The Fugitive's Sword, page 15
part #1 of Lord's Learning Series
“I am sure it will not keep you from your pursuits for long,” Kate said, but in all truth, she thought the king looked far from well.
“We’ll see what God wills.” The king made an almost dismissive gesture, as if his health was irrelevant. “Now, just so you know, I dinnae bring you here to talk about that letter you carried. I’ll be writing myself and saying my piece to my daughter. But to set your mind at rest, since I’m sure you’ll be wanting to know.” He reached for a document set on the inlaid table beside him on which was a small pile of books. When Kate hesitated, he shook it. “Here, read, woman.”
Obediently, Kate took the paper from the king’s hand and read it through.
It was a copy of an undertaking signed by Mansfeld in which he solemnly promised to do nothing to harm the king’s friends and allies, naming in particular the King of Spain and the Infanta Isabella. That he would employ the troops he had been granted solely for the recovery of the states of the Prince Palatine. It concluded by saying that were Mansfeld to do otherwise he would justly incur the king’s disfavour and forfeit his position and pay.
“So does that set your heart at ease?”
It was everything Kate could have hoped for and if she had not heard the whispered words of Lord Brooke, it would indeed have been a relief—both to know that the king had anticipated that Mansfeld might try to use the troops for other ends and that he had done what he could to prevent that happening. But she had heard those words, and their poison was still running deep.
“That is indeed reassuring, your majesty,” Kate agreed and summoned a smile. “Let us hope that once the army is abroad, even in the face of persuasive blandishments the count will hold to it.”
But a little to Kate’s surprise, it seemed the king had even thought of that.
“He’ll nae have much choice. He may be a German mercenary, but his colonels are all Englishmen, and they’ll do what I tell them or they’ll face the consequences.”
The tone of voice in which he said it prompted Kate to smile again, but this time it was genuine.
“You are wise indeed, majesty,” she said and handed the document back to the king, who dropped it on the pile of books, the top one of which Kate could see was Caxton’s The Game and Playe of Chesse. It was also obvious that the copy the king had was an old and valuable one.
“Well now, I dinnae make this meeting privy just to keep the court from clacking on. There is something I need you to do for me—that I won’t be trusting to those who are about me.”
“I am your majesty’s servant,” Kate assured him, dipping into another deep curtsey.
“Faff!” The king snorted. “Let’s not start this with lies. You’re my daughter’s servant and we both know it. And that’s how it should be. You’ll likely not know this, but my George wanted you for his brother Kit. I was to keep you from leaving England when you came last, but I could see no good end to it so I dinnae detain you and Kit was married fairly enough anyways.”
Kate shivered although the room was very warm. She was sure that her face must have paled and hoped the king’s eyesight was not acute enough to notice. Why the king had done such a thing she could not begin to guess. Usually he was quick to grant Buckingham anything—and anyone—that he wanted.
“I am indeed your daughter’s most loyal servant,” she said quickly. “But then she is always your most devoted and obedient child so whatever you might command she will also wish to see done.”
The king laughed—a coarse cackling sound—and wiped a droplet of spittle from the side of his mouth.
“I see you are indeed her creature,” he said, “and I know she holds you in high regard.” Then he gestured to the man who stood by the door. “You’ll get me some of that wine we had last night?”
The man bowed and slipped out through the door, leaving the two of them alone. Kate felt a frisson as she knew now that, whatever this meeting was about, it was something that it would be dangerous to have anyone know.
“He’s a loyal man,” the king said and struggled to his feet. Cursing, he grabbed for the silver topped cane which had been leaning against his chair. Kate resisted the urge to step in and help him rise. She had a feeling he might respond by using the cane for more than just support if she did.
Having managed to stand, the king seemed able to walk quite well leaning on the cane and he crossed over to the wall where three portraits hung. These were smaller and less well lit than the ones Kate had noticed as she walked in and she did not recognise any of the faces in them. But one in particular stood out. It showed a youth of perhaps fifteen or sixteen, clad in peacock blue silk with a dramatic lace collar. His hair was so pale that it looked white, but what really stood out was the brilliance of his gaze. He had startlingly bright eyes, like pale turquoise gemstones that gazed out of the picture challenging the viewer. It spoke of a self-confidence that touched upon arrogance and commanded attention.
“He’s not got a face you’d forget, eh?”
Kate shook her head. It would be hard to forget one so young with such a commanding appearance. Then remembered herself. “He indeed looks most distinctive.”
“Looks distinctive?” The king laughed his cackling laugh again, then shook his head. “You should hear when he opens his mouth.”
There was an edge of emotion in the king’s voice that caught Kate off guard, and she glanced at him rather too quickly and directly. Fortunately, he was still gazing at the portrait and missed her faux pas. But it gave her a moment to study his face and she saw the line of his jaw tighten and tremble slightly in a way that made her think he was working to contain his feelings. Whoever this was in the painting it was someone for whom the king clearly had some affection and concern.
He turned a bit too abruptly and staggered, catching himself on his cane. Kate instinctively put out a hand, but he batted it away and moved back to his chair, settling himself on it again. Then he reached over to the table and lifted the cover of The Game and Playe of Chesse and took a small flat package from it. He held it out to Kate.
An intricately folded letter, impossible to open without tearing, and so, as secure as it could be made from anyone tampering with it. The only visible writing was a name scribed in a deft hand—Philip Lord. It took Kate a moment to recall where she had heard the name before. Then she remembered. There was evidence found that he might have been conspiring in an assassination plot against the king himself. Philip Lord was the traitor who had fled before the evidence of his perfidy could be given to the king.
The king nodded at the packet.
“That’s who you were just looking at. Distinctive, you said, and I hope he is, because I need him found and given that and no one to know.”
Kate opened her mouth to protest, but the king held up a finger.
“I’m not asking you to seek him out, yerself. But I have word he landed from England somewhere in the Low Countries and I want you to tell my daughter to find him—offer a reward if she must—whatever it takes. Then she’s to hand him that letter and see he’s given a decent start. Here,” he slipped a gold ring with a ruby from his finger and grabbing Kate’s hand pushed it onto her own, “and he’s to have that. I’ll be sending her some money to give to him, but this needs to be kept from all eyes except his. You do understand that?”
Still not quite sure what she was being asked to do and even more confused as to why, Kate nodded and slipped the packet out of sight. “I promise none shall know of this except my queen when I return to her.”
“Yer a good lassie.” The king sat back and sighed. “Jealousy is an evil thing. It brings men to terrible deeds.” Whether he would have said more, Kate was uncertain, but at that moment the discreet servant returned with the requested wine.
“I’ll not be offering you any as you need to leave,” the king told her. “You better get on the road back and find an inn. It would not be wise for you to be here longer than you must.”
Dismissed, Kate curtseyed deeply.
“I will return to Den Haag as soon as I have your majesty’s permission to depart England,” she said, wondering if now the chance to go home was being handed to her she was so happy to take it under the circumstances.
“You already have it, but I’ll be sure to get your leave to do so written up and delivered as soon as I am back in Whitehall and can find the man to write it for me,” the king assured her. “I sent him ahead with the rest.”
The formal farewells made, Kate was right by the door and about to step through it when the king spoke again.
“Find the lad for me and make sure he knows it was none of my doing. If only he’d stayed, then perhaps…” The king sighed again and shook his head before waving a hand in dismissal. “Go, go.”
Kate went.
She was escorted back through the antechamber and past the curious eyes of those in the grand chamber. As they walked its length, the discreet gentleman spoke to her in a voice that sounded as if he had meant it for her ears only, but which easily reached those nearest of the curious.
“I do apologise for your wasted journey, my lady. His majesty had thought he would be able to receive you and hear your petition today. Perhaps when he is recovered, he will be able to see you. If you would like, I can make arrangements for you to stay tonight rather than take the road back to London so soon.”
Having spent half the day riding already Kate was not relishing the return ride but the king’s warning was fresh in her ears, so she gracefully declined the offer and instead waited stoically as the horses and her escort were brought around. Two more men had been thoughtfully provided which decided Kate that she would ride for Harington House even if it meant arriving after dark.
As she rode through deteriorating weather she wondered if she should tell Lucy the truth or not. But then she recalled the king’s words that had been presented as a sign of the esteem in which he held her but were as much a declaration that she was in his debt on a very personal level—and were also a clear, if covert, threat.
You’ll likely not know this, but my George wanted you for his brother Kit. I was to keep you from leaving England when you came last…
Kate could, of course, refuse any proposed match, but there were no end of problems that could be made for her were she to do so in defiance of the king’s wishes, not least that her ability to come and go between Den Haag and England was solely in his gift. The thought was enough that when she reached Harington House and Lucy asked her what his majesty had wanted she stuck to the lie the discreet gentleman had provided, saying she had waited for a time but not been able to see the king as he was indisposed with gout and needing to rest.
The next day the king returned to Whitehall and the court moved into its Christmas season. Kate was swept along with Lucy into the inevitable swirl of events, whilst she waited for the king to send her written leave to return to Den Haag.
Chapter Ten
Jorrit’s early days on the ship, from the moment he and the Schiavono were kicked awake that first morning, were the worst days he could recall of his entire life. He could never remember having been as exhausted and afraid for so long. Forced to work so hard that his muscles were crying out to be spared and his flesh was bruised from casual beatings.
Whatever the pecking order was on the ship Jorrit was sure he was at the very bottom of it. He learned that the ship was run by Captain Vroomen and the Ship’s Master Carrasco, a Spaniard. Then there was Bootsman Dirkx who kept the crew in order. Of those three Master Carrasco seemed the nicest. He never spoke to Jorrit, of course, but sometimes Jorrit saw him talking to the Schiavono, a thoughtful expression on his face. There were other men with ranks as well but as far as Jorrit was concerned everyone could, and did, order him around.
It could have been worse, he knew.
It could have been a lot worse.
If it wasn’t for the Schiavono.
One night a couple of days after they had arrived on the ship, one of the crewmen had come over to where he and the Schiavono were sleeping and shaken him roughly awake.
“Come with me.”
Jorrit had already learned the price of not obeying fast enough so clambered blearily to his feet without asking why.
But the Schiavono was suddenly there, standing between them.
“What do you want him for?”
“What do you think?” The sailor gave a strange laugh that lacked humour but held something else. The laugh Jorrit had heard men share when they talked about the way a woman looked.
“He’s mine,” the Schiavono said, and something in Jorrit lurched at that. No one, not even Moeder Machteld, had ever said that he belonged with them.
“So? What’s that to do with anything? Tell you what, if you are so careful of him, I’ll have you instead.”
It was dark so Jorrit didn’t see when the Schiavono moved but he heard the gasp as he punched the breath from the other man. Then the two were struggling, wrestling and shouts went up around them.
It had not ended well.
Neither the Schiavono nor the other man would tell the captain who started the fight or what it was about. So, the next day he had them both flogged. No one thought to ask Jorrit, but he would not have said even if they had asked. He did not understand why the Schiavono would not say what had happened, but he would have died rather than betray him in any way.
After it was done, the Schiavono lay face down on his mat for two days. The ugly weals left by the whip were covered with some greasy lotion that one of the other men brought for Jorrit to use saying it would help the wounds to heal.
On the third day Captain Vroomen ordered the Schiavono back to work, despite his back still being raw and cut. Jorrit tried to do more so the Schiavono would have to do less, but it seemed there was always more work than time or men to do it. Jorrit could not imagine the pain it caused the Schiavono. Sometimes Jorrit saw him draw a sharper breath or his eyes would widen abruptly, but he never complained.
After that though, the man who had fought with the Schiavono seemed to treat him with a strange respect. And as he was one of the men who others in the crew seemed to hold in regard, the rest began to do the same.
As if he had passed some kind of test.
When Jorrit asked him about it as they lay side by side on the mat where they slept, sharing a blanket and bodily warmth, the Schiavono answered briefly.
“I saved his life,” he said.
But Jorrit could not see how that had happened.
“Why did you?”
For a long time, he thought he would get no answer. Then he realised that was because the Schiavono had been thinking.
“Someone once told me,” the Schiavono said at last, “that life is like a game of chess. It is not enough to consider what you most want or need right now. You have to keep thinking at least three or four moves ahead—more if you can. That is how you survive and prosper.”
Jorrit had never learned to play chess but thought he understood. It was only a very long time after that he realised, he really hadn’t grasped how it was for the Schiavono at all.
Star of the Sea was a strange ship of a kind Jorrit had never seen before. She was not a small ship like a fishing boat but was also not as huge as a galleon. She was narrow compared to other ships of a similar length and looked as though she sat low in the water compared to other vessels as big, since she only had two decks, with no high castles fore or aft. Of course, there were sails which all had names that Jorrit struggled at first to learn, there were cannons set on the deck to fire through loops in the side and between those were the oars. That meant when the wind did not favour them, the ship could still manoeuvre and close in on its prey.
It was, he learned later, a new kind of ship called a fragata—and it had been specially designed and built to attack the Dutch merchantmen in the Narrow and North Seas. This one had been built in Dunkirk by a shipbuilder who was to have been paid by the Spanish king. When the payment didn’t come, he had gathered investors, men Jorrit learned were called armateurs, and equipped it to be something like a pirate ship. But a pirate ship working only for the Spanish to take enemy ships at sea. Any profits they made were divided between the authorities, the owners and the men who had invested in the ship. Captain Vroomen was both a part owner and one of the armateurs himself, as was the ship’s master, Master Carrasco. The rest of the crew were paid for their work but would also receive a small share in any prizes they might take.
The first attack on another ship Jorrit ever witnessed was a little over a week after the floggings. It took place as dusk faded into night and the sea was quiet, with a breeze more gentle than was usual for the time of year. There was a small moon, darting in and out of patches of cloud hanging over it like a veil. The captain had been following a Dutch ship for much of the afternoon, playing a simple trick to avoid attention by flying a Danish flag. It meant they were not seen as a danger and could approach close enough that it would be hard for the other ship to flee once their true intentions were revealed.
As the dark and cloud took them from view, the captain ordered all lights doused. Then, had the crew use the oars so they could slip near with no betraying weight of sail to stand out in moonlight. The Schiavono was set to rowing, but Jorrit was too small for that. He knew he’d be ignored as long as he kept out of the way. So, he watched from the shelter of the half deck in front of the cabins, as the predatory Star, silent as a sleek shadow swept along on a black sea and, pulling against the wind, crept up on the unsuspecting Dutch ship.
They might have managed to get even closer than they did, but a cloud that had been covering the moon chose to lift at the wrong moment. They were close enough then that Jorrit, heart in his mouth, heard the shout of warning from a seaman on the other ship.
The Dutch ship tried to bear away but was forced to sail into the wind to do so. Now Jorrit saw how the oars gave the Star her advantage. She leapt forward like a pouncing cat. Then it seemed hell itself had opened up and exploded around him. The guns belched fire and the echoes were shredded by shrieks of agony and fear from the other ship. The captain was shouting orders for shipping the oars, reloading the guns and positioning the boarding party ready to jump. The men of Star of the Sea responded to his commands as if they were his limbs.
