In Defense of the Queen

by Michelle Diener

  “What are you doing here?” Croke blinked at him, looking between the three of them with surprise.

  “I am Mistress Horenbout’s betrothed.” He said no more than that, and Croke blinked again, as if not sure what that signified.

  “Sir, the sooner I have my hour of work, the sooner you will have your pupil back at his lessons.” Susanna smiled at Croke, and he rubbed his forehead.

  “Certainly.” He breathed out a pained sigh. “Certainly.” He gestured to the stairs. “He is in the garden practising.”

  Parker tensed beside her, and Susanna knew he was thinking how exposed Fitzroy would be in the garden. She gave a curtsey to Croke. “Let us go down to him.”

  To her dismay, Croke followed them down the stairs and out into the garden, perhaps determined to give them no more than an hour.

  As they stepped out onto the lawn, Susanna was aware of Parker scanning the trees along the walls. The chances of an assassin choosing the very moment they arrived to make his move seemed unlikely. And yet, there were only a few days to go before the seventh, and what better chance for a quick kill and a quicker get away than from the river-side wall.

  Croke passed them all, and made his way to Fitzroy, but Parker slowed to a stop, turned full circle, noting every part of the garden.

  There were too many places to hide here. The assassin would not even need the help of an insider if he was good enough with a crossbow or bow. She could see too many deep shadows, and the thought of someone crouched amongst the branches, bow raised, made her fight a shiver. The skin on her neck pricked uncomfortably, and her whole body went tense, as if anticipating a bolt.

  “What is it?” Kilburne had glanced at Parker, and stopped as well, his eyes narrow. “What is wrong?”

  “Nothing, yet.” Parker turned to him, and she could see him come to a decision. “Kilburne, I’ve had word someone means the little prince ill. The King plans to officially usher him into the Order of the Garter in a few days, and I hear there are plans to give him a number of titles and holdings a few days after that. The King will be all but declaring Fitzroy his heir.”

  Kilburne said nothing, but like Parker, he began looking for anything out of place in the garden.

  Parker faced towards Fitzroy. “The way I hear it, a sum was offered for the boy’s death, and most certainly someone would have decided the money is worth the risk.”

  “You don’t know who?” Kilburne was looking at him, that gleam of steel she’d seen in him before coming through.

  “If I did, I would not be standing here, putting Susanna in danger of a crossbow bolt, along with Fitzroy.”

  Parker began walking toward the little boy, who was aiming at the target once more. She followed, and Kilburne was forced to trot after them.

  “What do you plan to do?”

  “I do not think it safe to leave him here. Too much chance someone has paid a servant for access. This plan was hatched at least a few days ago, plenty of time for someone to have set the scene.”

  “We cannot simply take the child away without permission.” Kilburne stopped again, his eyes wide.

  “Perhaps you can’t, but I will.” Parker reached Croke, tapped his shoulder. “I have no time to be subtle. Your charge is in danger from an assassin, immediate danger. I need to take him away to safety.”

  She had expected Croke to be confused, but instead he cocked his head to the side, and she could see why he was considered an excellent tutor for the King’s son. Intelligence gleamed from his eyes.

  “So that is really why you are here. I’ve heard before you are sometimes the sharp end of the King’s sword.” He looked Parker up and down. “Danger from whom?”

  “I have word of an assassination planned by someone high in the nobility. Someone who does not want to see the King raise his bastard son to the throne.”

  At his bluntness, Croke reeled back, but he recovered almost immediately. “I had wondered,” he said softly, “how the King’s plans would be taken by some.”

  “It is safe to say, not well.”

  Susanna reached out and touched Croke’s sleeve. “I think we should get his lordship inside, at the least.” She looked at the trees again. “It feels too open here.”

  “What is it?” Fitzroy had noticed them, and come over, his eyes on Parker, curious, and she could see, a little awestruck.

  “We need to go within.” Croke slipped a hand on his charge’s shoulder, and began drawing him towards the house, but Fitzroy balked.

  “No. I want a few more turns. I nearly hit the bull’s eye, last time. I want to get it before I go in today.”

  Croke shook his head, and Fitzroy wrenched himself from out of his grasp.

  At that moment, Susanna heard the high whistle of a bolt. It flew between Croke and the prince, and buried itself in the ground just beyond where they stood.

  They both turned and looked at it dumbly.

  Susanna lunged forward, grabbing up Fitzroy and spinning around, looking for a place to take cover. Perhaps their sudden arrival had forced the assasin’s hand. Whoever lurked deep in the shadows must have realized the secret was out and there would be few or no other chances for a kill.

  “To the house.” Parker shouted, his sword raised.

  The two guards who had been helping Fitzroy with his practice had their own swords raised, and so did Kilburne.

  But against a crossbow, they were all helpless.

  She ran, holding Fitzroy against her, so her body covered him completely from view.

  He clung to her, his bow and arrow still in his grasp, his breathing fast and too shallow.

  She looked over her shoulder and saw Parker moving backward toward her, still facing the way the bolt had come, but trying to act as a shield.

  As she turned, she caught a glimpse of Kilburne doing the same. Stepping sideways to block them from the line of fire, his arms wide.

  The whistle of a second bolt ripped the air from between the leaves of a huge oak in the corner of the garden and Kilburne cried out, his shout a scream of agony.

  The shallow stairs up to the house were ahead. She wanted to turn, to run to Kilburne’s aid. But she was holding Fitzroy close, his heart beating quick as a hare against her, and she forced her focus straight ahead, closed her ears to Kilburne and kept running.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  They look on the desire of the bloodshed, even of beasts, as a mark of a mind that is already corrupted with cruelty, or that at least, by too frequent returns of so brutal a pleasure, must degenerate into it.

  Utopia by Thomas More (translated by H. Morley)

  Parker angled himself between the shooter and Susanna for agonizing seconds, until she was through the door. As the wooden barrier slammed shut he ran to Kilburne, and saw the bolt had gone through his side.

  He needed to get Maggie to see to this. Kilburne’s chances of surviving a doctor were low.

  “Take cover.” Kilburne’s eyes were over-bright, and his face was far too pale.

  “He was after Fitzroy, and Fitzroy is safely inside. Come my friend . . .” Parker bent to lift him. As he did, a third bolt flew over his head, and slashed through the large bush behind him in a rattle of branches.

  Parker lifted his head, his eyes on the trees. The guards had started to creep toward the assassin with the first bolt, but since Kilburne had been hit, they had dropped to the ground behind the hay bale that Fitzroy used as a target.

  “Looks like he wants you as much as he wants Fitzroy.” Kilburne coughed up the words.

  Parker stood without answering, calling to the guards. “Get the captain inside. Carefully and gently.”

  Then he ran as fast as he could toward the oak tree where he thought the shooter perched.

  Kilburne was right. The second bolt could just as easily have been meant for Parker, with Kilburne’s timing unlucky. He had stepped into Parker’s path just seconds before he was hit. And the third bolt had definitely been meant for him.

  He was runn
ing out of time, every second he took to get to the tree was another second the assassin had to reload, and sweat dampened his hairline as he lengthened his stride.

  Chasing a crossbowman down was either a bold move, or a foolish one. Depending on how fast you could run.

  Parker heard someone swear, just ahead in the branches, and a bolt dropped to the ground.

  He’d unnerved the man, running straight for him. He had expected people to duck and take cover, and now he was rattled.

  Parker reached the tree, and leapt for a branch, grabbing hold and using it to scrabble up the trunk.

  The shooter gave a strangled cry, and by the time Parker’d reached the thick, sturdy branch the man had been using, he had scrambled along it to where it overhung the wall.

  As the shooter dropped down, he looked back, and Parker caught a glimpse of his face, strong, sharp, panicked.

  Parker got to his feet and ran, balancing along the branch in a half-crouch, and swung down after him.

  But the shooter had thrown himself into a boat, was already moving downstream, his oars slapping the water in his haste to get away.

  There was no handy boat for Parker to give chase, and he bent, hands on knees, gasping for breath, watching the boat get further and further away.

  Slowly, he became aware of someone standing just to the right of him, in the deep shadow of the wall. He turned his head, his knife already in his hand, and then relaxed again.

  “When did you get here?”

  Peter Jack stepped into the dappled light coming through the trees. “Just as he was rowing away.”

  Parker grunted in acknowledgement.

  “Do you want to know who he is?” There was an edge of glee to Peter Jack’s words.

  Parker spun to face him, his head cocked to one side. He waited.

  Peter Jack grinned. “That was Jules. The other French double agent working for de Praet. The one who has been hiding the flute player from Ghent.”

  Parker looked toward the water again, to where Jules and his boat were disappearing around the bend in the river. “Of course.” He slipped his knife back into place. “The bastard who shot the bolt through my window.”

  * * *

  There was a cry from outside, on The Strand, and Susanna held Fitzroy even tighter to her.

  He flinched at the sound, clinging to her in the narrow hallway at the front of the house where they crouched out of sight. For a moment he allowed himself the comfort of a normal child, and then straightened, pulling himself free, still clutching his bow and arrow as if he had no need of protection.

  Croke had been pacing the floor, but he went still when they heard the cry.

  The guards moved toward the front door, swords ready, and Susanna noticed even Kilburne, weak though he was, lifted a little from where they’d lain him on the floor, and fumbled for his weapon.

  “What is it?” Parker stepped through from a room at the back, and the guards turned, white-faced, until they realized who it was.

  Susanna blinked away tears at the sight of him. Her last glimpse had been of him running straight for the shooter. She lifted a trembling hand to him, and he took it.

  “How did you get past the locked door?” Croke stepped closer, and looked past him, as if expecting an attack at any moment.

  “I got in through an open window. This place is not secure, although the assassin has gone for the moment.”

  “Someone cried out, in the street.” Kilburne struggled to sit even higher, then gave up the fight and slumped back.

  One of the guards looked out of a parted curtain, trying to see the road, but Parker motioned him back.

  “My page and some boys who work for me are out there, watching the street for us.” He opened the door a little way, and stepped out, closing it behind him.

  He came back in almost immediately, with Harry on his heels.

  “Someone got Will. He’s been knocked down. He’s breathing, but we can’t wake him.” Harry’s gaze flicked around the room, noting Croke, his eyes going wide at the sight of Kilburne’s blood-soaked doublet.

  “When?” Parker tried to control his surprise, and an icy hand stroked its fingers down Susanna’s spine.

  “Right now.”

  “Then there are more than one of them. Peter Jack and I watched the shooter row off down the Thames. There’s no way he’s had time to double back and knock out Will.”

  “What do we do?” Croke looked at Parker.

  “How many servants serve here?”

  “About twenty in all.” Croke spoke automatically, then went still. “You think one of them . . .”

  “I think it would be foolish to take the chance they are all trustworthy, and give a traitor an opportunity to get to Fitzroy. We need to get him out of this house.”

  It was only because she knew him so well that she saw the tension in him as he spoke of taking the prince out into the city.

  “But guarding him in the open will be almost impossible.” Kilburne’s voice was getting weaker.

  “Better to keep moving, to places they don’t know. They’ve most likely been studying Durham House for days. It will be safer on the outside.”

  “I know where we can take him.” Kilburne shifted uncomfortably from his place on the floor. They all turned their attention to him. “The Tower.”

  “Why not Bridewell?” Croke asked, “or Greenwich?”

  Parker shook his head. “Whoever is behind this is at Bridewell, most likely, and with the King not in residence, Greenwich will not have the security we need to protect the prince.”

  The Tower. It was the last place she wanted to return to. Jean had still been there when they’d left, although she was sure the assassin had long since made his escape. It was hardly an excuse she could use with Kilburne, anyway.

  Wolsey might still be there, and some of Kilburne’s guards were in his control. It was not much, but she voiced it. “Wolsey is at the Tower.”

  Kilburne coughed. Breathed deep. “Wolsey is the prince’s godfather. Whatever your feelings are of him personally, he would never harm Fitzroy.”

  Susanna nodded. Exchanged a quick look with Parker. She could see the same frustration in his eyes. To keep the prince safe, they would have to return to the one place she was not.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  They would be both troubled and ashamed of a bloody victory over their enemies; and think it would be as foolish a purchase as to buy the most valuable goods at too high a rate. And in no victory do they glory so much as in that which is gained by dexterity and good conduct without bloodshed.

  Utopia by Thomas More (translated by H. Morley)

  If only the river weren’t in spring tide. Parker looked out onto the Strand and grimaced at the heavy foot traffic.

  But with the tide low, they would not get past the bridge, and Jules and his men would only need to wait for them to come in to dock to pick them off, one by one.

  The river was out.

  And it had taken time for Peter Jack and Harry to bring Will inside. By now, Jules could be waiting right outside Durham House again, along with whichever of his accomplices had hit Will.

  If his helper were Jan Heyman, the musician would have more than spying charges to worry about. Parker would see to it personally.

  He glanced across the room.

  Susanna had Will half-raised on her lap, holding a cup of water to his lips and letting him take little sips now that he had awakened.

  Henry Fitzroy sat beside them, watching them in fascination, his grip white-knuckled on his small longbow.

  “We need to go.” The mellow light of afternoon filtered through the windows, and Kilburne looked too pale in its golden glow. He needed a healer as quickly as possible. Harry had already sent one of his lads to fetch Maggie in Parker’s cart—if it were still in one piece from this afternoon’s road block to stop Wolsey.

  It was ironic the Hospital of the Savoy was just a short walk away, the next large building from Durham House on the riv
er banks.

  But Parker knew for a fact the master of the Savoy was a surveyor to Wolsey, and there was no circumstance under which he’d put anyone connected to himself under the hospital’s care.

  Anyway, Kilburne looked too bad to move, and Will would be better off remaining still, as well. There was no doctor he would trust over Maggie, in any event.

  “Do you want to take the prince’s cart?” One of the guards asked, and Parker turned to him, considering the offer.

  “Would you consent to act as decoys?” He looked from Croke to the guards, and they all nodded.

  “If you take the cart, with a sack under some blankets to look like a boy, and ride as fast as you can away west, towards Greenwich, that may confuse them. They will be familiar with the three of you as the prince’s companions by now. It would make sense that you would be the ones to spirit him away.”

  Croke paled at the implication, but he nodded again. “I would agree that is a good plan.”

  “Wear a leather jerkin under your cloak.” Parker placed a hand on his shoulder. “If we get the cart ready, we can open the gates and you can ride out at a gallop. Take them by surprise. I think it will serve to draw them off.”

  “And out.” Harry was at the other window, but he dropped the curtain to speak. There was a hard look in his eyes. He was angry about Will, and perhaps about Kilburne, too. Parker knew he’d grown to respect the captain during his time with Susanna in the Tower.

  “And out,” Parker agreed. “But we cannot engage them now. Not until Fitzroy is safely in the Tower. What I would say is get some of the lads to stay behind, see where they go. I am almost certain they will follow the cart, at least at first.”

  “And then what?” Harry lifted the curtain again, looked out into the street.

  “And then we hunt them down.”

  “I’ll stay here with Will and Captain Kilburne.” Susanna spoke from her seat on the floor. “Someone needs to let Maggie in, and I don’t trust the servants. Not if there is a chance one or more is in Jules’ pay.”

  Parker stared at her. “I wouldn’t leave you here for that very reason.” He glanced back at the window. “They may decide to check inside the house if they realize the cart is a diversion. You won’t be staying.”