Caleb didn’t smile back. “You go see what the major wants.”
With a sigh Brandon made his way to the major’s tent. When he entered, he found Major Poplin speaking to one of his men. Poplin was a small man, and at the age of forty-five he had gained weight. He had tried pulling his clothes tighter, but that only emphasized the fat on his stomach. He peered at Brandon with close-set eyes and then glanced at the other man. “We’ll talk about this later. Please excuse us.”
“Yes, Major.”
As soon as the lieutenant left, Poplin said, “We’ve got a crisis, and I’m sending you to take care of it, Winslow.”
“What kind of a crisis, sir?”
Poplin put his hands behind his back and glanced furtively up at Brandon. Apparently it infuriated him that he had to look up at the young man. Brandon stifled a smile. Poplin had seen to it that he had difficult tasks, but never had he failed to meet his commanding officer’s demands. He was studying Poplin carefully and expected to see some sign that the man suspected betrayal, but there was nothing there
He’s a fool. Brandon thought. A disgrace to the uniform. He can’t fight, and he can’t keep his wife happy.
“King Edward is dead.”
The blunt words didn’t surprise Brandon. “The king has been ill for years. Everybody knows that.”
“Well, there’s difficulty ahead—issues with the succession.”
“Can you be specific, sir?”
“Princess Mary is next in line for the crown, but she may not get it. You know her, don’t you?”
“Yes, sir. My father took me to visit her, sir, and Princess Elizabeth, too.”
“Well, Princess Mary is in considerable trouble.”
“How can she be in trouble?”
“The Protector, Lord Northumberland, well knows that if Mary becomes queen she’ll bring Catholic persecution to the whole country. So he talked King Edward into naming Lady Jane Grey queen when he died.”
“Who is she?”
“Oh, she’s the granddaughter of King Henry’s sister Mary. Northumberland forced Jane to marry his son, Lord Guildford Dudley.”
“Why, he can’t do that!”
“He has done it, lieutenant! Now Northumberland is leading a force to take Mary captive. If he does, she’ll be executed.”
“But, Major, we can’t let that happen!”
“No, we can’t. I have a message here that’s come by courier. It’s from Queen Mary.” He looked up and shook his head. “You must have made quite an impression on her, Winslow. She wants you to lead the force assigned to turn Northumberland back. I think it’s a mistake. You are not yet prepared for such a task.”
“I think I am ready, sir. We need to send all the men possible.”
“Well, I can’t disobey my queen. She may bring Catholic persecution, but if Lady Jane is queen Northumberland will rule the country, and he is a devil if there ever was one! I’m sending the largest group of men we can get together. There’s going to be trouble among the officers who think they ought to lead this, but Queen Mary has demanded that you lead the group. I want you to leave today. Time is of the essence.”
“Yes, sir. Give me the orders, and I’ll see that they are carried out. You have my guarantee Northumberland will not touch our queen.”
“See it is so, then.”
“May I be of service, my queen?”
“You have been of service already, my dear subject.” Mary put forth her hand, and Mason kissed it. He had been Mary’s faithful friend for years
“You must move very quickly, Your Majesty,” he urged
Mary nodded, then accepted his help to climb into a tiny carriage. A small body of followers and knights surrounded it, all determined to reach their refuge, Framlingham Castle
“It’s a strong fortress,” she had explained to her advisors. “It’s close to the coast in case I have to take flight.”
All along the road traveled by Mary and her entourage the people followed. They had heard the news that the king was dead, and there was outrage at the rumors that were flying that Lady Jane Grey would be queen. Most of them had never heard of her, but they had known of Mary since her childhood. Cries of “Long live Queen Mary!” followed her wherever she went, and by the time she reached Framlingham she found she was encouraged, despite the coming danger
Some of the nobility came to Framlingham, bringing with them both townspeople and farmfolk. Mary listened as they vowed to fight to the death
“But they are not able to fight against trained armed soldiers, are they, Lord Jerningham?” She turned to eye her host
“Alas, no, but there will be others who will join your cause.”
The next day Mary walked the parapet of the castle and waved to the people who had gathered in her support. They were passionate, but her heart faltered. Without trained soldiers they could not stand against Northumberland’s army
She looked to the horizon and saw a large band of soldiers coming, and her heart faltered
“Northumberland—and we have no defense!” She stood still, considering how she might die with dignity if it was God’s will. But as the soldiers drew closer, she recognized their leader. “It’s Brandon Winslow!” she cried
When Brandon looked up, she motioned to him and called out, “Come up, Winslow! Come up at once!” She descended to the parlor to wait for him
It was not long until Brandon came in. He dropped to one knee and said, “Queen Mary, we have come to fight your battles.”
“I knew you would come, Brandon! Your father would do the same if he were in your place.”
“He will still come. So will every true Englishman. You are the queen of England, and we will not abide any other.”
Mary pulled him to his feet. “You have grown into a fine young man, Winslow.” She looked up into his face and smiled as relief flowed through her. “I remember how you came in with your father and how we played chess and you and Elizabeth became close friends. I never doubted that you would come to me if I called.”
Brandon smiled. “We’ll make short work of this traitor.”
And, indeed, that was the way it turned out. The nobility, for the most part, flocked to Mary’s standard, and Northumberland saw almost at once that he was a lost man. He came finally to the castle and lifted up his hat and shouted, “Long live Queen Mary!”
That was the end of the revolt, and Northumberland was sent to the Tower. Throughout it all, Mary kept Brandon close. As they watched Northumberland led off in chains, Brandon said, “You’re safe now, Your Majesty.”
“No, a queen is never safe, nor a king. I will need you and your loyal support.”
“You have it.”
“Are you a loyal Catholic, Brandon? I don’t remember you ever saying anything about religion.”
“Alas, Your Majesty, I am a sorry example. If you want true religion, you must go to my father or my uncle. They are both men of great devotion.”
“But what about you?”
“I’m afraid that I’m the lost sheep.”
Mary reached out, and he took her hand. “I will pray that God will touch your heart.”
“I would not displease my sovereign, but I must tell you my father and my mother and my uncle have prayed for me for years. I think I have sinned beyond the day of grace.”
“No, you will be found. I know it!”
Months after Queen Mary had been crowned, Major Poplin stood at the second-floor door of the Lion Inn and eyed the four soldiers that accompanied him. “I shall go in first,” he said quietly
“Don’t attack him, Major. He’s a master swordsman.”
“You think me an utter fool? I know that. Be ready to advance upon my call.”
Cecil Poplin had succeeded in the army not because of prowess in arms or courage but because he was shrewd. He well knew that he could trap the man who had made him a cuckold only by taking him by surprise. He flung open the unlocked door. As he had been told, there was his wife in bed with Brandon Wins
low
“You’ll die for this, Winslow!” he cried. He drew his sword. Brandon rolled out of bed. His sword was hanging from the top of the bedstead. He whipped it out. “Don’t be a fool, Major. I’ll kill you.”
Poplin advanced, slashing the sword in a great arc. He knew he had no chance, but the shame that Brandon Winslow had brought upon him ate at him like acid into his soul. There had been others before him, he knew that, but Winslow had laughed at him, mocked him, and scorned him, telling everyone in the inn, the night before of his exploits with Alice. He advanced in a frenzy of strikes against the younger, stronger man, but Brandon coolly parried each one. Brandon’s cold steel suddenly whipped across Poplin’s chest, cutting through his uniform and making a shallow wound. Poplin gaped at Brandon as he felt the slice burn across his chest. “Sergeant! Sergeant!” he cried
Instantly Brandon Winslow found himself facing four hardened soldiers all with swords drawn. He tried to fight them, but he was overwhelmed. When his sword was knocked from his grasp, he took a minor wound in his right arm. Two of the soldiers took him down to the ground. Poplin smiled down at him in triumph. “Brandon Winslow, you are under arrest for attempting to kill your superior officer.”
At that instant Brandon knew that he had surpassed his most foolhardy moment. His bragging words the night before in front of so many in their company had obviously caught up with him. He had been caught before, but this was different. One simply did not draw a sword against a superior officer. It was not only the end of a career; it could be the end of his life. Hanging was a common enough punishment for such an offense, despite the honor and glory he had received at the side of Queen Mary
“Lock him up and keep close guard over him. Put him on bread and water.”
“Yes, sir. Come along, Winslow.”
Brandon did not look at the woman who had caused his downfall, did not turn when she called out his name. He was, for the first time in his life, aware that he was no better than the village idiot. But as soon as the door shut, he heard Alice screaming, and the sergeant chuckled beside him. “I’m afraid your sweetheart there is taking a beating for her indiscretions, Lieutenant.”
Ordinarily Brandon would have tried to defend Alice, but he knew that she was beyond help now—not that he could have done anything with four men guarding him. He’d brought himself this trouble—and Alice too. If only he had listened to Caleb, walked away! His mind leaped ahead to imprisonment, to a trial, to the look on his parents’ faces when they heard. And the skies seemed bleak indeed
The trial was brief. Brandon had absolutely no chance. The commander, General Lester Stevens, was head of the court. He was old army, and the very thought of a lowly soldier wounding his commanding officer was anathema to him. He listened to the evidence and stared into space while Mason Stevens, the man appointed to handle Brandon’s case, pleaded for clemency
Finally it was all over. Brandon stood at Stevens’s command. “You deserve to be hanged. If I had my way, that’s what I would do. Unfortunately we have received orders from the queen that we will not be permitted to punish you as you deserve. That sentence will be set aside. But you will be stripped of your rank, dishonorably discharged from the army, and will receive fifty lashes.”
Brandon did not say a word. Stevens glared at him. “Do you have anything to say?”
“No, sir.”
“I should think not! Take him away. Major Poplin, you see to the punishment.”
Poplin smiled and nodded. “I will do my best, sir.”
Indeed, the lashing, which came later that day, was a masterpiece of cruelty. Poplin appointed one of his sergeants, a big, burly man with the strength of an ox. He had been known to kill men under his lash, and he had grinned when Major Poplin said, “Get the cat with the metal barbs in the thong. Strip his flesh from his bones, Baines.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll give him the best the house has to offer.”
Brandon was led out, and one look showed him that Cecil Poplin had seen to it that the audience was large. As far as he could see, every soldier in the regiment was there and many civilians as well. Brandon said nothing but removed his jerkin, and Baines stripped the thin shirt from his back. Baines leered at him as he fastened Brandon’s hands to a post and said, “I hope you enjoy this as much as I will.”
Brandon did not reply. He waited
Poplin said, “Let him have it, sergeant.”
The first blow drove the breath out of Brandon’s body. Lines of fire, it seemed, gained heat with every moment. With each blow he had to grit his teeth to keep from crying out. Mercifully he passed out, and as he lost consciousness, he thought, I’ll die at this. He’ll kill me.
“It’s a wonder he didn’t die.” The surgeon, a tall, thin man with salt-and-pepper-colored hair, shook his head. “Look at his back. I don’t see how he lived through it. It’s the worst I’ve ever seen.”
Caleb could hardly bear to look down. “He’ll bear those scars the rest of his life.”
“He’s lucky,” said the surgeon, whose name was Clemson. “He’ll heal up, but he’s a fool. He’ll carry the scars inside as well. I’ve seen it before. When a man takes a beating like this, he may heal up in the flesh, but his spirit will always be raw.”
Caleb said, “He’ll need some care, won’t he?”
“Oh, yes. He won’t be able to tend himself for a while.” He glanced over his shoulder and then back to Caleb. “I’m sorry, but he can’t stay here. According to the commander, we’re to cast him out the gates now.”
“Don’t fret over it,” Caleb said. “I’ll see to his care. Thank you, sir.”
For the next two weeks Caleb gave short shift to his own duties, and he had the surgeon come and treat Brandon’s wounds at an inn where he had secured a room for him. He was relieved to see Brandon’s skin finally begin to heal, but it was as the surgeon had said. Something had gone out of Brandon Winslow, and it was a dismal thing to see
Caleb made his way to the inn early one morning two weeks later wearily rubbing his eyes. He had been up the night before, thinking through Brandon’s situation, trying to see what might make him whole again. Brandon must put this behind him. I’ll have to get him back to his family.
When he entered Brandon’s room, with one look, he knew his friend was gone. Even his few belongings had disappeared. Stepping outside, he hailed the innkeeper below. “Have you seen anything of Mr. Winslow?”
“No, sir. I’ve been up since dawn. Nobody came out since then.”
Caleb asked around, and finally the truth sank in
Brandon Winslow had left under cover of darkness because he did not wish to be found
Caleb Carter stood before Stuart and Heather Winslow. He had given them his report and softened it as much as he could, but he saw that they were heartbroken. “I’m very sorry, sir, and you, madam. I tried to help Brandon all that I could.”
“I thank you very much for helping our son and telling us what you know. You’ll stay with us tonight before you go back.”
“No, sir, I must go back at once. I really would be in trouble if I stayed.” Caleb shook his head. “He has so many gifts. So many talents. And he’s thrown them all away.”
He immediately regretted his words. Heather slumped, and Stuart narrowly caught her. She wept, broken, as lost for a moment as her son, it seemed
“It’s all right, Heather,” Stuart murmured. “Somehow, God will see it right again.”
PART TWO
Lupa
7
Lupa Valerik watched as the skinny man took the glass. Her eyes gleamed when she saw his hand trembling so violently that some of the liquor sloshed out onto his wrist. She took his hand and guided the glass up. “Drink deep,” she said, and forced the man to drink, but after a while he turned his head away. “Can’t . . . drink any more.” Lupa took the glass from him, and watched him, holding a glass in each hand. I’ve given him enough to drug three men. I hope he doesn’t die. That would be trouble.
&nb
sp; The man slumped slowly forward. Lupa shoved him to the bed. He fell back on it, mumbling incoherently, and she laughed. Putting the two glasses on the table, she came back and noted with satisfaction that the drug had done its work well. The man’s eyes were rolled half upward in his head, and his lips moved, but no sound came out. Working efficiently, she removed the rings from his fingers and put them into a hidden pocket in her dress. She found a bag containing his gold and silver under his coat. It had a good heavy weight to it, and her broad lips curled upward in a smile. She found another bag with a silver hairbrush, a comb, and a small silver flask. “Easy to pluck as a dead chicken, aren’t you?” After wrapping her findings in a shawl, she came to stand over the man. For a moment she fingered the knife hidden under the folds of her dress and thought of ending his life, just in case he remembered her, but she put the notion away
Leaving the room, she made her way down the unlit staircase. When she stepped outside, she saw that the dark sky was filled with scattered clouds drifting toward a silver moon. The fall of 1553 had been harsh, and the moon looked pockmarked and weary. She shivered and drew her shawl closer about her, then paused and waited. It was very still, and she thought about the man that she had just robbed. She felt no regret, only disgust for him and all men like him. He had approached her at the inn, as she had known he would, and she had led him on. Now he would wake up without a farthing in his pocket—or anything of worth at all. Lupa smiled. It pleased her to think of him begging the innkeeper for help
“Did he give you any trouble, Lupa?”
Lupa started as a man suddenly appeared from the shadows. Rez Fabin could do that sort of thing, appearing and disappearing like a ghost, but even after two years of knowing him, it still frightened Lupa. She lifted her chin. “No more than your average drunken sot.”
Fabin was a lean man with a sharp face and pair of deep-set hazel eyes. He was, Lupa knew, a totally immoral man with a vicious streak that appeared from time to time, but he had never treated Lupa badly. In fact, he had once rescued her from the gypsy camp, fighting off Duke Largo, the leader of the band, to win her freedom. It had been a bloody affair, and while Largo had survived, he was in no condition to come after them when Rez took her away. After a time she had broken off their affair, but Rez didn’t care, for he could always get a woman. He was different from Duke that way. Duke had wanted to own her
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