Hands clasped behind his back, the Earl of Essex strutted around his men, a faint smile playing on his lips. His eyes held a note of triumph as he gazed at the shorter, black-gowned figure of Cecil cowering on the edge of the group. For the first time the spymaster looked uneasy, if not frightened, Carpenter thought.
A defiant glint in his eye, Will stood proud and erect, his smile revealing no fear. ‘I came here to warn of a plot against our Queen by our greatest enemy,’ he announced. ‘I will gladly go before the Privy Council to tell all that I know. We must be on our guard—’
Strangewayes cracked the hilt of his rapier into his rival’s face, stunning Will for a moment. ‘Enough of your lies!’ the red-headed man spat. ‘You will not wriggle out of this. Your past has caught up with you.’
Spattering blood on those nearby as he shook his head, Will reclaimed his wits. ‘I do not lie,’ he stated in a loud voice, ‘and I will risk further punishment, even death, to tell the truth of what I have discovered. We are beset by enemies on all sides.’
The red-headed spy struck Will again with the hilt of his sword.
And then Carpenter noticed something that chilled him. All around, men with faces like whips were whispering in the ears of Essex and Cecil and most of the other Privy Councillors. Danby the coroner was there, passing comment, and Lord Derby, pink, broken-veined cheeks above his grey whiskers, moved among his fellows with a nod and a quiet word. Carpenter could think of only one thing.
Scar-Crow Men.
Shaping views. Infecting thoughts with sly words. Twisting the outcome to whatever would lead to victory for the Unseelie Court.
The scar-faced spy’s heart began to pound. He glanced at Launceston and saw the grim-faced Earl was thinking the same. Carpenter began to suspect every face he looked into. How many agents were there? Who could be trusted?
A rush of urgent whispers swept through the crowd from the direction of the door leading to the palace’s long eastern range. A wave of bowing heads followed.
Rustling a cloak of gold edged with ermine, the Queen stepped into the entrance hall accompanied by one of her maids of honour. Carpenter recognized the maid’s plain looks and thick brown hair, but couldn’t place her name. Elinor somebody or other, he thought. Elizabeth’s face was a mask of white powder, but the scarred spy thought there was an odd cast to her features, a little dreamy as if she had only just woken.
‘What is the meaning of this outcry?’ the monarch demanded. Elinor stood unusually close to her mistress, her face turned towards the Queen’s left ear.
‘Your Majesty,’ Will replied before any other could speak, ‘I rode to Nonsuch this morning to warn of a plot against you, and against all of England.’
‘A plot, Master Swyfte?’ Elizabeth eyed the blood dripping from the spy’s nose. ‘Why is this the first I hear of this matter?’
‘Because we do not seek to trouble Your Majesty with outrageous lies and calumnies,’ Essex said with a flamboyant sweep of his arm. The monarch smiled at her most trusted courtier.
‘Your Majesty, I implore you to listen to what I have to say,’ Will pressed.
The Queen’s eyes flashed at his impudence; one warning was all the spy would be allowed, Carpenter knew, and that only because he had been in Elizabeth’s favour. ‘Secretary of State,’ she snapped. ‘Master Swyfte is in your employ. What do you have to say?’
Cecil cast a dark glance towards the grinning Essex while he gathered his thoughts. Carpenter could almost see his master squirming as he struggled to find a way out of his predicament.
Here is your chance, at the last, Carpenter thought. Stand up and offer your support for the man who has served you faithfully.
‘I have listened intently to the allegations of conspiracy made by this man,’ the spymaster began in a clear voice, ‘but I cannot say I find any truth in them.’
For a moment, Carpenter thought the Queen was about to dismiss the comment, but then he saw Elinor’s lips move, only slightly, her words unheard. Elizabeth cocked her head to one side, a faint expression of bafflement springing to her face. She said in a quiet voice, ‘What do you advise, my Little Elf?’
Cecil quickly extinguished the relief in his eyes and feigned thoughtfulness, one finger to his chin. ‘There is some suggestion of treason in Master Swyfte’s actions, certainly, Your Majesty, though that would be a matter for the Privy Council to consider. And the earlier charge of atheism remains, of course. For those reasons, I feel the Tower may be the preferred option, while evidence is gathered and a case prepared.’
The Queen nodded.
Launceston stepped in close to Carpenter and whispered, ‘All is well. We can free Will on the way to the Tower. There will be plenty of opportunities between Nonsuch and London for a cunning attack.’
For the first time that morning, Carpenter breathed a sigh of relief. There was still a chance to save something from the disaster that had unfolded with frightening speed.
Cockayne, the spymaster’s adviser, had been edging closer while his master spoke and he suddenly darted forward to whisper in Cecil’s ear. He was a small man, smaller even than the Little Elf, with a ruddy face and a shock of grey hair. Carpenter had seen him on the fringes of the secret service, but had never been wholly sure what he did.
The hunchbacked man listened intently for a moment and then announced, ‘Your Majesty, please excuse me, but new evidence has just been brought to my attention. Master Swyfte has been overheard raving to merchants in Cheapside about necromancy and other even wilder tales. It is my advice that he has been afflicted with the mania and should be pitied and not condemned for his actions. To that end, he should be sent to Bedlam until the Privy Council can look into his case.’
‘I hear your advice and it is good,’ the Queen said. ‘Dispatch Master Swyfte to Bedlam immediately. And may God grant him peace from his suffering.’
Reeling, Carpenter looked to Launceston, but the Earl’s face remained implacable. The Unseelie Court had won without a single weapon being drawn.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
ALONG THE WINDING, NIGHT-SHROUDED ROAD LEADING TO THE Château de Pau, the trail of spectral carriages glowed with the lustre of pearl. Even the liveried horses and the coachmen, heads bowed, faces mercifully unseen, had the same misty luminescence, so that their appearances echoed the pale, glowing fish that lived in the deep cave pools of the nearby Pyrenees. Across the village clustering in the shadow of the castle, candles were extinguished and shutters closed so none would have to see what passed through their midst.
From a window atop the chateau’s tallest tower, Henri de Navarre watched the procession with a grim face. Tanned and tall and dressed in his best clothes – a forest-green doublet studded with pearl buttons in the shape of the cross and a flamboyant white ruff – he carried himself with confidence, but he knew this night would test his abilities to the limit.
‘They are ghost carriages!’ Henri’s loyal adviser, Maximilien de Béthune, duc de Sully, gasped. Raising a trembling arm to point, the black-gowned, balding former soldier stood transfixed next to his master. ‘See, they appear from nowhere. The road is empty and then, suddenly, the carriages are there.’
‘The Unseelie Court enjoy their shows of spectacle,’ the elegant ruler replied, drawing himself up straight and folding his hands behind his back. ‘Breathe deeply, Maximilien, and hold fast. We have faced worse than this.’
‘You still feel this is the correct course?’ the adviser enquired.
‘There is no other. Europe is as turbulent as ever, and we must chart a smooth course if we are to bring all of France together,’ the tall, black-bearded man said in a soothing voice. ‘We are close to our long-held aim. The Catholic League is in disarray, and Philip of Spain falters. We must hold fast for this final heave, however testing it may be.’
The carriages trundled on to the six-arched stone bridge across the Gave de Pau, the waters black under the star-sprinkled sky.
‘Surely the Unseelie Co
urt cannot be trusted as allies?’ the black-garbed man said.
Henri laughed. ‘None of our allies can be trusted. That is the way of this world, Maximilien. The Unseelie Court want what they want. We have our own aims. Somewhere there is common ground. But when they have served their purpose, we will drive them out.’
‘You think you can manipulate them in that way? With all their power?’
‘Elizabeth has succeeded in England. We can too.’
The battle-scarred adviser cast an eye towards his master. ‘And this threat they hold over our heads, these Scar-Crow Men, has no part in your calculations?’
The King waved a dismissive hand and said with a hint of bravado, ‘There are always threats, my friend. We deal with each one in turn, as we always have. Now, will you greet our guests and bring them to our table?’
His features etched with concern, Maximilien gave a bow and strode from the chamber. Once the door had closed, Henri let his brave smile fall, lines of worry appearing on his strong face. Taking a deep, steadying breath, he left the chamber and descended the spiral stone steps to the grand hall. It was ablaze with candlelight, for he could not abide any shadows when confronted by those foul creatures.
Along the middle of the high, beamed chamber was an oaken table with a daringly constructed centrepiece, a representation of the chateau surrounded with peacock feathers, lavender, violets and other fragrant flowers picked from the gardens that afternoon. Beside it stood an enormous pie, the crust formed in the shape of a crown, gilt and silvered so it shone in the candlelight. It contained an entire salted stag, a goose, six chickens and a rabbit. The rich aroma of the cooked meats and gravy filled the air, with underlying notes of the subtle spices of northern Spain. That was only the appetizer. The kitchens had worked hard all day to prepare a feast grander than any enjoyed by the crowned heads of Europe.
It was all part of a play, Henri knew, but the Unseelie Court were at their least dangerous when they were flattered. For a moment, he surveyed the gold and silver platters, the sparkling goblets and jugs of blood-red wine until he was sure all was perfectly presented. On his way into the annexe, he paused before the large, gloomy portrait of François hanging over the great stone fireplace where fresh-cut logs crackled and spat. He bowed his head briefly, knowing the old King would understand. The path of the monarch was never easy.
From the adjoining chamber window, he watched the carriages draw up at the chateau’s main entrance, but he pulled away before the occupants climbed out. After long, tense moments, Maximilien knocked and opened the door of the annexe. Putting on a warm smile, Henri stepped into the great hall.
With his very first glance across the assembled crowd, he felt a deep chill. Was he surveying a tableau arranged from the contents of a crypt? Bone-white, cadaverous faces were turned towards him, black-ringed, unblinking eyes staring. Nothing moved.
The clothes were flamboyant, mirroring no current fashion but somehow capturing elements of the clothes worn by the King’s ancestors across the centuries: voluminous shirts, bucklers, tied breeches and jerkins on the men, large skirts embroidered in odd designs and studded with pearls and white jewels on the women, their necklines plunging, their hair sculpted and dressed with more glittering jewels. Yet the scene was drained of colour. The clothes were grey, and there was an air of decay about them; they appeared to be dusted with mildew and were worn and scuffed with dirt as if they had lain long in the ground. To accompany that notion, the air was filled with the oppressive scent of clay.
Yet this vision passed in the blink of an eye so that Henri convinced himself it had been an illusion. Now the men all appeared handsome with square jaws and sharp cheekbones, their skin still pale but touched with a faint golden glow. The women had full lips, their thickly lashed eyes gleaming seductively. The clothes, however, remained the same grey, worn, strangely cut styles. Henri felt an odd queasiness at the juxtaposition of grave and voluptuous life, and as he looked around the faces he saw an unsettling hunger there, as if he were part of the coming feast.
‘Welcome to my home, honoured guests,’ he boomed, throwing his arms wide and laughing with studied joy.
One of the males rose from the foot of the table, stepping away from his place to approach the King with slow, languid steps. He sported long silver hair with a streak of black running down the centre, and was uncommonly tall and painfully thin, towering over Henri by a head, yet there was a graceful strength to his every movement. His eyes flashed emerald. Clinging to his arm was a hairless, ape-like creature with golden eyes. It stared at Henri too long, too hard. The Fay bowed, but undercut the show of respect with a faintly mocking smile.
‘And we are honoured to be in the presence of such a formidable ruler as Henri de Navarre. News of your prowess has reached even to our distant homes,’ the guest said with a slight sibilance. ‘My name is Lethe. I am the most senior member of the High Family here this evening. Some of my brothers and sisters have accompanied me, but sadly not all. There is pressing business across this world that requires the attention of my other siblings.’
The King bowed in return, continuing to smile though his breath was tight in his chest. ‘You have shown me great respect in bringing so many of your family here to my home,’ he said.
‘That only shows what great importance we place upon events now unfolding, and the value we see in having the great Henri de Navarre alongside,’ the spokesman for the Unseelie Court replied.
You need me, the French monarch thought, as I need you.
With a knitting of his brow that suggested irritation, Lethe studied Henri closely as if he had read the King’s thoughts, and then he swept an elegant arm towards his companions. ‘Come. Let me introduce you to the other members of my family.’
The tall, thin man led the way to a beautiful woman who sat at his left hand, shining hazel hair tumbling around her bare shoulders. Her allure extended far beyond her appearance. Everything about her drew Henri’s attention. She eyed the King with a look he had only ever seen in the brothels of Paris, but then she shifted that very same glance to her brother. The tips of her fingers brushed Lethe’s gently, the touch crackling like a summer storm with such passion that the French monarch was repulsed. ‘Malantha is our ambassador to the court of King Philip of Spain,’ the thin man said, holding his sister’s gaze.
‘You are a handsome man, King Henri. I look forward to enjoying your company,’ she breathed.
The monarch found the clear suggestion in her words almost obscene, though he continued to smile politely. ‘I am sure even a man of such devout ways as Philip finds you entrancing,’ he said with a bow. Malantha and Lethe exchanged a knowing glance.
Sitting opposite the seductive woman was a man so grotesquely fat he occupied two places. His head was shaven, his piggy eyes peering out beneath a heavy brow, his nose squashed, his lips plump and broad. Thick rolls of flesh fell from his jowls to his shoulders and he was naked to the waist, so that he appeared to be carved out of wax. His huge, hairless belly glistened with sweat. He was as ugly as the other members of the Unseelie Court were decadently beautiful. His eyes brightened as they fell on Henri. ‘You are a handsome man,’ he said in a buttery voice. ‘I heard the women were drawn to you, and now I see why.’
Chilled by the manner in which the fat man eyed him, Henri gave a curt bow.
‘Brother Globelus enjoys many pleasures,’ said Lethe, laughing. ‘His hunger is never sated.’
The King hid the relief he felt at moving on to the fourth and final member of the High Family present, but his unease returned just as quickly when he found himself beside a man with long jet-black hair and a sallow complexion, his beard and moustache waxed into points. The stern figure’s black eyes flashed with unconcealed hatred, but he would not let his gaze linger on Henri for even a moment. ‘Lansing,’ the Unseelie Court’s spokesman said. There was an odd note in his voice that made the French monarch think even Lethe was unnerved by this brother. ‘He speaks little, but sees all.
’
The tall, thin man chose to ignore the other members of the Unseelie Court seated around the table and the ones watching with dark eyes from the far end of the great hall. Henri felt the tension in his chest ease when he could finally take his seat at the head of the table.
‘Eat, then. Enjoy all that this house has to offer,’ the monarch announced, pouring himself a large goblet of wine. But not one of the Unseelie Court made a move towards the food before them. They all continued to watch the King with those eerie, unblinking stares. Henri took a long draught to calm himself and then asked, ‘How goes your business in England?’
‘Well,’ Malantha replied, her eyes on the King from under heavy lids. ‘Our plans progress as we intended. Slowly but surely.’
Lansing spat on the rushes scattered across the floor. ‘Blood will run like rivers and the smoke of the pyres will blacken the skies. And not before time.’
‘We have more than one reason to crush them beneath our boots,’ Lethe said, glancing around his brothers and sister. ‘Cavillex will not be forgotten.’
Globelus waved a fat finger at the French monarch. ‘You are not concerned that your ally will soon be destroyed? England has long offered you support, has it not?’
‘I fear Elizabeth would not have been an ally for much longer anyway,’ the French monarch replied. ‘It is my desire to unite my country and to return to Paris to rule, but the Catholic League have been obstructive. However, I plan to renounce Protestantism shortly. That will disarm my Catholic enemies abroad and console the Papist population at home, and I will be free to complete my plans.’
A ripple of laughter ran around the table. Flushing, Henri felt the humour was at his expense, directed at his belief that what he said was in any way important. ‘Why take an interest in so small a country? I would have thought England beneath your notice,’ he said in a sharp tone that he instantly regretted.
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