Jack listened to the church bells all the next morning until the sun climbed higher. First Prime, then Terce. The guilt from his actions weighed heavily on him. He would not be the cause of the king’s wrath borne down on Henry or even Lady Katherine. And in the midst of it he pictured Master Crispin’s disappointed face. He had never beaten Jack as other masters did their apprentices. His stoic silences were far worse, berating with a mere look and a discontented sigh. How Jack flayed himself because of those expressions!
But his promise burned fiercely within him, too. For the queen sorely needed his help, and he had vowed to give it. What would Master Crispin do?
Jack stared at the locked door and up at the small window above his head. The glass sat in its own chamfered niche but was not made to open, only to give light. He would have to break it to climb out of it, if he could squeeze through, which he doubted he could.
The door, then. But it was locked from the outside. But was the key in the door? He knelt and put his eye to the keyhole. ‘Damn!’ He could see clearly through the hole, which meant no key. And he could see a servant approaching with a tray. His stomach growled. It had been a while since he ate. He was relieved that he would not starve to death.
But wait! The servant was to unlock the door. Jack concentrated and expelled a ‘Ha!’ when the idea came to him. He lifted up his coat, grabbed the hem of his chemise and fiddled with the edge. Quickly slipping his knife free of its sheath, he sliced a thin length of material from the shirt, returned his coat and knife to their places, and wadded up the material in his fist just as the door opened.
The servant poked his head in. ‘Sorry, Jack. Master Waterton was tardy in telling us where you were. I thought you’d need a little food about now.’
‘Ah, Hubert. I knew you wouldn’t forget me, lad.’
Hubert moved into the room and set down his tray. On it was a bowl with slices of cold fowl, boiled onions, and sprigs of borage. A good-sized beaker of ale was there as well. Hubert, a lank boy, younger than Jack with a spotty chin and cheeks, smiled and wiped his hands down his tabard. ‘Wouldn’t forget you.’
Jack liked the boy and didn’t want to get him into trouble, but it had to be done. With his hands behind his back and his back to the door, Jack casually crept closer to the lock. In his fingers he shredded the material and wadded it up good and tight. When he touched the lock at his fingertips, he felt for the lock hole and stuffed the wadding in, pushing it tight against the bolt spring.
‘Am I to be locked in the whole day?’
Hubert’s smiled faded. ‘Well … that’s what Master Waterton says. It’s a shame is what it is, Jack. Why are you kept a prisoner here anyway?’
‘It’s a long tale, lad. One I may not be at liberty to say. But know this. I would not have harm come to Lord Henry or any of his retinue, including you, Hubert.’
‘I know that, Jack. Everyone knows that.’
He sighed. ‘Not Master Waterton. He was right angry with me.’
‘You caused a stir, there’s no denying it.’ He smiled again. ‘Never a dull moment in Lord Derby’s employ.’
‘Nor in the Tracker’s either.’
Hubert moved close to Jack and Jack pulled his hands away hastily from the lock. ‘You promised to tell me about more of your adventures with Master Guest.’
‘Of course, of course. But, er, I would not keep you from your duties. Master Waterton has a sharp eye.’
‘Oh, aye.’ He bit his lip. ‘I’ll be back later then. Around Sext. I’ll bring more ale and we can talk.’
‘That’s a plan, Hubert.’ Jack nodded eagerly, hoping the boy would forgive him if he was not here to receive him.
Hubert moved around Jack to the door. ‘Be at peace, Jack.’ He held the edge of the door in his hand, and with an apologetic twist to his lips, pulled the door closed. Jack heard the key grind in the lock and waited until the footsteps receded. He put his ear to the door and closed his eyes, straining to listen for anyone near it. When he was satisfied that no one was about, he yanked on the door handle. He needed only to wriggle it a bit. The bolt had only moved a little in the lock and not into the door jamb. Pulling the door open only a crack, he cautiously looked around.
He glanced back into the room and at the full beaker. ‘Be a shame to waste it,’ he muttered, and stepped back quickly, took up the beaker, and drank most of the ale down. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve, checked the door again, and slipped through. Carefully he closed the door, and tip-toed toward the main antechamber.
He remembered well those knights who had cornered him in the garden. Especially the one with the northern accent. He hoped he could find him and then, somehow, get a message back to Master Crispin. If this brooch could be found, it could very well lead him to the Stone of Destiny. For with one day left till the Commons met, Jack was truly running out of time.
His destination was the main courtyard, so when he made it through the door of Henry’s lodgings and out into the corridor, he followed his gut in the direction he reasoned Westminster Hall was. Keeping his hood up and his head down, he passed guards in the corridors, giving them a surreptitious glance as he passed them. None were his man.
As he reached the White Hall, more courtiers surrounded him, and it was easier to blend in. He straightened, trying to look as casual as possible, as if he belonged there, all the while trying to hide his face in the shadow of his hood and examining the guards he saw patrolling the doorways. But he knew he wouldn’t fool anyone for long. Those guards had seen his clothes, after all. And as much as he tried to conceal his cotehardie with his cloak, he knew flashes of bright blue would give him away.
Passing through narrow corridors he finally arrived at the Great Hall. Pausing and taking it in – its armorial banners hanging in colorful tribute to the chivalry of England along both sides, the dais with the throne, and the many guards, ladies, and men seeking audience with nobles – Jack girded himself, pulled his hood down that much lower, and dove into the crowd.
The hall was grand on a scale to compete with any cathedral. He’d been here before, of course, in circumstances he would rather forget. But as he reached the main entrance and stood at the top of the stairs, looking down into the great courtyard and toward the garrison of the king’s guards, it suddenly occurred to him that he could keep going. He was free! No one knew where he was. He could walk right out the front gateway and return to London and none would be the wiser.
He glanced back over his shoulder as court went about its business. No one was looking at him. No one noticed him at all. He’d be just another citizen making his way from court. And Master Crispin wouldn’t have to fret over him any longer. Free as a sarding bird!
But even as that thought made his spirits soar, they were just as quickly shot down as surely as if an arrow had pierced him.
He couldn’t return to Master Crispin for that would be the first place they’d look. And they’d probably arrest his master for good measure.
Desperately he scanned over the wall toward St Margaret’s Street beyond where people were milling, past the gate. He saw farmers with wagons laden with hay and young girls carrying pails of milk. Would they begrudge him his chance at freedom? Would any of them?
And it wasn’t just freedom, but the gibbet. The king had said he would die a traitor’s death for consorting with his master. He rubbed his neck, swallowing hard.
Yet that wasn’t even the worst of it. For he had made an oath to Lord Henry that he would be good, and to Lady Katherine as well. In exchange for their caring for him instead of his rotting in a cell, he had made an oath on his very honor. And he had meant it. At the time.
And that was his choice. Hang or be loyal to his oath.
His heart thundered. ‘Damn you, Master Crispin,’ he whispered. ‘I would never have been so muddled if you hadn’t mixed up me head with notions of honor. I’d be a free man by now.’ He strained his neck, looking toward the Great Gateway with its stone arches and gatehouse towers. That was the way to freedom … yet, with a sorrowful shake of his head, he knew he could not take it. Master Crispin had sowed in him such a deep concept of loyalty and duty that he could not, could not dishonor himself and his master by leaving those who trusted him to their fates … even though it could very well result in his hanging.
He rubbed at his neck again. ‘It’s a terrible thing, this,’ he muttered. ‘This … sense of duty. It’s like to get a man killed.’ He swallowed, wishing he could get to that beaker of ale again, before he slowly tramped down the stairs.
Sulkily, he headed toward the gatehouse where the guards were milling, head still full of his musings. He didn’t mean to damn his master. Never would he do that! He asked forgiveness from God and also asked to find this guard. All he had to do was find that Scotsman and then … Then what? Find out his name, he supposed, and … He blew out a sigh, ruffling his wayward fringe. He wished Master Crispin was there to instruct. He wasn’t quite sure what he was to do once he identified the culprit.
He slowed his steps and tarried beside a horse trough. Clearly he hadn’t thought this out. His only thought had been to get out of that locked room and find that damned guard. But his honor was at stake! This he knew.
He turned and abruptly ran into a broad man, nearly knocking him over. ‘Forgive me, good sir! I did not see—’ Brushing off the man, Jack looked at his face. ‘Master Wodecock!’
Bill Wodecock, one of the king’s stewards, pushed Jack back at arm’s length. Jack tried to pull away, but the man clamped an iron grip over his arms. ‘Jack Tucker?’ He hastily looked around him. ‘What are you doing out of confinement?’
‘It’s a long tale, Master Wodecock.’
‘Is it?’ He looked over his shoulder again and walked Jack backward until he slammed against the stone wall surrounding the yard. ‘I should call the guards on you to take your hide away,’ he hissed.
‘Pray, sir, don’t do that. I am on a most important mission for, er … a lady of some importance.’
‘What? The Devil take you for your lies, boy!’
‘On my honor, Master Wodecock.’ That sarding honor again! ‘I’m telling the truth.’
‘I saw you heading for the gatehouse. You were stealing away.’
‘No, master, I wasn’t! I was on my way to see about a certain guard who might have done this lady a wrong. I swear by St Dismas, master!’
‘By St Dismas indeed! You’re a thief, Jack Tucker, and well I know it. And now you would steal the good grace of the king …’
‘Have mercy, Master Wodecock. For I know the peril I am in. And yet I have no choice but to stay under the king’s shadow for the sake of others. Wouldn’t I be gone by now if I intended to escape? You wouldn’t have stopped me, no matter your strength.’ Or girth, he thought, measuring the squat and stout man before him. ‘It is vitally important that I find this guard.’
‘What nonsense you spout, Tucker. No doubt learned from your master.’
‘But you know my master well and you also know that he is an honest man.’
‘That doesn’t make the apprentice the same.’
Jack pulled himself up and slapped down the man’s hands from his cotehardie. ‘You don’t know me. Maybe who I was but not who I am. Call the guards if you don’t believe me. Or be silent and help me. One way or the other, I am in God’s hands alone, and I swear by that God who lords over all that I am telling the truth.’
Wodecock’s glare followed up Jack’s figure and down again, as if the soles of his shoes could tell the man anything about Jack’s character. At last and after much grunting and sneering he placed his fists at his ample hips. ‘Help you how?’
Jack’s taut spine relaxed with relief. ‘Aw now. You are a fair man, Master Wodecock. I will do right by you, sir.’
‘Help you how?’ he asked again, almost a bark.
‘Well, I need to find a certain guard. But, er … they have seen me. Know what I’m wearing, you ken? So, erm, if say, you were to …’
‘You want to send me on your fool errand? I’m a busy man, Tucker. And I don’t have time for the likes of you!’
He pushed away from Jack to make his exit when Jack scrambled ahead of him, walking backward as the man moved relentlessly forward. ‘But you’re not turning me in, which must mean you believe me. Even a little.’
Wodecock kept travelling, but he was moving away from the gatehouse. ‘I believe in your master. Not so much in the apprentice.’
‘Fair enough, for you seem to know my history. But Master Wodecock.’ And he used his strength to push against the man’s chest and stop his forward progress at last. ‘You’d be helping Master Crispin.’ He saw Wodecock’s sneer deepen, and hastily added, ‘and the king … and the queen. My business is intimate with both, master.’
‘Ha!’
‘It’s true! For if you know why I am here, you know all. And this is something that will help. You must know about the Stone of Destiny,’ Jack said quieter, eyes flicking over Wodecock’s shoulder.
‘Aye,’ said the steward. ‘Though I scarce believed it. Do you mean to tell me you are looking for the—’
‘I am on my course, Master Wodecock. And I detected the sound of a northerner in the king’s guards. I have reason to believe something suspicious.’
‘Could you not have gone to Lady Swynford with this?’
‘I would not involve her further. You see the difficulty.’
He growled, eyes narrowing. ‘What do you want me to do?’
Jack sidled closer. ‘Well, they know my attire, you see. If we go together and I wait outside, perhaps you could lure them out on some pretext.’
‘Lure them out!’
‘Shush, master! We are looking for a northerner. I would name him and send that name to my master.’
‘You want me to go into the gatehouse. What if he is not there? What if he is in the palace at some other duty?’
‘I searched the faces of as many guards as I could see …’
‘Folly. All folly.’ He scrubbed his chin with a beefy hand. ‘Well … so be it. But you—’ and he aimed a finger at Jack’s face ‘—better be right.’ He pulled up his belt and stalked toward the gatehouse. Jack followed at a distance but made certain to be near the archway and kept his ears primed.
Yet as the time passed, Jack began to worry. Had Wodecock slipped out without him noticing? Was he turning Jack in even as he waited like a lamb to the slaughter?
In a panic, he turned, but stopped at the sound of a boot on the stone floor.
It was Wodecock, and he was alone.
‘Master Wodecock?’
‘There was no one there with a northern accent, you fool. Your head’s gone addled.’
‘But he has to be somewhere.’ He stared into the middle distance … and saw him. ‘There!’ He pointed at first before he thought better of it. The guard was talking to a lord, listening carefully to his instructions. ‘We must get closer,’ Jack hissed, and started out across the courtyard.
A strong hand closed over his shoulder and drew him back, making him stumble. ‘Are you mad, boy? Your master surely did not teach you that! Striding across the ward as if you belonged. Now be still and follow me. Put your hood down over your face, close your cloak, and crouch a bit. Lean in to me as if listening to my sage advice that you’ll never heed.’ Jack did as instructed, staring at his feet but glancing up occasionally from under the low brow of his hood. As they neared the two, Jack heard the lord as he talked to the guard. It was the harsh accent of the north, right enough! But he couldn’t make out what instructions he was giving the guard.
He inclined closer but Wodecock’s hand seized him and pulled him back, yanking on his upper arm. He winced with a whispered, ‘Ow!’ in complaint.
‘You are the most empty-headed apprentice I have ever met,’ he hissed into Jack’s ear.
‘Master Wodecock, I—’
‘You’re a knob-pated idiot.’
He clamped his lips shut tight lest he insult the steward right back. But he couldn’t help but softly ask, ‘Why are you abusing me so?’
‘Because, you brass-headed carbuncle, those aren’t Scottish men. They’re from Yorkshire!’