by Hall, Ian
With Abigail’s permission, I shared Cora with her periodically, but we had to remember to feed outside the triangle too; Cora alone could not supply the amount of blood we both craved. Using the list, I hunted carefully, always away from my other self, always taking precautions.
When winter fell on the capital, we were prepared, and the house well supplied in both provisions and logs for the various fires.
I found it a particularly peaceful time. From a period of hectic upheaval and worry over Elizabeth’s future, and rebellions and beheadings, I found myself back in my own timeline, wallowing in the security of a certain future, albeit a temporary one.
Then one night it changed.
On November 16th, 1553, I met George Kingston.
I’d made it part of my ‘settling in’ plan to tour the taverns of Kensington, and peruse both their facilities and the class and persuasion of their clientele.
The Silver Chalice, on Kensington’s main street, looked large from the outside, but once you walked in the door, they had divided the main bar into small rooms with wooden partitions, maybe seven feet high. It reminded me of a modern office, except for the noise, and the smell. Candelabras hung over every booth.
A large man met me at the door. “Are you in a party, sir?”
“No, I just wanted a drink, actually,” I said, feeling very put off by both his attitude and his question.
“Your name, sir?” the man asked, then got immediately pushed aside by an approaching man, obviously slightly the worse for the establishment’s ale.
“Don’t mind him, sir. We only have one question here, are you Catholic or not?”
Having no time to consider, I thought I’d tell the truth. “I am not.”
And instantly, I seemed to be considered his friend.
He draped an arm around my shoulders, pushed the ‘bouncer’ out of the way, and led me to a booth against one of the walls.
“Gentlemen!” he announced into the company, and seven faces looked up; some suspicious, some drunk and smiling, most a combination of both. “Gennelmen,” he slurred, “I have a newcomer to the Chalice. Introduce yourself, sir.”
“I am Richard DeVere, recently moved into the area.”
A large, solidly-set man rose, and extended his hand over the table, almost covered in tankards. I took his offered hand, and found mine squeezed tightly. “How do you feel on the Spanish question?” He retained his grip on my hand, almost pulling me over the table.
“England needs no intercession from such a power,” I said, and instantly some of the suspiciousness eased.
“Well said,” the man with my hand said, pounding mine up and down. “George Kingston, at your service, sir.”
Calls were made for more ale, and a tankard got pushed into my hand.
George clanked his against mine as I sat down. “Here’s to the Queen, sir!” and the table echoed; “You know who we mean, sir!”
They laughed at their own inside joke, and drank furiously.
I got introduced to the rest, and catalogued their names, then a wench brought more ale to the table, and the next test was delivered to me.
“Best Queen?” Samuel Rayburn asked, lifting his tankard high. He looked at me carefully.
“Henry’s first Queen, Catherine!” I shouted, my face breaking into a smile. “Riding north, while pregnant, to beat the Scots while Henry diddled himself in France!”
The doubting expressions changed to instant mirth. The tankards were hoisted high, and quaffs of ale got consumed.
“Well said!” My back got slapped brusquely.
“Queen Anne Boleyn!” Rayburn laughed and drank, the foam on the brew coating his bushy mustache.
“Queen Jane!” the man next to him cheered, and drank.
I got the pattern quickly, and readied myself for another turn. “Queen Elizabeth,” I said rather than roared, and got a desired bunch of nodded heads as I quaffed my dark beer.
“Oh, we’ve got a crafty one here!” Charles Anglethorpe said, nudging my ribs with his elbow. And we all laughed again. “Who do you pledge loyalty to?”
I let my smile remain on my face as I answered. “To Queen Mary, of course.” I stood up, and lifted my tankard high. “To the Queen of England!”
I sat down with an exaggerated flop, hitting Charles’s side; accidentally of course.
“We have a small gentlemen’s club, Richard,” George Kingston said, his face suddenly serious. “You’d be welcome to attend if you like.”
“And what do you do in your ‘club’?” I asked.
“Well, we have esteemed gentlemen come to talk to us. Politics, science, maybe adventure. Then we get served by dancing girls.”
Samuel interrupted. “Then we take them to separate rooms and we have our way with them!” He laughed again, and this time, when the wench came into our booth, she was met with a few wandering hands. One of which must have gotten high into her skirts, because she jumped away, acting quite shocked.
Samuel sniffed his fingers theatrically when she’d gone. “She wants me!”
We all laughed.
So I left that night, after an exhaustive beer swilling contest, with a date for the next club meeting.
Samuel Rayburn met me at the door when I turned up at the appointed hour, and warned me not to mention any names inside. I nodded and got led to a large sitting room, the armchairs all in a semi-circle. Most were already filled, and I nodded quietly to the faces I knew.
When we’d all settled, an older man walked into the room. Samuel led the applause. “This man needs no introduction,” and left the gentleman in center stage.
I sat in silence, trying to deduce his identity.
“I did nothing wrong but carry out the last wishes of a King,” he began, his voice clear, and resounding of the bare plaster walls. “My daughter did nothing wrong but carry out the wishes of a dying King. Yet she languishes in the Tower, condemned yet not charged, sentenced and unable to plead her case.”
The man turned out to be Sir Henry Grey, the Duke of Suffolk, and father of Lady Jane Grey, who I’d roughly ploughed on various occasions. I sat with a wickedly evil grin on the edge of my lips.
“Her only crime? Born into a Protestant family.” Grey began to pace back and forth. “Her only crime? Being a Protestant while the sheep-like populace hankers for a return to comfortable Catholicism. Gentlemen, I do not come here today to ask you to free my daughter, although I wish it’d happen providentially.
“I come to you today to ask you to assist me in freeing my daughter in the only way she will survive the ordeal. We must rise and bring many armies to London. We must rise to put Princess Elizabeth on the throne. Queen Mary has unlawfully imprisoned her and she has received no charge against her. The Queen intends to kill her own sister.”
Why, the wily old fox; knowing he had little chance of freeing his daughter under Mary’s rule, he hoped a new Protestant Queen would perform the deed for him.
He continued the same rhetoric for half an hour or so, then got down to details.
“I will travel home to Leicester and organize there, but I need help, captains who will work with me to raise a whole county. Leicestershire is the most Protestant of all counties in England; they will rise to a man to restore the true faith.”
“Who’s with me?”
Most of the men jumped out of their chairs, and I did likewise so as not to appear out of place. Suddenly Samuel appeared at my side. “Sir Henry, meet Richard DeVere.”
He looked at me oddly. “I know the name,” then flashed me a dark stare. “Why, you are Sir Richard DeVere, recently raised in the ceremony of the Knight of the Bath; you are Queen Mary’s man!”
I felt suddenly surrounded by a circle of very angry men, but managed to keep my fear from my face.
“I can take you to my house this night,” I blustered. “Sir Henry; you will find no trappings of Catholicism there, not crosses, not foreign bibles. My loyalty is to my country, Sir Henry, and if the good of Engla
nd means we put Princess Elizabeth on the throne, then I am all for it.” The angry faces gradually slipped away, and the men cheered my speech. I looked at their faces, amazed at the abrupt turnaround, but I had more. “Yes, I was raised to the Knight of the Bath by Mary; she is Queen of England, and there are no men here who have not sworn to her side.”
I looked around the room at their nodding heads. “Who here cannot find some shred of their past they are not too proud of? And who here has not ridden, clutching at the coattails of the man in front, dragged to places he’s not planned to visit? I’ll rise with you, Sir Henry. I think I may like Leicester!”
In the next days, I prepared myself for a long, boring trip to Leicester. I would travel with Samuel Rayburn and William Fortescue, all recruited that same night.
Talk about boring.
Two boring men, planning a coup I knew wouldn’t succeed, talking about riches to be made on the new Queen Elizabeth.
I rode on the silly horse, made all the right noises, and drank far too much ale in the evenings.
Three days later we arrived in Sir Henry’s mansion house outside Leicester. I felt cold to my bones, bored to my eyeballs, and wishing I’d never gotten myself involved.
We drank warm, crappy beer.
Then I heard mention of gold.
My ears pricked up, boredom a forgotten luxury. Gold was good.
“I have a shipment coming in from France,” Sir Henry drunkenly announced. “The ship has already arrived at the coast, and my men are riding as we speak to escort it ashore.”
The French gold, it seemed, would pay for the rebellion in Leicestershire.
All I had to do was figure out how to capture it for myself, thus thwarting the rebels here in the north, and swelling my own coffers.
Chapter 28
December 2nd, 1553… again
The Great Gold Robbery
A couple of questions, and some vampire-induced answers brought the information that Leicester is about seventy-five miles from King’s Lynn, where the gold would be brought ashore. The French schooner Truffell had been expected for a few days and now had settled at berth in King’s Lynn’s harbor.
And I can cover 75 miles in about half an hour, top speed.
An hour in Tudor England roads.
So while everyone else slept, recovering from being beered and dined at Sir Henry Grey’s mansion, I made a midnight trip to the coast.
I travelled along the main roadway, determined not to miss the shipment if it had already been transferred to a carriage. But at night, the road proved absolutely deserted. Finding myself in King’s Lynn, I reconnoitered the harbor, and soon found the French ship Truffell. Two guards stood on deck, chatting quietly, light shone from the cabin windows at the stern of the moored ship.
I made the assumption that Sir Henry’s guards hadn’t arrived yet and I nodded, grinning to myself, now knowing the exact location of the gold.
I crept onboard at the bow of the ship, and soon stood on the deck, looking down on the two guards. Taking aim, I jumped right between them.
“Sleep!” I said to one then turned to the other who looked about to raise the alarm, and punched him squarely on the temple. I grabbed both men by the waist, and let them down gently onto the deck. Despite my efforts, their swords and scabbards still clattered on the wooden planking.
A door opened and a figure appeared, silhouetted against the light inside. “What’s going on?” A definite French accent.
I sped to meet him, pulling him out of the doorway by his lapels. “Say nothing,” I hissed, my nervous lips just an inch from his face. “I’m a friend, you like me. I’m not a threat, do you understand?” He nodded. “Tell me how many are inside.”
“Four,” he slurred.
“Are they awake?” He shook his head. “Ask me inside.”
He looked at me for a second. “Will you come below?”
“Thank you.” I grinned. “Thought you’d never ask.”
I went to each sleeping form in turn, roused them, and put them to sleep properly; vampire sleep, I didn’t need disturbed.
I turned to the Frenchman. “Where’s the gold?”
“In ze cabin.”
“Show me.”
Captain’s cabin, right in the centre of the stern; on the floor, right in the middle of the cabin sat a big ass chest with a big padlock set on one side.
“Have you got the key?”
He fished inside his tunic and produced a large key on a wide ribbon.
“Open it for me.”
The chest opened to a pile of leather sacks. I picked one up, and felt the weight immediately. “Do you know how much is here?”
“Twenty thousand.”
Holy crap; I’d hit pay-dirt, big-time.
I pulled the heavy pouches from the chest, laying them on the floor, counting them. By the time I’d finished counting, ten pouches still lay inside the chest; eighty bags in all. I did a quick calculation based on an estimate of a weight of twenty pounds per pouch; my figure came close to a ton. I shook my head; no way I could spirit all eighty bags away in one fell swoop and get them safe to Kensington in time to get back to Leicester for morning. I either needed vampire help, and that would require a little organization, or I’d have to find a very safe place along the way. I put the pouches back in the chest, locking it securely.
“What’s your name?” I handed the key back to the man, who looked on disinterested.
“Guillaume Fremont,” he replied. “I am Captain of ze Truffell.”
“You’ve never seen me, Guillaume, okay?”
He nodded his head. “You were never ‘ere.”
As I trotted back Leicester, I began to formulate a plan; at first I thought I’d make an attack on the carriage, kill the guards, and leave some form of ‘evidence’ that Queen Mary’s men had somehow been responsible for the act. But each killing ran the risk of the shimmering sending me home, and no way did I want that to happen.
I got back to Sir Henry’s mansion in time to catch a little sleep before morning. As I drank a thick, dark breakfast stout with my comrades, the plan became clear.
Clearly the trip from King’s Lynn would take more than a single day; perhaps even two or three days. I needed to find the places where the convoy would spend the night, and get Abigail involved in the cooking. A sleeping draught would ensure we could spirit the gold away without killing anyone.
Late in the morning, towards noon, Sir Henry appeared, looking rather pleased with himself. “By Friday we’ll have enough money to mount the biggest rebellion you’ve ever seen.”
More stout got poured, and to be honest, from that time forward, we just got drunk together. I started to prepare my flight to London. As I popped into the kitchen to get more drink and to hurry the servants with food, over the course of an hour or so I plied one maid with my stout, getting her very nicely tipsy.
I then pulled her into the host of drunken rebels. “Sir Henry?” I heavily exaggerated my drunkenness. “I feel I need to lie down for a while.” I pulled on the girl’s arm, and she giggled, the beer having worked its magic.
Well, of course everyone laughed, many slapped my back, and some even felt under the maid’s skirts, roughly sampling her hidden wares.
Sir Henry approached on unsteady feet. “You’re at my house, Sir Richard.” He bowed before me. “What’s mine is yours.”
Amidst a cheer from my peers, I pulled on the girl’s arm and staggered away, almost falling on my ass as I did so, thus bringing another cheer from my audience.
Once out of sight, I just walked to my room, locked the door behind me, and threw her onto the bed. She reclined onto the pillow and tried her tipsy best to be sexy, but to be honest, I didn’t have the time to enjoy it. Ripping her bodice from her, I soon had her completely naked. I wanted a quick fuck and a drink from her neck; I had a long trip in front of me, and needed an energy boost, and that’s exactly what I took from her.
With the daylight fading, I left her spla
yed out on top of the bed, exhausted from my efforts. I hadn’t even shed one item of clothing.
I crept out of the window, and once certain I hadn’t been observed, climbed down the brick façade of the house quite easily.
With my eyes misted with a gold-lust, I set off for London.
To my delight, both Abigail and Cora were awake, although I may have spoiled their evening, Abigail soon warmed to my plan.
“I can find their stops. A woman can do many things.”
I drew her a rough map, marked possible towns on the route I’d seen the night before, and explained the possibility of perhaps twenty men guarding the chest.
Abigail took a sack of herbs, and we both set off at a fast vampire jog.
It took most of the night, but we found the carriage outside a tavern in Wisbech, with soldiers all round it; they’d made just ten miles progress from King’s Lynn.
Leaving Abigail behind me, I wished her luck and promised to return to complete the plan the next night, just after sundown.
I trotted along the road, trying to count the miles, and after about twenty or so, found myself at another town, somewhat larger.
I took note of whatever landmarks I could, then set off back to Leicester, up the wall, in the window, and into bed with the warm form of the snoring maid.
Part one complete.
I felt so enthused at both stealing the gold and thwarting the northern rebellion; I even slipped my dick between her warm thighs for a second time. I got little response, but didn’t care.
To my eternal delight, the next day proved to be just as much of a drunken party as the last. In fact, Sir Henry’s breakfast hospitality proved even warmer than supper, and I got many pats on the back and ribald rib digs because of bedding the maid; seems they considered me the ultimate party animal.
When women arrived for lunch, we all became lechers, sniffing out the choicest morsels. The rebellion seemed to be little more than an extension of the gentleman’s club, almost like a cable television ‘drunk guys on tour’ reality show.