Chapter Three

 

for the springs both of good and evil flow from the prince over a whole nation, as from a lasting fountain

Utopia by Thomas More (translated by H. Morley)

 

The bowman was cool. He did not so much as flinch as Parker launched himself across the garden to the back wall where the shadowed figure perched, like a crow.

It must be Jean. He was one of the few Parker had ever encountered who had the steady, nerveless hands of a professional assassin.

“Jean.” He shouted the name as the bowman executed a smooth, graceful leap off the wall to the small alley below.

Parker jumped at the wall and scrabbled for hand and foot holds, reaching the top with bleeding fingers and scraped knees. He found his balance and looked down the alley.

The shooter was cranking his crossbow at the corner where the alley met St. Michael’s Lane.

Parker swore. If that was Jean, he would be dead before he took more than a step towards him. Even if it wasn’t the Frenchman, he would be a hard target to miss in the narrow back alley.

The bowman waited a beat, saw Parker had thought better of pursuit and lifted a hand in salute. He turned into Saint Michael’s Lane and disappeared.

Parker stayed where he was, crouched atop the wall, letting the night sounds settle back, letting the blood roaring in his ears abate.

If that was Jean, it was the first salvo in what he knew would be a battle to the death. But the way the man stood, held himself, didn’t stir any memories . . .

He couldn’t be sure.

If it wasn’t Jean, then perhaps Susanna was right.

Her brother had brought more than too much luggage with him from Ghent.

He’d brought trouble.

* * *

Susanna ignored the letter, lying where her brother had left it, duty discharged, on the floor by the window.

He’d gone back to his room, salvaging his pride by walking to the door, instead of crawling to it. She didn’t stop him.

Every step he took away from her twisted her feelings of loyalty to her family until they were a knotted, tangled skein in her stomach. She felt the weight of it as he turned into the passageway and left her alone in the room.

She flicked tears from under her eyes, took a deep breath and swung her legs over the sill. She dropped the short distance into the garden and moved forward.

Stopped.

There was a figure up on the wall, as dark and frightening as a gargoyle hanging from a church roof.

She stood very still as she tried to make it out.

“Parker?”

The figure moved, turning towards her, and leapt down. She could see it was Parker in the lines of his body, in the grace of his movement, and relaxed.

“Was it Jean?” She waited for him to join her, and when he stopped before her, she could not see his face.

“I don’t know.” He looked over his shoulder, back to the wall. “He was cool enough to be Jean. Accurate enough.”

“I hope it was him.”

He started, lifted his hand to touch her face. “Why do you say that?”

She took his wrist, tried to study his hand in the light coming from the study. It was bloody and moss-stained. “Lucas came in after you went out the window.”

She felt his fingers tense against hers, felt the steel in them. “And?”

She drew him towards the window, a finger on her lips, and when they were back in the study, she drew the shutters closed.

Parker stood motionless as she stoked the fire and lit a lantern, watching her every move.

She raised her gaze to his and took a deep breath. “My father has been bullied by Margaret of Austria into getting a secret message to Queen Katherine. He plans for me to pass it to her.”

Parker’s mouth opened, and then he clamped it shut with a snap. “What is the message?”

She looked at the letter, lying almost at his feet, and he followed her gaze, scooped it up.

“In here?” He reached for his letter knife, and was already breaking the seal as she nodded.

She sat, watching as he unrolled it.

He was silent as he read, and then frowned down at the parchment.

“What is it?”

“Were you to pass this to the Queen?” He looked up, and she understood why so many stood down to Parker without him having to do more than look their way. She shivered.

“I was to read it, and pass the message on. Not give her the letter itself. Or so Lucas says.”

Parker held the letter out to her, and she was still reluctant to take it. She crossed her arms. “What does it say?”

Parker flicked it with his fingers. “You’ll have to tell me. It’s written in code.” His expression, when he raised his head again, was unreadable.

“Code?” The notion was so ridiculous, she finally took the letter, smoothed it out on her lap.

It was in her father’s hand, no doubt about that. But the words themselves . . . she gasped.

“This isn’t in code.” She scanned the page, tightly packed with the unusual markings, and leant back in her chair, truly shocked.

“You understand it?” Parker stepped closer, crouched down beside her chair.

“It is in the shorthand we use in the atelier. It’s not only in Flemish, but in a shortened form we’ve used for years to save paper and time. This letter could not have come from anyone but my father. He has compromised himself, using this.”

“And what does it say?” His eyes were on her face, and she raised a hand to rub her temple.

“Margaret sends Katherine a warning. That the Emperor Charles is planning to break his betrothal to her daughter, Princess Mary, and marry Queen Katherine’s niece, Isabella of Portugal, instead.” She traced the words with a finger. “Why would Margaret want to warn Katherine secretly, though? Why not tell Henry as well?”

“Because treachery by the Queen’s relatives caused the Queen to lose the King’s favour before—favour she has never truly won back. And Charles breaking his betrothal vows to Henry’s daughter, that is a betrayal.”

“The Queen would suffer for it, even though she has nothing to do with it?”

“She had nothing to do with her family’s treachery last time, either.” Parker took the letter back, stared down. “Margaret of Austria has always been an ally of England, and an enemy of France. She knows Henry will be furious if Charles reneges on his betrothal promise to Princess Mary, and he’ll possibly break the alliance between them she’s tried so hard to build.”

“But why would she give the Queen advanced warning in secret?” Susanna leant over the page, and read the message again.

“Knowledge is power. Margaret wants to prepare Katherine. And perhaps buy some time, try to change Charles’s mind. Both Mary and Katherine will be far less useful to Henry if Mary is no longer to be the Emperor’s wife.”

“But surely the King loves his daughter?” Susanna spoke without thinking. Then remembered what her own father was asking her to do, asking her to risk. Just to please his employer.

A cold, sick feeling lodged itself in her chest. Her father was most likely acting from desperation. But Henry, she had looked into his eyes before and seen the utter ruthlessness there. He would do whatever he thought in his best interests.

Parker carefully placed a hand on her arm, his touch warm. “The attack tonight could have been to silence you, so you can’t deliver the message. Does your brother realize that?”

She nodded. “He said he was sure no one in London could know why he was here, but he was lying again.”

“Charles won’t want Margaret whispering his plans to Katherine in advance. He would stop this if he could. So most likely someone working for Charles followed your brother here from Margaret’s court, or sent word of his arrival to Emperor Charles’s spies here in London.”

She covered his hand with her own. Looked directly into his eyes. “What do we do?”

He looked towards the fire. “There is no question. We burn this letter and say nothing.”