The Tudor Secret Part 5

I feared Elizabeth might nurse a serpent in her midst. She turned to me. "A wise man would look to his safety now. The Dudleys brew a storm that could rend this realm apart, and if there is any justice, they will pay for it. I'd not wish to be a.s.sociated with their name, then, not when men have lost their heads for far less." She drew back. "Fare you well, squire. I don't think we'll have occasion to meet again."

She strode to her barge. Her cloak was thrown over her shoulders. Flanked by her women, she moved down the steps. A few moments later, I heard the boatman's oars strike the water as the craft plied the rising tide, sweeping her away from Whitehall, from court. From me.

In the wake of her departure, I sought rea.s.surance. She had said no to my help, but only because she cared. Much as it hurt, I hoped she left London while she still could. This court, I thought, echoing Master Cecil's p.r.o.nouncement only hours ago in this garden, was not safe. Not for her.

Not for any of us.

I pa.s.sed a hand over my doublet, feeling the ring in my pocket. I had failed in my first, and probably last, task for Robert Dudley. I should indeed see to my own safety now.

I started back into the palace. After what seemed like hours of aimless wandering, I stumbled upon the stables, where the dogs greeted me with lazy barks, drowsy eyed amid slumbering horses in their painted stalls. After checking on Cinnabar, whom I found well stabled, with plenty of oats, I located a coa.r.s.e blanket in a corner. Divesting myself of doublet and boots, I burrowed into a pile of straw, drawing the blanket around me as if it were linen.

It was warm and cozy, and it smelled like home.

Chapter Nine.

I awoke disorientated, thinking I was back in Dudley Castle having once again fallen to sleep in the stables with a stolen book. I drowsily searched by my side for the book, before I recalled with a start the events of the past day and night.

I had to smile. Not the most auspicious way to start a career at court, Not the most auspicious way to start a career at court, I thought, as I righted myself on my elbows and reached for my boots. I thought, as I righted myself on my elbows and reached for my boots.

I paused.

Crouched at the edge of the hay, wrist-deep in my doublet, was a young groom.

I smiled. "If you're looking for this"-I held up the pouch-"I never go to sleep without it."

The youth jumped to his feet, his mop of disheveled black curls and wide indignant eyes making him look like a startled seraph. I recognized him. He was the same lad I'd entrusted Cinnabar to yesterday, the one with the eager palm. Upon closer inspection I also noted that under his uniform of flax and hide, he was spare as a blade, implying firsthand experience with hunger. A lowly stable hand, perhaps an orphan, as well. London must teem with them, and where else could a parentless, penniless lad seek employment than in the machinery of court?

I pulled on my boots. "Are you going to explain why you were about to steal from me, or shall I summon your Master of Horses?"

"I wasn't going to steal! I only wanted..." The boy's protest faded. I could see on his face that he'd not stopped to concoct a believable excuse in the remote chance he was caught.

I repressed a smile. "You were saying?"

He thrust out his chin. "You owe me money. You paid me to feed your horse, didn't you? Well, if you want it fed and brushed again this morning, you need to pay again. By the looks of it, you're not n.o.ble. And only n.o.bles have the right to board their animals for free here."

"Indeed?" I opened up my pouch, taking great delight in the fact that I now had the ability to actually toss out a coin, never mind it might be the last trove I ever saw.

The boy caught it. His curious green-flecked eyes narrowed. "Is this a real gold angel?"

"I think so." I retrieved my rumpled doublet. "I certainly hope so, after all the trouble I went through last night to earn it."

As I slid my arms into the sleeves, I watched the boy bite the coin. With a satisfied nod that would do a moneylender justice, he pocketed it. I had the suspicion I'd just paid for an entire month of boarding and feed. It didn't matter. I knew how it felt to labor without financial reward. Besides, I had an idea. I'd been a boy like this not too long ago, canny as a street cur and as careful to keep from being trampled. Boys like us, we saw and heard more than we realized.

"There's no need for anyone to know about this," I said. "Oh, I'm Brendan. Brendan Prescott. And you are...?"

"The name's Peregrine." He perched on a nearby barrel, removing two crabapples from his jerkin. He pitched one at me. "Like the hunting bird."

"Interesting name. Do you have another to go with it?" I grimaced as I bit into the apple. I was famished, seeing as I hadn't eaten since yesterday morning, but the apple was terribly sour.

"No," he retorted, defensively. "Why would I need a surname?"

"No reason. At least, it's simple to remember. How old are you, Peregrine?"

"Twelve. You?"

"I'm twenty," I said, and I almost added, or so, I think. or so, I think.

"Oh." He tossed the apple core into Cinnabar's stall. My roan snorted and began to munch. "You look younger," he added, echoing my thoughts. "I thought you were closer to Edward's age. He's fifteen."

"Edward." I paused. "Do you mean, Edward as in His Majesty the king?"

Peregrine frowned. "You're strange. You're not from here, are you?"

This time, I had to grin. Oh, he was an orphan all right. Only someone who'd spent the majority of their life fending for themselves had that quick a reflex. Deflect the question with another. I hadn't thought to encounter such an unvarnished soul in Whitehall.

And, of course, the fact that he had not answered me meant I was right. He knew the king.

"No, I'm not," I said. "I'm from Worcesters.h.i.+re."

"Never been there. Never been anywhere outside Temple Bar."

I nodded, brus.h.i.+ng sprigs of straw from my hose. "Do you know His Majesty well?"

He shrugged. "As well as you can know any prince. He used to come here a lot. He loves his animals and hates being stuck indoors all day. His lords.h.i.+p the duke always had him-" He stopped, scowling. "That's not fair."

"I only asked you a question." I smiled. "Besides, who am I going to tell? I'm not anyone important, remember? I'm just curious as to how a stable boy got to meet the king."

"I'm not just a stable boy. I can do other things." He pursed his lips, regarding me as if he wasn't sure if I was worth the effort. But underneath the stance I could see he was also eager to share; like me, he had grown up lonely.

"You were saying the king doesn't like to be indoors?" I prompted.

"Yes, Edward-I mean, the king-he always has to study or write or meet people he doesn't care about, so sometimes he steals away to visit me. Or rather, his dogs and horses. I care for them. He loves his animals."

"I see." I thought of Elizabeth, of the fear on her face as she heard the duke's p.r.o.nouncements in the hall, and I had to restrain the urge to hurl questions at this boy. He had seen the king, perhaps recently. Conversed with him. What else might he know?

"And does he often come here, to the stables?" I said, thinking that if he were exaggerating his a.s.sociation with the king, it would show.

He didn't look abashed at all. He shrugged again, with the nonchalance of one who knows not to pay much mind to the comings and goings of his betters. "He used to come more but he hasn't been back in a while. The duke probably made him stop. Edward once told me his lords.h.i.+p reprimanded him for befriending menials. Or maybe he's got too sick. He coughed up some blood the last time he was here. I had to fetch him some water. But at least he has that old nurse of his to take care of him."

"Nurse?" For no apparent reason, the hair on my nape p.r.i.c.kled.

"Yes. She came here once with a signed order from his lords.h.i.+p, to fetch one of Edward's spaniels. An old woman with a bad limp. She smelled sweet, though, like some kind of herb."

Though I stood on firm ground, for a second the stable swayed around me, as if it were a galleon in a storm. "Herb?" I heard myself say. "Which one?"

"How would I know?" He rolled his eyes. "I'm not a spit boy who turns the roast. Maybe she's an herbalist or some such thing. I suppose when you're the king and you get sick, you get one of those along with the doctors and leeches."

I had to consciously remind myself to breathe, to not give in to the irrational urge to grab the lad by his collar. Everything that had transpired since I'd arrived had addled my wits. Plenty of women dabbled in herb lore, and besides, he'd said she was old, with a limp. I was jumping at shadows. Much good I'd be to anyone in this sorry state.

"Did this woman say who she was?" I managed to ask. Considering the circ.u.mstances, I could only hope my expression didn't betray my chagrin at my own foolishness.

"No. She took the dog and left."

I realized I should stop but I couldn't help myself. "And you didn't question her?"

Peregrine stared at me. "Now why would I do that? She knew the dog was Edward's. Why else would she have come? In case you haven't noticed, I mostly do as I'm told. Ask too many questions and you're asking for trouble. I don't want no trouble."

"Of course." I forced out a smile. I should cultivate this scamp. It certainly couldn't hurt.

Peregrine leapt off the barrel. "Well, I have to get back to work. The Master of Nags is due back at any moment and he'll have my hide if I don't get the beasts fed and saddled. Everyone's leaving for Greenwich today. I even have to crate Her Grace's hound for transport. She's like Edward, loves her animals. A pretty lady and nice, too, not like some people around here. She actually pays me."

I gaped at him. "Her Grace the Princess Elizabeth? She... she was here?"

Peregrine laughed. "In the stables? You really did drink too much last night, didn't you? No, Brendan Prescott from Worcesters.h.i.+re, her friend Secretary Cecil paid me last night to see to Urian. Hope you find your way back to wherever it is you belong."

I scrambled in the straw for my cap. "Wait." Searching my pouch for the largest coin I could find, I threw it to Peregrine. "I'm afraid I did overindulge last night. I was lucky to make it here. I don't think I could find my way back by myself, and I should be in my master's chamber already. Can you show me the way?"

He grinned, fingers clamped on the coin. "Only to the gardens; I have my work to do."

The sun struggled to break through a pall of cloud. Wind nipped at my face, sharp as teeth, shredding flowerbeds and showering the air with petals. As Peregrine led me to a tree-lined pathway, he asked, "Is that the duke's badge on your sleeve?"

"It is. I serve his son Lord Robert."

"Oh." He pointed down the path toward the bulk of the palace in the distance, rooftops and turrets and gateways digging into the sky. "Through there and to your left. Once you reach the first courtyard, you'll have to ask someone for directions. I've never been inside."

I bowed. "Thank you, Master Peregrine. I hope we meet again."

His smile lit up his face. In that instant he appeared very much his age, reminding me again, with a pang, of myself-precocious and striving for attention in a hostile world. "If Lord Robert ever has need of another page," he said, "or just someone to help out with the odd ch.o.r.e, I'm your man. I can do more than feed horses, you know."

"I'll keep it in mind," I said, and I started down the path, wind-tossed leaves at my feet.

I glanced over my shoulder. Peregrine had disappeared. I frowned, and then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw two figures emerge from the trees on either side of me, daggers in hand. I spun about to bolt back the way I'd come.

The men pounced. Shouting, flailing with my arms, I succeeded in landing a kick in a groin before a ma.s.sive fist crunched my jaw and sent me to the ground. As everything about me overturned, I heard a cold voice say, "That's enough. I don't want him bloodied."

The men eased back, one of them clutching his groin and letting loose an obscenity. Despite the pain in my head and jaw, I mustered a chuckle. "Too late," I said, to the unseen man who'd called off the attack. "I think he broke a tooth."

"You'll recover." My cap was tossed at me. "Get up. Slowly."

He stepped into view, a cloak hanging from emaciated shoulders: Walsingham, looking even more austere in the dawn than he had under moonlight. He couldn't have been much older than me, judging by the timbre of his voice and unlined sallow skin, yet he seemed ancient, like someone who had never known a moment of spontaneity. At least I knew now what his training was. Evidently, Walsingham was an expert henchman.

"You might have asked to speak with me," I said.

He ignored me. "I suggest you not attempt to flee or otherwise resist. My men can yet break a tooth, or other things." He motioned. The ruffians flanked me. There was no way to extract my dagger from my boot.

One of the men grasped my arm, hard. As I spun about to fend off his attack, the other thrust a sackcloth over my head and bound my hands with rope. Blinded and restrained, I was forced off the path, in a direction I a.s.sumed led away from the palace.

They marched me at an unflagging pace through the hunting park and into winding streets, where the clatter of wheels vied with heels on stone, vendors shouting, and the hawking cries of beggars. I smelled the Thames, rank with rot; and then I was shoved through a door, protesting, for which I earned another ear-ringing clout.

Pushed down a pa.s.sageway and through another door, I staggered into a sudden silent s.p.a.ce, filled with the scent of oranges. I'd eaten an orange once, years ago. I had never forgotten it. Oranges were imported from Spain. Those who could afford them had luxurious tastes and the wherewithal to indulge them.

The rope about my wrists was undone. The door shut behind me. I tore off the hood. A familiar figure rose from a desk set before a cas.e.m.e.nt window that offered a sweeping view of a riverside garden, willow trees bending over wrought-iron benches and boxwood hedges.

I stared. "You," I breathed.

Chapter Ten.

"I'm afraid so," said Master Secretary Cecil. "I apologize if you were mishandled. Walsingham thought it best if we gave you no other choice than to accept my invitation."

I knew without asking that Walsingham stood outside the door, preventing any attempt I might make to escape. I clamped back a retort, watching Cecil move to an oak sideboard, upon which sat a platter of victuals, the basket of oranges, and a flagon. I was fairly certain this alleged invitation of his had something to do with last night, which made my curiosity a little stronger than my trepidation-but only a little.

"Have you broken your fast?" asked Cecil.

I wiped at the blood on the side of my mouth. "I lost my appet.i.te."

Cecil smiled. "You'll recover it soon enough-a young man like you, with no gristle on his bones. When I was your age, I ate at all hours. I gather by your tone, however, that you are displeased with me. I did apologize."

"For what? Dragging me here by force?" I asked, before I could stop myself. I clenched my jaw, hearing the anger in my voice. This was not a man to reveal myself to. He must want something from me, if he'd gone to the trouble of tracking me to the stables and having me abducted. And if last night was an indication, he held the princess's trust. That he also served the duke only complicated an already complex situation.

In the final say, a man can only have one master. Which one did Cecil serve?

He busied himself at the sideboard. "I'm not Her Grace's enemy, if that's what you're thinking. Indeed, I regret to say I may be her only friend, or at least the only one with any influence. Please, sit." He motioned to an upholstered chair before the desk, as if he were receiving a guest. I sat. Handing me a plate and goblet, which I deliberately left untouched, he returned to his desk, an a.s.sured presence in his black breeches and doublet. "I believe Her Grace is in danger," he began, without preamble. "But then, I think you already know that."

I hid my mounting apprehension. I wouldn't be cajoled, graciously or otherwise, into admitting my thoughts about the princess's situation.

Cecil reclined in his high-backed chair. "I find your reticence curious. You were listening in the garden last night, were you not?" He raised his hand. "There's no need to deny it. Eavesdropping is a time-honored rite of pa.s.sage at court. We've all done it at one time or another. Only, sometimes what we overhear can be misinterpreted. Particularly when we fail to get the details."

A bead of sweat trickled between my shoulder blades. What an incompetent I was. What on earth had possessed me to creep so close? Of course Cecil had known I was there. I'd probably made enough noise to alert the entire palace guard. Had I overheard more than was good for me?

Cecil was looking at me. I had to say something. "I... I was sent there by my master." I sounded hoa.r.s.e, my voice barely making it past the knot in my throat. I could die today. This man took the business of protecting Elizabeth seriously. He could have me killed, and no one would ever know. Squires who failed their masters must disappear often enough.

"Oh, I do not doubt it. Lord Robert always has an agenda, and he doesn't care who he uses to accomplish it." Cecil sighed. "A squire new at court, with everything you owe the Dudleys: What else could you do? And I must admit, you exceeded yourself. Gaining Her Grace's confidence without rousing her suspicion is no easy feat. I hope Lord Robert paid you well. You certainly earned it."

It occurred to me that Cecil might wish to know about the message I carried. If so, then feigning ignorance could convince him I posed no threat. I'd best play the part for all it was worth, at least until he revealed his hand; for a hand he most certainly had to play.