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

had betrayal himself. Through a snivelled apology and a cut lip, Harry told Robert what he wanted to know: that his brother was both a thief and a murderer. Shortly Robert knew of the death of Peter Hardwood, and of the blackmail Richard had used to extort money from Harry.

 

 

 

 

†

 

 

 

 

Jack wandered in the direction of the stables. Corracha was staring at him over the stable door, evidence that his brother was indeed back at Burton. Richard had arrived late in the night, and as yet Jack had not seen him, he’d received the news of his brother’s return when he had come down from his room to the hall in the morning.

Jack wondered how long it would be before Richard managed to destroy what little they had. If he kept going at this pace it would be soon. Already, in the brief time since Mary declared herself Queen, he had managed to place himself in between those two most wholly opposed sisters.

Most men would have taken Mary’s kindness and generosity and been happy, but not Richard. Out of some archaic sense of duty, perhaps, he supported Elizabeth. Was it duty, Jack wondered, or was it more simply trying to make sure that they were on the winning side? If Mary was succeeded by Elizabeth, then Richard would stand to be rewarded a hundredfold in comparison to what Mary had given him. However, Elizabeth taking the throne was not something that Jack would place a bet on. If Northumberland had failed, then Anne Boleyn’s daughter didn’t stand much of a chance.

It was probably money, Jack concluded. There was no other reason why Richard would remain loyal to a girl who had allowed him to take the initial blame for Seymour’s acts and done nothing to stop it. Why Richard was back he didn’t know; after he had returned to London he had not expected to see him for months. Well, Jack thought, he was sure he would find out when Richard chose to tell him.

Jack was smoothing a hand down the neck of his brother’s horse when the sound of footsteps made him turn.

It was Dan, returned with his brother, and Jack smiled a greeting.

“Is my brother still in bed then?” Jack asked.

“It was late when we arrived,” Dan replied defensively.

“Well you are up?” Jack retorted, if he had been about to say more he was stopped when there was a shout from Froggy Tate near the closed gate.

Moments later a rider arrived, his horse wheeling in front of the closed gates, breath billowing around them in the cold air. A shout from the mounted man ensured his admittance and a moment late there came the rumble and thump of the wooden bars being removed to open the gates. The man dropped from his horse, Jack set his feet towards him, but at the same time Richard appeared, hopping down the few steps from the hall to the rider and Jack stood back and watched as a message was handed to his brother.

Richard opened and read it while Jack watched. The messenger Richard had despatched in the direction of the kitchen, but Jack’s blue gaze was on the paper in Richard’s hand that he had twisted and creased as he turned to walk back up the steps.

When Jack found Richard in the hall he was standing near the fire. As Jack approached he could see his brother reading the paper thoughtfully.

“Who was the messenger from?” Jack asked, walking slowing towards Richard, his boots rustling the rushes on the floor.

Richard did not look around, he stowed the parchment inside his doublet. “A message from London, nothing you need concern yourself about, brother.”

Jack matched his brother’s stance and leant against the opposite side of the fire surround, regarding him with open blue enquiring eyes. “Are you sure?”

Richard met his gaze, something seemed to change in his attitude. “It was a summons back to London.”

“But you’ve only just got here!” Jack blurted. “The messenger must have been dispatched only hours after you left.”

“I know,” Richard rubbed a hand over his face, his voice tired “And I will of course obey.”

“Why do they want you back so soon?” Jack sounded confused. “For God’s sake you’ve just arrived. Surely you can stay for a day?”

Richard smiled, “What difference will a day make?”

“Or two?” Suggested Jack.

 

 

 

†

 

 

 

The winds had dropped later that day and the master had decided not to return directly to London but to hunt. The group of five left in the early morning, heading for the trees that surrounded Burton. Jack was riding close at his brother’s side, Mat behind and Dan, with Catherine, was bringing up the rear. She had taken plenty of taunts before they had ridden out but seemed determined to keep up and ride well. They reached the trees and Mat held up his hand, signalling Dan and Catherine to wait. Richard and Jack had disappeared from sight into the darkness of the trees.

“Why have we stopped here?” Catherine said to Dan, her horse stamping at the mud beneath its hooves.

“They must have spied a beast. Probably they’ll split and try and force it from cover into the open.” Dan pulled his horse close to Catherine’s. “Keep your eyes on the trees. I think I saw something over there.”

Catherine shifted uncomfortably in the saddle. “We’ve been waiting for ages, it’s freezing sat here. Are you sure they have not forgotten us?” Catherine complained loudly.

“You wanted to come so less of your complaining, lass,” Dan replied tersely. “They’ll be out of there in good time.”

“Couldn’t we go in and have a look?” Catherine queried hopefully. Seeing Dan’s face she modified the suggestion. “Maybe just to the edge to see if we can see them?”

“You’ve less patience than Jack, if that’s possible,” Dan sounded exasperated.

Catherine considered this. “Jack’s not impatient; he doesn’t strike me as such.”

“Oh you think so, do…? There!” Dan tightened his grip on the reins.

“Where?” Catherine said, alerting her horse likewise to the possibility of action. Dan pointed and Catherine looked hard into the dim confines of the trees.

The hind burst from the trees and paused for an instant, then, realising the folly of its move, it raced across the open meadow. Two riders, parted by some distance, appeared and turned to converge on the deer as it sped off into the slight valley, trying to make it to the sanctuary of the trees on the opposite slope. Dan had already turned his horse and began to spur it for the chase, Catherine was some way behind him. In front she saw the lead riders beginning to gain on the hind as they neared the bottom of the gentle valley. There was a small stream, an easy jump for the hind, which made it to the other side. The two riders crossed the water-filled gap in the meadow with equal ease and continued hard on the trail of their quarry.

Dan was close to the stream but Catherine was well behind still, cursing her tardiness and the horse beneath her. Ahead of her she saw Mat and wondered briefly where he had come from. As the hind made her way towards the trees, Mat came down to meet her, having circled round for this very purpose. The hind, wide-eyed with fear and racing for her life, saw him and in her terror, turned back to face her pursuers. Seeing the trap, she veered to the left and headed back towards the stream, directly to where Catherine would make her crossing. Richard and Jack turned and rode across the field with Mat still riding down the slope towards them.

Catherine saw the hind too late. The horse reared, preparing to jump the gap in which the stream lay and the hind darted past her saddle. Catherine’s foot slipped from one stirrup, and before she could scramble for her balance she had slithered gracelessly from the side of the horse into the water. As her back hit the stream, the narrow gap in the field was crossed by Jack and Richard hard on the trail of the deer, and shortly after by Mat.

Suffering no injury in the fall except a good soaking, Catherine retrieved her horse, which stood hock deep in the water next to its drenched rider. A wet hand pushed dripping hair from her face as she gathered the reins and climbed back into the saddle. Water ran from a nearly full right boot and trickled from the left, while her clothes clung uncomfortably to her body. Uncaring, she turned the horse back towards the spot where she had originally waited with Dan and urged it up the bank. In the distance she spied the hunt; the desperate hind had almost made it back to the sanctuary of the woods. Catherine dug her heels in, attempting to catch them before they disappeared from view for a second time. She kept her eyes on the tree line as she rode up the bank.

Catherine had only a mental note of where the trio had entered the woods, and she rode straight for a gap between two pine trees with less care than she should have used. A low-hanging fronded branch slapped hard across her right cheek and then continued to drag bark against her skin, a reminder from nature to lessen her speed. Drawing back on the reins, she slowed the pace, aware of the imminent danger of losing an eye, or worse. Ahead the noise of horses crashing through dried wood and rotting vegetation came to her ears, but the sound seemed to echo from the solid wood around her and it was no easy task to locate the hunt.

Slowing the horse further, she crossed the point where the forest took over completely from the meadowland. She continued in, with no thought for a way out if she should not find her companions. After half an hour of riding in what she believed was a straight line, Catherine admitted to being lost. There was no longer any noise save the sound of treetop birds in the dark green canopy above. Turning, she made to retrace her steps and return to the meadow, half expecting to be able to see her way back, not realising how far she had penetrated the deer’s world. She was surprised to find that the way back was no clearer than the way in had been. Soon doubt pierced her confidence and the realisation dawned fully that she didn’t know what direction she was going in. The cold of the cloth began to penetrate her body and the lack of sun meant it lay almost as wet as the moment she had emerged from the water. Anger at her foolishness and the humiliation she had brought on herself made her spur the horse on. If she did not get out of here soon they would come and look, maybe, and that she would not be able to forget.

“Come on,” she said to the horse. The sound of her own voice in the silence shocked her, but gritting her teeth she began to concentrate on the path she would take. Not wanting to add further injury to herself, she kept her head low over the horse, relying heavily on the fact that her mount would not ride directly into the unyielding trees.

The horse stopped, refusing to go any further, its path blocked by bramble. The debris of nature was now waist high: fallen branches, sleeping bracken and barbed brier were all around. Catherine knew she had not passed this