Authors: Band of Iron
“He wants the rebellion to begin?” Catharine said, turning the sleeves of her blue taffeta fur trimmed gown brushing the fresh rush covered floor.
“Only enough to have the names and evidence of those who’d rebel. The peace of the realm is paramount.” Caxton grimaced, hand on stomach again. “Miles, please get us some ale from the buttery.”
The delicious smells from the kitchen continued to mount, making Catharine’s mouth water. Since living with Peter she’d become used to the vast array of rich food, but was still no less astonished at the invention of the cooks who obviously enjoyed their work. When Miles walked past her into the buttery, Catharine’s stayed to enjoy smells coming from the kitchen which connected to the buttery.
“What will happen to these lords?” Peter said, facing the garden.
“The House of York has never been vengeful. It depends on their submission, and the extent of their involvement. Lancaster depended on vengeance. York would use hostages for good behavior. The self-interest of those who might be tempted to rebel.” Caxton swallowed, discomfort etched in every line of his face.
“Tis truth,” Catharine heard herself saying. “Richard has ever been magnanimous in war. Look at Scotland when he was Lord of the North. He allowed no rape or pillage, and paid his soldiers well and on time. There were Scots lords who wanted him for their King. They have a poor history of Kings dying in their beds.”
“Count that to their fractious and Lucifer proud nobles,” Peter said. “A hundred sides, and everyone believing every slight and imagined wrong. What do you expect? They are rarely masters of their destinies. Most die of treachery or mischief of some sort.”
“And that is to our advantage,” agreed Caxton. “Let them fight and bicker among themselves and leave us alone. Richard has no interest in being King of the Scots. He only wants to insure they keep their quarrels on their side of the border.” He raised his hand impatient. “Ah, where is that, man. Ale is the only thing that eases my stomach.”
“Coming, sir.”
Catharine turned at Mile’s voice, and blinked in disbelief. Standing at a small table in the hall to the buttery, Miles poured white powder in two of the four goblets on the tray. Catharine turned back before Miles noticed, trying to place anything distinguished about the two poisoned cups. One had a stag on the side. The other three cups were identical. Hair rose on the back of her neck. She moved into the room ahead of Miles, who smiling, entered with the tray of goblets. He handed one with the stag to Caxton, and passed out the others to Peter, Catharine and keeping one for himself.
Catharine, shaken, stood between Caxton and Peter, holding her goblet. The pale liquid looked inviting. Just when Caxton raised his goblet to propose a toast, her hand went to her head, and she stumbled against Caxton knocking the stag goblet to the rushes. Caxton caught her elbow, supporting her weight.
“Lady Catharine!” Caxton exclaimed, alarmed.
“No. Oh, no. Peter, don’t drink! It’s poisoned! I saw Miles put white powder in your cups,” Catharine said.
“This is madness,” stammered Miles. “I’d never do such a thing. What white powder? The lady is mistaken.”
“In the buttery hall. I saw what you did. Check the rims of your cups.”
Caxton retrieved his cup, and studied the rim. “Not on the rim, but there is some in the bottom. Peter?”
Peter held the full goblet to the light from the solar windows. Tiny crystals glistened on one area of the rim. He put the goblet on the trestle table and glared at the small secretary.
Caxton rang a bell. “Why?” he asked quietly.
The small secretary edged toward the buttery door. “I told the duke I was wasted here. He said to spend myself earning your confidence, and I have. Indeed, these years have been fruitful one’s for you in business and politics.” He took a deep breath. “I have served my two masters well.”
“Nesbit. You arranged to have us ambushed, so as to have Nesbit killed,” Catharine said, aghast.
“One of my successes, Lady Catharine. Protecting my real master. So you see, my lords, I almost completed everything, except this.” Miles’s face wrinkled in a disparaging smile.
“And the cook from the Sow’s Ear?” Peter said, face stormy.
Northrop snorted contemptuously. “The idiot acted on his own, and almost ruined everything.”
“You’ve been poisoning me,” Caxton said, staring at the stag cup. “How long?”
“The two days you’ve been feeling poorly. You’ll recover. You needed several more doses.” He laughed. “Think of it. I was master of your household for nearly two years. Your surrogate when you weren’t available. There was little I did not tell my master of your activities. Why did you think some of your agents never came back?” He shrugged. “And now to fail in the moment of triumph.”
“What was the poison?” Caxton demanded. “I can have you made to talk.”
Miles stared back, face bland and blank. “I don’t think so, my lord.”
“Abby will know,” Catharine said. “She is with the cooking staff.”
Caxton’s servants appeared. Miles was bound and placed under guard, and Abby sent for. Northrop stood perfectly calm.
“What does Buckingham know?” Peter said, face grim.
“We must assume he knows everything,” Caxton put the stag cup on the trestle table. He began to drum his fingers on the desk. “I think Miles is right. If he did talk, we could never trust what he said to be the truth. Miles seems to have been sent into my household about the same time Buckingham was hatching his plot against you. This is probably part of a wider conspiracy set up to bring down Richard. As soon as Edward’s health began to fail, they began to make their move. This appears astonishing in its scope. Be assured the King will be informed immediately.”
Abby stalked in and curtsied. “My lord?” she said, looking to Peter.
“Abby, can you tell what poison is on the edge of this cup?” Peter handed her his goblet.
The old crone ran an ancient finger over the lip of the goblet and sniffed, wrinkling her thin nose. The she put a couple of grains on the tip of her tongue, and immediately spat into the floor rushes. “Arsenic.” Her eyes like deadly darts fastened on Northrop. She hissed and made the sign of the evil eye. “I curse you, Italian. May maggots devour your entrails, and you know no sleep until you die.” The old woman flung the poisoned ale in the secretary’s face, staining his clothes.
“Witch.” Northrop cursed, wiping the wet from his face. “Mother Church would warm you with a fire.”
Caxton seethed, his voice shaking with fury. “Four good men died with Nesbit. And three agents have disappeared since you came. Seven dead men you have to pay for with your life.”
Catharine put her hand on his arm. “No, my lord,. Consider that the duke is using Northrop for an information source. What if we feed His Grace false information, and expose him for the traitor he is?”
Caxton turned to a shocked Northrop. “The length of your life depends on passing on our information to the duke. One question first. Who is behind the planned downfall of Sir Peter, your coming here, and the planned death of the princes?”
Northrop pursed his lips, and gave a bitter smile. “Why not? The game is up. The man is already under arrest. John Morton, the Bishop of Ely.”
Peter made a disgusted face. “Edward should have executed him after Tewkesbury. Instead he gave his pardon and made him Master of Rolls. God’s blood! When will they learn.”
Caxton sat down at his desk. “I’ll send an order to have him transferred out of his custody. But the first order of business is saving the poor bastards we sent to spy on the duke.” Caxton turned to an armed servant. “Take him away. Secure the traitor in chains.” The light in his eyes did not bode well for Miles Northrop.
Next morning at Trevor House, in the great courtyard, a jarring wrench traveled up Peter’s arm. Blue sparks flew off the sword blades. He pressed forward, his dagger darting. With each fresh attack, he found his way neatly blocked by the smiling bearded giant who pounded his blade and brought his dagger up short each time. Admiration boarding on awe rose in Peter at the ingenious counter. A wave of exhilaration ran within him.
In a fierce final effort he began a series of moves and in seconds the giant’s dagger spun out of his hand. The giant attacked, bringing his sword down to land in a crucifix of steel. Peter wrenched the sword free, and stood back. “God’s Blood, Adrian. I think I have the trick down.” His sweat-drenched linen shirt stuck to his hard breathing body.
“You do beautiful, Peter. As I say, you are the master now.” Adrian was obviously pleased.
A single pair of hands clapped with lazy arrogance. Peter turned toward the sound. Thirteen armed horsemen quietly filed their mounts inside the wide courtyard of Trevor House. A smoldering rage worked up from Peter’s stomach into his throat. Buckingham’s arrogant face smiled back. “Excellent exhibition, Peter. You should not have let him win, Monsieur De Chemeau. He won’t learn that way.”
“Monsieur,” Adrian said, bowing, “Lord Trobridge is easily the best swordsman in the realm. He has bested me every time these last three months.” A scowl worked his beard and wrinkled his brow. Peter laid a warning hand on his arm. The Frenchman’s dark eyes fastened on the duke. “The only man who ever has.” He collected the swords and daggers from Peter, but stopped when he saw Carnahan. “Ha. My other student. You learn all the tricks, but none of de honor.” He spat in the dirt..
Carnahan went white with rage. “I demand satisfaction.”
Adrian flung down one sword and brandished the other and the dagger.
“No,” Peter said. “You have no honor, Carnahan.” He eyed his sword master, and whispered, “Remember the emotion.” Adrian relaxed. The duke watched amused. An alarmed Catharine moved to Peter’s side.
Forty men-at-arms waited, many with hands on sword hilts. “I would have satisfaction, Lord Trobridge.” Carnahan appealed to the duke. “Your Grace?”
“There is no question you are a master,” the duke said. “But I need a live sword master, not a dead or maimed one.” He grinned. “Lord Trobridge, perhaps at a future time we can arrange a duel to first blood between sword masters?” He turned to Carnahan. “As far as honor is concerned, a man with your history and appetites need never broach the subject. Your manhood is not in question, only your need to bully. Enough.” Carnahan trembled, worked his mouth, but kept silent. Pure murder and old pain shot out of his eyes. “I believe Lord Trobridge has more reason to want to kill you than Monsieur De Chemeau,” the duke said gently.
Peter felt the blood flood his face. The pain and anguish of Carnahan’s butchery, fresh as the moment it happened, roared into his mind crowding out everything except the blinding need for revenge. A cool hand on his arm steadied, then broke through his rage, weakening the desire.
He stared down at Catharine. Her serious intense gaze willed him to control himself. He took a deep shaken breath, letting it out slowly, steadying himself.
“Then let us fight, Your Grace,” Carnahan said thickly. “I owe him for my son.”
“That is out of the question,” the duke said. “You are not of his rank. Only in war is that possible.”
Carnahan brightened and relaxed. So, Peter thought, it is true. The rebellion is not a fiction. Perhaps we will meet across a battle field. He smiled, feeling drained emotionally.
“Look,” Buckingham said. “I believe the idea appeals to Lord Trobridge.” He laughed.
“To what do we owe the honor of this unexplained visit, Harry?” Peter asked, accepting a towel from a servant.
“I am leaving London to see the King on progress. And I couldn’t resist paying you one more visit. I am happy to see you both fit.” He studied Catharine. “There is a glow about you, Catharine.” His eyes brightened with the realization. “Could you be carrying the heir to the House of Trevor, by chance?”
Catharine blushed a fiery red.
“Congratulations,” the duke said. “And how is your friend, Sir James Caxton?”
So he knows. “Sir James is taken ill these last several days.”
“I am sorry,” the duke said, without any trace of surprise. “Lord Caxton is a valued servant of the Crown.”
“Miles Northrop,” Catharine said, “is taking over Caxton’s duties until the illness is past.” She cleared her throat. “Caxton hopes nothing untoward happens until he is well again, so he won’t have to take a hand in his affairs.”
Clever. Peter glanced at Catharine. “He needs much rest. A stomach complaint.” He wiped his face and neck with a towel and tossed it to a servant. Anthony Will appeared at his side. “Some refreshment, Harry? A stirrup cup, perhaps? I don’t know your plans.”
“No, but my thanks. I leave within the hour for Lincoln to see the King. I came by to tell you I am letting the King know my side of what has happened between us. I will have you in the Tower yet.” He paused. “My thanks for this moment of entertainment. Rest assured, when I return, you two will be my first order of business.” He turned his black gelding, and followed the red and black banner, with its Stafford Knot, out onto Bishop gate Street, his men falling in behind.