‘Oh, aye.’ He bit his lip. ‘I’ll be back later then. Around Sext. I’ll bring more ale and we can talk.’
‘That’s a plan, Hubert.’ Jack nodded eagerly, hoping the boy would forgive him if he was not here to receive him.
Hubert moved around Jack to the door. ‘Be at peace, Jack.’ He held the edge of the door in his hand, and with an apologetic twist to his lips, pulled the door closed. Jack heard the key grind in the lock and waited until the footsteps receded. He put his ear to the door and closed his eyes, straining to listen for anyone near it. When he was satisfied that no one was about, he yanked on the door handle. He needed only to wriggle it a bit. The bolt had only moved a little in the lock and not into the door jamb. Pulling the door open only a crack, he cautiously looked around.
He glanced back into the room and at the full beaker. ‘Be a shame to waste it,’ he muttered, and stepped back quickly, took up the beaker, and drank most of the ale down. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve, checked the door again, and slipped through. Carefully he closed the door, and tip-toed toward the main antechamber.
He remembered well those knights who had cornered him in the garden. Especially the one with the northern accent. He hoped he could find him and then, somehow, get a message back to Master Crispin. If this brooch could be found, it could very well lead him to the Stone of Destiny. For with one day left till the Commons met, Jack was truly running out of time.
His destination was the main courtyard, so when he made it through the door of Henry’s lodgings and out into the corridor, he followed his gut in the direction he reasoned Westminster Hall was. Keeping his hood up and his head down, he passed guards in the corridors, giving them a surreptitious glance as he passed them. None were his man.
As he reached the White Hall, more courtiers surrounded him, and it was easier to blend in. He straightened, trying to look as casual as possible, as if he belonged there, all the while trying to hide his face in the shadow of his hood and examining the guards he saw patrolling the doorways. But he knew he wouldn’t fool anyone for long. Those guards had seen his clothes, after all. And as much as he tried to conceal his cotehardie with his cloak, he knew flashes of bright blue would give him away.
Passing through narrow corridors he finally arrived at the Great Hall. Pausing and taking it in – its armorial banners hanging in colorful tribute to the chivalry of England along both sides, the dais with the throne, and the many guards, ladies, and men seeking audience with nobles – Jack girded himself, pulled his hood down that much lower, and dove into the crowd.
The hall was grand on a scale to compete with any cathedral. He’d been here before, of course, in circumstances he would rather forget. But as he reached the main entrance and stood at the top of the stairs, looking down into the great courtyard and toward the garrison of the king’s guards, it suddenly occurred to him that he could keep going. He was free! No one knew where he was. He could walk right out the front gateway and return to London and none would be the wiser.
He glanced back over his shoulder as court went about its business. No one was looking at him. No one noticed him at all. He’d be just another citizen making his way from court. And Master Crispin wouldn’t have to fret over him any longer. Free as a sarding bird!
But even as that thought made his spirits soar, they were just as quickly shot down as surely as if an arrow had pierced him.
He couldn’t return to Master Crispin for that would be the first place they’d look. And they’d probably arrest his master for good measure.
Desperately he scanned over the wall toward St Margaret’s Street beyond where people were milling, past the gate. He saw farmers with wagons laden with hay and young girls carrying pails of milk. Would they begrudge him his chance at freedom? Would any of them?
And it wasn’t just freedom, but the gibbet. The king had said he would die a traitor’s death for consorting with his master. He rubbed his neck, swallowing hard.
Yet that wasn’t even the worst of it. For he had made an oath to Lord Henry that he would be good, and to Lady Katherine as well. In exchange for their caring for him instead of his rotting in a cell, he had made an oath on his very honor. And he had meant it. At the time.
And that was his choice. Hang or be loyal to his oath.
His heart thundered. ‘Damn you, Master Crispin,’ he whispered. ‘I would never have been so muddled if you hadn’t mixed up me head with notions of honor. I’d be a free man by now.’ He strained his neck, looking toward the Great Gateway with its stone arches and gatehouse towers. That was the way to freedom … yet, with a sorrowful shake of his head, he knew he could not take it. Master Crispin had sowed in him such a deep concept of loyalty and duty that he could not, could not dishonor himself and his master by leaving those who trusted him to their fates … even though it could very well result in his hanging.
He rubbed at his neck again. ‘It’s a terrible thing, this,’ he muttered. ‘This … sense of duty. It’s like to get a man killed.’ He swallowed, wishing he could get to that beaker of ale again, before he slowly tramped down the stairs.
Sulkily, he headed toward the gatehouse where the guards were milling, head still full of his musings. He didn’t mean to damn his master. Never would he do that! He asked forgiveness from God and also asked to find this guard. All he had to do was find that Scotsman and then … Then what? Find out his name, he supposed, and … He blew out a sigh, ruffling his wayward fringe. He wished Master Crispin was there to instruct. He wasn’t quite sure what he was to do once he identified the culprit.
He slowed his steps and tarried beside a horse trough. Clearly he hadn’t thought this out. His only thought had been to get out of that locked room and find that damned guard. But his honor was at stake! This he knew.
He turned and abruptly ran into a broad man, nearly knocking him over. ‘Forgive me, good sir! I did not see—’ Brushing off the man, Jack looked at his face. ‘Master Wodecock!’
Bill Wodecock, one of the king’s stewards, pushed Jack back at arm’s length. Jack tried to pull away, but the man clamped an iron grip over his arms. ‘Jack Tucker?’ He hastily looked around him. ‘What are you doing out of confinement?’
‘It’s a long tale, Master Wodecock.’
‘Is it?’ He looked over his shoulder again and walked Jack backward until he slammed against the stone wall surrounding the yard. ‘I should call the guards on you to take your hide away,’ he hissed.
‘Pray, sir, don’t do that. I am on a most important mission for, er … a lady of some importance.’
‘What? The Devil take you for your lies, boy!’
‘On my honor, Master Wodecock.’ That sarding honor again! ‘I’m telling the truth.’
‘I saw you heading for the gatehouse. You were stealing away.’
‘No, master, I wasn’t! I was on my way to see about a certain guard who might have done this lady a wrong. I swear by St Dismas, master!’
‘By St Dismas indeed! You’re a thief, Jack Tucker, and well I know it. And now you would steal the good grace of the king …’
‘Have mercy, Master Wodecock. For I know the peril I am in. And yet I have no choice but to stay under the king’s shadow for the sake of others. Wouldn’t I be gone by now if I intended to escape? You wouldn’t have stopped me, no matter your strength.’ Or girth, he thought, measuring the squat and stout man before him. ‘It is vitally important that I find this guard.’
‘What nonsense you spout, Tucker. No doubt learned from your master.’
‘But you know my master well and you also know that he is an honest man.’
‘That doesn’t make the apprentice the same.’
Jack pulled himself up and slapped down the man’s hands from his cotehardie. ‘You don’t know me. Maybe who I was but not who I am. Call the guards if you don’t believe me. Or be silent and help me. One way or the other, I am in God’s hands alone, and I swear by that God who lords over all that I am telling the truth.’
W
odecock’s glare followed up Jack’s figure and down again, as if the soles of his shoes could tell the man anything about Jack’s character. At last and after much grunting and sneering he placed his fists at his ample hips. ‘Help you how?’
Jack’s taut spine relaxed with relief. ‘Aw now. You are a fair man, Master Wodecock. I will do right by you, sir.’
‘Help you how?’ he asked again, almost a bark.
‘Well, I need to find a certain guard. But, er … they have seen me. Know what I’m wearing, you ken? So, erm, if say, you were to …’
‘You want to send me on your fool errand? I’m a busy man, Tucker. And I don’t have time for the likes of you!’
He pushed away from Jack to make his exit when Jack scrambled ahead of him, walking backward as the man moved relentlessly forward. ‘But you’re not turning me in, which must mean you believe me. Even a little.’
Wodecock kept travelling, but he was moving away from the gatehouse. ‘I believe in your master. Not so much in the apprentice.’
‘Fair enough, for you seem to know my history. But Master Wodecock.’ And he used his strength to push against the man’s chest and stop his forward progress at last. ‘You’d be helping Master Crispin.’ He saw Wodecock’s sneer deepen, and hastily added, ‘and the king … and the queen. My business is intimate with both, master.’
‘Ha!’
‘It’s true! For if you know why I am here, you know all. And this is something that will help. You must know about the Stone of Destiny,’ Jack said quieter, eyes flicking over Wodecock’s shoulder.
‘Aye,’ said the steward. ‘Though I scarce believed it. Do you mean to tell me you are looking for the—’
‘I am on my course, Master Wodecock. And I detected the sound of a northerner in the king’s guards. I have reason to believe something suspicious.’
‘Could you not have gone to Lady Swynford with this?’
‘I would not involve her further. You see the difficulty.’
He growled, eyes narrowing. ‘What do you want me to do?’
Jack sidled closer. ‘Well, they know my attire, you see. If we go together and I wait outside, perhaps you could lure them out on some pretext.’
‘Lure them out!’
‘Shush, master! We are looking for a northerner. I would name him and send that name to my master.’
‘You want me to go into the gatehouse. What if he is not there? What if he is in the palace at some other duty?’
‘I searched the faces of as many guards as I could see …’
‘Folly. All folly.’ He scrubbed his chin with a beefy hand. ‘Well … so be it. But you—’ and he aimed a finger at Jack’s face ‘—better be right.’ He pulled up his belt and stalked toward the gatehouse. Jack followed at a distance but made certain to be near the archway and kept his ears primed.
Yet as the time passed, Jack began to worry. Had Wodecock slipped out without him noticing? Was he turning Jack in even as he waited like a lamb to the slaughter?
In a panic, he turned, but stopped at the sound of a boot on the stone floor.
It was Wodecock, and he was alone.
‘Master Wodecock?’
‘There was no one there with a northern accent, you fool. Your head’s gone addled.’
‘But he has to be somewhere.’ He stared into the middle distance … and saw him. ‘There!’ He pointed at first before he thought better of it. The guard was talking to a lord, listening carefully to his instructions. ‘We must get closer,’ Jack hissed, and started out across the courtyard.
A strong hand closed over his shoulder and drew him back, making him stumble. ‘Are you mad, boy? Your master surely did not teach you that! Striding across the ward as if you belonged. Now be still and follow me. Put your hood down over your face, close your cloak, and crouch a bit. Lean in to me as if listening to my sage advice that you’ll never heed.’ Jack did as instructed, staring at his feet but glancing up occasionally from under the low brow of his hood. As they neared the two, Jack heard the lord as he talked to the guard. It was the harsh accent of the north, right enough! But he couldn’t make out what instructions he was giving the guard.
He inclined closer but Wodecock’s hand seized him and pulled him back, yanking on his upper arm. He winced with a whispered, ‘Ow!’ in complaint.
‘You are the most empty-headed apprentice I have ever met,’ he hissed into Jack’s ear.
‘Master Wodecock, I—’
‘You’re a knob-pated idiot.’
He clamped his lips shut tight lest he insult the steward right back. But he couldn’t help but softly ask, ‘Why are you abusing me so?’
‘Because, you brass-headed carbuncle, those aren’t Scottish men. They’re from Yorkshire!’
TWENTY-ONE
‘Yorkshire?’ Jack looked back at the two as they receded into the crowds of the courtyard. ‘But that’s in the north.’
Jack stumbled forward when Wodecock slapped his head. Jack rubbed the spot and scowled.
‘It’s Yorkshire. Aye, it’s just as incomprehensible as Scot, but it isn’t the same. You’ve made a fool of yourself and almost made a fool of me, too. What have you to say for yourself?’
‘Well … I …’ He sighed. ‘I suppose I did make a mistake, master. It’s easy enough to do.’
‘Only for a sack of turnips like you.’ He brushed off his hands. ‘Go back to your hidey-hole, boy. Before they catch you.’ He gave Jack a parting glare before he stalked across the courtyard back toward the Great Hall’s entrance.
Jack looked back toward the guard and the lord and cursed. ‘How am I supposed to know the difference?’ he muttered. ‘North is north, to me.’ But as Master Wodecock receded, another idea rose up in his mind, and he found himself trotting after the hefty steward.
‘That had better not be Jack Tucker on my heels,’ he growled, not turning round.
‘Er … it is, good master.’
The steward dug into the courtyard with heavier steps, head lowered. ‘Are you mad? Go away!’
‘But master! There is another man I must find. The Keeper of the Jewels. And I—’
Wodecock came to an abrupt halt, muttering murderously, until he spun and faced Jack. ‘You will not be stealing into his chamber or any other. You will go back to your place of securement or, by God and St George, I will shout out right now in this courtyard who you are and that you are a thief. And then you’ll see how quickly the king’s guards can dispatch you.’
Jack swallowed. ‘A little charity goes a long way, Master Wodecock,’ he murmured.
Wodecock took a deep breath in order to call out, but Jack lurched forward and covered the man’s mouth with his hands.
‘Peace, good master! All right! I surrender to your good counsel … such as it is.’ He huffed a sigh and released him. No wonder my master is so sour all the time. ‘I’ll go. Thank you for your help and guidance.’ He bowed.
‘Next time, boy, stay the hell out of Westminster. It’ll be healthier for you and your master.’ He gave Jack no further acknowledgement but instead trod forth as fast as he could away from him and up the steps to the Great Hall.
Alone again in the courtyard, Jack watched him disappear into the shadows of the archway and took one last longing glance at the Great Gate. Farewell freedom, he sighed and, making certain his cloak covered his coat, he trudged back toward the entrance of the hall and wearily climbed the steps.
What was he to do now? How could he possibly help the queen when he couldn’t help himself? Yet was he to go to her and tell her that he had failed before he even tried?
He thought he had learned enough as the apprentice to the Tracker, foolishly assuming that he might be ready to do it on his own, but he found himself woefully inadequate to the task. He began to worry that he would never fully master it. Didn’t Master Crispin have the advantage of him after all, with his being born into his nobility? His master knew how to talk to all kinds of people whereas Jack did not, could not, by virtue of hi
s place in life. Who would talk to the likes of him? He’d be brushed off like so much dirt. How was he ever to accomplish it?
He moved across the Great Hall, going unnoticed by the many courtiers and hangers-on, servants and tradesmen. He glanced up into the rafters and trailed his hand along a pillar. Wasn’t Master Crispin sneered at and berated for being a traitor – a word Jack would never dare utter in his presence? But it was true. He had committed treason and paid the price for it every day. He seemed to be disdained and disregarded as much as Jack was, yet he accepted it with aplomb. ‘That’s breeding,’ he decided, something he lacked. Would he ever be good enough? Was Master Crispin’s trust misplaced?
Jack took his morose thoughts through the corridors and almost failed to notice Lady Margaret when she stopped before him. He bowed to her and she giggled, offering him a rounded cheek and a grin. ‘Master Goat! I was hoping to find you.’
‘Lady Margaret. Alas. I was on my mission for your lady and I am afraid I have failed.’
‘Failed? Oh no, you mustn’t say that.’ She brushed her fingers along his arm and he was cheered momentarily by the gentle touch.
‘I am afraid it is true.’
‘And I must confess the same, for the king’s guards turned up no Scotsmen. Only a man from Yorkshire. Imagine making that mistake.’
‘Heh. Aye, imagine it.’
Jack eyed the very public place they were standing, and gently took her hand to lead her to a more private area behind a pillar. ‘Has she … has the queen confided in you in the matter?’
‘I understand the gist of it now.’ She glanced down at their joined hands, for Jack had forgotten to let it go.
He hastily tried to snatch his hand away with a muttered apology on his lips, but Margaret held it fast.
‘There’s no need. There is comfort in your hand. And … such a strong hand it is.’
‘Oh.’ Jack felt himself blush down to his toes. Lady Margaret was the very image of pink and modest virginity. Yet there was mischief in her eye as well, especially when she fluttered her lashes in that manner. ‘Well, a man must be strong. To protect the women.’
The Silence of Stones Page 19