When the Heavens Fall

by Gilbert, Morris

  “It’s always best to serve Jesus no matter what the cost, don’t you think?” Quentin asked gently

  “Of course you’re right.”

  “What do you think your sister will do, Princess?”

  “I cannot say. It’s unsafe to make predictions in these days.”

  “Well, the queen has told us that she intends to force Catholicism on no one,” Quentin said. “That’s good news.”

  “I hope that it is so. But enough of such sober matters. Tell me about Brandon.” As Stuart related the story of Brandon’s downfall, she seemed genuinely disturbed. “I hope he’ll change his ways. He has good blood in him. He’ll come back, I’m sure.”

  She rose, and the two men knew they were dismissed. As they left the palace and mounted their horses, Quentin said, “I’m encouraged and hopeful. Queen Mary seems to have a good heart.”

  “I think she wants to do the right thing, and that she will try,” Stuart agreed

  The two men were silent. Quentin finally brought up the subject of Brandon again. “What have you done to find him, Stuart?”

  “Well, I’ve hired a man to look for him, but he’s not been successful.”

  “It must be very hard on you.”

  “Harder on his mother,” Stuart said grimly

  “He’ll come back home, I’m sure.”

  “I pray he will. He’s all we have, Quentin.”

  “No, you have Jesus.”

  Stuart smiled. “Yes. You are right. We have Jesus.”

  9

  Lupa had persuaded Brandon to accompany her to buy some material for a new gown, something she had failed to do until now. She was puzzled by him and this troubled her, for if she knew anything, Lupa knew men. And out of all those she had known, only Rez and Brandon were deemed of any use. Brandon was an asset with his expertise with cards. He brought in a steady income that soon far surpassed what he owed them. They moved from city to city once he became known as such an expert player that others refused to play with him. Nevertheless, his skill, along with other schemes that Lupa and Rez concocted, kept them all in ready coins

  Lupa thought of the two months that had passed since they picked Brandon out of the ditch and felt a glow of achievement: she had been able to make a steady source of income from him. He was an unknown quantity, however, and as she looked at the bolts of cloth at a shop, she glanced covertly at Brandon, who sat in a chair, patiently waiting. He was wearing the latest in fashion, the dress of a wealthy man, and Lupa was well aware that the woman of the shop could not keep her eyes off him. She had noticed this about women before, and also saw that Brandon seemed to be oblivious to them. This both pleased and troubled Lupa, for he seemed oblivious to her also. She was not accustomed to having men ignoring her charm. She turned now to the woman

  “That fabric would look very well indeed on you, my lady.”

  Lupa smiled at the title that she had been granted. She had never been called such a thing before, but now she accepted it without argument. “It is rather nice.”

  “Why don’t we drape you and discuss the design you wish? You have a lovely shape. There are many options.”

  “That would please me.” She followed the woman into the back of the shop, and as she quickly undressed, she knew that the woman had gone back to talk to Brandon. “I’ll claw her eyes out if he shows any interest in her. She’s interested enough in him,” Lupa muttered. But then she was there beside her, quickly showing Lupa design after design. Lupa chose one, and the woman immediately cut the fabric and pinned it, taking measurements down on a piece of paper as they worked. “Shall we see what your gentleman thinks?”

  Lupa gaped at her and then shrugged. Feeling awkward, she made her way to Brandon. “It’s not finished, obviously, but you get the idea of what it will look like,” Lupa said, hating the nervousness in her belly. “Do you . . . do you like it, Brandon?”

  “You look like a queen.”

  Lupa laughed. “No one ever called me that before.”

  “Well, they should have.” Brandon leaned back, crossed his arms, and stared at her. His bright blue eyes were alert, and he ran them up and down her body. “I don’t know whether we ought to get it or not.”

  “Why not?” Lupa cried. “It’ll be beautiful.”

  “Every man in town will follow you.” He smiled at the woman, who had reappeared, adding, “No, I think you’d better remake her old ragged gown a little bit dirtier if possible. I’ll smear some of the dirt on her face. That ought to keep the men away.”

  The woman laughed. “I’m sure she wouldn’t agree to that. And, sir, the gown is perfect for her.”

  “How much is it?” Lupa asked

  “For you twenty pounds.”

  “Oh, that’s far too much!” Lupa cried. “I never paid that much for a gown in my life.”

  “Lupa, it’s done,” Brandon said. “We get so few things in life that give us pleasure, dear. We need to grab what we can. Can you have it done tomorrow?” he asked

  When she came out, the woman was standing close to Brandon, looking up at him with a tantalizing smile. Lupa quickly stepped between them and took Brandon’s arm. “I’ll have my servant come by tomorrow to fetch it.”

  “We will have it ready for you,” she said, but her eyes were on Brandon

  Outside it was almost dark. Lupa’s mind was still on the recent scene. “That wench was making up to you, wasn’t she?”

  “I didn’t notice.”

  Lupa shook his arm. “You did notice! You couldn’t help it. She was practically glued to you.”

  “She was simply being amiable.”

  “Amiable! I’ll show her amiable!”

  Brandon glanced down at her. “Why, I do believe you’re jealous.”

  “Why should I be jealous?”

  “Because you’re afraid somebody will get part of me that you can’t have.”

  His answer was given with a smile, but it troubled Lupa. “Let’s hurry,” she said shortly. “I want something to eat.”

  They went to an inn that Lupa knew, and as they entered, the owner of the inn came to greet them, wiping his hands on his apron. “What may I do for you today?”

  “We’re very hungry,” Brandon said. “What are you serving?”

  “We have some very fine beef today. Does that sound like something you’d like?”

  “Bring us the best you have.”

  The innkeeper led them to a table set in an angle of the room. It was a pleasant enough inn, well lighted with lanterns hanging from the ceiling. The smell of cooking food left them salivating. The room was filled with the sound of talk and laughter from the those who were already there. Lupa waited until Brandon pulled out a chair for her and then she sat down. It was just a little thing, but it was a custom she had not known before meeting him. As he took his seat, she watched him. He was looking around the room in a leisurely fashion. For a time, until the food came, she talked about the gown and how much it pleased her. Suddenly she reached across the table and put her hand over his. “You never want anything, Brandon.”

  “Of course I do. I want something to eat. Something to wear. A place to sleep.”

  “I mean you don’t seem to care about how much things cost.”

  “Oh, I think I do at times.”

  Lupa studied him carefully. He was a tall man and he sat easily in his chair, limber and yet with a suggestion of sleeping strength. His widely spaced blue eyes were half hidden behind the lids, and there was a benign, complacent smile on his lips. His auburn hair was neatly cut. As she sat before him, she admired the ease about him and admired his sun-kissed face. Despite his good looks there seemed to be, she thought, a dark preoccupation in his expression. She had seen him angry once, and then his eyes were as hostile and bright as broken glass. Now, though, they were not. He did not move his hand from hers. But fugitive shadows chased in and out of his eyes and somehow hid the man within

  “I know why you don’t care about having fine things. You’ve had e
verything. Your family is rich. What do you want?”

  Winslow moved his hand away and passed it across his face, as if to brush away something that troubled him. “I’m not sure what I want, Lupa, but I do know this. It has nothing to do with money or clothes or food.”

  At that moment the innkeeper set the steaming food on the table, and as she picked up her fork she said, “Did your family pray over food?”

  “Always.”

  “But you don’t.”

  “They’re better people than I am, Lupa. I’m hardly a fit man to pray.” He began to eat. As always, Lupa took careful note of how he handled his fork and his knife. This made her more careful with her own manners

  When they were finished, she said, “Are you ready to fleece our sheep?”

  “Not really.”

  This surprised her somewhat, but not altogether. He had never shown any excitement or interest or pleasure in the games that she dreamed up, just a willingness to go through the motions. Her games always included robbery

  “The fool’s half in love with me,” she said, referring to her latest conquest. “He’ll follow me anywhere. Why are you hesitant?”

  “I don’t know.”

  His answer displeased Lupa, and she said, “He’s running around like a boy and yet he’s a middle-aged fool. He deserves to be taken.” When Winslow did not answer, she said, “I’ll have him in his room at the Green Lantern Inn. Be there at eight o’clock. He’ll be trying to take advantage of me.”

  Brandon lifted his head, and Lupa met the full force of his eyes. “No man’s going to do that, Lupa. You won’t allow it.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “You’re too hard. A diamond wouldn’t make a scratch on your soul.”

  Lupa’s eyes narrowed. “My life has hardly been like yours, your lordship,” she cried defiantly. She looked around, embarrassed that he had roused such a reaction from her. “You don’t know anything about me.”

  “I think I know a little.”

  Lupa made a dismissive gesture. “Just forget it. But you’ll do it, won’t you? Come to the Green Lantern when I give the signal? Or should I get Rez?”

  He sighed and pushed his plate back. “I’ve come to that, it seems.”

  “See that you do.” She stood up and stared at him with a hard expression. “You’ve never had to fight for anything, but I have.”

  Brandon was in a dark mood. He sat in the inn after Lupa left, drinking heavily and thinking of his family. He tried to avoid this as much as possible, because thoughts of them brought him pain. The barmaid came and managed to push her hip against his shoulder. He looked at her and saw that she was smiling at him. She was a blonde woman with a tremendous shape, and there was an invitation in her eyes. “What’s your name?”

  “Mary.”

  “Do you have a fine family, Mary? A mother and a father?”

  The woman was surprised. She stared at him dully. “I had a bad father who got his jollies beating on me and on my mum. He got killed. No loss to me or anyone else.”

  “What about your mother?”

  “She went on the streets. Died a year ago.”

  “What would you do, Mary, if you could do anything you wanted?”

  Obviously no one had ever put this question to the barmaid. She stood silently for a minute, and then, eyes opened wide, she said, “I’d buy me a gold bracelet that cost five pounds.”

  Brandon reached into his pocket and pulled out a bag of coins. He took out two of them and said, “There’s ten. Buy two bracelets.”

  He put the money in her hand, and the woman stared at him. “You want me to do something for this?”

  “No. Just enjoy the bracelets.” He got up, put more money down to pay for the meal, and then made his way to the door, moving somewhat unsteadily. He turned back and saw that the barmaid was watching him. “Enjoy the bracelets,” he said thickly, then left the inn. He walked down the street to the Green Lantern, which was only a short distance away. He heard the town clock striking ten as he climbed the stairs, and when he got to the door of the room that Lupa had told him about, he heard her voice. She was crying out, speaking loudly. A man’s voice was muffled. For a moment Brandon stood there and almost decided to leave, but he had allowed Lupa to get into a bad position, and he had to get her out. He opened the door and saw what he expected. Lupa, wearing only a shift, was being pushed onto a bed by a skinny man, who wore only his smallclothes

  Brandon pulled a pistol from beneath his heavy doublet “That’s my wife,” he said

  The skinny man was clearly half drunk. When his eyes fell on Brandon’s pistol, his jaw dropped and he began to babble. “Don’t—don’t shoot me.”

  “What do you mean, coming here with my wife?”

  It was an old scene for Brandon. He had done it four times, and each time he had been successful. Brandon watched as the man retreated from the bed and backed up against a wall. He was pathetic and skinny as a plucked chicken, and as he begged, suddenly he began to cry

  “Here. Take what I have. Just don’t kill me.” He seized a leather bag from a table, and thrust it toward Brandon

  Brandon looked at the bag, then at the man’s terrified face. “You stay away from my wife, do you hear me?”

  “I promise. Never again!”

  He shoved his coins at Brandon, who took them and stared at them, a bit dazed. “Go home to your wife,” he said roughly. “Come on, Lupa.” He turned and walked out of the room, and Lupa, now dressed, followed him. She shut the door behind her and took his arm

  “Well, that was easy,” she laughed. “How much in the purse?”

  “I don’t know.” Brandon gave it to her. “Share it with Rez.”

  Lupa looked up at him, obviously shocked. “No. You deserve a share.”

  “I don’t want it.”

  She had been excited over the little drama that she had dreamed up, and she said, “Why won’t you take it?”

  “I feel sorry for the poor fellow.”

  Lupa was angry. Obviously she had not thought to feel sorry for anybody in so long that it came as a novel concept to her. “You think you’re too good for such things?”

  “No, I’m not.” He paused for a few moments and then he added, “I’m no good for anything. But my father wouldn’t do it. He’s a good man.”

  Lupa had no answer for that. She took his arm and pulled at him. “Let’s get some wine. That’s what to do when you’re feeling bad.”

  He stopped suddenly and took her by the arms. She felt the strength of his hands and for a moment was actually frightened of him, but he merely stared at her with an inscrutable expression in his blue eyes

  “Lupa, there’s not enough wine in the world to make me feel good about myself,” he said miserably

  It was the second day of the new year 1554. Queen Mary had called a meeting of the Privy Council. She spoke in hushed tones to Simon Renard in a small room adjoining the room where the council would meet. Mary could feel Renard’s eyes upon her. He was the emissary of Charles V, Holy Roman Emperor, King of Spain, master of most of Europe and much of the New World. His dominion stretched from Spain through Italy, where he was duke of Milan and king of Naples and Sicily, all the way up to the Low Countries. Treasure ships brought him gold and silver from the mines in the ruined empires of Mexico and Peru, and no one up to this point had dared to challenge his strength

  Renard was not the typical flamboyant ambassador. He was small and thin, but there was an electricity about him. He had dark hair and darker eyes, and his English had a pronounced Spanish accent. Mary knew he had been sent to investigate the possibility of a marriage, but there seemed to be something else beneath the surface

  “What are you going to say to the council, Your Majesty?” Renard asked Mary. He watched as she thought about her answer. He knew her well. At thirty-seven, she was short of stature with a thickened body. She had brown hair and a sallow complexion. Her eyes were of a peculiar hazel color, very large, and her no
se was wider than desired. There was about her, Renard had noticed long ago, a defiant attitude, but he did not dislike this at all. He knew that she would need it to rule over this land. He approved of her love of expensive, elegant clothing that alternated between the close-fitting, trailing gowns worn by many English noblewomen and the French gowns with a looser bodice and huge full sleeves. She loved rich, ornate fabrics with gold and silver woven through them and took great delight in her jewels

  Renard thought, Her love of finery is the only sign of self-indulgence I see in her. She’s led a severely disciplined life, and even as queen she keeps it up. This was encouraging, for he knew that Charles’s plan would require diligence from her

  “I have been thinking about marriage, Renard.”

  “Of course you have. You’ve been thinking about it for years.”

  Mary smiled, but there was little humor in it. “You’re right. My father offered me to half the princes in Europe. I felt like a prize heifer being auctioned off!”

  Renard blinked at the bitterness in her tone. He knew that her father had treated her terribly but was surprised that she remained so bitter now that he was gone

  “Pray tell, Majesty, what have you been thinking?”

  “I have been praying about what you mentioned to me three weeks ago.”

  Renard felt a surge of joy. “And what is that, Your Majesty?”

  “I have decided to marry Philip, the emperor’s son.”

  Instantly a thrill of triumph shot through him. This was actually what he had been sent to accomplish. There were tremendous handicaps, but there were also tremendous advantages. If Mary, who was a staunch Catholic, married Philip, who was even stauncher, the Catholic hold on England would be secure again. There would be problems, but this was a major victory

  “I think you have made a wise choice, Your Majesty.”

  “I have prayed about it, and God has told me to marry Philip. And what God plans never fails.”

  “That is very true, but many of your people have hopes for Elizabeth, and there are those who say that she has enough support to overthrow you. You have enemies, Your Majesty.”