by Band of Iron
The duke sprang to his feet, face suffused in fury. “By the Mass, man! You’re telling me ... ”
Caxton never moved. The raw primeval power of his words dominated everyone in the room. “I am saying you will not touch Sir Peter Trevor, Baron Trobridge. You have a great deal to answer for. Your hands are not clean in this matter. Even now a courier rides to the King with the information.”
“I am the Lord Constable.” Buckingham leaned forward over the desk, face purple with rage. “I say he is guilty of treason.”
“You overstep yourself, my lord duke,” Caxton said. “You have the power to determine treasonable offences, and pass judgment on the guilty. But I must remind you there has been no trial so no judgment can be passed.”
“You presume yourself more powerful than me, Sir James. That is a careless mistake.” Buckingham’s tongue ran around his lips.
Catharine watched. Peter and her future lay in their power. Power is a fragile thing. Whole nations and tens of thousands of lives depended on the decisions of such men. Now she saw what Peter had been trying to tell her of the dangers of dynastic ambition and appetites for power.
“But I am more powerful than you,” Caxton said, eyes lighting like hard flints. “Even now your men are being replaced in the Tower with my own, and those of the King’s personal household. I will not have Sir Peter Trevor suddenly disappear or die as the princes so nearly did. Peter is the wealthiest man in England. His disappearance would discredit the King, and could even stir the Fellowship of the Stable and the good people of London to disaffection and rebellion. That will not be allowed to happen.”
Buckingham’s hand landed hard on the hilt of his sheathed sword. Carnahan glanced around the room, and dropped his hands toward his sword and dagger.
“Touch your weapons, Carnahan, and you’ll be dead before you can remove them from their sheathes. You of all people should know I never work alone or unprotected.”
Carnahan’s flat eyes deepened with alarm and caution. His hands hovered. Tongue licking his lips, eyes uncertain, he glanced at his master.
“Stop,” Buckingham commanded. Carnahan eased his hands away from his weapons and Catharine breathed easier. “I will not have my Office overturned by you,” Buckingham said.
“I am not overturning your Office, my lord. Merely protecting you and the King’s interest.”
“You are protecting me?” Buckingham blinked in surprise, pitted face relaxing, eyes confused.
“Of course, Your Grace,” Caxton said. “You wouldn’t want yourself implicated in something that might hurt your position with the King. Consider if Peter were to die in your care and custody? A great outcry would arise, and people would suggest, wrongly I’m sure, that you might have a motive for killing him. The King would remove you from office until a full investigation vindicated Your Grace. Even so there is a lingering taint of suspicion on a man who was responsible for another man’s safety. Especially when his charge dies under suspicious circumstances. So much so that a King wanting popular support would not reappoint that man to office. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Buckingham grimaced. “You make a point, my lord. But I won’t have my power and authority challenged in public,” he said, eyes hard, lips tight. “Even by one such as you.”
“No one challenges your authority in public,” Caxton said. “No one need know my men are in control of the Tower, and the Tower kitchens.”
“Kitchens?” Buckingham said, raising an eyebrow. “What the devil have the kitchens to do with this?”
“We wouldn’t want you accused of feeding the prisoner tainted food,” Caxton said, thick square hands before him on the polished desk. “What if one of your men misinterpreted your words, and sought to act on his own, killing Sir Peter? This would automatically reflect on you and the King.”
The hate in the duke’s brown eyes encompassed them both. “You seem to have all the answers, Caxton. And you, Catharine. I never suspected you would do anything to help your husband. Born and bred Lancaster. A change of heart? Well, Peter is guilty and I will prove it. Your color is very high, Catharine. Perhaps you are as guilty as your husband. I know you put Caxton up to this.” He turned to Caxton. “You may have your way with the Tower for now, until I see the King. But do not test me again.” He strode out of the room, Carnahan following in his angry wake.
Catharine blew a sigh of relief. “You know Buckingham is every bit as guilty as Robin Nesbit and Lady Stanley.”
Caxton smiled, obviously as relieved as she. He rubbed at eyes, “Of course. But this is all we can do for now. Buckingham knows the King will back me, and he will bide his time. We will hope he makes more mistakes. I’ve inserted some of my people in his household.” He poured two goblets of watered wine, and handed one to her. “To Peter. For the moment he is safe.”
Twenty minutes later Catharine held her breath while toying with her wedding band. Peter sat with his back to her, staring out the window to the Tower Green below. “Peter,” she whispered. He turned, his leopard like topaz eyes rising the hair on the back of her neck. She felt the blood soar in her face.
“Catharine.” His magic voice, all deep music, raced tingling through her body. Then they were in each other’s arms, his mouth sought hers like a parched man thirsting for water.
But it was more than the melting of their bodies, this uniting of hurt, starving spirits. Words poured out of her amid happy relieved tears until they could bear to release each other. “Buckingham is gone. You’re under the protection of Sir James Caxton. He’s taken over the Tower.”
Wonder and disbelief reflected in his eyes. “But how?
“Forgive me for intruding.” Sir James Caxton stood in the doorway behind them, benevolent and pleased. “Your wife risked her life to trap the forger, Robin Nesbit. He confessed enough to enable me to remove the duke’s presence from the Tower.”
“You have taken a great risk doing what you did, my friends.” Peter’s grateful gaze gathered them both. “I thank you.” He raised Catharine’s hand to his lips. “My lady wife who believed.”
“However a problem still exists,” Caxton said. “I must hold you in the Tower until we hear from the King. This shouldn’t be more than a week or so. A formality. But Buckingham’s intervention into your affairs may not be at an end. He’s proven very resourceful in his grasping. So best to be on your guard.”
Catharine walked to the chamber window. “When will this insanity end?” She turned. “His appetites seem endless, and the conniving ingenious.”
Peter laughed. “Buckingham’s biggest miscalculation seems to be this forced marriage of ours. We have discovered each other. Finally.” His swordsman’s hands gathered hers, and he turned her iron wedding band with his callused fingers. The message of his caring coursed through her. “As for the duke? We have no choice but deal with His Grace one day at a time. When there is a werewolf loose in the land, we have to deal with him.”
Three days later at noon, Catharine jerked her head at the clatter of horses outside the second story solar. A breathless servant burst in the chamber, and hurriedly bowed. “Excuse me, my lady. The Duke of Buckingham and twelve retainers are here.”
She tossed her embroidery down, closed her eyes briefly, wanting to scream. Jesus wept. Doesn’t the man ever give up? He’s like a virulent plague. Her hand shook, but she stilled them. An image of Peter’s calm face and strong presence filled her mind giving her strength. She opened her eyes.. “Have Anthony Will see to the retainers, and have him show the duke up here.” She glanced to the bed chamber, then quickly away.
By the time Anthony showed the duke into the solar, Catharine had steeled herself to an icy calm. She smoothed her green and gold trimmed skirts. Buckingham, elegant in fine black hose, snowy white shirt, gold trimmed black doublet, smiled. “So good of you to receive me, Lady Trobridge.” He walked over to the window overlooking the courtyard. “Such a charming place, Trevor House.”
Catharine sweetened her smile. “Why is it
I always sense grasping in your voice when you’re dealing with the Trevor’s, Your Grace?”
The duke turned to her, pitted face hard, humor gone. “Barbed words, my lady. Not worthy of you. You sound like a carping servant. You and Peter may have bested Lady Stanley and me over our forged letters. Beautifully done by Nesbit. The man is an artist. But all is not lost. You are aware your father and brother are attainted outlaws. You also might remember my agents are pursuing your brother.” He rubbed his hands together and smiled. “We found him.”
Catharine felt the breath go out of her. “You have my brother?” She sank onto the settle, stunned.
“He’s a little bruised, but healthy,” Buckingham said.
“I don’t believe you.” She played for time, trying to quell the panic inside her. Images of a noose or ax and block rose in her mind.
He beckoned her. “Step to the window, my lady.”
All these years. William, living like a hunted animal. She stepped to the window, and there he was. Her beloved younger brother, who spoiled beyond tolerance, never let it go to his head. He’d always come to her, and they’d shared confidences, and been trusted playmates, a bond unbroken by space and years. “I don’t believe this is my brother.”
“Let’s go down for a closer look,” Buckingham invited. “You can question the boy. He’s very resourceful. Several times he’s given us the slip.”
In the courtyard William sat lashed to a bay gelding that tossed its head when Catharine approached. She walked up to the side of the great beast and looked up. “Is your name William Clifford?”
“Yes.” William’s voice, wooden, came short and clipped. He did not meet her eyes.
“Look at your sister,” Buckingham ordered. William’s chin began to jut, and his lips curl. “Do you need to be persuaded?”
The boy looked down and met Catharine’s searching eyes. “Oh, Cate,” he began. “It’s been so long. I ... ” His voice caught in his throat.
Catharine turned to Buckingham. “Damn, you . Damn you to hell.” She stared up at her brother. “Oh, Will, all these years.”
Buckingham laughed. “What a touching reunion.”
“What do you intend?” Catharine said voice bitter.
“An attainted outlaw is usually executed,” William said. “Let’s get it over with.”
Buckingham applauded. His men smirked. “Such bravado. Legally, he’s right, you know. Young Clifford, your sister is married to the richest lord in the realm. Sir Peter Trevor, Baron Trobridge.”
William’s lips curled. “A Yorkist fop.”
“Not at all,” Buckingham said. “Some of the family fought on the wrong side, as did mine. In Peter’s case, his uncle, Sir William Trevor, was executed after Tewkesbury. He was your sister’s plight troth. Your brother-in-law was knighted by King Edward on Bloody Meadow for his heroics that day. He hold three knighthoods. Order of the Garter, Order of the Golden Fleece, and one for valor on the field of battle. He is no fop. A charming world where various family members try to murder each other in the name of someone else’s dynastic ambition.”
“So what does my lord intend?” William asked.
“Now that we’ve established your identity, I intend to discuss just that with your sister.” Buckingham turned to Catharine with a satisfied smile. “Let’s adjourn, my lady, back to your solar. Perhaps after some refreshment we’ll see what we can come up with.”
Back in the solar, Catharine hovered by the window staring down at her brother while the duke savored his wine, and carried on a taunting conversation. “I was thinking of the satisfaction of a public execution, but thought no, the lad’s worth some money. So I sent the message last night requesting a meeting this morning.” He tasted his wine. “Your husband keeps the best cellars. Superb wine. I had hoped to step into his shoes, so to speak. Now it seems you have ruined that plan with your discovery of Nesbit, and our forged letters. Lady Stanley was bitterly disappointed with our forgeries being discovered, but pleased Nesbit was assassinated. Too dangerous to be left alive. What were you intending with Nesbit before we killed him?”
“He turned talkative when I guaranteed he’d be turned over to the Ecclesiastical Courts. No torture. Confined to a monastery for life.”
The duke looked astonished. “Clever. Beyond Clever. You are truly a formidable foe. A mind like yours is incredibly dangerous. You think of everything. I never... ”
Restless and angry, Catharine turned. “Let us get to the problem at hand, Your Grace.” Catharine’s hands clenched. She stared past him at the bed chamber, and then focused on the arrogant man seated in the great carved chair facing her. She sank down on the settle forcing herself to concentrate.
“Money,” Buckingham said, benevolent and pleased . “I want money.”
“As though I couldn’t guess. You’re so subtle.”
“The old Lancaster contempt for money and merchant. For keeping your brother alive, I want twenty thousand pounds for starter.” His bland smile remained. “We’ll negotiate more as time goes on.”
“You want a continuous source of income. But Peter will never agree to that.”
Buckingham arched an eyebrow. “Peter values you. He’ll pay to keep you happy.”
“To a point.” She crushed the cushion with her hands. “But there is that point he won’t go beyond. I’d suggest we make a onetime exchange. My brother for a specific sum of money.”
“Sad, but I agree. Seventy-five thousand pounds.”
“You’re mad,” she said, standing. “He isn’t a King. No one has that kind of revenue.”
The duke snorted with laughter. “Peter is worth more than any King. Rents from his estates alone come to nearly sixty-five thousand pounds. His trading and banking empire gleans far more.”
“Twenty thousand,” she said.
“Forty thousand,” he countered.
“Twenty-five thousand,” she said, trying to keep a clear head.
“Thirty-five thousand,” the duke said, obviously enjoying the exchange.
“Thirty thousand,” she said, fingering her wedding band. “He won’t go higher.”
“Agreed,” The duke took a sip of wine.
“I will speak to Peter. But I’m afraid this is a useless exercise. He will never agree to any of this you know.” She swallowed, wanting to be away from this foul grasping man. God strike him dead! She took a deep breath to steady herself, to keep the raw desire to hurt him under bare control.
“He won’t want a public execution,” the duke said, sure of himself. “In the meantime I will keep your brother.”
“See that he is not damaged, Your Grace. And keep Carnahan away from him. The man is unsteady and without pity.”
Buckingham grimaced. “I agree. The man is without mercy. He is perfect for my uses. He has a great grudge against Peter since the killing of his son, Castor Breckenridge.” He stood and set down his wine goblet. “Pray remember he is available to do my bidding if you do not agree to my terms. Tell your husband.”
They walked down stairs to the courtyard. The duke mounted his gelding. Catharine reached up and touched her brother’s bound hands. “You will soon be with us, Will,” she said. The boy nodded and swallowed, unshed tears in his eyes.
“I hope - ” he began, but Carnahan jerked the bay’s reins, and the duke’s retinue went out of the courtyard onto Bishopgate Street. Horses and men blurred in Catharine’s vision.
Back in the second story solar Catharine entered and regarded the four men waiting for her. A tall thin man in an elegant deep blue gown trimmed in fur and over laid with a great gold chain of Office advanced and salute her hand.
“My Lord Mayor,” Catharine said, giving him a curtsey.
Sir Edmund Shaa said, “If I had not heard this, I would not have believed it. The Lord Constable is corrupt. He is complicit in Nesbit’s death.”
“I am sorry you had to witness what you did, Edmund,” Caxton said. “And you, Richard. As Under Sheriff of London, we needed you
r presence,”
“A necessity,” Sir Richard Arden agreed.
Miles Northrop handed Caxton a sheaf of papers covered with close neat writing. “A transcript of what was said, my lord.”
Sir Hugh Addisson came in. “Excuse me, my lords, Lady Catharine. Our agents are keeping discreet track of the whereabouts of your brother. We’ll know Buckingham’s very movement.”
“Thank you, Hugh. Please join us.” Catharine made the introduction of the household knight, and then, with her own hands, served goblets of chilled wine and delicate pastries.
Sir Edmund sipped the wine and gestured. “James, considering what we have heard today, Lord Trobridge should be released immediately.” He read the transcript carefully and witnessed it with his signature, as did the other men one by one.
“Agreed,” Caxton said. “Lady Catharine, we want to thank you for asking us to witness this interview with his Grace. A stroke of genius.”
“Thank you, James.” Catharine had not touched the wine, finding it hard to drink the delicious vintage while her brother suffered. “I had hoped this would give you the evidence you needed to free Peter once and for all. With four witnesses of your merit, I don’t think you’ll have trouble removing Buckingham from power.”
“This is not a definitive solution,” Caxton cautioned. “The man has accrued the great good will of the King. If I seem to hedge, it is true. I must out-weigh the good-will with evidence of his behavior that is detrimental to King and country.”
“I think you have it,” Sir Edmund said.
Caxton nodded. “In this I agree. But I must still find the reason for his over-riding need for money.”
Catharine passed the plate of pastries around again. “Greed.”
“I don’t think so,” Caxton replied. “Buckingham is not in debt. Something must be fueling his grasping.” He grinned. “At any rate, Catharine, will you accompany me and Sir Richard to the Tower of London to see to the release of your husband?”