by Donna Hosie
Marlon’s throat bobbed like a snake swallowing an egg.
“Come,” said Marlon. “The apothecaries may not listen to me, but they will listen to a nobleman of Cleves.”
Cleves! I had completely forgotten again that I was supposed to be speaking with a Saxon accent. Had Marlon noticed? If he had, would he say anything? I had already slipped in front of Lady Margaret and Jane. Now I would have to be wary about the king’s own guard.
This was so much harder than anything my training as an Asset had ever prepared me for.
Marlon and I ran through the Norman Gate and straight into the first entrance to the State Apartments. We took the stairs three at a time.
“Where are we going?” I asked, panting as we reached the top.
“I am seeking Tom Claremont, a barber,” replied Marlon. “He will assist Alexander. He is highly regarded.”
“A barber!” I exclaimed. “Alex needs something for the pain and his dressings changed. He doesn’t need a shave.”
Then I remembered. Barbers were the ones who did the cleansing, the bloodletting, the lancing…and basically anything that involved a knife.
I pulled Marlon back.
“No,” I said forcefully, remembering the accent this time. “Alexander doesn’t need surgery. He needs something for the pain. Fiennes cauterized the knife wound to stop the bleeding.”
Marlon crossed himself. Then his gaze flickered to something or someone over my shoulder. He bowed.
“I cannot seem to be rid of you Cleves brothers,” said Queen Anne. She had crept up on us like a ghost. “Alexander at Sir Robert’s; you skulking in the corridors of Windsor Palace.”
I bowed. “Alas, you will be rid of my company soon, Your Grace. I am seeking an apothecary.”
“Why, are you ailing? You certainly seem to wilt in my presence.” The queen laughed at her own joke, but her two ladies-in-waiting, Lady Margaret and the one I recognized as Lady Rochford, weren’t amused. Lady Margaret couldn’t seem to raise her eyes off the ground, and Rochford’s mouth was twisted into such a severe pout that my own facial muscles ached in sympathy.
“I am always left breathless in your presence, Your Grace,” I replied. “But I must beg your leave. I need to find—”
“Nonsense,” snapped the queen. “I demand you walk with me on such a fine day. You will read to me.”
“I cannot.”
Lady Margaret looked as if she wanted to run the other way, but Lady Rochford clearly couldn’t believe her luck at witnessing such an exchange in the middle of the State Apartments. I was past caring about my defiance. The only thing that mattered was Alex.
“I will find the apothecary, my lord,” whispered Marlon. “Walk with the queen.”
“But—”
“Walk with the queen,” urged Marlon. “I will go.”
I was struck by the depth of Marlon’s kindness as he snapped back against a long, colorful tapestry depicting the Virgin Mary feeding peasants in the countryside. He was standing at attention with a straight back, staring at the wall opposite. The yeomen knew exactly what to do and when to do it. I knew that the longer I delayed the inevitable, the longer it would take Marlon to find help for my brother.
I bowed in submission to the queen. She smirked. I didn’t bother checking to see what the two ladies-in-waiting were doing. They would follow like little lapdogs. Watching, listening. Ready to exaggerate anything that could be construed as gossip.
If Lady Margaret said a word against my brother, or revealed what she knew of the night of my poisoning, I would end her.
“Do you read poetry, Charles of Cleves?” asked the queen as we descended the stairs.
“No, I do not, Your Grace,” I replied sullenly.
“I am not surprised. You have the wrong style of voice. Poetry needs to be read by the English or French, where there is melody in the voice. It is the same for song. Tell me, do you sing? Play music?”
“I am proficient, Your Grace.”
“You and Smeaton will play for me. A duet,” she said.
“I will do my best,” I replied.
“Tell me, Cleves. Have you seen Cromwell recently?”
“I have not, Your Grace.”
The queen tutted. “You expect me to believe that?” she said. “My ladies tell me Cromwell has taken you into his office.”
At least Lady Margaret had the decency to look abashed, but Lady Rochford was starting to resemble a shriveled prune. Her lined face was imploding in on itself as she scowled at everything that moved, including me.
I hadn’t been summoned to Cromwell’s rooms for two days. I had nothing to report anyway, but if he had sent a messenger to my rooms the previous evening, they would have been out of luck because I’d spent the night on a drafty floor next to Alex. This was another loose thread I would have to be prepared to tie up, if asked about it.
“Your ladies-in-waiting should stick to what they’re good at,” I replied. I didn’t elaborate on what I thought that was, and I didn’t turn around to catch their attention. My mind was racing. So many batons to juggle, and each was lit with fire.
Where was Lady Jane? Had she gotten back to her room safely? Would the king have been annoyed to see me with her? If so, would he shun her or bring her closer to the fold? In the midst of this chaos I still had an assignment ticking away—except that Alex’s situation was far more urgent. How long had it been since I’d parted ways with Marlon? Had he found someone who could help Alex? If so, who? I comforted myself with the knowledge that Alice was still there. She would stop anything too medieval from being done to my brother. At the same time, she was a young woman existing in a time in which her opinion didn’t matter. Any men present who disagreed with her would overrule her, by force, if necessary. She could almost certainly handle herself, but I wouldn’t want her to get hurt in the process, and the mission was still my priority…after Alex.
An image of Alex led to my next trail of thought: what he had recounted about his ordeal. His calmness in the face of pain had astonished me. My brother was physically strong, but I had always thought he was weaker than me because he had never shown total clarity of focus in our Imperatives before. When it came right down to it, though, Alex had proved himself braver than I could ever be. I was so proud of him. And I would get him home again, about that I was resolute. Alice, too.
I heard Alice’s voice in my head. Alice had questioned aspects of the training at The 48 before. She’d pissed off all the senior Asset instructors growing up, but probably Grinch more than any of them. Alice had said that Grinch was responsible for her being here. Was that why Grinch had brought her to Tudor England? To expel her from The 48?
Except that didn’t make sense. Assets didn’t get expelled. If an Asset was a problem, they were simply…disposed of.
* * *
—
“Charles…Charles…”
Anne Boleyn’s sharp voice brought me out of my reverie just as Aramis and Piermont had started to swim into my thoughts.
“My apologies, Your Grace,” I said. “I was miles away.”
“You are frightful company this morn, Charles.”
“Again, my apologies, Your Grace.”
“Come to my chambers later and be prepared to entertain me,” replied the queen. “That is not a request.”
No, indeed, it was a command. From a queen who desperately needed to be made to feel important in a court that was openly humiliating her.
“Charles of Cleves!” The high voice of a young servant carried across the manicured grass of the Upper Ward. He ran down several steps and bowed to the queen, who ignored him.
“A message, sir,” said the servant, handing a small scroll to me.
I opened it and quickly scanned the script.
Presence requested wyth much haste. The boy wyll show you the way.
> Your benyfactor Thomas Crumwell
“I must take my leave,” I said to the queen. “Your servant, as always.”
I didn’t give her the chance to command me to stay. Shingle stone crunched beneath my feet as I followed the servant across the courtyard.
“What’s going on?” I asked him.
“Follow me, sir,” was the reply, and the little imp shot off up the stairs. I was quick, but it was all I could do to keep up.
He came to a halt near a door with a tall, freestanding candle-holder burning away outside it. Nine candles were dripping white wax onto the floor.
The servant knocked, and Cromwell’s familiar voice bid us enter.
“Go in, sir,” urged the boy. The door creaked as I pushed past it.
“Cleves,” said Thomas Cromwell. “Where were you last night? I called for you.”
Lies bred more lies, but could I trust Cromwell while Alex was in such a fragile state? Unless Fiennes, Bewsey, or Lady Margaret told anyone, Alex’s being here could easily be my secret for now.
“I was enjoying the charms of a lady whose name I can’t quite remember,” I lied.
“You can’t remember? Then you would not be referring to Lady Seymour?”
My breath caught in my throat. The king might have told him that he saw Jane and me together from the window of his apartments.
Or Cromwell’s spies were watching me. I had to be careful here.
“I escorted Lady Seymour back to her quarters last eve after meeting her by chance near the chapel,” I replied. “There was no impropriety on either part.”
“Yours are but two of the many eyes I have in this court,” said Cromwell, and there was a hint of menace in his voice. “Remember that.”
“I can hardly forget it,” I replied. “You remind me often enough.”
Cromwell chuckled. “Indeed. There are some who need reminding more than others. Still, you are here in my sight now, and I am advising you that the court is leaving Windsor for Greenwich tomorrow.”
“Greenwich? We’ve only just arrived at Windsor.”
Cromwell sealed a letter with a knob of wax. “The court rarely spends more than a week in one palace. With the fine weather, the king wishes to watch the joust, and Greenwich serves him well in that regard.”
“Is that why you called me here? To tell me we’re leaving for Greenwich?”
Cromwell looked up from his papers. His bloodshot eyes were crowned with deep black circles that looked like bruises.
“Whom do you serve?” he asked, sitting back in his chair, appraising me thoughtfully.
“You,” I replied swiftly.
“Then you must travel with me to Greenwich,” said Cromwell. “Do not leave my side for any woman or any man, even kin.” He lowered his chin to his chest; his eyes remained fixed on me.
I had no choice. I had to tell Cromwell about Alex. There was no way I was going to leave him behind.
“Sir, my brother is here, being tended to by apothecaries down in Horseshoe Cloister. He has been badly hurt. We will need to bring him with us, but in secret.”
“Why the need for secrecy?” asked Cromwell. He seemed neither shocked nor upset at the news of a nobleman from overseas being hurt.
“Because someone is out to get him. And I don’t know who, or why.”
“It is a treasonous offense to attack a nobleman,” replied Cromwell. “And to attack nobility from overseas…I have seen wars started for less.”
“Can you help get my brother to Greenwich?” I asked. “I will do anything you want of me, but he needs care—and discretion.”
“It would be prudent to keep this from the king for the present time,” said Cromwell thoughtfully. “His mind is elsewhere at the present. Is your father aware of your brother’s injury?”
“N-no, I have not had time to send word to Cleves.”
Cromwell’s thick eyebrows rose toward the creases in his forehead. He knew I wasn’t telling the truth, and there was every chance that his spies had seen Aramis at the same house where Anne had stayed, but I had to stick to my original story. As far as the sons of Cleves were concerned, their father had left England. Fathers didn’t tell their sons anything that didn’t concern them.
“If you’d been in your chamber when I sent for you, you’d already know that the king left for Greenwich late last night,” said Cromwell after several awkward seconds of silence. “He will arrive there today. I will assist you and your brother, and the king’s absence from Windsor will aid our subterfuge. Yet be warned, Charles of Cleves: I will deny all knowledge of your brother’s injuries if asked.”
“Agreed.”
“Are the injuries to his leg and back enough to stop him from riding a horse?” asked Cromwell.
“He can’t ride,” I said, a lump forming in my throat. “He can’t even stand.”
“Very well. I will have transport readied for him. Be prepared to depart on my word, Charles. And remember, you serve me. Speak to no one. Especially the queen.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I will go to my brother now, if you will allow me?”
Cromwell threw a couple of gold coins at me and waved a hand. His bulbous nose was back in his books before I reached the door.
But my senses were scratching. Something wasn’t right.
I figured it out as I reached Horseshoe Cloister.
Cromwell had asked if the injuries to my brother’s leg and back were bad enough to stop him from riding a horse.
I had never told Cromwell what my brother’s injuries were.
You are loyal to me, aren’t you, my sweet Margaret?”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“And you would tell me if anything…untoward were concerning the young men from Cleves?”
“I would tell you anything, Your Grace.”
“You have been in my household for two years now, dearest Margaret. Do you know the anguish that would befall my heart if anything were to happen to you? If there were to be…accusations—however false?”
My blood had turned to ice. Queen Anne’s words were anything but sweet and caring. The threat to my well-being was not just being implied.
It was a promise. If she went to the Tower, I would too.
“I am yours to command, Your Grace.”
“Mm. Until you are married off to Moray,” she said with a twisted smile.
The queen knew about the Earl of Moray. So my father had done the evil deed. Permission for the marriage had already been sought. I had little time left to make Alexander of Cleves see that a union would be for the betterment of both of us.
I said nothing in response. I did not trust myself not to lash out.
“Dear Margaret, I have no faith anymore in Lady Rochford or any of the others. As you are aware, the Seymour girl is as good as dead to me. But I need eyes and ears on the brothers of Cleves. Did you not see Charles of Cleves’s face when we walked today? I can practically smell the stench of ill deeds around him. Find out what is consuming him, my Margaret. Get into their beds if you have to. I will ensure that the king provides a good marriage for you. Someone more worthy than that decrepit old toad from Scotland. A handsome young man with wealth. Would you like that?”
The queen had as much influence over the king as I did now, but I had to play the game. Or at least be seen to be playing it.
Dear God, I was tired of playing the pawn.
Perchance it was time to play the queen.
My lord Cleves.” A pause and the voice became gentler, less officious. “Alexander. It is I, Marlon Chancery. I am here to care for you.”
I looked up at the vision in front of me. Marlon’s short beard was flecked with gold that glistened in the flicker of the candles Alice had painstakingly lit in the dark and dingy room.
He looked like an angel.
“I�
�m afraid I won’t be up for walking around the grounds for quite some time, Marlon my good friend,” I said, grimacing as I tried to move. My leg and back were competing violently against each other to be the body part that pained me more. My back was winning—just.
“What happened?” asked Marlon, kneeling down beside me. I saw him move to take my hand, but then he looked up and saw we weren’t alone. “I will find who did this—”
“You will do nothing of the sort,” snapped Alice. “Alexander needs discretion as well as relief from the pain. I take it Charles sent you to provide both?”
I grinned at the look of shock on Marlon’s face. Alice was fierce in any moment in time, but in this one…
“I have brought milk of the poppy…” he started to say indignantly, as if offended that anyone would doubt his reason for being here.
“That isn’t strong enough,” said a man whose voice I recognized. “Now, out of my way.”
“This is Fiennes, Alexander,” said Alice. “He saved your life last night.”
“Thank you,” I said to the haggard-looking man who was now standing behind Marlon. He carried a scruffy leather pouch bulging with metal implements that weren’t shining in the way newly sterilized medical tools should be. His apron might have been white in a previous life but was now stained with streaks of various shades of red and brown and black.
If Marlon looked an angel, this guy was the opposite. But I knew he was my best hope.
“Don’t thank me, you aren’t free from danger yet,” replied the surgeon. “We’ll need to change the dressings on your leg and back and clean them out again.”
“Do what you have to do,” I said. “I’m just very grateful.”
“I must object to this man’s being here,” said Marlon. “Let me find one of the healers—”
“Miss Alice, pour some of that wine into a goblet and stir this in,” interrupted the surgeon, passing Alice a small, cloudy-looking vial.
“What is it?” asked Alice.
“Opium. It’s not as diluted as milk of the poppy, although they come from the same plant. And we’ll need that block of wood from last night. It seemed to fit his mouth just right. It’s rare to find a person, even a highborn lord, with such strong teeth.”
