By Slanderous Tongues

by Mercedes Lackey

  Hoping to make Elizabeth more cheerful and make up for her missing Edward’s company and the celebrations in the Court, Denoriel urged her to attend a ball Underhill. She went, but it did not raise her spirits. She found herself repelled by the unthinking gaiety of the Sidhe. Despite their length of life, none of them wanted to look ahead, to prepare for the future.

  She and Denno quarreled and she wept all through one long, sleepless night, but he came with lavish New Year’s gifts two days later, and she forgave him. Nonetheless she would not go Underhill again. Still, peace seemed to be restored. It was the lull before the storm.

  On the sixth of January, Pasgen saw his carefully woven net catch the cony. In the guise of a minor clerk of the mint he accompanied a group of government officers who raided Laycock Abbey, Sharington’s rich mansion. Small mental suggestions directed them to the evidence of Sharington’s forgeries in the mint and his treasonable connection with Seymour. No one in the excited group of gentlemen who would bring about Seymour’s downfall thought about the clerk, who had disappeared.

  With the first step of his revenge complete and some of his self-blame soothed, Pasgen gave some grateful thought to Gaenor, which caused him to wonder how she knew to meet him at the Gate when he had not even intended to go to Elfhame Elder-Elf. He remembered then the rest of what she had said, after she asked him what was wrong. She thought the mist had felt his distress and done something to her caller … even though he had not been in that Unformed land.

  Impossible. Or was it? How much did even he know about the mists of the Chaos Lands? Thoughtfully, Pasgen Gated from Bristol to Elfhame Cymry and from there to Elfhame Elder-Elf. Gaenor had said that something must be done about the mist. He definitely wanted to know what she meant. Underhill was more important than the mortal world. He could leave Seymour to hang himself.

  Seymour was doing just that. Denoriel was at first merely interested since what he heard from Denny was mostly about Seymour’s amassing weapons at Sudeley and trying to convince such men as Dorset, Northampton and even Wriothesley to support him. Nonetheless, because of the political tensions and rumors, Denoriel now made a practice of stopping at the house on Bucklersbury several times a week in case there were messages.

  On the tenth of January, Joseph Clayborne gave him a folded and sealed note from William Cecil. Denoriel opened it with misgivings but found only an invitation to visit the house on Cannon Row. His first impulse was to rush off immediately, but on second thought he decided to present himself at the usual hour for visits.

  “He is not here,” Mildred said, looking harried, “but I know he wants to speak to you.” She looked around as if to be sure no servant was lurking in a corner and she had signed to Denoriel to close the door when he had entered the room. “Can you come back after dinner? I am so sorry I cannot invite you to dinner, but these days … I don’t know who will be coming home with William.” She smiled wryly. “Sometimes I don’t get invited to dinner.”

  Denoriel smiled at her. “Not by your husband’s will, I am sure.”

  “Perhaps not. I think I know what he wants to speak to you about, but it would be better for you to talk to him directly.”

  And when he was shown into William Cecil’s private closet, he understood that it was less what Cecil had to tell than what he had to ask that made their meeting imperative.

  “How close tied in affection and intent is the Lady Elizabeth to Sir Thomas Seymour?” Cecil asked abruptly as soon as the door closed behind Denoriel.

  “Not at all!” Denoriel exclaimed, horrified.

  “Are you sure? I know you have been her friend for many years, but would she tell you if she were contemplating a secret marriage?”

  “Elizabeth? With Seymour?” Denoriel gasped. “Contemplate a secret marriage? Never!”

  “I have heard that Mistress Ashley was encouraging her to think of marriage to Seymour.”

  Denoriel muttered an angry obscenity. “Yes, the woman is a fool. But Lady Elizabeth never agreed. I know she does not wish to marry. And even Mistress Ashley only said that if the king and Council asked it of her that it would be the best marriage she could make.”

  “You are sure there was no secret agreement between them?”

  “Yes! I am sure! Master Cecil, there has been no meeting between Seymour and Lady Elizabeth since Queen Catherine died. There are servants in Lady Elizabeth’s household who know me longer than they know her. I assure you that I would know if there were secret meetings or moonlight trysts—and I would have made sure such stopped.”

  “No correspondence?” Cecil shook his head and waved toward a chair while he settled himself behind a handsome table laden with papers.

  Denoriel sat down and said slowly, “Seymour wrote some letters to her while the queen was heavy with child, and Lady Elizabeth did answer those in her letters to the queen, but she never wrote him a line after Catherine’s death—not even a note of condolence. I know that Mistress Ashley urged her to write, but she would not.”

  “Nothing at all? I am afraid a thorough search will be made through Seymour’s papers.”

  Denoriel bit his lip. “While she still hoped to come to Court to visit King Edward over Christmas, she did write to Seymour about a suitable house. You know Durham House where she was used to stay has been made into a mint. And her cofferer, Thomas Parry, went to London to speak to Seymour about it. Seymour offered her lodging in Seymour Place, and Lady Elizabeth rejected that, saying she would not stay in any house where he was.”

  “Seymour is lost, you know.”

  “Yes, I do know. Sir Anthony told me of his collusion with the pirates and his connection to Sharington and the forgeries in the mint. But what has this to do with Lady Elizabeth?”

  Cecil took a deep breath and let it out in a deep sigh. “Nothing. Lady Elizabeth is not implicated in any way in Seymour’s schemes in Bristol and the islands, but others are implicated who could cause some embarrassment to the government. There are those in the Council who think it would be safer and simpler to attaint Seymour for the treason of intending to marry Lady Elizabeth. You know he has boasted that he could have her—”

  Cecil stopped speaking abruptly as Denoriel leapt to his feet.

  “I’ll kill him!” he snarled, his hand on his sword hilt.

  “Sit down, man,” Cecil said. “Do not be a fool. For you to attack Seymour could do Lady Elizabeth’s reputation no good. Too many know you have been her friend and champion for many years.”

  “But why?” Denoriel protested. “Why drag her into Seymour’s dirt? Surely they have reason enough to try him for treason without mentioning Lady Elizabeth.”

  Cecil looked more worried than he had at any other time. “I am not sure why, but I fear there is more than one cause and that the strike may be at Lady Elizabeth and Seymour just the tool. I do know that the Protector’s wife has a very strong dislike of Lady Elizabeth. And there are others who, for their own safety and advancement, support the Protector’s new religious practices but in their hearts long for the old faith. Those see Elizabeth as a future danger and would be rid of her. And Lady Mary has adherents that think of Lady Elizabeth as a rival to her sister, a rival to lead a civil war that favors the reformed religion …”

  And there it was again. The terrible threat of the curse of civil war, a war that would make no one rejoice.

  No one, that is, except Vidal Dhu.

  Chapter 34

  Vidal, sitting behind Otstargi’s table, sent a light probe into Chancellor Rich’s mind and smiled. It was not a mind he wished to damage so he did not tear away the surface thoughts to reach the deeper motives. In any case, Rich’s mind was such a sewer that Vidal was sure of the mortal’s motivation without deep probing.

  Nonetheless at the moment he was not pleased with Rich. The idiot had set the hounds onto Seymour before Elizabeth was in Seymour’s grasp. Now bringing about her disgrace would be much more difficult. Vidal skimmed the surface of Rich’s mind again. No, there was no
thing about Elizabeth in it. He did not even connect her to Seymour. The man blinked and straightened a trifle when Vidal released his mind.

  “What can I do for you?” Vidal/Otstargi asked, although it was his “calling” that had brought Rich to the magician’s house.

  Rich frowned, bewildered momentarily because he really did not know why he had come to see the sorcerer. But before the doubt could become a solid thought, a large yellow diamond in a ring on his left hand glittered and he breathed out in a sigh, thinking he remembered.

  “You can tell me whether you have foreseen any results of the exposure of Seymour’s crimes.”

  “Why did you send in your men so soon?” Vidal asked angrily. “If your inspectors had waited six months, the case against him—”

  “They were not my men,” Rich snapped back. “One of the clerks in the mint became aware of what Sharington was doing and took fright and reported him.”

  Vidal uttered an obscenity—in Elven.

  Rich shook his head and asked impatiently, “Well? Should I be concerned about Sharington’s accusation of Seymour or is your fabled foresight useless?”

  “Foresight is never useless, but now the evidence may not be strong enough. It may be needful to involve the Lady Elizabeth.”

  “Lady Elizabeth?” Rich’s voice went flat; his face bland and blank. “Are you telling me that Lady Elizabeth is a party to Seymour’s crimes?”

  Vidal dared a very light probe and to his delight learned that Rich was an adherent of the old faith. He kept his convictions a deep secret; they had only been brought to the surface by the mention of Elizabeth, whom Rich wished dead as sincerely as Vidal did. The instant in which Vidal looked did not exist for Rich. To his perception, Otstargi answered his question immediately.

  “She is certainly involved deeply with Seymour,” Vidal said. “I doubt you will ever be able to discover whether she had any part in bilking the mint or colluding with the pirates. But by King Henry’s will, would it not be treason for her to agree to marry Seymour?”

  “Has she?”

  Vidal wanted to say “yes” but he would lose too much influence if he made a positive statement that could be proven untrue. And he knew that Elizabeth had never agreed to marry Seymour no matter how often Mistress Ashley urged that as an end to be devoutly sought.

  “That she desires it, I have seen, but probe as I will my glass does not show any piece of writing or any open statement of her preference.”

  “The preference is there? She did desire the marriage? And what more than marriage did she desire?”

  Vidal did not smile because it would have been out of character for Otstargi, who could have no personal interest in Elizabeth, but he was deeply pleased with Rich who seemed very ready to blacken Elizabeth with every crime he could think of.

  “I cannot tell you,” Vidal admitted, pretending regret. “The images are much mingled and obscured. You will need to obtain this information from the lady herself and from her household. Not so much from the maidens, as she does not trust them to hold their tongues. It is Mistress Ashley who has the secrets of her heart and Master Parry who knows what she intends to do with her purse.”

  An expression of eager interest on Rich’s face was soon succeeded briefly by one of irritation and then with one of satisfaction.

  “I can do nothing yet,” Rich admitted. “Seymour is not yet aware that we have Sharington and that the man is more than willing to talk and lay the blame for his crimes on someone else. Unfortunately the blame touches others than Seymour and it may be worth it to them to let him escape.”

  “Then you should change the chief point of Seymour’s crime from the pirates and the Bristol Mint to his meddling with Lady Elizabeth.”

  Rich’s lips twisted. “She has supporters, strong supporters among the Councilors.”

  “But you have the choosing of those who will question her and her household. Choose two men who are known to favor Lady Elizabeth and one who is indifferent. That way no one can say of you that you set out to do her harm. But make clear to the man who is indifferent that he must extract from Lady Elizabeth enough to send Seymour to the block. And you can promise him that if the evidence should so incriminate Lady Elizabeth that she must also be punished, no blame would attach to him for that honesty.”

  “That I can do—provided she does not enchant him as she does so many who visit her even briefly.”

  Vidal frowned. Could Denoriel or Aleneil or any of their thrice-blasted friends have taught the girl some spell that bound men to her? He looked up at Rich, who had said something about needing to return to work and was preparing to rise from his chair.

  “Yes, my lord, of course. I know you are a busy man. But if you will return here tomorrow at the same hour, I will have a token for you. If you give that token to the man who is to question Lady Elizabeth, it will shield him from her unnatural attractions and remind him that his first duty is to you.”

  “Unnatural attractions,” Rich repeated, softly, a look of intense interest coming into his face. “Do you imply that Lady Elizabeth practices witchcraft?”

  “I would not go so far,” Vidal replied.

  “Lady Mary was once reputed to have said that her sister had called back the dead …” Rich offered hopefully

  Vidal shook his head. “Such an idea would destroy me and you for consulting me. The token can do only good.”

  No, Vidal thought, as Rich said his somewhat disappointed farewells and left the house. It was too bad he could not go so far as to hint that Elizabeth was a witch, but that would seal his doom with Oberon. To raise the subject of witchcraft in the royal house would be far more unforgivable in Oberon’s opinion than having the girl killed.

  Oberon did not really care about the mortal. He had only forbidden anyone to cause her death because he wished to avoid any chance of an examination that might expose Underhill. A trial for witchcraft … Vidal shuddered.

  That Cecil’s warning was all too accurate became evident a few days later when Seymour sealed his fate with a stupid, ill-planned attempt to abduct the king. He had obtained from Edward’s servant John Fowler, through whose hands he had often sent the king pocket money, forged keys to the king’s rooms in Hampton Court. On the sixteenth of January, Seymour used his key and entered Edward’s apartment. The boy’s spaniel leapt at Seymour … and Seymour shot the dog dead.

  The barking of the dog and the sound of the shot brought an officer of the Yeomen of the Guard. Even Seymour knew he could not seize the boy while the guard watched, and from the expression on Edward’s face as he looked down at his dead pet, Seymour knew he could not get the boy to come with him willingly. It had been a mistake to shoot the dog; he should have saved the bullet for the guard.

  All Seymour could do was to compliment the officer on his prompt response and say he had come to test how well the king was guarded and that he was well satisfied. The guard was afraid to arrest the Protector’s brother and so he let Seymour go, but he reported the incident to the Council immediately. Early the next morning the Council met and decided to commit Thomas Seymour to the Tower to be held until further orders. He was arrested that night and in spite of earlier bluster went meekly to prison.

  Despite this open act of treason, which together with his other crimes, was surely enough to convict Seymour, Rhoslyn sent Denoriel a frantic message that Elizabeth was to be implicated. The duchess had confided to her that it was Somerset’s conviction Elizabeth intended to be queen. The Lord Protector had been convinced his brother had “devised and almost brought to pass a secret marriage between himself and the Lady Elizabeth.” Somerset believed that Seymour intended to imprison or, perhaps, kill Edward and Mary and control the Council at his will.

  Lord St. John, Sir Anthony Denny, and Sir Robert Tyrwhitt went to Hatfield on the twentieth of January to interrogate Elizabeth, but they were too late. On the night of the nineteenth, Denoriel had sleep-spelled Margaret Dudley, set Blanche Parry to watch for any other intrusion, and
insisted that Elizabeth come with him to Llachar Lle.

  There he told her what had happened. All she said when he told her of Seymour’s incursion into Edward’s apartment was first, “What a fool!” and then “Oh, poor Edward, he has so little to love. To lose the dog must have grieved him.”

  However, when he told her how she was implicated in Seymour’s treason, the storm he had expected broke. She shrieked with rage, loud enough he feared to have penetrated the walls into her maidens’ chambers or even through the spelled sleep in which Margaret lay. He was glad he had insisted on bringing her Underhill.

  “Why did you not defend me?” she screamed. “Why did you not say I had no reason to desire that toad?”

  “To whom should I say it? Who would listen to me? And what proof could I offer of your preference for me? And if I had proof, you know I dare not use it.”

  That was so obvious a truth that even in her rage Elizabeth could not argue with it. She spoke instead of those she thought were her enemies in terms that would have made her guardsmen blush. Denoriel let her rage except when she accused someone he thought secretly friendly to her. When she was exhausted, she said, “But they cannot believe it? I love Edward. I would never harm him in any way. I do, I do desire that he live and reign long and happily.”

  “I know it and you know it. The one who does not know it, or does not care if he does, is Thomas Seymour. The danger is in what he has said about you.”

  Elizabeth shivered. “How can I defend against that?”

  “Only by ignorance. You know nothing of Seymour’s ideas. You have never spoken to him except in Queen Catherine’s presence or perhaps a chance meeting in passing when your maidens were with you. You have never written to him except on business. You have the letters he wrote in the queen’s name from Gloucestershire?” Elizabeth nodded. “Good, be sure they are distributed among your other correspondence, not set aside as anything special.”