by Kris Tualla
Jakob let the comment pass, rather than argue that mirrors were rather helpful in that particular pursuit. Instead, he turned his thoughts to the Lady Avery.
He wasn’t certain that he liked her.
She was beautiful, of that there was no doubt. Her hair was as dark as her eyes, and her pale, smooth skin showed no signs of being in the sun. As Queen Catherine’s dearest friend, she appeared to be her contemporary as well, making the lady five or six years older than the twenty-seven year old king.
Perhaps even older than I am.
The comment about his name had made him uncomfortable. He never thought of Jakob as being a Jewish name, and wondered why Lady Avery would mention such a thing. He decided to ask Charles Brandon about it if the chance arose. Though he wasn’t certain he could trust the duke, Brandon was the closest thing to a friend Jakob had in England thus far.
The baying of hounds jerked him out of his reverie.
He looked ahead to see Henry charging forward with Brandon close behind. Jakob leaned forward in the saddle and kicked Warrior into a gallop. He caught sight of the boar about a hundred yards ahead, before it darted under a copse of shrubbery.
Gripping the saddle with his knees, he pulled an arrow from the quiver strapped to his back and nocked it to his bow. The well-trained Warrior responded to the shifts of Jakob’s weight, dodging to the right and left flawlessly, and managing not to trample the slower riders or smaller steeds in his path.
Jakob let one arrow fly, then a second and third in quick succession. The angry squeal of their prey signaled a hit, though whether it was Jakob’s arrow couldn’t be determined at this point. He saw Henry riding beside him, also sending arrows toward the rustling bushes.
The boar bolted out the other side and Jakob was about to let loose the killing shot when he remembered both Charles Brandon’s and Lady Avery’s deferential comments to Henry yester eve. He hesitated just long enough to allow the king time to shoot first.
Henry didn’t disappoint. His arrow flew true, hitting the boar at the base of its skull. The animal dropped to the ground. The chase was ended.
Cheers rose up among the men as Henry rode forward to claim his kill and slit its throat. He then pulled his arrow from the animal’s neck, and a second arrow from its chest. He held up the second arrow in question.
“Mine.” Jakob nudged Warrior forward to reclaim his weapon.
Henry grinned at him. “Well shot, Hansen. You almost got him.”
Jakob accepted the arrow with what he hoped was a humble expression. “Thank you, your Grace.”
Henry slapped Jakob’s boot. “Perhaps you will fell the next one.”
Jakob dipped a wordless nod of acknowledgement and turned Warrior back toward the pack of hunters. He caught Brandon watching him, though with an odd smile on his lips.
Then the duke winked.
Jakob tried to suppress his grin, but without complete success.
As servants gathered the boar’s carcass and hefted it onto one of the pack horses, Brandon nudged his mount next to Jakob’s, his conspiratorial expression hidden from the king’s view. “If you had shot quicker, you would have made the kill.”
To anyone listening, the comment was innocuous; but Jakob understood that the duke had marked his hesitation He shrugged, affecting an unconcerned mien. “Or perhaps King Henry is better marksman.”
Brandon quirked a brow. “Well done, Hansen.”
The duke turned his destrier toward Henry’s. With a start, Jakob saw that the king’s arm was bleeding.
“Your Grace—you have been shot!” Brandon jumped from his mount to assist King Henry down from his horse. A liveried groom ran forward to handle the duke’s steed, and another moved toward Henry’s.
The king looked at his red-stained tunic, surprised etched on his face, and dismounted. Brandon helped him remove the torn garment, as well as the shirt beneath it, revealing a deep gouge in Henry’s upper arm.
If the arrow had flown just inches to the right, it would have pierced the king’s back.
“Merely a scratch,” Henry declaimed. “Patch me up and we shall continue.”
A valet set about the task of bandaging the sovereign’s arm, while the duke’s scowling gaze moved over the group of men.
“One of you has aimed carelessly,” Brandon stated. “If you value your life, you will not do so again.”
“Perhaps it was the Norseman,” one man suggested, his eyes shifting to Jakob.
Jakob straightened in his saddle. “No. I ride on side of king!”
“That is true, Lord Johns.” Henry considered the accuser over the head of the valet. “Sir Hansen was riding alongside me when he loosed his arrows.”
Concerned looks ricocheted through the crowd, but no one else spoke.
The valet stepped backward. “I have finished, your Grace.”
Brandon helped Henry back into the bloodied shirt and tunic. He murmured something to the king.
Henry shook his head. “I am quite fit, Suffolk. There is no reason to cut our outing short.”
The groom gave Henry a leg up into his saddle as Brandon mounted his own horse. When he glanced at Jakob, the duke’s expression was dark.
With a sigh of resignation, Brandon addressed the master of the hounds. “Let us continue!”
Chapter Four
Avery held back Catherine’s light brown hair while the queen vomited into a bowl. “It is good that you are ill, Catherine. That means the babe is strong inside of you.”
Catherine sat back in her chair. The bowl was whisked away from her lap by a servant girl, while another girl appeared with a wet towel.
“As reassuring as that may be, it is a particularly miserable path for the proof to take.” The queen wiped her mouth. “I do hope this one is a strong boy, for Henry’s sake.”
“He will love you either way. You know that.” Avery handed the used towel to the servant who provided it. “I’ve never seen a more devoted husband.”
“I have only conceived five times in our nine years of marriage, and only one child has survived—and a girl at that.” Catherine gazed sadly at Avery. “I fear what he might think of me if I don’t give him an heir.”
Avery bristled at Catherine’s suggestion that two-year-old Mary wasn’t an heir. “Mary might become queen, if Henry orders it.”
“I know that, of course.” Catherine leaned back and closed her eyes. “But I also know what my husband desires—and that is a son.”
Avery settled in her chair while Catherine rested, and tried to think of anything she could say to soothe her friend’s worries. Together since their shared childhood in Spain, she knew Catherine better than anyone—including both of the queen’s husbands.
Seventeen years ago, at the age of seventeen, Avery accompanied her fifteen-year-old friend Catherine on her wedding journey from Spain to England. Princess Catherine’s marriage to England’s next king, Arthur Tudor, had been arranged to solidify relations between the two powerful monarchies.
After the ceremony was performed, the royal couple moved to Ludlow Castle on the Welsh border, and Avery returned to Spain. In less than five months, however, Arthur was dead. A year later, the nineteen-year-old widow was betrothed to fourteen-year-old Henry.
Henry was very different from Arthur. While Arthur was weak, Henry thrived. Though his betrothal to Catherine was cancelled by his father, when Henry the Seventh died, the eighteen-year-old Henry married her anyway.
And after Catherine was crowned alongside Henry, she invited Avery to return to England and join her court.
Avery had good reason to escape what her life in Spain had become. And she had not returned home in the nine years since.
“What do you make of the knight?” Catherine asked of a sudden.
“Which knight?” Though she knew very well which knight, Avery posed the question anyway. Since their unsettling meeting yester eve, the man had come to her mind more often than she wished.
“The one from Denmark,
of course.” Catherine opened her eyes and turned to Avery. “The one who looks like Henry.”
“I do not know what to make of him as yet.” Avery frowned a little. “Do you believe him about his name?”
Catherine sat up a little straighter. “Are you asking me if I believe he is Jewish?”
“Yes, I suppose I am.” Avery was uncertain how that idea made her feel. “I was only eight when the Jews were forced to convert or leave Spain, so I have never been acquainted with anyone who is Jewish.”
Catherine shook her head. “If he was born in Norway and had Norwegian parents, I cannot see how he could be Jewish.”
“I suppose not.” Avery pointed a finger at Catherine. “And King Christian would not have a knight who was Jewish, would he?”
“No, of course he wouldn’t.” Catherine twisted in her seat. “Why do you believe he came to England to present Mary with a gift now, two years after her birth?”
Avery shrugged. “You might ask him when he presents the gift.”
Catherine tilted her head. “Do you find him handsome?”
Avery laughed. “Are you searching for a compliment about your husband?”
Catherine smiled. “They do not look that much alike.”
Avery smoothed the fabric of her already perfect gown. “That is true. To anyone truly familiar with Henry, there are marked differences.”
The queen leaned forward. “You did not answer my question.”
No, she did not. That was intentional. Avery had no desire to recall Jakob Hansen’s dark blue eyes, nor the mischievous way they twinkled when he made the remark about not living like a priest.
“I found his ‘priest’ comment rather rude,” she deflected.
Catherine laughed. “So you do find him handsome.”
Avery wrinkled her nose. “I did not say that.”
“You needn’t. I can read you as easily as a book.” Catherine wagged a finger at Avery. “That knight may not be living like a priest, but you, my friend, have been living too much like a nun for these last nine years.”
Avery heaved a long sigh. “What else am I to do, Catherine?”
The queen flipped her wrist, extending her open palm. “Find a companion, Avery. Before you get too old.”
Avery picked an imaginary bit of lint from her sleeve. “I am thirty-four. I am already too old.”
“I hate to think of you spending the rest of your life alone, when that should not be necessary.” Queen Catherine made a tsking sound. “Perhaps I should order you to find someone.”
Avery flashed a smug smile. “That would not have any effect. I am not one of your subjects.”
“And what would you do if I did?” Catherine pressed. “Go back to Spain?”
Avery didn’t answer. There was nothing she could say.
*****
Later that afternoon, Jakob stood in front of a pair of thrones while a servant handed King Henry and Queen Catherine the inlaid wooden box from King Christian.
“Were you limping just now, Hansen?” Henry inquired, his brow wrinkled with concern. “Did you sustain an injury today?”
“No, your Grace. I mean, yes, I limp a little. But no, I am not injury today. Long time past,” Jakob managed, assuming the meaning of ‘sustain’ by the way the word was used. “I ride long time and hard in hunt, so I have pain. A little.”
“How did it happen?” Henry pressed.
Jakob flashed a wry grin. “On hunt. Boar very angry. He spears me with…” He mimed tusks.
“Tusks?” Henry offered.
“Yes. Tusks. Thank you.” Jakob wagged his head. “Boar was delicious.”
Henry laughed at that. “Your English is growing rapidly.”
Jakob dipped his chin. “Thank you, your Grace.”
Catherine listened to the exchange, waiting until the men finished before lifting the lid on the box. Her glance slid to Henry’s.
“Oh, my! This is exquisite.” She lifted the silver and gold necklace from its velvet cradle. “Is this amber?”
“Baltic amber,” Jakob qualified. “Very rare.”
Her eyes met his. “Baltic?”
“Yes. To always remember very good friend in København, Christian Two. I mean, Second.” Jakob shifted his weight, silently cursing the fact that he allowed Henry to notice his weakness.
Catherine carefully laid the jeweled piece back in the box. “Thank you for coming all this way to deliver it.”
Jakob hesitated, wondering how to respond. If he said this was not the only reason for his trip, he might offend the couple. But to let them think he was returning straightaway to Denmark was not honest either.
He opted to change the subject completely. “Your Grace is member of Golden Fleece?”
Henry’s gaze cut to his. “Yes. Has Christian joined?”
Jakob nodded. “He has. I am his man to go to Spain.”
“Are you?” Henry leaned back in his seat. “Your presence is not required until January the first.”
“This I know,” Jakob replied evenly. “I am here to offer friendship and service to you from Christian Second.”
Henry’s gaze narrowed. “That is very good to know, Hansen.”
Curiosity, plus the camaraderie of the hunt, pushed Jakob to be more bold than he might have otherwise been. “Your Grace is sending man to Spain also?”
Henry gave a slow nod. “I am.”
Jakob spread his hands in front of him. “Perhaps I meet him.”
“Yes.” The slow nod continued. “Perhaps you shall.”
“How long will you be with us?” Catherine queried.
Jakob detected a note of something more than polite enquiry in her tone. “I do not know. How long is journey to Barcelona?”
“The voyage is two to three months if done entirely by sea,” she answered.
Jakob frowned at the unwelcomed prospect of an extended voyage. His stomach rumbled its dread. “Might I go by land?”
“You would need to go through France,” Henry warned. “On some days, that is not a problem. On others, they get a bit territorial.”
“What means ‘territorial’?”
Henry chuckled. “This is mine. Now go away.”
“I understand.” Jakob’s lips twitched. “Like Sweden.”
Henry’s head fell back against his velvet-covered throne and he laughed out loud.
*****
Avery stood at the back of the throne room, straining to hear the conversation between the Nordic knight and the royal couple. Her distance from the front of the large space, combined with the murmured conversations of the room’s other occupants, conspired against her. Only Henry’s booming laugh carried clearly.
She wondered what the knight said that amused Henry so. Of course, the king was in a jovial mood after the morning’s exercise and successful hunt. Even now the boar and two deer were roasting on massive spits in Windsor Castle’s enormous kitchens.
Avery kept her eyes down and her head turned aside, hoping that Catherine wouldn’t notice her. The queen’s suggestion that she take a companion to her bosom, and the very obvious hint that Jakob should be that companion, had set her emotions roiling.
The man was handsome, of that there was no doubt. Avery actually found him more attractive than Henry, though she would never admit such a thing to Catherine. There was something about his eyes—they held a darkening shadow of personal pain, something Henry seemed unable to feel.
Avery was not present when Henry’s brother Arthur died, but she was at Catherine’s side when her first four babies died. Whether born too early, never drawing a breath, or born too weak to survive, each babe’s successive death only served to anger Henry.
True, he was kind to Catherine afterwards. And he celebrated each new conception, albeit with an increasing sense of desperation. When Mary was born, strong and healthy, he was clearly conflicted. One the one hand, he adored the little girl. But on the other hand, she was only a girl.
As soon as Catherine was recover
ed from the birth, his efforts to put a son in her belly resumed.
Now Mary was two years old, and Catherine was finally with child again. This babe was expected in November. Avery prayed every single day for a healthy boy, for Catherine’s sake.
“Good day, Lady Avery.”
Startled from her thoughts by the unanticipated greeting, Avery looked up at the Nordic knight standing tall beside her.
“Good day, Sir Hansen.”
The man smiled politely and turned to leave.
“Wait,” Avery blurted, immediately angry at herself. What was she doing?
Jakob returned his regard, surprise etched on his face. “Yes?”
She lifted her chin and her brow, intending to appear no more than mildly curious. “What was your business with the king?”
Jakob’s eyes narrowed a little. “I bring gift from Christian Second to Princess Mary.”
“Of course. Yes. I knew that.” Avery gave him a little smile. “I heard Henry laughing and wondered what you might have said that amused him so.”
Jakob crossed his arms over his chest. “I say France is like Sweden.”
Avery blinked. That comment, out of context, made no sense to her and the knight knew it. He was clearly baiting her.
“And do you have business in France as well?” she pressed, refusing to acknowledge the odd comparison.
“No.” Jakob stared narrowly at her. He seemed to be deciding how much to reveal to her about his purposes.
Avery refused to consider why that idea irritated her, choosing instead to assume that the reason she was put off was his lack of deference for her elevated status in the Tudor court. Perhaps he was not aware that she was Catherine’s highest-ranking lady-in-waiting, in addition to being her closest friend and confidant.
The knight had claimed no title, and it would seem that he was in England merely to act the delivery boy for his king.
Well, delivery man to be more exact.
Jakob Hansen was clearly over the age of thirty. The lines around his inscrutable blue eyes gave him both character, and an aura of wisdom. The fact that his smile seemed hard to win also gave her the impression that life had not been easy for him.
