The fugitives sword, p.26
The Fugitive's Sword, page 26
part #1 of Lord's Learning Series
After that, it would have taken more than the dry humour of Ben Jonson or the eye-catching marvels of Inigo Jones, which were as spectacular and impressive as always, to make Kate any less preoccupied. She was not even that surprised when, in a deliberate slight, one of the masquers chose Lucy to dance despite that being beyond the bounds of convention, she being a married woman well into middle age. It left Kate sitting stranded and publicly shunned. By then it was the kind of thing she had expected. This was George Villiers making it very clear that she was his to toy with as he chose, and for flouting his will he would make her suffer.
Unfortunately for him, he chose weapons to which she might not be completely impervious, but which struck into parts that were far from her vitals. It would not be comfortable to endure the gossip and behind the hand smiles at her expense, but unlike any other English lady, who such a move could destroy, Kate’s future was not rooted here in this court.
Lucy, flushed with an extreme of pleasure, returned long before the revels were done. Even if she had not shone in the highly competitive display, she had managed to keep up with her young partner in the energetic and athletic performance for the length of a single dance.
“I am much too old for this,” she said, eyes bright with delight, “but oh, just for a moment I was young again.” Then she caught Kate’s expression and looked guilty.
Kate managed to make herself smile.
“I am glad for you. It means the Villiers’ spite brought some good. I was disgraced from the moment the whole of the court saw you were asked and not me. So, I am pleased you went. I am very sure they did not expect you to, and you danced so well.”
A quiet voice spoke in Kate’s ear from the other side.
“If you would come with me, please, Lady Catherine, his majesty wishes to speak with you.” It was the discreet man from Theobalds who had taken her to the King before.
Kate got to her feet and giving Lucy a smile in response to her questioning look, followed the man through the crowded room.
Buckingham himself was, of course, dancing. Whatever else one might find to criticise in him, no one could ever fault his ability in that. He was easily the best dancer in the court and even the professionals in the antimasque, who had extended themselves to athletic feats, looked more like jongleurs by comparison to Buckingham’s elegance and grace. His gorgeous gem-studded clothes completed the impact. Even Prince Charles was scarcely as finely dressed. As Buckingham spun around, he must have caught sight of Kate from the corner of his eye as his head turned sharply back, before he returned his focus to the dance again.
Of course, just as her humiliation had been public, so was her summons to see the king. She knew every tongue in the court would be clacking with it, each becoming their own haruspex, pawing over the entrails to try and divine which way favour fell so they would know whether they should snub Kate or be seen to embrace her. Any mistake in their judgement could see their personal fortunes plummet, and power and wealth drain away from them.
The king nodded acknowledgement to her deep curtsey, then, being who he was, he wasted no time in polite talk.
“I see you’re not gone yet. I’d have thought your duty would have taken you away by now.”
Kate lowered her gaze.
“I had requested leave to do so before Christmas, your majesty, but perhaps my request was misplaced.”
The quality of his silence made her glance up and she caught the weary look that was followed by a sigh. The king was, she feared, becoming too used to being overruled by the subterfuge of his favourite, and too ill and tired to battle against it as once he would.
“So that is the shape of it,” he said heavily. “I’m away from here tomorrow and will see it done when I get to Theobalds. Things are simpler to arrange there. You’ll have it within the week.”
Things are simpler to arrange there.
Kate understood very well what the king really meant. Away from Whitehall his majesty might have more chance of being able to circumvent any machinations Villiers might have in hand. In that moment Kate had incredible pity for the ageing king.
“Was there anything you would have me say to your daughter, the queen, your majesty?”
She had to ask as it would be expected. Their audience did not know that Kate had been given any opportunity to speak to the king before. The king made a dismissive gesture.
“Ach, she knows the most of it and I’m sure you can acquaint her with the rest. She has my best regards, and you can take her a father’s love and the army she has asked for.” Then he reached out and gripped Kate’s hand. His fingers invisibly turned the ring he had given her where it sat on her finger. “You’ll not forget that message, will you?”
“I will not forget, your majesty,” Kate assured him, knowing full well the message he meant, and he released her hand and nodded.
“God speed you then.”
Dismissed, she made her formal retreat and was able to retake her seat under the cover of the end of the revels and the singing of the final song, cleverly divided between the voices of the leading characters in the masque until taken up and concluded by a chorus.
And may thy subjects’ hearts be all one flame,
Whilst thou dost keep the earth in firm estate,
And ‘mongst the winds dost suffer no debate,
Both at sea and land our powers increase,
With health and all the golden gifts of peace.
The irony of that, as England was even now sending an army abroad, was surely not lost on this, the most sophisticated of audiences. Although of course, whilst there might be a quick cynical glance shared between friends or allies, no one did anything except applaud the sentiment with wholehearted enthusiasm.
It was made even more ironic by the unedifying news Kate had been receiving from her informers in Dover. The local authorities had needed to declare martial law to try and bring Mansfeld’s army under control. Left almost completely unsupplied, they had begun to treat the area around Dover as if it were enemy territory. Their pillaging and rampaging over the local countryside had reached such a pitch, men were regularly being hanged for theft and housebreaking. And yet still, their departure was delayed, lacking the full supplies they required to set sail for Calais.
At least Kate’s reception by the king seemed to have removed the worst of the sting created by Buckingham’s venom. Lucy returned the next day from visiting the Duchess of Richmond, an occasion around which Kate now always inevitably developed a social indisposition, to say that the gossip about her was much divided. There were those few who knew the truth that Buckingham had snubbed her, and the king redeemed her, but the majority view was that she had somehow signalled her unavailability to dance to the masquer who tried to claim her, knowing that the king planned to send for her at that time. Either way, the effect was to ensure she might have gossip snapping around her heels, but she was not subjected to the kind of social humiliation Buckingham had wished to arrange for her.
The days went by, and still no permission to depart arrived. The king had gone to Theobalds, but Kate wondered if perhaps he had to wait for his opportunity to send it to her. After all, many of the court had followed the king, all those who did not have business keeping them in the capital.
Towards the end of the week, on the Saturday, Lucy hosted an evening gathering with a guest list very much aimed at Kate, as it included many of those who were heavily involved in the ongoing preparations for war.
“Since I am sure you will be going within a very few days,” Lucy told her, “the least we can do is ensure you have the latest news to take with you back to the queen.”
Unfortunately, those invited included Lord Brooke, whom Kate had been diligent to avoid since their last encounter; but as he was the only representative from the council of war who Lucy seemed able to persuade to her table, it was he who came.
Inevitably he bent over Kate’s hand and kissed her fingers, holding onto them too long.
“I hear you are going to be leaving us shortly, Lady Catherine. Will you be returning to The Hague directly, or are you sailing with the army to command it yourself, like a latter-day Mary Ambree?”
His gaze felt like a probing finger and for a moment Kate was back in the house near Hanging Sword Alley, exactly a week ago, walking down the stairs in the dark and softly singing the words to give herself courage.
But art thou a woman, as thou dost declare,
Whose valor hath proved so undaunted in warre?
If England doth yield such brave maydens as thee,
Full well mey they conquer, faire Mary Ambree.
Her scalp seemed to shrink tighter onto her skull.
He had been there. He had heard her. He must have been hiding behind one of the two doors she left unopened on the landing. Why else would he think to say such a thing? Then she remembered and a wash of relief travelled through her entire body. Of course, that was not why he had mentioned Mary Ambree. Mary had been one of three women in the antimasque. Nothing more sinister than that. Kate was being foolish.
The ripple of laughter from the other guests covered her confusion, though she was sure she must have lost colour. They thought it an amusing and gentle jibe at Kate’s martial fixation which they had all been subjected to throughout her stay. Even Lucy smiled at it. But Lord Brooke’s gaze stayed on her uncomfortably long, and the smile on his lips didn’t touch his eyes.
As they went through to supper, Kate chastised herself for letting such imaginings disturb her. She spent the meal and the time after focusing hard on trying to get the very latest information she could about the intentions of the king and how the Duke of Buckingham and Prince Charles—whose names seemed always to be linked now when it came to any question of policy—wished to see things transpire.
The king still wanted to avoid war with Spain at any cost. There were some who thought he believed even at this late date, with the ring about to be put on the finger of the French Princess Henrietta by proxy, that the Spanish Match could yet be revived. On the other hand, rumour had it that Buckingham and Charles were talking to the agent for the United Provinces about a joint English-Dutch naval expedition against the Spanish mainland.
“You should not be too alarmed by these things,” Lord Brooke told Kate, taking her tightly controlled anger for anxiety. “Even if we have war with Spain that does not mean your queen will be left without the army she needs.”
“War with Spain,” Kate said pointedly, “would divert men, money and resources from reclaiming the Palatinate.”
“But your queen is a guest in a nation at war with Spain,” Lord Brooke observed. “Has she not always spoken up strongly in support of such?”
Kate gritted her teeth. She could hardly tell this man that the queen had a lot of affection for the Prince of Orange and his family being much reliant upon their bounty and would never let anyone think she was less than supportive of their aims, no matter that she knew it might run against her own best interests. Her queen was a supremely political creature.
“Queen Elizabeth is no friend to any Hapsburg,” she said instead, “and neither am I.”
Lord Brooke smiled.
“It must be difficult for her then, as some of her would-be allies have Hapsburg blood running through their veins.”
“Mercifully suppressed by nobler blood,” Kate said quickly. “And talking of allies, do you have news of when the army might sail to France?”
Kate knew very well that the plan was for Mansfeld’s army to land at Calais and march across France to Lorraine before turning east and driving directly into the heart of the Holy Roman Empire. There it would be well placed to attack the imperial troops that were presently occupying the Palatinate lands along the Rhine. Meant only as a diversionary question, she had expected the usual reply that these things took time, but instead her words brought an awkward hush around the table.
“Then you will not have heard,” Lord Brooke said smoothly, “King Louis has refused permission for Mansfeld to land his army in Calais—or anywhere else on French soil. The only place they can go now is to the United Provinces.”
Shortly after exploding that grenado, Lord Brooke and the others took their leave. Kate was close to incandescent with frustrated fury.
“I thought it was all part of the wedding agreement,” she told Lucy, pacing the parlour as she spoke. “Informally so, at the least.”
Lucy had ordered them each a cup of hippocras and sat by the hearth sipping at hers, the warm aroma of wine and sweet spices filling the air.
“Please sit down, Kate. And enjoy your drink. It will do wonders to calm you. You should know enough of the way things work in this world to be fully aware that an informal agreement is worthless. We live in an age where even formal treaties seem to be binding today and broken tomorrow. Besides, you yourself have told me how badly Count von Mansfeld’s army is behaving. Who can blame the French for not wanting such men to march across their country?”
Kate was spared having to give a riposte to that because they were interrupted by the arrival of a servant saying there was a royal messenger with a package for Lady Catherine, to be delivered into her own hands. Knowing what it must be, Kate’s fury evaporated in the moment, and she went to receive the message in the main hall.
The man who carried it was familiar. The same man who had so discreetly assisted the king before. He made a bow and offered her a thin package under royal seal, clearly containing a document.
“Lady Catherine, his majesty was most insistent that I deliver this to you myself so he could be sure it had been received safely.”
Taking it from him, Kate realised it was late and this man must have just ridden the entire distance from Theobalds to reach her.
“Thank you. You must stay the night here,” she told him. “It would be a very long ride back in the dark.”
The man bowed again.
“You are very kind, my lady, but I have other messages to deliver, and I will sleep in Whitehall and depart again at dawn.”
So, rewarding him with coin for his work, Kate let him go and went back to Lucy, clutching the packet with the prized document in one hand.
“At last,” she said, savouring the moment. “At last, I can leave. I have my permission right here, delivered directly from Theobalds.” She danced a few steps holding the packet as if it were a dance partner.
Lucy laughed.
“I will not take your words amiss. I know they are not meant as any slight to me. And I am as pleased as you are that you will be able to return to the queen. Besides, it has been getting altogether too dangerous for you here and I am sure the Duke of Brunswick is keen to see you again.”
That sobered Kate instantly and she tucked the packet into her bodice. She had forgotten about Christian. The thought of him soured her mood and after finishing her hippocras she bid Lucy good night and retreated to her room.
The following day was a Sunday—a week since the masque—and Kate knew there would be little she could do to arrange passage that day, so she resigned herself to patience until the Monday.
Only after she and Lucy had returned from their Sunday worship did Kate think to see if the king had included anything else in the sealed outer wrapping of the package the messenger had brought. Carefully breaking the seal, she opened the document.
Her heart stood still in her chest.
She held it to the light and stared at it in disbelief.
It was completely blank.
With a chill of horror, the implications slid into her consciousness. Somehow someone close to the king had intercepted her permission to leave and inserted, instead, this blank sheet. A clear and unequivocal message telling her that even the king himself could not protect her.
Uncertain about what to do, whether she should—or even could—inform the king, or simply make alternative arrangements to leave on a ship that would be willing to accept her as a passenger without due leave to travel, she folded the page again and made her way downstairs to tell Lucy and hope for her wisdom and guidance.
Before Kate had reached the stairs, she was met by Deborah who was holding a well folded letter.
“This just came for you, my lady. They said it was urgent.”
The girl must have bobbed her usual curtsey, but Kate was barely aware of it because she had recognised the hand in which her name had been written. There and then, at the top of the stairs, she opened the letter quickly, a clammy dread gripping at her stomach.
All has come out and now the whole household is to be questioned.
I am held here at Denmark House as if in a prison and my beloved Robert has been taken and will be detained in the house of Alderman Ralph Freeman of Bishopsgate.
These are my woes, but now I fear it is only a matter of time before your name is remembered by some of the servants here and mentioned to their interrogator.
You must go right away or you can be sure he will detain you too so he can make you serve his ends in my destruction.
Frances.
Chapter Seventeen
Jorrit tried to avoid both Beth and the Schiavono as much as possible. It wasn’t that hard. Though Beth smiled at him sometimes in passing and once stopped to ask him how he was faring, to which Jorrit stuttered an answer.
Much of the time he went around Whitby with Master Carrasco to translate for him, although it seemed more than one of the men the master wished to speak with had some grasp of Dutch. When he was not serving in that way, Jorrit kept to the chamber, tasking himself with cleaning and polishing, or when he was left alone, standing by the window and looking out over the harbour to where the Star was being rapidly restored. From what he heard the master say, the captain was overseeing the crew doing the work, and Jorrit assumed that the Schiavono would be with him.
They had been in Whitby nearly a week when Jorrit arrived at supper with Master Carrasco, to find the captain and the Schiavono sitting together deep in conversation. Captain Vroomen greeted the master with a broad grin.
