The torturer busied himself with the whole panoply of tools at his disposal while I watched, spellbound.
You may believe this or not, but I could not make a sound. I tried, several times, to speak and plead with him for mercy, for my life and health, but when I opened my mouth, not a word would come. There was something truly hellish in that foul, noisome chamber below the ground. The light from the glowing logs as they turned to charcoal, the demonic shadows cast on the walls, the metallic clatter of pincers, shears, tongs, brands, all designed to unman me.
They succeeded.
Over time I had heard tales of the hideous experiments designed to force even the most recalcitrant to speak and stop the agony, but this was worse. Here I could see the methodical work of a master torturer. All the tools set out in the right sequence, all close to hand, just like a leatherworker at his bench, or a goldsmith at his. It was so … mundane and normal, it made me want to scream.
There was a knocking at a door, and the man glanced at me, winked, and was gone. I had barely a moment. I rattled the chains which were bound to my wrists with leather bracelets, but the chains were firm, and when I tried to pull my wrists free, all I got was a pain in both where the skin had rubbed raw and bloody. It was maddening, and at last I managed to give a whimper as I felt blood run down my forearms to my armpits. Then the whimper turned into a fully fledged wail as I realized I was still fixed in place. I would never be able to escape my doom here.
What would it mean? Would I be burned all over my body? Would the torturer use pincers to cut away the flesh from arms and breast? Would they use peine forte et dure to try to prise all my secrets from me before taking me out and executing me?
I sobbed at the injustice of it all. I had done nothing wrong! I was a wronged man! All I had done was attempt to preserve my life at a time when others sought to destroy me, for no reason other than their own ambitions.
There were voices, and I bit my lip, struggling still more to try to free myself, but nothing prevailed against the leather and iron. I was as trapped as a bird on a limed branch.
The voices came closer, and one seemed surprisingly familiar. It was that of a man I knew, I realized, although my mind was still so petrified with terror and horror that I did not instantly recognize it. Yet still, the familiarity started to attack my fear, and I started to be aware of a certain calmness creeping in on me.
It was when the two men appeared before me that I recognized him at last: Humfrie.
He greeted me with one of his sour-looking twists of his lip. ‘Let’s have him down, Tom.’
The torturer walked to me, and released both of my arms from the buckles.
‘What happened to his wrists?’
My phlegmatic and mute torturer looked at my wrists and the blood which had been smeared over both, and shook his head.
Humfrie grunted to himself. ‘Are you well, Master Blackjack?’
‘I’m fine,’ I said, but at that moment my eye lit upon a maul on the table with the other tools of physical destruction. I sprang towards it in order to beat my torturer to a pulp, but my springing was less than effective. Rather than a light pounce, such as a cat might achieve to land upon a favoured mouse meal, my legs permitted only a half-step, and then refused to support my weight any longer. With a mild wail of complaint, I found myself on the floor, looking up at the two of them. ‘Humfrie!’
A hand came down and grasped my wrist. That stung, and I gave another yelp, adding to it a series of imprecations against the torturer and his ancestors.
‘This is a friend of mine,’ Humfrie said, jerking a thumb at the torturer. ‘Tom here is happy to set you free.’
‘What of my assailant?’ I demanded.
‘You made the mistake, coming here with weaponry enough to murder the queen and half her guards,’ Tom said.
I glared at him. ‘I thought you were mute!’
‘Oh, no. I just find it keeps the room quieter for a while if I pretend. What, would you expect me to keep speaking to the prisoners in here? What good would that do them? It may raise their spirits, but it wouldn’t help me if it did. I’d just have to use more pain to release their tongues. Better and kinder to let them be still.’
The glare did not leave my face. ‘Where is my suit of clothes? My gun and sword?’
‘I should ask the officer who brought you here,’ Tom said. ‘His name is Stephen Orbin. You’ll find him out at the guard house, I daresay.’
With Humfrie at my side, I made my way back to the open air. There was a series of steps from the ghastly chamber, and these led up to a large, open quadrangle. Here, I could see several men and women walking about, taking the air.
One man in particular caught my attention. No, it was not my officer from the guardroom, it was a fairly tall, rather podgy man, stooped, with a cardinal’s hat and gown.
‘Come with me!’ I said, and marched over the grass.
The cardinal saw us approaching, and I could see his eyes passing over both of us as if testing us to see whether we were dangerous or not.
I was not of a mood to pay attention to such feelings on his part, being still outraged and fuming that I had been knocked on the head, bound, threatened with torture and robbed of my possessions.
‘Your Excellency,’ I said by way of introduction. ‘I have urgent news for the queen, and must give it to her without delay, but the fool on the gate threatened me, broke my head and stole my property. I must speak with the queen. She will remember me.’
‘How could anyone not remember you? With your shirt all bloody and your wrists chafed from being bound,’ the man said mildly. ‘Do you swear you mean her no harm?’
‘I have come to this pass because of my determination to warn her! Look at my injuries!’ I expostulated, holding up both wrists. A guard near the cardinal stepped nearer, as though I was likely to throw myself on him to try to beat him to death with my bare hands. I gave him a stern gaze. My stock of grim expressions was expanding by the hour.
‘Who did this to you?’
‘The officer, Orbin, at the gate.’
The cardinal waved a hand to another guard, instructing him to bring Orbin to us, before continuing on his slow perambulation about the quadrangle. When he glanced over his shoulder, he beckoned to us, and we fell in at his side.
This was Cardinal Pole, I learned, the famed counsellor to the queen. He was an elderly man with deep-sunk eyes in a narrow face. His eyes seemed to glitter and gleam, and perhaps it was his devotion to his religion that kept him so determined, but I did not like the look of his complexion. It had that greyness that spoke of a man who has been unwell, and that, together with the brightness of his eyes, seemed to indicate an unhealthful soul.
Of course, if I had thought of it, I would have been more concerned. This was, after all, Reginald Pole, the man who had planned with the queen to bring back the Catholic Mass to the masses. They were determined to save people their own way, no matter what. I suppose both were as enthusiastic as each other, and content to see that those who were reluctant to accept the queen’s good intentions, and who remained obdurate, should witness the error of their ways by experiencing the flames of hell even as they left the world of misery and pain. Yes, they saw to it that all their victims were burned to death at the stake. I confess, I do not understand what God would think of this form of persuasion. In any case, I was only aware at that moment of the injuries done to my wrists, and how I might achieve revenge on Orbin.
There was enough time for us to march halfway around the quadrangle before Orbin appeared. He was wearing my jack and hat, and I was sure that he had my pistol concealed beneath, since he also wore my powder and shot pouches. To say I was angry would be an understatement. I was absolutely enraged.
‘Give me back my coat, you thief!’ I burst out as soon as he was near enough to hear me.
‘Cardinal, this man is a dangerous felon. I stopped him from entering the palace, and had him apprehended and taken to the torturer. I believe him to have been making an attempt on our queen’s life.’
‘Is that why you took his weapons and clothing?’
‘I felt he would hardly have need of them.’
‘Perhaps you should return his clothing,’ the Cardinal said mildly. ‘Although you may keep his weapons for now.’
‘Yes, Your Excellency.’
‘Now, Master Blackjack, perhaps you could tell us again what it is that you think threatens the queen?’
‘You do not know, perhaps,’ Orbin said silkily. ‘But this fellow is the suspect in a murder enquiry at the moment. He is suspected of the murder of a Dutchman for money.’
‘I am innocent! I was not even near that house when he …’
‘When he was murdered, you were about to add?’
‘Yes. I was nowhere near there.’
‘So you admit he is murdered.’
‘Well, I …’ I scowled. He had trapped me, you see. It was most unfair. ‘He has disappeared, and I have been accused, so I use the words you use. I know nothing of where he is.’
‘Yet the officers wanted to arrest you.’
‘Yes, well, that was a mistake. Cardinal, I …’
‘He was found here carrying various weapons, Cardinal.’
‘I am here to speak with the queen, Cardinal,’ I said, ‘and this fool will keep trying to prevent me! But I believe that there is a plot to have a rebellion against the queen, and her life is in danger!’
‘Cardinal, you must listen to me,’ Orbin said, and as I turned to him to remonstrate more forcefully, there was a sudden dull cracking sound, and Orbin’s eyes rolled up into his head. He seemed to go quite stiff, and then suddenly flopped like a marionette with its strings cut, to form a rather ungainly mess on the grass, where he squirmed a bit, moaning loudly.
Humfrie shrugged in an apologetic manner. ‘He was delaying your eminence. I think Master Blackjack here should be heard.’
‘Very well,’ the Cardinal said, giving the body at his feet a rather disdainful glance. ‘Tell me what you know and I will speak with her.’
And so I spoke at length, all about the disappearance of Vanderstilt, mentioning the injustice of my own treatment, and then speaking of Sir Edmund’s house and how it was full of weaponry for which he had little need. I did not see the need to mention that Vanderstilt was likely murdered on his way home from Sir Edmund’s house. That was plain enough to me, but I didn’t want any more confusion about whether or not I had been involved in his untimely demise. However, I was keen to know what Sir Edmund might want such an arms cache for, and my own suspicion had been enough to bring me here, as I said.
‘Sir Edmund is a loyal subject to the queen,’ Pole said thoughtfully, fixing a gimlet eye on me. It was daunting.
‘So he has said. But his actions betray him. I think he plans to overcome the throne and take it for himself – or for his companions. That is what I have been told. He will dispossess the heir and give the throne to anyone who pays him in gold.’
There have been many things said about the Cardinal, and many of them by me. However, he was yet an Englishman, and devoted to the queen.
He listened to me, watching me for much of the time, although for a short period his attention was taken by the trio of guards who had gone to scrape up the fallen remnants of Orbin. Humfrie had merely clobbered him over the head with his dagger’s pommel, and Orbin now looked as though he was coming round again, although with a head worse than any hangover. With my own sore skull, I sincerely hoped that he would be in considerable pain for the rest of the day – or week, if possible.
Two men had Orbin’s arms about their shoulders now and were half-dragging, half-carrying him away, the toes of his boots scraping at the grass. Before they could go far, Humfrie retrieved my weapons and the Cardinal had a servant hold them for me. Orbin was well enough to throw a baleful stare at me – but then again, it might have been the fierce concentration of a man who could no longer focus. I hoped it was so.
That was the end of our restful discussion. The cardinal nodded to himself, indicated that he would go and inform the queen immediately, and ordered two men to wait with us and keep us out in the quadrangle while he went indoors. I was confident that he was going to speak to the queen to appraise her of the possible threat to her safety.
‘How did you know to come here today?’ I asked Humfrie.
‘Me? I have been following you on and off for some days. I couldn’t stay with you last night, but today I followed you from the Cardinal’s Hat and made sure you were safe. No one followed you.’
‘But how did you get into the palace? Did you climb over the walls?’ I said, only half in jest.
He looked a little shifty. ‘Ah, well, I have my own business interests and they bring me here on occasion.’
I frowned at the man. ‘Business interests?’ Indeed! The man was my hireling, a helpful contractor who would help me with a few of my more difficult tasks – those which involved removing men who could be embarrassing to our Lady Elizabeth. ‘What sort of interests do you have here?’ I said, and then I gaped. Yes, my mouth fell wide.
Any who know me will confirm that I am a man of swift thought and consideration, and this was not the most difficult conclusion to reach.
He had the grace to be abashed. I knew full well that Humfrie had no trade other than his ability to end lives. He was a most professional assassin, competent, unflappable, and generally quick – and kind. Not the usual term for a man dedicated to ending life, I know, but he was not the sort to leave a dangling man slowly throttling, or making a stab that would end a life given an hour or two, with all the concomitant agony – no. He would cleanly murder his victims so swiftly that half must have met the angels before they truly realized they had left their corporeal bodies behind.
‘You kill for the queen?’
‘Only occasionally,’ he said defensively. ‘I know you work for Lady Elizabeth, but a man has to live, and your work has been dry of late. I had to seek another contractor.’
‘You kill for Queen Mary?’
‘Not often. More usually it’s for the cardinal. He has a number of men whom he suspects of plotting against the queen or the Church, and he is good enough to make use of my services when he needs.’
‘I …’ But no words could quite express my shock and disgust. Yes, disgust. The man was supposed to be my hireling. To learn that he had divided his loyalties between me and Cardinal Pole was a blow. ‘How much does he pay?’
‘Not as much as you, Jack. That’s why I’m still loyal to you.’
That was good to hear, at least. After all, if Humfrie were to go to the queen or Pole and tell either that I was actually working for Elizabeth, I would be keen to have Humfrie’s kindly knife end my life as quickly as possible, with as little fuss – or pain – as he could manage. The alternative would be more time in Tom’s chamber, becoming better acquainted with all the tools of his trade, which was not appealing.
That raised another question. ‘How do you know the torturer?’
‘He and I have our own special skills, and on occasion we overlap. There are times when I need information, and you know I dislike tormenting my victims. Then, sometimes he has need of removing a fellow, and he does not like to end life. We have known each other for many years.’
I sat back, musing on this. It was, I supposed, not surprising that enterprising men of their type would work together periodically, and yet I was still struck with a sense of unfairness.
‘I should have told you, Master Jack.’
‘No. Pray don’t mention it,’ I said. I would have continued, but there came the gallumphing of many boots, and suddenly we were surrounded by a posse of sergeants and constables all keen and eager to go and break down doors, and ideally a few heads too.
The cardinal was behind them all. His servant passed me my gun and other weapons as he spoke.
‘Here is a warrant from the queen for the arrest of Sir Edmund de Vere. Here are your men, Master Blackjack. Take them to de Vere’s house and see what you may find. Bring him back here, and set a guard on his house.’
This was not to my liking. I had little desire to be thrown into a fight with Sir Edmund’s men again. I could still remember the way that his men had appeared. All were large and threatening, to my recollection. I agreed to go with the men, because after all, a man doesn’t quibble when it’s a man like Pole giving the orders, but I was glad to recover my handgun, powder, shot, knife and sword. I was reluctant to walk about London without the means of protection.
The walk to Sir Edmund’s house was a good mile or mile and a half from the palace, maybe more, and I felt every yard of that way. My feet grew heavier with every step. I was not just worried about the response of Sir Edmund to my appearance with a small armed guard; I was still also thinking about Humfrie and his loyalties, and how they had to be enormously divided between me and the queen’s counsellor. All the way, I could not help but throw little glances at Humfrie, wondering whether even now he was planning to see me removed, because the queen would be keen to have a paid hireling of Lady Elizabeth removed from the scene. Humfrie could hardly dispute the fact that I was employed by John Blount, who was himself a servant to Sir Thomas Parry, Lady Elizabeth’s most trusted lieutenant. I almost wanted to blurt out my apologies, to offer myself up to Humfrie’s mercy, to beg his forgiveness for any slight I may have given him and plead for my life – but it is difficult to beseech a man when walking at some speed in the presence of a company of armed men, in the middle of a busy London street. Besides, when I looked at him, Humfrie’s face betrayed no indication of malice towards me. Rather, he seemed in a relaxed mood.
It was little comfort to me.
Arriving at Sir Edmund’s house, the men instantly deployed without instruction. Humfrie stayed remarkably close to me, which was unsettling, bearing in mind my concerns and suspicions, but if he intended me harm, there was little I could do about it. He might have been keeping at my side purely to defend me against the men from the queen, or from Sir Edmund’s men – but that seemed far-fetched.
The three urchins were farther along the road, their hoops and stones forgotten in the excitement of seeing a band of men at arms appearing at de Vere’s house. I signalled to them to be off, and they obeyed with customary promptitude – by which I mean the little scrotes ignored me.
I watched as the queen’s men disposed themselves. Some hurried to the rear of the house, some to the stables, while a couple walked about the house looking for additional exits. It appeared that there were none, and soon the sergeant, a bull-shaped man with the head of an ox and a brain to match, nodded to me, and I found myself ushered to the front door.
The warrant was in my hand. I swallowed hard, raised my hand and tapped gently on the timbers.
‘There is no one …’ I began, when the sergeant thrust me aside none too gently, and beat on the door with his staff’s butt, bellowing, ‘OPEN IN THE NAME OF THE QUEEN!’
I swear, he left my ears ringing, and I turned to remonstrate. But before I could, the door opened and I caught a glimpse of a familiar face – it was the man who had been ordered to take my gun from me the last time I was here. His expression now was that of a boy who has thrust his hand into a biscuit bag, only to discover it contained a snake. ‘What the …?’ he managed before the sergeant shoved him from our path and entered.
Humfrie took my wrist and pulled me in with him, while the rest of the cavalcade swept in with the force of the Thames after a heavy rain. I found myself pushed against a wall, while the men opened doors, shouting at people in their path, the sergeant demanding to know where Sir Edmund was, where were the weapons, who was in the house, and any number of other questions that washed over the sandy-haired servant.
‘The weapons were in there,’ I said helpfully, pointing at the door. Two men, directed by the sergeant, tried to open the door, but it was locked. They broke it open with mauls, and inside I could see the racks still in place, but almost all the weapons were gone.
‘Where are they all?’ I asked the servant.
‘What? Who?’
He was clearly a fool. I spoke slowly and distinctly for him. ‘Both. When I was here last, those racks were filled, and there were many servants all about the house. Where are they?’
‘Sir Edmund has gone to his manor in Kent; to Hailward, near Bromley. His servants are gone with him,’ the lad explained, and from the look of him, he was telling the truth. I was all for letting him go, and going to see whether there was any wine in the buttery, but the sergeant clearly had a different view of the correct way to proceed, and had the poor devil held by two beefy types who looked as though they would rather like to throw the poor fellow into a pit filled with ravening mastiffs. I didn’t fancy the boy’s chances, were that to happen.
Before I could proceed through to the armoury, there came a clash and shouting from the garden. The sergeant and his remaining men instantly took to their heels, running through the hall to the kitchen and out beyond to the garden. For my part, I thought that the preferable route was back the way we had come, because it was growing clear that there was a serious fight brewing out there, but Humfrie had me by the elbow now and I found myself running outside with him.
It was a ferocious battle. Men lay on the ground, some few with the groggy appearance of those who had been knocked on the head. After Orbin’s assault on my own pate, I could empathize with them. In past years, many people have taken it into their heads to beat me about mine and, invariably, I have found the result to be a lack of coordination of my legs, a feeling of intense nausea, and a sense that all is very definitely not well in the world. God appears to have taken a short break from his usual duties, which should involve looking after the poor and injured, like me.
Not all were unconscious. There was one fellow who had set up a loud wailing, flapping an arm about the place, which had the unfortunate result of flinging blood about. He had a large gash in his forearm, and the blood sprayed liberally. Some was flung over me when he made a spectacularly emphatic gesture, and I felt it on my face and throat. It was enough almost to make me succumb to the temptation to vomit, but I wiped my features and turned away.
The sergeant was standing at a small jetty at the bottom of the garden, staring out over the river.
‘What is it? What’s happened?’ I asked.
He looked at me as if I was somewhat less intelligent than a water rat. Then he pointed. ‘He’s there,’ he said.
Just reaching the farther shore was a little boat. The oars were being plied enthusiastically by four men, while Sir Edmund stood in the back bit. What’s it called? I could never get used to nautical terms – they seem designed just to confuse a fellow, to give sailors an opportunity to laugh at the stupidity of land-living, sensible types. Anyway, he was there, shaking his fist and looking as bitter and enraged as any schemer might on learning his plots were discovered.
That was the adventure of the garden. Sir Edmund had escaped, for now, the queen’s justice, but if there had ever been any doubt in the mind of the sergeant as to whether the knight had truly been guilty of the offences alleged, it had clearly passed.
Pausing only to order that all of Sir Edmund’s remaining men should be bound and held under guard, he made his way to the nearest of them and started asking where the weapons were, what Sir Edmund’s plans were, did he have a force on which he could call, and similar questions.
The men being tied up were the remaining guards Sir Edmund had installed in his house. They had been left, I assumed, purely to hold the house safe from thieves – and possibly hold off any pursuit while he made good his getaway. Merely poor soldiers whose only purpose was to hold off his own capture. I was in two minds about that, naturally. From one angle, it struck me that it showed good common sense on the part of Sir Edmund, since if I had been in the same position, I would obviously have done the same thing. A man has a duty to protect himself, after all.
On the other hand, being a man who had all too often been the recipient of such behaviour, I felt more than a little disgust for the man’s cowardice in not remaining to share in his men’s punishments. The least of which would be a couple of days in the stocks, no doubt. For others, the consequences would be considerably worse. They may be treated to a view of that same chamber where Tom worked his bloody magic, summoning answers to questions from the unwilling, or given a short visit to the Tyburn tree where they could dance along with the other traitors, felons and unfortunates.
Soon it became clear that there was little information to be gleaned from the men in the garden. They were soon placed under the guard of a troop of law officers, while a magistrate was summoned to ensure that the house was locked and protected from ransacking by locals seeing the possibility of a quick profit. The queen would be thoroughly disappointed to learn that some London ne’er-do-wells had been through the place before she could confiscate de Vere’s goods, like plums through an unsuspecting man. It’s best to eat plums in moderation, I learned after that experience.
While Humfrie and I discovered a broached cask of wine in the buttery, the sergeant and his men went through the rest of the house, from attic to cellars, but there was little enough to be discovered. I had wondered whether there might be the body of Vanderstilt in the cellar or concealed in a barrel, or buried in the garden, but the men seemed perfectly competent in their searches, and could find no evidence of a body or of murder having been committed here.
Which was interesting, I thought. I had assumed that Vanderstilt would be found here. Of course, it did not mean that the man had not been slain and thrown into the Thames. Here, past the Fleet and the Walbrook, the river was full of ordure from the city, and more than one body had ended up in those filthy waters to my own certain knowledge.
It took the rest of the afternoon to see the premises thoroughly investigated, and at the end of the day the sergeant indicated to me that we should probably return to St James’s Palace to report on our discoveries, such as they were. Mostly lists of names, and some notes about men in Gloucester and York, and someone up on the Northern March. It made no sense to me. Worse, the whole escapade was not to my taste, and I sought to excuse myself.
‘I fear I have other matters which take my time.’
‘Matters which are more important than the queen’s?’
‘No, of course not, but I have business which needs my urgent care.’
It was all to no avail. The sergeant was most persuasive, especially when he set two men to escort me back to the palace. I suddenly found that I could, perhaps, afford the time.
At the palace, Humfrie and I were told to wait in an antechamber, where we cooled our heels for a significant stretch of time before the sunken-eyed cardinal returned to us. He stood before me for some little while with an expression of disappointment on his face.
‘I understand you failed to catch him,’ he said.
‘We could not help it. He was warned. Perhaps he had men keeping watch on the road,’ Humfrie said mildly. ‘He was already over the river when we arrived.’
That was a point which had evaded me. Sir Edmund had been clambering aboard his craft even as we broke into his house, which was remarkably fortunate for him, I thought.
‘Yet the fact remains that he has spirited away the weapons,’ the cardinal said. He scowled as he looked at us. ‘The strain which the queen suffers is appalling, and meanwhile you have allowed rebels and felons to escape and make their way to Kent, where no doubt they will foment trouble again, just as the madman Wyatt did during his rebellion. You are responsible for this.’
‘We did all we could!’ I protested. ‘What more could we …?’
But Humfrie had held up his hand to halt my flow of objections. ‘What do you want us to do?’
‘We need to capture him and bring him back to justice,’ the cardinal said.
I felt my mouth moving, but thankfully this time I could make no comment.
Humfrie nodded pensively. ‘It will not be cheap.’
‘I am sure you will manage.’
‘We will need help with the expense.’
‘It is your civil duty to your queen.’
‘I am sure Her Royal Highness would not begrudge men who perform services for her to be reimbursed.’
‘You don’t know much about royal finances, then,’ the cardinal said heavily. He looked across at Humfrie. ‘Very well, then. Reasonable expenses will be covered.’
‘What of men? We have no idea the size of his household down there.’
‘I will give you a company of men.’
‘And transport? We shall need horses.’
‘Yes, yes.’
‘And …’
‘Master, enough! You have enough to capture him and bring him to justice. You will aid the queen and bring him back to the queen’s peace.’
You will notice that I kept silent while this discussion continued. I had my own concerns, ranging from whether I could petition the queen for a pardon for the matter of Vanderstilt’s disappearance so I did not get arrested again, to what on earth I could do about my house. I would have to evict Vanderstilt’s servant, of course, and try to acquire a new tenant as soon as possible, while my finances were still so low.
The cardinal left us a little while later, and shortly after he had gone, a courtier appeared in the doorway and asked us to follow him.
I don’t think either of us realized what was happening. In my mind, I know, were thoughts of a meal before we were to set off, and possibly the opportunity to choose a horse. That itself was not something I looked forward to. As I have mentioned before, I am not overly fond of horses. I know others are very keen on what they consider to be sagacious beasts, but from personal experience they tend to be vicious brutes with an over-inflated opinion of themselves. They can kick, bite, throw a man from the saddle, and generally behave like wild creatures, all the while reminding a fellow of the unpleasant fact that they are many times bigger than him, and if they choose, there is little a man can do to control them.
Still, although I paid little attention, I became aware that we were not going in the direction of the stables. In fact, we were taken along many corridors and passages – some overlooking large quadrangles, one converted to a tennis court, I saw – and were taken all about until my mind was utterly confused. This palace was huge.
It was only when we entered a long corridor with a roaring fire in the hearth that I realized what was happening.
The courtier motioned to us, and I dropped immediately, bowing as low as I could without actually striking my head on the floor. I threw an anguished look at Humfrie, who appeared reluctant at first, but then he realized who this was and copied me.
Queen Mary spoke quietly. ‘Master Blackjack, please approach us.’
It is an odd experience to meet a queen. I had before, when this lady was four years younger, and looked more chubby-faced and cheery. At the time, I felt sure that she would be an enthusiastic little baggage in a bed-walloping, not that I dared try my fortune. She had that sort of genial look about her, though, and I feel sure that Philip, when he married her, would have enjoyed his marital bed. Not that it had persuaded him to remain a moment longer in her kingdom than he was forced to, the greasy foreign dog.
‘Come closer, sirs.’
She was lying on a seat with cushions of silk behind her, her belly considerably swollen, her legs on a stool with more cushions. About her were various ladies, some of whom I noticed giving my figure a speculative look that spoke of considerable boredom in the duties of a lady-in-waiting. I was pleasingly assured that more than one of these women would be happy for a little diversion, were I free. However, I was also aware of the unfriendly eyes of eight guards about the place, and knew that any attempt to chat with them would likely be short-lived.
She was speaking, and I quickly returned my attention to her. ‘Your Royal Highness, I am glad to be of any service,’ I said.
‘I recall your face,’ she said, peering at me. Her face was not young any longer. It was wrenched and twisted with pain, and there were deep lines at the side of her mouth, while her eyes were grown sunken, like a woman suffering from a disease rather than preparing for her lying-in and birthing bed.
She smiled, and I saw a reflection of the lady I had met. ‘Master Blackjack, it seems that you always appear when I am in danger. First with Wyatt’s revolt and now … Sir Edmund: is he a traitor, do you think?’
‘I do not know, Your Highness,’ I said. ‘But I am sure that money and power motivates him. From what I have seen, he is driven by greed. Like a glutton, he constantly demands more.’
‘I do not understand,’ she said, and her sudden anger held, so it seemed, a trace of sadness. I am not sure what her parents were truly like, but I have heard that her mother was a Spaniard, and had a temper to match, while her father – well, we have all heard of King Henry VIII’s manner. He was a Tudor, and was keen to let anyone know it.
She looked away from me, staring at the fire, and pulled a shawl over her shoulders a little tighter. She looked like a woman of five-and-sixty – pale, and wan, feeling the cold of a winter’s day, although the afternoon was very mild. ‘I have done all I may to bring peace to the country, bringing the people back to the one true religion, and yet some dare to attempt to overthrow my reign! I am only a weak and feeble woman, and here I am, ready to give birth to my son and heir, and yet there are some who would disrupt any moments of peace I enjoy, for their own aggrandizement! Such greed and betrayal have never been seen before! In my kingdom, I insist that all should be honourable – they should be loyal, obedient to my wishes, and accept they owe me their service!’
I felt that old squirming in my belly that spoke of real fear. After all, this woman could order my death on a whim.
She continued, ‘This knight de Vere is a traitor. John Boxall has heard of his acts, and already his accomplices all about the realm are being captured. His plot will fail, and those who sought my destruction will find redemption at the end of a rope!’
All this came out in a snake’s hiss. I was hopeful that she would not turn against me. Yes, I confess that, just now, listening to her, I was not convinced that I would not be grappled to the floor and carried back downstairs to Tom’s chamber of horrors.
She looked at me just then, and there was an intensity and focus in her eyes that almost unmanned me. And then, God be praised! She smiled.
‘I thank God that there are still men like you about me, Master Blackjack. Men upon whom I can rely, like the good Cardinal and Master John Boxall. I know that, like them, you will serve me and protect me, no matter what. You are a beacon of trustworthiness. Do you promise to serve me and protect my son, if I am unable?’
‘Of course, your Royal Highness.’
‘If I die?’
I swallowed. ‘But, your Royal Highness, you will not …’
‘Enough of the oil, Blackjack,’ she snapped, a touch of Henry’s daughter returning. ‘I am old to be a mother, and there is much pain in this. Women can die giving birth, and I feel sure that my own time may be approaching. Do you so swear?’
‘I will do all I can to protect you and your son,’ I said. And swallowed.
All I could think at the time was that it was a great relief that Master John Blount could not hear me.