Candace ROBB - The King’s Bishop

“You need do naught but stand back from the door. I shall wake her.” Wake her so she knows death is near .

“ You wake her? You shall not!” Agnes set down her lamp with a clatter and rushed to close the door against the intruder.

Ned pushed; Agnes stumbled backwards. “Sit and behave, Agnes, and no harm will come to you.”

Whimpering, Agnes sank down on a bench near the door.

Ned grabbed the lamp and peered round the room. Little to see in the dim light, but there was no need. He saw it all in his mind, Mary sitting by the hearth, bent over her sewing… “Mistress Perrers sleeps up in the solar?”

“Aye.” Agnes sniffled. “With little John. You must not hurt little John.”

Would Mary have borne a raven-haired son ? “The child sleeps in the same room?”

“A partition separates the nurse and John from my mistress.”

It was enough information. Ned climbed the open, ladderlike stairs awkwardly, his wounded leg dragging behind the other. Another thing for which to curse Perrers. At the top, Ned came face to face with the mistress.

“Down the stairs,” Alice hissed, a knife flashing a warning. “I will not have you frightening the boy.”

Armed though she was, Ned was taken aback by how young and vulnerable Alice Perrers seemed without her courtly trappings. Still, while he backed down the stairs he looked for a perch for the light so he might draw both his daggers. He had reached his goal and would have his revenge.

The ferryman cursed as he was once again wakened from a deep sleep by his equally cranky wife. “You see to them, woman. I cannot go till I’ve had me sleep. It matters nowt who they be.”

“They be King’s men, Colm. They want to know who you ferried tonight. And they say you must ferry them straightaway, else the King will have your head!”

“He’s got everything else, why not that?” Colm grumbled, but he pulled himself out of bed, rising to find a stranger in his doorway. “King’s man? A one-eyed rogue?” Colm spat on the floor.

Owen lifted Colm up by the cloth of his shift. “You shall row us across as soon as you are clothed, and you will be silent all the way, Ferryman,” he said. “The man you ferried over earlier may be murdering one of the Queen’s ladies at this very moment.”

Alice ordered Agnes to stoke the fire. It now burned smokily. Even so, it produced some warmth. Yet Alice still clutched a length of cloth round her shoulders, much as Agnes had done. Her hair, pulled back from her face by an embroidered cap, tumbled in brown waves down her back. Not as beautiful as Mary’s raven hair. But the King’s bitch looked young with her hair down. Young, but never innocent. The cat eyes were far from innocent.

“I understand why you blame me, Ned,” Alice was saying. “But I, too, am the victim of Sir William.”

“Why were Wyndesore’s men after me?”

A thin eyebrow raised. So calm. “Captain Archer has said nothing?”

What was this? Owen knew the cause and had not said? “What are you talking about?”

“My secret marriage. Poor Mary and Daniel were witnesses. I have no proof, but–”

“You married Wyndesore?”

A modest lowering of the lashes, a brief nod. “But the King would call it treason to speak of it.”

Did he believe it? “What had I to do with it?”

Alice shrugged. “Mary might have confided in you?”

Ned closed his eyes, wiped sweat from his brow. “And Don Ambrose?”

“Officiated.”

Ned shook his head. “No matter. You handed Mary over to Wyndesore, that’s enough for me to know.”

“I did not plan for her to have aught to do with him.”

“Oh, aye, you planned to marry her off to someone better than me. She told me. But Wyndesore got to her first.”

“I meant to help Mary. Ensure that she had a good life.”

“Then why did you choose her as witness? You might have chosen Cecily or Isabeau as witness.”

“Sir William chose her, not I.”

“Stinking cow.” Ned took a step towards Alice. She flashed her knife. He reached out and knocked it from her hand, enjoying the expression of alarm on her face. “Who murdered Mary?”

Alice pulled tight her shawl, a protective gesture, shook her head. “Some of Sir William’s men, or men for hire. I swear I do not know.”

“I do not believe you, Mistress Perrers.” Ned began to toss his daggers from hand to hand.

Thoresby ordered the two guards who accompanied them to stand on either side of the door, out of sight but not of earshot. He would pretend he and Michaelo had come without escort.

A weeping maidservant opened the door. Thinking the worst, Thoresby pushed past her into the room.

“My lord Archbishop, are you come to rescue me?” Alice asked sweetly. She sat on a bench near the hearth. Ned stood behind her, one dagger to her throat, the other to her breast. Her arms appeared to be pinned at her side by a length of cloth.

Thoresby regretted the drama of his entrance. How did one reason with a cut-throat when it was plain one knew precisely what he meant to do? Why should Ned believe Thoresby would give him clemency? How could he possibly guess Thoresby would thank him for the murder of the common upstart? Or would he? Damn the woman, her soft brown hair undone, the gauzy shift. “Forgive me, Mistress Perrers, but it is Ned Townley I would save.”

“Me?”

“I swore to Captain Archer that I would give you such protection as I was able, allow time to investigate the matter. But I warn you, Townley, should you commit any violence on Mistress Perrers, the King will have your head, no matter your reason, no matter my argument.”

“He means to have it–” Ned stopped as Thoresby raised a hand to silence him.

“If my secretary speaks true, you have Bardolph and Crofter, the very men you claim can prove your innocence. Save your martyrdom for another time, a nobler cause. Mistress Perrers is not worth your life.”

Ned’s eyes suddenly moved to the door. “Your secretary? So it was Michaelo betrayed me?”

Michaelo stepped into the house. “I followed you from the inn.”

Alice shifted slightly, gave a little cry as the dagger grazed her neck. “Sweet Heaven, if you mean to slit my throat, do it and be done with me!”

The prick had drawn blood. Ned glanced at it, grinned. “Not long now, Mary,” he whispered.

Thoresby must think how to dissuade Townley from injuring Alice. It was difficult, once tempted, he knew.

“God bless you for your effort on my behalf, Brother Michaelo,” Alice said, “though it may yet come to naught. Could Agnes bring a cloth and see to my throat?”

Thoresby stared at Alice. The woman was remarkably calm.

Once over the Thames, Rufus had led Owen and company straight to Alice Perrers’s house, where they found guards standing watch. Owen identified himself as Thoresby’s captain.

“The Lord Chancellor is within, Captain Archer,” the guard whispered, “and his secretary.”

“And Mistress Perrers?”

“Aye. Captain Townley with her. He is in a murderous rage.”

“Why are you not inside?”

“His Grace ordered us to stay without and listen for his call. He has not called.”

“Townley has a skill with daggers,” the other guard said. “If we were to rush in, he would use them, I’ve no doubt.”

“Is there a rear door?”

“Aye. By the kitchen.”

“Any others?”

“Nay.”

“Alfred. Come with me. Rufus, choose two men to guard the back.”

Alfred and Owen moved round the house to the back. As they drew close to a shuttered window, a woman’s tearful voice cried, “The mistress is bleeding! Lord have mercy on us sinners! Help her!”