Taste of Treason

by April Taylor

  Corbin’s dispensary was a thing of beauty to Luke. Something to which he aspired, but realized he would never have until he discarded his poor clients and brought in more money. However, he had one gift his old master did not possess. Talking to Joss and searching through the shelves, Luke came upon powdered willow bark and hawthorn.

  “Here we are. This is what I need, girl.”

  Mixing them together in a mortar, he added some hyssop for purification. Despite his optimism before his friends, he knew the seizure to be serious. He took from his sleeve a rose quartz and a piece of amethyst, coating them with the powders and then adding oils and saying the three parts of the healing incantation, the first part for Corbin’s head, the second for his paralysis and the third for his speech. Holding his hands over the bowl, he warmed the potion until sparks flashed from the crystals.

  Walking down the shelves again, he found chamomile, valerian and cowslip tincture. These he mixed with honey and wine for Bertila. He also dressed a piece of linen with lavender and rose oils, finally carrying everything out to the kitchen where Bertila was just spooning the broth into a bowl.

  Being careful not to disturb the charged crystals, Luke added some of the willow bark to the broth.

  “Before we go upstairs, Bertila, you must drink this.”

  “I must see to Father, first.”

  He put a restraining hand on her arm.

  “No, my chick, if you are not well, how can you look after him and help him? Drink this. I have some special root at home that your father does not have. If I make up a mixture and send it with Rob, will you take it? You must trust me, Bertila.”

  That last sentence undid her. The tears that she had held back in the invalid’s room upstairs sprang to her eyes and fell with free abandon. Luke clasped her to him, whispering words of comfort as one would to an injured child.

  “Let it all out. You will feel better.”

  She lifted her head.

  “I will feel better when that priest gets his just deserts.”

  Luke’s rage against Frayner mounted as he witnessed her shaking hands and anxious eyes.

  “That is for the future, Bertila. Drink this,” he said handing her the goblet and watching as she drained it. He then tied the linen cloth around her neck.

  “Breathe in these calming fragrances. Bring hot water and a small bowl upstairs. I will take Corbin his broth.”

  * * *

  Rob kept one eye on Alys and the other on the shop, hoping that nobody needed any remedies that were not already made up for sale. When he heard the shop door open, he cast resigned eyes up to heaven and prayed that whoever it was had a simple case of griping guts. Mindful of his anxiety and not wishing to transmit it to the customer, Rob put a welcoming smile on his face as he walked through. An old beldame stood at the counter, cloaked and bent with a troubled expression.

  “Can I aid you, goodwife?”

  She jumped as if all the demons in hell were at her skirts, putting one hand to her throat and peering at him.

  “Are you Master Ballard?”

  “Nay. I am his...assistant. What troubles you?”

  Following Luke’s practice of immediately taking a read of new clients, Rob could discern nothing amiss with this one save a good dose of fright. He beckoned her to sit on one of the settles and sat opposite her.

  “I can see you are distressed. Tell me and I will try to ease your worries.”

  “I need no potions, lad. Mayhap it is better this way. Then if I am ever questioned, I can answer truthfully that I never spoke to the apothecary.”

  Rob frowned and his voice sharpened. “Luke? What has your trouble to do with my master?”

  He could see that she had screwed her courage up to come this far. He rose and poured a beaker of soother, noting that the flask was almost empty. Too many had needed it in recent days.

  “Drink this, mother. It will make you feel better.”

  He could tell that her throat was sore from the convulsive way she swallowed, just as he saw the tension leave her when the sweetness of the honey and the roundness of the borage and cowslips exploded in a bouquet of flavors in her mouth. She smiled at him.

  “It has taken much courage to come here, but I will say what I must. My daughter works for Father Frayner.”

  * * *

  Luke put the infused crystals, one in each of Corbin’s curled hands and, aided by Will, sat the old man up, although he could tell it caused pain. Bertila managed to get half the broth down her father’s throat, wiping the liquid that had dribbled from one side of his unfeeling lips, before he closed his eyes, unable to manage more.

  They propped him up with numerous pillows. Joss laid her head on the paralyzed arm, not understanding that Corbin could not feel the weight. She pawed at the unresponsive hand, only stopping when Luke clicked his tongue at her.

  “Bertila, you need to put cold compresses on his brow and keep renewing them. This will ease the pain in his head. Where is the hot water?”

  Bertila showed him the jug and small bowl.

  “I had no idea what you intended,” she said. “Do you need another vessel?”

  “No, just that candle.”

  Lighting it, Luke arranged the bowl of hot water over it on a stand and added a few drops of jasmine and vetivert to it.

  “This will keep the water hot and fragrance the air.”

  When Luke next looked at Corbin, he noted that the old eyes were brighter.

  “Never fear, Corbin, we will have you hale and hearty before long. I shall come back and see you on the morrow.”

  A look of anguish passed over the old man’s face.

  “What is it, old friend?” Luke asked trying to understand what could be causing so much anxiety. “Is it Bertila? She is well. Just tired and in a state of nerves. Put your mind at rest—I have given her something to help.”

  Corbin’s right hand clenched itself on the bedclothes.

  “Not Bertila,” Luke said. “Then is it Will? No?” He frowned. “Is it the business? You have no need for concern there, Corbin. I will help as much as I can. You can rest easy about that.”

  The frantic look in Corbin’s eyes intensified. What else could be worrying him to this extent? The body was good at prioritizing its needs. His torment followed by the seizure had taken all Corbin’s energy, but he was feeling more comfortable now and allowing other hurts to surface. Mayhap it was just a case of the healer refusing to believe that medicine could cure him.

  “I give you my word, Corbin, you will be well again soon.”

  Luke put his hand out and covered the still-twitching fingers, jolting with astonishment when the hand turned and grasped his own with a strength he had not expected. Corbin was trying to speak, Luke realized. He bent close to his friend’s mouth, struggling to make sense of the disjointed sounds.

  Corbin seemed to be uttering the same thing over and over. Luke relaxed and put all his concentration into hearing and understanding. Then, at last, with a sudden sinking in his stomach, Luke finally comprehended the mangled words and their meaning.

  “It’s you, boy,” Corbin mumbled. “They are after you.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Henry’s eyes danced as he snatched the bowl of sweetened fruit from Madeleine.

  “My love, you are already sweet enough,” he said holding it high, out of her reach as she shrieked with laughter, jumping to snatch it back from him.

  “My lord, I need my sweet things, otherwise I may turn bitter and sour, and you would not like your Queen to spit at you like an angry cat, would you?”

  Henry pretended to consider this and, in consequence, lowered the bowl. Madeleine pounced, making them both roar with laughter. The dogs joined in, jumping up and barking until all was mayhem.

  “Down, down, all,” Henry shouted. “Madeleine, have a care, do not leap about so. Remember who you carry.”

  “Then give me back my apricots,” she pouted, sitting at the table.

  Reynard moved forw
ard again.

  “Madam, I repeat, this surfeit of sweetness cannot be beneficial in your state of health.”

  Despite his earlier protest, Henry decided to humor his wife. It would also let Reynard know who ruled in this court.

  “Very well, sweetheart.”

  He reached across to place the bowl in front of her, but one of the hounds, more excited with the rough play than the others, leapt and joggled his hand, knocking all the apricots, still running with sugary juice to the floor. Before anyone could stop him, the hound had bolted the fruit and, avoiding Henry’s slapping hand, scuttled to the far end of the chamber.

  “My lord,” Madeleine said, her smile dying, “I was looking forward to those.”

  “My love, there are always more. I cannot understand how you can eat manchets and honey followed by sweetened fruit. Does it not make you feel ill?”

  “They would have been all the more delightful, my lord, because, like all the best presents, they were unexpected.”

  Henry’s smile faltered. He leaned down so that she looked up into his face from a distance of a few inches.

  “You mean you truly did not order the fruit, my lady?”

  Her face took on a puzzled look.

  “No. Master Parry told me all our stocks were gone. I assumed the kitchen found some more and wanted to surprise me.”

  “Summon Parry. At once.” The King began to pace up and down and Madeleine, alarmed now, ran to put her hand on his arm.

  “My lord, you are frightening me. Have I done something wrong?”

  She swung round toward Reynard, who was nearly at the door. Henry turned her back to face him and smiled into her eyes.

  “No, no, you have done nothing amiss, my love. Do not fret. All will be well. Did I not promise that I would guard and keep you when we exchanged our marriage vows? I think it would be better if you left now and allowed me to speak to Parry alone.”

  “By your leave, my lord. Parry is my servant and if you need to question him, I ought to remain.”

  At that moment, Clifford Parry bustled in, his face a mask of apprehension. He dropped to his knees and waited. Henry, not wishing to render the man incoherent, bade him rise with a smile.

  “This is only a simple query, Master Parry. The Queen was given apricots in sugar this morning, but says you told her all stocks were gone. How is this?”

  Parry looked dumbfounded.

  “How can that be, Sire? All our reserves of apricots were used up weeks ago. I do not understand.”

  “Then we have one thing in common. As it stands, either we had none or we had some and, as a bowl was brought for the Queen’s breakfast this morning, it would appear that your accounting is in error.” He leaned forward and fixed the man with a hard glare. “You see, Master Chamberlain, we can think of only one explanation for this discrepancy.”

  Parry turned even paler. “Your Majesty, you have my word that I am no thief.”

  “I did not make the accusation, so your use of the term is interesting. What I need from you is an account of how the kitchen supplied nonexistent apricots. Well?”

  “Sire, I do not know, but I will find out.”

  Henry felt the Queen’s hand seize his. He looked down at her pale face and automatically put his arm around her. She shook, her gaze fixed on the other end of the chamber. He followed the line of her finger and saw the hound that had eaten the apricots lying immobile on the oak boards.

  “Wait here,” he said, signaling to Madeleine’s ladies to help their mistress. Striding to the prone animal, he saw only too clearly what had happened. Henry’s lips tightened for fear that his courtiers would see his sudden terror, a terror that made him shudder.

  The dog had vomited back the fruit, but the poison had been swift and lethal, leaving a powdery white deposit on its dead lips. He squatted by the body and stroked his unsteady hand over the cooling muzzle. How could he do otherwise for something that had given its life to save that of his beloved Queen?

  * * *

  Luke had returned to see Corbin, leaving Rob and Alys on their own. Rob could tell that his kinsman was making a great effort to smother his irritation at Alys’s presence. He knew that Luke hated any change in the routines of his life and that the apothecary grew apprehensive when the unexpected happened. The sudden fear on his master’s face when the letter came about Corbin reminded him of the aftermath of the previous summer’s investigation.

  Then it had been Rob who had cooked, tended the hearth, brought food from the market and tried to keep the patients satisfied. Luke, like a statue, had remained immobile, seated day after day, gazing into the fire, his hand on Joss’s head, saying little and eating almost nothing. What had frightened Rob more than anything had been Luke’s gentle courtesy toward him, as if he spoke to a stranger.

  Corbin Quayne’s visit some two weeks into Luke’s withdrawal had resulted in Bertila arriving daily, bringing medicines her father had made up and food and helping in any way she could. Bertila told Rob afterward that Luke’s collapse had been her salvation. Seeing her much loved friend in such straits had been the best possible remedy for her own ills.

  Luke, noticing one day that she had regained her color and spirit, had finally emerged from his shell and rejoined the world. Since then, Rob had made it his business to see that his master knew more merry moments than anxious ones.

  This latest royal mission appeared to be the least of Luke’s problems. He gave all his time and energy to Corbin and Bertila. But Rob knew only too well that Luke could not afford to ignore the investigation given the source of its command. If he gave the impression of being less than diligent, the consequences would be dire.

  There was, however, one thing with which Rob could help. Luke had mentioned that nobody knew the identity of the dead man Alys had found. A courtier would have been claimed by now. Had the body been clothed the task might have been easier. Could the corpse have been a palace workman or someone from a local village?

  Rob also needed to consider what the mother of Frayner’s housekeeper had told him. He was not surprised that Frayner should vilify Luke, but to know that the man’s main goal, to ensnare Luke and see him executed, was more appalling than anything he could imagine from a cleric. He had tried to tell Luke when he came back from the Quaynes, but his master had waved him to silence, spent an hour making up potions and rushed back out on Ranger. Understanding Luke’s need to keep busy, Rob decided there and then that he would take up the two threads that lay in his own hand. The identity of the dead man and trying to discover the truth of the woman’s assertions. He knew plenty of folk in the surrounding area. Surely it could not be too difficult to ask a few questions?

  Alys. What should he do with Alys? He could not leave her in the house alone. He could not take her with him. The church. She would be safe there. He knew enough about Frayner to know that the church was the last place he would be.

  He would walk into Hampton where he knew some of the lads who frequented the wharves, leave Alys at the church, and then come back and collect her after he had called on a few people and asked his questions. This would give him a chance to show his master how resourceful and useful he was.

  Rob wrapped a shawl around Alys and they left the house. The girl had taken some persuading, but when Rob explained that he felt responsible for her safety and dared not leave her alone in the house, she had nodded.

  “I need to go into Hampton village,” he told the girl. “I may not take you with me, but I shall leave you safe in the church and then come back for you.”

  She grasped his hand. “You are leaving me alone?”

  He smiled down at her, determined to allay her anxiety.

  “You have no cause to fear, little one. If anyone wanted you, they would come first to the Outer Green house. Nobody will think to search for you in Hampton church. All you need do is perch quietly in a corner. If someone comes in, they will think you are praying and leave you alone.”

  “I am frightened.”

>   “There is no need to be frightened in the presence of God, Alys. He will look after you.”

  They opened the church door slowly and peered round. The hiss of silence met them.

  “It is empty,” Rob whispered, leading her to a dark corner on the far side of the font.

  “Look, squeeze in here. Nobody will see you. Stay here and do not move. I will return soon.”

  She seized his hand. “You will not forget me?”

  The audible fear in her voice touched his pity. He stroked her face.

  “Alys, whilst I am on this earth, you will never be alone again.”

  * * *

  Henry was incandescent. His Queen had been taken to her chamber suffering a fit of hysteria and then, by all accounts, had renewed her wailing when she remembered she was sitting only yards away from where the Brook girl had been discovered. She then insisted on being taken to the Chapel Royal with guards on the doors. The hastily summoned Father Reynard had been able to do nothing with her. In desperation, Henry sent for his mother.

  Queen Anne had soothed Madeleine and taken her to her own suite of rooms, whilst Henry set about putting his house in order. The apartments above his own had been scrubbed the previous day. Now he ordered that every spare man should be employed moving the Queen’s belongings into them and making sure that they would be ready for her to sleep in that night. He was determined that she would never have to set foot in her old chambers again.

  Few had seen their King so enraged. Clifford Parry ran hither and yon, long parchment lists in his hands, terror in his eyes. Even so, he had mustered all his courage to show Henry the accounts, proving that the stock of apricots had indeed run out weeks before. Henry had seized the papers and torn them across in one vicious rip, shaking them under the Chamberlain’s nose.

  “How can they be correct, knave, when I saw apricots being brought to the Queen with my own eyes?”

  “Sire, I can find nobody who ordered them. I have questioned the serving maid, but she shakes so much she cannot remember her name, let alone who told her to bring the fruit to Her Grace.”