Dark Queen Waiting

by Paul Doherty

  ‘How could this happen?’ Sir Thomas leaned closer, his face only a few inches from his son’s. The Recorder pointed down the tunnel. ‘Guards at one end, guards at the other, a most secure place. The lords of this manor used to sit on commissions of Oyer et Terminer. These cells were specially constructed to hold prisoners from all over Essex. Nothing more than chambers hewed out of rock.’

  Christopher agreed. He glanced at Parson Austin standing silent and impassive as any statue. Christopher fought to repress a shiver of fear. He could acutely feel a deep unease here in this murky prison: these men may not be his enemies, but they were certainly not his friends. He would receive little comfort or assistance from them. His father couldn’t care a whit about Conwar. Secretly the Recorder would be only too pleased that the countess had lost another faithful retainer. Sir Thomas’s only worry was that Archdeacon Blackthorne might blame him for Conwar’s death, yet there wasn’t a shred of evidence to substantiate such a claim. The Recorder would blithely proclaim his innocence and have Parson Austin as his witness that he’d done no wrong.

  ‘The prisoner’s belt was taken, wasn’t it?’ Sir Thomas half smiled and Christopher felt his father was now baiting him. ‘I do wonder why?’

  ‘I must notify the countess about this death,’ Christopher retorted, holding his father’s stare. ‘She must be informed. But, as I said, I need to have words with Pembroke.’

  The Recorder pulled a face, shrugged then turned to the captain of the guard, the man’s bearded face almost hidden behind the broad nose-guard of his conical helmet. ‘Take him,’ the Recorder grated. ‘Let him see the prisoner. One last time, eh? Tomorrow, God willing, The Galicia will be standing off the coast and then they’ll all be gone.’

  Urswicke caught the vague contempt in his father’s voice. He stared at the Recorder whose smooth, oiled face creased into a smile which never reached his eyes.

  ‘Shall we go, sir?’ The captain of the guard gestured further along the passageway. Christopher nodded and followed him down to one of the doors.

  ‘Before you open that,’ Christopher stealthily slipped a silver coin into the captain’s hand which the man swiftly pocketed, ‘I will need the lantern.’ The captain went and took one from a ledge. ‘And,’ Urswicke pointed at the keyring that the soldier held, ‘one key fits the locks on all these cells?’

  ‘Yes sir, fashioned by the same smith. Crude devices yet strong enough.’

  ‘And you hold the only key?’

  ‘I certainly do, sir.’ The soldier hitched his cloak closer against the wet dampness. ‘This keyring never left my possession. We saw no one enter or leave. Sir Thomas has given me the rough edge of his tongue but, as the angels are my witness, I cannot say how that man was murdered. Sir,’ the captain became more heated, ‘look at this passageway, stone above, beside and below. A strong guard at either entrance.’ The captain’s voice faltered. ‘This is a lonely, haunted place. I will be glad when we are gone.’

  Christopher glanced back up the passageway, his father and Parson Austin had left. ‘When are you gone?’ He turned back to the captain.

  ‘Sir, as soon as we reach the coast. Ship or no ship, Sir Thomas has decreed that we turn and ride back to London. He wants to be free of this business.’

  ‘I am sure he does. Very well, open the door.’

  The captain did so. Urswicke entered and found Pembroke crouched in the corner. He had pushed away the dirt-caked palliasse as unfit for use. The sanctuary man raised his head as Urswicke entered holding the lantern.

  ‘Good to see you, Christopher,’ he whispered, ‘how do you go?’

  Urswicke caught the lilting tongue of the Welsh valleys. He crouched close to the prisoner. He quietly prayed that he would make no slip, no reference to this man’s kin being murdered in a London convent, merciless deaths, brutal slayings, a hideous sacrilege carried out on holy ground. This man’s family had been slaughtered and Pembroke, like the other sanctuary men, was probably marked down for death over the next few days. Sir Thomas cared for no one. Urswicke steeled both heart and will. He, the countess and all her household, in this kingdom and beyond, were locked in a ferocious struggle to the death with the House of York. Men, women and children would die in this conflict, but what choice was there? The events of the last few weeks proved the sheer ruthlessness of their opponents in this lutte à l’outrance – a fight to the death, as furious and merciless as any clash on the battlefield.

  ‘The darkness is deepening, isn’t it?’ Pembroke seemed to have caught Urswicke’s mood. ‘Our flame is fading. Something has happened, hasn’t it?’

  ‘Conwar has been murdered.’ Urswicke edged nearer so he could whisper. ‘How, why and by whom, I cannot say. A bolt to his head, his belt has been taken.’

  ‘Lord save us!’ Pembroke hissed. Urswicke stared at that masked face. He found it eerie, as if a man who hid his face also hid his soul.

  ‘I had to come and see you,’ Christopher declared. ‘The countess regards you as leader amongst the sanctuary men.’ He edged even closer so he could inspect the gyves on the man’s wrists and ankles. Pembroke seemed as confined as Conwar. ‘To cut to the quick,’ Christopher continued, ‘do you know how Conwar died? Did you hear anything?’

  ‘Nothing at all until the guard came marching along the passageway outside. He banged on each door until the prisoner within shouted back. I heard him banging on one door time and time again, I sensed something was wrong.’ Pembroke shrugged. ‘The rest you know. Give the countess my regards as well as my prayers that we get safely out of here. We go tomorrow, yes?’

  ‘That is correct and, from what I gather, my father Sir Thomas will take you to the coast then leave.’

  ‘What, to swim or to perish?’

  ‘Keep your courage,’ Urswicke murmured as the captain of the guard banged on the door. ‘I am sure the darkness will thin and our flame burn more fiercely. Trust me.’

  Urswicke sat by the countess and waited for her to compose herself. He had told her what had happened to Conwar. He had shown her the pilgrimage badge and his mistress dissolved into tears, one of the few occasions Christopher had seen her so distressed. She’d just sat and quietly sobbed, the tears rolling down her face as she stared at the medal. Christopher prayed for the strength to keep his own agitation under control. He sensed the countess knew more than she’d revealed. She was deeply saddened at Conwar’s death but her grief was more than that. She had whispered about treason and betrayal, about the Judas kiss and the lack of trust which ate like a canker into her soul. Now and then she would lapse into Welsh, talking quickly and quietly to herself.

  ‘Mistress,’ he spoke up, ‘I understand your grief.’

  ‘Another good man,’ she replied. ‘Christopher, I have cancelled supper with your father.’ She raised her head, her pallid face all tear-soaked. ‘My friend,’ she continued, ‘I cannot sit there and sup with such a man, so seemingly fair yet so foul and false. A true Judas. He rejoices in all this. I know he does. Christopher, what are we to do in these dire circumstances? How do we defend ourselves against the dagger pressed against our hearts?’

  Urswicke drew a deep breath. He was certain that he had stumbled on the truth yet he needed more time to reflect and to plan. He also wanted to reassure the countess of his support but he had to wait for the right time for any confrontation with the devil within.

  ‘Christopher?’

  ‘Mistress, I know you are surrounded by traitors but I am true to you and so is Master Bray. We are not Judas men but your most loyal retainers in peace and war, body and soul to the very death. I realise you and kinsman Jasper have as your motto “trust no one”, but you must trust us. So first, the Dragon Cipher? Does it really exist? Was it – is it – carried by one or more of these sanctuary men? I must know the truth.’

  ‘Very well,’ the countess replied softly. ‘The Dragon Cipher is, as I’ve told you, a most detailed document, written in secret symbols, describing the power and influence of the
House of Lancaster and of Tudor in particular throughout Wales and elsewhere. The cipher lists families who are loyal to us, which lords would support us, where weapons are stored, the passability of rivers and streams, possible landing places for an invasion, the nature of tides, the movements of ships, and so on. Now kinsman Jasper and I hold this securely. Please, please,’ she held up a hand, ‘accept our assurance on that. When appropriate, I will tell you where the cipher truly resides, but not now.’ She whispered as if talking to herself. ‘Anyway, to distract York and their legion of spies, Jasper and I gave out that the cipher was held by members of the Red Dragon Battle Group, or rather those who survived the slaughter at Tewkesbury. We wanted to distract York from ourselves to create confusion, to send them scurrying hither and thither. The diversion worked. Edward of York detests our battle group. We let him believe that the same adherents of Tudor carried a cipher which York could use to destroy our power in Wales.’ The countess paused, as if measuring her words. ‘All we inferred,’ she continued, ‘is that one of our battle group held such a document. Of course we paid a price for our deception, a high price, these loyal retainers, the survivors of the battle group, being hunted high and low.’

  ‘Which is why they eventually all sought sanctuary?’

  ‘Yes, at my advice. I secretly mourned what was happening to them but it diverted York from kinsman Jasper and Henry in Brittany, it afforded them some protection. The members of the battle group, Pembroke included, did not know which of our comrades carried our secret. They were harried mercilessly so, eventually, at my secret insistence, they broke cover and left their hiding places to seek sanctuary in London churches where they could be afforded some protection.’ She paused, staring fiercely at Christopher. ‘Only then,’ she continued hoarsely, ‘only then did we realise the extent of the damage inflicted upon us. A goodly number of that battle group never emerged from hiding: they had simply disappeared as if they’d never existed. My only logical conclusion is that they had been betrayed and silently killed.’

  ‘Who would know where they are?’

  ‘Oh,’ she replied, ‘before this present business such knowledge was common amongst the group. True, some had fallen silent, but we thought that was just the way it should be. Anyway, the survivors emerged and sought sanctuary. I then negotiated with Master Blackthorne that they be allowed safe passage out of the kingdom. He agreed. The Church is always eager to emphasise its authority at the expense of the Crown, especially when Holy Mother Church believes the Crown should be checked. He was only too willing to agree to my suggestion. At the same time, Blackthorne was offering a sop to Edward and his brothers, if these members of the battle group were given sanctuary, they would eventually have to leave the kingdom. Of course, Master Blackthorne surmised correctly: Edward and his council were only too pleased to rid the realm of those they considered lower than vermin.’

  ‘And of course if these survivors were brought together, it provided an excellent opportunity for murderous mischief for the likes of my father and other Yorkist minions.’

  ‘Christopher, that was a risk we had to take. However, at the time, I truly believed my retainers would be protected by the laws and rights of sanctuary, so zealously guarded by Holy Mother Church and so,’ she sighed, ‘we come to the worm at the very heart of our affairs. Oh, I know traitors abound like flies on a turd, but Jasper and I learnt, to our horror, that we housed a traitor, a member of the Red Dragon Battle Group, a traitor within rather than without. And so powerful is this enemy within that I am now truly fearful that the survivors of the battle group will never see Brittany. They too are marked down for death.’ She paused. ‘We thought, Lord Jasper and myself, that we could control the game. Now in my arrogance,’ she beat my breast, ‘I realise how wrong I was. York is slaughtering us and he has twisted my proposal in order to brush the survivors out to sea so others can finish the murderous task.’ Margaret clutched her goblet and drank noisily from it. ‘I have my suspicions,’ she glanced sideways, ‘I suspect you have the same. But Christopher, what can we do? We cannot break the journey! To turn off the appointed path would be disastrous, yet we know that even more pressing danger awaits my retainers at sea. So Christopher, what are we to do?’

  ‘As yet, mistress, I don’t know. At the moment I put my trust in Master Bray. However, there is one other matter.’

  ‘Christopher?’

  ‘On this, mistress, I beg you not to be so coy. Lady Anne Neville?’ He leaned across and clutched her hand, forcing the countess to look at him. ‘Lady Anne Neville?’ He repeated. ‘You had to leave Bray in London ostensibly to search for her. You know that was a waste of time. All the power of the English Crown has been deployed in that search but York has discovered nothing and you know the reason why. Look,’ he let go of her hand, ‘shall we call your maid Edith?’

  ‘How did you guess?’

  ‘I studied Edith. Master Fleetfoot, your messenger, is a master of disguise. Edith is Lady Anne Neville. You made a few mistakes but, there again, you’d have to be very close to notice them. Edith appeared as if out of nowhere, she is clearly not suited to service, clumsy and inept in her manner. Anne Neville is, I understand, slim with eye-catching golden hair. Now Edith’s hair is black though, on careful inspection, it has too much of that colour of the night. I detected artifice rather than nature. Edith’s face also provoked my suspicions. On closer scrutiny it appears as if rubbed with some white powder. As for her build and gait, undoubtedly beneath her gown lies bulky clothing to hide her figure, her size and the way she walks. Mistress, time is passing and I fear greatly for what you might do.’ Urswicke lapsed into silence though he sensed he had spoken the truth and struck at the very heart of the matter.

  ‘Time is passing.’ The countess turned to face Urswicke squarely. ‘Anne Neville is my friend. Oh, she is like a little mouse, but little mice can slip in where the cat fears to tread. She overhears conversations in her sister’s household. She informs me how Clarence yearns to destroy me and mine. However, Lady Anne also fears that Clarence intends to do great mischief to her, so she secretly petitioned for my help. True, she has a liking for Richard of Gloucester. In time, he may protect her but, as of now, she has a mortal fear of Clarence and his creature Mauclerc.’

  ‘Perceptive woman!’

  ‘Quite. Anne sent me messages and I replied. Fleetfoot was most skilled in this. Eventually we made our decision and, on an agreed date, Anne left her sister’s house and slipped into mine. Only myself and Fleetfoot knew what was happening. Fleetfoot created her disguise whilst I let it be known that Edith was the daughter of a member of my household from our manor at Woking, that she was unused to service, hence her clumsy ways. Edith settled in very easily. She acted the simple country mouse and was accepted as such.’

  ‘So what do you intend?’ The countess sat, face in her hands. ‘Mistress?’

  She took her hands away and stared at him. Christopher kept his face impassive, trying to calm the panic seething within him. ‘I will be honest. I shall tell you what I plotted.’ She drew a deep breath and took a set of ave beads from her belt wallet, fingering the small crucifix. ‘I intended to flee to Brittany and take the Lady Anne with me. No, no,’ she rubbed the cross even more vigorously, ‘I was not going to desert you. In my plan you and Bray would have come with me …’

  ‘In God’s name, mistress!’

  ‘No, Christopher, if I took Anne with me, I could have betrothed her to my son Henry. She is a wealthy heiress. We could have set up a court in exile. We would be protected. I would be safe and, above all, I would be with my darling son.’ She paused. ‘Christopher, I am sorry if it appears that I do not fully trust you and Reginald but I felt attacked on every side. I once talked to a woman who attempted to take her own life. She really intended to die but a friend saved her. When I asked her why she even contemplated such a serious sin, she replied: “Nothingness.” Christopher, I asked her what that meant? She declared that she felt alone, that there was nothin
g or no one, either on earth or in heaven, who could help her, and the prospect of oblivion was the most attractive.’

  ‘And you feel that, mistress? In God’s name you have others such as myself who are prepared to die for you.’

  ‘York has been very clever,’ Margaret held up the rosary beads, ‘sly and cunning. Both Lord Jasper and myself have been fed slowly but remorselessly that we have a traitor deep in our household; such a suspicion corrodes our very souls.’

  ‘And you suspect me, Reginald?’

  ‘Christopher, I suspected everybody, even myself! That’s what is so clever about your father, he creates illusions. He is a shadow-shifter, he toys with people’s emotions and humours. In Brittany I would at least be safe, I would be able to reflect, to plot my own way out of the nightmare.’

  ‘I can see the logic behind what you say. We would reach the coast. We would all board that Breton ship and its farewell to London. You would publicly proclaim that you were only visiting your son and that you’d extended your protection to the Lady Anne Neville. Bray and I would join you on board The Galicia. We would reach La Rochelle and plot anew. But that cannot happen now.’ Christopher stretched out and touched the countess gently on the shoulder. She grasped his hand and pressed it hard.