By Slanderous Tongues

by Mercedes Lackey

  Thomas opened his hand and looked down at the ruby, which glowed like pulsing blood in his hand. He knew men did not give such “gifts” without large expectations of return favors, but his hand closed over the stone again.

  “That is an expensive gift,” he remarked. “I suppose I am in a position to do you a substantial favor.”

  Otstargi smiled. “And profit yourself richly as well,” he said. “You were appointed Lord High Admiral when you were made a baron? Yes?”

  “Yes.” Thomas’s mouth twisted wryly. “A singularly useless appointment. The navy is so starved that it is almost impossible to make any profit from it. The supplies are inadequate. Trying to pinch them only brings complaints from the captains for which the Council blames me.”

  “Ah, but I can suggest to you an easy way to profit and to save your captains for more important military action … for which they will be needed in the future.”

  “Military action?” Seymour repeated, frowning. “When?”

  “That I cannot say with any certainty, my lord, although I think not soon enough to interfere with your profits.”

  “My profits?”

  “This is the beginning of the high season for trade, and thus the high season for piracy.”

  “Piracy.”

  Thomas shook his head impatiently, annoyed at sounding like an echo at this third repetition. As Lord High Admiral, part of his duty was to eliminate the pirates that preyed on the shipping coming out of the Mediterranean Sea, along the coasts of Spain and France and even into the Channel. Admittedly he had not exerted himself over that duty, but surely this Otstargi would not gift him with a rich ruby to encourage him to hunt pirates.

  Otstargi tented his hands on the table and rested his long chin on the tips of his fingers. “Yes, piracy. A very frustrating charge for you, as it is a large ocean and your few ships cannot be everywhere.”

  “That’s true enough!” Thomas exclaimed angrily. He had been taken to task by a few gentlemen of the court over his lack of success at stemming the piracy.

  “It might be arranged for your ships to take some of the pirates with relative ease.”

  “You have informers who will tell you where and when—”

  Otstargi lifted his head and held up a finger; Thomas, his hand tight over the inscribed ruby, fell silent. It felt quite natural to him, and he had no sense of how unusual it was for him to obey such a gesture. Otstargi smiled broadly.

  “It does not matter how I know where and when a ship will fall into your power. What does matter is that while your ships are engaged in capturing or sinking those pirates, others—with rather more valuable cargoes—will slip away to a safe haven, in the Scilly Islands, for example.”

  “There’s nothing in the Scillys, except sheep and cows.”

  “And a deep harbor or two or three. But you are right about the Scilly Islands. They would not be considered a good market for pirated goods, which is why pirates would be safe there.”

  Slowly Seymour shook his head. “No, because there would need to be a way for buyers to move the cargoes, which means more ships. The fleet sails right by those islands. Some bright and noble captain is sure to notice that there are more ships than usual in the ports and insist on investigating.” His mouth twisted with distaste. “Honorable idiots.”

  “Surely it is within your power to assign the honorable idiots to … say … the east coast to guard against the French sending men or supplies to the Scots?”

  Though he was acting as Otstargi, Vidal had not lost sight of another purpose. When the English attacked the Scots, he did not want help from the French to reach them. The English could not gain a decisive victory, and even if they could, the Scots—with his assistance—would not keep any treaty they made. But if the Scots, with French help, pushed the English back, that might stop the fighting for some time, and that was the last thing Vidal wanted.

  “You are right about that, Master Otstargi.” Thomas grinned. “And the honorable idiots will be so pleased at being sent to guard against the French that they will bless my name.”

  Vidal cocked his head. “Then that is agreed?”

  “Why not? No one will lose by it. We never seem to catch up with the pirates anyway, so the few we take will redound to the credit of the fleet, and those who … ah … are not sighted would have done what they did with or without my assistance.”

  “True, very true. But the trouble is that what you will get from the pirates, although a nice addition to your income, will not be near enough for you to buy support in the Council to give you charge of the king’s person.”

  “I am counting on the king’s own preference for me to sway the Council.”

  Slowly Vidal shook his head. “I am quite sure the king will not be allowed to state his preference unless the Council is somehow encouraged to ask him for it. That will take money, real money.”

  “My wife is very rich—”

  “No. The last thing you should do is strip Queen Catherine’s estate, specially so soon after you are married. Even if your wife understands and agrees, there will be—if not outcries of outrage—nasty whispers and rumors from her kin and those who consider themselves her friends. Nor will you be able to defend yourself and show that the spending now will benefit her in the future, not without warning your brother of your plans, which might be fatal. I have a better suggestion to offer you.”

  Rolling the ruby gently between his hands, Thomas now regretted that he had not sooner taken Wriothesley’s advice and consulted Master Otstargi. “Yes?” he asked, eager to hear this new suggestion.

  It was very much to Thomas’ taste. There was a Sir William Sharington, vice-treasurer of the Bristol Mint who was buying up and minting considerable quantities of Church plate. If Seymour would offer protection to this scheme, Sharington would readily share his huge profits. Thomas quickly agreed to travel to Bristol to settle the matter personally with Sharington, while making calculations about the cost each month of supporting ten thousand men. Enough money would permit him to challenge the Protector openly.

  “You will lose that stone, if you keep rolling it about,” Otstargi said, a smile in his voice. “You should have it set into a ring.”

  “I may well do that,” Seymour said, tucking the stone carefully into his purse. “Well, I thank you for your good advice,” he added, preparing to rise.

  “One moment more, my lord,” Otstargi said, pretending to appear uncertain. “I have Seen something very strange in my glass and I think I had better tell you about it, although I am not at all sure of its meaning.”

  “If it does not concern me—” Thomas began, uneasy at the open mention of crystal-gazing and fortune-telling. Both were condemned by the Church and by the law also.

  Otstargi shook his head. “But it does concern you, my lord, too closely for me to ignore what I have Seen. More certainly because I cannot understand what I See and have Seen repeatedly. I know you are most happily married to a lovely lady, but I See you always in company with a different lady, much younger, pale with red hair.”

  “What?”

  Seymour’s exclamation did not imply that he had not heard what Vidal said but that it had some startling significance to him. This was just what Vidal wanted; knowing Seymour to be something of a lecher, he had been concerned that the man would not immediately identify the pale, red-haired girl with Elizabeth.

  “Yes, a young girl, pretty but thin, with very red hair. And there are several images, always in succession. First of playful contacts, a quick caress, a kiss, often in the presence of others. Then images of you two alone in far deeper intimacy. And last—the girl is older in the last image—you and she seated in high chairs under cloths of state in the richest apparel, all trimmed in ermine.”

  “Seated under cloths of state and wearing ermine?” Seymour’s voice was carefully neutral but Vidal was most satisfied with the gleam in his eyes.

  He kept his own voice mildly puzzled. “That is the image, I do not understa
nd it at all. The king, God bless him, is alive and well and you are married most happily to a woman with dark hair. But there is no sense of time in these images. The first, likely is now or in the near future. The last may be years away.”

  Thomas made no reply at first and he had lowered his gaze to the polished surface of the table between him and Master Otstargi. After a long moment he raised his eyes from the tabletop to the magician’s face, his expression now thoughtful.

  “The first image could be of me fixing my favor with the red-haired girl. The second a natural progression.” Thomas smiled complacently; he had brought a number of doubting females to bed. “The last—”

  “I beg you will not speak of that. Perhaps I should not have told you of it, but I felt you needed to be warned.”

  Vidal spoke sharply, thrusting a needle of compulsion at Seymour. The man was a blabbermouth. If he “confided” to anyone his hope of marrying Elizabeth and ruling as consort by her side, he would be hung for treason before he could actually disqualify her for the throne.

  “I am not a fool, Master Otstargi,” Thomas said, getting to his feet and speaking louder and more assertively than he had since he tucked the ruby into his pouch.

  Vidal did not reply nor did he try any further spells. Sometimes spells could conflict and cancel or damage each other’s effect. He was also concerned that the spell on Aurilia’s amulet was not as effective as it should be unless the amulet was actually in Seymour’s hand, and as he saw Seymour to the door he remarked that he hoped the ruby could be set and worn as a ring to remind Seymour of the profits to be gained by their bargain.

  The grunted reply was not reassuring, but there was little more Vidal could do. To bind the man securely enough to ensure utter compliance would change his behavior so much that his intimates and servants would know there was something wrong with him. Better to set a watcher on him and see what he would do.

  Chapter 21

  Elizabeth and Denoriel were surrounded by young women, all asking in high voices where was the fox? the rabbit? before Denoriel could say what would happen tonight and about what Elizabeth should warn Blanche. If she could have stunned every one of those encroaching idiots, Elizabeth would have done so.

  Laughing heartily, as if he were glad to see the intruders, Lord Denno pointed out that both fox and rabbit would have been frightened altogether out of the garden and the wilderness by the noise they made. He flashed a glance at Elizabeth, but she was staring purposefully down the path and somewhat too intently invited the girls to accompany her on a search. She drew a sharp breath when they all agreed Lord Denno was right, they should have been quieter.

  “Nonetheless,” she began, hoping she could manage to lose the whole party for at least a few minutes in the wilderness, but she was interrupted by the sound of church bells chiming Nones.

  “Too late,” Lady Alana said. “We really must return now. Remember, Elizabeth, that the music master is appointed to come to you.”

  “Bother the music master!” Elizabeth muttered under her breath, and then somewhat louder, “I have hardly had a chance to hear about Lord Denno’s latest voyage, which I gather was exciting and profitable.”

  “Tales of my voyage will keep,” Lord Denno said, laughing again. “They would perhaps be better told at a time when there are fewer distractions by wild beasts.”

  “Not if I have to wait two months for them,” Elizabeth complained, her voice just a trifle tremulous.

  “No, no.” Denoriel smiled at her, his eyes peculiarly intent. “I am done voyaging and will see you again very soon. But I hope you will pardon me for parting here, since we are much closer to the stable and your excuse will save my poor old legs from double the distance.”

  Elizabeth was quite startled. In the past Denno never mentioned his age, never asked any relief from any physical task, always insisted he was well and very strong, which, indeed, he was. Stronger, in fact, than any other man she knew. Quite unreasonably, Elizabeth could feel the warmth of his lips gently clinging to hers. It occurred to her that he would want her attendants to think of him as old. She could take greater liberties with an old man … like kissing him.

  She drew her lips into what she hoped looked like a pitying smile and said, “You will never be old, Lord Denno. I—I will not permit it.” Then she sighed and shrugged. “But I will give you permission to leave us now.”

  As she said the words, she suddenly felt resentful. Denno had always clung to her company for every minute he could eke out. She was quite sure he had not begged leave to save himself the walk back to the palace. Perhaps he was eager to get back to the business he had mentioned when she asked where he had been.

  She had a sudden vision of the elven women she had seen in the market places, of Mwynwen’s exquisite face. But he had sworn she was the woman he desired, and swore too that he had never lied to her. Well, that was true, as far as she knew. And he had said “Tonight” just before her maidens had caught up with them. What could he mean by “Tonight”? Certainly he would not dare try to visit again? But perhaps he would. Perhaps he would claim to have forgotten something in her apartment when he left from the garden.

  That seemed a reasonable idea, and Elizabeth’s mind was so occupied with ways to find some privacy so she could again touch Denno’s lips that her music lesson was less than a success. She apologized and promised to practice more, but she was thinking of Denno’s brief kiss. She had kissed many other men in greeting and parting, but she had never felt anything—except disgust sometimes when the lips were wet and slobbery. She must see if the little feeling of warmth in her breasts, the little frisson of tickling that was not tickling between her legs would come again when Denno kissed her.

  All her plans to get Denno off into a private corner, however, were in vain. He never came.

  As the evening wore on, Elizabeth became quite waspish, so much so that Catherine asked her whether her visitor had tired her. At least she was able to answer honestly that he had frustrated her—but that it was all her own fault, which was, of course, she said with a laugh, what put her so much out of temper. She had spent so much time quarreling with him about not warning her in advance he would be away, that she had had no opportunity to hear about the strange and wonderful places he had seen on his voyage.

  Catherine laughed at her kindly and promised to allow another visit, even to write and invite Lord Denno to visit. They would all enjoy hearing about his foreign voyages, so perhaps she would ask him to join them for dinner and an evening. Then she sighed and shook her head.

  “I am afraid I am looking to fill time with a safe and harmless visitor. Tom will be away longer than he thought. It seems he must travel into the west about these stupid pirates and assign some ships to watch the east coast to keep the French from supplying the Scots.”

  All of the ladies, including Elizabeth, expressed their sympathy over her husband’s absence. They all—all except for Lady Alana who, as she often did, held her peace—said, with perfect sincerity that they would miss him. His loud voice and boisterous suggestions for games such as hoodman-blind, where smacking kisses were exchanged when a victim was caught, enlivened the quiet days and evenings at Chelsea.

  Like all the other young women, Elizabeth had been somewhat excited by those smacking kisses, and the way Seymour’s hands ran over her body as he claimed to be trying to identify her. It was perfectly safe, of course, with Catherine playing with them and laughing as heartily as anyone else over Tom’s antics.

  That kiss of Denno’s—that had not been at all safe, and was all the more exciting. Elizabeth’s tongue peeped out to touch her lips. But then the lips set hard. He had said “Tonight,” but he had not come. Elizabeth’s needle stabbed so hard into the book cover she was embroidering that it went quite through the cloth, and she barely repressed some pungent words as she worked it out again.

  By the time she had recovered the needle, Catherine had put down her own needlework and was gesturing all the ladies to come toget
her for evening prayers. Elizabeth’s heart felt oddly heavy, but in one way it was a relief. She need not suffer expectation any longer. It was far too late for Denno to come. What had he meant? Had she misheard the low, hasty words? “Tonight. Tell Blanche.” Tell Blanche what?

  The answer to that question became apparent when Blanche almost drove Elizabeth into her dressing room as soon as she arrived at her apartment. However, instead of hastily beginning to remove Elizabeth’s clothing and make her ready for bed, the maid turned her and pointed.

  “Look, my lady,” Blanche murmured, softly enough not to be heard if one of the maids of honor should step into the bechamber.

  She gestured to a pretty porcelain oval lying just atop Elizabeth’s jewel box. The trinket was about as long as Elizabeth’s thumb and was painted with a delicate scene of a doorway surrounded by climbing flowers.

  “I don’t remember having anything like that,” Elizabeth said, her own voice a murmur in sympathy with Blanche’s desire not to be overheard. She bent over the trinket, all at once soothed, beginning to smile, a hand rising to pick it up. “Where did it come from?”

  “Something brought it,” Blanche said with a tremor in her voice. “Something laid it down on the box—right in front of my eyes. I haven’t touched it.”

  Elizabeth drew back, catching at the maid’s hand. “Something evil?” she breathed.

  She remembered all too well having been driven nearly to ending her own life by a spell of dissolution transmitted by a jewel embedded in the cover—of all things—of a Bible. But that, she remembered, had made her feel uneasy, drawn to touch it, but slightly sick and unwilling. This, this also carried a temptation to touch but it made her smile.

  “Oh no,” Blanche assured her, her worried look easing. “It … what I felt was like that little thing I could never see that used to stay near you after you were sick that time and then again last year. No, it didn’t feel good or bad but … I felt it was a happy thing. The reason I wouldn’t touch it was because of the crosses. I was afraid I would spoil it.”