There was a moment of silence.
“What’s he done?” The cartman who asked had worked under Simon more than once, and Parker knew he was steady. He saw him taking stock of Harry before returning his gaze to Parker.
“Betrayed the King.” No reason to make it more complicated than that. There was no motivation stronger than helping to find a traitor. Accomplices tended to come to just as bad an end as the main villain.
“Far stall, with some fancy light-skirt.” The cartman jerked his head in the direction of the massive barn.
Could Norfolk’s groom be keeping Susanna in the far stall, under the pretense he was entertaining a whore? Parker was gripped by the quick, heady flutter of hope, the thrill of anticipation, the yearning once more to draw blood.
He drew his sword and his knife, and all three men stepped back.
“Reckon you need help?” The young groom who spoke had the fire of action in his eyes. He took a step closer to Harry, as if to join them.
Parker gave a brief nod of acknowledgment. “Can you each take an entrance? Make sure no one enters or leaves?”
“Sir.” The cartman touched his forehead.
Parker stepped into the stable, Harry behind him like a shadow, and moved forward silently on the hard earth floor to the end of the first row of stalls, then cut across to the far back.
There was silence in the last stall, and he was about to approach it when someone spoke. Parker crouched down. He looked back to make sure Harry had done the same, and crept forward.
“You sure she can breathe in that sack?”
It was a woman, but not Susanna, and the crush of disappointment hit Parker like a body blow. He forced himself to concentrate.
“Maybe not well, but enough to keep her alive. That’s all she has to be, alive.” A man’s voice, low, with an edge of impatience.
“I hope you’re right. Norfolk may need to use her later.”
There was a nasty chuckle. “As long as she’s breathing, that’s all he needs. The more subdued she is, the better.”
The silence stretched out, so long that Parker readied himself to leap in.
Someone shifted in the hay. “We better hope this goes to plan,” the woman said.
“Aye. That is certainly my hope.” The man’s voice seemed level, but there was a timbre to it. Greed.
“You going to check on the boat?”
“In a bit. Don’t want to draw attention to it. It’s tied upstream, close to the palace.” There was a rustle, as if he was making himself more comfortable.
Parker raised both blades and swung into the stall. He wanted to skewer them both, but he needed answers first. “I’ll check that boat for you. Tell me where it is.”
34
The Chiefe Conditions and Qualities in a Courtier: To be an honest, a faire condicioned man, and of an upright conscience.
Of the Chief Conditions and Qualityes in a Waytyng Gentylwoman: To be of good condicions and well brought up.
The shock on their faces should have been sweet, but all Parker could think of was who would be the most likely to talk. They lay side by side in the hay, completely at his mercy.
He chose the groom. He was the servant who’d approached Norfolk in the garden earlier, and Parker recognized him as an opportunist. Greed was predictable. He wasn’t sure what Norfolk’s mistress’s motivation was. The tip of his sword prodded the man’s throat, but he kept his knife ready and pointed in the woman’s direction. Harry was out of sight by the door to the stall, watching his back.
“Well? Where upstream is this boat tied?” Parker pressed the sword at an angle, and opened a thin cut on the stretched skin of the groom’s throat.
The man swallowed, his Adam’s apple working, but he said nothing.
Parker leaned harder.
“Wait.” The groom swallowed again, and shot a quick look at the woman. “What do I get out of it?”
Parker narrowed his eyes. “I’ll give you a ten-minute head start to run for your life.”
The groom closed his eyes, tried to find some peace in failure. Parker saw the moment he accepted it. “The boat is—”
“No! You can’t betray him!” the woman shrieked, and lunged. Parker saw the knife in her hand too late and moved to parry, but it was not aimed at him.
She slashed it across her companion’s throat, the sharp blade opening him like a gutted fish.
The groom convulsed, fighting for air, the blood pulsing out of him in ever-weakening beats.
Norfolk’s mistress turned eyes on him that made Parker step back. Pale blue, ice cold, their intensity was exaggerated by the thin ribbons of blood latticed across her face.
“Go to hell,” she said, her voice detached, emotionless. She looked down and saw she was sitting in a widening pool of blood. Her hand opened and the knife fell into the hay. She began to rock, her disconcerting gaze never leaving Parker’s face.
“Harry, don’t come in here. Call the cartman.”
Parker took a firm grip on his sword and crouched down, flicking her knife to the far side of the stall.
The woman was unbalanced, beyond reason. Was she as important to Norfolk as Susanna was to him? He’d find out soon enough, but he’d only try to exchange one woman for the other as a last resort. Norfolk wouldn’t like the turnabout, and Parker wasn’t prepared to risk Susanna’s life on the gamble that Norfolk cared deeply for his mistress.
He heard the cartman and the two grooms behind him, heard their gasps of shock. He straightened up, eager to be away. The clock was ticking, and while the fate of a realm hung in the balance, the only thing he cared about now was getting Susanna back.
“Watch her. And get her knife.” Parker lifted his own clean weapons to show them he’d had nothing to do with the carnage. “Find a place to tuck her away until I can deal with her. And tie her up.”
“God’s teeth.” The cartman edged into the stall and picked the knife up gingerly by the hilt. “We’ll see to it.”
“My thanks.” Parker turned and saw Harry standing in the doorway, his eyes wide. “I told you not to come in. There are some things you can never unsee.”
Harry stepped out and leaned weakly against the wall. “I was curious.” He looked close to vomiting.
“Pull yourself together.” Parker saw the cartman frown at his coldness, but he had no time for niceties, and a purpose would focus Harry’s mind away from the gruesome sight. There truly was no time to indulge in shock. “We have a boat to find, on a river full of boats.”
Was that someone calling her name?
Susanna tried to still the shivering in her body. The chatter of her teeth and the shaking made it difficult to hear.
The call sounded again, faint but coming closer. Was that Harry?
Her throat was raw from screaming, but she did it again, shouting into her gag. All it produced was a muffled groan.
Still, her heart pounded with renewed energy. If they knew to look on the river, perhaps they knew she was in a boat. She needed to make the boat stand out from the others, make it draw the eye.
She raised her legs, wondering if her sack-covered feet lifted high enough to be seen over the gunwales of the boat. The boat rocked slightly as she made the movement, and an idea formed.
Terror and hope shook her more than the cold.
She began to rock the boat, centering herself as much as possible. Her tied arms cramped beneath her, and the momentum made her tip dangerously one way, then the other.
She rocked hard left, then right, until she was lifting up partway with each dip, slamming down and lifting again.
She hadn’t heard Harry again. Suddenly panicked, she hammered her feet down with each rolling rock. She fought the dark and the confinement. Fought the boat and the helplessness. Raged and rocked and arched her back. Fear wrapped chilly tentacles around her spine as the boat tipped past its axis.
She had fought too well.
The boat teetered until gravity exacted its price and she fell he
avily downward.
She tried to pitch herself the other way, but she rolled like a bolster, felt the sharp, cold resistance of the rush of water into the boat, and then tumbled into the river.
As she went under, she heard a dull thud above her. The boat capsizing on the surface, slamming the lid on her coffin.
35
The Chiefe Conditions and Qualities in a Courtier: Not to waite upon or serve a wycked and naughtye person.
Of the Chief Conditions and Qualityes in a Waytyng Gentylwoman: To flee affectation or curiositie.
Parker reached the end of a cluster of boats as the daylight faded. Dusk was closing in, leaching the sun away ray by precious ray. In an hour or less it would be dark.
He was panting as if he’d run ten miles, panic clawing at his insides. Norfolk’s man had said upstream from the palace, and he was standing by the last clutch of upstream vessels before the rough dock gave way to a small field.
“Susanna!” His shout made the bargemen turn to him. The rowboats beside him bumped and ground together as the tide rose.
Where is she?
Downstream of where he stood, nearer Harry than himself, an old rowboat began rocking wildly. Too wildly for it to be the work of the tide. He took a step closer, and it tipped deeply to the left.
A brown hessian sack splashed into the water and sank out of sight, and the boat flipped upside down on top of it.
Parker hurtled down the quay, a sob in his throat, ripping his belt, his cloak, his doublet off as he ran. He was at the end, legs bracing to leap off, when the sack lifted up from the water, gave a little hop, and fell back under.
Parker jumped, his feet sinking into the sludge, the water thigh-high. He reached below the murky surface and hauled Susanna up.
“Here.” Harry was there too, holding out Fielder’s knife.
“Stay still, Susanna.” Parker took the knife from Harry and carefully sliced the sack open.
Her cool forest eyes looked back at him out of a face speckled with mud and grime. Her mouth was gagged, her forehead bruised.
It was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen.
He had found her. Susanna stood in his arms and marveled that she could stand at all. Could breathe, hold, and love.
He kissed her forehead gently and drew her closer before setting her away. “I’m sorry, love. It isn’t over yet.”
As he spoke, the long, mournful cry of a bugle sounded, and then another. The King was returned from the hunt.
“We need to dress and get to the great hall before Norfolk begins his mischief.”
Susanna clutched at him, grabbing fistfuls of wet linen shirt in her hands. “Wait.” Her hands were clenched so tight with cold and desperation, she wondered if she’d be able to let go. “Parker.” She tried to read his face, but his mask had come down the moment the bugle sounded, and she would have to take a chance.
He held himself still, his full focus on her. She lifted on her toes and brushed her cold lips over his. “I am yours.”
His mask fell away, and she felt the full force of his heat. His searing, engulfing heat. “And I am yours.” He took her hands, and pried them gently from his shirt. “Let’s go get the bastard.”
Norfolk had almost reached the King’s side. He was only steps away from where Henry sat on a low dais. Parker began to plow through the crowd, rage and dread giving his elbows extra force.
Susanna clung to his doublet as she followed. He glanced back to check on her. He would not let her out of his sight again.
“Parker!”
Someone shoved through the crush and grabbed his arm, stopping Parker dead. Relief whipped through him when he realized it was Simon.
“What news?” He had no hopes it would be good. “Did you find Pettigrew?”
“No.” Simon swayed from side to side and his eyes blazed excitement in a face haggard with fatigue. “I went straight to the docks to look for him—but there I met a messenger just off a boat from France and received the most unbelievable news. I didn’t even look for Pettigrew. I turned around and rode back to London without stopping; haven’t slept since I left you.”
Parker felt the first stirrings of hope, and let Simon pull them away from the crowd to one side of the room.
“De la Pole is dead. Killed in battle at Pavia.” Simon’s hands shook, and he rubbed them over his face. “And more, the King of France is captured.”
Satisfaction crashed through Parker, making it hard to breathe. “Then Norfolk is hanging in the breeze. There is no army from France to back him.”
His eyes went to the dais where Norfolk now stood with the King.
Their eyes met.
Norfolk’s gaze jerked from him, widening at the sight of Susanna and Simon standing with him. Parker sent him a vicious smile.
Sweat, you bastard. Feel the fear.
He turned back to Simon, motioned him toward the King.
Simon shook his head. “’Tis your news to give, Parker. I would not have been in Dover if not for you, and you have paid the highest price in this.”
Parker frowned. “There will surely be a boon for this information.”
“And you deserve it. Imagine what you could ask of the King.” Simon bowed very deliberately to Susanna, and Parker saw her frown and look between them.
“Then come with me. Let us bring Norfolk down together.”
“I have no argument with that.”
Parker took Susanna’s arm, and Simon flanked her other side. Together they approached the dais.
Norfolk watched them with the interest of a fox watching the hounds, and as they came toward him he took a quick step forward to block them from the King. “I have something urgent to tell you, Your Majesty.” He sounded out of breath.
“I’m sure whatever it is, it can wait for news from Dover.” Parker put a foot up on the low stage. “The King will wish to hear this.”
Suddenly unsure, Norfolk took a deep step back. Parker smiled.
“Well?” Henry asked.
“De la Pole is dead.” Parker bowed. “And the King of France is captured.”
Norfolk lost all color, and Henry sprang to his feet, his mouth agape.
“Dead? Captured?” The King seemed unsure whether to believe it.
“At a battle at Pavia, Your Majesty.”
“Ale. Ale for all. Ale for everyone in London!” The King laughed out loud. “All the enemies of England are gone.”
Parker held Norfolk’s stricken gaze.
Not all of them.
This is most excellent news.” Norfolk’s voice was high and thin, and he cleared his throat. “Parker, I must speak with you.”
There was something sly and furtive in his sidelong look that sent a light touch of dread down Parker’s spine.
“What is this? You must celebrate. This is no time for work, gentlemen.” Henry clapped his hands. “Music. Merry music!”
Norfolk stepped down from the dais and bent his head close to Parker’s. “You’ll want to hear what I have to say.”
Parker exchanged a quick look with Susanna, then with Simon. Simon shrugged.
Silently, they followed Norfolk to the back of the great hall and into a small chamber to one side. Simon closed the door behind them.
“I’m sure nothing gives you greater pleasure than my current difficulty, Parker. But if I go down, I refuse to go down alone.”
“I don’t care who you bring down with you, Norfolk. Anyone in league with you deserves what they get.” Parker reached for the door handle.
“Wait. Listen. Buckingham’s execution a few years ago shook the nobility in this country. He was foolish to move his troops around, foolish to talk so arrogantly about his eligibility for the throne, but no one believed the King would have had him executed were it not for Wolsey.”
Norfolk wet his lips. “I’ve had a King’s Groom of the Body in my pay for some years, and I made sure he knew to check the fireplace for letters that might have been thrown there. And one day he br
ought me one that was hardly singed by the flames. Carelessly written, and carelessly discarded.”
With a deliberate tug, Norfolk set a sleeve right. “A letter from the King to Wolsey, refusing to grant Buckingham clemency. Wolsey was begging him to spare Buckingham. The King would not be swayed.” He straightened the other sleeve, as if the exact line mattered a great deal. “He had the good sense to think better of sending it. And all this time everyone thought Wolsey brought Buckingham low, not the King. But it was him.”
“What does that matter?” Susanna asked. “He’s the King; he can have a traitor executed. It’s his right.”
“But a very unpopular move. And not one that should have been entered into lightly.” Simon crossed his hands over his chest.
“The tone of the letter, the arrogance and the flippancy of it …” Norfolk’s smile was sly. “It will cause a great deal of unhappiness—at a time when there is no male heir to the throne. Just one little girl and an illegitimate boy.”
Parker clenched his fists, closed his eyes. His plans to crush Norfolk were crumbling to dust in front of him.
“What is he saying?” Susanna put a hand on his arm.
Parker had to force the words out of his mouth. “He’s saying that unless we keep silent about his involvement with de la Pole, he has the means to bring the country to war.”
36
The Chiefe Conditions and Qualities in a Courtier: Sil-dome or never to sue to hys Lorde for anye thing for himself.
Of the Chief Conditions and Qualities in a Waytyng Gentylwoman: To showe suche a one all signes and tokens of love savynge suche as maye put hym in anye dyshonest hope.
Before she left the celebration, Susanna caught his eye and smiled. The kind of smile that made him think of a dark room and a comfortable bed.
“I seek leave to go, Your Majesty.” Parker tried to slip from the King’s hold around his neck.
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