Nicholas laughed. “You never fail me, Papa.”
Harry, Rob and Alan were lounging against the stable doors as the hostelry ostlers led out two of the horses for grooming in the sunshine. There was a jangle of bridles, the slop of water over the cobbles and the clank of buckets. Jerrid yawned. “It’s time you trusted your son, Symond, and gave up this phantasm of Peter the Great. And you’ve no admiration nor love for young Adrian, so why support him against your own son?”
“To call my nephew a traitor? And have another Chatwyn scandal to blush for?”
“Blushing? I’ve never seen it.” Nicholas leaned back against the trunk of the oak, lit by dancing shadows through the foliage. “It’s ignorance you should fear, Father, and turning blind stupidity to the steel at your throat.”
“Yes, I know the name Urswick,” the earl said, thrusting out his chin. “I’m neither ignorant nor gullible, impudent boy. But how many Urswicks are there in England? Adrian was knighted on the battlefield, and proved himself a loyal king’s man. Been loyal to this family too, offering you a home after the fire, and looking after Lizzie.”
“Aunt Elizabeth looks after him, and Sissy both,” Nicholas pointed out. “Financially, amongst other services.”
Jerrid interrupted. “Just how much do you know, Symond?” he demanded. “So let me tell you a little of what you probably don’t know – which is what we’ve been up these past weeks.” He lowered his voice, conscious of the busy grooms behind him. “If nothing else, you’ve heard of Henry Tudor, son of Stanley’s wife, the Beaufort heiress. Her strong Lancastrian loyalties, fanatical some might say, inspire her son. But he’s been an exile in Brittany and France for many a long year.”
The earl tapped his foot on the cobbles. “I’ve been at court long enough to know all this. Indeed, I’ve known much of it from my cradle. But there’s been little need to resurrect t those memories for many years.”
“The king has spies in France,” Nicholas nodded. “They send information, and there’s been more of it lately. After many years of dismissing this Tudor byblow as barely worth the notice, now he’s becoming more relevant. The French have him in hand, and the French will always make trouble for us where they can.”
Jerrid nodded. “But Tudor’s simply the grandson of poor mad Henry VI’s French mother, result of a secret liaison the old woman had with a servant after failing to win the man she wanted. It was the Beaufort gallant she chased, but evidently ended taking a servant from her own chambers instead.”
“She claimed she’d married the man,” muttered the earl, still scowling.
“In any case the king legitimised the affair afterwards, welcomed the offspring as his own half-brothers. He even arranged for the elder son to wed the Beaufort heiress.”
“A woman of immovable determination, and a will of iron.”
“Why are we discussing a past nonsense of no interest today?” demanded the earl.
“It matters, because that’s why we’re here today,” said Jerrid with impatience. Thinking his dream of a union with the old king’s bastard daughter was in tatters, Tudor wrote to Northumberland, asking him to broker a union with one of his own sister-in-law.”
The earl was puzzled and shook his head. “A mumble jumble, boy, and as foolish as your other ventures. One marriage that won’t happen, and another that can’t. An exile with no money dreaming of a woman with plenty. Or is this letter a rumour like all else?”
“I have the letter Father, and have read it. The reason for suspicion is the surprising friendship between an exile and the good earl, who should by affiliation have nothing to do with each other, let alone plan a marriage which would unite them in a fairly close relationship.”
The earl snorted. “And what has this to do with Adrian?”
“His highness authorised my uncle and myself to come down and intercept the messenger.” Nicholas shrugged. “You may not see the danger in this exile’s sudden friendship with one of the greatest nobles in the land, but the king does. And that’s where Urswick comes in, for he was designated to bring the letter to this coast and then pass it to someone less conspicuous who would deliver to Northumberland. That letter is now, in safe keeping.”
“But we were attacked twice,” added Jerrid. “And one of Nick’s boys was killed. Perhaps because he recognised one of Adrian’s henchmen.”
“Are we surrounded by traitors?” The earl stared around, raising his voice. “My own family? Northumberland himself?”
“The French, certainly, since we still hold Calais, though little else, and our previous kings laid claim to their throne and flourish the fleur-de-lis on our banners.”
“The French,” snorted the earl. “They’ve wanted revenge ever since old King Hal beat them into the mud at Agincourt and before. So they hold this exile hostage. Why should we care?”
“Hostage? Or honoured guest? Dorset is held against his will, not Tudor.”
“Why would Adrian support the French? He’s hostage to no one and was knighted fighting for king and country.”
“I’ll ask him,” smiled Nicholas. “But I’ll surround him first. Apart from myself and my uncle, I’ve four men with me, including my squire David. There’s also the guide who accompanied my wife and Adrian’s sister. Then there’s a bunch of armed guards who came down with my mother-in-law and Aunt Lizzie. And there’s your own entourage, Father dear, if you’ll give them the order.”
“To capture your own cousin? You’ll hardly need an army, boy.”
“He has a pack of ruffians with him, though some may have come with Urswick, and have left now, sailing back to France some days back.”
“I’ve no intention of starting a war,” said Nicholas softly. “I’ll give my cousin a chance to explain. To exonerate himself if he can. But there’s more than treachery to talk about. There’s also murder, and that may involve more than words.”
Chapter Forty-Seven
Nicholas paused, looking over his shoulder to the tiny open window where the breeze combined the dizzy sulphur of sunset with the rising moon’s first silver puddles. He grinned at his wife, his eyes reflecting the sun’s last flame.
“I need a bath.”
Emeline shook her head. It was not what she had expected him to say. “We can’t allow any servants in here to set up the tub. Nor carry buckets up all this way to the attic.”
“I might smuggle you down the back stairs, empty all our relatives out from the ladies’ bedchamber, get the tub set up in there, and settle to a long hot frolic.”
“So you don’t mean you need a bath. You mean I need one.”
He laughed. “I imagine we both do. I’ve had only one bath since spending two weeks in the saddle, or on flea ridden pallets in lice ridden taverns. You’ve been playing saint in a village rife with contagion. I’d say that points to a good delousing and a hot soak as imperative.”
“So really, you just want something to do while you wait for Adrian. You find sitting around doing nothing as difficult as a small child forced to stay indoors.”
Nicholas laughed again. “Yes, if I choose to blame Adrian. Which I might as well. The wretched man is late. I expected him this morning. Now it’s well nigh evening.”
“What hour does the sun set in late May?”
“The sun sets late. The moon rises early. And I shall make love to my wife, since she is not sick, nor even tired, having done almost nothing all day.”
Emeline was tired, though the headache which had earlier troubled her, had passed. She rested against him, her arm around his waist. “It’s fresh air I need, and to walk in the sunshine.” She was still in his arms when they heard the horses on the cobbles outside, the call for the ostlers, the neighing of horses and the squeak of saddles as men dismounted.
Nicholas looked up, eyes bright. Emeline groaned. He traced very slowly down her cheek with the ball of his thumb, following the gentle swell of her smile, slipping his fingers around beneath her ear to the back of her neck, caressing where the lon
g thick hair curled and fell across her shoulders. Then he bent and kissed her, eyes open, breath warm. “Shall I go?” he whispered. “Or stay, and show my wife that I love her?”
The bed curtains, a limp flutter of dyed linen, swung back as Emeline sat up, wedging herself on one elbow. “Love me? If you stay, you’ll be thinking of Adrian, proving you love adventure more.”
Jerrid had also heard the late arrival. Nicholas, part dressed and dishevelled from bed, stood beside his uncle. The clattering faded as the horses were taken into the stables, their saddles thrown off, their bridles unbuckled, and finally led to water, oats and hay. Adrian’s five henchmen, stocky and thickset, followed the horses. Adrian strolled across the cobbles to the sudden torchlight in the hostelry doorway where Jerrid and Nicholas lounged, watching his approach. He was surprised. “You, cousin? And my uncle, not seen for months. And all here at such a time? I settled my sister and your lady here some days back, Nicholas, but didn’t expect to see you here as well.”
“Presumably not. I arrived shortly after you left.” Nicholas smiled. “And quickly discovered I’ve an urgent desire to see you. Not reciprocated, no doubt. No matter. You must be tired. Come and have some wine.”
“You’re lucky not to find my brother waiting for you too, m’boy,” Jerrid added. “For Symond’s here as well. And Lady Wrotham. Together with your sister, and my sister Lizzie, ‘tis a cosy family reunion, which lacked only your good self. And now complete.”
Adrian frowned. “Something’s wrong? Another death? Why such a gathering, and way out here, so far from Westminster?”
They wandered into the parlour where supper had been served earlier. A sleepy eyed scullion poked his head around the door. “My lords? We’re closed for service, for most is already in their beds. It’s late, my lords.”
“Then bring us a couple of jugs of wine, boy,” Jerrid said. “Then go back to bed and we’ll serve ourselves.”
Adrian said, “I’m ready for bed myself, sir. Too many hours in the saddle, and it’s two hours I’ve been dreaming of a chance to sleep undisturbed.”
Nicholas sat on the long bench, leaned back against the wall behind, swung one leg to the table, and continued to smile. But his eyes, heavy lidded, remained cold. “If we entertain you sufficiently, cousin, perhaps you’ll stay awake long enough to entertain us in return. We’ve been waiting for you, you see. Avid anticipation, indeed. You should feel thoroughly flattered.”
“Nonsense, Nicholas.” Adrian sat, frowning at his cousin. “Such florid and pointless chatter. If you simply mean you wish to thank me for saving your lady three – no four days gone – then naturally I accept your gratitude. But there’s no need for this display. I did only what anyone else would have done in such a situation.”
Nicholas nodded placidly. “Anyone except myself, I presume,” he said, “since I would have been far too busy trying to save myself.”
“Even you would have stepped in to help, Nicholas.”
“No need for gratitude then. How convenient. Especially since,” Nicholas added, “were thanks obligatory, I should be in debt to your two friends, who have not returned with you, I see. How, I wonder, do I extend my gratitude to them?”
A slow suspicion glimmered in the back of Adrian’s light blue eyes. He smiled quickly. “Ah yes, but no matter. They took ship for Flanders three days back, and I’ve no idea when I’ll see them again. But they were – pleased to help at the time.”
“Especially, perhaps, the genial Christopher Urswick?” suggested Jerrid.
The pause was barely noticeable. “Who?” Adrian shook his head. “You have the name wrong, uncle. Christopher Browne, and Francis Prophet were my friends. Traders I’ve done business with before, trying to make a little money since I have no lands of my own. I imagine my sister, or one of the other ladies, has mistaken the name.”
Nicholas smiled more widely. “Trade. How – interesting, Adrian. Tell me, trading in what, exactly?”
The wine was brought, three cups and two flagons. Then the boy scuttled off and Jerrid poured the wine. “No shame in a little trade on the side,” he said, passing the cup. “We all welcome some additional funds on the side. So what trade is it, Adrian lad? Wool, perhaps? Copper?” He drank deeply, then looked up, his mouth stained Burgundy. “Or,” he smiled, “perhaps information?”
Adrian drank, taking time. “You’re insinuating something, uncle, though I cannot imagine why. And you too, Nicholas. But I’ve no idea what, and I’m tired. The trade is dyed woollen cloth, and fairly lucrative as you must know. But I’ve no intention of discussing my finances with you, both of you as rich as Solomon without the wisdom. So I thank you for the wine,” he drained his cup, and stood slowly, “but I’m in need of my bed.”
“Well, you’ll find my father in it,” grinned Nicholas. “When he turned up here, there was limited space, so it’s one chamber for the ladies, and one for the Chatwyn men. I’m up in the attic for reasons of my own. So go snuggle up with whomever you wish, cousin, but careful how you stretch your elbows,”
“I need sleep,” Adrian shrugged, “and have no objections to sharing a bed.” He placed his cup back on the table and turned towards the doorway.
“We’re all tired, I think.” Jerrid stood, wandering over to door, which was closed. He leaned against the jam, benign and casual, as though simply discovering a place of comfort. “But just a few words first, I think, before we all find out beds again.”
“Since you’re blocking the way, uncle, I presume those words are important?”
Nicholas swung his leg back to the floor tiles and sat forwards. The long bench creaked. “Important? Perhaps, cousin. You see, I know exactly who Christopher Urswick is, and exactly why he was here. When I asked about your companions, I hoped you’d convince me of an old friendship, or some coincidental and innocent encounter. Instead you denied him. Unwise, Adrian.”
Adrian quickly crossed to the door and stood facing his uncle. “This is absurd. I know no one of that name, innocent encounter or otherwise. Now, I’m off to my bedchamber, whoever else may be in it. Do you intend to stop me forcibly, uncle?”
The door opened suddenly, but it was not Adrian who opened it. The earl stood in the passageway, glaring from the shadows into the low candlelight within the parlour. He glowered at Adrian. “So you’re back. Good. I’ve questions, and every intention of getting answers.” He pushed past, his large hand heavy on Adrian’s shoulder. “So we’ll sit together, we’ll talk together, we’ll drink together, and we’ll settle this business before any more time is wasted or sleep interrupted.” He noticed the two flagons of wine and nodded. “Some civilised attempt already made, I see. Well, come on, come on. No nonsense now. A discussion, quiet and friendly, that’s what we’ll have.” Adrian was still hovering, Jerrid still blocking the only way out. “We’re family,” announced the earl, taking the full cup Nicholas handed him, “and we’ll behave like family.”
Reluctantly Adrian returned to the table and sat. Jerrid sat to his other side, keeping Adrian tight wedged between himself and the earl. Adrian sighed, and drank.
“Urswick,” persisted Jerrid. “We all know who he is. So tell us why you’ve befriended a known traitor to the crown, my boy.”
Two candles had been lit. One, tall sepia tallow, sat in its squat and solid stand, its flame undisturbed, smoke rising in a smudge of grey. The other candle was already half gone, a stub of wet tallow. Through smoke and flicker, Adrian’s face was pale and lined with tiredness. “After five hours in the saddle, you accuse me of treason? Of a crime worthy of execution? What family gathering is this, to surround me at this hour, keep me from my rest, and talk of things I know nothing of?”
Four faces illuminated in fading light and flashing shadow. Adrian hunched over the table between his two uncles. Nicholas faced him. “You persist then, in denying knowledge of Christopher Urswick?”
Adrian looked up, anger controlled. “I’ve heard of no such person. I’m acquainted with no su
ch person. And if this man is some petty traitor, what would you, of all people, know of him, Nicholas? You want recognition, perhaps, after all this time sheltering behind your brother’s reputation? You pretend some special knowledge to make yourself important in your new wife’s eyes?”
Nicholas leaned back, staring without expression at his cousin. Jerrid grunted. “We’ve angered you, it seems, Adrian? You expected never to be discovered, perhaps? You thought your family too unconcerned or simply too ignorant to notice your secret dealings?”
“Secret dealings?” Adrian stood abruptly, forcibly pushing his stool back and almost toppling the small rickety table. “How dare you sir. May I remind you that of all the family, I am the one knighted for services to the crown.”
The earl shook his head. “Best face the worst and sort the accusations now, lad. Insults and denials won’t do it, you know. Too serious.”
Adrian was white faced. “No, sir. I’ll not take accusations from this party of fools and drunkards.”
“An innocent man accused, takes the time to explain and clear his name.” Jerrid stood once again, sauntering a second time over to the doorway. “As your family, we’ll be easier to convince, perhaps. You’ll not leave this room, my boy, until we’re satisfied with your answers. Best deal with those questions now, rather than later at a trial.”
“A trial?” Adrian reached past Jerrid for the handle of the door. “You’re all mad. I’m leaving, and you can keep your beds and your vile thoughts, for I’ll find another hostelry along the road. I won’t stay here and I’ve no desire to answer the questions of cowards and madmen.”
The Flame Eater Page 47