In a Treacherous Court

by Michelle Diener

  Susanna shivered. She was an artist; she knew nothing of this kind of intrigue. Killing assassins. Finding traitors. Exposing spies.

  She would happily leave that to Parker.

  “We’re here.” Simon managed to sound cheerful, as if they’d had a pleasant, uneventful journey in good weather, rather than the opposite.

  Susanna bit her tongue against her sarcastic rejoinder. She knew from other Ghent artists that it didn’t take much for the English to work up a grudge.

  Some Englishmen felt threatened by the King’s penchant for European artists.

  Klaas Groenewalt, a tapestry cartoonist who worked with her father occasionally and who had tutored her in English since her father made the decision to send her to London, had warned her to watch her back and be polite at all times. The knife wound scar on his forearm proved he spoke from experience.

  His tale had almost made her father change his mind. She’d seen the struggle on his face, and then his eye had fallen on Joost, shirtless and stoking the fire, and his expression had hardened again.

  Susanna roused herself from her memories. It was time to take note of her surroundings. They were entering the gates of Bridewell Palace, and she would need all her wits about her.

  4

  The Chiefe Conditions and Qualities in a Courtier: To procure where ever he goeth that men may first conceive a good opinion of him before he commeth there.

  Of the Chief Conditions and Qualityes in a Waytyng Gentylwoman: To take hede that give none occasion to bee yll reported of.

  Susanna was the only woman.

  Men stood or sat where they could in the antechamber in which Parker had left her, giving the impression of a flock of discontented crows in their black doublets and cloaks. Their thin black legs ended in wide-toed shoes that tapped impatiently as the minutes dragged by.

  Parker had long since disappeared, and she had had ample time to sit and admire the workmanship in the flourishes of the room, the carvings and the furniture, the intricate silk paneling on the walls.

  The guards at the entrance to the privy chamber had watched her with interest at first. Parker had murmured something in their ears before they’d let him into the King’s innermost sanctum, and the curiosity in their eyes was blatant.

  Susanna could only assume he’d told them to make sure no one tried to kill her. For the third time in three days.

  But even potential murder victims lost their allure after time, and as others came and went, the guards’ attention shifted.

  Some of the courtiers looked at her with curiosity, others with hostility. A few murmured greetings to each other or struck up quiet conversations in the corners of the room, but it seemed their eyes always came back to rest on her.

  Furtive glances whirled around the room, and Susanna needed something to absorb her attention so she wouldn’t have to eye everyone back.

  She was taken with the way the guards framed the door, the way they formed the focal point of the room. She took out a piece of paper and her charcoal and began to sketch.

  Her training had been in illumination, and she saw each scene as a hundred small, intricate pictures, pieced together to form the whole. She did not balk at spending time on the pattern of the guards’ doublets. On the texture of the wall behind them. On the shadow cast by their halberds.

  But there was no fun for her in producing a faithful rendition of the scene. She slipped in a tiny mouse, peeping from behind a guard’s shoe. A cat—plenty of those had slunk past her as she waited—crouched under a heavy chair, shoulders hunched, weight forward, its eyes steady in readiness to pounce.

  From the patterned silk paneling, a small songbird broke free of the fabric and fluttered up to perch on a wooden window frame.

  She shaded the frown on one of the clerics waiting with her, considered giving him just the merest hint of devil’s horns peeping up from his straight brown hair.

  “Mistress Horenbout.”

  Parker’s voice jerked her back to the reality she was subverting.

  He was before her, his boots almost touching hers, and she hadn’t noticed him.

  “I see you’ve kept yourself busy.” His eyes were on the sketch, and he reached out a finger and touched a corner of the paper reverently. “The King will like this.”

  “Then he shall have it.” Susanna regretted her offer the moment it was made. This had been done for her own amusement.

  “I’m afraid the wait will be longer still. It is time for the King’s repast, but he shall see you directly after. I would have you wait in his privy chamber, though.”

  Parker’s eyes did a quick scan of the room, and Susanna realized he’d been worried about her, hadn’t liked leaving her alone so long.

  She stared up at him. If the courtiers waiting here were crows, he was a bird of prey. His power and strength caused a skip in her chest.

  He bent down to her, and the atmosphere in the chamber finally penetrated her self-induced fog. Avid curiosity. And not a small helping of resentment.

  “I am in no danger. The guards are nearby.” She spoke for his ear alone, her lips almost brushing his skin as she allowed him to take her hand and help her up.

  “So is the man who paid those archers,” Parker reminded her, equally quiet. He did not move back to give her space as she stood, and his body brushed hers as he picked up her satchel. He hefted the weight of it with surprise.

  “Come.” He turned back to the door, waiting for her to precede him past the guards, who had opened the door just enough to let them through.

  One of the courtiers, who had been waiting at least as long as she, hissed in fury as they stepped across the threshold.

  Susanna felt a skip of excitement and nerves in the pit of her stomach. She was about to come face to face with the King of England.

  She and Parker had waited for the King through thirteen dishes, each one served with the ceremony of a state occasion, but the meal was at last at an end.

  The King rose from the elevated, canopied table set for one, and the conversations of the courtiers who stood on either side and behind him quieted. Susanna was struck by the tableau they made, the dark colors of their robes strangely lit by the rain-muted light from the tall windows. The King, by contrast, shone brighter than a freshly drawn illumination in his scarlet and gold.

  Susanna looked down at the charcoal drawing of the scene she’d made to spin out the time, and wished for her paints.

  Henry looked directly at Parker and nodded, then turned and walked through the courtiers to the door leading to his privy lodgings. Moses could not have parted the Red Sea more efficiently than the King parted the crowd as he made his way across the room.

  Parker stood, his frown lifting, and Susanna rose with him. He took her elbow and made to follow in the King’s wake.

  But the Red Sea was merging again, determined to see nothing special about Moses’ followers. A wave of bodies surged back into place, set on being merry, loud, and unseeing.

  Susanna looked up at Parker, and was surprised to see his mouth twitch in amusement.

  He steered her around the crush, keeping close to the wall, and they made their way to the door without much more jostling.

  “You’re a popular man,” Susanna murmured.

  Parker smiled. “I gauge my popularity by the number of snubs I receive. The more, the better.”

  Susanna flashed him a look, saw his cheerfulness was genuine.

  Once more, the door was guarded by two men. As they moved aside to let them through, both regarded Parker with respect. Unlike the courtiers, these men were Parker’s allies.

  They stepped into a short passage and turned into the smaller room of the King’s closet, and Susanna was surprised to see that no one else was present. Just the two of them and the English King, in a room with a large desk and tables covered in maps and books.

  She felt the clench of nerves, and curtsied long and low, her eyes on the Turkish carpet.

  Acknowledging her tribute with
a nod and a gleam of curiosity, the King clapped a hand on Parker’s shoulder. “I hear you had cause to test my new bows?”

  Parker smiled for the first time since they’d entered the palace, and relaxed. “Aye. Didn’t think I’d have to use them in earnest quite so soon.”

  “How did they perform?”

  “I only loosed two bolts. Both hit their mark.” Parker’s voice was filled with satisfaction.

  Henry laughed, and she was struck by how handsome he was, with his red-gold hair, his broad shoulders, his piercing blue eyes. He radiated charisma.

  As if he’d read her thoughts, he sent her a smile full of charm, and she could not help the smile she sent back.

  “I am as curious as a young boy to know whom Parker brings to me with whispers of secrets and ambushes and murder.” Henry looked at the paper in her hand, and held out his own. “I saw you working on this in the privy chamber. May I?”

  Susanna presented her sketch to him. She had restrained the temptation to fantasize. She’d known there was a chance it would end up in the King’s hand, and she did not yet know what did and did not cause offense.

  His eyes widened, just as Parker’s had that first morning at the inn. He cast a glance across at Parker, as if to confirm this really was the work of a woman’s hand. From long practice, Susanna suppressed her frustration and hurt. Her father had given her a mixed blessing when he’d taken her into his atelier: the chance to shine, and the burden of seeing men try to dull that shine at every turn.

  Even so, she wouldn’t change a single step that had led her to this moment.

  “Your Majesty, I present to you your new painter from Ghent, Mistress Susanna Horenbout.”

  “Horenbout?” The King took a step back, his eyes going from the sketch to Susanna. “But I thought …”

  “My father will send my brother, Lucas, as soon as he is returned from Nuremberg, Your Majesty. But I am as able as my brother in illumination and painting. My father would not have sent me otherwise.”

  Henry looked at the sketch again. He wanted to be gallant, she could see. If he was honest, he’d admit the evidence before him was proof of her claim. Yet she was a woman.

  “Aye. You have talent.” He regarded her for a long moment, and Susanna had to bow her head so as not to stare back. She knew her court etiquette.

  “We have more pressing things to discuss.” Parker broke the silence, his tone crisp. “Such as Master Harvey.”

  “Harvey?” Henry moved toward a small arrangement of chairs, and indicated that they take seats. “The merchant?”

  “The recently murdered merchant,” Parker told him as he waited for Susanna to sit before taking his own chair.

  Henry glanced at Susanna, as if unsure whether they should be discussing the death of a spy in front of her, but Parker flicked his hand, cutting through the uncertainty.

  “Mistress Horenbout witnessed Harvey’s flight from a … group of brigands.” Parker looked at her as he spoke, and something in his eyes started a faint buzz in her ears, a prickle along the tops of her arms. “Harvey was stabbed before he escaped them. Mistress Horenbout knew Harvey from her and her father’s business at Margaret’s court, and she cared for him while he lay dying.”

  Henry was taking in Parker’s words, weighing the implications.

  “Harvey had an important message, Your Majesty. One that he entrusted to Mistress Horenbout with his dying breath.”

  Henry sat forward, his interest sharp, his eyes on Parker’s face. “What was it?”

  “You will have to ask your painter, my lord. On her honor, she swore to tell you alone.”

  He no longer spoke about it with any heat, and Susanna raised her eyes to his. “My word is my bond.”

  She had the regent’s full attention, now, and she forced her gaze back to her lap.

  “Well, out with it, gal.”

  Susanna suddenly felt stricken. She had a feeling this message would not be well received.

  She settled her gaze on the brooch at the King’s throat. “Master Harvey bade me tell you he heard a whisper that the French King has signed a secret agreement with Pope Clement in the war against the Emperor. King Francis has promised Richard de la Pole he will use his new papal influence to strengthen de la Pole’s claim to the throne of England. Harvey also heard that de la Pole has already begun feeling out who in England will support him if he receives his papal dispensation.”

  Susanna took a deep breath, and tried to block out the image of Harvey in his last moments. “He said he had discovered how de la Pole was sending messages into England.”

  The clock on Henry’s desk ticked off the silence. Henry’s eyes were intent on her face, and she shifted uncomfortably.

  “How is de la Pole doing it?” Parker’s question cut through the quiet.

  Susanna shook her head. “Master Harvey never said. He was breathing his last. I think he only entrusted me with the message at all because he could see Death’s shade hovering above him.” She looked up to the ceiling and blinked, to keep the tears that had welled from falling. “He broke off what he was saying and looked past my shoulder, as if he truly could see Death standing behind me.” Susanna shivered. “He whispered a last message for his wife, and then he retched up blood and died minutes later.”

  Again there was silence in the room.

  “Does anyone else know what you have just told me?” Henry leaned forward, eyes frightening, as if he were on the edge of a terrible rage. The charming bonhomie was replaced with ruthlessness, cold as the blade of an executioner’s axe.

  Susanna shook her head, but it was Parker who spoke.

  “Harvey died in Mistress Horenbout’s arms, Your Majesty, and she confined herself to the captain’s cabin thereafter to wait for me. An attempt was made on her life while we were still aboard the ship, and I have been constantly at her side ever since, as she would give her message only to you.”

  “As ever, you have done exceedingly well, Parker.” As he addressed Parker, the King’s ruthlessness gave way to affection and respect. But when he swung his gaze back to her, Susanna had to suppress a shiver. “And I owe my thanks to you, Mistress Horenbout, for your honorable conduct. Your discretion is to your credit. And I hope you will continue to exercise it.”

  It was a warning. And a threat.

  Susanna dipped her head in acknowledgment.

  “I will ensure that Mistress Horenbout comes to no further harm.” Parker leaned toward Henry, his tone clear. He was saying: I’ll make sure she keeps quiet.

  Susanna watched him steadily, but his expression was neutral. He did that well, she realized.

  “Good.” Henry rose and walked across to the window, looked down into the courtyard beyond. “Keep her close, Parker. I can send what limning I would have her do through your office. And watch your own back.”

  “Is there anything else I can do for you regarding this matter?” Parker stood as well, and Susanna followed suit.

  “No. I have ways of discovering who may be turning their loyalty from me to that Yorkist pretender dog, de la Pole. Ways that are much more subtle than you are used to, Parker.”

  Parker’s mouth thinned into a tight line of anger. “Harvey was killed getting this message to you, Your Majesty. Some person has twice tried to kill Mistress Horenbout to prevent her from reaching you with his last words. The second time, he included me in his plans. I would like to find out who he is.” He spoke plainly, with no attempt to soften what he said.

  “You’re too straight, Parker.” Henry turned. “And why would he try again? Mistress Horenbout has reached me. The danger to her is surely over.”

  “That is not something I would wager upon.” Parker’s words were stark and hard, like the man himself, but the King took no umbrage. Instead, it seemed that he relaxed further, as if, in not even trying to curry favor, Parker was showing himself to be trusthworthy.

  “Then keep your sword arm strong and your blade in your boot.” It was a dismissal.


  Susanna curtsied. She murmured something by way of farewell, and Parker took her arm and led her from the room.

  She barely saw the guards at the door, and though she registered the courtiers watching them with the intensity of lap-dogs waiting for a tidbit, they were in her periphery. Spinning round and round in her head was the cold, terror-inducing fact that the King of England was afraid.

  And she was the cause of it.

  5

  The Chiefe Conditions and Qualities in a Courtier: Not to carie about tales and triflinge newis.

  Of the Chief Conditions and Qualityes in a Waytyng Gentylwoman: To have an understandinge in all thinges belonginge to the Courtier, that she maye gyve her judgemente to commend and to make of gentilmen according to their worthinesse and desertes.

  Parker watched Susanna from the doorway, watched the sensuous movement of her hands over the smooth stocks of his crossbows. “Beautiful, aren’t they?”

  She jumped and spun, her hand going to her throat. She did not scold him for startling her, but relaxed and turned back to the table. Her fingers again traced the patterns inlaid in the wood.

  She had been waiting for him to conduct his business and enter the new crossbows into the register for a half hour, and it was bitterly cold in the unheated storeroom. Parker felt guilty for leaving her here, but at least she’d been safe under the protection of the yeomen guards.

  “They are beautiful. A marriage of art and function. Does it take much time to master them?”

  “Aye. Though it’s easier than the longbow.” Parker studied her as she turned to face him. “Do you have a mind to learn?”

  “I do.”

  Parker shook his head, surprised to be taken up on his joke.