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

that lay there. Many decided to delay their judgement until they could view his acts.

Jack raised his head. Blond hair fell over his eyes. He found his first quarry seated by the fire playing cards, laughing and drinking. Jack watched Alan and his blue eyes darkened. The man had just won and was raking coins across the boards towards him. Blue changed to black. The cards were dealt again. Alan reached for the beer and drank a lengthy draft. Black eyes reflected the yellow dance of the fire. Jack raised himself from the dais and stood above them, pushing the table from in front of him. The scrape of wood on wood drew the attention of some of the men in the hall who turned to see Jack standing alone. Drawing his sword, the sound of steel rasping from the scabbard, gained the attention of the rest.

“Alan, stand. Our business is unfinished,” Jack said loudly over the silence that had settled on the hall.

Alan stood immediately. His sword was leant against the bare stone of the wall, ready, and he ripped the scabbard from the blade, discarding it. “You are right, you brought this on the Master,” Alan pronounced loudly enough for everyone in the hall to hear, “we all saw you bring Ayscough’s men here. I’ll not follow you Jack, and neither will the men.”

Jack jumped lightly from the dais. He stood some paces from Alan, prepared, sober and resolved to carry out this justice.

Alan stood, his blade ready, in the middle of the hall. Jack strode towards him with a purpose and speed that made Alan waver for a moment. It was not a fight, it was an execution. Alan’s sword touched Jack’s only once, then the steel was forced from his hand with a brutal blow that made the blade shiver. Before the weapon had finished rattling on the floor Alan was dead, a steel point protruding from his back, his final expression one of horrified surprise.

The hall remained silent while Jack taught his remaining followers a lesson in loyalty. Jack stood silently and looked down the length of his blooded sword at the body of the man who would not betray him further. He returned alone to the dais, laid his sword on the boards, and poured ale into a cup.

The silence in the hall was broken by small degrees until the noise was back to its previous level as they considered what they had witnessed. Jack cared not if they sought to further challenge him, cared less what they thought of him, and worried not about the words they now exchanged.

Dan, sitting at the end of one of the tables called down to Froggy, who was partway along, his words clear and loud enough to be heard by all. “Pass me that jug for the Master.”

Froggy looked up, met his eye and moved swiftly to comply. Jack heard his declaration, but his face registered nothing. Dan, rising, crossed to Jack and placed the jug carefully and quietly in front of him.

“Here.” Dan placed the ring he had snatched from Jack earlier beside it.

Jack’s eyes looked down at the ornament and then back up to meet Dan’s gaze. Dan was not smiling, but there was a satisfied look on his face.

 

 

 

 

Chapter Twenty-five

 

†

 

 

It had taken Richard three days to get to London. On the first day he’d left the mill at Burton and made his way through the woodland, unseen, to Jamie’s. There he had left instructions for the priest to deliver to Dan and his brother. There was too much at stake, and the fewer people who knew of his survival the better. It was better for Jack to remain in ignorance, he reasoned, than to trust in his ability to dissemble.

The following day, when he was sure they were no longer looking for him, he had set out for London. The horse he had borrowed from Jamie was an aged and ponderous animal and the journey was a painfully slow one. Without funds he could not buy another mount and he had no money for inns, spending two nights wrapped in Jamie’s thickest winter cloak sleeping rough near the road.

 

 

 

†

 

 

 

Richard had lit the lamp in the attic room and when he dropped silently into the walled garden Kate was already there waiting for him. The pain in his shoulder was acute and he drew a shuddering breath, forcing himself to ignore it.

It had rained all day; the grass and leaves were wet and her skirt hem was dark with water from where she had walked around the small box-hedged garden, the spaniel trailing sullenly behind her. Kate had been in the garden for a while waiting for him.

The look on her face told him something was wrong. Very wrong. Had Robert told the truth?

Kate came towards him as soon as she saw him. “Richard,” Kate’s voice shook,

“we have no need to fear discovery tonight.”

“It’s true then, Kate?” Richard stepped forward.

“They took her to the Tower. I was not allowed to accompany her. The Queen provided ladies of her own to look after her. She was scared to death. The guards laughed, said if she behaved herself they’d allow her to pay her respects to her lady mother. Oh God, and there was nothing I could do, nothing…” Kate sobbed, tears flooded from her eyes. “Do you think they’ll…?” Kate was unable to finish the sentence.

“I don’t think so,” Richard said thoughtfully. “I had thought I would bring good news tonight. Are there any guards here?”

“No, they all left the house when Elizabeth was taken,” Kate sniffed. “There is just myself and some of her ladies here now.”

“Well, what say we retrieve your errant hound and I shall escort you back to the house,” Richard smiled.

The dog, roused from the hedge by their approach, sensed a game afoot and led them a merry dance around the garden until Kate managed to stamp on his trailing lead. She found herself laughing, and was grateful for it.

Once inside and seated at a table the Spaniel sniffing at Richard’s boots, Kate could see him clearly in the light. “What happened to you?”

“I do look a sorrowful sight, I’m sorry. I had to evade pursuit,” he supplied the excuse quickly.

“Well it’s a thorough disguise, in both appearance and smell.” Then Kate, gnawing her lip, asked, “Do you think they will release her?”

Richard took her hands in his, squeezing them tightly. “I believe she is being held as a device to ensure Parliament ratifies the wedding. I think Derby has made a move I didn’t anticipate. However I am sure she will be safe. Kate, there are too many of the nobles opposed to the wedding with Philip and Elizabeth’s survival is a key to ensuring their cooperation. She has fallen pray to politics, the deal is almost completed, and it is probably felt that it would be safer to have Elizabeth under lock and key. I am sure she will be safe. If they made any move against her now they would jeopardise Mary’s wedding.” Richard finished.

“Are you sure?” Kate asked, sounding reassured by his words.

“I am, Kate, and I have many reasons that I cannot share with you why I believe this will be the case,” Richard smiled and released her hands.

Shortly after Richard left the house the way he had arrived, and in the dark shadows of the London night he made his way back across the City. The assurances he had given Kate were not ones he truly believed in, and he needed to find out why Elizabeth was now in the Tower. What had changed?

 

 

 

†

 

 

 

Elizabeth laid down the pen next to the completed page and reviewed her work. Sighing she folded and sealed the letter. It was possible that this would be her final plea to Mary for her life, asserting that she had played no part in the plot against the Queen and remained a faithful servant. She again requested that she be allowed an audience with Mary, to answer for herself the charges and accusations levelled at her by the Privy Council. Wyatt had, it appeared, remained faithful and she felt such pity for the man after hearing that on the scaffold his final words had been to further state publicly that she had played no part in his plotting,

 

…neither they nor any other now yonder endurance was privy to any rising before I began, as I have declared to the Queen’s Council…

 

She wondered at what cost those words had been bought.

The gaolers had a stark sense of humour and placed her in the rooms occupied by her mother before her lethal appointment with the axe. When she had landed from the boat her hand had instinctively sought Kate’s, and it was only when she realised that she was finally alone that her resolve had almost left her. How she had managed to remain upright, walking to what she felt was her death, she didn’t know.

 

 

 

†

 

 

 

Elizabeth’s pleas from the Tower lay on a table, discarded by Mary after she had briefly read the content. Bishop Gardiner stood fidgeting in front of the Queen.

“We understand well the thrust of your accusations against Elizabeth, my lord bishop, but we wonder if she does have a good reason for complaint. So far I have heard little in the way of substantial evidence against her. Despite assurances, Wyatt went, did he not, to his death denying her involvement?” Mary said curtly.

“He did indeed. But, Your Majesty, we did have good reason…” Mary’s raised hand stopped his words.

“Yes, we do understand your reasons, but it does not deny that you cannot give us a case against her, can you?” Mary paused, and the Bishop opened his palms accepting the truth of her words. “Are we to assume then that there is a possibility that in this instance Elizabeth may have no case to answer?”

“Your Majesty, the Privy Council wishes to question Elizabeth again. Maybe then…”

“My lord bishop,” she interrupted, “have you not already questioned her and gained nothing? Why again? We will not be made to look a fool in this matter. Renard indicates that you prolong this because you wish to keep her heir to the throne, and we do most fervently hope that is not the Council’s intention. We want a final answer. What are we to think,” Mary’s withered hand snaked out and retrieved Elizabeth’s letter, “when we receive communications like this? You are making fools of yourselves. You may have one more interview with the lady, and then we will know your case if there is one to answer.”

 

 

 

†

 

 

 

His appearance was a poor one and it was with some difficulty that he persuaded John Somer’s steward to inform his master that he wished to see him. It was only his insistent manner and accented speech that finally persuaded the man to take the message to his master that there was a visitor by the name of Fitzwarren begging for an audience.

Richard did not have long to wait, and found himself being led to Somer’s study soon after he had arrived.

“Good God man! What happened to you?” Somer said, taking in the dishevelled image of the man before him.

Richard filthy, wrapped in a coarse homespun cloak lined with a malodorous sheepskin, stared back evenly at Somer. “Quite