Gregory House - The Cardinal's Angels

Ned thought realised that now would a splendid time to hold his peace as Mistress Black snorted with disapproval before carrying on. “Then since both leaders had gone a few took the opportunity to run off. A final knot tried to take us on when Roger had been knocked out.” She made a waving motion in the general direction of a building across the courtyard. “He’s resting in the tavern-should be right in a day or so.”

Ned found himself sourly reflecting on the inequity of the situation-Gruesome Roger was tucked up in a bed while all he got was the floor of a blacksmithy and a steaming hot iron. There was some moral in there somewhere, but for the life of him he couldn’t see what it was.

Mistress Black, maintaining the glower in her brother’s direction, returned to the story. “Then my dear brother fell back into his wicked brawling ways and lost his temper! Robert screamed like one possessed and charged them swinging that chain of his.”

The story shuddered to an abrupt halt as Mistress Black delivered the most disapproving frown Ned had yet witnessed. Her brother visibly cringed, no mean feat for a lad well over six feet tall. “So they bolted and you know the rest.”

And here endeth the sermon, Ned thought wryly to himself. From Mistress Black’s choice of language Ned got the distinct impression that she was waxing wrathful at Rob for losing his temper. What a lack of sisterly deference and respect! But Ned supposed that was Mistress Black all over, a forward and contrary lass if there ever was one. In truth Rob Black’s defence far surpassed his cowering in the woods, though it would be best not to dwell too much on his part of the affair.

“Well done Rob! This would have been for naught without you!”

Despite the continuing frowning censure of his sister, Rob seemed to take the praise well and visibly swelled with pride.

“Where are we?”

That was the third time he’d asked and once more it was the efficient Mistress Black who answered while packing away various vials and flasks in a her small satchel. “At the Crown’s Hart in a village called Grafton Regis, half a mile south of the manor where the King is staying.”

“Well there’s no time like the present to see the King.” Ned strained to push himself up using the post behind him as support.

Rob came to his aid and without visible effort picked him up. According to the opinion of Mistress Black, Skelton and Don Sebastian were incapable of following, though that left two or more of their pursers still in the chase. As far as Ned was concerned that was two too many. They were running out of time. It was a half hour ride to the safety of the King’s presence, and they must try now.

Leaning on Rob and trailed by Mistress Black who was joined by two of Gryne’s Men as escort, Ned limped into the courtyard and over towards their horses. It was then that Ned beheld it and his mouth dropped open in surprise. It was just magnificent standing there in all its equine glory at about fifteen hands high, the most beautiful horse he had ever seen-Don Juan Sebastian’s chestnut stallion.

“H-how?” And that was about as far as he got. He limped over and let the beast sniff his hand before running it softly down the beautifully arched neck. He felt velvety suppleness with the suggestion of strong muscles underneath.

Rob lent across and checked the girth straps. “Meg suggested that it would serve as payment for her services and the affray. Don Sebastian readily agreed even signing a bill of exchange-to you.”

Ned reminded himself to keep a wary distance from Rob’s sister if ever he came into a modest bequest or else he’d find himself signed away to debtor’s prison. That thought didn’t stop him from running his hand down silky smooth coat of the horse’s neck to his massive shoulder. This was certainly some compensation. A horse like this must be worth two hundred or so angels, though considering the look of him, any lord would willingly part with four hundred.

It was then Ned thought of the elegancy of Mistress Black’s solution. It would be impossible for the Spaniard to claim that the beast had been stolen or he’d been cony-catched. To do so would make his part in the ambush common knowledge. Ned chuckled at the idea. Don Juan Sebastian would be down on two counts. Firstly there was attempted assault on the King’s road. That was a hanging offence all by itself, but the second truly was more damaging to him personally. Don Juan Sebastian had planned and then failed to pull off the perfect trap against a motley collection of the despised English. If that were to get about his reputation would be in tatters. Ned was really going to enjoy riding this horse. It would go well with the poniard the Spaniard had so thoughtfully provided him.

Rob returned his discarded belt, sword and the cursed satchel before kindly giving him a boost up into the saddle followed by their remaining party mounting the rest of their horses.

“Let get this over with.” Ned tried to sound brave and determined, but distinct overtones of pain and weariness spoiled the statement.

It had only been a single night in the village, but in that time Mistress Black had found out more details about the place than any spy. In the short distance to the manor Ned was given all the local tales including how it was the ancestral home of the Woodvilles, His Majesty’s mother’s family. Ned had to think for a moment to place that in context and realised that it must mean the home of Elizabeth Woodville who’d secretly married King Edward IV. There were quite a lot of tales about her. She was reputed to have been a beauty, but this was overshadowed by rumours of witchcraft. It was safer not to mention those tales here-the King’s majesty was very touchy about his ancestry.

Mistress Black had also gained a comprehensive report on the progress of the King’s rebuilding program. Damn, she was better than any spy. As befitting the expansive qualities of His Sovereign Majesty, the manor was being extended and the view from the lane verified this, with a mass of scaffolding and the rhythmic ringing of hammer on chisel from the stone masons.

Ned was tired, sore and his shoulder kept on throbbing. It should have been so simple-just ride up, announce that they bore a message for Lady Anne, wave the Cardinal’s seal if needed and that was it. Of course real life didn’t prove to be quite so simple.

As expected the royal guards stopped them at the gate. They relayed their business and one of the pair walked off to find someone in authority to dump it onto so he could go back to looking intimidating and scratching his bum.

It was a quarter of an hour or just under before they had an answer to their request. Twenty armed guards marched into view, ten at least equipped with the formidable war bow. Just to give meaning to their intension the bows were strung and arrows held at rest though ready for the draw. The captain stepped forward, and in tones that brooked no delay, commanded them to dismount and hand over their arms. After strolling into the Tower with narry a glance, this struck Ned as being more like the security he expected around the Monarch of England, though a sideways glance at Mistress Black gave him a fleeting moment of doubt. She looked worried.

Small groups of courtiers stood to one side loudly boasting of their kills during the morning’s hunt and turned to watch as they were escorted past them to the large manor house. Complaining servants carried tapestry rolls and clusters of workmen covered in fine stone dust were hammering in propping beams of timber. The royal progress was busier than the Tower. Ned was amazed. According to the tales of Will Coverdale, which he had often considered largely embroidered for their benefit, this should all be stately order and decorum.