A Queen's Traitor

by Sam Burnell

  Turning, he moved to help pull apart the wreckage of the carriage.

  “We need to free the horse, it’s weighing it down,” yelled Richard.

  The panicking horse thrashed wildly, unable to right itself. Richard set to work cutting the leather traces that were securing the horse. The straps were pulled taut by the horses struggling weight and they were trying to lift the wagon against them. Using his knife quickly, he cut them away. As the last one was sliced, the tension released, the horse was free and the men trying to lift the wagon felt it.

  Richard joined them. “If we pull now, it should come away.” There were others there now, when he turned he saw that Catherine was one of them, all pulling at the broken carriage, trying to raise it enough so those trapped underneath could be pulled free.

  “Higher, higher!” called one man; who was on his knees underneath the raised wagon bed, trying to reach those trapped. “Just a little more and we can pull them free. There, hold it there.” Helping hands grasped three unconscious bodies and pulled them out from under the wooden trap.

  “They’re out, let go, lads!” It was a signal and those that had been straining to hold the cart side aloft let it go with an almighty crash. Richard caught Catherine’s eye for a second before he turned and left them.

  The group over the street had gone by the time Richard arrived. In the smoke that still emanated from the orchard, the street was cast into further gloom. There was indeed confusion, as predicted and the only light that punctuated the night came from those carrying lit torches aloft. One such man approached Richard at a run. Richard’s foot caught his ankle and sent him falling headlong forwards. A hand gripped the back of his jerkin to stop him landing with full force and another neatly stripped him of his light before he even knew what had happened.

  Torch in hand, Richard methodically searched the street. Every doorway, every turn, he found household servants out in the street agog at what was happening. He came across two men carrying a great chest between them in the dark; he could only guess that they had been sent to take it to safety, away from the fire. Fire made the hearts of Londoners run icy with fear. Its fickle fingers could in an evening take away a home, a business, a family, wealth, security - everything a man had.

  Circling around the street twice again he could find no trace of any of Elizabeth’s household, or of Kate. The pain of not knowing what had happened was almost physical. He’d arrived back too late. Elizabeth was gone; but to where he didn’t know. He could only hope she had been forewarned and that she was safe with Kate; Travers men had hopefully taken her quickly to safety. The worry was that Fairfax’s badly concocted plan had worked and that meant she was somewhere in London, waiting to be sent to the Dutch Flower. If this was the case, he needed to get back to his lodgings and wait for a messenger from Fairfax, requesting that he join the party going to the ship. It would be a long night and with luck the message would never arrive; he could only hope that Fairfax’s men had failed to intercept her on the Strand. Extinguishing the torch in a trough, he turned back again towards the inn.

  Jack looked up hopefully - but when his brother silently just dropped onto one the chairs at the table opposite him, he knew better than to ask. Lizbet watched them both from where she sat quietly by the fire. Jack sat with his blond head bent, face buried in his hands. Richard had folded his arms on the table and his head lay on them, eyes open, staring at the wall. Whatever had happened to them tonight, Lizbet could only guess at.

  Both ignored her small movements and the noise she made as she placed four more pieces of wood on the fire, turning the embers with a poker so they would catch. The new wood was wet, but the fire was hot enough to burn it and suddenly the room was alive with the noise of it hissing and spitting as the moist life left the wood.

  Lizbet stood and wiped her damp hands on her apron. Leaving the pair to their thoughts, she quietly closed the door quietly her. Neither man had moved when she returned, carrying a basket and a tray. Her hands full, she closed it in her accustomed fashion: with her backside. She bumped the basket down on the table and lowered the tray, the two pewter beakers on it jangling together noisily.

  “Well, thanks for the help,” she muttered.

  Richard still stared silently at the wall. Without warning, a pair of eyes appeared in front of his face and he was forced to blink and change his focus.

  “I don’t care how clever you think you are, but you’ll not find the answer on that wall, no matter how long you stare at it.” Lizbet had an irritated edge to her voice.

  “Leave me be,” Richard commanded, his voice angry, his eyes full of temper.

  “Aye, I will, soon enough.” Lizbet rose and noisily filled both the cups and stood one in front of Richard’s face. “And there’s bread and cheese and ham. Now, get yourselves sorted out.”

  Neither man moved.

  “I’m talking to you!” Lizbet slapped Richard on the back and gave Jack’s shoulder a great shove forcing him to raise his head from his hands.

  “Woman, you can’t know what has happened, just leave us,” Jack was angry now as well.

  “I can’t know, you’re right, but I can see what’s happening now. I’m ashamed. Both of you sitting there like children feeling sorry for themselves. It’s not right.” Lizbet banged down a loaf of bread on the boards between them making the cups rattle.

  “Oh God, Lizbet, you’re right.” Richard pushed himself upright and ran his hands through his untidy hair.

  “Drink this, eat some of that and sort yourselves out,” Lizbet paused, then added, “Master.”

  Richard accepted the cup and pushed the other towards his brother. “Jack, things have been worse.” Richard pulled off a chunk of bread, the smell of it reminding his stomach he was indeed hungry.

  “When?” Jack asked, his hand scooping up the beaker.

  “Often. I think the list too long to go through now, don’t you?” Richard announced, “We can go through them all later. Here, have some of this,” and he pushed the bread towards Jack.

  Chapter fourteen

  †

  That Fairfax’s plan had worked owed a great deal to luck and in some measure also to the reduced household that Elizabeth had provided with, paid for as it was by sister who kept an eye on the expenditure incurred by her. If there were more trained men on hand and if Travers had taken control of the situation, rather than hiding inside Durham Place, then the outcome might have been very different. They found out that the conspirators had managed to acquire Elizabeth from the street just as Lizbet was taking the empty pots back to the inn downstairs. Richard read the brief note and sat down heavily, the parchment still in his hand.

  “Come on, tell me?” Jack was trying to read over Richard’s shoulder. After an hour, all that remained now of the attack that had paralysed him, was a dull ache deep inside his head.

  “Let me think.” Richard screwed the paper up and sent it into the centre of the fire.

  “What did it say?” Jack persisted, watching the white paper burst into flames.

  “Shut up, Jack, I’m thinking,” Jack sank back in his chair a dark look on his face. Jack began to wonder if his brother was ever going to speak whilst minutes dragged painfully on.

  “Fairfax has Elizabeth. He wants me to get to the ship, ensure she is still good to sail in the morning and then meet back with Fairfax’s group,” Richard spoke thoughtfully. “There will be at least six of Fairfax’s men with her and there are only two of us.”

  “Not good odds; and they’ll be looking for trouble,” Jack agreed solemnly.

  “I agree. So we need to separate the group en route to the ship and improve the odds. Come on, we’ll find somewhere on the way.” Richard’s chair scraped back and he was on his feet, heading for the door.

  “I’m guessing I’m invited,” Jack sighed under his breath. He followed Richard out of the door, pocketing bread and cheese from the table on his way.

  †

  The way to the docks was not fa
r and London was quiet. In winter, the bells rang out for curfew at dusk which settled early still in March. A cramped and crowded city, with upper floors built out over the streets, light leaked round the edges of poorly fitting shutters and through oil cloth windows. The sky was clear and a cold cloudless night was lit by the white light from a moon that had only just begun to wane. Quickly and quietly, they made their way across the city. Only the main streets in London were paved and those, by necessity, they avoided. It was a gamble, but Richard took a route he hoped Fairfax’s men would use when they took Elizabeth to the ship. After the curfew bell rang, those who remained in the streets were required to carry a torch with them and have a good reason for being outside - Richard had no intention of running into the night watch.

  They went past a tavern, both men heard the voices and laughter from within and smelt the aromas, stale ale and food that wafted into the street. Richard saw the barrels at the end of the tavern and held up his hand, signalling Jack to stop. They had been heading in a fairly straight line through the city to the river. A narrow alley cut across both sides of the street at the end of the tavern, and here were piled the empty barrels. Silently Richard pointed to where he wanted the barrels. The hogshead barrels they left - they were too heavy - but at half the size they could quietly heft the firkins up the steep alley running alongside the tavern.

  They couldn’t roll them - the noise would have been too great - so they lifted the wooden casks and heaved them to a better position further up the steep alleyway. Four of them they moved and stood them neatly side by side; Jack was thankful when Richard seemed satisfied with the four repositioned casks. He assumed that they were there to be rolled down the hill at an unsuspecting target, but, more than that, he could not even begin to guess at.

  Richard touched his arm and it was the signal to set off again. Returning to the main street. Richard motioned Jack to wait near the other barrels. “Will you be alright for a few minutes?” Richard asked; his voice was not tinged with concern, he just needed to know he answer. Jack nodded, then scowled at his retreating back.

  He was gone for only a few minutes and when Jack saw him return, he was walking backwards across the street carrying something. As he approached, Jack saw what he was doing; he held a coil of rope and he was laying it in a line across the street, taking the loose end up the narrow alley to where the firkins now rested. Then, as silently as he had arrived, he was gone again, but this time he returned almost straightaway: a pan in each hand filched from a stove top. Carefully - so the pans did not rattle together - he tied them to the rope and laid both next to each other on the ground at the side of the alley.

  This time when they set off, it was to the docks. It took them another twenty minutes to carefully pick their way through London to where the Dutch Flower sat on her moorings. She was a Fluyt, Dutch built and designed with one purpose: to transport cargo. Unlike her companions with which she shared her moorings the Fluyt was not constructed to allow conversion to a warship when needed. Her cargo sat low, well-packed and organised. Her wide beam meant she could carry twice as much as the other ships, a simple design meant she could be handled by a smaller crew, all making the mechanisms of trade run economically smooth.

  Jack eyed her for the first time from where Richard had bid him wait while he sought out the captain. She was lit with lamps and men were readying her for the morning tide. He thought her an ugly ship. She was wide and flat with a low draft and it gave the ship a fat appearance, not at all like the nimbler, taller English ships. Her low draught allowed her to get further upstream and the Fluyts were opening up trade routes never-before accessible. She stood out amongst the other ships and Jack knew he would easily know her if they came back to the docks again.

  Richard soon came back and crouched down next to Jack. “They are ready.”

  “I thought you didn’t want to bring her to the ship?” Jack had a confused look on his face, “I thought that was the whole point?”

  “It is,” Richard agreed, then added unnecessarily, “Things did not go exactly to plan this evening did they? So I’m hoping we don’t end up back here later. But in case we do, I need to make sure there is a ship ready for us and not just an empty mooring.”

  “Sorry,” Jack grumbled.

  “We will head back now to Fairfax’s. We should pass the tavern again where we laid our traps, be sure you know where it is. I will meet with Fairfax’s men and hopefully they will take that route to the Dutch Flower. When we leave, get yourself in front of us and make it to the Tavern, then wait for my signal. We need to split the group up.” Richard grinning, slapped Jack on the shoulder. “And I’m sure we can.”

  Jack still had a pressing headache and wondered not for the first time where Richard got his enduring energy from. It had indeed, been a long day already and it looked like it was about to get even longer.

  “What’s the signal going to be?” Jack wanted to make sure this was going to go according to plan

  “I don’t know yet,” Richard admitted. “I’ll think of something.”

  “Bloody hell, that’s helpful,” Jack could see Richard’s face lit by the moonlight, “You are actually enjoying this, aren’t you?”

  Jack saw him raise his brows. “And tell me you’re not?”

  Jack was about to reply to the contrary when he realised that actually that might be a lie. “Just make sure I hear your signal. There’ll be at least six men, all nervous as hell and looking for trouble.”

  “You’ll know it when it comes and with rope and barrel we will try and split the group in half. On the other side of that tavern is another narrow alley leading up to Moor Road and I’ll go up there. If you go straight up as well we’ll meet on the same street,” Richard finished, pointing in the direction of the alley.

  “Then hopefully there will only be three to deal with,” Jack added, “or fewer if we are lucky.”

  “I hope so and if we are quick we can avoid the others before they realise we’ve gone.” Richard completed the plan. “I’m sorry it’s not much better than that.”

  Jack clapped him on the arm. “I’ll be ready.”

  “Will you be alright, Jack?” Richard asked, a serious note in his voice.

  “Aye, there’s a fair moon, I’ll not let you down,” Jack managed, although he resented the reminder of his earlier incapacity.

  “Good, let’s set our feet on the path then,” and the pair headed from the dock and the Dutch Flower.

  †

  Jack rubbed his hands up and down his arms to ward away the cold that was settling uncomfortably into his limbs and lifted numb feet to try and revive the stifled blood flow. Come on Richard, I’m freezing my bloody backside off here.

  He had expected Richard to emerge with the group and set off to the docks sooner than this. Annoyance soon started to turn into worry.

  Something’s gone wrong. This is taking too long Richard, what is it you haven’t thought of?

  Jack was getting close to leaving his position and going in search of Richard when finally a side door to the house opened and figures emerged into the night.

  Jack, relieved, set off silently on the route he knew they were going to take. As he made his way quickly to the tavern, the bells struck nine times. Was that all it was? A sense of time had left him tonight; it seemed almost a day ago that he had waited at the riverbank for Fairfax’s men to light the fire.

  Jack was soon in the alleyway, the firkins lined up in front of him and the rope ready in his hands, listening. He thought they would be closer behind him than they were, but then of course they would be moving at a woman’s pace and that would slow them.

  The signal, when it came was crude, simple and effective.

  Jack had not heard them approach, but suddenly a voice in the night spoke, a voice he recognised.

  “There, there’s someone in the dark over there.”

  Very subtle thought Jack, a smile on his face.

  Jack pulled on the rope and the pans clanked
on the opposite side of the street.

  “My God,” a familiar voice spoke again, “they are coming towards us, I see them!”

  “Poor bastards, having him on your side,” Jack said under his breath and pushed the first of the four firkins down the alley. The last two had not even left the alleyway before Jack was running up the hill towards Moor Street. Behind him he heard a thud followed by a scream as one of the firkins found a mark and then another howl as a second cannoned into another man.

  Now there’s only four – Jack grinned; he was starting to feel much better.

  Jack was making his way along the back of the tavern towards the alley he knew Richard would be coming up, when he heard the men moving towards him.

  Keeping back in the shadows, he waited for them to draw level. Jack stepped out of the blackness, and Richard, seeing him, released his guiding hold on Elizabeth. The pair turned on the two men behind them.

  †

  One man drew his sword whilst the other hesitated. A mistake. Richard was upon the unarmed man in a moment. Jack’s own sword whistled from the scabbard; both blades, not yet engaged, caught the moonlight. Jack could barely see his attacker and he had no measure at all of the man. Swordplay in the dark was a fool’s game and he knew it.

  A poniard in his left hand, sword held defensively in his right, he waited for the other to move. His attacker was shielded from the moonlight by the shadow of a building, apart from seeing the nightlight play along his blade for an instant Jack could see very little.

  Bloody Hell! Jack swore silently. He knew the man saw him clearly and he had no idea where the attack was going to come from. When the blade came at him, it was a deadly swing aimed at his head. It was half training and half instinct that deflected it. The steel of his own blade squealed as it slid along the length of the other sword. The hilts rattled together bringing both men close, too close. Jack got a kick in first to the other’s groin before he received one himself.