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

way before; the forest-skirts were not this overgrown. Forced to drop from the saddle she led the horse behind her. The way forward was no longer an option; looking about, she chose the easiest route and set out, wondering if they were looking for her.

 

 

 

†

 

 

 

 

The deer was slumped over the hind quarters of Dan’s horse, tongue extended, a broken arrow protruding from its chest, the steel bolt lodged deep in its heart. Jack was retelling for the fourth time how he had made the shot, how the arrow had arched, missing a branch, and made it true to the target. Mat leant over in his saddle and grimly exchanged a look with Dan. In the silent exchange, both acknowledged the other’s fear that Jack would be nothing short of unbearable for the remainder of the day.

“It was a fine shot, Jack, but,” Dan paused to allow Jack to acknowledge his praise, for it would be the last he got this day, “where’s Catherine?”

“Last I saw she was picking herself out of the water,” Mat said, pointing back to where the hind had fled across the stream.

Jack chuckled. “Back at Burton then, in front of the fire.” He set his horse homeward, eager to return. “Come, we’ll have that tonight,” he gestured at the carcass on Dan’s horse. “Richard, you’ll not join us?” Jack called over his shoulder, seeing his brother turn his horse away.

“I don’t think she went back to Burton. She was foolish enough to have followed us into the forest,” Richard gestured behind him. “Go back to Burton. If she’s there, come back and let me know. I’ll go and see if I can find her.”

“She’ll be in front of the fire drying out,” Jack laughed as Richard spurred his horse back towards the trees.

 

 

 

 

†

 

 

 

 

Richard dismounted when he heard the noise of the horse and rider trudging through the woods. Tying his horse to a tree, he cast his eyes about until he located the source of the sound. It had been an easy trail to follow, crossing itself twice as Catherine had navigated in two circles back to the same clearing. Richard wondered if she knew of her folly. Leaning with his back to one of the massive oaks that dominated the forest, he watched the dim form of a rider leading a horse approach. If she did not look up, she would walk on and never see him. He said nothing and waited.

Shoulders slumped, she marched doggedly on, stopping to circumnavigate a fallen branch and then continued leading the horse behind her. Still she did not see the watcher. A thicket of knotted bramble and dried brown bracken blocked her advance and she turned left to avoid it, passing within feet of him.

The early March dusk was falling, but where they were, deep in the forest, he was sure Catherine was not aware of the imminence of night. The horse was still plodding carefully behind her as she led it through the tangle of undergrowth. There was a clearing in the trees to her left and she headed towards the false hope of escape. On reaching it she found the thinning of the trees had been caused by the crash to earth by one of the mighty giants, and the younger trees, which had lived weakly in its shadow, had not yet had the chance to fully take its place.

As he watched the girl cast her eyes around, still not seeing him, and set off in another direction.

Richard, folding his arms, recited to the trees.

“And wilt thou leave me thus?

Say nay, say nay, for shame

To save thee from the blame.

Of all my grief and grame.

And wilt thou leave me thus?”

Catherine stopped abruptly. The horse took two more steps bumping into her back and forcing her to stumble forwards.

The poet continued, hiding a grin.

“And wilt thou leave me thus?

That hath loved thee so long.

In wealth and woe among?

And is thy heart so strong,

As for to leave me thus? Say nay.”

Catherine tied the horse to an outstretched mossy branch and began to pick her way back towards him.

“And wilt thou leave me thus?

That hath given thee my heart.

Never for to depart,

Neither for pain nor smart?

And wilt thou leave me thus? Say nay,”

Richard continued, eyes still lifted to the green gilded canopy above.

Catherine stopped, a hand on a rotting branch as she climbed over the final obstacle between them.

“And wilt thou leave me thus

And have no more pity

Of him that loveth thee?

Hélas, thy cruelty!

And wilt thou leave me thus? Say nay.”

Richard watched Catherine’s clumsy approach. Finally she stood before him, the noise of twigs bending and snapping had stopped, and the pair observed each other in silence.

“Ah, apparently you’ll not leave,” Richard said, observing the dirty, damp girl with bright eyes that burnt with hate from behind lank hair.

“Spare me your words. I know them already,” Catherine’s voice was filled with anger.

“Do you indeed? Well, that’s a trick if you can manage it. Tell me, lady fortune, what will I say next?” Richard enquired as he regarded her seriously.

“Don’t,” was the only reply he got.

“Please, come on, what exactly do you think I will say?” Richard insisted. “I’ve never met an oracle before.”

Catherine sighed deeply. “That I have been a fool, that I have no right to be here, that I have caused trouble to no end… That I was probably lucky not to have killed myself.”

“Undeniably a fair assessment,” Richard agreed, nodding. “However, I was going to leave that to Jack. You have disappointed me.”

“What then?” Catherine, pushing damp hair away from her eyes, looked at him with confusion on her face.

“I thought perhaps to tell you that your skills on a horse had improved. Perhaps you should address your directional talents next. Moss,” Richard paused, “only grows on one side of a tree, the north side. A point which should obviously be included in all young ladies’ education in the future, do you not agree?”

Catherine’s head hung from her shoulders. “I didn’t know.”

“But it’s a lesson well learnt, would you not say?” Richard replied, unfolding his arms and moving towards her.

“Can we leave, please? I am sorry for what I have done. Believe me, I did not want to have this conversation with you,” Catherine said, her voice still bearing an edge of anger.

“Ah, maybe I should leave again, if my presence is so unwelcome,” Richard said sadly.

“Stop it, Richard!” Catherine shouted. “Let me be. The price of salvation is too high.”

“What price is that?” he asked, watching as she turned to leave.

“That you mock me on every meeting, without need, without reason.” Catherine turned back to face him, her arms thrown wide, tears running from her eyes. “Without provocation, and without mercy.” Catherine pointed at the tree to her left. “North, I know now, thank you.”

Richard watched her make her way back towards her horse. “Only one problem with that,” he called when she was nearly there.

“What’s that?” she said through clenched teeth. When no reply came, she wheeled back again. “What? Tell me.” Catherine stormed back across the forest, snaring her boot in the briar and nearly pitching herself on the floor. Furious now she shouted, “Tell me!”

“You want to go east,” Richard confessed, grinning.

“East!” Catherine yelled at him, exasperation and anger warming her cold blood. “You just said north.”

“No, I said that way,” Richard pointed, “is north. I didn’t say to go north, did I?”

The blow she aimed would never have connected. Richard intercepted it easily and held her wrist in a steel grip. Close together for a second he held her immobile before wrenching her arm up her back and bringing Catherine to her knees in front of him. Crouching down behind her, he spoke quietly in her ear, “And that way – where your horse is standing, good lady – is east.”

Catherine’s head hung in front of her; damp tendrils of hair obscuring her face. Richard felt the fight leave her body, she had stopped pulling against his grip. He released the pressure on her shoulder and loosened his hold, but did not let go.

Still holding her wrist he brought her arm around her waist and lifted her back to her feet. As she stood he could feel her legs trembling and she was forced to stand with her weight against him.

“Can you stand?” His voice was no longer mocking, there was serious concern in his tone.

Catherine did not reply in words but nodded; he was sure she would have made that response even if both her legs had been severed beneath her. Knowing her lie, he released her wrist but stood close as she swayed slightly when the prop of his body was removed.

Taking a firm hold on her shoulders he reversed her to rest against the tree while he went to collect their mounts. The expression on her face told him just how miserable she was feeling.

Leading the horses back towards her he resolved that he was going to have to do something about Catherine’s situation. She was filthy, wearing outsized clothes, and covered in a good layer of grime. Jack might have ensured her physical welfare but that was all. The girl needed to be removed from Burton, and he would try again to contact her family. De Bernay had been Mary’s man, and it may be that he could press Derby to intervene on her behalf. He owed her that much.

Handing her the reins to her horse Richard pulled himself easily into his own saddle. He watched her as she wrapped both hands around the pommel and tried, and failed, to pull herself onto the horse’s back, her arms shaking with the effort. “I can’t…” Catherine sobbed, the humiliation producing more tears.

Richard pulled his horse next to hers, extended an arm for her to take, and pulled her easily up to sit in front of him.

“Lass, you are freezing. Have this.” The girl in front of him was shivering, he hadn’t realised just how wet she was. Pulling his riding cloak from around his neck he draped it over her shoulders.

Catherine tucked herself within the folds of the fabric and slowly they set off, Richard leading her horse behind his.

“I don’t believe it!” the girl exclaimed in disgust soon after they had set off when his horse stepped from the wooded forest and onto the Lincoln Road.

“I didn’t think you’d be very pleased either when you found out just how close you were,” Richard turned Corracha towards the village, pressing his heels into Corracha’s flanks the horse quickened his pace. Shortly afterwards in the dim evening light they saw the darkened outline of the village, and beyond that the towering structure of the mill.

Froggy Tate was in the courtyard when he arrived and caught hold of Corracha’s bridle.

“Catherine, come on get down and we’ll get you warmed up.” Richard didn’t receive a reply, the girl wrapped in the cloak was wholly unresponsive.

“Froggy, help her down,” Richard instructed, lowering the dead weight towards the man’s waiting arms. Dropping from the saddle himself he relieved Froggy of his burden and headed in the direction of the kitchen.

Catherine, cold and barely conscious, missed the argument between Richard and Tilly.