This Scepter'd Isle

by Mercedes Lackey

  The chirurgeon had his doubts when Denoriel asked him to save the blood. He very nearly refused when Denoriel gave him three bottles, although he did not know, of course, that they were bespelled to keep anything within in stasis. However, a heavy purse of gold and an assurance that Denoriel did not want to know the names nor care from whom the blood came soothed the doubts away.

  He Gated back to Avalon and delivered his prizes, then took a day to cover on Miralys the distance the cortege had traveled in a month so he could set Gilfaethwy's devices for creating Gates. One he placed under the stair that led into his own apartment in FitzRoy's tower; the other he set in a tiny glade, shielded by a particularly dense patch of woods. The spot was well away from the road but near a trail used by huntsmen that led to Sheriff Hutton. He spent that night masked by the Don't-see-me spell anxiously checking Harry, the nurse, and the four guards and then roaming the castle smelling for magic. He found nothing and the air spirit assured him that it had sensed neither Sidhe nor demon.

  By the time he had seemed to travel among the wool merchants and go out to examine the flocks themselves, which were regrowing their fleece, the Gates were in place. Denoriel tested them both and both delivered him to or from Avalon or Logres, from which points he could Gate to London or to Windsor, and to the stair under FitzRoy's tower or the glade in the forest. There was something odd about the transit, a kind of roughness, perhaps a heartbeat longer of disorientation, but Denoriel accepted that as a difference in the kind of magic Treowth and Gilfaethwy used. He was so glad to be able to Gate from one of his responsibilities to another, that he had no inclination to question the means.

  He returned to Sheriff Hutton openly, followed by his three servants and the pack mules now loaded with samples of wool of all kinds. Sir Christopher was glad to see him. FitzRoy, now thoroughly familiar with the castle, had nearly given him and everyone else a fit by playing hide and seek. He had tried to explain why such an action was dangerous, Sir Christopher said, but the boy was only a bit over six and he thought Lord Denno's remonstrance added to his own might have more effect.

  Denoriel promised fervently to do his best to check that kind of mischief and rushed off to see Harry. He was intact, truly Harry, wearing his iron cross, and the air spirit, also intact, swore he had been with the boy and no magic had come near him. FitzRoy was a little resentful of having his amusement curtailed, but when Denoriel reminded him of the attempt to abduct him, he sighed and said he wouldn't do it again.

  In compensation, Denoriel got permission for the boy to go into the outer bailey, accompanied by his guards—now all wearing "holy medals of St. Ursula," which would protect them from any chance of bedazzlement. Just before he left to return to London, Denoriel found the remains of the twelfth-century keep. There was a stair down into a cellar, which was in very good condition and still held some dented pewter cups, some wooden platters, a broken knife, warped barrels, and beyond a crumbling door a smaller chamber that was furnished with manacles, chains, what might once have been whips, and the knotted cords that were twisted around a victim's head to crush his skull by degrees. An unsettling discovery, which reminded him that the Unseleighe were not alone in their ability to invent horrors.

  Denoriel Gated two Sidhe who specialized in structure into the castle one night so they could put the strongest spells of support on the old donjon. It would hold up, they assured him, for another hundred years without shifting a single pebble. Then he told Sir Christopher, who promised to allow FitzRoy to investigate with suitable attendants.

  He then left, to bring his wool to London, promising Harry he would come to visit in the autumn when he would need to check up on the flocks whose wool he had preordered. He kept his word, found some fault in the treatment of the sheep, and lingered for nearly a month—or seemed to linger. It was no problem for him to Gate to London after FitzRoy was abed and spend a convivial evening, drinking, gambling, and whoring with George Boleyn and his friends.

  This was necessary as the turn of political events might have been the reason why no further attempt had been made on Harry. A peace treaty had been signed between France and England on thirtieth August. Since Francis, the king of France, was still a prisoner in Emperor Charles's hands and King Henry was still hoping to convince the emperor to join him in dismembering France, the treaty was not regarded too seriously. However, the emperor persisted in refusing to join Henry in the rape of France, and the king grew more and more resentful and estranged from Imperial purposes. It did not help that he grew more and more estranged from his queen, Catherine, at the same time.

  Eventually Denoriel returned to London, but after a period of good weather in December when he might have ridden north, he Gated to the woods outside Sheriff Hutton. There was snow in Yorkshire and when Sir Edward Seymour, the commissioner now in charge of FitzRoy, marveled at his hardiness, he laughed and said the weather was very mild compared to the mountains of his home. However, when it snowed again, it was a good excuse to stay for a while and celebrate Christmas with Harry.

  Denoriel was back in London when the news came that Emperor Charles had liberated Francis in January 1526. The terms of the treaty trickled back to England and were so severe that no one believed Francis had any intention of fulfilling the provisions. By early spring new French overtures were being made to England; Francis, a widower, offered himself as a husband for Princess Mary.

  Resentful as he was of the Emperor's rejection of his daughter and refusal to cooperate with him, Henry seemed about to get the French territory he wanted through marriage rather than war. Wolsey, however, was sidetracked into making a league against Charles with a number of Italian states.

  Denoriel was in Yorkshire again in May, ostensibly to examine and collect the sheared wool for which he had contracted, but really to celebrate Harry's seventh birthday on the seventh of June. Any dealing with the Italian city-states was slow and complicated and there had been no FarSeeing that indicated the league was of any great importance. Denoriel stayed for a month and a half. To mark his birthday, Harry, who was growing noticeably, was given permission to ride out into the area around Sheriff Hutton. He was a very good horseman, and no one was at all concerned about his ability to control his pony.

  FitzRoy would be accompanied, of course, by his own two day guards and eight others, but leaving Sheriff Hutton seemed to Denoriel to make Harry very vulnerable. He found reasons and excuses to linger in Yorkshire for several more weeks and warned the air spirit to accompany the boy whenever he was out of the keep. Even after he had officially departed, Denoriel Gated back to Sheriff Hutton every few days to watch secretly for any sign of Unseleighe magic.

  However, the Unseleighe Court had more to worry about than a bastard prince whose father seemed to have put aside his intention of making him heir. Fortunately for Denoriel's peace of mind, Wolsey's negotiations with the Italian states were progressing very well and the League was actually formed—but then Wolsey would not commit England to any real participation. He even drew back somewhat from the marriage proposal, having it worded so that one of Francis's sons, now hostage to Emperor Charles in Francis's place, would be accepted as a substitute for the French king. Marrying Princess Mary to Francis's son would be a much weaker tie than if she were the king's own wife.

  Denoriel suspected Pasgen's fine hand in Wolsey's wavering, but so long as no Imperial prince was put forward for Mary's hand—and in truth, there was no Imperial prince—Denoriel was satisfied. A new Imperial ambassador arrived in England in December 1526, but he had been arrested in France and detained for six months. His orders were long out of date and he could not prevent King Henry's gradual leaning toward France. Pasgen, and presumably Rhoslyn, too, were probably busy trying to prevent a fatal breach between King Henry and the Emperor and for the moment, Harry was safe from them.

  Meanwhile Aleneil was spending much more time than she previously had in the mortal world. She had moved from being simply Lady Rochefort's friend to a wider acquaintance
among the wives and daughters of Henry VIII's courtiers. She was still a welcome guest in the Boleyn household, however, and was doing everything she could to divert Unseleighe attention from the fact that King Henry's affections did seem to be fixing on George Boleyn's younger sister.

  Mistress Mary Carey was completely out of favor and had retired to her husband's estates in the country. Anne herself had not yet seemed to realize that Henry was interested in more than light dalliance and flirted with him throughout 1526 in the same witty, lighthearted manner in which she flirted with Wyatt and young Percy.

  Aleneil was concerned. Her Seeing had hinted that this woman might be the mother of the red-haired babe, but that would not do at all. The red-haired child must have an undisputed claim to the throne. Another bastard, even if it was male, would not be a candidate for the throne. For a time Aleneil was afraid to do anything. To touch Anne, she thought, would leave a mark of magic on her that any Sidhe could read. She carried her troubles to her sister FarSeers, and was given an answer.

  Anne, if she married the king, would indeed be the mother of the red-haired child they all awaited, but no one could See how that could come about because the king was already married and notably fickle. The only hope for marriage was for Anne to stay pure. As for helping her keep that resolution—did not Anne already have Talent? Did she not use it, if unconsciously, to draw men to her? Would that not hide the barest touch of magic influence?

  Aleneil had burst out laughing when those questions were asked. Even if Rhoslyn did notice Henry's interest and examine Anne, Rhoslyn would far more likely attribute Anne's resolve to remain virgin until married to priestly influence than Seleighe magic. Quite a few of the good and great priests were unconscious magic wielders and some of the prayers they used worked quite well as spells.

  Certainly Anne's resolution held firm all through 1527, and the more she resisted her royal suitor, the more fixed he became on having her. Both Rhoslyn and Pasgen were now aware of Henry's passion for the girl but found that they could do almost nothing. Rhoslyn could not reach the king at all, and Pasgen, who could reach him through Wolsey, found Henry's determination so fixed that he would have needed virtually to wipe the king's mind to remove it.

  Both arranged to meet Anne and found her well protected. Aleneil had presented the girl with a tiny but exquisite cross, solid gold and set with precious stones—each one of which carried a warding spell. The gift was a charming novelty, and because it was so small Anne wore it constantly, as an earring, as a bangle on a bracelet, as a sparkling accent in her night-dark hair.

  Beyond the efficacy of the spells and more important was Anne's own awakened ambition. She had seen her sister . . . and several others . . . used and put aside. Henry, she realized, was not of a constant nature. Likely soon after he got what he wanted, he would lose his taste for it. Thus, as long as he was not able to satisfy his desire for her, he would remain fixed in his pursuit. And if he were utterly determined to have her . . . then he would have to marry her. She would accept nothing less.

  Whether it was his desire for her that put it into his mind or whether the idea had long been there but without focus, in 1527 King Henry began moves to free himself of his marriage. In May 1527, a tribunal was summoned to test the validity of the king's marriage. If Henry thought these preliminary steps would bring Anne to his bed, he was mistaken. She remained adamant.

  Moreover, Wolsey suddenly developed Pasgen-inflicted doubts and insisted that the secret tribunal was not sufficient. They needed the opinions of more notable theologians than he. However by then it was too late for a tribunal to pronounce on the marriage and then quietly obtain the pope's signature and seal on the annulment. Imperial forces had attacked and sacked Rome two weeks before Henry's tribunal had met. The pope was Charles's prisoner and it was obviously useless to try to get the pope to invalidate the marriage of Charles's aunt.

  Virtually indifferent to these early moves in what was to become the king's "great affair," Denoriel continued to watch Harry grow and to be delighted. He had been afraid that as the boy approached young manhood his own interest would wane, but that was not true. He loved the growing boy as much or more than he had loved the child and took even greater pleasure in his company.

  Harry's eighth birthday passed and then his ninth. The air spirit was released and replaced by another. This one could put on the cat's guise if necessary, but mostly simply remained invisible. Denoriel found a small white cat and bespelled it to love Mistress Bethany—who had graduated from FitzRoy's nurse to mender and caretaker of His Grace's undergarments—reason enough to be in His Grace's bedchamber whenever he wanted the only mother he had ever known.

  The commissioners' intention to dismiss Mistress Bethany when His Grace no longer needed a nurse brought Harry his first taste of power. His grief on being told of Bethy's dismissal alarmed the air spirit, who summoned Denoriel. Having only left a few days earlier, he came secretly at night. He looked at Harry, bravely holding back tears, and at Mistress Bethany, who was weeping freely and said, "You are duke of Richmond, Harry. In so small a thing as your personal servants, you may make your own choices"—and proceeded to suggest ways a royal child could enforce his will.

  Thus, when Mistress Bethany was summoned by Sir John Forrester, FitzRoy accompanied her and flew into such a rage that Sir John was taken aback. He had not known that the little duke, usually so biddable, was capable of such fury, and discovered that although the boy loved his horse and the hunt far better than his books, he was very clever and listened with both ears. He had learned enough about the way the northern march was administered to blacken Sir John very thoroughly in the king's eyes, and he made that very, very clear. Sir Edward listened in horror; he was an honest man and fond of the boy he served as Master of the Horse.

  Various expedients, such as finding some way to compel FitzRoy's silence (a difficult proposition in the face of four well-armed and fanatically devoted bodyguards), preventing any contact between the king and his son (even more complex when every messenger from the court requested an audience with the boy), and culling his letters—were all abandoned very quickly as being impractical.

  Sir John, who had mentioned interfering with FitzRoy's correspondence shuddered on second thought. FitzRoy wrote a great many letters: to the king himself, to the duke of Norfolk, to Norfolk's son Henry Howard, to Mary Howard, even to Lord Denno, although Denno was still a frequent visitor—but in this case unwilling to oppose His Grace's will—and every one of those letters was answered promptly. Any silence on Richmond's part would call forth considerable concern and immediate investigation.

  Sir John, Sir Edward, and Lord Henry Percy also discovered that Richmond could hold a grudge far beyond what any of them had expected of the usually cheerful and compliant child. He, who they had hardly known was inhabiting Sheriff Hutton with them until they crossed his will, began to make their lives a hell by constant complaints and demands. If Mistress Bethany was to be gone, he pointed out, they had better get accustomed to hearing that his bathwater was too cold, that his shirt was too starched or not starched enough, that his breakfast did not please him, that he could not sleep and wished to be read to . . . A page carried that message to all three commissioners in the castle at three of the clock in the morning.

  Moreover, the commissioners said in hasty consultation the next day, what the boy asked was very little. The nurse's pension would have been nearly equal to the stipend they now paid her, so no real savings were involved in dismissing her. Let him have his way; it was not worth the struggle to break his will—and the truth was that none of them was sure who would win and all were sure that long-lived and bitter hatred would follow.

  The next test of FitzRoy's power came when he was deemed capable of riding a horse rather than a pony. He attended closely to Sir Edward's choice of five mounts—two hackneys and three hunters—but he did not interfere. However, Sir Edward quickly recognized Richmond's tone of voice when he stated flatly that the animals c
hosen were in remarkably fine condition and he would like to keep the grooms attending them.

  Although he did not really recognize them, Sir Edward thought the grooms looked familiar; they must have come with some regular guest, he thought. Fortunately no other commissioner had actually promised the positions to any client's stable-hands, and when the grooms professed themselves willing and honored to serve His Grace, Sir Edward agreed. Grooms had no influence.

  Thus Kip Ladbroke and Reeve Tolliver came into FitzRoy's household and Harry knew his connection with Lord Denno was assured—if he could get out to the stable no matter where he went. When the dismissal of Mistress Bethany had been contemplated, Sir John had selected a valet from his hangers-on. FitzRoy had never allowed the man to touch him or his clothing, and some weeks after Kip and Reeve had been appointed, he sent for Sir John, accused the valet of theft, and asked that Shandy Dunstan be employed in his place.

  Sir John was outraged. Dunstan was common as dirt, a low friend of Ladbroke and Tolliver. He tried to draw the line, refusing to replace his choice with a commoner. Valet to the premier duke of England was a position of power and influence. It must be a political appointment, reserved for a gentleman.

  A very regal Richmond informed him coldly that the creature he had selected was a thief and no gentleman, whatever his birth. He was drunk and dirty. Sir John sent furious messages. Several other commissioners arrived to argue and explain, to offer their own candidates.