The Tudor Conspiracy

Panting like a winded foal, I scrambled to retrieve my sword. He leapt in front of me. I started to reach for the poniard stashed in my boot when I felt the tip of his sword at my throat, so close it pierced the matted wool of my scarf and bit into my flesh. I looked to where Ci

At this thought, a gust of laughter exploded from me, surprising me with its force, considering how winded I felt. What a way to end my not-so-illustrious career as a spy, skewered by an anonymous assassin after a visit to my former master in the Tower! Here lies Brendan Prescott, also known as the inept and short-lived Daniel Beecham.

“Regístrele,” ordered the Spaniard in a deep, almost too forceful voice. He did not take his eyes from me. Or what little I could see of them; under the mask I could only glean the glimmer of whites in the eyeholes, not enough to discern any expression or color.

“Don’t move,” said his companion in broken English as he marched to me and twisted my hands behind my back. He wrapped a cord about my wrists, binding them. Then he began to search me. The tube hidden inside my doublet revealed itself within seconds under his probing hands; it was futile to even try to stop him as he tore off one of my sleeves and wormed the tube out.

He waved it aloft. “Aquí está,” he said to the swordsman. “Ahora mátale. Kill him.”

I braced myself, but the swordsman did not move, his stare intent, boring into me as he waved his companion back to his horse. He was clearly in charge; though the other man grumbled, he did as he was told. For what felt like an eternity, we faced each other, motionless. Then he took a step closer. I let out an unwilling gasp as he trailed his sword down my torso, slowly, until he poised it on my codpiece. Though I couldn’t see it under the mask I knew he was smiling. He made a gesture with his other hand, ordering me to kneel. I suddenly couldn’t breathe. I shook my head.

“No,” I managed to whisper. “Not like this…”

He pushed on his blade. Fearing he’d emasculate me and leave me here to bleed to death, I dropped to my knees. He raised his sword. He’s going to decapitate me, I thought in a burst of blinding terror. I was going to die like A

I closed my eyes. Urine leaked down my thigh. I felt a thud on the ground near me.

When I dared to look, I saw my sword lying a short distance away. The swordsman had turned away and was striding to his horse, his cloak swirling about him. After he leapt onto his saddle, he paused to look across the field at me. I was still kneeling, my hands behind my back, the sword a tantalizing glimmer, within reach.

With a kick of his heels, he galloped off with his companion.

Chapter Sixteen

The cold finally encouraged me to attempt to stand-that and Ci

I went to my sword, lay down at an awkward angle, and maneuvered my bound wrists as best as I could against the edge of the blade. As I sawed back and forth clumsily-the tops of my palms rubbing on the blade with a sharp sting, I prayed I’d not end up shredding my hands or slicing open a vein-I considered my position. Clearly the swordsman had been hired to steal the letters; he had known what I carried. If he was Renard’s man-and it seemed the likely explanation-then I must owe my life to the ambassador. Renard had what he sought; he had also neutralized my attempt to safeguard Elizabeth. My death could come later, after he’d sent the evidence to the queen and his prey to the Tower. I was not important. He could afford to dispense with me at his leisure.

When I felt a sudden loosening of the knot, I shifted away. With all my strength, I strained to pull my wrists apart. The leather cord frayed; with a gasp of painful relief, I slid one hand free. Unraveling the cord from my wrists, my skin smarting and bloodied, I picked up my sword and trudged to Ci

I searched the environs cautiously, though I already knew Scarcliff would not appear. He’d not come to my rescue. He must have bolted away the moment he realized who the men were after; there was no point in risking his life. By now he’d be back in the Griffin, slurping from his tankard and petting his ugly dog. He wasn’t one to waste sentiment on circumstances beyond his control. As he had told me, he had his orders.

The palace appeared like a mirage out of the night. As we neared the postern gate, Ci

My heart stopped. He reminded me of Peregrine. Then he paused, staring at me, and I saw he was an older boy, pimply and angular, with a thatch of unwashed hair. “Are you Peregrine’s master?” he asked, hesitantly.

I replied hoarsely, “I am. You must be his friend, Toby.”

He nodded. “I’m sorry about Peregrine. All the lads here are. He was nice. He gave us extra money and told us he was a friend of the princess. If we can do anything for you…?”

”You can.” I rummaged in my pouch, handing him a coin. “Please see that my horse is well attended. We’ve had a rough night.”

He eagerly went to work, relieving Ci

Undressing was a torment. As I peeled away the soiled layers, I clenched my teeth and reopened my cut lip. My chemise in particular proved torturous, the linen having mixed with my sweat to adhere to my contusions, like a hair shirt dipped in salt. Naked save for my sagging hose, I surveyed my shockingly bruised torso before I took up my small hand mirror. Catching one look at my face in the tallow light, I set the glass aside. No use dwelling on it. As terrible as it looked, as Scarcliff had said, I would heal.

The water in my basin was icy; I gasped as I carefully used a rag to wash away the worst of the filth and blood from my body. Despair lurked at the edges of my awareness. I’d have given anything to see Peregrine again, to hear him whistle in amazement and comment about how I couldn’t go anywhere alone because I always ended up falling into a river or chased by ruffians. Blinking back tears-salt on my face was the last thing I needed-I went to the coffer and poured with a trembling hand from the decanter. I gulped the entire draft down, not caring that the beer was a day old and already souring.

As the drink hit my stomach, I sat on the bed.

Failure crashed over me.

I had lost the letters, and time was ru