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

it stretched far more than the first lengthening the distance between them, the top rope went from waist height to head height, and it was now no longer as easy for Richard to use to keep his balance. Jack stepped back from the crumbling rocky edge and, folding his arms, rested his back against the rock the rope was lashed around and watched Richard’s passage critically.

“You’ll need to go up the rope now you’ve reached the middle, it’ll not be as easy now,” Jack observed.

Richard stopped, midway over the rope and cast his cool grey eyes back to his brother. “Thank you for you words of wisdom. I think, however, that I can grasp the rudimentary principles of a rope bridge without your help.”

Jack shrugged. “I was just trying to be helpful.”

Richard didn’t say another word, the second part of the traverse was the hardest, his boots slid on the rope and it was his arms that needed to take his weight and pull him up the last of the rope so he could reach the massive, out-flung branches of the tree. A moment later the ropes bounced loose as his weight left them. Richard was sat on one of the branches his feet swinging in the air, regarding Jack across the short distance.

“Come on then.”

Jack pushed himself away from the rock and wrapped his arms around the top rope before he placed his feet on the bottom one. A handful of pebbles skittered from the rocky edge and Jack’s eyes couldn’t help but follow their descent to the rock-strewn ground at the bottom of the stony outcrop.

“It’s best not to look down, or so I’ve been told,” a cheery voice called helpfully from the leafy confines of the tree.

“Bugger off.”

“I was just trying to be helpful,” Richard mocked.

Jack ignored his brother and put one foot on the rope, testing the effect his weight was going to have. He was heavier than Richard and the rope was going to stretch away more beneath him. After taking four sideways steps along the bottom rope he realised just how much more it had stretched, one more step and the top rope was going to be above his head and of very little use to him in keeping his balance.

“That does look like it’s going to be awkward for you,” mused Richard from where he sat on the tree branch.

One more step and Jack knew he would be at the bottom of the ropes stretch as he arrived at the middle, and he also realised the top rope would be at the full extent of his outstretched arms above his head. He had two choices – go back, or transfer all his weight to the top or bottom ropes.

“Jack, take the top rope, it’ll not have suffered as much stain as the bottom one,” Richard’s voice had lost its mocking tone, and the words were seriously spoken.

With the agility of a horseman, Jack took his feet from the bottom rope and hooked them around the top one. From there he began the short hand over hand climb up the angled rope to the perch Richard was sitting on.

Neither Richard, with his eyes on Jack, nor Jack with his eyes on the rope he was climbing up, saw it unwinding from the oak branch where it had been secured. Jack’s extra weight on it had broken a securing peg holding the rope in place. Jack was the first however to be aware of it.

The rope dropped a foot, the unwound end snagging for a moment on a notch on the tree trunk. Jack grabbed for the branch Richard was perched on as the rope freed itself and dropped away beneath him to the forest floor.

The branch was too wide to wrap his arms around. Jack felt his grip on the rough bark slip.

Richard’s hands grasped around his left wrist, the hold like iron. “Reach up with your right hand there’s a hold just above it.”

Could he hold on with one hand? He had no real hold on the bark, all that was holding him up was his brother’s grip.

“Come on Jack, I can’t hold you!” Richard’s voice was stained with the effort of supporting his brother’s weight.

Jack took a breath and let go with his right hand. Richard grunted against the pain of the extra weight and for a moment Jack felt his wrist slipping through his brother’s grasp. An instant later his right hand had located the hold and his tortured muscles dragged him towards the safety of the branch top.

His chest heaving he curled on top of the branch, his brother still with his hands tight on him. Suddenly Jack realised how his brother had saved him. Richard had used his own weight and was hanging from the tree, his only hold was the one he still had on Jack. If Jack had fallen, then they both would have. Jack leant down and fastened a hold into Richard’s doublet and hauled his brother back to the top of the tree branch next to him.

A moment later Richard knelt next to Jack, his body shaking from the exertion, a cut on his right cheek from a knot in the wood was dripping blood in a steady stream.

“You could have let me fall,” Jack managed.

“I nearly did,” Richard replied, his breathing still coming in ragged gasps.

Jack’s fist was still tightly balled in his brother’s clothing, and he dragged him close, wrapping his arms around him.

“You didn’t. You could have, but you didn’t.” Letting go of him Jack sat back on the branch and said in a serious voice, “I am sure you weighed up all the outcomes very carefully. It would be so much easier without me. You remove Robert and that just clears a path for you. You were raised for it, you could be the heir so easily, and if you had let me fall you could have taken it. No one would blame you. But you didn’t, and I am grateful you made that choice.”

“Jack. I just meant I wasn’t strong enough to hold you,” Richard stated bluntly.

“Oh.” Was all Jack could manage.

 

 

 

†

 

 

 

An hour later they had safely climbed down from the tree, slowly traversing the branches rather than trusting to the remaining rope. Mounted on steeds more content to stand idle and munch the grass, they were headed back to Burton. As they crested the gentle rise towards the manor the white mill came into view and Jack’s face darkened at the sight of it.

Richard, seeing his brother’s expression change, moved his horse closed to his brothers. “So what is it about a mill that sours your temper, or have you still not forgiven me?”

Jack was about to snap back a curt answer, but then swallowed it, and said instead, “I have some business with the miller, Knoll, and it’s past time that I paid him a visit.”

“Well then,” Richard said smiling, “let’s go together, I’ve not seen the mill before, it’ll be intriguing to see how it works.”

“I knew you’d find it interesting,” Jack said under his breath.

Knoll was there when they arrived, he must have seen them riding side by side along the road towards the mill and he met them on the bank of the mill pond.

“Master Fitzwarren,” Knoll said, bowing slightly in Jack’s direction. Richard smiled with delight, and Jack gave him a dark look.

“A brief word, if I may,” Jack said, striding towards the miller. Richard followed and stood at Jack’s shoulder, listening to the exchange.

“It seems, Knoll, that the tenants are equally afraid of us both. None seem to want to talk to me about paying to use the mill. Shall I assume that this was a practice of Guy’s and that it no longer takes place?” Jack was handing the miller an opportunity to exonerate himself, and one he had no choice but to accept.

“I’m sure you are right sir, this was probably a practice of Guy’s, and I can see no reason why you would hear of it happening again,” Knoll said evenly.

“Good, let me introduce you to my brother,” Jack said, “he would very much like to see how the mill works.”

Jack waited, sitting out of the wind, his back to the mill wall while his brother was taken on a tour. When Richard emerged an hour later, his hands dusty with flour, Jack was nearly asleep.

 

 

 

†

 

 

 

Richard’s man sat, legs outstretched and feet crossed, his back against the giant trunk of the tree in the same lookout that the brother’s had visited a few days before. From his vantage point he had seen only farm wagons, a peddler accompanying a lame horse and field workers using the road briefly on their way home.

Suddenly his body stiffened and his eyes narrowed to focus on the distant sight. Leaving his leafy perch he mounted the saddled horse tethered at the base and spurred her homeward.

Richard saw the rider speed past the posting house and discarded his hand of cards onto the table. Jack, rising, flipped them over; aces smiled up. “That was good timing. I have been saved from poverty again,” Jack said as he rapidly collected his cloak and sword.

They headed in the opposite direction to the messenger and shortly after their horses stood side by side, blocking the road.

“You think this will work?” Jack asked uneasily.

“I have no idea,” replied Richard pleasantly.

“Well, I suppose there are only two outcomes: either they stop, which would be a good thing, or…” he shifted nervously in the saddle, “they ride right over us, which would most certainly be bad.”

The carriage and escort of six riders neared them. When they were at a distance where they could clearly be seen, Richard raised his hand in a signal for them to stop.

 

 

 

 

†

 

 

 

 

The entourage came to a halt and the captain turned his horse back towards the carriage.

“My Lord, two riders stand in our way,” Captain Davis said through the carriage window.

“Do they look like robbers, do you think?” Henry Walgrave, Renard’s man, and not a Lord, leant from the window.

“I would doubt it. We vastly outnumber them and we are in the open. There is nowhere for others to be hiding,” the captain replied.

“We will wait here. Ride ahead and see what they want,” Walgrave ordered nervously.

The captain gave the command and his men took up a defensive position around the carriage. He rode towards the two riders, his eyes scanning the landscape to ensure that his original assessment that there were no others was correct.

“What business are you about?” Captain Davis demanded.

“My name is Richard Fitzwarren and I must speak with Walgrave.” He rode towards the captain. “This letter proves my identity. Take it to Walgrave and inform him I wish only a few minutes of his most valuable time.” Richard passed the parchment to the captain who wheeled his horse round and returned to the carriage.

The captain gestured for Richard to approach the carriage and he left Jack standing in the middle of the road. Jack watched the brief exchange and wondered idly what lies Richard was using.

“Is he deceived?” Jack enquired quietly as Richard arrived back.

“Most assuredly. He believes I am Renard’s man,” Richard replied.

“Come, we have to be part of an ambush party shortly.” They turned their horses and headed