Geoffrey Condit (18 page)

    “Yes.  After they were done when he was marveling at my work.”  He looked at Catharine.  “That included your father’s letter.  But it was Lady Stanley who paid me the money.”

    Caxton exploded in a roar of rage, swearing with such feeling that Nesbit flinched and Catharine stepped back, alarmed.

    “You will find no papers implicating Buckingham or Lady Stanley.  They have thought this through and through, my lord.”

    “Were there any witnesses to the payment for your services?”  Catharine asked, praying for the right answer.

    “No, Lady Trobridge.  No one.”  Nesbit’s lean features clouded, impassive.

    “Why?  Why would they go to such lengths to attack Lord Trobridge?”  Caxton walked around this desk to kneel in front of Nesbit, eyes hard.

    Nesbit swallowed.  “Money, my lord.  He is the richest lord in the realm.  This was plotted many months ago.  Lady Trobridge was a pawn to provide access to Trevor.  Her Lancaster background and feelings were well known.”  He stopped.  “Excuse me, Lady Trobridge, but they said your volatile temper, your family tragedy, and acting from your heart made you the perfect candidate.  You would be used to plant the letters unwittingly, to give the Lord Constable reason to arrest Lord Trobridge.   Lord Trobridge would then be tried, and executed for treason.  The duke could put away his Woodville wife, and marry Lady Trobridge with all the Trevor wealth intact.”  He licked his dry lips.  “You can see how far we are into this play.”

    Catharine sat back, sick at heart:  The perfect candidate, planting letters unwittingly, acting from her heart.  God-a-mercy.  Selected like a common farm animal, but aimed like a bird of prey, lethal without knowing it.

    “Astonishing,” Caxton said.  “But now the bigger question.”

    Nesbit frowned, obviously bewildered.  “I don’t understand, my lord.”

    “Why is so much money needed now?”  Caxton’s thick fist slammed down on the arm of the chair next to Nesbit.

    Nesbit flinched, and closed his eyes.  “The duke has huge debts or so it is said.”  He looked away.

    “To hatch a plot like this to pay debts?  I think not.  Lady Stanley’s husband is one of the greatest landowners in the realm.  There is no reward there.”  Caxton’s eyes narrowed.  “Lady Stanley wouldn’t risk herself to pay Buckingham’s debts.  We have some missing puzzle pieces.”  He stood and turned to Miles Northrop.   “The King will want to examine him.”

    Nesbit began to struggle, his voice shrill.  “You promised, my lord.  No torture.  I kept my part of the bargain.   Everything.  I told everything.”

    “You will not be tortured. I will keep my part of the bargain.  Cut his hands loose and give him pen and paper to write his confession.”  Caxton said, lips hard lines, eyes stormy. “Afterwards you will be transported to a safe house outside the city for your own protection.”

    When he was done, Caxton, Catharine and Miles read the confession and signed as witnesses.   Miles and two armed retainers removed Nesbit.  Catharine paced, watching him go.

    Caxton stood very still.  “I’ll share a secret.  The duke is not in debt up to his ears.  His estates are well managed, and he’s not careless with his money.  It is true he is borrowing heavily, but not for throwing good money after bad.”  He looked at Catharine.  “I know what you’re thinking, but it isn’t enough to free Peter.”

    Catharine exploded.  “I don’t believe this.  The man confesses every ounce of the plot.  Names, place, times.  What - ”  Agony ruled her voice.  “You have every word written down.  Even his written and signed confession.  What do you mean?”

    “From a confessed forger, Lady Catharine?  These are serious charges, with the only physical evidence in the duke’s hands.  It is also evidence against the highest noble in the land.”

    Catharine tried to focus through her frustration.  “What do you mean?”  The words chocked out.  All she could see were images of Peter’s bloody and haggard, tortured in his prison cell, a laughing Duke of Buckingham standing over him.

    Caxton’s low intent voice pulled her back to reality.  “The story Nesbit told us, without third party corroboration, would be laughed out of any royal court in the land.”

    “But Nesbit’s other letters could be compared to the two letters Buckingham is using for evidence.  Surely some of the handwriting would be the same?”  she protested.

    “Some perhaps.  Did  Lady Stanley’s words sound rehearsed when she spoke to you after you secreted the two letters in your gown?”

    “No.”

    “You would be asked that.  Would you lie, on peril of your soul, to save Peter?”  Caxton asked.

    “Yes, I would,” she said, voice soft, her tone final.  All her caring and yearning for Peter welling within her.

    “You’d be asked that, too.”

    “Dear God, what are we going to do?”  Catharine wanted to shriek, the white pain of desperation ripping at her.

    “We keep Nesbit safe,” Caxton said.  “He is the key.  While we have him, the King will consider my information.”

    “But we are no further in securing Peter’s release.  This is all the evidence there is.  I gave it to you as you asked.”  She fingered her iron wedding ring, turning it round and round.

    “The information is here,”  Caxton said.  “We must put it together in such a way that Buckingham will respond the way we want.”

    “But who has the power to arrest the Lord Constable?”  Catharine stepped behind a tall heavy wood chair, and gripped the back, knuckles white in her frustration.

    “The King and whoever he designates,” Caxton said, voice careful.  He took a dish of pastries, and offered one to Catharine.  She waved it away with a grateful smile.  He selected a small ginger cake coated with sugar, and bit, scattering white to the floor rushes.

    “The Lord Constable is corrupt,”  Catharine said, attacking with the only logic she could think of at the moment.  “It is your duty to see him arrested and removed from office.  The King and the realm depend on you to protect them from this scourge.”

    Caxton’s bearded face wrinkled under his smile.  “Thank you, Lady Catharine. I understand.  You’ve given me the opening to accomplish that.”  He held up Nesbit’s signed confession witnessed by himself, Northrop and Catharine.  “The King feels he owes Buckingham a great deal for his support in crushing the Woodville attempt at usurping the throne.  The urge to reward Buckingham is still there, and he knows it, playing the King for all he can get.”  Caxton set down the half-eaten cake.  “Trevor House is on the way to my manor north of the city.  We will escort you home.”

    Catharine and Nesbit sat on their mounts between two columns of armed retainers.  Chain mail, half armor, and steel helmets reflected in the sun.  Horses stamped their feet, snorted, and swished their tails, impatient to be gone.  Nesbit, his thin back filled out from a gamberson, with its thick protective layers of felt, overlaid with chain mail, sat lashed  to the horse, his head fitted with a steel helmet.  Catharine worried with all the security.  Surely with only Caxton and her people involved no one would know and attack them.  There had been too little time for the word to get out about Nesbit.  I’ll be glad to get home in Trevor House.  Home.  She realized this was the first time she’d thought of Trevor House as home.  A good feeling.

    Caxton moved his horse up beside hers.  Her hooded Persian chain mail cloak swished in a sudden breeze.  “One of Peter’s inventions,”  Caxton said, face curious.

    “Inventions?”  She was grateful for the verbal distraction.

    “He had several made to his specifications.  The royal  family has a number.  The King never rides without his.  I have one.”  He tugged on his blue cloak.

    “One saved my life,” Catharine said.  She swallowed, an undefined fear crowding her mind. ruling her stomach.

    The gates of the manor house courtyard shrieked open.  Saddles squeaked as men sat straighter.  The tension could be cut with a knife.  “Keep your eyes open,” Caxton warned.  “Remember, you’re in a crowded city.  Control your mounts.”  His hard voice carried into the breaking noise from the thronged street.

    Catharine toyed with her iron wedding ring, trying to distract herself, and remembered  the satisfying crunch as the ring broke Nesbit’s nose less than two hours ago.  She smiled.  Blood actually sprayed out of his nostrils.  His pain must have been excruciating.  The ring saved her life.  Guess it has its uses.

    Those moving west on Cheapside came to a grumbling halt when the armed column turned left to join the flow of carts, horses, and people heading toward St. Paul’s Cathedral and the heart of London.  Clopping horses’ hooves, the rattle and clang of steel weapons, and the rise and fall of voices hawking and arguing  surrounding them.  Sweating horses, the pleasing creak of harness leather, and acrid smell of animal offal assaulted the senses.  Catharine glanced at the jewelry and cloth shops.  The two story buildings closed around them, and she saw  the men-at-arms nervously eye the roof tops and alley ways.  Beside her, Caxton,  his lips thin and hard, kept a constant watch, and Catharine felt her stomach churn.

    On the east side of St. Paul’s Cathedral the traffic slowed, and stopped.  Caxton ordered three riders forward to remove a wagon with a broken axle.  Without warning, a single arrow hissed, and one of the riders crumpled and fell from the saddle, landing a boneless heap on the cobbled street.  “Archers,” Caxton shouted.  Suddenly the air was filled with crossbow bolts and arrows.  People scattered, screaming.  Wounded and terrified horses plunged and shrieked.  “Protect  Lady Trobridge. And Nesbit,” Caxton ordered.  Shields went up around them, but the priest slumped forward.  A crossbow bolt protruding from his back, near his spine.

    Like magic, the arrows quit flying.  The sky was blue and clear, and four men-at-arms lay dead.

    Catharine counted three of the assassins dead, too, killed by their archers.  A grim Caxton ordered the dead and wounded men and horses back to the manor house.  

    Catharine dismounted, and knelt at Nesbit’s side.  Frothy blood blew from his lips, and a sucking sound came from the wound in his chest.  His eyes squinting from the pain, focused on Catharine’s face.  A rueful smile touched his lips, and his voice came strained and unnatural.  “You lose, Lady Trobridge.  Now there is nothing.  Nothing at all.”  His eyes wandered to the blue sky.  “ I wonder ... ”  And it was over, smile still on his lips.

    Catharine closed Nesbit’s eyes.  Mother Mary, what now?  A hundred emotions, and thoughts ran through her head, clambering for attention.  She pushed them away.  There has to be away.  There has to be away to use this to our advantage.

    Caxton dismounted, kneeling beside her, and inspected Nesbit’s body.

    “He’s dead,”  Catharine said, rising to her feet.  Blood caked her hand.

    “And I have a traitor in my household.”  Caxton’s face furious glanced around with dangerous eyes..  “I’m sorry Lady Catharine.  We did capture one of the assassins trying to escape.  He will be questioned.  We will get the truth.”

    Catharine flinched, guessing how they would proceed.  “Handle him with care.  He is all we have.”

    “We know him already.  A petty criminal for hire.”  Caxton helped her mount.  “We will escort you back to Trevor House.”

    “No. That is not the best move,”  Catharine said.

    Caxton’s thick eyebrows moved together.  “What do you mean?”

    Catharine gathered her reins.  “We should go to the Tower of London and confront Buckingham.   He will not expect this.  We will tell him Nesbit’s confession.  Then see his reactions.”

    Caxton’s horse trembled.  He lay a hand on its neck and talked quietly.  The horse calmed and ceased to shake.

    “Did Peter teach you that?”

    Caxton nodded.  “The man is magic with horses.”

    “We owe Peter, Sir James.  He has told me the best defense is to attack.  To give the enemy no rest to think or act.”  She drew a deep breath, trying to calm her shaking insides.  “Buckingham is behind the ambush.  He used Nesbit to discredit Peter.  But he doesn’t know what Nesbit told us.  You must show Nesbit signed  confession implicating him.”

    “No. Not that far,” Caxton said.  “He would laugh at the confession.  But the written statements of witnesses, including yourself, as to what Nesbit told us.  That is enough to do something else.”  He gestured Miles closer, and held a short conversation in hushed tones.  Miles looked startled, but rode off with four retainers toward Caxton’s country manor.

    When their column formed up again, Nesbit lay across his saddle, the crossbow bolt still sticking out of his back.  Blood dripped to the cobble stones from his body.   “To the Tower of London, Captain,”  Caxton ordered.

    We might have a chance.  Mother Mary, let it happen.  If we can just keep a distance between Peter and Buckingham.  Drive a wedge of people, so those we trust, serve and guard, Peter.  Catharine’s heart raced considering the confrontation to come.  The fear she felt for Peter.  The anger and hate for Buckingham.   And the intense desire to be finished with it all for herself.

11

A short time later, Catharine wandered restlessly about Caxton’s large office chamber in the White Tower.  Three smaller chambers lay off this larger one.  A desk, two settles, several chairs, and three trestle tables completed the furniture in the stone room.  Light poured in one large window which looked down to the Tower Green facing the Beauchamp Tower.  She could hear birds singing in the trees on the Tower Green.  Two men-at arms guarded the office door.  “His Grace of Buckingham won’t be long,”  Caxton said.

    Catharine managed a grim smile, feeling the anticipation in the man.  “The duke will be unkind,”  she predicted.  Butterflies worked her stomach.

    “So will I,”  Caxton said.  “But we both know this is no game.  This is the first step in removing the man from power.  The nagging question is why Buckingham feels this enormous need for money.  The man doesn’t act without reason.  I suspect that everything he’s done since he helped the King’s Grace stop the Woodville’s is aimed at one end.  But what that is, I don’t know.”

    Catharine toyed with her wedding ring.  She caught Caxton staring at the iron band, but he volunteered nothing.  He knows something he isn’t  willing to say about my ring.  What could be so important about the ring?

    A commotion on the stairs made them turn.   A guard announced,  “Sir. The Duke of Buckingham.”

    “Let him pass,”  Caxton said from his desk.  Catharine moved to stand beside Caxton’s massive chair.

    An angry Buckingham strode into the room with Carnahan a step behind him.  Both were armed with sword and dagger. Thigh length leather boots covered their hose.  Buckingham halted in front of the desk, and then saw Catharine.  He bowed elaborately. “Lady Trobridge.  Sir James.”  He paused.  Carnahan glanced around, eyes suspicious.

    “Why are so many of your men entering the Tower?”  Buckingham asked.  “There are fifty men, and more streaming in all the time.”

    “For the peace of the realm,”  Caxton said.

    “What does that mean, Caxton?”  Buckingham walked to the window.  Catharine followed his gaze to the Tower Green below.  A knot of twenty armed men  stood listening to their captain give instructions.  Other groups of Caxton’s men marched in under the arched entrance of the Green Tower.

    “You’ve been implicated in a plot to falsely accuse Sir Peter Trevor of treason,” Caxton said.

    The duke turned from the window.  “You’re mad.” Contempt and anger stained his voice.  “Where did you get such an insane idea?”

    “Did you recognize the body by the entrance to the White Tower?” Catharine interrupted.

    “Nesbit?”

    “You knew him?” Caxton’s eyes widened, meeting the duke’s angry gaze.

    “Vaguely.  Bishop Morton’s nephew.  A private chaplain.”  He turned away impatient.  “I met him a couple of times.  What happened  to him?”

    “He was killed in an ambush not two hours ago,”  Caxton said.  “By St. Paul’s Cathedral.  Nesbit told us all about you and Lady Stanley’s role in framing Sir Peter Trevor with the forged letters.  Clever.”

    Buckingham went white.  “This is madness.  I won’t be questioned by you.”

    “You will be questioned by the King,”  Caxton said, voice flat.

    “You have not the power.”

    “I see by your face you don’t believe that,”  Caxton said.  “I never bluff, Your Grace.  You know that.”

    “Do you have a signed confession, my lord?”

    “Yes, and three living witnesses to the interview.”

    Buckingham sneered.  “Three prejudiced people and a dead body will hardly remove me from office.  Nesbit was lying to save his hide.  This is contemptible.”  He sank into a chair before Caxton’s desk, face grim.  “I never thought you capable of stooping so low, my lord.  You’ve always been an honorable man.  What made you decide to aide and abed a traitor?  Is Peter paying you?  Perhaps this woman seduced you to her cause?  Be plain, man.”

    Caxton smiled a little, face schooled, but cold. “I will be plain, my lord,” he said, voice even, eyes locked with the duke’s.  Catharine held her breath.   “I have seen enough evidence to convince me of Sir Peter’s innocence,” Caxton said.  “And I know he has been arrested on contrived charges and falsified evidence.  For the purpose of stealing his wealth.  One of the people involved is the dead man downstairs.  Lady Stanley and her steward, Reginald Bray, are others.  Harry Barristar is another.  And you, my lord, are another.”

    The duke sprang to his feet, face suffused in fury.  “By the Mass, man!  You’re telling me ... ”

    Caxton never moved.  The raw primeval power of his words dominated everyone in the room.  “I am saying you will not touch Sir Peter Trevor, Baron Trobridge.  You have a great deal to answer for.  Your hands are not clean in this matter.  Even now a courier rides to the King with the information.”

    “I am the Lord Constable.”  Buckingham leaned forward over the desk, face purple with rage.  “I say he is guilty of treason.”

    “You overstep yourself, my lord duke,”  Caxton said. “You have the power to determine treasonable offences, and pass judgment on the guilty.  But I must remind you there has been no trial so no judgment can be passed.”

    “You presume yourself more powerful than me, Sir James.  That is a careless mistake.”  Buckingham’s tongue ran around his lips.

    Catharine watched.  Peter and her future lay in their power.  Power is a fragile thing.  Whole nations and tens of thousands of lives depended on the decisions of such men.   Now she saw what Peter had been trying to tell her of the dangers of dynastic ambition and appetites for power.

    “But I am more powerful than you,”  Caxton said, eyes lighting like hard flints.  “Even now your men are being replaced in the Tower with my own, and those of the King’s personal household.  I will not have Sir Peter Trevor suddenly disappear or die as the princes so nearly did.  Peter is the wealthiest man in England.  His disappearance would discredit the King, and could even stir the Fellowship of the Stable and the good people of London to disaffection and rebellion.  That will not be allowed to happen.”

    Buckingham’s hand landed hard on the hilt of his sheathed sword.  Carnahan glanced around the room, and dropped his hands toward his sword and dagger.

    “Touch your weapons, Carnahan, and you’ll be dead before you can remove them from their sheathes.  You of all people should know I never work alone or unprotected.”

      Carnahan’s flat eyes deepened with alarm and caution.  His hands hovered.  Tongue licking his lips, eyes uncertain, he glanced at his master.

    “Stop,”  Buckingham commanded.  Carnahan eased his hands away from his weapons and Catharine breathed easier.  “I will not have my Office overturned by you,”  Buckingham said.

    “I am not overturning your Office, my lord.  Merely protecting you and the King’s interest.”

    “You are protecting me?”  Buckingham blinked in surprise, pitted face relaxing, eyes confused.

    “Of course, Your Grace,”  Caxton said.  “You wouldn’t want yourself implicated in something that might hurt your position with the King.  Consider if Peter were to die in your care and custody?  A great outcry would arise, and people would suggest, wrongly I’m sure, that you might have a motive for killing him.  The King would remove you from office until a full investigation vindicated Your Grace.  Even so there is a lingering taint of suspicion on a man who was responsible for another man’s safety.  Especially when his charge dies under suspicious circumstances.  So much so that a King wanting popular support would not reappoint that man to office.  Wouldn’t you agree?”

    Buckingham grimaced.  “You make a point, my lord.  But I won’t have my power and authority challenged in public,”  he said, eyes hard, lips tight.  “Even by one such as you.”

    “No one challenges your authority in public,”  Caxton said.  “No one need know my men are in control of the Tower, and the Tower kitchens.”

    “Kitchens?”  Buckingham said, raising an eyebrow.  “What the devil have the kitchens to do with this?”

    “We wouldn’t want you accused of feeding the prisoner tainted food,”  Caxton said, thick square hands before him on the polished desk.  “What if one of your men misinterpreted your words, and sought to act on his own, killing Sir Peter?  This would automatically reflect on you and the King.”

    The hate in the duke’s brown eyes encompassed them both.  “You seem to have all the answers, Caxton.  And you, Catharine.  I never suspected you would do anything to help your husband.  Born and bred Lancaster.  A change of heart?  Well, Peter is guilty and I will prove it.  Your color is very high, Catharine.  Perhaps you are as guilty as your husband.  I know you put Caxton up to this.”  He turned to Caxton.  “You may have your way with the Tower for now, until I see the King.  But do not test me again.”  He strode out of the room, Carnahan following in his angry wake.

    Catharine blew a sigh of relief.  “You know Buckingham is every bit as guilty as Robin Nesbit and Lady Stanley.”

    Caxton smiled, obviously as relieved as she.  He rubbed at eyes,   “Of course.  But this is all we can do for now.  Buckingham knows the King will back me, and he will bide his time.  We will hope he makes more mistakes.  I’ve inserted some of my people in his household.”   He poured two goblets of watered wine, and handed one to her.  “To Peter.  For the moment he is safe.”

    Twenty minutes later Catharine held her breath while toying with her wedding band.  Peter sat with his back to her, staring out the window to the Tower Green below.  “Peter,” she whispered.  He turned, his leopard like topaz eyes rising the hair on the back of her neck.  She felt the blood soar in her face.

    “Catharine.”  His magic voice, all deep music, raced tingling through her body.  Then they were in each other’s arms, his mouth sought hers like a parched man  thirsting for water.

    But it was more than the melting of their bodies, this uniting of hurt, starving spirits.  Words poured out of her amid happy relieved tears until they could bear to release each other.  “Buckingham is gone.  You’re under the protection of Sir James Caxton.  He’s taken over the Tower.”

    Wonder and disbelief reflected in his eyes.  “But how?

    “Forgive me for intruding.”  Sir James Caxton stood in the doorway behind them, benevolent and pleased.  “Your wife risked her life to trap the forger, Robin Nesbit.  He confessed enough to enable me to remove the duke’s presence from the Tower.”

    “You have taken  a great risk doing what you did,  my friends.”  Peter’s grateful gaze gathered them both.  “I thank you.”  He raised Catharine’s hand to his lips.  “My lady wife who believed.”

    “However a problem still exists,”  Caxton said.  “I must hold you in the Tower until we hear from the King.  This shouldn’t be more than a week or so.  A formality.  But Buckingham’s intervention into your affairs may not be at an end.  He’s proven very resourceful in his grasping.  So best to be on your guard.”

    Catharine walked to the chamber window.  “When will this insanity end?”   She turned.  “His appetites seem endless, and the conniving ingenious.”

    Peter laughed.  “Buckingham’s biggest miscalculation seems to be this forced marriage of ours.  We have discovered each other.  Finally.”  His swordsman’s hands gathered hers, and he turned her iron wedding band with his callused fingers.  The message of his caring coursed through her.  “As for the duke?  We have no choice but deal with His Grace one day at a time.  When there is a werewolf loose in the land, we have to deal with him.”

    Three days later at noon, Catharine jerked her head at the clatter of horses outside the second story solar.  A breathless servant burst in the chamber, and hurriedly bowed.  “Excuse me, my lady.  The Duke of Buckingham and twelve retainers are here.”

    She tossed her embroidery down, closed her eyes briefly, wanting to scream.  Jesus wept.  Doesn’t the man ever give up?  He’s like a virulent plague.  Her hand shook, but she stilled them.  An image of Peter’s calm face and strong presence filled her mind giving her strength.  She opened her eyes.. “Have Anthony Will see to the retainers, and have him show the duke up here.”  She glanced to the bed chamber, then quickly away.

    By the time Anthony showed  the duke into the solar, Catharine had steeled herself to an icy calm.  She smoothed her green and gold trimmed skirts.  Buckingham, elegant in fine black hose, snowy white shirt, gold trimmed black doublet, smiled.  “So good of you to receive me, Lady Trobridge.”  He walked over to the window overlooking the courtyard.  “Such a charming place, Trevor House.”

    Catharine sweetened her smile.  “Why is it I always sense grasping in your voice when you’re dealing with the Trevor’s, Your Grace?”

    The duke turned to her, pitted face hard, humor gone.  “Barbed words, my lady.  Not worthy of you.  You sound like a carping servant.  You and Peter may have bested Lady Stanley and me over our forged letters. Beautifully done by Nesbit.  The man is an artist. But all is not lost.  You are aware your father and brother are attainted outlaws.  You also might remember my agents are pursuing your brother.”  He rubbed his hands together and smiled.  “We found him.”