In Defense of the Queen Read online

  Simon did not answer, turning from her to look into the fire.

  “What is it, my friend?”

  He flinched, even though her words were soft. Turned back to her. He opened his mouth to answer, and then his gaze jerked to Parker, held there.

  Parker had opened his eyes again, his fingers rubbing at his temple.

  Simon’s shoulders slumped. “Nothing . . . nothing.”

  “Have you heard something at court? Something against me?” She almost did not have to ask. There was no other explanation for his behaviour.

  Parker lifted his head so sharply, he winced. Clutched his temple again. “My head would split in two.” A shudder ran through him and he took a deep breath, turned his head carefully towards her. “Why do you ask that?”

  “He looks at me as if things are much changed between us.” She kept her eyes on the cartsman, and at last he looked her in the eye.

  “Aye.” His shoulders slumped. “There are some rumours. Whispered late this evening.”

  “What do these rumours say?” Parker sat up, his jaw clenched.

  Simon’s eyes held pity as he spoke. “That Mistress Horenbout has betrayed the Crown. That she is a traitor.”

  Chapter Ten

  therefore it seemed much more eligible that the king should improve his ancient kingdom all he could, and make it flourish as much as possible; that he should love his people, and be beloved of them; that he should live among them, govern them gently and let other kingdoms alone, since that which had fallen to his share was big enough, if not too big, for him:

  Utopia by Thomas More (translated by H. Morley)

  “Who’s behind the talk?” Parker rose to his feet, his fists clenched.

  Simon winced. “Wolsey.”

  There was silence. Little spikes of panic and fear leapt in Susanna’s chest, and when she spoke, her words were thick and bitter on her tongue. “When did you hear this?”

  Simon picked up the poker and stirred the coals, then threw on another log. It caught with a little pop and sizzle as the sap burned up and illuminated the high cheekbones and beautiful curves of his face. “Just a little while ago. I overheard Wolsey telling His Majesty.”

  “Did the King believe the snake?” Parker sank back down onto the chair, his face too pale, too drawn with pain.

  Damn Jan. Damn Lucas as well, for that matter.

  “You must have angered him tonight, because he was not in the best of moods where you are concerned.” Simon glanced at Parker. Hesitated. “If he had simply been going to bed, Wolsey would have had more luck, but Wolsey delayed the King’s departure. I was to take him . . . somewhere, and he was eager to get there. He did not take well to Wolsey telling tales so late.”

  A look passed between Parker and Simon, and Susanna realized the matter of the King’s late night trip was something known to both of them. She thought of the flushed, curved girl he’d danced with earlier in the evening, and came to her own conclusions.

  “So, Wolsey’s spy in the Queen’s chamber lost no time running to him with news we wished an audience with the Queen.” Parker took another deep gulp of pain-killing tea. His hand was rock steady. “And it means his spies in Margaret of Austria’s court have warned him that something is going on. He may just be guessing at the connection between Margaret’s secret dealings and your urgent visit to the Queen, but given your father’s position, it is a sound guess.”

  “But we didn’t speak with her. And the spy would know that. So why call me traitor before I even had a chance to say anything?” Susanna sat back in her seat, her legs weak beneath her.

  Simon turned sharply, his eyes narrowed. “There is something to tell?”

  “No.” Parker spoke with force. “We were given information, but we had no intention of passing it to the Queen.” He tapped his lips with his forefinger. “But that is a good question. Why call traitor when it can be proved you didn’t speak with her?”

  “Perhaps his excitement at having something against me meant he didn’t think the matter through.” Susanna wondered if that were possible. If Wolsey’s hatred of her and Parker would be enough to cause that sharp, cold mind to trip.

  “What did the King say?” Parker set his cup down.

  “That he would turn his attention to the matter on the morrow.” Simon took a step to the door.

  “You think they will come for me? That you will suffer for your friendship with us?” Susanna spoke slowly. There was a ringing in her ears, and a terrible, heavy feeling in her stomach. She looked at her feet, and wondered how so much could have changed in a single day.

  “If you are not a traitor, then why did you ask to see her?” The words burst from his mouth.

  “Someone tried to kill us today.” Susanna pointed to the door, to the scar where the bolt had been pulled from its wood. “We hoped they would no longer have a reason to silence us, if they knew we had seen the Queen.”

  “If the shooter was not Jean.” Parker was watching Simon, his mouth a thin line.

  She closed her eyes. “Aye. If the shooter was not Jean.”

  “You can go.” Parker rose up again, and his colour was better, his voice stronger. “There is no need to taint yourself with our company, Carter.”

  Susanna lifted her head. It felt like a lead weight.

  Because it was so hard, she forced her chin even higher, at a defiant angle.

  “Parker . . .” Simon looked between them. His hand was already on the door. “I’m sorry.” He slipped out.

  She stared at the door as it swung closed, and wondered how many more would close against her in the days to come.

  “What now?” She did not know, for the first time in a long time, what to do next.

  “Now we get some rest.” Parker held his hand out. “On the morrow, we go to the King.”

  She nodded. Allowed him to pull her to her feet. “Before he comes to us.”

  * * *

  Parker stepped out of the King’s Chambers, to the hall where Susanna waited. “The King is not here.”

  “Where is he?” She frowned.

  “Wherever Simon took him last night, I’ll wager.”

  “Ah.” Understanding lit her face, and she stared at the door. He lifted his hands, and felt her shoulders, taut as the strings of a bow beneath his fingers. “Do we go to him?”

  Parker shook his head. “He is . . . private about these things.”

  He saw her lips open, as if to say something, and then close.

  “Parker and the lovely Mistress Horenbout.” Will Somers stepped out of the gloom of the passage behind them, his voice deep and resonant. It was as if he’d been there all along.

  Parker would have sworn not, but with the King’s Fool, he never truly knew.

  “Good morning, sir.” Susanna dipped in curtsy, and Parker saw Somers’ eyes flicker.

  “A good morn to you, too.” He took a step closer, his eyes going to the bruise on Parker’s forehead. “I see you are still fighting battles, Parker. I know you never take a turn in the lists, yet you sustain many hurts.” He rubbed his hands together. “What is afoot?”

  Parker did not answer, as Somers knew he would not, and the Fool chuckled.

  “You never know, I might keep it to myself.” Somers cocked his head as he spoke, and wriggled his hand from side to side.

  “I don’t trade in maybes.” Parker held his arm to Susanna. Time was slipping. A sense of urgency pressed on him, forcing him forward. They needed to confront Wolsey’s accusation head on, or he could see nothing ahead but trouble.

  Susanna stepped closer to him, to take his arm.

  “A word of wisdom, fair lady, for one who always greets me as well as she greets the King himself.” Somers hand came out, and gripped Susanna’s wrist.

  Parker’s eyes narrowed, but the Fool ignored him, his gaze locked with Susanna’s.

  “Go to the Queen. Go openly. Make her come out into the main chamber where all can see you, and talk to her of painting. Talk on and on
about painting.” He let go of her and stepped back into the gloom behind him. “Go now.”

  Chapter Eleven

  that a king, even though he would, can do nothing unjustly; that all property is in him, not excepting the very persons of his subjects; and that no man has any other property but that which the king, out of his goodness, thinks fit to leave him.

  Utopia by Thomas More (translated by H. Morley)

  “I thought you were to come early?” Gertrude Courtenay spoke sharply, her body blocking the entrance to the Queen’s inner chamber. Susanna had never heard her so agitated.

  She held herself stiff, and the look she sent Susanna was a little too wild. Her gaze skittered about the room behind them.

  “We had a few distractions.” Parker did not motion to his bruised head, but Gertrude’s eyes flew there, and she had the grace to blush.

  “So I see.” Her voice softened. “Come, the Queen will see you.”

  Susanna shook her head. “We would not disturb the Queen in her private chamber. Perhaps if she feels well enough to join us here?”

  Gertrude’s mouth fell open, and Susanna struggled to keep herself from wincing. The request was a scandalous one. To presume to set the place for a meeting with the Queen was beyond the pale. She willed Gertrude to read her face, to read the urgency and importance of agreement.

  It would not just be she who came under a cloud if Wolsey pushed his suit. The Queen was in danger, as well.

  “What is it?” Susanna heard the Queen’s voice from within, and Gertrude spun back, half-closing the door on them.

  She glanced at Parker as the sound of murmured conversation filtered through, but he was studying the ladies in the room, sizing each of them up, as if he could somehow identify Wolsey’s spy by the look of them.

  Some were disconcerted by his open examination, some ignored it. None failed to notice it.

  “The Queen feels well enough to join you.” Gertrude swung the door open, and moved aside as Katherine stepped into the room.

  Susanna curtsied low and Parker stepped up beside her and bowed.

  “Let us sit and take some refreshment.” Katherine made for the hearth, were a small fire warmed the room, and the ladies sitting there stood and moved away.

  The Queen sank down into the largest chair, and Susanna thought she looked pale and tired. She waved Susanna to a seat, and Parker took up a position beside it, his eyes never resting.

  “You wished an audience with me?” Katherine’s eyes held fear and worry.

  “Yes, Your Majesty.” Susanna clenched her fists in her lap, gripped by a wave of frustration. Would that she could speak freely.

  It was not to be.

  She reached for her satchel, which Parker had placed beside her chair, and lifted out a small oak panel, no bigger than the length of her hand, wrapped in linen. She stood, took a step towards the Queen and then knelt before her, holding out the painting as if offering a sacred gift.

  The Queen caught her breath. She took the wrapped bundle with both hands, and laid it on her lap.

  She lifted the linen wrapping with care, and sat still, looking down at the painting of her daughter for a long moment.

  “You have caught her.” Her words came out in a whisper. “You have taken her very essence and caught her. I shall have it near me, always.” When Katherine raised her head, tears tracked down her sallow cheeks. She looked old, suddenly—tired and sad.

  A faint murmur rose up and spun like a breeze-blown leaf around the room.

  A few of the Queen’s more intimate friends pushed forward a little, necks craning.

  The Queen held the picture up, as if it were a baby to be admired, and her ladies cooed.

  Behind her, Susanna sensed Parker stiffen and as she turned to him, he strode to the door, his hand to his sword.

  He opened the door, and outside, the two guards standing watch were also more alert. Knuckles gripped tighter on their halberds.

  She stood. All around her, the room went quiet, and finally they heard what had disturbed Parker and the guards. The sound of marching feet, ringing on the stone floor.

  As suddenly as it was quiet, the level of noise in the room rose as the women exclaimed to themselves and pushed forward a little way to the door.

  Susanna looked back at the Queen. She sat still, her eyes on the door, a deep dread on her face.

  Did Katherine think they came for her? Were relations between herself and the King so bad?

  Shock doused her, icy and harsh, making the hair stand up on her arms and the back of her neck. She looked about the room, but all eyes were on the door, and then, taking a deep breath, she bent to pick up her satchel. Stepped right beside the Queen.

  “They come for me.”

  The Queen’s head snapped up at her whisper.

  “Someone wishes to stop me giving you a message from Margaret—”

  “State your business with the Queen.” Parker’s voice rang out, loud and unwavering, and the advancing footsteps faltered.

  Susanna looked towards him, and saw his sword was drawn. All thoughts of Margaret, of everything else vanished. He would get himself killed for her. For her brother and her father’s stupidity.

  She moved towards him, and was tugged back, the grip on her arm surprisingly strong.

  “What is the message?” The Queen’s eyes were desperate.

  She wanted to shrug the hand off, but it came to her in a sudden flash, she would need all the help she could get, in the days to come.

  She looked again at Parker. He wanted them to say nothing, but could she let this opportunity go to waste? He stood, immobile, a strong barrier against the forces aligned against her, but he could not win alone. He would be smashed down.

  “What is it?” Katherine’s voice was no longer pleading. Her harsh whisper was demanding, regal.

  Susanna caught her lower lip with her teeth. It was now or never. She took a breath. “The Emperor is going to marry Isabel, not your daughter.”

  Her whisper accomplished what she’d wanted. The Queen’s hand went slack with shock and Katherine fell back in her chair, dazed.

  Susanna moved. Walking towards Parker and the guards.

  “We mean no harm to the Queen.” The man who spoke just out of her view was subdued, as if realizing the impression he and his fellow guards had made.

  “You will forgive our feeling a little uncertain of that, given your weapons and the way you approach.” Parker spoke with a dry, amused tone. Allowing some room for face-saving.

  “Aye. You are right to chastise us. We took our orders a little too enthusiastically.”

  “And what are your orders?”

  “We are to take for questioning a Mistress Horenbout, who was seen entering the Queen’s Chambers.”

  “You know who Mistress Horenbout is, Kilburne?”

  There was silence. “No. I do not.”

  “She is my betrothed. The painter to the King, and no higher than your shoulder.” Parker looked back at her, finally, his face unreadable. “I did not know you feared women so much, that you needed to storm the Queen’s Chambers with swords drawn to get one.”

  “Show yourself, those who approach.” Katherine’s voice came out strong, dripping authority. She had risen from her chair.

  Susanna suddenly remembered Parker telling her the Queen had roused the English armies while Henry was in France, once. Inspiring them with a speech at Buckingham before they marched against an invading Scotland.

  They had won.

  Gone was the tearful, sad woman in her middle years. In her place stood a regent.

  “Your Majesty.” A man stepped forward and sank down on one knee. “My most humble apologies. I am under orders—”

  “From who?” Katherine’s voice cut him sharper than his own sword.

  “From the Cardinal.”

  “And the Cardinal Wolsey thinks it politic to send a guard to drag one of my ladies from my chambers?”

  Kilburne, finally realizing the
situation he’d leapt into, without a second thought, kept his eyes on the intricate rug at his feet. “We should not have come so loud and so many, Your Majesty. I have erred.”

  “Tell me, why does the Cardinal seek the King’s painter?” Katherine spoke more calmly, Kilburne’s apology tempering her anger.

  “I am to say, on grounds of treason, Your Majesty.” Kilburn spoke hesitantly, as if he realized all he thought he knew was false.

  “I know of no treason she has committed. But I do know she has rendered great service to the Crown.”

  Kilburne finally lifted his head, and Susanna saw the agony of indecision on his face. He was truly caught here, and had no way out.

  “Where are you to take me?” She spoke directly to him, and he started.

  “Mistress Horenbout?” His face fell a little more.

  “Aye. I am Susanna Horenbout. Where are you to take me?”

  “The Tower.”

  There was dead silence at his words, and Kilburne dropped his head again.

  “If you are to take her to the Tower, you will take her to the rooms I gave to the Duc de Longueville some years ago when he was housed as a hostage of war. They are comfortable and well-furnished.”

  Kilburne rose to his feet, fast as a cat. “Your Majesty, it shall be done.” There was a tremor of relief in his voice.

  Katherine gazed at him, steadily, and he shrunk into himself. When she spoke her voice trembled a little. “This is wrong. It should not be, and it will be made right. But until then, not a hair on Mistress Horenbout’s head, not a single part of her, will be touched or hurt. Convey my order to the Constable of the Tower. He is to contact me before any change to her situation is made.”

  Kilburne sent her a look from the corner of his eye, and Susanna wondered if Wolsey had told him to be rough. The Cardinal would enjoy thinking of her being man-handled and disgraced. “My word of honour, Your Majesty. She will be treated well.”