C. Gortner: The Tudor Conspiracy

I knew the rest of the story; I had lived it. I’d barely survived it. Even so, the final question had to be asked, though it seemed unnecessary now, almost irrelevant.

“Are you my father?”

He did not answer at once. The wind rustled through the branches above us, a flock of birds scattered overhead. Our mounts stamped their hooves, ears upright to the sounds of awakening nature. Urian trotted back to us, panting and covered in mud.

“Yes,” he finally said. “I suppose I must be.” He rubbed his chin, as though the thought perturbed him. “I should never have kept the truth from you. I suspected you had returned the night you were eavesdropping on the earl and the princess, but I wasn’t sure. Then you appeared in the brothel, and I recognized you immediately. I thought, here he is. Here is my second chance. But I’d never expected to see you again, and you thought I was dead. I’d changed so much; I didn’t want to do what I knew I must.”

“So instead you followed me,” I said. “You still tried to protect me.”

He chuckled. “Didn’t do a very good job of it, did I? I’d seen the earl exchanging missives with couriers; I knew he’d become involved in something dangerous, helping Robert Dudley in the Tower. I figured, whatever had brought you back to court, you’d soon be in over your head. Old habits never die: I wanted to keep you safe.” He reached into his jerkin and extracted a small silk-cloth packet, tied with a frayed ribbon. “This belongs to you.” He put it in my palm. “I’ve kept it all these years.”

I closed my fingers over it. I didn’t need to open it to know what the packet contained: the jeweled leaf meant for Lady Dudley, which he never gave her.

“Thank you,” I said softly. I shifted nearer to him. He stayed immobile as I slowly put my arms around him. I held him close; though I didn’t look up, I heard him choke back a sob.

“Ah, lad,” he murmured, and his hand came up to caress my hair.

I finally had my past.

Now I could look to my future.