Air of Treason, An: A Sir Robert Carey Mystery (Sir Robert Carey Mysteries) (38 page)

“No, Sergeant.”

“But he’s
foreign
.”

Both Hunsdon and the lady-in-waiting were laughing outright now. Dodd took a deep breath and set his jaw so no more words would escape for them to make fun of. It was obvious they were stupid fools with no idea of how to deal with a dangerous bastard like Don Jeronimo, because of living in the soft south no doubt. So it would be up to him. He knew Jeronimo would understand and so would Carey and if the worst came to the worst he could always join his Armstrong brothers-in-law in the Debateable Land.

Suddenly there was a confused noise outside. Dodd heard Carey’s shout and instantly drew his sword, ran as fast as he could hobble out of the hall.

There was a scene of chaos in the courtyard. The horses were plunging about, one of the Borderers had already caught one and mounted, Carey was lying on his back holding his face. Dodd struggled over to him.

“He’s awa’?” he asked.

“Oof,” said Carey, obviously part-stunned as he climbed back on his feet, shaking his head and feeling his jaw where there was blood coming from his lip, “Bastard!”

“Ay,” said Dodd.

“He started to puke, I went to help him and he decked me and ran. Caught one of the horses, got on board and off he went. He’s not as sick as he makes out.”

“Ay,” said Dodd.

The two Borderers were galloping down the path into the forest and Dodd was completely certain that they wouldn’t catch Jeronimo.

There was a sound behind him. Hunsdon was in the courtyard, looking furious, behind him were the women.

“We’ll ride back to Oxford,” he ordered. “Now.”

“Och no, we can quarter the forest with enough men…”

“We must first escort the ladies back to Woodstock palace. Then we’ll find Don Jeronimo.”

Well that was more Southron stupidity, give the women a couple of men to help them and send them off out of the way while everybody else found Jeronimo and accidentally killed him where no bloody lawyers could see. For a wonder, the ladies-in-waiting were not arguing at all, the two women were already at the mounting block, being helped into the side-saddles, one on the handsome hunter, the other on the pretty palfrey, while the tiny person with the unchildlike face was already on her white pony, her face thunderous and what looked like a small throwing knife in her hand.

“Ay but no’ by the Oxford road,” Dodd said, resigned to losing Jeronimo for the moment.

“Why not, Sergeant?” asked Hunsdon.

“Because Jeronimo can use a crossbow and we dinna ken if he’s got one or no’ and he knows this forest well for he’s been living here for weeks. All he needs is a tall tree and a clear shot and ye’re deid, my lord Hunsdon.”

“Harrumph.”

“Do you know the paths in the forest?” Carey asked. Dodd had to admit he didn’t, he hadn’t had a chance to learn them. “In that case, ma’am, I think the Oxford road is still the best way. It’s reasonably good, the trees are not close to it, we can use the messengers’ path to avoid the crowds and we can bunch up close.”

The black-haired lady was looking very annoyed as she controlled her big horse, but not particularly frightened. “Very well. But honestly, Robin, I’d thought better of you.”

Carey’s face was comically downcast. “You’re…you’re right, ma’am, he made a complete fool of me.”

Dodd had found his own horse without the stirrups, sheathed his sword again and jumped to the saddle, then wished for a lance and a good bow. There was something quite wrong with Carey, seeing he was so meek. It was worrying.

Hunsdon’s two Berwick men came back looking frustrated and, of course, without Jeronimo. Hunsdon ordered them out in front as scouts, the men bunched up around the women with Hunsdon on one side of them and Carey and Dodd on the other and they took the path that led from Cumnor Place to the Oxford road with Dodd’s back itching furiously and his heart thudding. He didn’t even have a jack or a helmet and if Jeronimo could find himself a crossbow and some bolts he could do terrible damage from the close woodland around them.

A little to his surprise, they reached the road without anyone shooting at them and from there they went to a canter and then a full gallop with one of Hunsdon’s men out front shouting at the people on the road to make way, make way! The red-haired woman was looking uncomfortable and frightened, the child-sized one was narrow-eyed all the way, but the black-haired woman seemed to be enjoying herself and even Dodd had to admit, she rode very well in her fancy side-saddle.

They got back to the bridge in record time, but instead of going into any of the colleges, they rode straight on through the crowded streets, bowed through at once by the gate guards, and trotted right up wide St. Giles to the northward road. From there it was perhaps ten miles to a village Carey called Woodstock. There, overlooking the valley, was a small fancy castle, probably once defensible but quite decayed now. It was surrounded by tents and horses. The ladies-in-waiting immediately disappeared into the castle. Then Hunsdon turned his horses and they took it easier as they rode back down the road to Oxford at last.

Dodd and Carey took their horses to the stabling at the back of Trinity College themselves and walked them round the courtyard a few times to cool them down. It was only mid-morning and no grooms to be seen, of course.

“Whit were ye talking about wi’ Jeronimo when he got ye?” Dodd asked casually as he rubbed his horse down with a wisp of hay. Carey was still looking pale as he did the same and kept rubbing his chin where a very well-aimed bruise was darkening the point of it. His lip was puffing too. You had to admit, a Court goatee gave a good target to aim at if you wanted to knock a man down.

“I was talking about music,” he said in a puzzled voice. “I said I’d sung the Spanish air he’d sent to the Queen as the signal that she was willing to meet him. I hummed it for him. He said he was hanging around Oxford to hear it, but then he came on you at the inn and decided it would be easier and safer to take you prisoner and use you directly as a lever. He asked me if anyone else had known it and I said no, but then I remembered…goddamn it!” Carey had gone even paler. He was standing like a post staring into space while his horse stamped uneasily. “Goddamn it to Hell and perdition.”

“What?”

Carey took a deep breath and shook his head. “I’d forgotten about it. I’d just learnt the tune and was humming it when someone…an old man asked me if I was sent by Heron Nimmo. That’s how I heard it. Of course, that was Jeronimo if you pronounce it the Spanish way. But I had no idea what the old man was talking about so I told him, no, the Queen wanted me to sing it specially.”

“Ay?”

“About an hour later, someone tried to shoot me with a crossbow. It was pure luck they missed. And that night someone put belladonna in my spiced wine and nearly killed me.”

“Ay?” Well, that explained the pallor and slowness. Poison? Jesu, that was a new one even for Carey. “Did ye tell Jeronimo those things?”

“Yes, I asked him if it had been him with the crossbow and the belladonna on Saturday, and why he had been trying to kill me not the Queen, not that I minded, of course. Moments later, he started puking and then when I came to help, he hit me.”

“How? His wrist was roped to his belt.”

“With his stump—it must have a leather and iron cap over the end from the way it felt.”

“Och!” Dodd was reluctantly admiring.

“Then while I was stunned, he part-drew my sword with his teeth and sawed through the rope, then he was gone. Damn it.”

“Would ye know that old man again?”

“That whole Saturday evening is very blurred. I don’t know. Jeronimo said there were two of them that tried to kill the Queen, his friend and him. The friend who had family in Oxford and gave him shelter. And now I think about it, I wonder if he was the musician from the Oxford waits that played cello for Mr. Byrd when I sang the song again and then disappeared halfway through the Earl of Oxford’s ball. Mr. Byrd was very annoyed. I even drank his ration of ale.”

They were silent a moment. “I’ll tell my father,” Carey said. “We’ll let the men comb through the forest with dogs, I doubt they’ll find Jeronimo. He’ll be in Oxford meeting his bloody friend…What was his name? Sam? Punch…no Pauncefoot. Right. We’ll get them cried at the Carfax and St Giles.” Carey smiled wanly at Dodd. “Even out in the courtyard, I could hear you shouting at the…the lady to hang Jeronimo immediately. That was good advice, but it probably helped make his mind up to escape.”

“Ay,” said Dodd bitterly, wondering when someone would listen to his good sense soon enough to do something about it.

Thursday 21st September 1592, evening

It was a hopeless business, trying to search Oxford for just two men, even if one of them had only one arm. The place was full of strangers, not just courtiers and their attendants and hangers-on, but also scholars and lecturers and readers, all there ahead of the start of Michaelmas term to cheer the Queen, along with any peasants from the surrounding countryside who could bring anything into the market to sell. Oxford roared with people and horses, pigs, goats, sheep, cattle, innumerable chickens and geese, barrels, carts…Dumfries had been more chaotic but there were far more people in Oxford which was a bigger town to start with.

Dodd was fascinated by the idea of the colleges, fortresses where you went to learn things from books. He had never heard of the like, although he vaguely thought that the Reverend Gilpin had studied Divinity somewhere like Oxford. He had a look at Christ Church which was where the Queen was going to stay and thought it well-defensible so long as no one had cannon. However the proposed processional route was a nightmare, lined with painted allegorical scenery, any one of which gave beautiful cover for a man with a crossbow and no shortage of high windows in the houses either.

Halfway through the afternoon it started spitting with rain but then stopped. Dodd was sitting at a table in the White Horse on Broad Street in a private room at the back with Lord Hunsdon, Carey, Lord Hunsdon’s steward Mungey, the Captain of the Queen’s Gentlemen Pensioners of the Guard and some other men, including Carey’s two new servants, the skinny clerk Tovey and the large dark Scot who was as pale and unhealthy-looking as his master. Dodd gave the man an ugly look: he didn’t like Scots. The Scot gave him an ugly look right back: no doubt he had his nation’s usual irrational hatred of the English. His voice was pure Edinburgh but there was something about him that tickled Dodd’s memory.

The Captain of the Queen’s Guard was speaking, Dodd forgot his name. He was deputising for Sir Walter Raleigh who was still in the Tower of London for getting a Maid of Honour with child and then marrying her without the Queen’s permission.

“Her Majesty will not cancel her entry into Oxford.” Nobody looked surprised though Dodd was. He had heard that the Queen was nervous about her safety and very careful of poison. “That’s final.”

Hunsdon and Carey looked at each other. “Did you bring the Royal coach?” Carey asked.

“Yes we did, although she hasn’t used it yet. She hates it, claims it makes her feel seasick,” said Hunsdon thoughtfully. Dodd agreed with the Queen, he hated coaches too.

“Well then, I’d persuade her to at least ride in the coach. That makes it much harder to shoot at her and the coach should stop a crossbow bolt.”

Hunsdon nodded and his clerk made a note. “She won’t like it, but she will do it,” he said.

“Would she wear a jack or a breastplate?” Dodd asked. “For when she’s out of the coach listening to speeches? The King o’ Scotland has a specially padded doublet for entries and the like.”

Everyone exchanged looks. “It was hard enough to get her to do it in ’88,” said Hunsdon, “for Tilbury. There’s no reason we can give now and I think she won’t do it. It would look mistrustful of the people.”

Dodd wondered why a sovereign Queen cared about that. He sighed. “We just have tae find them, then,” he said.

As the futile search wore on into the night, Tovey and Tyndale were not much use, Carey was looking more and more glum and said very little. It seemed Tyndale had had a chance to catch Jeronimo’s friend the night before but had messed it up. At last it was Dodd who called a halt and they went back to Trinity College. They drank a late night cup of brandy by the fire in Dodd’s chamber while Tovey and Tyndale got themselves settled for the night in the parlour.

“Dinna fret yersen,” Dodd said awkwardly to the Courtier who was staring at the flames with a remote expression on his face. “Onybody might ha’ made that mistake wi’ Jeronimo.”

“It never occurred to me that he might hit me with his stump.”

“Nor to me,” Dodd said, though he hoped he would have thought of it. Still, as Jock o’ the Peartree had established, the Courtier was soft.

“Come on, Henry, what would you do to find Jeronimo and his friend before they kill the Queen?”

“I wouldna bother searching the town the day,” he said after a moment’s thought. “I would search her route but yer dad will do it anyway. What I would do is think like Jeronimo. He hasnae kin in Oxford but his friend is one of the waits, so we need to keep a good eye out for them. But yer dad will do that too. So. Where would I put myself to kill the Queen?”

“Somewhere high. No shortage what with all the displays and allegorical arches around, not to mention the buildings.”

“What would I use?”

Carey’s laugh was humourless. “A crossbow, a dag, Christ, a dagger will do if he can get close. She’s only flesh and blood.”

Dodd narrowed his eyes and thought. He’d never actually assassinated anyone, in the strict sense, but you couldn’t deny, it was an interesting problem. You had to be close, within about ten feet to have any hope at all of hitting the target. Or you needed to know exactly where she would be and lay a trap of some kind. His money was on a trap. Everyone knew her route through Oxford—down the Woodstock Road, St. Giles, Cornmarket, Carfax, and on down to Christ Church.

They talked it over for a while and then went to bed because it was late and they had to be up before dawn. They had come up with a large number of outlandish ideas, including gunpowder, which even worried Dodd. He was shocked to hear Carey praying quietly before he fell asleep.