A Queen's Knight

by Sam Burnell

  Robert’s eyes widened. “How can you say that! I’ve met that cur you threw from your door, remember that. Richard and that dog tried to murder me in the street, that’s the kind of men they are. Gutter shit.”

  “Better gutter shit than what you have become,” William replied, his temper flaring and the skin on his face colouring to a mottled red.

  “What have I become? Go on, tell me,” Robert blazed. “You’ve tied me to you with the promise of being your heir. But you’ve never thought to fulfil that, have you? You keep me on a tight leash, old man, and that is about to change.”

  “You’ll do nothing with it. At least Jack looks like a man who can handle a blade. Look at you? What are you good for?” William, hands on the chair’s arms, he leant forward and spat the words at Robert. The fact that William had met Jack was something that Robert had been unaware of.

  Robert held up his hand. “What did you just say?”

  William grinned, letting himself back fall back heavily against the chair. “Aye, that you didn’t know, did you? I’ve met him. He’s the image of Eleanor. I’d have recognised him as her son anywhere.”

  “When did you see him? Did he come here?” Robert’s mind was seeing his plans fall into tatters around him.

  “It appears he’s left the country with Richard,” William said, satisfaction in his voice. “So you’ve nothing to fear from that quarter. Give me your papers. I’ll sign them. Take what you can from them, while you can.”

  “What have you done, old man?” Robert growled.

  “Nothing. You know Richard well enough. He’ll be back and he’s got Eleanor’s son with him. Ask yourself why he keeps him close,” William said, as he began to unroll the papers in his lap.

  “He’s wanted for treason and both of them are wanted for murder, Richard twice. He’ll not grace England’s shores again unless he wants to face the rack,” Robert said with certainty.

  “That might be so,” William said, but his tone told Robert that he thought otherwise.

  “Sign! Sign!” Robert almost screamed in his face. “You’ll not taunt me any more, old man. The next time I see you will be when they nail you in a coffin and may that be very soon.”

  Robert was shaking with rage as he watched. William, slowly and painfully added his name to the sheets, where the blank lines had been left for his signature. When he had finished, Robert snatched the papers and without another word, stalked from the room.

  †

  Christian Carter had been surprised when he had received the message, delivered in person from Edwin. Carter knew that if a lord wished for your presence, you did not decline, whatever misgivings you might have regarding the meeting. Christian could think of only one reason why he was being summoned – Richard. It had been six months since Christian had last seen Richard, their last meeting being in the middle of the night in his kitchen. Richard had been battered and filthy and had presented a plan to sell the flintlocks Christian had in his possession to one of the most notorious forces the world had ever known, the Knights of St John. Christian had feared from the beginning that this was a fool’s mission. However clever Richard was, trying to broker a deal with a group who saw most European crowned princes as beneath their contempt, was one Christian could never imagine going well.

  So it was sooner than William Fitzwarren could have hoped for, that a soberly dressed merchant called at his house, requesting to see the Lord. There was a moment of confusion when Ronan informed Christian that the Master, Robert Fitzwarren, was currently absent. Christian pressed his case, assuring Ronan that it was Lord Fitzwarren who had requested that he visit. He was here to discuss a wine shipment that had just arrived, one that Lord Fitzwarren wished to use to restock his cellars. It was unusual for William to see anyone but his physician, but the issue was finally resolved when Edwin, William’s servant, appeared and confirmed that it was the aged lord who wished to speak with Master Carter.

  Edwin opened the door and showed Christian into William’s downstairs bedroom. The room was overly warm. Outside, the evening was still pleasant, but a fire burnt in the hearth. William saw Christian cast a glance towards it. “I feel the cold. It is the curse of old age.” Then to Edwin he said, “Damn you, man, get him a chair.”

  Edwin picked up one of the heavy high backed chairs and hefting it across the room, he placed it close to his Master.

  “Sit, sit,” ordered William, when the chair was placed where he wanted it, a gnarled hand pointing towards it.

  William observed his visitor closely before he spoke again. The same age as his son, he looked at ease despite the mysterious summons that would have unsettled many men. But then he was one of Richard’s friends. Whatever else his son might be, he was no fool, and he was unlikely to choose men who lacked wit to associate with.

  “You knew my son, Richard, when you were at University?” William said, at length.

  Carter nodded in acceptance of the words. “We shared lodgings when he was at Cambridge.”

  “And now you are a wine merchant, I hear,” William continued.

  “Indeed,” Carter accepted, but added nothing else. He seemed happy to wait patiently for William to get to the point of the conversation.

  “And a man of few words as well, it seems,” William said dryly.

  “I’d rather not waste them, my Lord. Until I know why you wish to see me I do not know which ones to choose,” Carter provided pointedly.

  William raised his eyebrows, but chose to ignore Carter’s impudence. At the moment he needed something from the man. “I am trying to trace my son.”

  “I’ve not seen Richard for quite a while, I am afraid,” Carter said, truthfully.

  “When did you see him last?” William asked, his nose wrinkling to shift his spectacles closer to his eyes.

  “In February,” Carter replied.

  William, watching him closely, could read nothing on the merchant’s face.

  “Perhaps you know where he is?” William asked, his eyes not leaving Carter’s.

  “I am afraid I don’t know,” Christian said, honestly. “As far as I know he left the country and where he is now I could only guess at.”

  William regarded the younger man through his spectacles. “You know he is wanted for treason and murder?”

  Christian inclined his head slightly. “I had heard that there was a warrant for his arrest, yes.”

  “Some would say that you do not choose your friends wisely,” William commented slowly. “You have a good reputation and a solid business. It surprises me that you would risk it by associating with such a man as my son has become.”

  “Isn’t it said that misfortune tests the sincerity of friendship?” Christian replied, coolly.

  “Ah, so you don’t believe he has been justly judged then?” William asked, quietly.

  “My lord, I have no details of how he came to be branded a traitor. We have known each other a long time. I am proud to count him amongst my friends.” Christian supplied the pronouncement dryly.

  William settled back in his chair and regarded his visitor closely. “And what sort of man is it then, that you count yourself fortunate to call a friend?”

  Carter suddenly seemed wary. “Surely, my Lord, you know your own son?”

  “Sons are often not what they seem.” William sounded distracted, and there followed a long silence.

  Carter spoke quietly, breaking the silence. “If I should hear from him, is there is a message you would like me to deliver?”

  William’s eyes fluttered open. “Tell them, tell both of them, I want to see them.” William’s right hand pulled the cord, the bell rang and a moment later Edwin, who must have been on the other side of the door, appeared. “Show Master Carter out, then come back in here and help me to bed.”

  †

  Mistress Harrington’s sufferings might have finally been brought to a quick end, but Morley’s it seemed, were just beginning.

  “Some fool told her Majesty about it, so now she wan
ts to repeat the process all over again. She is adamant that whoever shot Mistress Harrington has robbed God of his rightful vengeance,” Cecil stormed, pushing his glasses back up his nose.

  “Someone saved the woman from a last minute of torment, that was all, and all the rest of them suffered at the stake,” Morley said, defensively. “You were there. Was that not message enough? Did Mistress Harrington’s execution achieve nothing?”

  “Well, that act of mercy is about to cost the Protestants dearly. There’ll be another pyre to attest to Mary’s devotion to the Lord,” Cecil replied. “Green has been condemned and Mary has demanded that he be accompanied by members of each of the largest parishes in London and the man who fired the arrow!”

  Morley rolled his eyes. “All it serves is to harden the city against her.”

  Cecil agreed wholeheartedly, however it was not a debate he was about to have at this moment with Morley. “Her Majesty wants another proclamation nailed to the city’s gates and doors by the end of the week, detailing those who will be brought to justice for their Protestant perversion.”

  “A week?” Morley protested. “It took me nearly four weeks to prepare the cases against those who accompanied Mistress Harrington. Obtaining confessions, getting the court paperwork for their judgments takes time.”

  “Well, this time you have a week. And don’t forget Her Majesty would like to feature amongst their number whoever it was who delivered the arrow to Mistress Haddington’s neck,” Cecil instructed. “She would show the city that her justice will not be subverted. And Morley,” Cecil added, staring at him over the frame of his spectacles, “the judgment is secure against Green. Just find these other eight to accompany him to Smithfield.”

  Cecil slid a folded sheet towards Morley who took it and opened it in a quick movement, his eyes flicking back up to meet Cecil’s immediately. It was a list of names, Protestant names.

  “Green tied to the stake for his Protestant beliefs and another from each of the larger parishes in London. Hopefully this will appease her Majesty and deliver her message to the city,” Cecil supplied, reading the look on Morley’s face.

  “A week?” Morley repeated quietly.

  Cecil nodded and Morley wearily pushed himself from the chair.

  “There is much to do if the city is to hear the warning that it is not safe to adhere to the Protestant faith,” Cecil said. “Go, you are right. A week is not long.”

  †

  Straight after the burnings, Morley’s men had combed the building where the arrow had been fired from and had found little. There were several windows the shot could have been made from, but whoever had been responsible had long since made good their escape. The building was a wheelwright’s shop and it had been vacant and locked on the Sunday when the executions took place. A forced wooden door to the rear leading into an enclosed yard, showed how they had gained entrance to the building and this was also the likely direction of escape. The yard was surrounded by a high wall against which were stacked finished wheels, piles of staves, spokes, barrels and crates, affording the escapee an easy route. Once over the other side of the wall, they were in the back streets of London, where they could easily disappear into the filth and sprawl of the poor houses beyond. This was not an affluent area of the city.

  It was a hopeless pursuit and Morley knew it. His archer would have to be provided from one of the city’s gaols. In the meantime warrants were issued for a number of outspoken citizens whose fate was soon to be shared with that of Green.

  Morley applied his usual thorough approach to the task at hand. Any personal dislike for his work did not interfere with the execution of Cecil’s orders. Very soon he had an unwitting victim for the shooting, extracted from a London gaol and moved to the less pleasant confines of the Tower.

  †

  Edwin had been instructed to bring William’s lawyer straight into his room the moment he arrived. Edwin was a little perturbed when the lawyer arrived accompanied by no less than three of his staff. William had already sworn Edwin to secrecy regarding the lawyer’s visit and Edwin had sense enough to admit them all promptly to the room. He closed the door quickly and stood with his back to it, waiting for orders from his master.

  “My lord, you are looking well.” Master Luttrell, robed in black, stepped towards where William was sat. Without being asked, he dropped into the seat that Edwin had placed close to William earlier for his visitor. His staff remained quiet and looked towards the floor at their feet.

  “Master Luttrell, you are a liar and you know it,” William replied, regarding the lawyer over the top of his spectacles.

  “We are growing old together. I leave my practice to younger men in my chambers now. I’m here only because you are one of my firm’s oldest clients,” Luttrell replied.

  It was a long time since William had seen his lawyer face to face. He could see that the man’s clothes hung on a spare frame. Grey whiskers and tufts of white hair escaping from beneath his cap told of an age that matched William’s own. “So you’ve broken your retirement for me then?”

  Luttrell nodded. “It’s a pleasure, as always to serve you, my lord.”

  William sniffed loudly, and leaning forward, said quietly, “What I have to say is for your ears alone.”

  A moment later and Luttrell’s staff were dismissed to wait in the corridor outside the room with Edwin.

  “There has been a change in my family circumstances. I wish for you to deal with the legalities of the situation,” William pronounced, once the door was closed.

  “Of course,” Luttrell said. “Please tell me what you want me to do for you, and I can advise.”

  It was a tale William did not want to repeat and he kept the details to the minimum. But he told Luttrell enough, so that the lawyer knew that Robert was not the heir and that his first born, John Fitzwarren was. William wished to recognise him as such, and the legalities of this he wished Luttrell to deal with. He also confided in his lawyer the details of Robert's attempts to remove his authority and deal with this property on his behalf.

  Luttrell was quiet for a few moments, considering the problem that William had set, before he pronounced the words his client wanted to hear. “It will take me only a few days to have these documents drawn up for you. Will you want to retain them yourself once they are executed?”

  William shook his head.

  Chapter 16

  A Truth Revealed

  Jack heard the door close along a corridor and propped himself up on one elbow. His stomach grumbling, he hoped the noise was the herald of the arrival of food. The thin soup and unleavened bread they had given him the night before had left him feeling hungrier than before he’d started. The infirmary in Birgu was busier than normal, he was not the only one to have found themselves in the water after the storm.

  It was not food.

  Jack grinned when he recognised Emilio and pushed himself up on the bed.

  “Well, now you are here, you can get me out of this bloody place before I starve to death,” Jack said, happily. “Where’s Richard?”

  Emilio returned his warm smile. “In Mdina, with your sister. He’s met with the Grand Master, I believe, and his cousin. I am sure you will see them both soon.” Emilio’s face clouded. “The Santa Fe was a great loss, thirty-eight men lost their lives. If it had not been for you, I would be among them.”

  “Christ! Thirty-eight?” Jack repeated.

  Emilio nodded. “None of the men below decks made an escape. She turned on her side so fast there was no time for them to get out. It was only those on deck who had a chance.”

  “We were lucky,” Jack agreed. “I have you to thank for wanting to show me the forts, otherwise we would all have been below deck as well.”

  “It was not luck, Jack, it was God’s will. He has a purpose for you,” Emilio said, gravely.

  “Well, his purpose will not be served unless I get some food.” Jack swung his feet down from the bed. He was dressed in nothing but a shift. Jack looked
directly at Emilio, and when he spoke his voice was quiet and serious. “And my brother, can you take me to him? He might need my help.”

  “I will ask,” Emilio replied.

  Jack, however, was not taken to meet his brother. He spent another two days in the infirmary at Birgu before being taken to the capital Mdina. If he had hoped to meet with his brother once he was there he was to be disappointed. He wanted to know how the meeting with de la Sengle had gone, and more than that he wanted to know where Kineer was and the rest of the men he had brought to Malta. Any questions on that score that he asked were not answered. Soon after his arrival in Mdina he met with a member of the Order, Brother Rodrigo, who had asked him some pointed questions about powder production. These he attempted to answer as well as he could. Then it was announced he would be taken to meet with and assist Master Scranton.

  †

  Brother Caron had been responsible for interviewing the first man who lay claim to the name Richard Fitzwarren, so it was natural that he should also question the second. It was on the third day in Caron’s company that they arrived at a series of questions Richard had no desire to answer.

  “Your cousin tells me you were banished from your father’s house. Disgraced, after an incident involving Henry’s daughter, Elizabeth.” Brother Caron repeated the facts he had been told by Edward Fitzwarren. Before him he had his own notes and to his right, one of the Order’s novices was acting as his scribe for the interview.

  Richard’s eyes met those of his interrogator. “I don’t think that is of much relevance to the current situation. I will answer any questions about the arms and the powder manufacture that you have.”

  “Brother Augustus has told me you can be… reluctant. Surely, you do not want me to use the methods he has had to avail himself of, and not for such simple questions?” Brother Caron’s threat was quite clear. “Brother Augustus also tells me you are in no condition to resist. He has also kindly asked me not to increase his workload. So please, answer my questions and let me keep my fellow brother happy.”