A Queen's Spy, - [best books under 200 pages .txt] 📗

turn sides again? That I can’t quite understand.”

Jack’s face hardened. “Treachery must be a family trait. I have no liking for the master. He has done me no favours, and now I have what was his. It’s enough for me. As for him, I care not what happens.”

Robert smiled and returned his eyes to the poker. “One of your men tells me that this is a house of unfortunates. There is another in Richard’s keeping, a woman, Catherine de Bernay. Is this true?”

“Yes, she’s here somewhere. Why?” Jack asked, trying desperately to think. How could he keep her safe?

“I was just thinking that as you have served yourself so well today, the safety of the woman may be of some value to her family, and I have decided to undertake that task,” Robert replied, rising to stand and stare down at Jack.

Ah, thought Jack, here was part of what Robert wanted. He believed Catherine was heir to a manor and land, and obviously thought he could use her to control this. The irony of it was that had he known the size of Assingham he probably wouldn’t have bothered. Jack knew he had no choice. “Seems fair. Where she is now I can’t say, but I will find her for you tomorrow. The woman has a sizeable estate. I’m sure she’ll be delighted to be returned there.” It was a lie but it was what Robert wanted to hear, and it made Catherine valuable, which meant she’d be safe, at least for the moment.

Robert seemed happy with Jack’s acquiescence, he dropped the poker and it rattled noisily on the hearth stone. “Well, my thanks again.” His eyes were hard on Jack’s relaxed face. Jack’s impulse was to stand, but he suppressed it, ignoring formality and deferment.

“There is no need, but if in serving myself I have done you a service also, I am grateful.” Jack replied.

“Just one last thing,” Robert said.

Here it comes!

“Did you know Richard is a cuckoo?” A slight sneer appeared on Robert’s face.

Jack’s face was puzzled.

Robert continued. “My father, Lord knows why, swapped his wife’s child for one of his bastard sons born from one of his whores. The bastard was Richard. The child of his wife died I am told, so the case could never be set to rights. I am as surprised as you. Poor father cleared his conscience of his sin when he died. Didn’t you know he was dead? Ah yes, some three weeks past. Signed his name to the confession before he died,” Robert concluded.

“That makes little difference to me. Although I’m not surprised.” Jack shrugged, his voice indifferent.

Robert didn’t reply, his eyes roved over Jack seated before him, a look of distaste on his face. Then turning abruptly he left, the door remained open, and Jack let out a long breath as he watched him depart along the corridor.

Jack knew that Robert had neatly solved his problems; making Richard the bastard, who was about to be disposed of, left him with no contender for his place.

 

 

 

†

 

 

 

Jack looked up as Catherine slid back quietly into his room. “Well?” he asked. Catherine didn’t answer but he could see from the expression on her face that her meeting with his brother had not been a positive one. “Ah, it went that well, did it?”

Catherine nodded.

“Robert is here, Richard’s brother, I don’t know why. He might be connected with Alan. God everything is so tangled I don’t know what to think, let alone do.” Jack told Catherine of Robert’s visit and of Robert’s plans to take Catherine into his own care. “I don’t believe what Robert said any more than he does,” Jack finished.

“Why then?” Catherine asked.

“It was to stop me in any plans I may have to lay claim to Robert’s place. He isn’t sure whether I know the truth, but that was intended to dissuade me if I did,” Jack supplied.

“So that makes Richard a bastard and you…” Catherine stopped.

“It was a brief journey was it not from bastardy to legitimacy and back again?” Jack was smiling. “It makes no difference, Catherine. Anyway, how do we know what he said is true?” Jack continued smiling. “Have we seen all the cards he holds? No, we have most certainly not.”

 

 

Chapter Twenty-four

 

†

 

Robert was in the middle of meeting with the Sheriff in one of the rooms off the main hall at Burton.

“My brother is a common criminal, a murderer, and he should be tried as such,” Robert concluded. “Surely I’ve shown you enough evidence to prove that to you.”

“Indeed, but the crown still has an interest in him,” Ayscough replied coolly. “I have a duty to comply with the demand to take him to London to be questioned over these charges of murder.”

Robert scowled at Ayscough, then he gestured to Alan who was standing silently near the door. “This man here has testified to the murders he committed in London, and you have further evidence here that he is a murderer.” Roberts forefinger stabbed the paper on the desk in front of Ayscough. “He should be tried immediately for these crimes, and not dragged to London and be allowed further chance to escape justice.”

“My duty, Sir…” Ayscough tried again.

The purse Robert dropped on the table in front of the constable landed with a dull thud that told of the coins within the tied leather bag. The man could not help letting his eyes gaze on the purse, involuntarily he licked his lips, and Robert smiled.

“That’s yours,” Robert said, his gaze catching the constable’s. “It would suit me if my brother did not make it to London and if you would try him here and now for murder.”

Ayscough’s eyes flicked from Robert’s face back to the money, the agony of indecision plain on his face. “Sir, if it were my decision I would, but these orders are from London, they have the seal of the crown on them, they take precedence over any other jurisdiction and I have to comply.”

“I understand. Let me help make this decision a little easier for you,” Robert said, his eyes narrowing.

The constable didn’t reply, but he inclined his head holding Robert’s eyes.

Robert continued, making his proposal quite clear. “A man like my brother is likely to try and escape, I hope this purse would ensure that he would die in the attempt.”

A wide grin settled on constable’s face and a moment later he swiped the purse up from the table. “You can rely on me, Sir. Should he try to escape he will not leave Burton alive.”

“Do we understand each other?” Robert demanded, leaning towards the man, “not ‘if’ he tries to escape, damn it man how clear do I have to be?”

Ayscough’s hand tightened on the purse. “I understand you. When he tries to escape he will be apprehended and die in the fight.”

Robert held the man’s eyes for a moment longer. “I am counting on it.”

 

†

 

Mat didn’t wait for an answer to his hurried knock and burst into the room, Catherine close behind him. “Riders, they’re at the village. They took a different route and I missed them. I was at Lincoln. I was told the Queen’s men had passed north. Jack, I’m sorry,” Mat gasped.

“Jesus help me,” Jack was on his feet in a moment reaching for his sword.

Mat grabbed Jack’s arm that reached for the blade. “What are you doing? You’ll not help like this.”

Jack shook off Mat’s hold. “I have to do something.”

“You’ll be dead before you draw your blade, Jack,” Mat said urgently.

“Well, let it be so then,” Jack said, buckling on the belt and reaching for his doublet. It was creased and stained. Sad attire to meet his death in. He discarded it; a shirt would do.

Mat moved to stand in his way as he made to leave the room. “I’ll not let you do it. Don’t let them take you both in one day, Jack. You can’t stop them.”

“Listen to Mat. He is right. This is misplaced, please,” Catherine pleaded.

“What would you have me do? I’ll not stand by and watch?” There was agony in Jack’s voice.

“If it is to be, yes,” Mat said harshly.

 

 

†

 

Richard stood between two men in the hall, his hands bound again in front of him, his back to the fireplace, and his heels against the stone fire surround. He was flanked on either side by two of the constable’s men, both of them having a tight, and unnecessary, hold on his arms.

Jack entered the hall from the small spiral staircase in the corner with Mat hard on his heels, he pushed to the front of the ring of men surrounding his brother. It was clear that whatever was about to take place had been planned, and his presence was not needed.

Many of Richard’s men were already present, more entered quietly, some appeared from the head of the tight stone stairs that led to the rooms below the hall, and some filed through the main door that stood open. Robert, flanked by several of his men, stood with his arms folded and face impassive, watching Richard closely.

Catherine had followed Jack and Mat and peered round the narrow door into the hall, all the eyes were turned towards Richard and his captors and none saw her press forwards until she stood behind Jack and Mat.

Robert spoke a few words quietly in the constable’s ear before walking forward to face his brother. Richard never let his eyes leave Robert’s face.

“So how fares our father?” Richard said in greeting when Robert stood in front of him

“Do you have no remorse for what you have done? Even now?” Robert spoke loudly, his words heard by all in the hall.

“Duplicitous to the last,” Richard said sadly.

“You even admit it? Now, when called to account for your crimes?” Robert sounded incredulous.

“I wasn’t talking about myself,” Richard replied evenly.

The back of Robert’s hand smacked hard into Richard’s face and when he turned back there was blood on his lips.

“You are about to get the justice you deserve, just like that bitch you support who is in the Tower now,” Robert spat the words at his brother.

Richard didn’t reply but his whole body stiffened.

A malicious smile spread across Robert’s face. “You didn’t know that did you? She’ll be sharing her mother’s fate before the week is out.” Robert, laughing, turned away and stood again at the constable’s side bidding the man to continue.

“Richard Fitzwarren, you have been brought before us now to answer for your crimes,” the constable announced, his thumbs tucked into his belt.

“Will that be one at time or altogether?” Richard enquired conversationally.

“Untie him,” the constable commanded and took a step back.

The man to Richard’s right produced a knife and in three rough strokes he’d severed the bindings holding his wrists together.

Richard, his eyes never leaving those of the constable, rubbed his wrists and pulled away the remaining brown cord still surrounding them.

“Give me a blade,” the constable commanded. The man to his left handed him the hilt of his own weapon. Taking it the constable cast it down on the flags at Richard’s feet. The metallic clang of the hilt hitting the stone and the scrape of the blade reverberated around the hall.