The Tudor Secret

by C. W. Gortner

  “By them, you mean Cecil.”

  “Among others.”

  “Let me come with you. I’ve a score of my own to settle with him.”

  I clasped his stolid hand. “I’d like nothing better. But you’ll be helping me more if you keep Peregrine safe and support the queen. She may not share your faith, but it could be that with men like you at her side she can learn to rule with temperance.”

  We embraced as friends. Then I drew back and slipped away.

  * * *

  I had Cinnabar saddled by the time her summons came. Rising from my crouch in the shadows to follow Rochester, I made certain my expression conveyed only dutiful concern. My sudden bid for departure was bound to incite her suspicion.

  She waited in the hall, her thinning hair in a net at her nape. Without her headdress, she looked tiny. The rosary hung at her waist, its scarlet stones muted against the array of rings on her fingers. She seemed in all other respects impervious to vanity, and I found her fondness for jewelry inexplicably disturbing.

  “Rochester tells me you wish to leave,” she said, before I had righted from my genuflection. “Why? Are our accommodations not to your liking?”

  “Your Majesty, I assure you I’ve no wish to return to the road so soon, but I understand the duke plans to march against you. I think it best if I conveyed your reply to the lords sooner rather than later—that is, if Your Majesty still wishes to reply.”

  I held my breath as Mary shifted her gaze to Rochester, who gave a slight nod.

  “I do,” she said. “I need all the support I can get, even from your treacherous lords.”

  The bite in her remark carried a warning. She wasn’t an easy woman to know, nor, it seemed, to please. What she had endured in her youth had marked her for life, warped her personality in some irreconcilable way. Elizabeth, it appeared, knew her well.

  “Your Majesty,” I ventured, “with the duke about to take the field against you, the lords will be even better disposed to your cause.”

  “I don’t care what their disposition is. They’d be wise to do as I say if they wish to keep their heads.” She went to her table, thrust two folded and sealed parchments at me.

  “The sealed one is in cipher. Anyone with experience will know the key. Tell your lords they’re to follow it without deviation. The other is a letter for my cousin Jane Grey. Memorize it. It’s a private message meant for her ears alone, so if you can’t find a trustworthy way to convey it to her, destroy it. I don’t want it falling into the wrong hands.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.” It was of course far more than I’d hoped to perform. Getting one letter into the proper hands would prove dangerous enough, much less two.

  “I don’t expect a reply from either one,” she informed me. “I should be in London soon enough. But if you uncover any news that might influence my course, favorable or otherwise, I expect to be told. Your loyalty to those who’ve hired you should not supplant your allegiance to your queen. Do you understand?”

  “Of course.” I started to bow over her hand. She withdrew it. Glancing up, I found her looking at me as if she no longer recognized me. “Give my regards to Master Cecil,” she said coldly. “Though it’s not in my instructions, tell him from me that he knows what he must do.”

  I pocketed the letters and backed from her presence without a word.

  LONDON

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Mist wreathing off the Thames formed a wavering veil. The day already promised to be hot, the midmorning sun casting a luminescent chimera upon the thrust and sprawl of London.

  It had been a short ride, a mere day and a half. I’d not taken much rest. I avoided the main thoroughfares and skirted all townships. A few discreet inquiries of passersby had revealed that every town was jammed to the rooftops with the queen’s supporters, gates shut and manned in anticipation of the duke. As with any situation that might result in anarchy, the streets were also teeming with riffraff. A lone man on a horse was an easy target, so I sought refuge in the woods, awakening before dawn to resume my ride.

  I now sat atop a hill, a vantage spot from which to view the place where it had all started. Was it only eleven days ago that I had beheld this same city with the awestruck eyes of a boy eager to cull his fortune? Now, it made me feel hollow inside. All of my life, I had longed to know who I was and where I came from. Now a part of me longed to turn about and lose myself in an ordinary life, to forget a world where sons born to royal women were forsaken and men sacrificed kings to sate their ambitions. I knew now that whatever answers I had come to London to find would not reveal anything I wanted to hear.

  Fortune often smiles on those least favored.

  I gave a humorless chuckle. It seemed fortune had a sense of humor, for I, the least favored, had more than my share of responsibilities; and one of them drew near me even as I sat in the stillness, contemplating becoming a fugitive from my own truth.

  I waited until I heard the telltale rustle, then said without looking about, “No use hiding anymore. I’ve known you were behind me since Bury Saint Edmunds.”

  A muffled clop of hoof preceded Peregrine’s wary approach. He wore his hooded cloak. I took in the strips of homespun fettering his horse’s hooves, and reins, bridle, and stirrups, even his dagger in its scabbard—in short, anything that might make a sound. The lad had more tricks up his sleeve than a relic peddler.

  “You can’t have known,” he said, eyeing me. “I made sure to stay at least fifteen paces behind you at all times, and Deacon has a light step.”

  “Yes, but you forget that horses, especially those who’ve ridden together, make all sorts of signals when they sense the other near. Cinnabar practically bolted away last night toward that glen where you were hiding. You should have joined me. I had rabbit for supper.”

  “Aye, and with that fire you made you’re lucky every poacher in the county didn’t drop by to sample it,” retorted Peregrine. He paused. “You’re not mad at me?”

  I sighed. “Only frustrated. I asked Barnaby to watch over you.”

  “Don’t blame him. He did his best. He told me that under no circumstances was I to follow you. He said you had private business to attend to and we must honor your decision.”

  “I’m glad you paid such close attention.” I raised my hand to my brow, scanning the road. “I’m surprised he isn’t behind you. You two must think I’m incapable of tying my own points, what with the way you fuss and fret.”

  “I wasn’t going to let you leave me behind again.” Peregrine squared his narrow shoulders. “You need all the help you can get. I told you before we left Greenwich: You’re no good on your own. You only get into trouble.”

  “Is that what Barnaby thinks, as well?”

  Peregrine nodded. “He was going to be the one to come after you. I convinced him to let me come, instead. No one would miss me, while Barnaby would have had to ask leave of Rochester, who isn’t about to let a brawny lad like him get away from the queen’s service, not with the duke hot on her trail.”

  “True. But you should have heeded him anyway. You’ve no idea what you risk.”

  “I don’t care.” Peregrine’s eyes were earnest in his grimy face. “I’m your body servant, remember? I go where you go, no matter what. I must earn my keep.”

  I couldn’t keep the smile from my face. “By God, you’re stubborn as a pit bear and smell almost as bad. How did I end up with such a tenacious mite?”

  Peregrine scowled, about to retort, when a startled flock of pigeons caught my eye. I turned back to the city. When I saw a cloud of dust snaking toward us, I hissed, “To cover!” and we spurred our mounts into the nearby fringe of bushes and beech.

  We slid from our saddles and held the horses close, hands on bridles, barely breathing. A militant thunder came closer and closer. It reminded me of the night we’d sat at the roadside and watched Robert Dudley and his men gallop past. Only this time the noise was like that of some great lumbering creature, composed of hundreds
of metallic hooves striking the road. Its approach vibrated the air around us, sent the dust rising in gusts.

  The standard bearers appeared first, carrying banners emblazoned with the Dudley bear and staff. The cavalry followed on leather-caparisoned horses, swords and bows strapped to saddles. Then marched the foot soldiers, line after line in chain mail, interspersed with oxen and mule-drawn carts; I detected the bulk of cannon under tarps and assumed those carts also contained a supply of equally lethal weaponry.

  Then I saw the mounted lords. Each wore quilted battle gear and rode behind the duke, who, defiant at their head, was distinguished by his audacious crimson cloak. He wore no cap, his dark hair framing his granite face, which, even from my distance, appeared to have aged years in a matter of days.

  At his sides were three of his sons—Henry, Jack, and Ambrose, outfitted in martial splendor. For the first time in all the years I’d known them, the brothers I had feared and hated, envied for their camaraderie, were not laughing. Like Robert before them, they understood they confronted the ultimate challenge, one that would end in triumph or tragedy for their family.

  In tense formation they rode past, this army assembled to defeat Mary Tudor. I waited in silence long after they’d disappeared down the road, grappling with unexpected remorse. The Dudleys had never cared a fig for anyone but themselves. They’d gladly see both princesses, and all who tried to help them, to their deaths. There could be no room for pity in my heart, even if the duke and his sons were innocent of the one crime I most burned to avenge. And with Northumberland gone from the city, I had an opportunity I could not ignore.

  I mounted Cinnabar and spurred him back onto the road, where the dust wafted in the air like tattered veils.

  “Where are we going?” Peregrine asked as we cantered toward London.

  “To see an old friend,” I said. “By the way, do you know how we can get inside the Tower?”

  * * *

  “The Tower!” Peregrine exclaimed, as soon as we cleared the checkpoint at Aldgate, which had required distribution of most of the gold angels from the purse Walsingham had given me. “Are you insane? We can’t get inside there. It’s a royal fortress, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

  “I’d heard, yes. But I really must get inside. I’ve a letter to deliver.”

  Peregrine blew air out of the side of his mouth. “The strongest fortress in England, and you have a letter to deliver? Why don’t we just knock on the gates? It’ll have the same result. Or haven’t you heard the saying ‘Once in, only your head comes out’? I’m beginning to think you’re as much of a unicorn as Kate says.”

  I paused. “A what?”

  “A unicorn. A fabled beast. A lunacy.”

  I threw back my head and laughed with genuine belly-heaving mirth. I suddenly felt much better. “I’ve never heard that before. I like it.”

  “I wager you’ll like it less if you end up trussed in a dungeon with your horn cut off. We can’t get inside the Tower without proper identification and leave, so forget about even trying. Any other wretched place you’d like us to try for instead?”

  “No. But you’ve given me an idea.” My smile lingered as we rode into Cheapside. The streets were eerily quiet, shuttered windows converting taverns into bastions. Except for one lone beggar too physically wasted to crawl away from the doorway where she huddled, there were no people to be seen. All of London cowered behind closed doors, as if to await a calamity.

  “We should stable the horses and take to the river,” said Peregrine. “We’re too obvious. There’s no one around but us. We’ll be arrested if a patrol happens to see us.”

  “You’ll have to excuse my aversion to water at the moment,” I replied as we rode single file above the riverbank, where we might better avoid the conduits and refuse heaps, if not the ubiquitous sewage.

  When I spied Whitehall’s turrets in the distance, I reined to a halt. “Which way to Cecil’s house?”

  Peregrine looked leery. “Do you think he’ll still be there?”

  “He’s there.” My voice hardened. “Now listen to me: I want you to do exactly as I say from now on. Do I make myself clear? If you make a nuisance of yourself, I’ll truss you up. This is not a game, Peregrine. One mistake and we could both end up dead.”

  “I understand.” He gave a servile whirl of his hand. “This way, my lord and master.”

  He led us back into the labyrinth of crooked streets. The feeling of impending disaster was palpable, stalking the dark pockets where the houses staggered into each other like drunkards. I was glad when we emerged onto a wider street that ran through the palace, though even here it was astounding how deserted everything was, like a kingdom in some romantic fable, frozen in time by a spell.

  When we neared our destination, I left Peregrine with the horses and strict orders, and proceeded alone. A high wall enclosed the house’s exterior. I tried the postern gate first and found it unlocked. Moving toward the front entrance, I unsheathed my dagger. It would serve me little in a pitched confrontation, but the bow Barnaby had left strapped to Cinnabar’s saddle was too cumbersome for indoor fighting.

  I glanced up at the windows. The house appeared as uninhabited as the rest of the city. A small gate opened to the side. I vaulted it, landing on soft turf. I stood in the garden, which sloped toward a private landing quay screened by willows. As I suspected, a barge was moored there, the boatman hunched at the fore, swigging from an ale skin.

  I turned to creep around the house. I found a coffer propping the back door open, as if someone had been coming and going in haste. Beyond was the mullioned window of Cecil’s study. Flat against the wall, I inched forth and craned my head upward to peer within.

  When I spied the figure inside, taking ledgers from the desk and stuffing them into a valise, I returned to the door and slipped into the house.

  Gloom submerged the interior. I eased toward the far, open doorway with caution, looking to either side. The wood floor creaked under my feet. I froze, anticipating thugs to come lunging at me with knives and fists. Then, when nothing happened, I inched forth again until I was close enough to look inside the study.

  Cecil stood with his back to the door, wearing his black breeches and doublet. A traveling cloak was tossed over his chair; he had the valise on the desk, about to close it when he went still. Without looking around, he said, “Now, this is a surprise.”

  I stepped over the threshold.

  He turned, glanced at the dagger in my fist. “Have you come to kill me, Squire Prescott?”

  “I should,” I said. Now that I was face-to-face with the man who had played and outmaneuvered everyone with the skill of an expert puppeteer, my heart beat impossibly loud in my ears. I looked about the room. “Are you alone? Or do I have to deal with your assassin first?”

  He gave me a thin smile. “If you’re referring to Walsingham, I assure you the situation has become far too precarious for a man of his staunch persuasions. I imagine he’s on his way to Dover by now, to book passage to the continent. I’d have gone with him myself, had I not my family’s welfare to consider.”

  “What, is Queen Mary getting too close for comfort?”

  His smile did not waver. “Entirely. In fact, I was about to take my barge to the bridge and hire a mount to Hertfordshire. It’s not far from Her Grace’s manor at Hatfield.” He paused. “Would you care to join me? She’ll be happy to receive you, I’m told, after everything you’ve done for her.”

  My anger, held too long under check, blazed. “Don’t you play with me, not after everything you have done.”

  He regarded me without a single hint that I had perturbed him. “It seems you’ve a bone to pick. Come, let us sit and discuss it like gentlemen.” He leaned to his valise, as if to shift it aside.

  I didn’t hesitate. Leaping forth, I pressed my dagger to his ribs, hard enough to be felt through his doublet. “I’d be careful if I were you. I don’t need another reason to make you regret ever having met me.”


  He went still. “I would never regret that. May I at least sit? I have a touch of gout; my leg pains me today.”

  Despite everything, I had to admire his restraint. I even found myself hoping I wouldn’t be forced to act. Truth be told, I wasn’t certain I could carry out my threat, particularly now that my initial blinding rage had started to ebb into something more manageable. I wasn’t like him. I didn’t relish the elaborate subterfuges, the coils within coils. And I needed his cooperation, if I was to discover the final reason for why he and I found ourselves like this.

  “I’m not sure what I’ve done to offend you,” he began, his hands draped on the armrests as if he addressed an inopportune guest. “I am no more a traitor than any other councilor obliged to support the duke against the queen.”

  I met his cool appraising eyes, which had been my first indoctrination into his perfidious world. “My business with you is private. I’ll leave Her Majesty to ordain whatever punishment she deems best.”

  “Ah. I must say, you stay remarkably true to character. You believe Mary has been wronged and that I had a hand in it.”

  “Would you deny that you provided the duke with the information they needed to pursue her? Or was it coincidence that Lord Robert happened to be on the same road as me, at almost the same time?”

  Cecil leaned back, crossing his trim legs in their dun-colored hose. “I won’t deny that I nudged him in the right direction. However, I also did not lift protest when I heard Lord Arundel had Durot—or rather, our brave Fitzpatrick—infiltrate Lord Robert’s company, though I knew he could confound the chase. You see, I’m not entirely Mary’s enemy.”

  I likened his voice to a siren song—soothing, melodic, and all too convincing. A few days ago, I would have been lulled.

  “You’re lying. Mary is the last person you want on the throne. You’ve worked against her almost as avidly as you’ve worked against the duke. You wanted her taken on the road or, better yet, killed as she fled. It’s what you planned. Fortunately for her, she proved less gullible than you thought.”