In Defense of the Queen (14 page)

“He could have fended them off, with Mary married to Charles, but if Charles truly intends to renege . . .” Gertrude lifted a hand to her temple and rubbed. “I fear for the Queen. Wolsey already has more spies than we can guess at in her Chambers. I cannot trust anyone there, now. Not a single one.”

“And if the Queen cannot persuade Charles to keep his word and marry the princess?”

Gertrude looked up, and Susanna saw her eyes were ringed with shadows. “Then Wolsey will help the King put Henry Fitzroy forward as regent-in-waiting.”

“The nobles won’t like that. Some would think they have better claim to the throne than the King’s bastard son.” Susanna wondered where this would lead. Henry’s court seemed always to be balanced on the knife’s edge of war. With each other, with France. She tired of it.

“I care nothing for the King and his problems.” Gertrude spoke fiercely, and at last there was a fire in her voice. “I care only for the Queen, and what this would mean for her.” She looked around her, at the towers and walls that closed them in, and shuddered.

“I hope to God I never end up in this cursed place. It weighs me down, just to be within the walls.”

“Thank you for coming to give me word.” Susanna touched her shoulder in a soothing gesture.

“I am here under the pretence of fetching some things from the Queen’s Chambers in the White Tower.” Gertrude eyed the massive building with trepidation. “I had better be about my business.”

“Wait.” Susanna’s grip on her shoulder tightened. “Does the Queen see a way out for me?”

Gertrude pulled back. Shook her head. “She will try. You have my assurance on that. But the winds are changing, and the Queen fears . . .”

“Fears what?” Her whispered words were ripped away by the breeze.

“That the King has no more use for her.”

Chapter Twenty

‘If a man,’ says he [Plato], ‘were to see a great company run out every day into the rain and take delight in being wet—if he knew that it would be to no purpose for him to go and persuade them to return to their houses in order to avoid the storm, and that all that could be expected by his going to speak to them would be that he himself should be as wet as they, it would be best for him to keep within doors, and, since he had not influence enough to correct other people’s folly, to take care to preserve himself.’

Utopia by Thomas More (translated by H. Morley)

P
arker found himself staring up at the redbrick walls of Bridewell. He couldn’t remember what he’d been thinking of for the last few minutes.

He ran his hands over his head, shrugged his shoulders. After seeing de la Sauch late yesterday, he’d come here, only to find the King away, no doubt tucked somewhere warm and private with the giggling Lady Alice.

Or perhaps someone else.

He had gone home to sleep, but it had been impossible. The empty side of the bed, where Susanna usually lay, had refused to let him.

He’d longed to smash into Lucas’s room, and demand answers, but Maggie, leaving just as he arrived home, had forbidden him from rousing the artist. He’d gone back into a deep sleep and she thought it dangerous to wake him.

Parker wondered if Horenbout had willed himself back into a senseless state, so he did not have to face what he had done.

No matter. He would have to wake sometime. And he would account for his actions.

“You do not look your best, Parker.” The cool amusement in Norfolk’s voice sliced through his reverie like a poison-tipped dagger, and he straightened.

Norfolk stood just beside him, dressed in ermine and velvet against the unseasonably cool day.

“I believe you are right.” Parker smiled.

Disconcerted by his reply, Norfolk narrowed his eyes. “I hear your little Flemish artist is in some trouble.” His voice was half-baked bread soaked in bacon fat—oily and sickening.

“I’m surprised you’re so delighted, as it is Wolsey who put her there.” Parker began walking towards the main doors of the palace.

“Anything that would cause you pain or trouble delights me.” Norfolk stepped in with him, although he was considerably shorter than Parker and had to scurry to keep up.

As if sensing the disadvantage of this, Norfolk stopped, and Parker continued on without him.

“Parker.”

Norfolk’s call stopped him. There was an urgency about it. Parker turned and raised a brow.

Norfolk glanced sidelong, making sure they were far enough away from the crowds going about their business for privacy. “What is this arrest about? What is Wolsey plotting?”

“What do you care, Norfolk? It is indeed causing me trouble and pain. According to you, that is enough.”

Norfolk pressed his thin lips together, making them disappear completely. “I will offer you aid to free your lady, if you tell me.”

Parker said nothing, and as the seconds stretched out, Norfolk began to fidget. “You do not believe me.”

Parker held out his hands, palms up, his shoulders raised a little. What did Norfolk expect?

“I see you are perhaps not as devoted to your betrothed as everyone seems to think, that you would not even consider an offer to save her-no matter who it comes from.” Norfolk’s lip curled up. “It makes me wonder why you play the lovesick fool.”

Parker allowed himself a small, tight smile to hide the fury that boiled and leapt within him. “How can you help save her if you are coming to me to find out why she’s imprisoned in the first place? If your offer of help is merely a word in the King’s ear, we both know whose word counts for more in that quarter.”

Norfolk drew back as if struck. “Very well. I have resources enough to discover this plot for myself. I had hoped not to go to the trouble, but as you do not trust my word as a nobleman, so be it.”

Parker could not help it. He let out a laugh. “Your word as a nobleman?”

Norfolk gave him the cold-fish stare of a pike, and turned on his heel. Stalked towards the gates out of Bridewell.

Parker watched him go.

It was not that he resented Norfolk’s attempt to weasel information when he was at his lowest. He would expect nothing less from the turd. It was the temptation to risk giving him what he wanted in return for whatever crumbs of aid, if any, he would throw towards saving Susanna.

His lips had wanted to form the words, his throat had held them just out of his mouth, while he struggled with himself.

He was so used to walking the tightrope of pleasing his king and keeping the balance at court and beyond.

He turned back to the doors.

Enough.

He had had his fill of the fine, wire-tight tangle, now. He cared only to get Susanna free, even if he had to hack with a sharp knife to do it.

If he started a war or a diplomatic storm in the process, so be it.

* * *

The King, dressed in loose clothing, was choosing a blunted practice longsword in the inner courtyard.

Around him, Parker saw the usual cronies. Bryan, Carew, Boleyn and others. Thomas Wyatt sat to one side, slightly apart from the crowd.

He lifted his head when he felt Parker’s eyes on him, and gave a brief dip of his head.

Will Somers stood near the door, watching the antics of the courtiers as they chose swords and challenged and insulted each other with a quiet concentration.

He turned as Parker stepped into the room, and his long, expressive face broke into a smile. He winked.

Parker raised a hand in response. He wanted to talk to Somers but could not risk missing an opportunity to address the King. He began weaving through the men, towards where Henry stood.

Henry caught sight of him, and something flashed in his eyes. Shame, or perhaps embarrassment.

The back of Parker’s neck went hot at the sudden fear something had been done to Susanna. He had yet to hear from Eric or Harry, but that meant nothing.

He closed the distance even faster than before.

“Your Majesty.” He bowed and when he looked up, Henry was tossing his longsword lightly in the air, finding the balance.

“You are just in time, Parker. It has been too long since we had a turn at bouting.” Henry’s eyes were steel-blue, they brooked no argument.

Parker bowed again and turned, undoing the buttons down the front of his doublet as he walked toward the array of longswords. He shrugged the snug-fitting garment off and was surprised to find Will Somers before him, hand out, to take it.

He nodded his thanks, turning his attention to the practice longswords hanging in a row before him.

He found one with a double fuller blade, and lifted it out. The balance was beautiful. He tucked it under his arm and looked for someone to lend him their gloves. Bryan already had his off, and tossed them to Parker. A recompense, perhaps, for his lack of support the day before.

When he had them on, he swung the sword in an arc, and turned.

The men had moved back, leaving an open corridor with the King at one end. Carew looked as if he wished to be in Parker’s place, but most were simply intrigued. They knew about Susanna, knew there was more to this than sport.

“What rules?” Parker ignored the courtiers, and spoke directly to the King.

“Low Countries.” Henry smiled. Moved deeper into the courtyard, where they would have room to move. “I am King, you are Champion.”

Parker nodded his acceptance. Each free play bout had a King and a Champion in Low Countries rules, with the King having the advantage.

Henry had claimed that advantage, as was his right.

They squared up, and lifted the swords, double-handed, before them. Parker bent at the knees, sinking low, as Bryan called the start.

He had not bouted with the King for nearly a year, and in that time, had only ever drawn his sword in earnest. Free play felt alien to him, after so long.

He fell into an easy rhythm, binding and winding against Henry, warming up, as they displaced each other’s strikes but stayed back, giving each other room. He had to remind himself the Low Countries rules allowed only two-handed grips, no one-handed technique or half-sword, and he began to find a pleasure in the challenge of winning under their restrictions.

He usually fought with none.

The courtyard went silent, as they all recognized a turning point in the play.

Parker started to circle, twisting the sword right, and struck underhanded with the inner flat, for a hit under the arm.

Henry caught it, pushing it aside, and closed in, letting his blade slide down Parker’s to the hilt.

They were as close as lovers, breathing hard after their warm-up, eye to eye.

Parker heaved, and leapt back, disengaging the hilts.

Henry stumbled back a step and righted himself, but Parker was already winding left for a neck blow, forcing Henry into an upward counterstrike.

This time it was Parker who closed in, sliding his blade down to Henry’s hilt.

“There is a fire in you today.” Henry spoke in short gasps, a little winded, but still strong.

Parker was close enough to see every drop of sweat on his forehead.

“I find I have a lot to be angry about.”

Henry heaved him off, and they struck together, the flat edges slamming against each other with a high-pitched ring.

Parker felt the vibration in the ache of his wrists, and from the way he winced, Henry felt them, too. His sword slipped a little in his grasp.

Henry’s lips drew back in a snarl and he let the momentum of the slip carry the sword in an arc downward, with a chop to Parker’s side.

Parker spun in close, and Henry’s sword bit air. He thought the King had cause to be glad of choosing the Low Countries rules, prohibiting
corps-à-corps
, or Parker could have struck him with an elbow to the face or sternum.

He danced to the side, and spun again, and now he was behind the King, in the perfect position for a back or side thrust. Or even a neck blow.

He didn’t take the back strike. He waited for Henry to turn.

As he did, Parker crouched down, so the King’s neck strike passed harmlessly overhead, and he brought the flat of his sword against Henry’s side.

Bryan called the strike, but as King, rather than Champion, per the rules, Henry had the advantage of an after-stroke. He took the single step allowed, and countered.

Parker brought his sword up to block, and for the last time came in close, the two swords resting against each other’s hilts.

They stared straight at each other for a moment, before Parker dropped his gaze.

“Well played.” Henry stepped back, forcing his breathing slow and even through his nose. “You always fight as if your life depended on it, Parker.”

“That is because my life often does.” Parker did not say it was usually on the King’s business. He didn’t need to.

“You think we merely play games here?” Henry’s eyes flashed, but Parker was already shaking his head.

“I think I need to come here more often. It is good to practice.” His response was truthful, and Henry accepted it with a grunt.