Ill Met by Moonlight

by Mercedes Lackey

  Denoriel felt a little sorry for Rhoslyn himself. He remembered her expression, and the tears that had poured down her face when she thought he had killed the changeling. He knew, too, what he would have suffered if Harry had actually died, and he could not help but think that she must have felt something similar for the changeling. After all, not only was Rhoslyn female, and equipped by nature with maternal instincts, she had actually created poor Richey and could presumably regard herself as something of his mother. Nonetheless, one of the times that Mary was at court, he waylaid her maid of honor, Rosamund Scot.

  “Stay away from Elizabeth,” he said, in tones as cold as a blast of icy wind. “If any attempt is made on her—”

  Rhoslyn turned flashing black eyes on him. Bull-headed and bull-mannered; he always had been, and likely would never learn better.

  Aleneil had told him, she thought. Stupid chit, could she keep nothing to herself? She should have been able to hold her tongue on that score, even if he was her brother. But that petulant thought made Rhoslyn smile slightly because she herself could keep very little from Pasgen.

  So instead of sneering and turning her back on him, she said pacifically, “I mean her no harm. I am even doing my best to undo the evil notions I have given Mary.”

  Unfortunately the hint of a smile made Denoriel quite sure she was planning something evil. “I am not saying that you would, of yourself, intend to do Elizabeth harm,” he said, his lifted brows implying disbelief, “but Pasgen might have other notions.”

  Pasgen would have troubles enough when Vidal realized that he was nowhere to be found. Rhoslyn did not want the Bright Court mobilized against him too. “No,” she said trying to make Denoriel feel her sincerity. “Pasgen no longer wishes any harm to come to Elizabeth. He told me he will not act against her because he has reinterpreted the FarSeeings. He has come to think that Elizabeth is meant to come to the throne no matter what we do or do not do, and that future is as set and immutable as the past.” She put a hand on Denoriel’s arm. “I swear to you, he has withdrawn from the Unseleighe Court.”

  Denoriel stared for a moment, wondering if he could believe her. He could detect no levels beneath her overt words—but he did not dare rely on her swearing.

  Finally, he shrugged. “Whatever you and Pasgen would prefer, you might not be able to disobey Vidal Dhu. So heed me: I do not want you or your brother near Elizabeth.”

  For a moment Rhoslyn was tempted to spit in his face. “We will do as we please, Pasgen and I,” she hissed, but keeping her voice low. “Certainly we are not subject to your orders.” Then she swallowed and shook her head; she owed it to that bright-haired princess, who had gone out of her way to give her an end to her grief, to at least bring the situation to a point of neutrality. “Believe me or do not believe me, but I really do wish Elizabeth well now, so I will give you a piece of advice. Do not watch me and Pasgen so closely that you miss the real threat to her.”

  “Real threat?” His voice was hardly a murmur. It would not be heard except by Rhoslyn herself, and the way he leaned toward her hinted at amorous dalliance.

  “Watch for Vidal Dhu himself,” she murmured back. “Now he is still amusing himself in Scotland. There is more than sufficient power from pain and misery pouring out of Scotland to keep the Dark Court fed full. Do what you can to make King Henry adamant about the Scottish treaty and pursuing the war with the Scots, for the more it is prolonged, the longer Vidal will tarry, and forget about Elizabeth entirely.”

  “The king is adamant enough without any help from me,” Denoriel admitted.

  “Good.” Rhoslyn nodded. “That is Elizabeth’s best warranty of safety. As long as Vidal is busy keeping the Scots from considering any compromise with Henry, he will not remember Elizabeth. But if the war stops and Henry dies, Vidal will act. He is very determined that Elizabeth not come to the throne.”

  Denoriel held up a hand, looking angry and horrified. Even to speak in the negative those two words, Elizabeth and throne, were treason. Rhoslyn pressed her lips together in angry frustration, knowing she should not have said that last sentence, that Denoriel would think she said it to make trouble.

  Just then Mary turned from her conversation with Wriothesley. Rhoslyn’s angry expression made her smile. Mary did not like Lord Denno. She gestured and Rhoslyn walked away from Denoriel.

  He stood looking after her, very much troubled in his mind. There was something different about Rhoslyn, about the way she had spoken, even the way she had held herself while she talked. What she said could be a blind, of course, to fix his attention on Vidal so they could … what? They were too cautious to attack Elizabeth directly. Vidal, if he could see a way to direct the blame elsewhere, was not. So was the warning genuine?

  And if it was—where was the new danger lurking?

  Although Rhoslyn had been perfectly honest with Denoriel, she had inadvertently misled him. He did not believe her enough to relax his guard about Elizabeth, but her conviction that Vidal Dhu was in Scotland and single-mindedly devoted to Scottish affairs made him less alert to the prince’s meddling with others.

  In fact Vidal was devoted to Scottish affairs. He would have preferred to be in Scotland to keep a closer watch on Cardinal Beaton, the Earl of Angus, and several others. The men could be pointed in a particular direction easily, but they were so inconstant of purpose—except in the purpose of forwarding their own interests—that they could not be trusted without close supervision. Thus Vidal had tried to seek out Pasgen to work on Scottish affairs from the English end.

  Vidal found no sign of Pasgen Underhill or in the World Above. He found Rhoslyn easily enough attending on Lady Mary in the mortal world, and she replied to his questions with sincerity—and by Vidal’s own reading with perfect truth—that she did not know where Pasgen was. The last he had told her was that he wished to do some research in the Unformed lands. Vidal cursed her for a simple-minded and incurious fool, and left her to her own business. Control of Lady Mary without overt spells was important.

  A visit to the servant in Fagildo Otstargi’s house in London had already made clear that Pasgen had not been there in a long time. Vidal left and returned as Otstargi a few days later. He had spoken to his FarSeers and was clear headed and well informed. He did not send out any general notice of Otstargi’s return but arranged for private messages to be delivered to several men on the council.

  His note to the Earl of Hertford was returned unopened. Sir Anthony Denny sent a polite rejection of Otstargi’s invitation. Paget made an appointment for the next week. Wriothesley appeared at Otstargi’s front door only a few hours after the message was received.

  Vidal received him in Pasgen’s study, a place thick with ominously heavy volumes bound in curious leathers, and sporting upon the shelves a number of curiosities among the books. These were objects guaranteed to give a visitor pause—skulls that few in England would be able to identify, the requisite stuffed owl and crocodile that every self-respecting sorcerer was required to own, crystal globes and mineral specimens, and brass instruments of uncertain use.

  As he had several years in the past, Wriothesley asked angrily where Otstargi had been and was told coldly that he had been away on his own business, which was no business of any other man. Since Wriothesley was not at all eager to hear about Otstargi’s magical practices—which were illegal by act of Parliament—he did not enquire further. What he did ask was how to stem the king’s spending on war. There simply was no money to be wrested from the realm.

  “You cannot stop him altogether,” Vidal said, leaning across the desk to emphasize his point. “King Henry must conquer something. Now that the Church is in his hand he wants to wrest away parts of France. Guide him into making peace with France—”

  “The French will not accept his terms,” Sir Thomas said, all but grinding his teeth. “Francis is determined to have Boulogne back and Henry is equally determined to hold it.”

  “So agree to give it back—” Vidal persisted.
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br />   “I just told you Henry would not hear of it. Ask the moon to agree to come down out of the sky and adorn the clock tower at Hampton Court; you will get as much cooperation,” Sir Thomas retorted, temper barely held in check.

  “Nor will you hear how to accomplish it if you keep interrupting me,” Vidal said, barely holding in his own temper. “All Henry—or, thank God the agents he will send to do the negotiating—needs to do is to make the return of Boulogne contingent on something that the French will not want to do but that is possible of being done. Set a high price on the ransom of the city.”

  That gave Sir Thomas pause for a moment, and he sat back in his chair. “Hmmm. The king might not reject such a proposal out of hand. I will certainly suggest it to the council.”

  “Yes, but do not cut off all plans for war,” Vidal added. “If you make peace on all sides, Henry will become restless, and his restlessness will burst out in a new and more expensive place—like supporting the Germans against the empire.”

  “God’s sweet Grace forefend!” Wriothesley breathed.

  “So … do not make peace with the Scots,” Vidal continued, urging the project he truly wanted.

  In a perverted way, Vidal was enjoying this. On the one hand, the mortals were so easily led—but on the other, the machinations he had to go through to lead them, the convoluted plotting and planning, made him feel challenged, and more like his old, clever self than he had in many a mortal year.

  “Let Henry bend his warlike intentions on the Scots,” Vidal continued. “You know that war with the Scots is cheap. It does not require large mercenary armies because the English of the northern shires are always willing to fight the Scots. And by God’s grace, the Scots are always willing to fight anyone. Let there be peace for six months, and they will fight each other.”

  “Ah,” Wriothesley said, smiling. “Yes. I see the wisdom of your advice, Master Otstargi.” He laid a well-filled purse on the table between them. “And have you any advice for me, personally?”

  “Yes.” Vidal now sat back in his chair, resting his elbows on the carved arms, steepling his fingers in front of his chin. “Be more circumspect in your support of those who lean toward the old religion—except for Lady Mary. Aid her in any way you can, except for a direct confrontation with the king. A time is coming when adherents of the old religion will have shorter shrift than this king allows.”

  Wriothesley’s face paled visibly. “This king …” He shuddered, glanced anxiously around the room, which was empty and bare of anything a listener could hide behind, then whispered. “Are you saying that … that Henry … will die?”

  Vidal shrugged. “All men die. Sooner or later is the question … and this, my glass says, may be sooner. But certainly not tomorrow or next week. Let him make peace with France while offering conquest of Scotland and the union of the kingdoms by the marriage of Mary and Edward as the prize.”

  Wriothesley was still pursuing the earlier hare. “But you are not telling me the king will make even greater changes in …” He flushed. “God’s Grace upon us all, he was speaking about the mass just the other day. But—no.” Sir Thomas shook his head vehemently. “He will not order that mass not be said. Why … why he even spoke to the pope’s emissary …”

  Otstargi shook his head. “My glass does not say what the king will do. It shows many, many events, none clear. I only advise you to be cautious so you can move either way.”

  “You are telling me to give up my faith?” Sir Thomas stared hard at him.

  Vidal waved a hand. “I never meddle with any man’s faith. Caution and a closed mouth are not a change of faith. But if you do not keep the king’s mind on the Scottish war, he will have too much time to consider religious problems. The Scottish war will not prolong the king’s life, but also will not shorten it, as his sojourn in France may have done. And a peace with France will reduce the strain on the king’s purse. Keep to these matters, and mind what company you keep. That is all.”

  Although Denoriel was making it his purpose to be in court even more often as the king’s health wavered, he got no hint of Vidal’s presence. Vidal never came near the court, and what Wriothesley advised was so much a matter of plain common sense that Denoriel never thought of outside influences. Paget and the council were soon advising the same political expedients.

  At first the king seemed to ignore the council’s advice. Soon after the children were settled in Hatfield, the king sent Edward Seymour, the Earl of Hertford, to Boulogne as if to begin a major enterprise. Denoriel talked to Sir Anthony and even to Sir Thomas Wriothesley but Sir Thomas simply shook his head, admitting that he had hoped Henry would make peace. They assumed the king intended to attack Etaples, which he had long wished to destroy.

  Then, however, before Denoriel could consider how to interfere to turn Henry’s attention to Scotland again, he discovered his work had been done for him. The king did a right-about-face and appointed commissioners to begin new peace talks with France.

  Henry’s first demands were impossible. He wanted the French to cease supporting the Scots against the English, asked for eight million crowns to reimburse English war expenses, and insisted that Boulogne and its surrounding area be ceded to England.

  Later, when it was clear that the French were about to abandon the negotiations, he permitted his envoys to make concessions, agreeing that the Scots should be comprehended in the treaty if the infant queen were delivered to England, and then, the further concession that he would accept hostages in Mary of Scotland’s stead. He even agreed that Boulogne would be returned to France in eight years if two million crowns were paid.

  Although Henry signed the agreement in July and Francis ratified it on August sixth, no one was very serious about the terms. Nonetheless the treaty permitted Henry to dismiss the expensive mercenaries and reduce his own forces in Boulogne … which was still in English hands. The imperial ambassador remarked that if Henry was going to wait to return Boulogne for the payment of two million crowns, he would hold the city forever. To which Henry, who never intended to return Boulogne, made no reply beyond a satisfied smile.

  By November, despite the fact that Henry’s agreement with the French included the Scots, the king was castigating the Scottish ambassadors so violently, complaining that the Scots had broken the peace, that they became sure the English would attack them again and appealed to France for help. Henry did not seem to care what answer Francis would make; he went on ordering the assembly of more forces in preparation for another assault on Scotland.

  To Denoriel’s questions, Sir Anthony shrugged. The behavior was typical of the king. Thus Denoriel felt free to spend most of his time with Elizabeth, and it was just as well because at the end of November she and Edward were separated. Edward was sent to Hertford and Elizabeth to Enfield. Both felt the parting keenly, but Edward (who had no Lord Denno to keep his spirits up) wrote sadly in Latin to Elizabeth:

  The change of place, in fact, did not vex me so much, dearest sister, as your going from me. Now, however, nothing can happen more agreeable to me than a letter from you … But this is some comfort to my grief, that I hope to visit you shortly …

  The king’s planning action against the Scots was all to the good as far as Elizabeth’s safety, but very privately in his own home Sir Anthony confessed to Denoriel that the entire council was very worried about the king. He was clearly failing—and did not himself seem aware of it … unless the feverish orders to prepare to fight to protect Boulogne, the buildup of troops on the Scottish border, the negotiations with everyone about everything, possible and impossible, were because he feared he would not have time enough to complete what he intended to do.

  The elven siblings discussed the situation in the one place where they need not fear being overheard—in Denoriel’s own suite in Llachar Lle. “So do we warn Elizabeth?” Denoriel asked Aleneil after he had told her what Sir Anthony believed.

  “He has seemed to fail before and rallied,” Aleneil said. “Nothing in the F
arSeers’ lens is different.”

  “No, because Edward will come to the throne.” Denoriel sighed, and leaned back into the cushions on his settle. “I hope you do not think those who support the old religion will put Mary forward?”

  “They may try, but Mary will have none of it,” Aleneil said certainly. “For one thing, she is not yet sure that Edward cannot be enticed back to Rome …”

  “To Rome?” Denoriel laughed. “But Edward is a hotter little reformist than Elizabeth, who abides strictly by her father’s middle way and says—taking Henry’s words from his last speech to Parliament—that she will be neither ‘mumpsimus’ nor ‘sumpsimus’ but worship God without argument.”

  Aleneil shrugged. “But Mary has not really spoken to Edward for nearly a year, and some months ago she was given hope that Henry could be drawn back to Rome.”

  Denoriel stared at her for a moment, then said disbelievingly, “Henry? Surely that must be a fantasy.”

  “In a way, yes, but also a mystery.” Aleneil shrugged. “A man called Guron Bertano arrived in England to discuss with Henry a reconciliation with the pope. That Henry would accept, I do not believe, but why was Bertano allowed to come? Why did he remain in England for two whole months? Why did he have a meeting with the king and two with Paget?”

  “It seems quite mad,” Denoriel said. “And Sir Anthony never even mentioned this Bertano.”

  Aleneil nodded. “It is possible that Bertano’s mission has been kept secret from Denny or he was so sure it would come to nothing that it was not worth mentioning.” She toyed with the beaded tassel of the jeweled belt around her loose gown, so unlike the corseted clothing she wore as Lady Alana. “Also, he leans slightly toward the reformed persuasion so I would imagine that Paget and Wriothesley were the men sent to deal with the pope’s emissary—if he was the pope’s emissary.” She shrugged. “Likely also no one wanted word passed that Mary had some part in urging Paget to meet with Bertano.”