In Defense of the Queen (6 page)

“I didn’t see it was her. By then it was too dark.” Jan turned back to her, but his look was not beseeching, it was furious.

“You hurt Harry.” She looked him straight in the eye. “We assumed the worst.”

“And you could be lying.” Parker stood. Took two steps and loomed over the musician.

“Look in my pouch.” Jan ignored Parker, his eyes holding hers. “You’ll see the note Lucas sent me earlier today.”

“I don’t know when Lucas could have sent you anything.” Susanna lifted the pouch, as wet as the rest of him, and wondered if any note could have survived the tumble into the Thames. Perhaps Jan was counting on just such a likelihood. “He only arrived this morning. How did he know where to find you?”

Jan raised his eyes, and she saw he was trying to communicate something to her. She frowned back and his earnest expression turned confused. Irritated.

He slid his gaze again to Parker and seemed to come to a conclusion. “We have been writing to each other, now and then. Keeping in touch. He knew where to reach me.”

She lifted the flap on his pouch, and pulled it wide, exposing the contents to the light of the fire. There were coins, and a piece of parchment, ruined completely by the water. She lifted it out, but it tore as she tried to unroll it, and what ink had been on it had run to a dark green nothingness.

She knelt closer to him, smelt the stink of mud and wet wool. He was still shivering, little shakes of his body. He shot her another look, loaded with meaning. It baffled her.

Frustration flashed through her, and she slammed her fist on the floor.

“Jan. Enough of this.”

Parker turned his head sharply to her. Jan looked up, mouth open.

“What is it you think I know?”

Chapter Nine

It seems to me a very unjust thing to take away a man’s life for a little money, for nothing in the world can be of equal value with a man’s life:

Utopia by Thomas More (translated by H. Morley)

T
he musician was arse-deep in trouble, and he was just starting to realize it.

Parker watched his face as it dawned on him the ally he thought he had did not exist. That Susanna was not his saviour. Was not in on whatever secret he thought she knew.

Parker had a feeling whatever it was, it was serious. Dangerous. Or he would have been tempted to smile at Heyman’s expression as he realized his mistake.

Smile, and then take the bastard by the throat and squeeze whatever he knew out of him.

The musician hunched further in on himself, and then spat, the spittle landing just short of Susanna’s shoes.

“
Verrader.
” His whisper sounded over-loud in the hush that fell over the room.

Susanna went white, her eyes wide. She rose up and stumbled back a step.

Peter Jack stood, and Harry ducked around Clemence, pushing up on his knees.

Parker moved down into a crouch, smooth and so fast he saw Heyman’s eyes widen in surprise. His hands shook with suppressed violence.

“I’m not sure what you just called my betrothed, but from her face, it was nothing good.” He lifted his knife, and let it catch the gleam of firelight. Heyman’s breath hitched.

The musician had possessed a cocky assurance since they had caught him, but at last reality was settling in.

“Answer Susanna’s question.” He kept his voice low. “What is it you think she knows?”

“Not here.” Jan’s hiss was ruined by the chattering of his teeth.

“Here. And now.”

The musician looked around the room, and for the first time noticed Peter Jack and Harry were just as focused on him as Parker was himself. Harry’s cheek had swollen up and darkened, already turning purple, and Heyman swallowed, the sound audible.

At last—at last—the bastard understood his position.

“I thought she was . . .” He flicked a glance up at Susanna and then miserably down at his soaked boots. “I thought she was one of us.”

“One of who?” Susanna folded her arms across her chest, and Parker saw her eyes were hard. Hard as they were when someone mentioned the Boleyns or Wolsey. Whatever he’d called her, Heyman had a crossed a line with her and she would not forgive him.

The question seemed to spark something in Heyman. He gave a little nod, as if decided on his course. He leant forward, and waited until Parker tipped his head closer.

“We are—”

Parker had only an instant’s warning, a moment, as he saw a look harden in Heyman’s eyes. Too late to move, too late to do anything but take the blow.

Pain exploded as Heyman head-butted him. He fell back, swinging his arm as he did, felt his fist connect with the musician’s jaw. The pain in his fist was equal to that in his head.

He rolled, rocked himself up to sitting, cradling his hand. Susanna’s arms came around him, and he lifted his fingertips to rub his forehead.
S’blood, it was agony.

The musician was sprawled unconscious on the floor beside Lucas. Harry stood over him, hard-faced.

Parker closed his eyes, the pain hitting like waves on a shore—slap, slap, slap.

“What did he call you?” It was hard to talk, he wanted to do nothing but lie down. Make the pain go away.

He felt Susanna’s hands on him again, pressing a soothing, cool cloth against his head.

“He called me a traitor.”

* * *

Simon, the King’s cartsman, slipped into the room with no announcement.

Susanna lifted her head at the creak of the door, and blinked at him, confused. “What are you doing here?”

Simon nodded to where Parker sat, head back against his chair, and she saw his eyes had opened at her words.

“Who else sends for me at midnight with no explanation?” Simon moved closer to the fire, and rubbed his arms, his eyes flicking to the door, as if assessing his chances of a quick escape.

She frowned. “You sent one of the boys to fetch Simon?” She didn’t want Harry or Peter Jack—or God forbid, Eric—out on the streets. She had the sense of being in a maze, or a web, with every turn unknown and deadly. She could not protect them from a danger she didn’t understand.

“I got Harry to send one of his boys. No one knows them. Or, if they do, we are deeper in this mire than we thought.” Parker spoke as if each word was painful to get out. There was a lump on his forehead, and Maggie had plastered it and wrapped it, leaving him looking like a casualty of war.

“What trouble, this time?” Simon faced them both, and Susanna was not imagining the tension in his body, the way he seemed to lean towards the door. He wanted to be anywhere but here.

They had called on him in the past for help, but Parker always gave back as generously as he took. Simon’s current position at court was Parker’s doing and Simon knew it. Had never stinted in his assistance before.

“Spies.” Parker spoke with no hesitation, and Susanna wondered if he noticed Simon flinch at the word. His eyes were closed again and he took a deep sip of the chamomile tea spiced with cloves Maggie had given him.

Simon glanced at her, and she stared back until he looked away. Towards the door, again. “There are spies everywhere.” He kept his voice low.

“Aye.” Parker shifted in his chair. “Did you know the King’s flute player is most likely a spy for Margaret of Austria?”

“He’s previously from her court, so it doesn’t surprise me. But what can he know that is of any consequence?”

Susanna stood. “One might say the same of you, Simon Carter. Or of me. We both know for someone who has their ears open, there is much to gather at court.”

Simon’s fists clenched. “One might say it of you, mistress. But I have no allegiance to another court.”

“I spoke of our positions, not our past allegiances.” She said the words slowly, reeling at his tone, at the way he looked at her, suspicious and angry. “As the King’s cartsman, you know details of his movements, of the location of his possessions, that others do not. As his illuminator, papers pass through my hands that some may wish to know of. The King calls for music often. What might he have spoken of in the hearing of his players that others would find of interest?”

Simon did not answer, turning from her to look into the fire.

“What is it, my friend?”

He flinched, even though her words were soft. Turned back to her. He opened his mouth to answer, and then his gaze jerked to Parker, held there.

Parker had opened his eyes again, his fingers rubbing at his temple.

Simon’s shoulders slumped. “Nothing . . . nothing.”

“Have you heard something at court? Something against me?” She almost did not have to ask. There was no other explanation for his behaviour.

Parker lifted his head so sharply, he winced. Clutched his temple again. “My head would split in two.” A shudder ran through him and he took a deep breath, turned his head carefully towards her. “Why do you ask that?”

“He looks at me as if things are much changed between us.” She kept her eyes on the cartsman, and at last he looked her in the eye.

“Aye.” His shoulders slumped. “There are some rumours. Whispered late this evening.”

“What do these rumours say?” Parker sat up, his jaw clenched.

Simon’s eyes held pity as he spoke. “That Mistress Horenbout has betrayed the Crown. That she is a traitor.”

Chapter Ten

therefore it seemed much more eligible that the king should improve his ancient kingdom all he could, and make it flourish as much as possible; that he should love his people, and be beloved of them; that he should live among them, govern them gently and let other kingdoms alone, since that which had fallen to his share was big enough, if not too big, for him:

Utopia by Thomas More (translated by H. Morley)

“W
ho’s behind the talk?” Parker rose to his feet, his fists clenched.

Simon winced. “Wolsey.”

There was silence. Little spikes of panic and fear leapt in Susanna’s chest, and when she spoke, her words were thick and bitter on her tongue. “When did you hear this?”

Simon picked up the poker and stirred the coals, then threw on another log. It caught with a little pop and sizzle as the sap burned up and illuminated the high cheekbones and beautiful curves of his face. “Just a little while ago. I overheard Wolsey telling His Majesty.”

“Did the King believe the snake?” Parker sank back down onto the chair, his face too pale, too drawn with pain.

Damn Jan. Damn Lucas as well, for that matter.

“You must have angered him tonight, because he was not in the best of moods where you are concerned.” Simon glanced at Parker. Hesitated. “If he had simply been going to bed, Wolsey would have had more luck, but Wolsey delayed the King’s departure. I was to take him . . . somewhere, and he was eager to get there. He did not take well to Wolsey telling tales so late.”

A look passed between Parker and Simon, and Susanna realized the matter of the King’s late night trip was something known to both of them. She thought of the flushed, curved girl he’d danced with earlier in the evening, and came to her own conclusions.

“So, Wolsey’s spy in the Queen’s chamber lost no time running to him with news we wished an audience with the Queen.” Parker took another deep gulp of pain-killing tea. His hand was rock steady. “And it means his spies in Margaret of Austria’s court have warned him that something is going on. He may just be guessing at the connection between Margaret’s secret dealings and your urgent visit to the Queen, but given your father’s position, it is a sound guess.”

“But we didn’t speak with her. And the spy would know that. So why call me traitor before I even had a chance to say anything?” Susanna sat back in her seat, her legs weak beneath her.

Simon turned sharply, his eyes narrowed. “There is something to tell?”

“No.” Parker spoke with force. “We were given information, but we had no intention of passing it to the Queen.” He tapped his lips with his forefinger. “But that is a good question. Why call traitor when it can be proved you didn’t speak with her?”

“Perhaps his excitement at having something against me meant he didn’t think the matter through.” Susanna wondered if that were possible. If Wolsey’s hatred of her and Parker would be enough to cause that sharp, cold mind to trip.

“What did the King say?” Parker set his cup down.

“That he would turn his attention to the matter on the morrow.” Simon took a step to the door.

“You think they will come for me? That you will suffer for your friendship with us?” Susanna spoke slowly. There was a ringing in her ears, and a terrible, heavy feeling in her stomach. She looked at her feet, and wondered how so much could have changed in a single day.

“If you are not a traitor, then why did you ask to see her?” The words burst from his mouth.

“Someone tried to kill us today.” Susanna pointed to the door, to the scar where the bolt had been pulled from its wood. “We hoped they would no longer have a reason to silence us, if they knew we had seen the Queen.”