Fire & Faith

by Steven Veerapen

  ‘I tried,’ said Guthrie, spittle flying, ‘I tried, but those goddamn Douglas fools stopped me. I got one of them in the gut, but still. And then I thought I might smother the young wretch, but that black bitch flower-seller was on her way to service him.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘But I did try, sir. Since I heard you say at dinner that you would be quit of him, I read your meaning and tried.’

  ‘Well, King Henry shall not hold one slight failure against your many good works. It is a shame you had to kill the boy, though. His Majesty will not like that.’

  ‘I …’ Guthrie wiped at his mouth. When he spoke, his voice was low. ‘I would’ve had that otherwise. He knew too much, though, ranting about hidey-holes. He knew I’d added blue cloaks to the list of things from that old bitch down in the burgh. He had to go. But I’d have preferred a woman for that one – a woman to be thrown in the flames. That’s what the old king actually did.’

  ‘Well … perhaps in my report to King Henry, we can have it that a woman was burned rather than a boy. An adulterous woman,’ he added, putting a finger thoughtfully to his lips. ‘Aye, that should please him more.’

  ‘You’ll do that then? Thank you, Mr Danforth, thank you. I’ll be shriven for it by King Henry’s priests, forgiven for all I’ve been forced to do. Henry’s a good Catholic still, from what I hear, Pope or no. I’ll be forgiven. Sending a few more to eternal life before they expected it – it’s what was needed. And then I can meet my true calling. Good service in building up the greatest palaces ever seen in England. Not much chance for that kind of advancement under a useless governor or a child, eh? Heh. And you won’t let those goddamn Douglases or Hamiltons take the credit for delivering the little brat into Henry’s hands?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Danforth. He was running out of ways to stall for time.

  ‘Well we must go,’ snapped Guthrie. ‘It will take long enough for me to move with this bloody arm and ankle. Had to make it look real, you know, once the boy was dead. Remind me,’ he said, an ugly peal of laughter in his voice, ‘never to toss myself down King Henry’s palace stairs.’

  Slowly, Danforth turned Woebegone back towards the dark archway. ‘Aye, there was no need to try and distract me with nonsense about a demon in white slippers.’

  ‘I didn’t know,’ shrugged Guthrie, ‘who and what you were. If you were not King Henry’s man, I’d have had you chasing after one of the women as the … person who brought all this about.’

  ‘And you’d have had to have made your service known to King Henry yourself.’

  ‘Aye, I didn’t like that. That’s why I was so pleased when a good Englishman appeared. I knew you must still be loyal to the old boy.’

  ‘We might make as much speed as we can,’ said Danforth, chancing, raising his voice.

  ‘Halt,’ cried Forrest, stepping into the archway from the town side. ‘You’re both under arrest.’

  Danforth tensed.

  ‘We’re betrayed,’ cried Guthrie.

  ‘Becalm yourself,’ hissed Danforth. ‘He cannot arrest me. I am not a subject of this realm.’

  ‘Take him,’ screeched Guthrie. ‘It was him, Forrest. You know me – it was this English bastard all along. Kill him. I’ll do it! I’ll save us all!’

  Forrest fired first, the arrow shooting from his crossbow and piercing Guthrie in the stomach. As he fell from his horse the wheellock discharged. The entire archway lit up, as though lightning had struck. Danforth felt like he had been punched in the side, the left of his body going numb. As he began to fall himself, he felt the pain spread, claws sinking into his flesh. The ground came racing towards him.

  ***

  Martin heard the explosion. He had been drinking from the fountain, trying to clear the rich, vinegary taste out of his mouth. Leaving Diane, he raced immediately out of the palace and came upon the scene. Forrest was standing over Danforth, who was on the ground beside Woebegone. A torch had been lit in the archway, illuminating also the writhing figure of Guthrie. From somewhere came the sound of another horse’s terrified wails, its hoofbeats receding as it ran free.

  ‘What happened,’ shouted Martin. ‘Danforth, is he hurt?’

  ‘He’s been shot,’ said Forrest. ‘I can’t tell how bad. I can’t get enough light.’

  ‘And Guthrie?’ asked Martin. He was unsure what he was seeing. His suspicion had fallen immediately on Forrest. Had he attacked both men? He looked to the ground. Not far from Guthrie’s hand was an old pistol. ‘Guthrie?’ he repeated stupidly.

  ‘Aye,’ said Forrest. ‘Your man here warned me to watch this gate. Before he went up to the dowager’s rooms. He said that he’d deliver the murderer of your friend, and the boy. He did, by God.’

  On the ground, Danforth stirred. Martin looked to Guthrie, who was clutching his stomach. In the torchlight, the blood pouring appeared a rich burgundy, occasionally lightening to ruby as the flames twitched. ‘Lying,’ he coughed. ‘Lying. It was Forrest. Don’t listen.’ Little bubbles of blood blossomed from his red-stained lips.

  ‘It … was Guthrie. All along,’ said Danforth. ‘Guthrie.’

  ‘Simon! You’re alive.’

  ‘Don’t … stupid questions. Get me up.’ Before Martin could, Forrest was helping him to his feet. Instead, he turned again to Guthrie.

  ‘This … this old bastard killed that wee boy? Truly?’

  ‘Aye,’ said Forrest. ‘He’s dead anyway.’

  ‘Well,’ said Martin, his heart pounding. ‘Not before he feels a little of what the child did.’ Leaning over, he grasped the end of the arrow protruding from Guthrie’s gut. His arm trembling, he twisted it, stirring, before wrenching it out. Guthrie choked out what sounded like a mixture of laughter and pain. Martin raised the arrow and poised to drive it into his heart. Not for the first time, fingers clenched around his wrist. They were Forrest’s.

  ‘Leave him,’ croaked Danforth, who was leaning on his horse, clutching his side. His skin, Martin noticed, had turned the colour of paper, yellowy-white. ‘He is done for. His insides are torn. There’s no saving him. Let him … let him suffer.’

  Martin dropped the arrow, and Forrest released him. Still Guthrie writhed. ‘I want you to suffer,’ he hissed at the dying man. Again, he pictured the boy, his skin burned, his tousled hair scorched away.

  ‘We have to get your friend up to the palace,’ said Forrest. ‘Lead the way, please, Mr Martin.’

  ‘Aye … right,’ said Martin. ‘You are sure this thing can’t get back up, get away?’

  ‘He’s going nowhere. I’ll send some men down forthwith.’

  ‘Right,’ said Martin. He made to move off back up the path. As one final insult, he stepped lightly on Guthrie’s stomach, mashing his foot into the gore. The usher managed only weak grunts. Martin was pleased to see that tears were pouring down the side of his head. ‘Now you will meet the devil,’ he said, wiping his foot on the grass by the path before leading Danforth and Forrest away.

  26

  When Danforth came to, he was in Martin’s cot. It was pain that brought him round, but he considered that a good thing. If he could feel pain, he wasn’t done for. He tried moving and felt pressure on his torso. ‘Cease moving,’ said Rowan.

  ‘Mistress Allen,’ he said. His voice sounded loud in his ears.

  ‘It seems I’m always attending on you lads,’ she smiled. ‘Like Acaste, to the children of Adrastus.’

  He smiled. ‘What time is it? How long have I been asleep?’ He tried to read the light in the room, but spring light was secretive.

  ‘You slept all night. As I hear, Mr Forrest and Arnaud helped you in to the palace and you fell into a deep sleep. Arnaud refused to let the physician attend on you. Said it had to be me, and so he fetched me up this morning. What does that boy have against physicians anyway?’

  ‘It is too long a tale,’ said Danforth. ‘Am I grievous hurt?’ He poked at his side, drawing his hand away sharply.

  ‘I think not. The bulle
t grazed you. It drew up a lot of blood, but your body will make more. It was more a wound of the flesh than the insides. Not like that other.’

  ‘Guthrie?’ asked Danforth, trying to rise and falling back. ‘He’s dead?’

  ‘What did I say about moving? Aye, he’s dead. I saw him carried away. I understand it’s the dowager’s pleasure that his corpse be torn apart and burned.’

  ‘I think his soul already feeds the flames.’

  ‘If what Arnaud tells me, I agree.’

  ‘What has he told you, mistress?’

  ‘Oh,’ she said airily, rising from the box she sat on and gathering her things together, ‘everything. Every rotten thing that’s been going on in this palace. Mr Martin told me yesterday you thought it was some attempt on the life of the new queen. It isn’t, then?’

  ‘No. No, it never was. It was all designed to make us think it was. To make the dowager think it was. So that she’d send the child to that heretic king in England and reward the architect of the foul design. It was greed that moved Guthrie. Like the man he wished to serve. A monster of ambition.’

  ‘A traitorous murdering bastard, from what I hear.’

  ‘Aye, and that. And worse. He led us all to suspect it was otherwise.’

  ‘Very interesting,’ said Rowan, but her voice did not betray much interest. ‘Politics,’ she shrugged. ‘All it brings is death.’

  The word struck a chord with Danforth. ‘Mr Martin told me about your father. I am very sorry for it.’

  ‘Thank you, Simon.’

  ‘If there is anything you need …’

  ‘Arnaud said you would both see what the cardinal might say about burial. That his Grace might order some priest to do it, regardless of this suspension of services.’

  ‘I will do all I can.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she repeated. Danforth read something else in her face, but he couldn’t quite place it. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to.

  ‘It is I who owe you thanks,’ he said. ‘It seems you have saved my life.’

  ‘Oh, it was never in danger. Not if infection can be warded off.’

  ‘Still, I thank you.’ She waited, expectantly. ‘If ever you need anything that is in my gift, Rowan,’ he went on, ‘I wish that you would come to me and ask it. It is my will – no, it is my desire – that you consider me your friend. Your very great friend.’

  ‘Friend,’ she whispered. Then her tone became clipped again. ‘Yes, thank you. I shall bid you good day and wish you good health.’ Gathering her little pack of medicines, she made for the door. Paused. Turned. ‘I have a desire too. I wish that you would come around some time and visit. I’m finishing up my father’s estate. Some friends who have visited have offered to get things in order. And so I am quite free and alone, with time to spare. It would be a good thing to see a friend.’ She gave a quick, curt nod, as though satisfied with her piece, and left, her black waves bouncing.

  Danforth smiled up to the ceiling. Another friend, he thought. His re-entry to the world was coming along well, as though it had all been ordained. What else, he wondered, might it entail? It was right that a man had friends. It was right that a man had work. It was right that a man had a wife. All of these things were not just acceptable to God but encouraged. He slipped Queen Marie’s ring out of his doublet and twisted it in his fingers. Pale light reflected off its silvery-golden surface, picking out the engraving. A ring …

  Before he could complete the thought, Martin came in. Hastily, he hid the heavy sliver of gold. ‘Simon, how do you fare? Rowan said you were well, that there was no danger.’

  ‘Quite well,’ said Danforth. This time he did sit up, gritting his teeth against the pain. ‘Look at us both, shot and wounded.’

  ‘Both alive,’ smiled Martin.

  ‘Aye. I hear Guthrie is dead.’ Martin spat on the floor. ‘Kindly do not spit,’ said Danforth. ‘I thought you considered yourself fit for a Court.’

  ‘They spit at Court,’ he shrugged. ‘I’m glad you’re well, Simon. Aye, that’s Guthrie in hell. He got off too easily, if you ask me. Forrest’s already tearing down all his images, all his charms.’

  ‘Is he indeed? There is a job I think he shall enjoy.’

  ‘Anyway, I see Rowan has patched you up. We match. Sort of. What were you talking about, you two?’

  ‘Nothing of any import. She is a good friend.’ He laid emphasis on the word.

  Martin tutted. ‘Since you’re become a great player, why not play at being a man of flesh and blood?’

  In the past, Danforth’s anger would have flared at that. It did not. Instead he said, ‘I have in mind to do just that.’ He enjoyed the look of confusion on Martin’s face, half-excited, half-curious.

  ‘What, you have some secret communication with her? I like her, Simon – she’s a good girl. A good serious girl. She’d fit a good serious man, I reckon. Did she say anything to you, like give you some sign, or – what? I mean it’s fitting that a gentleman like you should start to think of taking a girl on.’

  ‘Arnaud,’ said Danforth, shaking his head. ‘Contrary to your manner of thinking, there are some parts of a man’s life that belong to him alone.’ Eager to stifle any more babble, he hurried on. ‘But enough of this fond talk. What news?’

  ‘Oh, her Highness wishes to see you. The post rider has just been – I heard his horn. So I guess she shall have news to tell you. Another meeting alone, eh?’

  ‘You might come if you wish. Here, help me up.’

  ‘Oh really, I’m being invited into the royal presence with the new pet?’

  ‘Hold your peace,’ smiled Danforth. ‘Let us see what her Highness has to say about the suffering of those in her service. By the mass, I’m not looking forward to those stairs’

  Together they tottered off, each bound and bandaged, to see what reward awaited them.

  ***

  The dowager was in her bedchamber, back in her chair of estate. Danforth noticed that the trunks had been unpacked. In fact, several new ones were in place, their contents spewing out. ‘My things return from Stirling,’ she said, waving an arm at them. ‘It seems I am going nowhere again.’

  ‘You have announced this,’ asked Danforth. ‘That the race to England is off?’

  ‘Oui, yes. Mr Forrest has told me of all that has truly been going on in this place. The palace itself is now made safe, no ghosts, nor wicked men feigning their presence. And if those Hamilton creatures out there report it to the governor … well, I think it might do me no hurt to be seen as a weak-willed woman, bending in the wind. Your part, Mr Danforth, might require more explanation.’

  Danforth bowed his head. He had wondered about that himself. If word got around that he was an agent of King Henry’s, who knew what he might expect, lie or not. Still, there was nothing he could do about that, other than to continue in Cardinal Beaton’s service, proving his loyalty by good work, as he always had.

  ‘What did you wish further of us, your Highness?’ asked Martin.

  ‘Nothing to trouble you,’ she said. ‘No, no. You gentleman have done – and suffered – enough. For the sake of a sickness lodged within my own household.’ She spat into a little silver salver to the side of the chair. Danforth felt Martin’s eyes roll towards him. ‘No, I wish to thank you. And to provide for you.’ She paused before continuing. ‘It is my will that you might join my service as your permanent occupation. Come, gentlemen, and work for me. I can have the bonds written up. You will be queen’s men. What do you think of that? And with that dratted English ambassador coming you shall not lack honest work.’ She seemed to misread their silence for awe. ‘I want men of keen minds and stout courage. I want you in my service. And my daughter’s.’

  Danforth and Martin both looked up. She was smiling. ‘Leave the cardinal?’ asked Martin. Danforth said nothing. Royal service … the words were emblazoned in his mind, written in red and gold. There was no greater earthly honour, save papal service. Simon Danforth, gentlemen to the Queen and the Queen D
owager of Scotland.

  ‘I regret I cannot,’ he said.

  ‘Nor I,’ added Martin. ‘Not yet.’

  ‘What?’ she asked. ‘But … it is our will that you should.’

  ‘Not at this present time, your Highness,’ Danforth qualified. ‘Whilst his Grace is in such difficult straits.’

  Marie clucked her tongue, thudding one hand down on the arm of her chair. ‘I see. I am a patient woman, gentlemen, but you understand that I cannot keep places for you forever.’

  ‘No, your Highness,’ said Martin. ‘May … may I let you know of my decision later?’

  ‘Of course, yes. I think I shall be at this palace for some time yet. I wish that I might be able to enjoy its beauty now. But not much later. I need my faith restored in my servants as soon as can be.’ She relaxed in her chair, staring into space. Neither Danforth nor Martin moved. ‘Then,’ she said, sitting forward again, her eyes suddenly bright, ‘I have another gift for you. You shall meet your sovereign lady.’ She laughed, high and clear, no trace of anxiety. ‘Yes, you shall have an audience with the Queen of Scots.’ She rose. ‘Come, gentlemen. Follow me.’

  Marie led them through a door in the back of the room, stooping as she went through it. The three of them trooped up a narrower spiral staircase which ended in another door, a guard outside glittering in polished steel. He moved aside to let them emerge into a small room directly above the dowager’s bedchamber. Every surface was gilded, the carpets alternating red and yellow. Tapestries showing scenes from antiquity lined the walls: Athena with an owl on her arm; Venus rising from the waves; Helen standing on the walls of Troy whilst a battle raged. Two more guards stood by the open windows, the sunlight turning their helmets white.

  On a chair in the corner sat a large woman, the baby in her arms. She rose and curtsied when she saw the dowager. ‘Good morrow, mistress, and how does her Grace?’ asked Marie.

  ‘Bonny and lusty as always. Just been fed.’