Court of Conspiracy (31 page)

That had been the first time Peveril had sent the lightning bolts into her body and when she again became aware, he had bound her in holly. Each movement was wracked with pain, but as soon as she grasped that he fed on her agony, she stopped screaming. In fact, she only screamed once more. He had tried to persuade her with honeyed words to link with the King. She had laughed in his face, knowing that his energy would be so much more depleted if he could not force her.

His rage had been the most frightening thing she had ever witnessed. He sent three bolts into her. Each one she bore in silence, though the pain had indeed been terrible. She found that there was a detached part of her mind that could ignore the agony, but she made sure that her eyes never left his and that the expression of contempt on her face remained there. In frustration, Peveril had swung round and sent a bolt of lightning into Ajax. The dog’s scream had coincided with her own. He tried to stagger to her, but she saw the light leave his eyes as he slumped to the floor. From the tearing wrench in her heart, she knew that he was dead. She clenched her teeth to stop from crying and looked at her tormentor.

“Now I will fight you every inch of the way.”

“Then I have no use for you. You and your dead dog can keep each other company whilst I look for another way to kill the Boleyn whelp.”

Pippa knew her only chance was to let Luke or Master Dufay know, and the only means she had of doing that was to pray that her telepathy skills would be boosted by the urgency she felt. Thank the powers of light that she still wore the blue ribbon next to her skin. She needed all the help it would give. Pippa was in the middle of sending the message when Peveril picked it up. He came in through the door at a run and lifted his hand. Everything went black.

* * *

They came to the darkened house. Luke could now see as well as hear the line of poplar trees extending down the lane at the side of it. “Here. She is here.”

There was nothing to be seen at the front. Luke beckoned Rob to follow him round the back of the house. They came to a small yard and stopped, horrified at the sight that met their eyes on the threshold of the door. Peveril, wearing a black cloak, was pulling Pippa’s unresisting body from the house. She was upright but her eyes were closed.

“Dear God, he is preparing to take her essence,” Luke whispered.

There was no time for planning. He leapt forward over the low wall. The sound and movement caught Peveril unaware. He swung round and put up a hand. Luke smashed into an invisible wall, but his desire to get to Pippa was stronger and more desperate than the hasty spell Peveril had thrown. He could hear Rob bellowing with anger and saw Peveril turn to face the new threat.

That gave Luke the opportunity he needed. He at once put a protective blue spell around Pippa, but it had been cast at speed and by an elemancer unused to it. Luke knew that it would not withstand the power of this sunderer. With a cry of rage, Peveril slashed through the barrier with his hand, leaving a visible blue rent. His hand shot upward again. Both Luke and Rob saw the glint of steel as Peveril thrust the dagger into the girl. Before they could react, he drew the hood over his face, swirled the cloak around him and vanished. Pippa fell to the ground.

Luke ran to her, aware that she was beyond his help. With a final mighty effort, she grasped his arm.

“Asmodeus,” she gasped. Her head dropped to one side. She was gone.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Luke sent Rob running to find a cart so that they might put the bodies of Pippa and Ajax onto it and take them back to Dufay’s house in Hampton.

As he awaited Rob’s return, he cradled Pippa’s lifeless body in his arms, the pain of grief as raw as the morning he had heard the news about Giles. Her unresponsive face had a graze down one cheek and a jagged row of wounds across her brow and around her wrists. It took him some moments to realize that Peveril must have shackled her in holly and forced some around her head in a parody of Christ’s crown of thorns.

Her pliant body was warm, and for one split moment, he thought she still lived, but in his soul he knew she was gone. That knowledge lacerated his bleeding heart further. He had failed her. His innate distrust of women and foolish prejudice had blinded him to her worth and loyalty until the very last, when, too late, his eyes had been opened.

How unfair he had been to this girl who had never known joy or love until the sham shown her by Peveril. She had had no experience to indicate that it had been merely semblance with no substance. No wonder she had tried to keep her happiness secret. Only now, when she was dead, did Luke realize what it had cost her to give love up.

She lay in his arms, her face white, the shadow of fear still evident in her open eyes. His only consolation was that her soul was safe and in paradise. He dropped his head onto her hair and wept, not noticing that the Elemagus had returned with Rob. Dufay knelt beside him.

“Do not take on a guilt you do not own, Luke. Neither this death, nor the one of your friend on the
Mary Rose
were any fault of yours. You cannot save the world—you can only be part of it.”

Luke made no response and the Elemagus tried again.

“Flowers grow from the dark times in our lives, Luke. I know that Pippa’s death is hard for you to take, my friend, but you must thank God that you arrived in time for her spirit to be sent to Him and not left wandering the earth. Peveril did not take her essence. Her soul is saved, and that is your triumph.”

Dufay took Ajax from the cart and laid him on the floor. Joss licked him all over, crying and pausing to paw at Luke as if imploring him to restore the dog to life. Eventually, she gave up and came to nuzzle her master. Luke sat on the floor, his arms around her, trying to comfort her as much as she tried to comfort him.

Hera had howled once at the sight of Ajax’s body and then stayed close to Dufay. The Elemagus stroked his hands from Ajax’s nose to the tip of his tail. Then he carried him outside, muttered an incantation and watched as the body turned first to stone and then to dust. The wind carried the dust up as a whirling column and dispersed it to the four corners of the earth.

Dufay laid a hand on Luke’s shoulder. “I will see to the arrangements about Pippa. She will be given the honors she deserves. Do not grieve too much. She and Ajax are reunited in spirit. Come, it is time you went home. Peveril will seek for another soul to replenish his life source, and I will undertake to ensure it is not Mistress Bertila. She will still be susceptible to any spell of his. You must help the King.”

“Tell me one thing, Master. Who is Asmodeus?”

Dufay’s quick intake of breath put Luke on full alert. He forgot their relative positions and shook the Elemagus. “Who is Asmodeus?” he spat between gritted teeth.

Dufay’s voice was quiet, but even in his state of shock, Luke could hear the steel behind the words. “Asmodeus is the demon of wrath. That explains much. There is no time now to talk of this.” He put a hand on Luke’s shoulder. “We both have work to do. I to protect, you to snare. Take strength, Luke Ballard, and complete your mission.”

* * *

All that day, Luke sat at his kitchen table, staring into space, saying nothing. He should have known Peveril for what he was sooner, certainly as soon as he had seen that scrappy little black-and-tan umbran terrier at his heels. Had he done so, Pippa might have been saved.

He had not been in love with her, he knew that, but he also knew from her brief spell at Dufay’s house that she had been a lantern trying to light the dark corners of his mind. He would miss her. She had taught him that not all women were the same as Alison, but her loss was a heavy price to pay for this enlightenment. In Tudor England, where unjust executions were commonplace, an undeserved death such as hers still cut him to the heart. He could not bring either Pippa or Gethin back, but he promised he would remember them, say regular prayers for their salvation and learn by his mistakes.

He knew from Rob’s expression that the boy had some idea of what was going through his head. Luke felt grateful Rob had never known Pippa and that his kinsman’s only concern was for his well-being.

“You stay there, master,” Rob said. “I can tell your spirit is troubled. There will be no customers today. It is the King’s birthday. Rest your body and your spirit. I will do whatever is needful.”

Rob was as good as his word. He roasted a rabbit, together with bacon and beans and put a trencher piled high in front of Luke. When Luke smelt it, he came out of his musings and not only mopped up all the juices with bread, but had second helpings after which he returned to his reverie by the fire. The task was still unfinished but he could do nothing until night fell. In his state of sorrow and anger, that time could not come soon enough.

Hammering at the door brought him out of his reflections.

“Who is it, Rob?”

“Captain Creswell, sir.”

Luke leapt to his feet. “Captain, well met?”

“Kerr is still missing, but we believe the man Achard is skulking somewhere in the palace. I am ordered to bring you to the King in his Holy Day closet.”

Luke sighed. “Very well.” He turned to the boy. “Rob, I shall return. Do not worry.”

“You cannot bring that dog with you,” Creswell began.

“I will not leave her behind,” Luke said in a voice that brooked no argument. He clicked his fingers and Joss trotted at his heels.

On the way to the palace, Creswell explained that a thorough search of the public rooms had been made for Achard but to no avail. Sir Nigel Kerr was also nowhere to be found. The corridor to the Holy Day closet in the Chapel Royal was thronged with courtiers either wishing to petition the King or to give him birthday greetings. King Henry looked none the worse for his adventure of the previous night, but his face lit up when he saw Luke.

“Ah, Master Apothecary, we would speak with you.” Luke knew that this mark of favor would spread around the court like fire through a field of dry grain.

“We have a proposition,” the King continued. “But mayhap it would be as well if you accompanied us to our privy chamber and we will talk there.”

The King rose. Luke leapt to his feet and, after a nudge from Joss’s nose, followed the rest of the court in a deep obeisance. He then followed directly behind as Henry made his way back toward his privy apartments. A series of shouts brought the King to a standstill. Without thinking, Luke pushed in front of his monarch, shielding him from the noise. All fell silent. They could hear the thudding of feet and, rushing around the corner, the disheveled figure of the Duke of Norfolk flew into view. He ran toward the King, threw himself on his knees and tried to reach past Luke to seize the hem of the King’s mantle.

“Your Majesty, I crave forgiveness for my sins.”

Luke’s eyes met the startled gaze of Byram Creswell, who had drawn his sword but stayed his hand at a gesture from the King.

Henry IX stepped forward, raised Norfolk to his feet and smiled. “Thomas, Thomas, we are good friends, still, are we not? Come to my chamber and we will talk.”

Luke and Creswell fell into step behind the King, who put a friendly arm around his cousin’s shoulders.

“I do not like this development,” Luke muttered.

“Do not fear,” the Captain replied. “The King knows full well that Kerr and Achard are near. This will confuse them into thinking my lord of Norfolk has betrayed them to save himself.”

“And it gives me an inspiration, Master Creswell.”

As the retinue progressed through the series of rooms in the state apartments, more and more courtiers were left behind. By the time they entered Henry’s privy chamber, only the King, Luke and Creswell were there. A few moments later, alerted by her ladies, Queen Anne entered and sank into a deep curtsey to her son.

King Henry pushed Norfolk into Creswell’s arms. “Who let this vermin escape? We will have their heads.”

“Sire,” Luke said. “I think we can use the sunshine of his flight to make enough hay to smoke out the other felons we seek.”

Henry sent Luke one long, measured look. “Then make it so, Master Ballard.”

* * *

Black night had fallen. Clouds covered the stars and the only light came from torches thrust into sconces at intervals along the palace walls. Luke collected Rob from the house and they made their way to the royal stables. He took a few minutes to cast a sleeping spell on the upper room where the stable lads and grooms slept, noticing as he did so that the act would have taxed him two days ago. Now it was as simple as a child’s game. Dufay was correct. It all came down to believing in himself.

When he was certain all was safe, he and Rob saddled Jasper and the Queen’s jennet. Rob began to giggle. “Hush, lad. What amuses you?”

“The Queen maintains she hates all things Spanish, but she has a Spanish horse.”

“Aye, but it can be ridden and controlled. Quietly now, put sacks on their hooves. I must find the entrance to the tunnel.”

Flitting from shadow to shadow, Luke entered the final block of stables. He went to the end stall and removed all the straw. Using a revelation spell for speed, he lit the edges of a doorway hidden in the brickwork. He pushed and found himself looking at a stony path going steadily downhill toward the palace. Within seconds, he and Rob were leading the horses through the door and along the tunnel.

They had been walking for a few minutes when Luke heard sounds ahead of him. A figure stood on steps cut at right angles to the passageway. Luke checked his progress until he saw the red-gold hair of the King in the light of a torch, Queen Anne at his shoulder.

“The horses, Sire. Is all arranged above?”

“Aye, Master Ballard. Come and wait on us at Greenwich on the morrow. Help the Queen onto her horse, then go and accomplish your enterprise.” King Henry swung his page up behind him and urged his horse forward.

Luke bowed and did as he was bid. He was about to send the jennet after Jasper when the Queen put a restraining hand on his arm. “Send Gwenette to me as soon as you can. Make sure she has an escort. And fear not, Master Ballard. She is as true as that poor girl I saw at your house.”

Luke stared after her. Dufay. It had to be Dufay who had told of Pippa’s end. For a moment, his spirits sank, but a cough from Rob reminded him that there was still work to finish. They sped along the tunnel. It was a while before Luke recognized it as being a spur to the same one as before, leading directly to the King’s bedchamber. Within a few minutes, he was pushing open the door.

The bed was occupied. The body lay still, and in the light from a candle, he could see that the man’s eyes were closed. He looked at Creswell, standing guard behind the shelter of a chair.

“All is set?”

“Indeed. We have let it be known that the Duke is back in the King’s favor and that their dispute was nothing more than a misunderstanding spread about by mischief-makers.”

“You think it will work?”

“It has to work,” said the Captain, his face grim. “We will wait.”

“How will they deal with the guard?”

“I had a trusted man keep his eye on them. They were brought a flagon of wine to drink. They emptied it. I would wager that if we dared look out of that door, they would both be asleep.”

“We can’t do that. It might be seen.”

Creswell looked at him. “Strangely enough, Master Apothecary, I had worked that out. Keep your boy alert. We may need his brawn if our prey fights. You are sure it will be tonight?”

“I am certain,” Luke replied. “And before midnight whilst it is still the King’s birthday.”

“He had best make haste. He does not have long.”

“Then we had best stay quiet and hide ourselves.”

Creswell nodded and knelt behind the high-backed chair. Rob flattened himself under one of the wall hangings. Luke stood by the bed curtains. The figure in the bed slept on.

Creswell had been right. It was not more than half an hour before they heard metallic clinks outside the door. Then all was silence for a space. Luke tensed. Even though his eyes were accustomed to the dark, he did not realize the door had been opened until he felt the draught from the corridor. Cautious footsteps traversed the rushes and moments later, the glint of a knife shone as the assassin stabbed the figure in the bed. Again and again, his arm rose and fell until it was beyond all doubt that he had fulfilled his task.

“So die all tyrants,” the intruder said, panting. “The bastard is dead. Long live Queen Mary.” He began to roar with laughter and was forced to sit on the edge of the four-poster, hanging onto the curtains to avoid falling onto the floor as his guffaws grew nearly uncontrollable. A dark stain was spreading over the coverlet like water creeping over a dry riverbed.

“I don’t think so, Sir Nigel,” replied Luke, standing up.

The capture was easily achieved. Kerr had been so shocked at Luke’s voice that Creswell found him easy meat. As soon as he understood his situation, Kerr stopped struggling. Rob stood over him in the King’s chair whilst Creswell alerted the guards hiding in the next chamber. As he was marched from the room, Kerr looked at the bed.

“I will die happy. I have completed my quest.”

Creswell gestured to the guards to stop and turn the prisoner round. “You have indeed served your King, Sir Nigel.” He held a candle high above the bloody figure in the bed. It was Thomas Howard, late Duke of Norfolk. “Now we have made one dog dispose of another and few need know of the perfidy of the house of Norfolk.”

* * *

The woman stood once more looking over the river. She should hear soon that the task was completed and Henry IX was dead. She had been scrutinizing the road all morning, hourly expecting to see the small band of horsemen who would bring her the glad tidings. She put out her traveling gown, ready to go to London and pay her homage to Queen Mary and Thomas Howard, King Consort. When she next looked out, a small cloud of dust on the road caught her eye. Aye, here they were. She decided that it would be best if she waited for the news in her chamber and did not run out to meet them like some serving wench sneaking out to meet her swain.