by Kris Tualla
After that, he would summon Captain Moreno from the Albergar and have him identify Esteban. Jakob would ask the captain to tell him everything he knew about the dead sailor.
Hopefully all of Jakob’s questions would be answered in the process.
“He had better bring the ledgers,” Jakob added to the message he was sending a squire to deliver. “And he’ll want to thoroughly examine the man’s room to see what he might have stolen.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Jakob looked at the young man who reminded him of himself over a decade earlier. “Have you got all of that?”
The squire repeated the message perfectly.
“Good. And do not come back without Moreno,” Jakob charged him. “Even if you have to sit on his desk until he agrees.”
The squire grinned. “I understand, Sir. I shall return with the Captain in tow.”
Jakob turned toward his house. He planned to ask Askel for a hot bath in which to soak his leg later, and while he waited for the captain he would hold his wife in his arms.
No one will ever take her from me.
No one.
Chapter Eleven
February 21, 1520
Avery sat in a carriage on the pier, sheltered from the rain, and watched the Albergar slowly move down the Thames on the outgoing tide. The trade ship was making her way back to Spain loaded with Norse and English goods and Avery stood to make a substantial profit.
The ten days which her ship spent in London’s port brought both joy in the unexpected arrival of Jakob’s mother Bergdis, and distress as Esteban Gonzales sought personal revenge for being caught embezzling from his dead employer, Avery’s first husband.
Now she was glad to see the ship sail once more, hoping and praying that the troubles the debauched Paolo Mendoza left behind were finally put down.
Jakob proved right in his assumption that Esteban was the ship’s purser. Captain Moreno responded to the summons to identify his dead crewman, and that same day one body was buried and the other burned.
“It will be the beginning of his eternity in flames,” Jakob muttered as they watched the pyre. “And now we are truly done with him.”
Once the situation was fully explained—and that Gonzalo Esteban was in truth Esteban Gonzales, Avery’s former majordomo—Captain Moreno himself searched every nook of Esteban’s cabin.
“Nearly nine hundred pounds,” he told Avery later as he handed Jakob a weighty bag of gold and silver coins. “I am sorry that I cannot say which transactions were logged incorrectly to hide the theft.”
Avery assured him that did not matter at the moment. “What does matter is that the money is returned to me and will help to replay my debt to Queen Catherine.”
Captain Moreno gave her a quirky smile. “I have never worked for a woman before, Lady Avery, but I have been impressed by your keen mind for business.”
She felt her cheeks warming. “Thank you, Captain. That means quite a lot to me. I shall write to Gustavo Salazar and commend you to him for your loyal service.”
The captain bowed. “Thank you, my lady.”
Avery knocked on the roof of the carriage. It was time to go back home. Preparations for King Henry’s lavish Valentine’s Ball celebrating Percival Bethington’s astonishing nuptials were frantically being completed.
“Four days, Percy,” Avery mused. “And you will be a married man.”
February 23, 1520
“We cannot find Bethington.”
Avery paused as Emily was dressing her for dinner and turned wide eyes to Jakob. “What do you mean ‘cannot find’?”
Jakob scuttled his fingers through his hair. “He was supposed to attend a final fitting for his costume, but he did not appear as scheduled.”
“His costume for the ball, is that correct?” Her brows pulled together over her dark eyes. On most women this expression was unattractive, but on his beautiful wife it was a signal that her keen mind was whirring.
“Yes. He is wearing his Golden Fleece attire for the church ceremony.”
“Could it be that he simply forgot?”
Jakob shook his head. “You know how much he relishes these sorts of occasions.”
“Yes, but…” Avery raised a single finger in denial. “That was when he was unencumbered and had his pick of women for the evening’s entertainment.”
“And now that he is about to be married, he spurns the idea?” That could sound like Bethington.
Except it did not.
“Percy has nothing but glowing words for his betrothed,” Jakob stated. “So much so, that I find myself awash in bad poetic comparisons whenever he speaks of her.”
Avery told Emily to finish dressing her. “Let us wait and see if he attends supper. Perhaps there is nothing to be concerned about.”
§ § §
Avery watched Anne Woodcote carefully. The daughter of Lord Basil Woodcote, Earl of Oxford, was only nineteen but possessed the self-assure mien of a much older woman. Her blonde curls brushed over her shoulder and her pale blue eyes attended to her dinner companions.
None of which were Percy.
Avery noticed a slight but distinct decrease in the girl’s normally effusive composure and though attentive, her eyes were not smiling. Anne knew something was amiss. Whether she knew why it was amiss was a different question.
Jakob settled into the chair beside Avery.
“Have you had any luck?” she asked softly.
“He is not inside the Tower grounds as best I can tell.” Jakob claimed his stein of ale and took a sizeable gulp. “I shall begin a search of taverns after I have eaten.”
“I do hope he has not done anything foolish.” Avery glanced at Percival’s petite fiancée. “She truly does love him.”
Jakob motioned for a servant to refill his ale. “And if he is foolish enough to throw her over—and his child—then I will personally beat him to a bloody pulp.”
§ § §
Bergdis Hansen thanked Emily for her supper tray. And she did it in English.
The maid smiled at her. “You are welcome, my lady. Do you wish for anything else?”
Bergdis understood the reply you are welcome and assumed the question was the same one as every time. “No. Thank you. Dette er bra.”
“All is braw then. Good.”
Bergdis nodded. “Ja. God.”
Emily curtsied and went back toward the kitchen, presumably for her own meal.
Some Norsk words such as bra and god sounded like their English counterparts and that made things easier. Other words had nothing in common, however, and Bergdis wondered—if she decided to remain in England—would she master the new language before she died.
“It is good for the mind,” she reminded herself as she dipped her spoon into the bowl of steaming savory stew. “An idle mind gives up. Besides, I am not that old. I have time.”
Bergdis stared into the cheerful fire as she enjoyed her well-made but solitary meal. Jakob always insisted that she was welcome to attend dinner with the court but she found the boisterous crowd, all babbling too rapidly for her to attempt to follow, uninviting and intimidating.
“I am a simple woman from a village in a small country,” she told her son. “I am more comfortable on my own.”
“Are you certain?” Avery asked her in her oddly-accented Norsk. “We are happy and you are with us.”
“Yes. Thank you, Daughter.” Bergdis squeezed Avery’s hand. “Do not worry over me.”
Bergdis broke a piece of bread and dipped it in the stew. The cook Jakob employed was from Denmark and she understood the sort of flavors that Bergdis was accustomed to. By the same token, the woman was introducing her to English fare, easing her way by starting with dishes that were similar to Norwegian food.
All in all, Bergdis was very satisfied that she had drummed up enough courage to step on Avery’s ship and make this journey to London. Of course Johan had tried to talk her out of it, but every argument he presented only made her more determined.<
br />
“I am neither too old nor too incapable of managing my affairs,” she stated. “And I will be sailing on my daughter-in-law’s ship. My welfare will be seen to.”
“But how will you communicate, Mamma?” he pressed.
Several months ago Bergdis had a conversation about languages with Jakob, after he appeared so unexpectedly at Hansen Hall in Arendal with his Spanish wife in tow. So she knew that answer.
“I will listen for words that sound like Norsk or Latin. And I will use my hands to gesture.”
And she had.
Thinking about the ship now brought back a surge of the bone-deep fear which she experienced several days ago when that ship’s purser abducted Avery.
Bergdis had never seen her son so cold and determined as she had the night he strapped the dirk to his leg. His words, I am a knight, and it is my duty to protect the Queen and her court thrummed through her core as he spoke them, and she suddenly saw him as the man he was, not the boy she knew so many years ago.
Jakob had grown up. He had become a member of two royal courts, trusted by both of the sovereigns he had served to do their highest bidding. On the one hand, he moved with intelligent grace and wisdom through the intricacies of court politics, a true gentleman in every sense of the word.
Yet on the other hand, when required to do so, he used his considerable strength and skill to dispatch anyone who posed a threat to those whom he served and loved. And he did not flinch in that duty. Not for a moment.
For the hundredth time, Bergdis wished Fafnir could have seen the man his second son had become. If her husband had not been so stubborn, Jakob would not have been estranged from the family for so many years.
But if Jakob had not inherited that same stubborn streak, he would not have left Arendal to follow his own path.
Bergdis sipped her wine, smiling into her glass at that thought.
All has come right in the end, I suppose.
A sudden pounding on the door summoned Askel from the kitchen. Emily followed, her eyes wide with concern.
“Stay where you are, Lady Hansen,” Askel said in Norsk. “I shall see who has come.”
Emily picked up Bergdis’ supper tray and hurried back into the kitchen. Bergdis straightened in her chair and smoothed her hair and skirts.
Another round of fists on the door made her uneasy.
Askel gripped the latch and lifted it. With a steadying breath he opened the door.
“Sir Bethington?” The valet’s tone reflected his surprise. “Sir Hansen is at supper in the Tower.”
“I know.” The beefy knight stepped inside. His face was ruddier than usual and Bergdis could smell beer from her seat. “I have not come to speak with Jakob.”
A confused Askel moved out of the man’s way. “What do you wish, Sir?”
Percival Bethington’s gaze rested on Bergdis. “I have come to speak with his mother.”
Chapter Twelve
After a hurried supper, Jakob kissed his wife on the cheek and left the Tower grounds to search surrounding taverns for the elusive Percy. He had no idea what might have pulled his English counterpart from the side of his beloved betrothed only days before their wedding, but he was determined to find out.
Percy had several favorite spots near the fortress, chosen for their level of cleanliness and the quality of their food. Jakob worked his way through the establishments in a methodical manner, speaking to the barkeeps at each one.
After all, they did know Bethington well.
“Nah, I ain’t seen him today,” said the burly owner of The White Crow. “Is there trouble?”
“I am not certain,” Jakob admitted. “He seems to have gone missing.”
The man snorted. “He’s about t’ be married, ain’t he?”
“Yes.”
“Check the whorehouses is my advice.”
Lizzy.
Jakob wondered if there was a way to track the girl down. While she seemed to have an uncanny penchant for showing up at just the right time, he had no idea where she went afterwards.
Jakob had two more taverns to visit.
Then I shall go looking for her.
§ § §
Bergdis recoiled in surprise. She recognized the words come, speak, and mother. Had the English knight truly come to see her?
Askel stared at Bethington. “She does not speak English.”
“Jeg snakker litt Norsk,” he replied, his eyes still on Bergdis.
“Come.” She waved toward the big chair nearest hers. “Sit.”
“Thank you. Takk du.” Percival crossed the room hesitantly. He lowered himself into the upholstered seat.
“Vil du ha en drink?” Bergdis asked if he wanted a drink.
“Ja. Takk.”
Askel lifted the decanter of wine and poured the Englishman a glass. “Can I get you anything else?”
Percival shook his head. “No.”
“Do you want me to stay and translate?” he asked, then asked again in Norsk for Bergdis’ sake. “Vil du at jeg skal bo og oversette?”
Bergdis watched Percival carefully. She sensed that whatever he wanted to discuss needed to be spoken of privately.
“No,” she said to Askel. “He and I talk.”
Percy sighed his relief. “Yes. Thank you.”
Askel walked to the door leading to the kitchen. “Summon me if you need help.”
Bergdis nodded. Then she faced the distraught knight and asked what was wrong. “Hva er galt?”
Percy looked like he might cry. “I am terrified.”
“Terrified?” she repeated with a frown.
Percival nodded. “I have great frykt.”
“Hvorfor? Fordi du skal gifte?” Bergdis asked, but did not believe this was the reason.
“No, I am not afraid of marrying.” His expression eased. “Anne is the best thing that has happened in my life. I do not want to live without her.”
The only word Bergdis understood for certain was no. “Then hvorfor, Percival?”
He rubbed his hands over his ruddy cheeks. “I am afraid of becoming a father.”
§ § §
Jakob exhausted all of Bethington’s regular haunts without finding a trace of the Englishman. If Percival was not as imposing a figure as he was and well skilled in the arts of battle, Jakob might fear that the knight had encountered an unfortunate circumstance.
“No, he is just being obstinate,” Jakob muttered into the night. His breath formed a cloud of fog in front of his face.
The time had come to search out Lizzy.
Jakob walked the mile back to Tower Hill. Between that grassy rise and the docks he expected he would find the girl plying her trade. What he did not expect was how she looked when he did come across her.
“Lizzy?” Jakob approached the whore. “Is that a new dress?”
She giggled and spun in a slow circle. “Aye. Thanks to your generosity.”
“You look quite pretty.” Jakob tried to keep the surprise out of his tone, but it was a struggle.
“Ye have changed my life, Sir.” Her earnest gaze struck his heart. “I’ve moved to a better place of business. And because it’s cleaner, and my dress is new, I can charge more for my services.”
“I am glad to hear that,” was his awkward response. Could he be glad she was still whoring? But then, an uneducated single girl in London had scant other options.
“I plan to save enough to buy my own place,” she continued, her excitement clear. “Might be I get another girl or two to work with me.”
“Miss Lizzy the brothel owner?” Jakob chuckled. “Who might have expected that?”
“Not me. Not before.” Her smile turned wistful. “But ye and Lady Avery have been kind.”
“I am glad we could help you.” He truly was.
Lizzy reached out and tapped a finger on his arm. “Ye know, brothels are good investments. No matter what else happens in the world, men want their pleasures.”
Jakob did laugh at that. “I shall discus
s the idea with my wife.”
Lizzy bounced a grinning nod. “Ye do that.”
Jakob’s smile faded. “Now I need your help, Lizzy. Have you seen Sir Bethington anywhere this night?”
§ § §
“I find I am overwhelmed by the prospect.” Percival stood and began to pace the length of the drawing room. “How can I, a man with such a storied reputation, ever hope to be a suitable father to an impressionable boy?”
“Ingen vet hvordan å være en far før han er en.”
Bergdis did not understand his words any more than she believed he understood hers. But that did not matter. What did matter was that the knight felt free to express his thoughts, and that her tone was soothing and reassuring in response.
“No one?” He squinted at her. “Is this true?”
“Yes.” Bergdis smiled softly, pleased that he grasped her main point. “Du vil bli en god far, fordi du ønsker å være.”
Percival looked askance at her. “I will be a good father?”
“Yes.” Bergdis nodded. “You want this.”
He shook his head. “Just because I want to bring the boy up in the manner in which I should, does not mean I will not fail…”
In the face of his obvious deflection Bergdis decided to change course. “And the mother?”
His shoulders drooped. “Anne will be perfect. She already is perfect. She will put me to shame.”
There was something good and something bad in those words. Bergdis took a risk and responded to what she assumed he said. “Mother is good. And then you are good.”
Percival reclaimed his chair. “Are you saying that I will be a good father to my son, because Anne will be a good mother?” his brow eased. “I will learn from watching her?”
Bergdis nodded. Whatever the knight heard was what he wanted to hear. Or needed to hear. There was just one more thing.
“Hvis du har en datter, vil du være en god far for henne også.”
Percival’s face went white as Bergdis’ linen napkin. “A daughter?”
