The Hooded Hawke (21 page)
Authors: Karen Harper
Tags: #Fiction - Historical, #16th Century, #Mystery, #England/Great Britain, #Tudors, #Royalty
As if the very stones in here breathed out chill breath, she began to tremble. Could the man wear the hood because his visage was as ruined as old Hern the Hunter had said? A stag had gored his face, so he always wore the hood. However the man’s face under there looked, he was the murderer, she was sure of it.
“We shall ride to free Her Majesty from whatever castle in which they hold her,” a new voice said. “Then she will be well
protected behind our vanguard as we move south, picking up new recruits for the cause as we go, those who will rise to throw off what the so-called new religion has spawned. We shall forge an alliance with the Spanish and return this land to its rightful faith and ruler …”
protected behind our vanguard as we move south, picking up new recruits for the cause as we go, those who will rise to throw off what the so-called new religion has spawned. We shall forge an alliance with the Spanish and return this land to its rightful faith and ruler …”
It was almost too much for Elizabeth. She longed to scream at them, to seize from Drake the sword she had insisted he muffle with a cloth in its scabbard and attack them on her own, hacking them apart.
“But you let me speak for zee Spanish, no?” came another voice, one heavily accented. “I give—ah, how you say—zee word of zee
magnifico rey
Phil-eep-ay
Segundo
to give sheeps.”
magnifico rey
Phil-eep-ay
Segundo
to give sheeps.”
“Juan means ships,” another voice put in. “We have here signed pledges of aid from the Spanish King Philip.”
“Then all we need,” the first voice said, “is to hear how the current queen is holding up under the barrage of the Hooded Hawk to ruin her bold attempt to defy us on this summer progress to stir the hearts of the people, so—”
It was the last thing that made sense. Behind her a strange voice bellowed, “Look out, men! You’re being watched from behind this tomb!”
Chaos crashed around her. Another plotter must have come in through the tunnel. He scraped out his sword as Drake drew his to fight him off. Metal clanged; men shouted. As the traitors before the altar rushed to help their comrade, Jenks and Clifford, swords raised, leaped from behind the other effigies to take them on.
In the resulting clash, the man who had shouted grabbed at Elizabeth. He missed as Drake shoved him away, but the stranger had her cap in his hand; her hair spilled free.
“A woman!” he shouted. “A woman here!”
In but a moment’s swordplay, Drake ran him through, then grabbed her wrist and shoved her down the steps behind him as he took the next man on.
“Go!” Drake shouted in the clamor. “I’ll hold them on the stairs. Go!”
She half ran, half fell down the staircase to the crypt and dashed in, only to hit her hip on the corner of the first lead casket.
In the return of darkness after the candlelight above, she blindly felt her way along, past the other caskets, smack into the tunnel door she was certain had been left open. That man who gave them away must have closed it behind him. Where was the latch to it? Sandys had had trouble with it yesterday, and he’d had a lit lantern in his hand.
In the return of darkness after the candlelight above, she blindly felt her way along, past the other caskets, smack into the tunnel door she was certain had been left open. That man who gave them away must have closed it behind him. Where was the latch to it? Sandys had had trouble with it yesterday, and he’d had a lit lantern in his hand.
At first when the paving stone over the top of the crypt shuddered and began to roll aside, she felt relief. Clifford and Jenks must have prevailed above, however badly they were outmanned, and they were opening the ceiling crypt to help her.
In the dimmest of candle glow from above, which seemed so bright at first it almost dazzled her, stood two men. One went back to the fight, so only a huge, broad-shouldered, hooded figure loomed overhead, holding a crossbow and drawing a bolt from his quiver.
The noise of a sword fight and the grunts and cries of men still sounded above her. Should she scream for Drake and give herself and him away, or would the others all charge him and her then? Besides, she could hear him still fighting on the stairs. Surely someone would see and stop this demon who bent his knees to peer down at her.
He cranked the bowstring taut with his foot in the rachet stirrup, fitted a bolt, and aimed at her. She leaped aside, crouching behind the closest casket, pressing to the wall next to the escape door as he shifted his position above and let the arrow fly.
It zinged at her, glanced sideways off the casket, then her chest armor, hit the wall somewhere, and skittered beneath her feet.
“Like a hawk diving at a pretty little dove,” he said in a guttural, unearthly but taunting voice. “Or like fish in a barrel instead of a queen in a coach.”
He knew it was she! Was he supernatural?
As she heard him crank the crossbow again, she felt madly for the latch, found it, and lifted it as the second arrow pinged into the crypt with a clatter against a lead casket. Elizabeth yanked open the door and tore down the tunnel, praying not
only that she would be safe but that her men and her dear Drake would somehow escape the overwhelming onslaught.
only that she would be safe but that her men and her dear Drake would somehow escape the overwhelming onslaught.
S
ix of them to their four, Drake thought, now that he’d killed the one who had touched the queen. Not good odds, but he knew the queen’s men would be skilled with a sword, except perhaps that actor of hers, and if he ended up dead, poor Meg would be bound for Bedlam at best.
ix of them to their four, Drake thought, now that he’d killed the one who had touched the queen. Not good odds, but he knew the queen’s men would be skilled with a sword, except perhaps that actor of hers, and if he ended up dead, poor Meg would be bound for Bedlam at best.
He parried, thrust, moved, putting everything into it. Despite the fact the enemy had left four candles burning on the distant altar, it was so damned dim in here. Worse, he had to fight up the steps while his opponent leaned down to hack at him.
He was quite sure this was the Spanish-speaking man he battled, and that fed his fury. He imagined he fought hand-to-hand combat on the
Judith,
that he had stayed to fight in the battle with the Spanish dogs, but he knew he had to get to the queen, escape with her to protect her. When their swords met and held for one moment, Drake heaved the Spaniard away, shoving him up the steps, where he tripped him and ran him through. He’d half expected it to be someone he’d recognize, but it wasn’t.
Judith,
that he had stayed to fight in the battle with the Spanish dogs, but he knew he had to get to the queen, escape with her to protect her. When their swords met and held for one moment, Drake heaved the Spaniard away, shoving him up the steps, where he tripped him and ran him through. He’d half expected it to be someone he’d recognize, but it wasn’t.
“Jenks, Clifford!” he shouted. “Lights out! To the tunnel!” The two big men took his meaning. Jenks ran his weapon through the altar candles. When one rolled to the stone floor, still lit, Clifford, swinging his sword in a wide arc to hold off his attackers, stomped it out.
Just before he fled, Drake thought that the full moon through the ivy-laced stained glass window looked like an evil eye glaring at him. In the dark, from memory, the queen’s men raced toward the tunnel to follow her out and, perhaps, to seal the others in here.
Drake tripped over his opponent’s body and twisted his ankle on the steps, then bumped into someone on his way into the crypt below. “Jenks?”
“Aye, Captain. Lead on. Clifford?” he bellowed.
“Here!” the yeoman called, and evidently swung his way
down into the crypt through its open roof stone to join them. Now how had that got open? Drake wondered.
down into the crypt through its open roof stone to join them. Now how had that got open? Drake wondered.
Their luck held, Drake rejoiced as they started down the tunnel, though it was now pitch-black. Had the queen snuffed the lights, or had the man who’d given them away done that?
Drake hit into the closed door at the other end so hard he bit his tongue. “Ugh!” he woofed out. “I know she wouldn’t have closed it on us. Someone must have either followed her out or been waiting out there for her. Here, reach around me, one of you, to see if we can budge it.”
He and Jenks tried. Again. Again, to no avail.
By my faith,
Drake thought,
since it doesn’t have a lock, someone must have rolled that tree trunk in front of it, and the queen could not have managed that.
By my faith,
Drake thought,
since it doesn’t have a lock, someone must have rolled that tree trunk in front of it, and the queen could not have managed that.
He spoke again, though he tasted bitter blood in his mouth. “We’ll have to hope we don’t get sealed in here from the other end, that we can fight our way back into the church, then find a way out to reach her, and fast—for someone must have followed her outside.”
“We’re good as trapped here if those men be waiting for us when we go back,” came Clifford’s voice.
“We have no choice, no choice at all. If it weren’t for her safety, I’d have stayed to fight, not fled. Back, men. Swords raised, back.”
H
er brain going as fast as her feet, Elizabeth ran deeper into the woods. She wanted to flee toward the town, but who could she rouse to let her in at this late hour? The road to the Vyne was too open, and her horses tethered far into the woods.
er brain going as fast as her feet, Elizabeth ran deeper into the woods. She wanted to flee toward the town, but who could she rouse to let her in at this late hour? The road to the Vyne was too open, and her horses tethered far into the woods.
Her first impulse had been to take one of the conspirators’ horses, but they had shied away from her. No time. The Hawk pursued her. She pictured the hunting scene she’d witnessed many times: With talons outstretched, a hawk dove toward its hapless prey to rend it apart.
She ran headlong into the thick, dark woods, the last place
she wanted to be chased, but if she could reach her own horses or at least hide here until help came …
she wanted to be chased, but if she could reach her own horses or at least hide here until help came …
Footsteps behind her, spitting leaves under boots. The Hooded Hawk was flesh and blood, hired by … By Norfolk? Her cousin Mary? King Philip or the Spanish ambassador? Someone even closer? She had no illusions now that the killer had ever pursued Drake. The murderous missiles had not come from John Hawkins or one of his men. She had always been the target, first to be terrified and now to be slain.
A cramp seized her side. She’d never outrun him. Like a great bird of prey, could he see in the dark? Closer—she was certain he was coming closer, flapping his wings.
Trying not to gasp aloud for breath, she stopped and pressed herself to the far side of a huge tree. Evidently, when he heard her steps cease he stopped, too, nearby.
The breeze rustled through the leaves above. She heard the owl cry and the cuckoo she’d noted before—and, she thought, the distant sobs of a woman, or was she just going mad in her fear?
“Here, here, here,” she heard whispered, as if the forest were giving her position away. That was what old Hern the Hunter had said he heard when the Hooded Hawk passed through the woods at night before he struck: “Here, here, here.”
As she sucked in shallow breaths to prepare to run again, she heard the distinctive sound of the crossbow string being stretched taut by the foot stirrup crank. She could not see him, but did he have her in his sight?
Panicked, thinking he’d be delayed by his foot in the crank, she ran.
He came after her, even as a vine snagged her steps and she went down. She hit her head on a tree root in a spot the moon shone through. Her cape splayed out; her armor not only clanked but gleamed dully.
“Here, here, here,” the man whispered as he stopped and stood over her. “Here lies the present and former queen, for this must be done.”
His voice was still disguised, yet did she know it?
“Get away from me. My men will catch you.”
“They’re trapped, just waiting to be picked off with my bow when I’m done here. Ah, if only I had one of old Hern’s fine longbows I took from him at night. My grandfather taught me to shoot it well—the crossbow, too. Sadly, both are dying arts.”
He laughed low in his throat at his demented pun. The demon was enjoying all this. Could someone kill simply for pleasure? Perhaps she could keep him talking until help came or she found a way out of this trap.
“You don’t mean your grandfather was old Hern?” she asked.
“He knew Hern years ago and told me of the Hooded Hawk, so, off and on, I brought him back to life this summer.” He began to crank his crossbow again. “I would have shot you in the heart to make it faster, but your armor is in my way. A head shot will have to do. I do regret that part of all this—such a close and easy shot.”
“But why are you doing this? Did the Scots queen send you?”
“Hawks don’t explain themselves. They are simply trained when young, follow their master’s orders, and want their rewards.”
“You—are you just a hired man, then? If so, you know I can pay you more than anyone else.”
“You once called me a hireling. I didn’t like that. Besides, first you’d bribe me, then take off my hood and hang me high.”
“Keenan!” she cried.
“Always clever, always sly. They told me that. Then I saw it at such close range—even this close to you. Oh, I was well paid, but best of all, my skill with the bows was finally appreciated—feared. I’d rather send my own messages instead of carry them for someone else, and this is what I say: The true Catholic Church must rule not only France and Spain but England and Scotland, too …”
He raved on as if a dam had been loosed, but he also lifted the crossbow at such close range and aimed it straight for her head. She raised a hand to ward off the bolt, but she knew she was doomed.
Strange how pictures truly did flash through her mind. Her
father’s face, angry, fearsome. Her brother, so dear, and how they used to laugh together. Her beloved Kat Ashley, who had reared her in place of her lost mother. Robin. Dear Cecil, who had been a father to her. She’d meant to honor him with a title but now never would. She had lived through so much to be queen. In this last moment of her life, she was yet queen.
father’s face, angry, fearsome. Her brother, so dear, and how they used to laugh together. Her beloved Kat Ashley, who had reared her in place of her lost mother. Robin. Dear Cecil, who had been a father to her. She’d meant to honor him with a title but now never would. She had lived through so much to be queen. In this last moment of her life, she was yet queen.
“Stand back!” she ordered him, but he only leaned closer. As he moved to release the bolt, she jerked aside, he straddled her hips with his feet to hold her still, she heard a thud-twang, and …
As his own shot went wild, into the tree behind her, he crumpled over, writhing and gasping atop her with an arrow through his throat.
Elizabeth kicked and shoved him away and scrambled free as Meg and Piers burst from the dark thicket. Sim was with them, too, a small bow and arrow in his hands. Shaking, the lad fitted another short arrow in the painted bow.
“Wait,” the queen cried. “He’s down, and I want him alive.”
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