A Queen's Knight

by Sam Burnell

  If Richard thought that they would be satisfied with a general description of the event and its subsequent effects upon him then he was wrong. The interview lasted three hours, and at the end of it Richard’s head swam. However, the fog of confusion and uncertainty Andrew had cast over a past incident had cleared. Caron’s detailed and thorough questioning had made Richard face his past. Under Brother Caron’s cold and dispassionate analysis he became aware that what Andrew had suggested was a lie. His mind ran on to the time before Seymour had forced himself upon Elizabeth in the garden: a time of friendship, of shared thoughts and of confidences given and received. To his own shame, he realised the fool he had been, to allow Andrew’s doubt to take root and grow.

  “…did you hear me?” Caron repeated, his scribe at a temporary halt, looking up as well and staring at the man seated opposite him.

  “Sorry, it’s been a long afternoon. Please, put the question again,” Richard replied, his voice tired.

  “No. Perhaps you are right, it has been a long afternoon. We can resume again tomorrow,” Caron accepted.

  †

  The heat was making it hard to breathe. Jack decided that whoever had the idea to make the trip during the day had been mad. Jack hadn’t seen his brother since he had arrived in Malta. Richard had remained in Mdina, and it was Emilio was taking him to meet Scranton. They had left Mdina early, on horseback. The journey was a scant six miles, but as Jack was starting to learn, six miles on Malta took the same time as twelve miles anywhere else. The track was a narrow one of pock-marked rock, winding between the poor terraces that were built onto every available scrap of land. The iron-shod hooves of the mount they had given him rang out like the sound from a cracked bell as they clipped the limestone rock.

  Most of the time they were forced to ride in single file down the middle of the track. The soft limestone path bore worn ruts from the carts that were dangerous traps for the horse’s hooves. Jack saw little to endear him to this rocky isle that the Knights had been gifted. The population, who had to eke out a subsistence living from the poor rocky ground, were no different to those in England, except the quality of the soil and the heat were most certainly against them.

  They finally crested the ridge between Mdina and the next valley. Jack, glancing behind him, could not believe how close the citadel still was. On this terrain there was little safe opportunity to raise the horses to more than an occasional brisk trot. Jack was beginning to think walking would have been quicker and more companionable, as they would have at least been able to talk to one another on the journey.

  Descending into the next valley there was a brief opportunity for Emilio to draw his horse level with Jack’s before the track narrowed again. He had told Jack why, after the incident in the catacombs, that it had been felt wise to relocate Master Scranton some distance from the citadel.

  “Your brother looks like a man with much on his mind sometimes,” Emilio said conversationally.

  Jack considered Emilio’s words. “He has lost his purpose, and no longer seems to have any liking for what we’re doing.”

  “This bargain could make him a wealthy man,” Emilio pointed out.

  “I think if we escape here with our lives I’d be more than happy,” Jack replied candidly. “I don’t think he cares any more, and if I search my own heart I don’t find I care overly either.” Jack sounded morose.

  Emilio leant his head close to Jack’s so only he could hear his words. “You could always gift your wealth that your brother hopes to make for you to the Order. That would be sufficient, I would imagine, to secure you a place amongst our ranks.”

  Jack turned to look at him squarely. “You would not want an ungodly soul like mine.”

  “It’s wasn’t the quality of your soul I was thinking of,” replied Emilio, shamelessly.

  Jack ignored him, and asked instead, “Where are we headed?”

  “That’s where we are going.” Emilio pointed across the valley to a rocky outcrop on the other side, a little higher up than they currently were.

  Jack couldn’t see anything. One piece of sun-scorched hillside covered in scrub looked just the same as the next piece. Emilio pressed his horse closer to Jack’s until the sweating flanks touched. Then reaching an arm across, placed it around Jack’s shoulders, turning him in the direction he was pointing.

  Jack, taking his eyes from the rocky valley, looked straight at Emilio. “You really do not miss an opportunity, do you?”

  Emilio looked hurt for a moment, then a smile spread across his face and white teeth glinted in the sun. Leaning towards Jack, he said conspiratorially, “You would expect nothing less of me!”

  “I should make you confess that you have desires other than those of the Order,” Jack said, amused.

  “They would take one look at you and forgive me my sin,” Emilio said, gravely.

  “Really?” Jack said, sounding dubious.

  “Well, no. They would cast me from the Order. Then you would never be free of me,” Emilio replied, grinning.

  “Well, that’s a threat I shall heed,” Jack replied.

  “Or a promise?” Emilio shot back.

  Before Jack could reply the path had narrowed and Emilio had pulled his horse back behind Jack’s again.

  †

  Master Scranton was sullen and unresponsive. The sea voyage had been a longer one that he could ever have anticipated, the weather was too hot, and his near demise when the catacombs had blown up had finally convinced him that whatever this venture was, it had certainly not been a good idea. Master Scranton was homesick. When Andrew Kineer had taken the reins, he had hoped that soon he would be returning to Antwerp, but instead he had found himself incarcerated on a ship, subjected to an inquisition by the Knights and instructed to prove his methods, none of which had been done politely. Scranton was a man who was wishing very much that he had never set his eyes on Richard Fitzwarren. It seemed to him a very long time since he agreed to trade his services across a table in Antwerp.

  It was an encounter that Jack was not particularly looking forward to either. Master Scranton had never held Jack in any high regard. Jack also knew that what would have been said about himself and Richard after they had parted ways would have been less than complimentary. Kineer would have done as much as he could to turn them all against them, of that Jack was sure.

  Jack heard Master Scranton before he saw him. His shrill voice rang out from above them. Jack gathered his reins, pushing his horse to the front. It stepped carefully up the steep white path towards the terrace where Master Scranton was shouting commands.

  Rounding the last corner, Jack found his horse drawing level with a white limestone rubble wall. As the horse stepped further up the hill, Jack rose higher until he could see over the wall. Scranton!

  On the other side of the wall, Master Scranton, leaning over a long tray and berating his workman, came into sight as Jack’s horse brought him further up the hill. It took another half dozen steps before Scranton became aware of his visitors. Hearing the tap of hooves on stone and the jangle of tack, he turned to find he was staring straight into the unsmiling face of Jack Fitzwarren.

  Jack did not remove his eyes from Scranton’s, relishing his horrified expression as he dropped from the saddle. Stepping up through the gap in the wall onto the flat terrace where Scranton had his stock in trade laid out, Jack, unsmiling, faced the little man.

  “Master Scranton.” Jack stood, his arms folded, enjoying the expression on the little man’s face.

  Scranton opened his mouth to speak, but no words emerged.

  “It is so good to see you.” Jack smiled maliciously.

  Scranton’s eyes flicked between Jack and the Knight who had arrived with him.

  “Surely you are pleased to see me, whole and well?” Jack said, making Scranton’s eyes widen even further.

  “Of course, Master Fitzwarren, I am heartened to see you. Andrew did indeed gain the favour of the Knights then on your behalf?” Scranton repli
ed, his voice high pitched and a little shaky.

  “Something like that.” Jack regarded him with cold crystal blue eyes. “So tell me, Master Scranton, what has been happening since we parted?” Jack crossed the short distance between them and stood close to Scranton. That the proximity made the little man nervous was plain and Jack let him suffer. Refraining from speaking, Jack began to inspect the wooden trays on the trestle tables that Scranton had set up in the shade on the olive trees.

  “We’ve been working here for two weeks. There was some slight incident with the powder…” Master Scranton hesitated. “…and it was felt a more remote location would be suitable.”

  Jack’s eyebrows raised. “I’m not sure if blowing the roof off the catacombs and sending several men to Hell can be really described as a minor incident.”

  “That was not my fault!” Scranton’s voice had gone up in pitch.

  Jack held his hand up. “I’m not here to judge, or fight with you, Master Scranton. For once, we are on the same side.” Then Jack put the question he very much wanted an answer to. “Andrew, have you seen much of him since you left Mdina?”

  Scranton shook his head. “I’ve not seen him since we arrived on this godforsaken island. I was brought here two weeks ago, and I’ve been lodging in the village below. Have you seen it? Fishing hovels. I, sir, have been sleeping and eating amongst the fishing nets and pots for two weeks now.”

  Jack took a comedic step back, grinning. “That’s apparent from the smell.”

  Master Scranton’s mouth opened wide, but he shut it again quickly, swallowing the complaint he was about to make.

  “We were a little delayed, but I’m here now, Master Scranton. Please take me through everything you have been doing since you arrived.” Jack had finished inspecting the tables and wooden constructions around the terrace.

  “They gave me idiots to work for me. The powder store in the catacombs was perfectly placed. Why they thought to use exposed oil lamps, I have no idea. If they had taken complete casks in and out then it would have not happened, but the fools opened the casks and decanted the material. It was the dust.” Scranton looked at Jack’s uncomprehending expression. “The dust. They opened the kegs and the powder dust rose into the air. The exposed oil lamps ignited it. That was the primary explosion and the secondary one of course was when the kegs themselves ignited. We lost four of our own kegs.”

  “And how many men?” Jack asked coldly.

  “There were two of the fools down there. A few more minutes and myself and Master Tate would have been inside as well.”

  “Tate? Froggy?” Jack said, quickly.

  “Aye, the same, and I nearly got blown to kingdom come as well.” It was Froggy Tate, dressed in hose, with a grubby grey linen shirt stuck to his sweaty body, emerging from a set of rocky steps behind Scranton.

  Jack strode straight past Scranton and flung his arms around the little man, giving him a ferocious hug.

  “Get off me, you great lummox.” Froggy, grinning, fought free from Jack’s tight hold.

  Jack had a warm smile on his face, and there was genuine relief in his voice. “It’s good to see you, Froggy.”

  “I am pleased you caught up with us. I’d have thought you would have made it here before now. We’ve been up here nearly two weeks. How long have you been on Malta?” Froggy asked. He had a cloth in his hand and wiped it across his sweating forehead.

  “My throat’s fair parched.” Jack’s eyes connected with Froggy’s. The message that he didn’t want to speak more in the present company passed wordlessly between them.

  Froggy’s eyes flicked between Jack and the Knight who stood close to him, then he said, “If you follow me, I’ve a flask of something that’ll sort that out.”

  Jack clapped brother Emilio on the arm. “I’ll leave you with Scranton. It seems Froggy has better employ for me.” And laughing, he followed Froggy between the gnarled olive trees and up a short set of steps carved out of the rock. They emerged a moment later back into the bright sun. Before them was a flat dusty limestone track and on the opposite side, a wide shallow cave offering blissful shade. Inside there were boxes, plate, cups, a water skin and bedding roll. It was obvious that a man was living in here. Froggy saw Jack looking around the small cave.

  “Aye well, it was either sleep here or share one of those shacks near the sea with Scranton,” Froggy provided by way of explanation for his humble accommodation.

  “I can see that would not be a difficult choice.” Jack sat on a carved ledge that ran along the side of the cave.

  Froggy dropped to sit cross-legged on the floor. He produced a worn-looking earthenware bottle and pulled the stopper out. He didn’t take a drink himself but he passed it to Jack.

  “What is it?” Jack sniffed experimentally at the contents.

  Froggy just shrugged.

  Jack took a swig and gagged. Standing, he banged his head off the cave roof. He spat the mouthful out, flinging the bottle back at Froggy and wiping his hand across his mouth.

  “That wasn’t funny!” Jack said furiously, rubbing gingerly at a cut on his head.

  “Oh it was,” laughed Froggy, slapping his hand off his leg. “They make it from cactus and olives apparently.”

  Jack sat again. Reaching for the water skin, he poured some into the cup and rinsed his mouth out. Froggy watched, still amused.

  “Well now, how about you tell me what happened since we left you?” Jack asked as he pushed the leather stopper back into the water skin.

  The humour left Froggy’s face. He cast a quick glance outside before he spoke. “Kineer came back and told us you were a few days behind and that the Master had told him to carry on and that you’d catch us up. We made it to Venice and he went to see someone, came back and said he had instructions from the Master to take the men to Malta and you would meet us here. We arrived here weeks ago. Kineer arranged for us to demonstrate the muskets we had. I had all of them unpacked, and between us all we gave a good account of them.”

  Jack interrupted. “And where was Andrew during all this?”

  “Not with us, he was lodging elsewhere. We’ve not seen him since we arrived,” Froggy said. “After we’d demonstrated the muskets, Scranton was to make his new powder. I was helping him and it was just two days later the catacombs blew up. Before we had time to say a hail Mary, we were bundled up and dumped here.”

  “The rest of the men? Marc and Pierre?” Jack asked.

  “As far as I know they are in Mdina,” Froggy supplied, then asked, “What happened after we left?”

  “A lot, Froggy. All you need to know is the Master is back, and Andrew Kineer is no longer in charge.” Jack hoped he sounded more confident than he felt.

  “What happened… it was Kineer, wasn’t it?” Froggy said, at length.

  “Why do you say that?” Jack asked.

  “The lass. She has a shrewder head on her shoulders than we give her credit for. She told me Andrew lied to you. I knew that the wagon that killed poor Mat was left on the flat. There was no way that was going to roll down the hill from where we left it. Then there was the powder store. There was a guard on it, Jack. No one got past it. Except Marc later told me Andrew relieved him for an hour in the afternoon and sent him on an errand. That’d be long enough to take two of those kegs and stow them in the church.”

  Jack’s face was dark. “You have most of it. I know we can count on you.”

  “And on the rest of the lads. I didn’t keep any of that to myself ,you know. They’re not stupid, Jack. By the time we got here and you and the Master had not arrived, they all started to see what he was trying to do, especially after Dan did not come back.”

  “And what was that?” Jack asked, pointedly.

  Froggy leaned forward and said, “Take the Master’s place. You can’t blame us. There wasn’t much we could do. It’s been like trying to pick our way through a field of shit ever since we got here, especially after Scranton blew the powder store up.” Froggy leaned clo
ser to Jack. “They don’t like us. Treat us little better than the islanders. For God’s sake, I’m living in a bloody cave!”

  “I was despatched here to see if Scranton had redeemed himself. The Grand Master wants to find out if there is some truth in what he says he can do. I’ve not seen Richard since I got here or the rest of the men,” Jack admitted.

  “So the Master is in Mdina then?” Froggy asked, sounding relieved.

  Jack nodded slowly.

  Froggy grinned. “He’ll have them eating out of his hand soon, you’ll see.”

  There was concern on Jack’s face. “I wish I could believe you, Froggy. It wasn’t an easy journey.”

  “It’s not been easy for any of us,” Froggy said, his face clouding.

  “And they’ve taken Lizbet as well,” Jack said, morosely.

  “Good God! You brought the lass to Malta as well! What did you do that for?” Froggy gasped.

  “We couldn’t leave her. Andrew left us with little enough. Anyway she’s safe where she is now,” Jack said, grinning.

  Froggy’s face fell. “Go on, where is she?”

  “There’s a Benedictine Order of Nuns in Mdina,” was all Jack said.

  Froggy’s eyes widened. “Oh I’d like to be a fly on the wall in there!”

  Jack couldn’t help himself. “I hope for her sake it’s not a silent order.”

  Froggy guffawed with laugher slapping his hand off his thigh. “Well, if it is it won’t be any more! Jack, it’s good to have you back again,” and then he put another question, one he feared he already knew the answer to, “And Dan?”

  Jack dropped his eyes to the floor. Without saying anything he pulled the knife he had taken from Gent out of his belt and held it out for Froggy to see. “I took it from Gent in Venice.”