rather see her wed to his favourite, Courtenay, and for their heirs to secure an English succession should Mary fail to produce a child of her own. It would be more than a little inconvenient if Courtenay’s intended either lost her head or was finally barred from the throne by the curse of bastardy, wouldn’t it? Furthermore, he believes possession of these papers may persuade Elizabeth to wed,” Richard explained, tracing a circle on the table using spilled ale.

“So you are here to stop the papers reaching Renard, and you are working for Gardiner?” Jack had a feeling he was wrong before he had finished.

“Not quite, but almost. Some of Gardiner’s men will join me here soon, and with my help, they are to stop them being delivered to Renard and at the same time take them to Gardiner. Who knows when they could be useful in the future? Plus, I feel that Gardiner does not entirely trust me with the task,” Richard said, sounding more than a little hurt.

Jack smiled. He thought he had finally fathomed it. “Ah, so we are to help ensure that they fall into the correct hands, then?”

“An excellent observation,” Richard declared, drunkenly, then leaning towards his brother added confidentially, “however, there is one final player in this little scene who also wishes to obtain the papers, and prevent them reaching either Gardiner or Renard.”

He’s right not to trust you. I bloody well wouldn’t. So why do you want them?” Jack said; now he had the truth of it.

“Well, despite your accusations, I do have some loyalties. Pass the jug,” Richard said.

“Ah yes, Lady Elizabeth,” Jack said, shoving the jug back across the table towards his brother. Richard had suffered at her hands, and why he still stood by her, Jack was unsure. “So you’re playing Queen against…” Jack paused, “…Queen?”

“Maybe. They are, after all, most deadly pieces,” Richard answered.

“You will not survive this game for long,” Jack said wearily.

“If Mary knew…” Richard left the sentence unfinished.

“Can I ask one question?” Jack ventured, wondering if his brother, as drunk as he was, might answer.

“Go on, why not?” Richard looked up and met his brother’s gaze.

“Does Elizabeth know what you do?”

There was a lengthy silence before Jack received an answer. “No,” Richard finally said.

“I thought not,” Jack said. “I am assuming you have a plan to palm them away from under Gardiner’s men’s noses without them noticing.”

“I am working on it. The cargo will pass this way, which is useful. I have already told Renard that there is a scheme to waylay them and his own spies have confirmed the truth of what I have said, and I have a letter from him to the courier, Henry Walgrave.” Richard explained slowly.

“So, both Renard and Gardiner think you are working for them?” Jack said wearily.

Richard grinned.

“Tell me something: how is it that you know so much? I’ve always wondered and never asked,” Jack said carefully.

“It’s a trade I learnt a long time ago; it seems like it was a lifetime ago.” Richard paused.

“Well?” Jack pressed.

Richard remained stubbornly silent, his hand bringing his cup back up to his mouth, a quantity dribbling down his chin and onto his open doublet.

“Patience is not one of my virtues, as you keep on reminding me. Get on with it,” Jack prompted.

“When I was in Seymour’s household I was involved in his ring of spies and confidants. I took some pains to endear myself to them, and we continue to correspond, shall we say,” Richard supplied.

“It’s a dangerous game, but you know that, don’t you?”

“I have little else to use to make our way. It’s served us quite well so far. But yes, the path is becoming a little treacherous,” Richard admitted.

“Don’t you mean a little treasonous?” Jack interrupted.

“Well yes, that too, although I suppose it depends from which side you look at it. It’s a matter of seman …semanti…” Richard hiccupped loudly, “semantics.”

 

 

 

†

 

 

 

The next day the brothers rode towards the Lincoln road, on a route chosen by Richard. There, high in a tree, was a lookout post. From a rocky outcrop to the trunk of an oak tree were tied two ropes, a top one to hold onto and a bottom rope for feet to slide along. Both were pulled taught, but Jack knew that as soon as any great weight was applied to them they would stretch and sag.

“I had Froggy and Marc set this up. We have the first watch,” Richard said to his brother, “So go on, you go first,” Richard said, gesturing towards the rope strung between two trees.

“Why do I have to go first?” Jack asked as he peered over the edge. He didn’t have a fear of heights, however he had a healthy respect for them, and the drop from the rope between the tree and the cliff was not one he was likely to survive if he fell.

“Well if it will take your weight, then at least I know I will be safe,” Richard replied in a matter-of-fact voice, leaning forward himself to observe the drop.

“I cannot fault your reasoning, however I can’t say I am overly happy about it.” Jack wrapped his hands around the top rope and gave it hard tug. It felt firm. “Do we really need to go over there?” Jack asked, not being able to quite see the need for this unnecessary risk.

“From here we can see as far as that line of trees there,” Richard pointed towards them, “but from over there we have a vantage point all the way down the Lincoln road.”

“Do both of us really need to go?” Jack was still not convinced.

“For God’s sake Jack, move.” Richard was already putting his feet on to the bottom rope and twisting the top one around his wrists to steady himself.

As Jack watched Richard placed all his weight on the bottom rope, as Jack had suspected