A Queen's Traitor

by Sam Burnell

  Two moves was all it had taken to tell Jack the man was a danger. The next attack when it came was a quick double flash of the blade designed to wrong-foot him and break through his defence. Jack, out of practice, almost got it wrong, his own blade too low, he was forced to slam the attacking blade back with his poniard; it saved him, but it was clumsy and his arm jarred painfully from the impact.

  Breaking all his own rules he took two steps backwards, giving him time to get his blade back in front of him, but it informed his attacker he was on the defensive and it invited an attack. When the blade came at him a second time, it was a low swing designed to cut in to his legs. His own steel engaged just in time, sparking in the dark as it blocked the blade.

  The fight was against him.

  The next attack on his defence he did not see, but his ears heard the blade slice the air and his own met it just in time to deflect the lethal sharpened edge. Then another stroke came his way, high and from the right. He took the other’s blade down the length of his and twisted his own away.

  The moonlight was still in his aggressor’s favour. He could see Jack faintly outlined by the light. But Jack’s vision gave him almost nothing, the other man was still cloaked by the dark shadows. Jack was guessing, and he knew it.

  The man who sought to kill him was well trained and he was making a deadly attack. Jack quickly dropped his sword and his blade met the other’s as he attempted to hamstring him. Expecting now a blow to his right side, Jack spun left and tried to reverse his position with his attacker’s.

  The attack never came. There was a sudden dull thud, followed by something that sounded like a sack of grain falling and a series of light metallic tinkles as the blade his attacker had been holding rattled on the pebbled street.

  Richard’s face appeared before him. “That was either inspired or bloody good luck.”

  “Jesus! It was luck and it was about to run out on me. Thank you,” Jack exhaled with relief as he slammed his blade back in the sheath. Next to the collapsed man in the street was the broken earthenware pot Richard had used to fell him.

  They needed to put as much distance between themselves and Fairfax’s men as possible. There were still three Jack guessed and from the noise he could tell they were perilously close. Richard had hold of Elizabeth’s arm and even with a guiding hand on her elbow the woman was moving at a sorry pace, stumbling and making enough noise to wake the city.

  They arrived at a junction; the narrow street opened onto a wider one well illuminated by the moon. It was hopeless to set off down it as they would be seen and caught up in moments.

  “Over there,” Richard indicated. Jack saw what he was pointing at: a dark passage between two buildings on the opposite side of the street.

  Let’s just pray it leads somewhere, said Jack silently.

  It was narrow and crammed with debris which caught around ankles and clanked painfully into shins. Any hope of concealment was lost as soon as Elizabeth cried out. Their feet disturbed loose wood, a sleeping dog left the alleyway yelping after Richard trod on it and Jack, tripping on a broken cartwheel, cursed. Still they kept moving. Richard increased the pressure on her arm and propelled her even faster down the alley.

  Throughout the city, there were inlets from the river; some of the cuttings were boat yards or moorings and all of a sudden the alley spat them out onto the edge of one. Jack made a grab for his brother’s jacket as soon as he realised that the blackness in front of them was water. Richard had seen it as well and made a sudden stop, Elizabeth clumsily banging into him. If not for Jack’s hold on his jacket he would have pitched forwards into the water.

  “Which way?” Jack hissed, hearing their pursuers making equally hard work of coming down the narrow passage towards them.

  “Over there,” Richard pointed. It was tidal and the river was low and across the mouth of the inlet ran a narrow plank. It was set down a few feet from the bank, leading across the cutting to the other side.

  Jack peered down at it dubiously. Even in the moonlight the growth of green algae was visible and he knew it would be as slippery as an eel’s skin. “We can’t go across that,” Jack hissed.

  “You haven’t got a choice. Take the lady across, I’ll delay them,” Richard turned to go.

  “I’m not damn well leaving you,” Jack had hold of Richard’s arm.

  “The only way out is across the river. Get the lady across, Jack. For me, please. Go now, please.” Richard pulled against the hold Jack had on his arm. “Let this be my bad plan alone.”

  “Damn her to Hell!” Jack, reading the plea on his brother’s face reluctantly let him go.

  “Go, please, now.” Richard was already disappearing into the darkness back towards Fairfax’s men. This was his cause, not Jack’s – he’d be damned if he’d let Jack sacrifice himself for it. Richard just hoped he could give him the time he needed to get over the river.

  “How do we get over that?” Elizabeth was staring at the wood that was beneath them.

  “Carefully, how do you bloody think!” Jack retorted through gritted teeth.

  Sitting on the bank, he swung his feet down to the plank and applied some pressure; it was lethally slippery. The river was easily ten feet below them - he couldn’t see it, but he knew it was there, as black as Hell. Under his hands Jack felt the gravel on the bank, and quickly launched several handfuls along the length of the path they were going to have to take.

  It’s only ten paces. Ten slippery paces. Ten feet to the river.

  Jack did not like the way this was all adding up. Then he heard the fight break out behind and knew he had no choice and no time. He flung two more handfuls of gravel rapidly along he slimy wood.

  “Get on my back,” Jack stood up on carefully on the wood.

  “What!” the woman exclaimed.

  “Get on, close your damned eyes, stay bloody still and I’ll carry you over,” Jack commanded.

  She crouched down and sat on the edge of the bank where Jack had been and from there she reached two arms round his neck.

  “Carefully,” Jack warned. Pulling her skirts up, Jack passed his arms back and tucked them under her knees.

  “Ready?” he asked. “Stay bloody still.”

  “I will,” the woman’s voice was near his ear.

  “Here we go. Ten paces, that’s all I’ve got to do,” Jack was talking to himself. Carefully, lifting his foot he moved it along the wooden bridge. Putting it down, he felt some of the gravel beneath his boot and prayed it would help to stop him slipping. “Nine, more, only nine more. Come on Jack. There eight, only eight to go.”

  “Is this going to go on all the way over?” Elizabeth hissed in his ear.

  “Don’t bloody speak to me and don’t bloody move,” Jack silenced her.

  Behind him he heard the fight; he wanted to go back, he didn’t want to be doing this. Then there was a scream in the dark and Jack hesitated; he couldn’t do this. He could still go backward to the bank.

  Forcing his breathing to calm, he steadied his nerves.

  Seven, six… the next two steps were not too bad and the gravel was helping hold his boots solid on the slippery perch. “Halfway, halfway, now come on. Four. Three. Jesus Christ…” his right foot slid on the wet wood and it took every ounce of his strength to stop the slide and regain his balance.

  The bank was now on the opposite side and was only a few more paces away. Keeping his eyes fixed steadily on the grassy edge he took another step towards safety. It was then that he felt the plank beneath him give as someone else joined him on the slippery traverse.

  Jack couldn’t look back; he didn’t know if it was his brother or not. He took the next two steps firmly and quickly. Reaching the edge and grasping the side, he bent his body over, allowing the woman to scramble off his back to safety and then he pulled himself up to the safety of the grass bank.

  Looking back he saw it wasn’t his brother who had followed him halfway over.

  “Damn.” There was a cold whist
le in the night as Jack pulled his sword from its sheath. “Go back,” he threatened.

  The man’s instinctive reaction was to back from the blade and that was his undoing. The movement cost him his balance and he screamed as he fell, then continued to scream as he fought to keep his head above the water.

  “Come on, let’s leave,” Jack set off again away from the river and back into the London streets. He offered her a guiding hand and she was forced to run to keep up with him.

  Jack stopped and signalled for her to be silent. He heard nothing. They weren’t being followed any more; no-one else, it seemed, had tried to cross.

  “Now what are we…”

  “Shut up, I’m trying to think,” Jack held his hand up to silence her.

  Elizabeth’s eyes widened, “I think…”

  This time he put a finger across her lips.

  Where now? What to do? He needed to find his brother and that meant…

  Elizabeth slapped his hand away. Jack ignored her.

  Think. Think.

  If Richard was safe he would be looking for them and if he wasn’t then…

  “Right we are going back, the long way round,” Jack spoke decisively.

  “Why? You need to take me somewhere safe,” she wailed grabbing his arm to stop him.

  Jack wrenched his arm from her grasp, his face close to hers. “Know this, lady. I don’t like you.” Elizabeth stared in disbelief, “I need to find Richard. He knows I’ll not leave him and that I’ll go back for him, so that’s where he’ll be looking for me,” Jack was pleased that he had a plan and one that made sense, if only in his own head. “It’s not far, come on.”

  They indeed met Richard two streets away, running towards them. Elizabeth watched them silently as they exchanged a few words and then again she had Richard’s guiding hand on her arm.

  “Just a few more minutes and we will have you safe and arrange to get you back to York House,” Richard reassured her.

  Chapter Fifteen

  †

  They had to go somewhere quickly. And it had been Jack who came up with the idea.

  “Take her into the taproom at the inn and wait there,” Jack suggested. His brother’s face looked incredulous. He continued, “there are four ways out of there, everyone knows us and if we need to get out in a hurry it’s as likely we’ll get some help. And who is going to bother us if we take a lady in there? You said they’ll likely be here for her in less than an hour. Sometimes it’s safer to hide in plain sight.”

  “You might have a point,” Richard conceded. His face betrayed that he didn’t like the idea one bit. “Go on, you first.”

  Richard said something to Elizabeth; what it was Jack could not hear. Having already opened the door to the taproom all he could hear was the companionable banter of thirty voices on the other side. It was late but this was the student quarter so the inn closed when the last revellers left, fell asleep or ran out of money. Inside the smoky room there was laughter, music and a loud, familiar voice.

  “Jack, come over here and sit down.” Lizbet was already moving towards him. “Ah both my lads,” she added seeing Richard behind him. “Come on over here, I’ll clear a space for you. Eddie, shift your backside. Aye go on move - my lads want to sit down and they’ve got coin, so off you get.” The unfortunate Eddie was shoved from the bench as Lizbet made space for them. Then she yelled across the taproom, “Harry, Harry, send Patsy over with a jug and two.” Then Lizbet saw the lady behind Richard. “Make that three cups.” She yelled, her loud voice instantly gaining the landlord’s attention.

  Richard took a bench opposite Jack with Elizabeth sat next to him. Lizbet settled on Jack’s knee, placing a proprietary arm around his shoulders.

  “Well, I’m fair pleased to see you back and looking a bit less sour, I have to say.” She elbowed Jack playfully in the ribs.

  “With such as you around me all day, woman, it’s hard not to be sour!” Jack replied amicably and put his arm around her waist. Lizbet smiled broadly. She was relieved that their earlier quarrel was over, at least for the moment.

  Ale arrived and Lizbet filled and passed out cups. “There you go, it’s not the best, but it’ll quench a thirst and turn a smile,” she passed a cup to the lady sat next to Richard, one who was quite out of her place. So where’s Richard been hiding you then my lovely?

  Two players who had been taking a break returned to the middle of the inn and resumed their seats on the end of the central table; one held a battered lute and the other a whistle.

  “He’s good, got a fine voice on him,” Lizbet confided to them, then turned and with two fingers in her mouth whistled loudly. “Give us Pastimes.”

  The lute player saluted her with his instrument. “For the lady, Pastime with Good Company.” He bent his head to check the tune on the lute strings.

  “I’ve not heard that for an age,” Jack remarked. The song had been a popular one, especially with the students and apprentices in Henry’s day. Written by the King himself shortly after his coronation, it spoke of a very different Henry to the one who had ended his days bedridden and bitter.

  “Right then, a bit of quiet if I may...” The lute player raised his voice and the general hubbub died as he laid his fingers on the lute strings and began to play. “So here’s one for good old King Hal, God rot, sorry God rest his soul.” The patrons laughed and settled to listen to the players.

  Pastime with good company

  I love and shall until I die

  Grudge who lust but none deny

  So God be please thus live will I

  For my pastance

  Hunt sing and dance

  All goodly sport

  For my comfort

  Who Shall me let

  There was a pause then Jack joined in with the second verse.

  Youth must have some dalliance

  Of good or ill some pastance

  Company me thinks then best

  All thought and fancies to digest

  For idlenss

  Is chief mistress

  Of vices all

  Then who can say

  But mirth and play

  Is best of all

  The lute player nodded his approval and came over to sit on the end of Jack’s table, his fingers still strumming the tune. “I’ll leave the verse to you,” and Jack sang alone, the closing part.

  Is virtue vices to flee

  Company is good and ill

  But every man has his free will

  The best ensue

  The worst eschew

  My mind shall be

  Virtue to use

  Vice to refuse

  Thus shall I use me

  The lute player finished with a flourish of notes and bowed low to Jack, who, grinning, received the applause from the tap room. Lizbet, both hands on his shoulders, held him away from her, a look of pure delight on her face. “Well, my bonny boy, you’ll never go hungry will you?” She regarded the woman sat next to Richard. “Have you ever heard better? I never knew he had such a voice in him.” And then reproachfully to Richard, “You never told me he could sing so well.”

  “If I started to tell you about Jack’s talents then we’d be here until Easter. It’s best if you just discover them yourself, one at a time,” Richard replied scathingly.

  Lizbet put her arm around Jack’s neck protectively. “You’re just jealous, I didn’t hear you piping in.” Then leaning across the table she said conspiratorially to Elizabeth, “He snores like fire pit bellows and I’ve always said a snorer can’t hold a tune.”

  Jack in the middle of a mouthful of ale snorted so hard he had to clamp a hand to his face to stifle the ale that was pouring from his mouth and nose. Lizbet absently wiped his face on her sleeve, her own expression quite serious. Elizabeth’s eyes were wide, but the grey ones Richard turned on Lizbet were full of fury.

  Lizbet just smiled widely, her own brown eyes twinkling with mirth. “Let’s have a jig,” she yelled over at the lute player, w
ho had returned to his original table. Loosening her arm from Jack, Lizbet slid off the end of the bench. Kicking two fallen stools to one side, she cleared a space on the floor. “Come on, lads,” she stood ready her hands on her hips.

  “Name one, anyone you want,” the whistle player asked the room in general.

  “The old Grey Goose,” someone piped up from across the room. “Do you know it?”

  “Aye, we know that one,” the lute player replied, then to Lizbet, “are you ready lass?”

  “I am that.” Lizbet hoisted her skirts to just below her knees revealing two badly shod feet. As soon as the first notes left the whistle she danced. The measure started at a slow pace and as the notes from the whistle began to increase in speed the patrons began to clap in time and smiling widely at her audience, she picked up the pace.

  “She is quite good,” Elizabeth leant towards Richard. The noise in the taproom was increasing as the drinkers clapped, banged the tables and shouted encouragement to Lizbet.

  “Yes, I am sure Lizbet and Jack could join a touring troupe. Indeed I’ll suggest it,” Richard replied acidly.

  Jack had heard his brother’s comment and not about to be put down he joined in saying, “Maybe I could. I’ve got a few tricks with balance as well that I could add in, haven’t I, My Lady?”

  Elizabeth laughed then. “And for that I am very grateful. You could become one of those tricksters walking on ropes across the river.”

  Jack leant a little closer. “Well, if I do and I need some practice and a lassie on my shoulders, I’ll let you know. Can you swim?”

  Elizabeth laughed, “The secret, I suppose, is not to look down.”

  “Ah now, that would be my problem and my undoing,” Jack said, his blue eyes serious, holding hers. “I like a lass to look down on to.”

  Elizabeth blushed; Richard slammed his cup down on the table and Jack just laughed. Lizbet chose her moment well. Dropping her skirts, she held out both her hands in invitation to Elizabeth to join her in the reel.

  “I can’t,” Elizabeth told Lizbet, but those were just words, her eyes said something else as she smiled at Lizbet.