Dark queen watching, p.10
Dark Queen Watching, page 10
‘The King will not be pleased,’ Countess Margaret declared. ‘Two royal clerks, senior officials in the Secret Chancery, have been murdered. Even if somehow they were still alive, they were certainly assaulted in the most cruel way, whilst under my protection in my house.’ She breathed in deeply. ‘Reginald, Christopher, question the servants closely, ask them if they saw or heard anything untoward.’ The countess paused as the tocsin began to toll.
Cursing loudly, Urswicke sprang to his feet. Along with Bray, he strapped on his warbelt and hurried out into the passageway. Hardyng, openly weeping, couldn’t speak, but just pointed towards the front of the house from which servants were now fleeing, milling about in the gallery beyond the hallway. Urswicke ordered Hardyng to join them, then hurried towards the main door. Most of the windows on that side of the house were closed and shuttered, though the noise of arrows smacking into the woodwork was clear enough. Indeed, one fire arrow had smashed through an upper window next to the main door. The arrow clattered along the polished floor until Bray stamped out the flames.
Bray hurried to the armoury and brought back two long kite shields. Urswicke took his, locking it close to Bray’s. A brave servitor, a turnspit boy, opened the door. Urswicke and Bray, shields up, edged out in front of the house; the path leading up to the main entrance was always well lit with cresset torches lashed to poles. These now illuminated the path, as well as the six archers who knelt, bows bent, a small pot of fire blazing before each of them. The bows swung up together.
‘Back,’ Urswicke shouted.
They hurriedly retreated, slamming the doors shut even as the arrows thudded into them. Bray and Urswicke crouched, listening keenly into the silence. They were joined by Sir John, Guido and Squire Lambert, as well as the more courageous among the servants. Squire Lambert, showing no sign of his recent sickness, volunteered, even insisted, on going out to see what was happening. Urswicke reluctantly agreed. Lambert slipped through the main door then waited at a crouch, glancing back at Urswicke, who peered through the slit ready to throw the door open at the first hint of danger. Lambert continued to crouch on the top step, peering into the dark.
‘Nothing,’ he declared over his shoulder. ‘Nothing at all, Master Christopher.’
Urswicke joined him on the steps, Bray and the others following him.
‘Well,’ Urswicke declared. ‘Send out some men, though I doubt if they will discover anything.’
Urswicke and the others rejoined the countess, where Urswicke delivered a pithy description of what had happened. The countess heard him out then grasped her set of ivory ave beads, threading them quickly through her fingers, a mannerism which betrayed her deep agitation. Urswicke knew his iron-willed mistress would calm the seething fears within her. To distract himself, he emptied the chancery satchel and pulled out that gruesome parcel. He opened it and peered at the two severed, blood-encrusted fingers. He turned them carefully then scrutinised the rings. He was convinced that these had been cut from those clerks, though everything else about their deaths was cloaked in deep mystery.
‘Christopher,’ the countess ordered, ‘take those damnable remains to your father. Leave them with one of his henchmen, then come back here. First however, you and Bray must reassure the servants, whilst I will have words with our guests.’
Urswicke promised he would send the gruesome parcel to his father, then left to meet the servants, but it was a futile exercise. Most of them had already fled. Hardyng openly admitted that the house was becoming quite deserted and, by the same hour tomorrow, only a few, including himself, would remain. Urswicke and Bray quietly agreed with the steward and told him to try and hide his fear. Urswicke then left for the Guildhall.
On arrival he was informed that his father was deep in council with the King and his brothers. Urswicke decided not to stay. He handed over to one of his father’s officials the gruesome parcel, together with a letter penned by himself explaining the circumstances behind this macabre development. Once back in the countess’s mansion, Urswicke predicted that they would receive a swift response from Sir Thomas and his masters. He was not disappointed. The following morning – just after the market horn shrilled its response to the last bell for the Jesus Mass – a haughty courier, garbed in the glorious royal livery, delivered a summons to the countess and her henchmen. They were to present themselves at the Guildhall council chamber at noon on that same day.
PART THREE
‘At the head of the Garduna was the Great Brother or the Grand Master!’
Katarina wiped the sweat from her brow on the back of her wrist before returning to scrubbing the wooden platters in the corner of the abbey’s great kitchen, a warm, steam-filled chamber with its cavernous roof and long, arrow-slit windows. Days had passed since her arrival. Abbot John’s plan had been most successful. Katarina and her companions had left the abbey, then quietly slipped back to blend in with the rest of the community. She now worked as a scullery maid and laundry woman. Jasper – hair, moustache and beard all shorn – had successfully assumed the guise of a lay brother. He had a special responsibility for the stables where their horses were still housed. Katarina certainly felt protected from without. Chertsey was a most secure fortified place. Sacked twice by the Northmen, the abbey had developed like a fortress with deep moats, broad ditches, not to mention sluices and water-gates, as the building stood close to the abbey river, an offshoot of the Thames which regularly flooded the water meadows to the east of the abbey. More importantly, the countess’s manor of Woking lay only seven miles to the south of this embattled house of prayer.
On her arrival, Katarina had felt secure enough, though this had begun to seep away under a deepening unease which she couldn’t explain. Certainly something was happening outside. She had listened very carefully to visitors to Chertsey. Even though there were few due to the harsh winter weather, verderers and forest people came to barter for food or sell items to the good brothers. All of these whispered about a presence, a malicious one, prowling the forests beyond the abbey walls. Nothing certain, definite or distinct, just shadows flitting amongst the trees, of horsemen merging in and out of the mist or an abrupt disturbance of wildlife. Now and again, woodsmen commented on eerie calls swirling through the green, misty darkness, to be answered by others. Katarina recalled the abbot saying the countess believed she was confronting real danger. Was this just in London, Katarina wondered, or here as well? She felt tempted to confide in Jasper but that was too dangerous. Chertsey lay close to Woking Manor. The countess’s affairs would be carefully scrutinised and Katarina was determined that no one would discover a connection between herself and young Henry’s mother. Moreover, the abbey itself must have watchers; the walls would have both eyes and ears. People were curious. A group of Dominicans, in their distinctive black-and-white robes, had lodged at Chertsey for a day and Katarina had noticed how closely they studied her as she moved around the refectory.
The Dominicans, however, were perhaps just curious. Katarina was growing aware of a more imminent danger. The self-styled anchorite from the abbey church, Cornelius, was undoubtedly interested in her. Yet that puzzled her. She was certain Cornelius did not know her, nor could he have glimpsed her face or form during their brief, nocturnal visit to the abbey church. However, Cornelius had the right to come into the kitchen, buttery and refectory. Since her arrival, he had begun to do so daily, perched on a corner stool, as he was now, eating from a bowl while he constantly watched her. If Katarina caught his gaze, he would smile in a display of yellow, broken teeth. Katarina had come to hate the sight of Cornelius, with his long straggly hair and deep-set glittering eyes. She knew what he wanted. She’d caught the lechery in his sly grimaces. Amongst her own people, Katarina was regarded as a beauty, and many a man had paid court to her. The same was true of the castle in Brittany where she, Henry and Jasper sheltered from the murderous anger of the House of York. Katarina knew the world and ways of men, their lusts and their lies. Cornelius was no different, just uglier. Katarina tensed as the anchorite, licking his lips clean of crumbs, sauntered over in a gust of sweaty smells.
‘Good-day mistress, I have been watching you.’
‘So you have, and I have been watching you.’ Katarina deliberately let slip a wooden platter into the barrel, so the hot, soapy water splashed over herself and her unwanted visitor. He cursed, flicking at the drops. He stepped closer; his hand darted beneath Katarina’s outstretched arm to stroke her breast. She knocked his hand away and turned to confront him but he stepped even closer, head forward, face all serious.
‘I was there in the church,’ he hissed. ‘The night Father Abbot brought you in.’
‘No, you were in your anker-hold.’
‘Wrong, mistress, I left my cell when I heard your footsteps outside the church. I was just across the nave in the shadow of the south transept. I believe I heard some rather interesting items.’
‘Such as? What interesting items?’ Katarina mocked back.
‘Well, what has happened to the boy? That young man who was with you. I am certain I glimpsed him in the kitchens. And the man?’ Cornelius edged even closer, scratching a dribble of saliva on his grubby chin. ‘Isn’t he the new lay brother? The one who has had all his head and face shorn? So my plump, beddable wench. Who are you really? Why are you here?’
‘What do you want?’
‘To play with you, mistress.’ Cornelius opened his ragged robe and tapped his codpiece. ‘Come back to my cell and let me play with your full, plump breasts, and go between your long legs.’
Katarina stared at him, heart racing. She must not make a mistake: this anchorite was a truly dangerous man.
‘Not in the abbey,’ she whispered. ‘Not within the sacred precincts, but some lonely place. Now there is an old storeroom, close to a disused well, just a walk away from here, beyond the kitchen yard. Go there and I’ll come. I’ll meet you. But once you have played with me, no more!’
‘Oh yes, no more.’ Cornelius almost gabbled, so excited he could barely stand still, moving from foot to foot as he clawed at his codpiece. ‘But you come,’ he warned. ‘No games.’ He plucked at her gown. ‘I’ll have this off you in a trice. I am going to enjoy you; it’s been so long.’
‘I’ll come,’ Katarina declared, ‘one question!’
‘What’s that?’
‘You’re no anchorite,’ Katarina taunted. ‘You’re no holy man. You fully believe in the World, the Flesh and the Devil. So what are you doing here, skulking in an anchorite cell?’ Katarina caught herself just in time; it would be a mistake to mention the royal tomb. Let this lecherous rogue tell her himself. She watched Cornelius and caught the knowing look in his eyes. He pushed his face closer, hot smelly breath on her face.
‘What is it you want, mistress?’
‘Very simple, I want to know who you are. I think that’s reasonable.’ She cupped her breast in her hand. ‘And then these are all yours. If you don’t answer my question, how can you come to me? I want to know who you are, that’s all.’
‘I am a scurrier, a stable clerk in the Secret Chancery. I was convicted for theft of a haberdashery in Cheapside. Sentenced to hang. I received a royal pardon and readmission to the Secret Chancery.’
‘But there was a condition?’
‘Of course, mistress,’ he snorted with laughter, ‘there’s always a condition, isn’t there? Even me playing with you. Anyway, I was assigned to be anchorite here at Chertsey. My task is to keep visitors under constant scrutiny, especially those who visit the tomb of the so-called blessed Henry. And I do that. Of course, most of the pilgrims are stupid peasants who know no different. My master in London—’
‘Which master?’
‘No less a person than Sir Thomas Urswicke, Recorder of the city and a member of the Royal Council. He wants me to keep a sharp eye on any prominent Lancastrian, any supporter of that treacherous house, who comes to pray before the tomb of their master.’
‘And have they?’
‘Not yet, but I live in hope. Now, mistress, I am impatient, it’s time to tumble.’
‘Then you must go.’
‘And you must follow,’ Cornelius warned. ‘Be there or be sorry.’ He turned on his heel and shuffled from the kitchen. Katarina watched him go. She knew what she must do. She picked up a long, wicked-looking fleshing knife. Hiding the weapon beneath her cloak, Katarina left the kitchen and made her way across the mist-bound abbey grounds. The line of buildings with their fine carved stonework gave way to common land, which stretched to the curtain wall of the abbey. Beyond that lay ditches, quagmires, and a thick, spiky gorse which fringed the forest. The derelict storeroom stood in a long line of much-decayed buildings. Cornelius was standing in the doorway. Katarina paused to take a deep breath and clutched the knife more tightly. She was about to walk forward when she heard a sound behind her as if a boot had slithered on freezing mud. She glanced over her shoulder, but she could detect nothing but the swirling mist.
‘I am waiting, woman.’
Katarina turned back, smiled and walked towards him. Cornelius grasped her shoulders, pulling her deeper into the warm darkness. He tried to lift her smock but then began to fumble at the buttons on its high collar. He was breathing quickly, muttering to himself as he tugged at the buttons, then stopped to squeeze her generous breasts.
‘Soft and sweet, aren’t you. Come closer. I think you’ll make a merry tumble.’
Katarina tried to hide her disgust. Cornelius’s breath smelt sour whilst his clothes reeked of stale sweat and dried urine. She smiled at him.
‘I have a surprise!’
He stopped and stared, open-mouthed, as Katarina struck: a blow directly to the left of his chest, a killing thrust. The knife digging deep, straight to the heart. Cornelius staggered back, mouth spurting blood. He tried to speak but then his eyes rolled back and he collapsed to the ground, where he jerked and quivered before lying still. Katarina dropped the knife and crouched down beside him. She went quickly through his pockets and pouches but there was very little to take.
‘You killed him, good!’
Katarina whirled round, darting for the knife, but one of the strangers, who had emerged from the mist, just kicked the weapon out of her reach.
‘You don’t need that mistress, not now.’ The man and his companions crouched beside her. They pulled their hoods back and smiled at her. Katarina stared hard and for the first time noticed the colour of their robes.
‘You’re the Dominicans,’ she whispered. ‘You wear the black and white.’ Katarina took a deep breath. She was still nervous after her deadly confrontation with Cornelius. ‘You mean me well, but you prove the old adage: the cowl doesn’t make the monk.’
One of the strangers laughed softly. ‘You could,’ he murmured, ‘say the same about your dead friend here.’
‘He’s not my friend and never was.’
‘Apparently.’
Katarina caught the man’s accent. French, though skilled in the English tongue.
‘You’re not Dominicans?’
‘Of course not.’
‘So who are you?’
The man tapped his chest.
‘I am François; this is my henchman, Armand.’ He fished into the pockets of his robe and drew out a small candle coloured a deep blue and gold. ‘We are the Luciferi, despatched from the Cabinet Noir by no less a person than our august prince, King Louis of France. We work in what you would call the Secret Chancery, our King’s own private chamber. The Luciferi take an oath of loyalty to the King and no one else. In our eyes, whatever he wills has force of law.’
‘And why are you here?’ François glanced at his comrade who nodded imperceptibly.
‘In brief,’ the French man continued, ‘we are hunting the Garduna. No,’ François shook his head, ‘I cannot explain fully. Time is passing. The hour candle burns quickly. The rings of time disappear! Mistress, I assure you the Garduna are from hell. They have no love for France nor, so we have learnt, for the House of Lancaster. In truth their enemy now becomes our friend and ally.’ He smiled, his handsome face crinkling in amusement. ‘Mistress, again I assure you, I will take an oath with my hand over the sacrament. The Luciferi have no quarrel with the House of Lancaster, far from it. Our quarrel is with the Garduna and certain members of the English Royal Council. Now we believe – in fact we know – that the Garduna have fielded a battle group here in England. It will only have one purpose: to wreak as much murderous mischief as possible. However, we don’t know what this is, how it will manifest itself, what is its purpose or what will be the consequences. We stumble about. Now we do know that the Garduna are busy in London. They may well be responsible for the attacks on the countess’s house and her henchmen.’ François paused at the harsh screeching of the crows circling above the old storeroom.
‘Something,’ Armand spoke up, ‘something murderous is being plotted against the countess. We have watched her house in London where strange things have occurred.’
‘What strange things?’
‘Well, the murder of one of our brothers for a start, but,’ Armand shrugged, ‘we do not have time to tell you more.’
‘But why are you here? Why do you follow me?’
‘Logic,’ François replied. ‘The countess has her city mansion but she also owns the great manor of Woking, only seven or so miles to the north, within easy riding distance of Chertsey. Of course we know that Father Abbot John May was, and still is, a close friend, fervent ally and trusted confidant of the countess. He is also the keeper of the shrine which houses the mortal remains of the saintly Henry VI, usurped and murdered by York. Now, if the Garduna intend mischief against Margaret of Richmond and the entire House of Lancaster, it was only a matter of time before they showed their hand in London, which they have done, then in Woking, which is now a matter of record …’
