by Band of Iron
“I know what you mean. He’s made to walk the graveyards at night,” Catharine agreed.
“Did you see his fingers?” Bess asked. “Uck.”
“Aye. He was at Lady Stanley’s that day,” Catharine said. “The man is Bishop Morton’s nephew.”
“Here he comes,” Bess said, voice uneasy.
Nesbit appeared from the shadows at Catharine’s elbow. “Lady Trobridge, I sent my servant to alert your husband. Please come this way. You can use the chamber next to my quarters to rest and feel secure until Lord Trobridge arrives.” He led the way through a series of rooms to the right of the alter.
“You must forgive me,” he said. “I have a small business as a scribe. It affords me a modest living. I have clientele waiting. Please make yourselves comfortable.” He gestured to an ancient settle, and several worn chairs scattered around the room. A table with crucifix and two candlesticks stood in one corner. “Tis poor, but comfortable. I would offer you food and drink, but I have none.” He bowed and shut the oak door between the chambers.
Catharine sank into a chair backed on the edge of the doorframe between the two chambers. Bess wandered the floor, restless, and Agnes stretched out on the settle. Catharine leaned her head back and close her eyes, trying to relax. But her body refused, remaining taught, expecting more action. Nothing worked. Low urgent voices rumbled in the next room. She sat up, something inside screaming danger. Pressing her ear to the door and door frame, she waved Bess to silence.
“Carnahan wants them back,” the low voice whispered hot with anger. “No one knows they’re here but you. We can take them quietly.” Catharine felt the hair stand up on the back of her neck.
She heard a chair shove back. “This is a church,” Nesbit said, voice sharp. “I will not have it.”
“You’d cross Carnahan? You hold your life cheap.” A short laugh barked from the disbelieving man.
“Don’t threaten me.” Nesbit spat. “I am Bishop Morton’s nephew, and worth a hell of ’a lot more to certain people then Carnahan is.”
“We all know your trade, Robin.” Admiration mixed with contempt filled his voice.
“I prefer my corruption with a certain education, Harold. I create events in other people’s minds with what I do.”
Harold laughed. “So how can we accommodate Carnahan and still keep your church inviolate?”
“You can take the women outside the church. I told them I sent my servant to Lord Trobridge. I didn’t of course, but Lady Trobridge believes me.” He chuckled. “Shortly, I shall tell them Lord Trobridge has arrived. Wait, in the street, outside this door. I’ll send them into your waiting arms.”
Harold’s laugh ended in a whistle. “They said you were the lowest of the low, and cunning, too. And you a priest. Why?”
“I am sworn to certain loyalties, Master Harold. I am answerable to mighty people even as you are. I don’t know the rewards of heaven, but I have a healthy regard for what will happen if I cross these people on this Earth. Wait outside. I’ll send them to you.”
Betrayed. A sick feeling moved through Catharine’s body. She stood, and moved to the candlesticks on the table. The door opened and Nesbit smiled his way into the room. “Your husband is outside waiting for you, Lady Trobridge.”
“Thank you, Father,” Catharine said. When Nesbit turned back to his room, Catharine swept the candlestick up and down. He crumpled to the floor under the astonished gazes of Agnes and Bess. “He betrayed us,” Catharine whispered. “Carnahan’s men wait outside that door.”
They hurried into Nesbit’s room, and quietly barred the door to the outside from the inside. The room was littered with parchment. Letters and documents stacked on the tables and chests. Catharine picked up a letter, and something was familiar about the handwriting. Disturbed and curious, she folded it, and tucked the document in the waist of her skirt.
Catharine opened a chest, and fished out a cloak, and two monk’s robes. “Put them on,” Catharine said. They walked out of the room, passed the unconscious Nesbit, and went into the church proper.
Agnes chuckled.
“What’s so funny?” Catharine cracked the front door open.
“I can imagine you telling Lord Peter how we escaped from a brothel.”
“Mother of God, Agnes. That’s one thing I can do without. We have a mile to get home. Let’s go.” They left the church and fell in behind a manure cart.
“A foul experience, Aunt Catharine,” Bess said with a snicker.
“Do try to avoid stepping in what’s falling off the cart.” Catharine slipped and cursed. Agnes grabbed her, and pulled her out of the way of another cart right behind them. They stood to the side of the street while Catharine attempted to clean the stinking mess off her legs. Agnes cackled. Bess laughed.
“Behind us, Aunt Catharine. We’ve been seen.”
They darted into an alley. Three men dropped their pretense of not being seen, and raced after them. Two carried clubs.
Catharine knocked down some reed baskets, blocking the alley behind them. They dodged between two wagons groaning under the weight of vegetables, and in the next street hid behind a peddler’s wagon hung with pots and pans. Catharine grinned as she watched the men fight their way through the tangled baskets.
Part way up the next alley stood a simmering vat of pig lard. When the men broke into the narrow passage, Catharine pulled out her emerald ring from her waistband and offered it to the toothless hag who stirred the pungent mix. “For your lard, grandmother.”
The clouded eyes widened and a mute nod followed. Agnes and Catharine grabbed poles, and over turned the steaming mix onto the dirt passage. The thick liquid rolled in a white flood toward the running men. The women ran while the men slid and slipped sprawling in the scalding liquid. Their screams and surprised curses decorated the air. The old woman disappeared.
The chase went on. A wrong turn a half hour later found them in a dead end alley. They discovered six angry filthy men closing in. To their left a gate opened into a wide courtyard. Carnahan stood in the opening, three armed men ranged around him.
“Chin up,” Catharine said. “Follow me,” and walked to meet the mercenary.
Admiration showed in Carnahan’s eyes. “Lady Trobridge, you are the most enterprising of women. Do not condemn yourself. You were maneuvered into this place with great difficulty.” His expression changed to cold anger. “I can accomplish here exactly what I intended there. Do not expect to escape again.”
“These ladies won’t need to.” The Duke of Buckingham strode out of the manor house and men moved hastily out of his way.
“Your Grace.” Carnahan kept his face vacant. “I did not expect you here.”
“I know. That is why I came. One must ever keep an eye on one’s valued employees. Especially ones with curious twists of mind like yours.” He turned to Catharine. “You are released, Lady Trobridge, and will be returned to your husband.”
“But Your Grace!” Carnahan’s sharp voice dropped in protest. “We have them in our power. The very people Lord Trobridge cares for most.”
“I know. You engineered this carefully, but without my knowledge or permission. You work for me! Me!” Buckingham’s voice cut, and Carnahan licked his lips, eying the whip tapping at the duke’s thigh length riding boots. “What were you planning to do? Ruin both women, and return them shattered to his door step?” Carnahan swallowed, and the duke smiled coldly. “You’ve intruded on my plans, and this cannot be.” Buckingham’s breathing quickened.
“My lord ... ” Carnahan, face white, backed a foot away.
“Be still,” Buckingham said, pitted face rigid with anger. “You’ve worked my good servant this last year. You’ve shown yourself neither squeamish nor fraught with scruples. This I applaud.” His voice rose, “But I cannot brook your crude attempt to tamper with my wider plans because of a personal vendetta with Lord Trobridge.” His whip continued to tap on his boot. “Lady Trobridge knows I intend to destroy her House and the House of Trevor. But I
will do it with other methods already in place.” He walked to Bess, and bowed. “So this is the jewel of Peter’s eye. The sparkling diamond of the House of Trevor. Many have sought your hand, but Peter is loathed to give you up.” Bess curtsied . “He has every reason to be pleased, Lady Catharine.”
“What is to happen to us?” Catharine tightened her fingers into fists at her side.
“You will be escorted back to Trevor Great House by,” the duke whirled, whip extended to Carnahan who flinched, “this man. He who arranged your abduction, against my wishes, will be celebrated for your rescue and safe return.” His laughter went high and unsteady, then abruptly stopped.
Snickering, Agnes covered her face.
“Ha. Isn’t that poetic justice, my lady? His punishment for violating my will should cause him exquisite pain all its own.” The whip lingered under Carnahan’s chin, The duke raised it, turning the man’s face up, then without warning the whip whistled back and own. It cut Carnahan’s shirt, but drew no blood. “Don’t go against my will again.” He turned to a silent armed giant standing behind him eyes vigilant. “Bring horses. They are to ride to Lord Trobridge in style. Carnahan will ride with you, and explain their safe return to Lord Peter.”
Catharine stared down a Peter’s incredulous face and felt intense relief. They sat on their horses in the courtyard of Trevor House. Carnahan, with eight retainers, had escorted them back to Peter without delay.
“My lord Trevor,” Carnahan said, “we rescued your lady folk from highwaymen who held them prisoner near Southwark across London Bridge. The highwaymen escaped.” Head bare, Carnahan sat in the saddle facing an astonished Peter Trevor.
“We are grateful, Master Carnahan,” Peter said. Catharine watched his face, a welter of warring emotions. His voice held even, every word measured and civil. Catharine marveled at his control. “I will inform the Lord Mayor and the Sheriff of London. And your master?”
“His Grace would be here, but he has state business. I am to extend his best wishes to your lordship, and his hearty pleasure at your women folk’s safe return.”
“Inform His Grace of our heart-felt thanks, and take them yourselves. Will you have a stirrup cup to refresh yourselves?”
“We thank your lordship, but our master bade us to return without delay.”
Catharine could see the struggle in Carnahan’s stricken eyes. The farce, plain as it was, confused Peter.
“As you wish, Master Carnahan,” Peter said. Grooms had helped the women dismount. Carnahan and his escort walked out of the courtyard, and disappeared into the tumult of Bishopgate Street. The courtyard gate closed, shutting out most of the sound.
“God in heaven! What happened?” Peter burst out, running to her side. “Carnahan bringing you back like this. What’s going on?”
“Come inside,” Catharine said. “We’re starving. I’ll explain over food and drink.”
After she’d slackened the worst of her hunger, Catharine told her story, mixing a little fiction here and there to keep Peter’s questions at bay.
Standing by the master chair, face dark with anger, Peter said, “Aye, a curious story you’re telling, Catharine. I am past pleased you three are safe and sound, but you’re telling me a tale again.” He slammed his open hand down on the table, eyes blazing. “When you can, please begin telling the truth.” The table shook, and Catharine’s silver goblet jumped and spilled. “You trot off on foot this morning not telling anyone, and then show up this afternoon escorted by our chief nemesis’ henchman, and expect me to believe this ... this fantasy? I thought we were going to work with each other, not do things behind one another’s back.”
Catharine closed her eyes, exasperated at herself. She opened them to his hard gaze. “I haven’t been honest. But I knew you wouldn’t let me go after Bess.” Her voice lost power. “Well, damn. It was the only way.”
“Only way?” Peter said, “When the truth gets out in its exhausted fashion, I’ll bet there would be other options you never considered.”
“None that we could have used.”
“What did you think I was going to do? Lay siege to the place. I’m not a fool.”
Catharine glared, on the defensive. “Granted I made mistakes, but I did what I thought best.”
“So, are we going to be honest with each other or is deception going to be standard fare with us?” Peter’s tight lips pursed.
“No.” Catharine hesitated, hating what she knew would come.
“And?”
“Every man I’ve known has always treated me as an incompetent child.”
“I am not interested in an incompetent child-woman. I need a partner who thinks. Like you did with Hatch and the Fellowship of the Stable. Anthony and Jacob said you ran things quite well while I was ill. I am looking for a basis to keep our relationship on that level. I thought honesty would be a good foundation.”
Catharine took a deep breath and closed her eyes. It’s the truth of it, but still ... “Carnahan arranged the whole thing about kidnapping Bess,” she said. “The duke didn’t know what he did, and actually put a stop to what he was going to do.”
Peter arched an eyebrow. “Going to do?”
“Carnahan was going to dishonor both Bess and me. Then return us as damaged goods.”
Peter’s muscular finger’s tightened into rock hard fists. His breathing increased, but he sat down in the chair next to Catharine. “Start at the beginning.” Between mouthfuls, and sips of ale, Catharine related the whole story.
“Carnahan has another son? And he tricked Agnes? Cunning bastard.” Peter shook his head. “As bad as Lady Stanley. Nothing is sacred.”
“I think you’re wrong about Lady Stanley.”
Peter’s eyes frosted at her words, but he didn’t pursue the subject. “So you escaped?”
“Yes. In the end because Carnahan was stopped by the duke. But I’m sure the duke has something in store for us that he considers far worse than anything Carnahan could ever do. He won’t tolerate any interference from anyone in his household. He humiliated Carnahan in front of a great many people.”
“You are a very creative creature, Lady Trobridge.” Peter shook his head.
“You aren’t angry with me?”
“Wife, I am wrought with anger, but what do I do? You seem to have the ability to confound me. I wonder if our marriage will be continually assaulted by such occurrences. At any rate it won’t be boring.” He sighed, looking tired. “His Grace acted the fool with Carnahan. The man will not forget. To publically humiliate any person is the mark of stupidity.”
“Carnahan seethed the whole ride here to Trevor House,” Catharine said, dipping her fingers into a scented water bowl, and wiping them on a fine linen napkin. “Two humiliations in the space of an hour. The duke is a hard master, very sure of himself to censor Carnahan. He teaches a painful lesson.”
“The Butcher may yet bite the hand that feeds him,” Peter said.
“Perhaps, but Carnahan is driven by the idea that pain is the only reality. To him, pain is a god of sorts. He remembers a time where you refused to kill him when he was whipped as a galley slave. He swore an oath to repay you.”
Peter stared at the cold ashes of the hearth. “I was fifteen. Anthony and I were invited to share a royal galley going to Bordeaux. Carnahan had just killed a fellow slave in a fight, and was being disciplined. I’m afraid I’m not given to slitting throats.” He touched his scar. “So this is pay back. I didn’t know.”
She nodded. “He is pleased with your oath of vengeance.” Peter said nothing. She shifted in the chair feeling the letter, and was nagged by the odd feeling of familiarity in the writing.
Peter rose, and began to pace, something Catharine was getting used to by now. “What could be so bad that the duke would deliberately let you and Bess back unscathed? You said he was very sure of himself, and made no hesitation in admitting a plan to ruin us?”
“True.” Catharine swallowed. “He was sure. Utterly sure. No question
about it.”
“Damn. What is it?” Peter said, running his fingers through his hair.
“My thoughts, too.” A cold chill settled in Catharine’s stomach.
9
She lay pale and drawn on the bed - wasted by fever, exhausted by the bitter circumstances of having been driven from her home without warning. Catharine leaned over and kissed her mother good-bye, then felt her father’s strong hands gently pull her away. The awful grief welled, ruling everything and growing a hardened anger. The dream had soured Catharine’s morning. She stared out into the small brick walled garden from the tall soaring windows of Trevor House, brooding over the pain of her childhood. Her embroidery lay abandoned in her lap.
Peter’s chuckle turned her head. He stood by the hearth, pleased expression on his square features.
“You seem very pleased,” she said, intrigued by the letter he was reading. The ache from the dream still lingered. All the pain behind a delicate dam of emotion.
He gestured, white lawn shirt sleeves full in the morning light. His green doublet set off his pale bronzed features. It had been a week since Catharine, Agnes, and Bess had been returned by Carnahan at the Duke of Buckingham’s orders. And they’d still not found an explanation for what the duke intended to do.
“A letter from the Fellowship of the Stable,” he said. “They are very pleased with the safe return of you, Bess and Agnes. My colleagues sent a letter of thanks to Buckingham and his retainers for your safe return,” Shaking his head, he turned away and then looked at Catharine, amusement in his eyes.
“What is it?”
“They congratulate me on having a first class merchant for a wife. And they say the way you exposed Mr. Hatch proves you could lead a trading company or direct a war. It was suggested York consult you in case of a further war with Lancaster.”
“Merchant? You’re the Yorkist merchant,” she said, contempt forming each word. The emotions began to pour over the dam, eroding ...
Peter’s face drained of color, and he stared at her in disbelief.