In Defense of the Queen

by Michelle Diener

  “I don’t know why Somers has involved himself in this. Or why he weaselled his way in here when he could have come to me.” Parker tore at a piece of bread with his teeth. Its earthy yeast flavour filled his nose, and he breathed it in deep, savoured the chewy texture.

  Since Susanna had been taken to the Tower, he had barely eaten, and every mouthful he had taken had been flat and tasteless as gruel.

  “Perhaps you aren’t easy to find. Whereas I do not go anywhere.” Susanna paused. “Except to Durham House.”

  “That damn portrait.” Parker swore softly. “Henry’s obsessed with it. There must be something special about Fitzroy’s official induction into the Order of the Garter. The King is planning something. Some change of significance.”

  “He is going to put Fitzroy forward as his heir apparent.” Susanna stood abruptly. Angrily. “The Queen feels he is going to abandon her. He has certainly abandoned all hope of her producing another child, let alone a boy.”

  “He needs a son.” Parker thought of all the noblemen, carefully working their family lines back to the throne, waiting for their chance. “The nobility will not easily accept a daughter. And, after all, he has a son.”

  “I have nothing against the boy. I like him.” Susanna hugged herself close. “The Queen has spent years falling pregnant and losing child after child. She has prayed and fasted and begged God for a son. She is old before her time because of all the energy and dedication she has given to trying to producing one. And now that she is used up, even though she has a beautiful daughter, she will be cast aside. Her daughter cast aside with her. His own child.” She spoke the last sentence in a whisper.

  “He is a hard, cold man.” Parker chose his words with care. “He has cut down his enemies as ruthlessly as a tyrant. But he is also capable of great friendship, he can be generous, and he loves song and dance. To keep his hold on the throne, his royal line’s hold, he will do anything. Crush anyone. Cast anyone aside. Even his own daughter.”

  Susanna sat down again. Leant into him, and he pulled his arm tight around her. “It is wrong.”

  “I don’t care over-much who will take the throne now. I don’t care for the wrong or right of it. I just care that you are released.”

  She said nothing, and a stillness filled the room, broken only by the breathy sigh and crackle of the fire.

  “Have you ever met Louis de Praet?” Parker asked, thinking of his conversation with Jehan de la Sauch.

  “I have.” She straightened in surprise. “It’s been a long time since I’ve heard that name.”

  “He was Imperial ambassador in London until February. In fact, you would have almost passed each other on your way from Ghent to London.” Parker started to wonder at the timing of that. “Wolsey had him arrested and expelled for treason.”

  Susanna’s eyes were wide. “Where is he now?”

  “In France, on Imperial business. But he is still controlling the spies here. The men who were forced to take over his ambassadorial duties are only temporary. They know nothing about running spies.”

  “And Uncle Louis does?” Susanna frowned.

  “Uncle Louis knows a lot of things, it seems.” Parker did not hide the sour note in his voice. “It was his spy who went to Wolsey and gave you up to him. The spy doesn’t have any proof against you, we burned the only thing that would link you to their cause, but as long as you’re in the Tower, the Emperor thinks he has time to negotiate his marriage with Isabel. They don’t seem to know you’ve seen the Queen, or if they do, because you didn’t see her privately, they think no message was exchanged between you.”

  “And Lucas? What is his role in this?”

  Parker shook his head. “He’s involved. Up to his neck. But what his part is, I don’t know. He won’t tell me.”

  “How is he?” Harry chewed a piece of apple.

  “He was awake yesterday. Claimed Heyman couldn’t have hit him, but never saw who did. So I don’t count Heyman out. But he went back into a very deep sleep last night, and Maggie couldn’t wake him. I haven’t been back to the house today.”

  “What about Peter Jack? Is he watching Wolsey?”

  “He was.” Parker took some butter and slathered it on another piece of bread. “Since I followed de Praet’s spy and worked out Wolsey’s role in this, I’ve had him looking for Heyman.”

  “I wonder what Heyman will do.” Susanna leant back in her chair, and her eyes never left his face, as if she wanted to commit every line of him to memory. “He could go back to the palace, but he has reason to be afraid you will say something to the Knights Provost about him. He may have to find a place in the city to hide.”

  “I should think he’ll go to other Low Landers.” Harry bit into the game pie with a shower of crumbs. “What else can he do?”

  “What about the spy who visited Wolsey? Would he take Heyman in?”

  “Perhaps he would have, but he’s dead.” Parker realized with a deep sense of dread that he hadn’t told Susanna about Jean. “Jean killed him.”

  She drew in a sharp breath, leaned forward. “Jean? What was he doing there?”

  “He was following de Praet’s spy as well, he had a contract to kill him from the French king. The spy wasn’t a Low Lander, he was a Frenchman, turned by de Praet through his agents here when the French ambassador was out the way. Wolsey thinks he’s getting his information from the French.”

  “So Jean is here to deal with a traitor.” Harry tripped over the last word, and it hung in the air for a moment.

  Parker nodded. “I was able to stop Jean and question Renard first, but when he got free, Jean killed him with his last bolt. I’m lucky he chose to complete his contract, rather than use his bolt on me.”

  “If it was a contracted kill, Jean wouldn’t have let Renard go for a personal vendetta.”

  “I know.” Parker touched her hand. “But what worries me is Jean knows exactly where you are now.”

  “Was he even back for me? If it was de Praet’s men shooting at us in Crooked Lane, and Jean is returned to take care of a double agent?”

  “I think he’s only too happy to combine his revenge with carrying out his duties for the French crown.”

  “He can’t get me in here, though.” Susanna smiled. “At last, I’m in the safest place you could think of.”

  “Gertrude Courtenay and Will Somers had no trouble gaining entry. All I had to do was tell the guard I needed to look at the crossbows in the Armoury, even though I haven’t been King’s Yeoman of the Crossbows for over two months. And they let me in without a second look. Why not Jean?”

  They were all quiet a moment, contemplating the truth of it.

  She drew a deep breath and held her hands, palm down, before her. “I don’t feel as afraid of Jean anymore. I’m more afraid of Wolsey. I don’t want to lose the use of my hands.”

  His throat closed at the thought, and he had to force the words out. “It won’t come to that.”

  “It may.” Harry spoke quietly.

  “Over my dead body.”

  * * *

  Harry left them. To take back the tray, he said, and to chat for a while with the other boys who served in the kitchens and gardens of the Tower.

  Susanna knew it was to give them some time alone.

  Parker had consumed the meal Harry had brought up with the zest and concentration of a man long starved, and as she closed the door behind Harry and turned back to him, she saw he was looking at her the same way he’d eyed the feast on his plate.

  Ravenously.

  Need flared within her like a winter solstice bonfire, but it was tempered with caution. She felt too exposed here, too vulnerable.

  Kilburne, Lewis, anyone could storm the room and she did not want them to find her doing anything but work. She wanted no ideas in their heads of her naked, or with her clothing in disarray.

  They must also not catch Parker. The rules were clear. He had to be out by curfew. Which had long since come and gone.

  If
he were caught in her chambers, he would be in serious trouble.

  “You look afraid.” He stood, and walked towards her with deliberate steps. She shivered, felt the anticipation brush down her spine like a lover’s hand.

  “You are as much at their mercy while you are in these rooms as I am.”

  “Who are you afraid of? Wolsey can’t come here until tomorrow.” He reached her, pulled her close to him.

  She let her cheek rest against the soft velvet of his doublet, and closed her eyes as his fingers curled around her waist. “Some of Kilburne’s men . . . wish me ill. They are working for Wolsey and they’ll be watching me closely. Especially if he plans on taking me tomorrow.”

  “Which of Kilburne’s men?” He spoke quietly, and she lifted her head to look at him.

  “His deputy, Lewis, and another man, Merden.” She didn’t mention the way they’d manhandled her on her first day. From the darkness she saw in his eyes, she would be forfeiting their lives. She needed nothing more on her conscience.

  “I will deal with them.” He pulled her closer, rubbed her back. “You are so stiff.”

  “I cannot be easy here.” The Bell Tower loomed over her, the White Tower lurked just outside her window, and all around her were those who would see her broken and crying for mercy.

  Lucas had done this. Lucas, and her father.

  “What did Lucas hope to achieve?” Her voice cracked on the last word. “Is he really playing spy for Uncle Louis?” She shook her head, and he buried his hands in her hair, forced her head up to look at him.

  “Whatever the reason, there is more to this than we think. Lucas told me he had made sacrifices to try to get you out of trouble. I don’t know what he means, but when he’s awake again, I’ll find out.”

  “And tomorrow? What do you plan to do?”

  “I’ll get a stay from the King.” Parker dipped his head and kissed her cheek, warm and sweet as sunshine.

  “Will he be amenable?”

  “He wants you to paint. You will not be able to, if Wolsey has you in the dungeon. I think it will be easy to persuade him to sign a writ to keep you safe.”

  “He has already. It will not stop Wolsey if he comes tomorrow with one of his own.”

  “It will, if I deliver it myself.” Parker spoke between soft kisses, but despite the feather-light touch of his lips, his words were hard and cold as hailstones.

  She reached for him, skimmed her fingers along his jaw. “Take care.” He closed a part of himself off when he was like this. Forced every soft corner, every gentleness in his soul, into another place. She knew it took its toll.

  Another crime to lay at Lucas’s door.

  “Enough of Wolsey.” Parker turned her face so he could kiss her mouth with soft, sweet brushes of his lips, as if he were tasting fine wine. “If Harry is half as bright as I think, we have a little time.”

  Susanna hesitated again.

  Parker pulled away a little and lifted his knife. The candlelight caught the gleam of its blade. “This goes through the eye of the first person who interrupts us.”

  Susanna laughed, leaned in to kiss his neck. “Then I hope Harry is really, really bright.”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  None are suffered to put away their wives against their wills, from any great calamity that may have fallen on their persons, for they look on it as the height of cruelty and treachery to abandon either of the married persons when they need most the tender care of their consort,

  Utopia by Thomas More (translated by H. Morley)

  Peter Jack and Eric were standing, stiff and turned away from each other, waiting for him, as Parker stepped through the gates of the Tower. The red sky of dawn had only just been burned away by the morning sun, and the pale stone looked pink in the light.

  He smiled as Eric bowed his hello.

  “I found Heyman.” Peter Jack looked up at the Bell Tower, his face drawn. Parker wondered if he had slept.

  “Good.” Satisfaction curled through him. “Where?”

  “Where Renard was staying. There is another man there, perhaps the Jules Renard spoke of. He took Heyman in.”

  “They will be sweating by now, wondering what has happened to Renard.” He turned for a last look at the Tower. He would need to get home and get his horse. Be at Bridewell and see the King before Wolsey made his move.

  “Eric, you need to go back inside. Find some way to watch this entrance from the inner wall, or from the Bell Tower. Make sure you’re able to see who is coming.”

  “And if I see Wolsey coming?”

  “Then I have failed.” He contemplated that possibility, but his mind refused to accept it, slipping away from the thought like an eel in the reeds. He heaved in a breath. “If you see Wolsey, my lady must hide, or escape. You have to run and warn her. You and Harry must try to get her away.”

  “How goes it in there?” Peter Jack’s voice was low.

  Eric refused to answer him, turning away a little more, so he only faced Parker. “May Fortune be with you.”

  “And with you.” Parker clasped his arm, so thin and fragile, in a gesture of respect, and Eric gave a tight nod.

  Then Eric ran to the entrance, calling a cheeky hello to the guards, who grumbled and laughed as they let him through.

  “He thinks I have let my lady down. Refusing to guard her in the Tower.”

  Parker shrugged, started to jog along the cobbled road. “You did well, finding Heyman. You are doing your share.”

  “He is right.” Peter Jack sounded as if he would be happy to throw himself in front of the cart that was rumbling towards them, loaded with grain from the barges.

  “You get any sleep last night?”

  Peter Jack frowned. “No. I was watching Heyman. Wanted to see if anyone else came to the house.”

  “Did they?”

  “One man. One of Harry’s boys followed him when he left, but I haven’t spoken to him again. I don’t know where he went or who he was.”

  “I’m sorry, but you can’t sleep yet. You need to round up as many of Harry’s lads as you can and watch Wolsey’s house. At least it’s spring tide, so he can’t take a barge-it won’t go past the bridge. He has to take the roads. If he leaves for the Tower, stop him any way you can, and get one of the lads to call me.”

  Peter Jack nodded, his back a little straighter. “Does my lady think ill of me?”

  Parker looked at him in surprise. “No. She doesn’t.”

  It was as if his words had toppled a huge weight from Peter Jack’s shoulders. He grinned. “I’ll get the lads.”

  He peeled off up Fish Hill, and Parker turned at a run into Crooked Lane.

  One of Harry’s boys was waiting for him near the house, and he forced himself even faster.

  “Yes?” He was gasping for air as he drew near.

  “Simon Carter saw me near Bridewell last night, following a cove for Peter Jack. Gave me a message.”

  Parker heaved a deep breath, and bent, hands on his knees.

  “He said to tell you, just after dinner last night the King had a fancy to be hunting, and away from London and more private. He packed up with a few friends and left straight away for one of his courtier’s homes near Epping Forest.”

  Parker slowly lifted his head in horror. “Which estate?”

  The boy said a name, and Parker tried to remember where exactly it was, and who owned it. Came up with a distance of at least an hour, at full gallop, just to the house. If the King was out hunting in the Forest, it would be near impossible to find him.

  “Is Simon with the King?”

  The boy nodded. “Found me just before he had to go.”

  Parker went still. “Did you say he found you while you were following a cove for Peter Jack? Was this the man you saw going into Renard’s old house?”

  “Don’t know ’bout anyone called Renard, but yes, we saw someone go in to the house we were watching and then go out ’bout ten minutes after. I followed him.”

 
“He returned to the palace?” Parker heard the blood pounding in his ears. It made the tick, tick, tick of a clock, wound too fast.

  “Went to one of the houses next to the palace.”

  “Whose house?”

  “Duke o’ Norfolk, ’parently.”

  Parker wondered when the bad news would stop coming.

  * * *

  He’d taken too long. Had ridden too far.

  He had a hastily scrawled writ from Henry, smudged with the blood of the deer he had just brought down, in his pouch, but as Parker squinted up at the sun, now well past the midday mark, he tasted the bitterness of failure on his tongue.

  If Wolsey knew of the King’s late night trip to Epping Forest, as he surely would, he would be crowing now, certain there was no chance of Parker stopping him.

  He would see his chance, and grab it.

  If Parker was too late, if Susanna was harmed, the Cardinal was dead.

  He was dead.

  Parker bent low over his horse and urged him on, and the familiar fields leading to Bishopsgate began to flash past.

  He passed Hounds Ditch at a gallop, and as he thundered towards Bishopsgate he was thankful he’d worn his chain of office. The portcullis was raised but it was guarded, and when the watchmen saw his speed and the evidence of his rank, they stepped smartly aside.

  His mount began to slide on the cobbles as soon as he passed under the arch and turned on to Grass Street and he was forced to slow down. He shouted himself hoarse at the milling crowds blocking his way, and carried on down Fish Hill with his sword drawn.

  It had the desired effect of clearing the way.

  He caught sight of a woman with a child, a brief glimpse, her face a mask of fear, her arms rising to protect her daughter as if from the Grim Reaper as he flashed past her.

  He was so close to the savage within, the beast that he kept carefully fenced, and with every sharp strike of his horse’s hooves on the stone cobbles, he felt that wall crumble. Grow weaker.