Dangerous Sanctuary (2 page)

“Let’s start with the most important thing. What does he plan to do?”

Halliwell shrugged, listless. “I don’t kn—”

Parker had him up against the wall, with a forearm to his throat, before he finished the sentence. He kept his voice even. “Now I may be willing to believe your story, but I won’t shield you if you could have told me something and the King is harmed. So I’ll ask you again, what does Pole intend to do?”

Halliwell was a big man, and a trained guard, but he did not try to fight free. His face told Parker he had given up, and for the first time since this strange episode began, Parker felt worry curl in his gut.

“I heard you.” Susanna stepped closer. “I heard you say you wouldn’t help him. And I will say that in a hearing on your behalf.”

Halliwell turned to look at her, his mouth slack with surprise. Parker’s betrothed had that effect on people.

Parker gave a small smile. He pulled his arm away, and Halliwell sagged against the wall.

There was a moment of silence.

Then Halliwell straightened, and when he lifted his gaze to Parker’s, it was calmer. “I truly don’t know what he plans, but he wanted to know how many guards the King would have, and if there was any point on the procession’s route where His Majesty would be
more vulnerable.”

“How is it he thought you would help him?” Parker could not believe Pole would approach just any Yeoman of the Guard, no matter how far down the slope of madness he’d slipped.

“My family rents land from his older brother. We’ve known each other for years. I was put forward for the guards by his brother Arthur while he was the King’s esquire of the body.” Halliwell closed his eyes. “At Geoffrey’s request, I arranged to take the advance guard duty at St. Paul’s today. To start clearing the crowds before the King arrived. I knew he meant to ask me a favor, but I did not realize . . .” He shook his head. “This all damns me further.”

“No.” Parker spoke slowly. “If my lady heard you say you would not help, despite the ties and loyalties you owe his family, then you will hear no word from me about Pole’s approach.”

Halliwell turned to look at him. Then his gaze fell on Susanna and he bowed low. “I wished you far away when you passed so near us, my lady, but now I am very grateful you did.”

“Did Pole say where he was going?” Parker noted the gates of the churchyard were getting more crowded. Tracking Pole in the streets would be almost impossible.

“No. He accused me of betraying his family, then he ran. If he still intends carrying out what he had in mind, he may have gone to Bridewell, to wait for the procession to start.”

“Why would Geoffrey Pole wish the King ill?” Susanna asked.

Parker fingered the hilt of his sword, still searching the crowd. “Pole isn’t just cousin to the King. He has another cousin—Richard de la Pole. Because of their claim on the throne, the King’s father crushed the Poles and the de la Poles from the moment he became King and made sure they stayed under his boot. Even though
Henry has been far kinder to both families than his father ever was, Richard de la Pole’s death is the reason the King celebrates today. Perhaps, for Geoffrey, this is the last insult to his family he can stomach.”

It seemed a long time since Susanna made the decision to go home, to eat and warm up in the house she shared with Parker on Crooked Lane.

And she was still no further than the churchyard at St. Paul’s, although at least she’d been able to buy a pie from one of the pie sellers hawking their wares through the crowd. She bit into it, and though it was almost cold, immediately felt better as the flavors of beef and gravy filled her mouth.

Halliwell stood with her, a huge barrier at the cathedral door, his halberd firm in his hand.

He appeared far different from the man who earlier had clung, vomiting, to the cathedral walls. His face was the set, emotionless stone she’d grown accustomed to seeing on the King’s guards.

“You can’t clear the cathedral and stop people entering by yourself.” Susanna saw the crowd below the steps was none too pleased with being denied access. No one had approached the door since Halliwell had taken position, but they muttered and shot disgruntled looks at him.

“I arrived earlier than the others to meet Pole, and put him off. At least another nine guards will be coming to help, but I may as well start by letting no more people in.”

“The King will still have to make his way through the churchyard, though,” Susanna said. “How will the Guards manage that?”

“They’ll push people away by force, if they have to.” Halliwell
gave a smile that was pure steel. “Anyone who gets too close, gets shoved.”

And someone who may want to get too close was Geoffrey Pole.

“Do you think Pole capable of harming the King, when it comes down to it?”

Halliwell lifted his shoulders. He kept his eyes on the crowd. “I would have said no. He has so much to lose. And his family even more so. His mother is chief lady-in-waiting to the Princess Mary. If Pole is caught trying something today, she would never be able to see the princess again, and I know from my contact with the family that would be a wrench for her. She is also a close friend of the Queen. That friendship would end, and put the Queen in a difficult position, besides. And then there’s Pole’s oldest brother, Montague. He would surely lose what family lands the King returned to him, after the King’s father took them all away. He may well be imprisoned in the Tower, as the eldest and closest to the throne.” Halliwell’s grip on his halberd tightened. “Pole is not acting rationally if he plans to endanger his entire family and their future.”

Susanna hugged herself against the wind and hoped Parker would find Pole and talk him out of whatever plan he may have concocted in his anger with the King. She could see nothing but tragedy if he were to go ahead.

But standing here would not hasten Parker’s return, and she could work a little more, perhaps even have time to start on the circular window.

She slipped back into the cathedral and took a place near the main altar, removing her sketch and charcoal from her satchel.

There was an air of anticipation among the people still within the church. More priests had appeared and a number of them were
wearing robes made from cloth of gold.

She heard voices behind her at the door, and hoping it was Parker, turned. John Rightwise, the deviser of court revels, stepped into the nave with his choir in tow.

As he came nearer, he blanched at the sight of her, averting his eyes and shuffling past as if she were dangerous. Susanna had no memory of him, but she knew he remembered her. Remembered how he had let one of the Duke of Norfolk’s men carry her away while she lay senseless on the floor of his choir room at Greenwich Palace. Parker had taken pains to point him out to her with the warning never to trust him.

The choir he brought with him today was not comprised of young boys, as it had been that day at Greenwich, but of monks.

They stared at her, curious at Rightwise’s reaction, and she studied them back. If they got into place, she could include them in the sketch now.

They moved past in a tight crowd and she tried to estimate their number, get an impression of faces for the painting.

And her heart did a slow roll in her chest.

Because at the back of the group, looking uncomfortable in his stolen monks’ robes, was Geoffrey Pole.

Susanna pretended sudden interest in the priests preparing the altar, turning away from the choir.

She waited until they had gone past, then looked again. Pole had his back to her, but he was still with Rightwise’s group. She noted the nearness of the choir stalls to the main altar, and a terrible chill danced down her spine.

If Rightwise did not notice him as an imposter and throw him out, Geoffrey Pole would be in the perfect position to attack the
King.

She forced herself to sketch the priests, leaving the choir alone as Rightwise arranged them into their places and fussed. As her charcoal traced the vestments and high, pointed hats, she considered her options. She could stay in the church, keeping an eye on Pole, and hope Parker returned before the King, or she could leave, and try to find Parker.

She immediately dismissed any thought of leaving. She didn’t know where Parker had gone, and the streets were already crowded. The going would be slow, and they could walk past each other and not know it in the throngs.

So she would stay and watch Pole. And if Parker did not come back in time . . . she would have a decision to make.

She had no loyalty to Pole. Her livelihood was caught up in the well-being of the King. But she had seen Pole’s face, seen the righteous fury in him, and did not want him executed if it could be helped. Her word, simply stepping up to a Yeoman of the Guard and pointing her finger at Pole, would seal his fate.

She had no wish for his blood to be on her hands.

She could ask Halliwell to help her, but she was too afraid others had seen Halliwell and Pole together, just as she had. It would be the end of Halliwell, as well.

Which meant that if Parker did not come back in time, she would have to approach Pole herself.

The bonfires the King had ordered in the streets had already been lit, and the crowds gathered about them, warming themselves as they waited for the King to pass by. Everyone who could walk was
outdoors, anticipation pulled taut with the expectation of free wine.

Parker cut down Carter Lane and then through an almost empty Blackfriars as a shortcut, taking the covered walkway that spanned the Fleet River between the monastery and the palace at a jog.

As he entered Bridewell’s yard, he knew immediately from the quiet he was too late.

“When did they leave?” he called to the guards at the front gate, running toward them.

“Not more than fifteen minutes ago, sir.”

He might be able to catch up, if he was fast. “How many of the Guard were with him?”

“Fifty men, sir, plus some gone ahead to St. Paul’s to clear it.” The man turned, eyes alight with curiousity, to Parker.

Parker nodded his thanks and made for the bridge over the Fleet River. The King would go slowly, allowing the people to catch glimpses of him on his horse, surrounded by his Guard. If Wolsey was with him, that would slow them down even more, but most likely the Cardinal had gone ahead and would reach the cathedral first, to make himself ready for the Mass.

Ludgate Hill was eerily empty as he ran, not what he’d expected at all, until it occurred to him that, like the Pied Piper, the King had drawn the crowds after him as he went, leading them all toward St. Paul’s.

Ahead, he saw Ludgate and the last few stragglers. The narrow gate would have slowed the King considerably, and though he’d cursed having to wait to get through the gate himself in the past, now Parker thanked heaven for the way it congested the traffic.

He wove through the people at the back of the procession, catching a glimpse of the green and white of the Yeomen of the
Guard ahead. No shouts or cries of alarm as yet, which meant either Pole had not found an opening, or he had wisely reconsidered any action against the King.

“Hey!” A man, annoyed at Parker’s overtaking him in the crowds, grabbed at his arm. Parker shook him off, diving deeper into the mass of revelers and then trying to find a less crowded way forward on the edges of the street.

When he was halfway along Bowier Row, with St. Paul’s in sight, the crowd surged, pinning him to a wall, immobile. There was a desperate quality to the shoving, a nasty undercurrent as everyone jostled for a place.

Parker saw the last green and white tunic disappear, and knew the King was already in St. Paul’s yard.

He could only hope that like him, Pole was imprisoned by the crowds.

Then he drew himself together, fists clenched, and began to fight his way forward.

Cardinal Wolsey had arrived. Susanna had never seen him before, but his red robes and cardinal’s hat were unmistakable. He looked tired, the dark circles under his eyes prominent on his pale face, but he invoked no sympathy. His harsh words as he snapped at the priest blocking his approach to the main altar, and his pursed, sour lips, called to mind a bad-tempered lapdog, although Susanna knew the Cardinal worked for the King as long and as hard as any workhorse.