"Why not?"
"Because I heard Lord Clinton ask his lieutenant where Knevett and his brother and Lord Cobham were. Those are Wyatt's chief supporters."
The lord mayor's man stiffened and came alert. "You mean there is a force coming by another road? Where?"
"I have no real knowledge of it, but why not the road that becomes Holborne?" Denoriel suggested. "That road leads to New Gate. When I rode round the gates for Lord Clinton on the first of February, it seemed to me that the guards at New Gate were much opposed to the queen's religion."
"I am not too fond of the queen's religion myself," the lord mayor's man said, "but she is the queen, anointed to rule us. She came to us for protection and we swore to succor her. Beside that, so far there is no reason to rebel against her."
It was a very lukewarm statement of support, but Denoriel made no comment. He settled down with the others to wait. Not long after, two of the men went off and returned with sacks of bread and cheese and a small barrel of beer for an evening meal. He ate with the group, but under their illusion of human contour, his long ears twitched and twisted and it was not very long after they had packed away the remains of the food that he came slowly to his feet.
"Something is coming," he said to the lord mayor's man, looking north.
"Don't hear nothing," one of the troop said, "and I've good ears, I have."
"Not as good as Lord Denno's, I warrant," Joseph Clayborne said. "I live with him, and I swear from my office he can hear beetles walking in the garden."
"I—" Denoriel began, but the man who had spoken of his keen hearing suddenly stiffened and also stood up.
"Hear something now," he said, and looked to the lord mayor's man. "We should—"
"Archers," the lord mayor's man ordered. "Stand ready." He turned his head toward Denoriel. "Where?"
"North," he said.
He waved toward the trees and brush that with some small houses bordered the wide spot in the road where the Eleanor Cross had been raised in Charing. The archers turned in that direction and strung their bows. By now everyone could hear the sound of many men moving, and the whole troop began to ready their weapons. They were not quite quick enough for the first assault.
A tight group of about twelve or fifteen men burst from between the two closest houses. Even with the warning Denoriel and the trooper had given, the long wait had taken the edge off the lord mayor's troop and, of course, they were mostly tradesmen, not soldiers. Many had no weapon in hand when the first group reached them. A few were bowled over; a few were simply pushed aside by the attackers who were in too much of a hurry to stay and exchange blows. Denoriel got in a slash and a thrust, but although the slash drew a curse the thrust missed altogether.
Meanwhile the lord mayor's man was shouting to his archers to loose their arrows and to his men to stand fast and not pursue the small fleeing party. Denoriel considered disobeying; as soon as he was out of sight of his own party, he could call for Miralys and overtake those who fled. But the noise from behind the shuttered houses swelled suddenly into bellows of challenge and, moments later, shrieks of pain as the archers finally shot.
In the next moment Denoriel was fully employed. Although many of the attackers simply turned back the way they had come and fled when their fellows were struck by arrows and they saw the men of the lord mayor's troop ready to oppose them, some more determined charged forward. Denoriel was able to disarm the first man to reach him with a thrust to the sword arm. He shrieked "Cursed pope lover," but Denoriel stepped on the very old-fashioned sword lying on the ground and when the man stooped to try to drag it away, Denoriel struck him on the head with his sword hilt.
Aware of movement behind, he swung around without any chance to see the effect of his blow. The noise of conflict swelled. A second man hacked at him clumsily. Cropper disarmed him with a sharp blow of his truncheon. The man shrieked and ran back toward the houses. Cropper charged at another oncoming attacker while Denoriel swung back to face a movement he could not see clearly, slashing with his sword. He struck, wringing a cry from his victim. Then he saw that the boy, for it was no more than a boy, had no weapon in hand. He raised his sword point, but the act of mercy was too late. A second sword thrust past his side and struck the boy, who fell backward, crying out as the sword pulled free of his body.
Denoriel cursed fluently. That child was no threat to Queen Mary or anyone else. What he was doing on a battlefield, Denoriel could not imagine. Likely he had followed an older brother or a father. But the sounds of combat were swelling even higher and Denoriel could not stop fighting to see what happened to the boy.
He was engaged against two men for a few moments. Both were clumsy, but they were on opposite sides and one thrust past a parry that was not wide enough. The sword only struck his elven armor and did not pierce him, but the pang induced by the touch of iron against his silver armor stopped his breath for a moment. Engaged in driving off the other man, Denoriel braced for another blow but Joseph struck the sword away just as Denoriel's weapon twisted that of the second man out of his hand.
He heard the clang when that sword hit a stone and realized that the shouts and shrieks and the ring of metal against metal was falling away. A glance around showed only backs retreating rapidly away from the road that led to London. A few of the men of the troop started in pursuit but were recalled by the lord mayor's man who reminded them that their task was to guard the road and prevent any reinforcements from reaching Wyatt.
"If the city is true and the gates stay shut," he said with grim satisfaction, "we will take Wyatt."
Denoriel nodded agreement, deliberately showing obvious satisfaction. He wanted the lord mayor's man to remember that Lady Elizabeth's favorite had fought against Wyatt.
This battle was over. He wiped and sheathed his sword as he looked around and called to Joseph to discover whether any of their men were hurt. Cropper said one had a minor wound on his shoulder but that his companions had already stopped the bleeding and bandaged him. Denoriel said to send the man home as the action seemed to be ended.
His responsibilities fulfilled, Denoriel returned to where he had been fighting and knelt to examine the boy who had been struck. Too late. Whoever had stabbed him had been too successful. The sword that had come past Denoriel's side had pierced some large vein in the young body. The child was lying in a pool of blood.
Denoriel rose from beside the body, his cloak edge soaked in blood, and signaled for two of his men to carry the body away to the churchyard. There the few dead were laid nearest the graveyard and the others, some wounded, some yielded, were led into the church where they were guarded by a few of the lightly wounded from the lord mayor's troop.
Another hour passed. Joseph, acting as clerk for the lord mayor's man, was listing the names and villages of the dead and captured. No one was quite sure who would be responsible for notifying the relatives of the dead (or even for prosecuting them because of associated guilt) but the lord mayor's man was sure that lists were necessary. Denoriel sat alone, huddled in his blood-stained cloak, saddened by the waste of a young life that had no chance to bloom even as briefly as was common for mortals.
On the eighth of February, before the sun had broken through the gray clouds of a nasty morning, Lord Denno rode in through the main gate of Ashridge. The guards asked what news, and he said, "The rebellion is over. Long live Queen Mary." But his face was drawn with worry, and one guard murmured to another that there was blood all over the bottom of his cloak.
Sir Edward, still tying his points, met him at the door and asked, low-voiced, "Do we stay or go?"
"It is too late to go," Denoriel replied. "The rebellion is over. Wyatt and his army are taken prisoner. No defense can or should be made against any order of the queen. Is it possible for me to speak to Lady Elizabeth?"
"I do not know," Sir Edward said, his brow furrowed and his lips downturned with worry. "The last two weeks have shattered her peace entirely. She took to her bed on the twenty-sixth
of January and has not risen from it. Let me fetch Mistress Ashley."
Denoriel waited patiently in the receiving room to which Sir Edward had escorted him. He was not worried about Elizabeth's health. He had spoken to her often since she received a letter from the queen requesting that she come to London. He had advised her to take to her bed and keep to it. The illness was largely part of a plan, first to avoid coming before the queen at all and if that failed, to delay as long as possible. Mary might give hard orders in a rush of passion that would change and soften—with Rhoslyn's help.
Kat came in in a little while, wringing her hands. "She says she will see you, Lord Denno, but please do not tell her anything that will upset her. She is ill with terror already."
"I am afraid she must know the news I bring." He paused and added significantly, "I am sure she will be glad of it."
Denoriel was not nearly so skilled as Rhoslyn or Aleneil in inserting thoughts into a mortal's mind, but he pushed the idea that Elizabeth was glad the rebellion was over at Kat. That Kat should hint Elizabeth was sorry the rebels had been defeated would likely be enough to condemn her. Kat loved Elizabeth. She would not willingly or knowingly do anything to harm the little girl she had raised, but she was gullible and too easily led.
"Oh," Kat cried, raising her hand to her temple. "There, the pain is gone." She looked at him frowning. "What is the news?"
"That Queen Mary is a heroine and so inspired the people of London and her guards, that Wyatt is defeated and taken prisoner."
Kat's face cleared. "Oh, wonderful. Elizabeth will be glad and relieved, too. She was so afraid of being captured by the rebels. Come, tell her. Perhaps it will calm her."
She led him through the parlor and then through a private reception room that at last opened into Elizabeth's bedchamber. Kat left him in the doorway and hurried to the large bed. The thick velvet curtains were partly drawn back. Denno looked around curiously as if he were not familiar with the chamber.
"See who has come to wait upon you, my love," Kat said. "Lord Denno has brought very good news from London."
"What news?" Elizabeth called out, leaning forward from the pillows that propped her up. "Oh, Denno. Come here. Come here to me and tell me the news."
"The rebellion is over," Denno said, striding across the room and around the end of the bed to stand beside Elizabeth.
"And Mary has the victory?" Elizabeth asked breathlessly.
All of Elizabeth's ladies hurried over to stand around Denoriel.
"Completely," he replied. "Wyatt is taken prisoner and the most part of the army that came with him."
"Wonderful," Elizabeth breathed, allowing herself to sink back toward the pillows, but then she jerked upright again. "Denno! There is blood on your cloak. Are you hurt?"
Everyone looked at the dark brown stain that discolored the hem of the cloak. Even the gently reared ladies all knew dried blood when they saw it. Kat came forward and touched Lord Denno's hand. He smiled at her and then at Elizabeth.
"No, my lady, not hurt at all. It is another man's blood." He shook his head and sighed. "Not even a man, only a boy. He should not have died."
"Did you . . ." Elizabeth let her voice drift away.
"No, it was an accident, really. I do not know who killed the child. He had no weapon and I had just drawn my sword away from him. Someone behind me thrust forward. Likely he did not even see whom it was he struck."
Elizabeth stared at him, taking in the real sorrow in his large green eyes. He has been too long among mortals; most Sidhe would not care about the butterfly life of a mortal. She gestured to someone behind him and ordered, "Bring a chair." When it was carried to her bedside, she said, "Sit. If a boy was needlessly killed right beside you, you were in a battle. Tell me."
"I need to go a little further back than the battle itself so you will understand. What was your last news about the rebellion?"
"I did not even know a rebellion was brewing until Sir James Croft told me of it and said I should move to Donnington. But then on the twenty-seventh of January I received a letter from the queen, asking me to come to her in London for the better safety of my person. But I had fallen ill and I was afraid also to travel if the country was unquiet. I told her messenger, who was brought to my bedside, that I would come as soon as I felt well enough, and the officers of my household wrote that I would come as soon as my health was amended."
"I am no physician," Denoriel said, "but from how pale you are and how your voice wavers, it seems to me, my lady, that you should not essay to travel in this harsh winter weather."
Elizabeth lay back on her pillows, her eyes almost black with anxiety. "The battle . . ." she whispered.
So Denoriel made a tale for her and the listening ladies of Wyatt's progress from Maidstone to Rochester to Gravesend and so on to Southwark and Kingston. He spoke of how Queen Mary had roused the Londoners to resist and of her stubborn bravery no matter how her cowardly Council and uncertain defenders cried of defeat and retreat.
"But Lord Clinton knew his business and Lord Pembroke and his men were gallant. They cut off and drove away the most of the army who, without leaders, and somewhat dispirited by the labor they had undertaken and the foul weather slipped away. Then the troop of the lord mayor's men holding Charing Cross and the Temple Bar, with whom I had cast my lot, drove off the reinforcements that the Knevett brothers and Lord Cobham were bringing to assist Wyatt."
"That was well done," Elizabeth said.
"Wyatt had only sixty or so men altogether. Perhaps he could have found others to join him in the city itself, as he had found the sailors in Gravesend and most of Norfolk's troops, but Lord William Howard had come to Ludgate and it was far beyond Wyatt's power to force it open. He knew then that his hopes were over."
"Did he then yield?" Dorothy Stafford asked.
"No. I am heartily sorry for Wyatt's foolishness in thinking he could force the queen to marry as he chose. He is a brave man and honest. He tried to retreat to where he was separated from most of his men, but Pembroke and Clinton held him. They sent a messenger to the lord mayor's men, and we marched down to join them, but we had barely joined the fray when the Norroy Herald called to Wyatt to yield rather than cause so many deaths of his men. And so he did, sacrificing himself to save his supporters."
Elizabeth shook her head wearily against the pillows. "Whatever reason he believed he had, he was wrong to raise arms against his queen."
The pious sentiment was approved heartily by the ladies, who withdrew from the bedside, beckoning Denoriel to come with them. He did rise from his chair, but he took one of Elizabeth's limp hands in his and kissed it as the ladies' backs were turned. Their eyes met; he mouthed "Tonight," and Elizabeth's head nodded weakly as she fell back, seemingly fainting, against her pillows.
Blanche surged forward with restoratives, and Kat gently shooed Denoriel away from the bed. However, she also cut short the many questions the ladies had for Denoriel by pointing out that he must be exhausted. Clearly he had ridden straight from the battlefield to give Elizabeth the news. Kat was concerned enough to offer him lodging at Ashridge, although lodging was generally not proffered to any except officers of the Court.
Denoriel shook his head. "I thank you, Mistress Ashley, but no. My own lodge is no more than a quarter-hour's ride from here. And there I will be able to change my garments so I am less offensive. Only tell me whether there is anything I can get or send for that will help my poor lady. She is terribly unwell."
"I do not know," Kat said, her eyes filling with tears. "I fear it is her spirits more than her body that is failing. She is so oppressed. She fears . . . she fears her sister will blame her for this trouble."
* * *
Harry FitzRoy confirmed Elizabeth's fears that night as he sat with her and Denoriel in Denoriel's parlor. His face was bleak, his lips downturned and thin with concern.
"Suffolk will die," he said. "He is stupid enough to deserve it. Imagine joining the rebels after Queen Mary p
ardoned him for his part in Northumberland's conspiracy." Then he sighed. "I fear Jane and Guildford will die, too."
"Why?" Denoriel asked sharply. "They had no part in this rebellion and Wyatt never said he wished to restore Jane to the throne."
Harry sighed again. "But Jane was once crowned and could well be a focal point for another rising—one with the open purpose of driving out the Catholic queen and the Catholic rite. Wyatt was careful never to raise the question of religion, since many of his supporters were Catholic and only wished to prevent the Spanish marriage. And just now, Rhoslyn says, the queen is very angry. She will finally agree that Jane and her husband must die."
Elizabeth's eyes did not shift to him. She was looking beyond the large glass window that walled the rear of Denoriel's parlor. In the illusionary manor's garden, roses were blooming—a cheerful sight to Elizabeth, who was growing very tired of winter in the mortal world. But even the roses and the brightly sparkling brook that meandered through the garden could not lift her spirits.
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