Gillian Bagwell - The King’s Mistress

“We must go another way,” John Petre said to Henry.

“They’ve seen us already,” Henry objected. “To turn off now will bring suspicion upon us. I think it safer to continue as though we’ve nothing to fear. And we must cross the river here.”

He started forward, but John Petre grabbed his arm and shook his head obstinately.

“You weren’t beaten by Oliver’s men like I was a while back, for no reason but that they suspected me to be a Royalist. I don’t relish more of the same, and I’ll not take Withy into danger.”

Jane could sense the king’s tension. He leaned back and spoke into her ear.

“Lascelles is right. If we turn back now, it will bring them down upon us. We must go forward.” He clucked to the horse and they pulled abreast of Henry.

“Surely we must ride on,” Jane said to Henry urgently.

Withy turned over her shoulder, shaking her head. “You ride where you’ve a mind to, Jane, but we’ll take a different way.”

“But they see us,” Jane pleaded. “Look.”

They were within a quarter of a mile of the troops now. Men sat or sprawled in the shade of trees, their horses munching at feed bags, and faces were turned towards the approaching riders.

John Petre reined to a halt. “The road we crossed not half a mile back will bring us into Stratford by another way. We’ll take that.”

He doubled back the way they had come.

Henry shook his head in frustration but turned his horse, and there was nothing for it but for the king and Jane to follow. Jane fretted inwardly, but she and Henry had no convincing argument for their urgency, and the king could say nothing.

The road was narrow and led into a wood, but John Petre seemed to know where he was going, and when no sound of pursuing hooves followed them, Jane began to relax again. In half an hour the track curved to the right, passed through a tiny hamlet, and the village of Stratford-upon-Avon lay before them. Soon they would be across the river and free of Withy and John Petre.

“Hell and death,” the king muttered as they rounded a bend.

Jane glanced ahead and felt her stomach drop. The narrow road through the village was thick with horses—the same troop of cavalry they had turned off the road to avoid. Jane’s instinct was to flee, but the soldiers had spotted them, and now there was truly no way but forward without giving the appearance of flight. Henry and the king exchanged the minutest glance and nod, and Henry held back the roan gelding and fell into place behind the grey mare.

The troops were just ahead now, and Jane noted with horror that the broadsheet with the woodcut of the king and announcing the reward for his capture fluttered from a post at the side of the road. Her arms tightened around the king’s waist.

The troopers were turning to look at the approaching party. One officer leaned towards another and they exchanged words, their eyes on the king. Henry took his reins in one hand and the other dropped towards his pistol.

Don’t be a fool, Jane thought. If you draw now, we will all die.

There was some shuffling movement among the mounted men. This is it , Jane thought. We’ve not come even a day’s journey, and already we are lost. An officer raised an arm, glancing around him, and she felt the king stiffen, bracing for an attack.

“Give way there!” the officer cried.

John Petre checked his horse, but the officer’s eyes were on his troops.

“Make way there! Way for the ladies!” he called.

The troopers parted, clearing a narrow lane between them, just wide enough for a single horse to pass through. John Petre and Withy were between them now, and Jane could see that Withy was clutching her husband tightly.

“Good day to you, sir,” John Petre greeted the officer as they passed, his voice strained.

“And you, sir,” the officer replied. Suddenly he frowned, and put up a hand. “Hold, sir, if you please.”

His eyes took in Withy and her husband, Jane and the king, and Henry behind them.

“Where do you travel, sir?”

“Home, sir,” John Petre said. “From a visit to my wife’s family.”

He dug in the pocket of his coat and pulled out the pass for his and Withy’s travel. Jane could see that the back of his coat was dark with sweat . Don’t panic, she willed him, and all will be well.

The officer glanced at the paper and handed it back.

“Very good, sir, travel on.”

His eyes moved to Jane and the king and she held her breath. Perhaps the officer would not trouble himself to check to see that all of them held passes. Her stomach tightened as she recalled that Henry had no pass. She and the king were nearly past the officer now, and he was making no move to stop them. But it could be a trap, she thought. The cavalry could easily close in around her and the king, and it would be futile to fight. She felt the eyes of the men on either side of the road following her.

She forced herself to look into the officer’s face, and gave him a bright smile, trying to still the beating of her heart. He swept his hat from his head and bowed.

“Your servant, Mistress.”

She nodded in reply. The smile froze on her face as the officer’s hand went to the pommel of the saddle.

“Hold, fellow.”

The king reined in the horse. John Petre halted ahead, and Henry of necessity stopped as well. They were surrounded now, their way blocked by the mounted cavalrymen ahead and behind them.

The officer glanced at the king and then at Jane.

“I’m sorry to trouble you, Mistress, but I’m obliged to ask if you have a pass for your travels. These are dangerous times for a lady to be abroad without good reason.”

“I—yes,” Jane stammered. “My—my cousin bears my pass.”

She looked to where Henry sat on the roan. Why, oh, why, had she not carried her pass herself?

Henry rode forward, his face pleasantly bland.

“This is the lady’s pass,” he said, reaching into his pocket. “And here is my own.”

Jane held back a gasp of surprise.

The officer glanced at Jane’s pass and then at her.

“You travel to Abbots Leigh, Mistress?”

“Yes, sir.”

“That’s quite a ways from Staffordshire. What might take you so far?”

Jane strove to keep her voice calm. “I go to see a friend, who is shortly to be brought to bed of her first child.”

She knew her face was flushed, and hoped that the officer might interpret it as embarrassment at having to speak of something so indelicate.

“I see.” His eyes flickered down the paper. “Well. I know the hand to be Colonel Stone’s.”

He glanced at Henry’s pass, and then at Henry.

Please, God, Jane prayed. Please let us go on.

The officer shook his head and spoke to Henry. “Well, I suppose Colonel Stone thought he had good reason, though was she my cousin, I’d not risk her safety on the road just now, even with a manservant along.”

“Your concern is much appreciated,” Henry said smoothly. “But I assure you, I’ll let no harm come to the lady.”

The officer brushed away a fly that threatened to land on his face, and shrugged, apparently satisfied.

“Then I’ll detain you no further. And I bid you good day. Mistress.”

He bowed again as the king clicked to the mare, and now other officers were nodding and bowing to her. She forced a smile as they rode forward. And then they were past the soldiers, and ahead of them lay the sparkling water of the River Avon, and the bridge over it.

NOT FAR ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE RIVER, WITHY AND JOHN PETRE’S way southeast parted from the road towards Long Marston, and they took their leave. Jane, Henry, and the king rode on some way in silence, as though fearing they were not truly alone. It was not until they had continued half a mile or more, the open country stretching away on either side of them, that the king finally laughed out loud in relief, and Henry and Jane joined in.