He was shouting by the time he turned at Lower Thames Street towards the Tower, a long, continuous battle cry. He could hear himself, but he could not stop. His horse reacted under him, tossing, wild-eyed, trying to dislodge the maniac on its back, and Parker fought it under control.
Wolsey would come this way from Bridewell. If he were still on his way to the Tower, Parker would encounter him. Or at least run Peter Jack or one of Harry’s boys to ground.
The thought steadied him and he managed to clamp his mouth shut, weaving the horse through the carts and pedestrians on their way to the dock at Belin’s Gate with more restraint.
“Sir.” A voice cried out from the side of the road.
He pulled so hard on the reins, the horse lifted its forelegs and tried to unseat him, dancing sideways in alarm.
It had been one of Harry’s lads, Will, and Parker twisted on the saddle to see if he could find him again.
“Here.” Will dodged around a cart, and ran toward him.
“Wolsey?”
“We’ve been trying every trick to slow him.” The boy pointed to a cart overturned and half blocking the way up ahead, another cart abandoned next to it. Parker realized the overturned cart was from his own stable. “His men pushed that aside a few minutes ago. But they can’t get the Cardinal’s cart through. They’re walking the rest of the way.”
Parker swung down from the horse and threw the reins to Will. The crowds coming in and out of Belin’s Gate, hauling fish and grain, would make the going faster on foot. Something Wolsey had realized, as well.
He ran, sword still raised, and palmed the knife he kept in his sleeve as well.
He leapt over the front of his cart, and saw a flash of crimson a little way up the street.
The Cardinal, in full regalia. All the better to intimidate Kilburne with.
“Wolsey.” His shout echoed, bouncing off the water to his right and the houses to his left.
Even over the noise of the small port, he thought the crimson-clad figure heard him. Hesitated.
He pounded forward. “Wolsey.” He held the shout this time, drawing it out, and the crowds parted, people turning back to stare at him as he ran, moving out of his way when they saw his sword.
He didn’t see the men Wolsey had set on him until it was far too late.
His concentration had been on the Cardinal’s crimson robes, but Wolsey had brought his henchmen.
He missed them in the crowds, dressed as they were, not in the Cardinal’s colours, but as merchants and traders going about their business.
The first man slammed into him and they bounced against each other, Wolsey’s man losing his footing on cobbles slick with river water and fish scales. He gripped a nearby trader as he went down, trying to stay upright.
Parker dodged past him while he was still struggling with the passerby, but someone grabbed his arm, and pulled him back.
He staggered, and bent into a crouch, turning in a circle to see how many.
He was surrounded.
He didn’t hesitate. These men had thrown themselves into Wolsey’s service, and every second they delayed him, was a second longer Susanna would be in their master’s clutches.
With a roar, he lifted his sword and spun.
The men leapt back, standing on toes, elbowing the crowds as they tried to stay away from the honed blade.
There were mutterings from the traders, and Parker heard his name called.
He’d worked Belin’s Gate as a lad, hauling loads here, and he was known.
“Sir.” Peter Jack called from just outside the circle.
“What’s happening?” Parker lunged at one of the men and he countered, trying to jump back against the growing wall of people hemming them in.
“The Cardinal is nearly at Tower Gate.”
“Stop him any way you can.” A calm came over him, he felt it settle on him, like a cloak of feathers. Light, weightless.
He lifted his sword again and the man in front of him looked him in the face and turned, squealing like a pig, and tried to burrow his way through the crowd pressing in.
Parker spun away, his longsword angled for a neck hit, and connected with another of Wolsey’s men. The blood sprayed high, a rain of warm red, and the people closest screamed and turned away to avoid it.
He lunged in the same move as he pulled his sword free, thrusting his knife to take another of his attackers just under the breastbone and up.
The man fell screaming, hands clutching his stomach, trying to hold the blood in.
Parker stood back, blood dripping from both his blades, and the rest of Wolsey’s men tried to melt back into the crowds.
Parker saw the traders and docksmen bumping them, hitting the backs of their heads, watched them being tripped, as they tried to get away.
“Please let me through.” His voice was nearly gone from his shouting from before but a way opened up immediately and he ran, ran harder and faster than he could ever remember running.
The crowds thinned past Belin’s Gate, and he could see Peter Jack launching himself at Wolsey, grabbing the Cardinal physically by his robes and falling to the ground. A deadweight for Wolsey to drag with him.
Wolsey had kept two men about him and three of Harry’s lads buzzed around them like flies around dung, getting in their way, forcing them to slow. Preventing them from helping the Cardinal.
They hit out at the boys, and caught one a backhander, tossed the other two aside. They pried Peter Jack off the Cardinal and threw him, easy as if he weighed nothing, to the side of the street.
The Cardinal turned up Sporiar Lane and disappeared from sight.
A howl swelled up in his throat and Parker bit it back, forced himself even faster.
He saw Peter Jack and the boys stagger to their feet. Peter Jack called an instruction, and the boys ran after the Cardinal, scooping up stones and pebbles as they went. Ammunition.
Peter Jack turned then, not up Sporiar Lane, but through the gate of the house on the corner.
He was going to take a shortcut, beat the Cardinal to Tower Gate. Warn Eric.
Parker laughed, one short burst of triumph, then clamped his mouth shut and focused on breathing, on pumping his legs and arms as fast as he could.
He followed the path Peter Jack had taken, dodging around the side of a massive mansion and slamming through the wooden gate at the back of the garden onto Beer Lane. He crossed the street and took the next gate, ran through an orchard and out onto Petty Wales, the open lane that led to Tower Gate.
He could see Wolsey turning right out of Tower Street, his stately progress ruined by the need to duck and shield from a rain of pebbles thrown by the lads. Twice he stopped, while his men tried to chase the boys off, but as soon as they started toward the Tower again, the boys edged closer, more missiles in hand.
Straight ahead, at the main gate, he could see Peter Jack. He was leaping and waving in front of the Tower like a madman, jumping and pointing back to the Cardinal.
Warning Eric at his look-out post.
Parker walked slowly out onto the road, his chest heaving, his legs shaking from exertion, and took a stand directly in the Cardinal’s path.
He took out the King’s writ, and held his sword ready.
Wolsey could see him now, and satisfaction licked up his chest and warmed his heart as he saw the Cardinal falter at the sight of him standing in his way.
Peter Jack was still shouting behind him.
“Call for Kilburne.” Parker hoped Peter Jack could hear him over the racket he was making. He wanted the captain to witness the delivery of the King’s writ.
Wolsey was capable of claiming to have never received it. Capable of anything.
And then, a strange noise came from behind him. His focus was on Wolsey, his whole body quivering with eagerness for the confrontation, but the noise seemed out of place.
Ahead, Wolsey stopped, his mouth open.
And finally Parker heard it properly, amazed he had not understoo
d before. It was the sound of the bell in the Bell Tower, ringing out with urgency.
The bell that was rung outside of curfew time only to signal the Tower was under attack.
The portcullises began to come down, their chains clinking and sliding in a grating rumble. The massive drawbridge creaked and groaned as it was raised.
The Tower was locked up tight.
Parker threw back his head and laughed.
No matter what happened, the Cardinal would not be entering any time soon.
Chapter Twenty-four
Nature inclines us to enter into society; for there is no man so much raised above the rest of mankind as to be the only favourite of Nature, who, on the contrary, seems to have placed on a level all those that belong to the same species.
Utopia by Thomas More (translated by H. Morley)
“The Cardinal is coming. The Cardinal is coming.” Eric was breathless as he burst into the room. “We have to hide.”
“How close?” Susanna stood from the table and met him at the door, Harry just behind her.
“On the approach to the Gate. He’s just turned onto Petty Wales. Five minutes away.”
“Let’s go.” Susanna stepped out into the passage and then ran along to the end, through the door into the Bell Tower.
“We’ll be trapped up there.” Harry stood firm, near her door.
“We aren’t going to stay there. We’re going to ring the bell.” She’d thought about it all morning. Ringing the bell when there was no actual threat to the Tower may land her in trouble, but it couldn’t compare to the trouble she would be in if Wolsey was able to walk through those gates with his writ.
Eric was already behind her, and Harry followed, still reluctant.
“What will that do?”
“Kilburne told me if the bell is rung out of curfew times, it signals the Tower is under attack. The guards lock the gates and raise the drawbridge.”
“The Cardinal won’t be able to come in.” Eric laughed.
“And we give Parker more time to reach us.” She was gasping as she spoke, near the top now.
She burst into the open-air belfry and grabbed for the rope, hooked neatly over its holder.
“I might need help.” She pulled down, and the bell swung, but not enough, it didn’t touch the clapper. Eric took hold just below her own hands and pulled with her a second time. The clapper made a small twang against the side. Harry reached above her hands, and the three of them jumped and pulled down with everything they had.
The bell rang out, the clearest, sweetest sound, and they did it again, and again.
“Listen.” Eric let go, and pointed toward the gate, and then she heard it too. The sound of the drawbridge coming up, the rattle of chains as the portcullises dropped.
“We did it.” Harry shouted a laugh, the sound of it drowned out by the counter-swing of the bell coming down for one last ring.
“Let’s find somewhere to hide.” Susanna spun to the stairs.
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible.” Jean’s voice came just as the bell fell silent, his words clear and loud in the belfry. He stood a few steps from the stairs, to the left, and he moved his crossbow a little to the side so she could see his face.
Susanna’s mouth hung open. She closed it slowly and continued to stare at the assassin. He was dressed in the uniform of the Tower guards.
Then they all heard the sound of someone running up the stairs, and they all turned to the door, as Kilburne burst through.
“What is this?” Kilburne stood at the top of the stairs, breathing heavily, his sword drawn. He frowned at Jean, trying to place him among his men.
“I’m afraid your bell rung a little too late.” Jean spoke with laughter in his voice. “The enemy is already within.”
Kilburne almost stepped back in shock, catching himself just in time before he fell backward down the steep stairs. “Who are you? You aren’t one of my men.”
Jean flicked his crossbow right, indicating Kilburne come round to stand with the others, and the captain reluctantly complied.
“You’re right, I’m not one of your men, but I’m sure some of them will be along soon, Captain, so . . .” Jean pointed the bow at Eric. “Mistress Horenbout, you will come with me, or I will shoot the little boy.”
Susanna did not hesitate. Better than anyone, she knew Jean would do whatever he threatened. She took a step toward him.
“Wait.” He held up a hand. “First, I’d like you to drop that knife you have up your sleeve.” He took aim at Eric again, and she pulled her sleeve up, and unstrapped the blade Parker had given her. Dropped it to the floor.
Kilburne looked at her with eyes wide with horror.
“Good. I learned my lesson from last time we met, madame. Now come here.”
She went to stand by his side, and Harry gave a strangled cry of frustration as Jean drew her in front of him, and placed a knife to her throat.
“If I hear a footstep on the stairs before I reach the bottom, I will slit her throat, and you can explain that to your master.”
Harry fisted his hands and she saw agony in his eyes as Jean pulled her after him, down into the Bell Tower.
She was surprised when he put her in front of him, but did not keep his hold on her throat, letting her move under her own power. She could feel the knife near her neck, the blade touching her lightly when she didn’t move fast enough. It made her shiver.
The weight of the King’s ring pulled at her left sleeve, and she thought it ironic her last resort was worthless to her now. The ring would mean something to Wolsey, would stop him in his tracks, but it meant nothing to Jean. Except as something to steal.
“How did you get in?”
He snorted. “That was easy enough. It is how I am going to get out now you have raised the alarm that occupies my thoughts.”
“Why are you here? Why didn’t you simply kill me in the Bell Tower belfry, rather than having the inconvenience of dragging me down the stairs?”
Jean clucked his tongue. “Despite what I threatened your young bodyguard above, I am not here to kill you.”
Susanna almost stumbled on the step, and his hand came out to steady her. “What do you want with me, then?”
“Two things, as it happens.”
She was silent, waiting for him to go on.
“The current whereabouts of the Mirror of Naples, naturally, and I also have an offer to put to you.”
“An offer?” She stopped on the stairs and turned to look up at him.
“Yes. I am not sure what your answer will be, but I will take the chance of rejection. Would you come away with me, to France?”
“Come away with you to France?” She repeated the words, unable to take their meaning.
He sighed, as if she were a very slow child. “As my lover.”
* * *
Parker could not help the smile on his face as Wolsey approached, walking slower now he could see there would be no quick entry into the Tower. Peter Jack had reached his side. He was limping, and he stopped just at Parker’s left shoulder. Parker risked a quick look at him before he turned back to Wolsey and he did not hide the pride and respect in his eyes.
Peter Jack held his gaze.
“Your Grace.” Parker turned to Wolsey, but did not bow.
The Cardinal did not reply.
Parker saw Wolsey’s eyes flick to his face. He raised a hand and wiped away the blood from the man he had cut at Belin’s Gate. It was already beginning to dry, and it flaked off from his cheek as he rubbed.
They said nothing.
There were two dead men, and their deaths were on his and Wolsey’s hands, both. The weight of them was as heavy as if both bodies were draped across Parker’s shoulders.
“They died for nothing.” Parker looked beyond Wolsey, to his two men, standing just behind him. “The King issued a writ to stay you, Wolsey.”
Wolsey made a hissing sound, like a kettle boiling dry. “The King is away.”
; “The King is away, you are right. Away in Epping Forest. And he was none too pleased to have me track him down there in the middle of his hunt and ask him to stop you damaging his artist beyond repair, searching for proof that doesn’t exist.” Parker paused. “Might I clarify, none too pleased with you.”
Wolsey’s eyes flared, hatred and frustration burning bright. “You interfere in everything, damn you.”
Parker eyed him like he would a rabid dog. “That is my betrothed you planned to torture, Cardinal. Did you think I would stand aside and watch?”
“Your loyalty to the King should come before your loyalty to her.” Wolsey spat the words.
“You did not have her arrested out of concern for the King, you hypocrite. You did it to punish her for what happened a few months ago. When Renard came to you with a story, but no proof, you were only too eager to believe it.”
Wolsey flinched as he said Renard’s name. “How . . ?”
“I know all about Renard.” Parker watched Wolsey’s face with interest. “I know he was no French spy. He was turned by de Praet. He’s been feeding you false information since the Comte returned to France.”
Wolsey turned white-faced. He staggered a little, as if about to faint.
“Renard wanted Susanna imprisoned because he thought she might know something to the King’s advantage. Something that would put the Emperor in a difficult position.” He laughed softly at the irony. “The one person who could help you win the King away from the Emperor to support France, and you had her locked up and planned to torture her.”
Wolsey finally had control of himself again. His hands shook, and his lips were pursed, but he had drawn himself together, his shoulders stiff.
“Let me see the writ.” He held out his hand.
“I want an independent witness. I will not have you tear it up or throw it to the wind.” Parker crossed his arms over his chest.
Wolsey choked in outrage, but the sound was drowned out by the clank and rattle of the drawbridge being lowered again and the portcullises raised.
There were shouts behind him, and Parker turned to the side, still keeping Wolsey and his men in sight.
Harry and Eric were running towards him and Kilburne followed behind at a half-jog.
In Defense of the Queen Page 13