Taste of Treason (19 page)

“And if he is who I think he is, Rob, he will have a use for her poor wandering soul, and you can believe that it will be an evil one.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

The next morning, Luke decided on his strategy. If Frayner were Nimrod, what better way to throw him off balance than by a frontal attack? Not a physical one, obviously, but it would do the rabid priest no harm at all to be called to account for his high-handed arrogance and to let him know he was not untouchable.

Throughout the breakfast that Rob cobbled together, Luke pondered his best approach. It was only the silence with which the food was eaten that alerted him to Rob’s strange mood.

“What ails thee, lad?”

Rob threw down his spoon.

“You are so wrapped up in your own thoughts that you have none left for those who need shielding. Master Quayne and Mistress Bertila are safe, notwithstanding their ordeal. But Alys is not and neither is Gwenette. How can you sit there eating frumenty, which I know you dislike, with no more attention than if it was swill for the pigs?”

“You have no cause for alarm where Alys is concerned. No harm will come to her.”

“What about Mistress Paige? You must be aware of her feelings for you and yet you use her as you would a convenient tool. Something fit for the task. Never a thought for her well-being and safety.”

“Do not speak of things you know nothing about.” Luke’s voice was quiet.

“Know nothing about? Have you never looked at her face when you talk to her in such an offhand fashion? She is in love with you. Have you no feelings, Luke? Is it in you to love? Can you imagine what torments I suffer knowing that Alys is in peril? That her soul may also be threatened like that of Edith Brook?”

Luke scowled at him so fiercely that he saw the boy give a convulsive swallow.

“I pray pardon, Master. I was too forward.”

Luke rubbed his hand over his mouth. “Not so, Rob. My feelings are no concern of yours, but your last comment gives me much cause for thought.”

“How so?”

“I have been in error. Edith Brook was not delegated to fill the bath that night. She merely helped Alys. Edith was not chosen for her name.” He hit the table with a clenched fist. “I am wrong. And if I am, where else have I gone awry? I must speak to Alys again.”

“I will accompany you to the palace.”

“No, Rob. You must take some more medicine to Bertila. Before I speak to Alys, I want to unbalance our enemy. I am going to confront that rabid priest. Let us see if I can move him to such wrath as will force him into an error.”

“Take care, Master. You do not know what friends he has or what influence they might hold in high places.”

“There are times, Rob, when a man has to hazard all on one throw of the dice. Besides, we have friends in high places, too.”

“That may be,” Rob said with a frown, “but will they be friends when you need them?”

* * *

Luke was confident he had prepared sufficiently for his war of words with the priest, but as soon as he saw the man, his careful arguments deserted him. All he could remember was that this creature had caused such hurt to Corbin and Bertila.

He had knocked on the door, to be admitted by the woman he assumed was the daughter of Rob’s informant. She had conducted him without comment to the priest’s study. As he was about to enter, Luke saw a swarthy man peer round a distant corner, then dodge back out of sight. Pinero, the Spanish servant. He certainly needed to know more about this precious pair. Distracted, Luke was taken aback when the priest leapt towards him as he entered the room.

“Unless you have come to beg for mercy for your high-handed demeanor, then we have nothing to say to each other,” Frayner spat out the words.

“If you think I owe you such a plea, you are sadly in error. I name you coward and instrument of Satan.”

Frayner’s face turned a mottled shade of red, his neck swelled and his dark eyes flashed venom.

“You have publicly challenged me twice, apothecary, and for that alone you will be punished. I will see you on the spike before I am finished, suffering the torments you so richly deserve. Pain has ever been the most effective means of forcing truth from reluctant tongues.”

Luke thrust his face close to Frayner’s.

“Like you did to my innocent friends, because you were too cowardly to come after me directly? I spit on you, but you have accomplished one thing and that is that I will not rest until your calumnies are revealed to the world and you are exposed as the devil you really are.” For a moment, Luke thought Frayner would suffer a seizure and he smiled. “Yes, I wish you could suffer the same evil you brought down on my friend, who, even now lies abed, unable to speak or conduct his business.”

“That he suffered such a fit only proves that the allegations were correct. Who but Satan would effect such a rescue just when we were on the verge of a confession? To set them free was against God’s law and I shall not rest until they and you are suffering the torment and death you merit.”

Luke leaned forward again, waving one finger under the priest’s nose.

“Touch my friends at your peril, priest. As for me, do your worst.”

Turning, he walked from the room and slammed out of the house. The walk home gave him time to consider what had happened. He had lost the argument by losing his temper, exactly the fault in Nimrod he hoped to exploit in order to vanquish him. If he could not control his own emotions, what chance did he stand of besting the sunderer? Corbin and Bertila were probably now in greater danger from Frayner than they had been before. What was worse, he had doubled his problems. He would have to take steps to protect them using valuable mental resources that would have been better spent on exposing the enemy and safeguarding the Queen. His old habit of self-doubt surfaced with disconcerting ease. He had worked hard, and with some success, to eradicate this destructive trait.

Luke squared his shoulders. What was done was done but he had compounded his difficulties. He must put on the coat of confidence and self-belief and work with the situation as it was. Frayner would now pursue him more vigorously than ever; Rob thought he was heartless, Queen Anne was too preoccupied with her daughter-in-law to give him counsel, Dufay was not in the country and King Henry had promised him worse torments than Frayner could devise if he did not quickly conclude his mission. He laughed. In truth, things could not get any worse.

* * *

Gwenette sat at her needlework in the Queen’s Privy Chamber. The previous night had passed with no alarms even though she and Alys had lain awake fully dressed on the bed until the birds fluted the onset of dawn.

Her mind ran over the scene in the Queen Mother’s apartments when Luke had given her the ouch. Her fingers slipped under her sleeve to touch the adornment she could not show in public. His words to her that she was his friend and he would do his utmost to protect her both warmed and chilled her. A friend, nothing more. But a friend he cherished enough to safeguard. How did she really feel about that?

Now she had ample time to consider her sore heart. That it was given to the apothecary was simple fact. That he did not return her feelings was equally plain but try as she might, Gwenette could not kill the love she bore him. After five years of knowing him, she did not think he would change now. And neither could she. She sighed and looked down at the girl beside her. Alys had fallen into a troubled sleep and Gwenette’s heart went out to her. Poor little mite. Instead of mooning about Luke Ballard, she would do better to try and reassure Alys whilst maintaining vigilance. Feeling the girl stir, Gwenette put a smile on her face.

“Mistress Paige,” Alys whispered. “I am frightened.”

“There is no need for fear.”

“I keep thinking I see Edith.”

“You are being fanciful, Alys. Edith is dead.” Even so, Gwenette looked round the room. It would not do to alienate her companion so she kept her voice soft and comforting.

“Where have you seen her, poppet?”

“It is as if she appears just out of sight and when I turn to look, nothing is there.”

Gwenette pursed her lips. “How oft has this happened?”

“Once this morning and twice in the night.”

“Why did you not say something, child?”

“I feared you would be angry with me.”

Gwenette felt her heart contract with pity. Poor little moppet. Parted from a loving father through the machinations of a jealous stepmother and thrust into the hurly-burly of court. Down the years, Gwenette had seen daughters of good families sent to court to further family fortunes, but none so ill-suited to life at a royal palace than this girl.

Still, going on the evidence of her own eyes the previous day, Gwenette was certain there was at least one person who had Alys’s welfare much at heart. Mayhap she could distract the maid by talking about Rob.

“I wager that if you told Master Rob of your fears, he would laugh at you for a fanciful giglet.”

Just as she had hoped, Alys’s face took on a dreamy expression.

“Rob would never laugh at me,” she said. “Tell me, Mistress Paige, how long has he been with Master Ballard? What is he like?”

“Not long,” Gwenette said, teasing her. “I really do not know what he is like.”

Alys’s face fell and her companion read confusion mixed with hope and fear in her expression.

“I expect all the girls follow him,” Alys said in a small voice.

“How now, child. Do not try to be cunning with me. Say openly what you mean. Leave such devious wiles to the others.”

Alys blushed a fiery scarlet and began to twist her fingers in her skirts, unable to meet Gwenette’s eye.

“Does Master Rob favor any particular maid?”

Gwenette could not help teasing the girl. “Aye, he does.”

Alys’s lips tightened. She swallowed and nodded. Gwenette felt her heart constrict again. She knew, none better, what it was to love and not be loved in return.

“Nay, never fear, Alys. The one he favors is you.”

“Truly?” Alys put a hand to her throat, her eyes shining.

Gwenette stroked her hair.

“Truly, child. I have only known Rob as long as he has lived with Master Ballard but, to my knowledge, he has never looked at another maid the way he does you.”

“I am so glad,” Alys said. Hugging herself, she skipped back to the bed and began to tidy up the coverlet.

Gwenette smiled at the sight of her companion’s happy face. For the time being, at least, she had forgotten all about Edith Brook. All the same, her assertion was something to keep in mind. Luke had warned her that the attack could come in the most direct fashion or so insidiously that she would not realize it for what it was until it was too late. Gwenette knew she would have to watch over Alys but at least if the girl saw Edith again, she would not hesitate to say so.

Gwenette sighed and chewed the inside of her cheek as she thought about the affection between this girl and the apothecary’s boy. She would have given much, nay, all that she possessed, to have Luke Ballard look at her the way Rob Panton gazed at Alys.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Having finished the stew Rob had prepared, Luke remained at the table, tugging at his curls in frustrated concentration. The boy was again studying his letters and numbers. At least one thing was going well. Rob’s proficiency in learning to read and his understanding of quantities and potions improved daily.

In all other respects, it had been a day of irritations. The thought that he might have been so far from the truth had played on his mind. He had been certain that Nimrod had set in train a reenactment of the Biblical plagues. Everything had fitted perfectly, until he remembered what Alys had told him, that it was not Edith but she who should have been preparing the Queen’s bath. Luke grew hot and then cold in apprehension, remembering his unequivocal opinion in front of the King. If he were in error, Henry would have no mercy.

He had made a mess of the confrontation with Frayner, leaving the other more angry and vengeful than ever and himself blustering like a drunken sot being refused ale at the tavern.

Corbin’s lack of progress was another anxiety. That the old apothecary would recover in time, Luke had no doubt, but until that day came, apprehension would sit across Bertila’s shoulders taking flesh from her bones. It needed stronger magic than his to effect a fast cure and the only person he could think of who had that ability was far away in France.

Luke had arrived home exasperated by his inability to make any clear decisions. He had blundered sufficiently to ensure that Frayner would increase his attempts to have him arrested. The priest would not stop until Corbin and Bertila were in custody, too. That apart, he had to deal with the vagaries of the sweating sickness, in constant fear that it would break out again and be even more virulent. Luke put his head in his hands.

“Master, I hate to see you so troubled. Tell me how I can aid you.”

“I cannot keep everything in my head, Rob. When I think about it, the whole thing becomes like pottage, merged into one complicated mass—a stinking heap of trouble spilling over in all directions. It does not help that I am so tired. And before you ask, lad, there is only so much restorative one can take without ending up dependent on it or it having no effect at all.”

Rob put down his quill and frowned at his kinsman.

“Marry, your thoughts are indeed awry, Luke. Instead of slumping there tying your mind into knots, you should go to bed. There is nothing to stay up for, and if you are tired, sleep will serve you better than any potion. We can deal with the other problems on the morrow when you are feeling rested. What say you?”

Luke rubbed his eyes.

“You speak the truth and I know it well, Rob. But our enemy is more likely to strike when I am asleep and unaware of his presence.”

“Could it be Nimrod turning your brain to fog?”

“Anything is possible.”

“Luke, if he attacked us now, you would have no strength to fight him. Go and sleep. Wait upon the morning.”

Luke stood up and stretched.

“Aye, lad. I will. If Mistress Paige is in need, she will press the ouch and that will awaken me. I will go up.”

Sitting on the side of his bed, Luke was almost too exhausted to pull off his boots. It took all his attention to put another shield around the house. If anything were amiss with Gwenette, he would have to rely on the strength of their friendship to wake him. His legs ached as he lifted them onto the bed. He lay back, closed his eyes and was asleep in the space of ten heartbeats.

* * *

In the dim light of the Queen’s bed chamber, Gwenette and Alys leaned against the pillows of the bed, the curtains drawn back. All available candles had been lighted and Gwenette made sure that the fire was well ablaze with logs, but the glow made the murky corners appear even darker.

Alys fell asleep, her head on Gwenette’s shoulder. Now their safety depended on her. Well, not quite, she thought, fingering the ouch again.

She wondered how her mistress coped without her. They were so seldom apart. Furthermore, the Queen Mother would not be having an easy time with her daughter-in-law. Gwenette knew from firsthand experience, that, once affrighted, Madeleine was not easy to calm.

The logs on the fire collapsed as they burned, making her flinch. Easing herself out from under Alys’s sleeping head, Gwenette tiptoed to the fire and threw on more wood. The temporary dousing of the flames made her shoulders twitch in sudden fright. She swung round, but could see nothing. Her gaze scouring the room, she scurried back to the bed and waited until the fire flared fiercely once more before she surrendered to the overwhelming desire to close her eyes, just for an instant.

Muttering pierced her confused dream. It took Gwenette a few confusing moments to realize that she had fallen asleep. Jumping up, she noted that the candles had burned halfway down and the fire was little more than red embers. Using the end of a log, she stirred the cinders into flames and fed them with more wood.

It was only then that she heard the murmuring again and knew it had not been part of her dream. With a feeling of dread, she looked back at the bed. It was empty. Following the direction of the sound, Gwenette saw the figure of her companion standing by a wall hanging. Alys appeared to be holding a conversation with herself. Herself? Gwenette’s heart sank as she approached the girl. By the light of a dying candle, she could see Alys’s eyes were closed and she babbled streams of nonsense with pauses as if she were listening to someone else before once more embarking upon unintelligible droning. Thoroughly unsettled, Gwenette put out a hand to touch the girl.

* * *

Rob’s dreams were a frightening succession of attempts to cross a shallow stream. As soon as he laid a foot in it, water surged up into white angry waves that threatened to drown him. He had no idea why he must get to the other side, only that it was imperative that he do so. As succeeding efforts proved fruitless, his desperation grew in direct correlation to the surge of water holding him back. In trying to force his way across, he found himself on the floor of his room, his covers a jumbled, knotted heap on top of him. Sweating profusely, he sat for a moment before becoming aware of an unnatural stillness outside in the black of night.

Throwing on his clothes, Rob crept down the stairs and edged to the shop door, easing it open. He stood for a while, but nothing stirred, so he transferred his attention to the kitchen door. Opening it a crack, he peered out. At first he thought he could see nothing, but after a few moments, he became aware of a black shape standing underneath the tree. Swallowing several times, Rob decided to confront the visitor. He flung the door wide and stepped out.

“Who is there and what is your business?”

A tall cloaked form detached itself from the trunk.

“Master Panton, is it not?”

“It is, sir and who are you?”

“I am Father Frayner from Hampton.”

“I think we have nothing to say to each other. Get you gone or I will call the beadle.”

Rob heard a silky laugh and then Frayner spoke again.

“Ah, me, Master Panton, but you are as good as a jester. You have not yet heard why I am here.”

Rob folded his arms and leaned against the doorpost.

“Speak then.”

“Your master does you no favors. He is a sorcerer. In a few days, he will be languishing in a dungeon along with his collaborators. What happens after that I leave to your limited imagination.”

“Collaborators in what?” Rob’s first impulse had been to answer anything this bigot said with scorn. However, one of the maxims Luke had said recently came to mind, the one about honey catching flies more easily than vinegar, so he made his voice sound puzzled and a little fearful.

“I would not expect Ballard to confide in a mere servant, but be well assured that if you do not help me, you will share his cell, his torments and his ultimate fate.”

Rob thought quickly. Obviously this tosspot had no concept of loyalty. Mayhap it would be a good notion to play along with him. He purposely put a shake in his voice.

“You make me affrighted, sir. I am bound to the apothecary. He would beat me if I did anything amiss.”

Frayner walked towards him.

“You will suffer worse than a beating if you do not give him up to the authorities,” he said with oily ease. “It is simple. Indeed you do not need to appear in the business at all. Come and tell me when he consorts with his familiars and when he goes to the Quayne household. The rest you may leave to your betters.”

“But what if he suspects? If he is, as you say, a sorcerer, what is to stop him from turning me into a toad?” Rob managed to make the uncontrollable laughter in his voice sound as if he trembled.

“Never fear, we have ways of dealing with witches and sorcerers.”

“But I don’t understand, sir. Surely if Master Ballard is a sorcerer, then he will be able to escape from any trap that you set? Which means that he would then come after me and turn me into a toad.”

Rob heard a hiss of irritation from the other man.

“Fie, boy, you have toads on the brain. I say again, you need not fear being turned into anything, especially a toad.”

“He can’t be much of a sorcerer if he can’t turn people into toads. I thought they did that all the time.”

The priest stepped forward in such a manner that Rob felt a shaft of fear sear through him.

“There are always other considerations, boy.”

“Oh aye. What?”

“The girl. I saw the way you looked at her. I’ll wager that even now she is keeping your master warm and satisfied in bed. Give him to us and she is yours. Isn’t that a prize worth the price I ask?”

All thought of ridicule left Rob’s mind. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. Alys. This bastard meant Alys. Even as his rage soared, Rob knew he must not present himself as anything other than Luke Ballard’s lumpish servant.

“Ah, I see that has set you thinking, boy. Well, that is the deal. What say you?”

“You see many things, sir. Too much for my head to take in. I will think on it and give you an answer on the morrow.”

“I believe we can accommodate you on that point, Master Panton. Agree to our terms and I will see that you not only get the wench, but this house, too.”

“I like the sound of your suggestion the more I think on it. I will come to you soon with my answer, sir.”

“Do that. And be warned. Work with us and the chit and house are yours. Cross us and we will crush you like a beetle.”

With a swish of his cloak, Frayner turned and left. Rob stood for a few moments looking in the direction in which his visitor had vanished, then turned slowly and went back into the kitchen. He sat staring into the remains of the fire.

“Well, Rob, are you going to do as the holy priest demands?”

Rob spun round and forced a grin.

“Nay, I am not. But, Luke, he does not just threaten us, but Alys and the Quaynes.”

Luke walked down the rest of the stairs, grabbed the jug and poured two jacks of ale. Handing one to Rob, he sat on the other side of the fire and stared for a few moments into its depths.

“What do you suggest we should do?” he asked.

“I do not know. Is he truly part of your investigation, Luke?”

“I am almost sure of it. But is he the enemy we seek or part of the enemy’s misdirection?”

“I do not understand. What do you mean?”

Luke leaned forward. “Is Frayner Nimrod, or merely his tool? Or is he nothing to do with the palace deaths and we are led to think so because of the juxtaposition of events? Whatever he is, we must deal with him. I cannot leave Corbin and Bertila under constant threat of danger.”

“What of the threat to Alys?”

“And Alys,” Luke conceded.

Rob took a swig of ale.

“Frayner must be dealt with whether he is part of your inquiry or not.”

“Aye.” Luke sighed. “You speak truth, lad. Do you have any ideas?”

“I saw how the villagers regard him. We must make him a public mockery. His haughty pride would never stomach that. Show him up as a charlatan. If he sees that people laugh at him, that they are no longer frightened of him, he will be neutered. His pride would not allow him to lose face in any way and such an event would make him go elsewhere.”

“What a devious notion, lad. I like it very much,” Luke said, grinning.

“I have another idea which may aid you. Why do you not write down all the threads of your inquiry and see if you can make them form a logical conclusion.”

Luke looked at him with new respect.

“I see you are not the pribbling lout the priest assumes you to be.”

“And that is how we shall trap him in a net of his own making. Make him think he is winning, then expose him and let him see he is the butt of the jest.”

Rob fetched paper and ink.

“Tell you, what, master. You say what you need to remember and I shall write it. In that way it will benefit us both.”

Luke paced the floor as Rob sat poised with quill in hand. Then he turned and pointed at the paper.

“First, if the plagues connection is right, why was Alys chosen to prepare the Queen’s bath when neither she nor her name has any connection to water or blood?”

Rob, his tongue stuck out at one side of his mouth in concentration, scribbled a few words.

“What part does Frayner play in this matter?” Luke said next.

Rob wrote the word
priest
.

“What is Nimrod’s objective? Is he indeed Frayner and if not, is Frayner acting alone or being manipulated?”

“I can’t write that fast,” Rob muttered. “Or spell
manipulated
.”

“All incidents could be aimed at the Queen, but if so, they have been ill-planned because she has not been present when they happened, apart from the death of the maid in the bath. Our enemy would not be so careless, so what was the true purpose of them, or are they a blind so that I do not look further?” Luke began his pacing once more, then turned. “Ah, Rob, I think we have hit on the central nub of this matter. If...”

He bent double in pain, unable to speak. Rob leapt up and supported him to the chair next to the fire. Joss put her front paws in Luke’s lap and laid her head on his chest. Slowly, he straightened up, but Rob could see that his face was ashen and he trembled as if with an ague.