Taste of Treason (15 page)

The bang of the door awoke her and for a few seconds she could not remember where she was. Then she realized it must be Rob come to fetch her. With a joyous lift of her heart, she took hold of the shawl, about to throw it back and swing upright on the bench. Until she saw the second man enter, at which point, she ceased any movement.

Now that she was fully awake, she could sense the change in the atmosphere, as if some insidious worm had worked its way into the center of an apple and corrupted it. Had she been able to, Alys would have climbed over the back of the bench and curled up on the floor out of sight. Instead, she lay like one of the marble statues on the tombs of the nobility near the high altar.

“Were you seen?” The voice was deep.

“Nay, but he has everyone running around like a game of fox and geese.”

Alys could hear the smile in the first speaker’s voice.

“Excellent. We must give him more to think on. I have it. Servants’ gossip is an excellent source of bizarre theories. We could then work to give them credence. It would not do for any to guess our true intent.”

“I am not accustomed to listen at corners.” The second man’s voice sounded firm, but Alys could distinguish an undertone of fear.

“I am not accustomed to being defied,” the first man retorted.

“What do you wish to know?”

“How much has apothecary Ballard discovered?”

Chapter Eighteen

Luke returned from his visit to Corbin after giving Bertila the promised restorative. Although she looked much better than the previous day, there was a tightness around her eyes that troubled him.

At his urging, she had downed the potion, promising to take more when she felt her anxiety returning. He had stroked his hand over her head, using the power of his daily application of oils to introduce small gold serenity stars into her hair. They would sit there, cloaking her anxious mind with tranquility, and begin the healing process.

Corbin’s condition was more serious. The stones had done some good, but his speech was still almost too slurred to comprehend. He knew Luke and welcomed him, but it was clear that any visitor other than his daughter exhausted his few reserves. As he had with Bertila, Luke laid a hand on his forehead. Corbin was cool to the touch, but Luke could feel fear and confusion bubbling under the surface. Once more, he used the tranquility spell, but such was the old man’s condition that it needed to be much stronger than he had anticipated. After assuring his friend that all was well, admonishing him not to fret and saying that he would see him again soon, Luke returned home, drained.

His initial reaction at finding the house empty was anger, but a rabbit stew bubbled gently at the edge of the fire. It was some minutes before it occurred to him that this was his first opportunity with enough peace and quiet to think and assess the cascade of events that had overtaken him. He sat, Joss leaning against his leg, her head resting on his thigh and his caressing fingers under her ears sending her to sleep. Luke, too, closed his eyes.

He felt satisfied that he had wrung every ounce of information from the writing on the wall. That left the death of the Brook wench in the Queen’s privy apartments. Logically, it must have been directed against the Queen. Edith Brook was far too insignificant to warrant such a flamboyant murder. If someone had wanted her dead, why not simply knock her on the head and slip her into the river? No, the mystery now was what connection the second murder had to the first, for Luke was certain both events were related. Nobody had yet identified the naked man. That said, after a few days in whichever cesspit the victim had been stowed, his own mother would have had difficulty in recognizing him.

What sort of plot would involve wanting the Queen to miscarry? A foreign one. Probably Spanish. Surely not the French, seeing that the Queen of England was niece to the King of France and daughter to the King of Scotland. Spain was the most likely enemy. That begged the question why. If Madeleine died, Henry might be persuaded to make a match with a Spanish princess. No, surely Henry would realize how much a union with Spain would alienate the French and the Scots, one of whose borders adjoined England and the other only a matter of twenty short miles the other side of the English Channel. That also gave weight to the presence of Dufay in France being part of the tangle.

At that moment, Rob and Alys, breathless and red-faced, plunged through the door, bringing Joss and Luke to their feet.

“Alys has something to tell you,” Rob panted.

“Then we would all be better with a jack of ale first. Get your breath back.”

He waited whilst Rob scurried about pouring them all a drink, gesturing Alys to sit at the table and waiting for Rob to join them.

“Go on,” Luke said.

His eyes narrowed at Alys’s tale. He leaned towards her over the table.

“You heard him clearly? Are you sure you were not mistaken?”

“No, sir, he spoke with a deep voice, but it carried well enough.”

“Did you recognize either man?”

“No, sir, they both wore black cloaks and hats. I dared not move so that I could see their faces.”

“What did the second man answer when the other asked how much I knew?”

“He said, no more than was needful to send you running off in all directions. Then the first man said that they would have to put up more hares for you to chase.”

“Did they, indeed? How very interesting.” He rose from his chair. “The stew smells excellent, Alys. Let us eat.”

* * *

“Do I have to have the windows closed? It is so stuffy in here.”

“Madeleine, you know full well how dangerous the outside air is during childbirth,” Henry answered, though, in truth, he knew no such thing. “We have the best physicians in the world and must abide by their wisdom.”

Queen Anne walked forward to examine the sumptuous cradle with its embroidered counterpane.

“This is beautiful, worthy indeed of a prince of England.”

Easily diverted, Madeleine walked over and stroked a hand over the thickly ornamented cloth, then cast a half-fearful peep towards the bed. Henry caught the glance and from the expression on his mother’s face, so had she. Queen Anne put her arm around the young Queen’s shoulders and led her to the side of the bed.

“There is really nothing to fear, my child. I shall be with you and your gossips will keep you amused until your pains begin.”

“Does it hurt very much?”

“Not for long. And when you know that you have given birth to the future king of England, there will be no room for pain, only for pride and joy.”

Madeleine looked a little happier. Henry took her hand.

“I will have the air improved with scented water before you enter upon your confinement,” he said. “Do not fear, sweetheart. All will be well.”

“Could you at least have the windows opened to let in the fresh air until the time comes, my lord? In Scotland, we were never so closed in. I am still unused to it.”

Henry laughed aloud.

“Aye, I will order it.”

Madeleine stroked her swollen stomach.

“I shall conduct myself as a queen of England should,” she said, looking up at him almost shyly.

Henry lifted the hand he held to his lips. He noticed that his mother, tactful as ever, had retreated to examine the tables and benches that would be laden with swaddling bands, wrapping cloths and breast binders. The latter convention pleased him. He would not like the act of feeding a child, even one that was going to secure the house of Tudor, to change his delight in the shape and taste of Madeleine’s breasts.

Now that the time approached for the birth of his son and heir, Henry realized he was more nervous than he could ever admit. Was this how it had been for his royal father? Henry VIII had been forty-three before he held a legitimate son. The young king could not envisage the stress his father must have suffered, knowing that after twenty years of an invalid marriage to the Dowager Princess of Wales, he had only one surviving child and that a girl. What if the same thing should happen to him?

A moment later, he chided himself for his morbid thoughts. He was young and lusty. Madeleine had had a problem-free pregnancy. This was no time for anything other than the certainty that in a few weeks, he would be the father of a healthy Prince of Wales. They had already decided that the baby would be called Arthur after his dead uncle, the only husband of Spanish Katherine.

It was fitting that with a new reign, there should be a new Camelot in England. He vowed to be a father to his people, bring peace and prosperity where there had been division and discord. The new prince would play his part in strengthening the dynasty and thus the security of the realm.

He did not envy Madeleine the weeks she would spend shut up in this depressing suite of darkened rooms, but she was a good, dutiful and loving wife. Why, then, did he suddenly feel so apprehensive? The muscles between his shoulders tensed and rippled as if someone watched him. This would never do. It was time they were all back out in the sunshine. The sudden cry from Madeleine had him sprinting to her side, just as she fainted. Twice in one day. God’s Nightgown!

He picked her up and laid her with extreme gentleness on the bed, bellowing for a physician. It was a few moments before he felt his mother grip his arm. Queen Anne, face drained of color, stared towards the door, eyes fixed on the large oval Venetian mirror hanging beside it. He could feel her trembling.

The great mirror had been smashed, the resulting pattern resembling a jagged eight-legged spider.

* * *

Luke questioned Alys as they ate the stew, phrasing his questions a little differently each time, but her story did not change. He had no doubts as to her veracity. She had seen the men, heard them mention him by name during their conversation, say he must be kept distracted whilst they continued with their enterprise. What that enterprise was, they had not said.

Their meeting had been hurried, the deep-voiced man departing first, leaving the other to prowl up and down the aisle. After a short while, once he judged his companion far enough away, the second man had run to the door and disappeared, letting it crash shut. The noise had been so unexpected Alys had stuffed her shawl in her mouth to prevent herself from crying out.

Luke asked her about the voices of the two men. All she could tell him was that the first, the one who seemed to hold authority over the other, had a deep voice. The other voice Alys described as strange, but when pressed, she could say only that it had a chanting kind of quality.

He held off from further questions after that. She was not yet strong enough to withstand a candor spell, but if he could gain no more information about the two men, he would try it in a few days when she was better able to endure its rigors. Whilst by no means as powerful as the veritas spell, it was a useful weapon in a Dominus’s armory.

He had much to think on and try as he might, he could not forget the unknown voices in the Chapel Royal the day he had examined the Queen’s apartments. One of those had been deep and the other could be described as being somewhat chanting. Of the two, the melodic voice had been the more perturbing.

How had they found out that he was investigating anything? The Queen Mother had given him his mission secretly. Rob’s Fidelis spell would not permit him to talk of it to anyone, not even Alys. King Henry would not have spoken of it. Gwenette knew, of course. There was little that went on in the Queen Mother’s life that she was not privy to. He had had doubts of her before but they had proved groundless. Luke knew the knowledge that one she cared for so much could believe her to be false had hurt Gwenette deeply However, the nature of his work for the King did not permit such niceties. Everyone save the King was suspect. Everyone save the King was expendable, even the Queen. God forbid that any harm should come to the lady or the babe she carried, but, if needs be, Henry could always marry someone else.

If Henry died, the entire realm would be riven. Who would mount the throne? The Lady Mary, according to Great Harry’s will, but what if there was a new son and heir? He would be king, which would spark a whole new round of plots to gain political power. Luke came out of his musings to see Rob hovering, waiting to be noticed.

“What is it, lad?”

“Master, I left Alys in the church because I thought she would be safer there than on her own here. Had I realized I was bringing her into danger, I would have taken her with me.”

“Are you expecting me to chide you, boy? I could not make you feel more remorse than you do already and besides, what else could you have done? I would have done the same. Take heart, Rob. She may appear to be a pitiful little waif, but she has courage and presence of mind and, in fact, you have both done me a good turn, you by leaving her there and Alys by taking note of what happened.”

Rob’s face cleared.

“Do you want to know what I found out?”

“Aye. Sit down and tell your tale. I can see that you are bursting with it now that your feelings of guilt have lessened.”

“I walked into the market at Hampton,” Rob began. “Thankfully, I did not have to ask questions, for the whole place was buzzing with the news about the dead man found in the palace courtyard, so I loitered and listened.”

“And?”

“And, first thing this morning, he was claimed by the slattern he lived with. His name was Walter Magot and he worked at the timber wharf. They think he fell into the river and somehow managed to get washed up on the bank near the palace.”

Luke cut another piece of cheese. “Does anyone know how he traveled from the river, losing all his clothes in the process, to end up in the Base Court?”

“Witchcraft, of course. The market was full of what happened to Master Quayne and Mistress Bertila.”

Luke was more than alert now.

“What is being said?”

“Nothing to their disadvantage, Luke. Bertila is known and liked, especially for the way she visits the poor and sick and tries to give them comfort. No, all the blame is being put on Frayner. He is hated, his servant even more so. There is also talk of another stranger being seen in the village, slipping up one of the alleys off High Street.”

“Who is it?”

“Nobody knows, but local opinion has it he visits a whore. One of the village lads say he comes from and returns to the palace, but keeps his face hidden and speaks to none, unlike Frayner who rails at everyone and does not hesitate to use his staff. His servant is said to be just as haughty.”

“What do you know of the servant?”

“According to gossip, the priest spent some years in Val-something in Spain and this manservant of his, Pinero, comes from there, too.”

“Bertila said that he spoke of Valladolid. It is one of the centers for the Inquisition. What else did you manage to overhear?”

“That he has oft denied burial to newborn babes who died before they could be baptized. That he rails against the midwives of the village. They know him now and carry out baptisms if they think the child won’t survive. He beats the children in his school if they do not learn their Bible verses and refuses to visit the sick if the sufferer is poor, but fawns over the rich and the merchants.”

‘“Suffer little children to come unto me,’” Luke said in a soft voice. “Thank you, Rob, you have given me much to think on. I will go up now.”

“That is not all, Luke. Whilst you were out the mother of one of Frayner’s servants came to warn you that he is intent on your destruction.”

Luke sighed.