Royal Blood. Rona SharonЧитать онлайн книгу.
Your Grace for him.”
“The devil!” cried his king, outraged. “You shall find these knaves and bring them to me!”
“Yes, Your Majesty. I have already sent able men to find them. As for the second rumor.”
“God’s teeth! There is more?”
“My spy at Lyons testifies in an urgent dispatch that he has seen the pretender Richard de la Pole riding together with King Francis, deep in conversation. He relates a most disturbing tale that King Francis is determined to send assassins to Your Grace’s court to set fire by crafty and cautelous means within the house wherein Your Majesty shall be abiding, to the intent, which God forbid, to destroy His Grace’s most noble person and all other there being present. De la Pole has promised the malefactors a reward of four thousand francs.”
King Henry swore through fine, clenched teeth. “Is that all?”
“Alack, no, Your Majesty, I regret to say. Further investigation on my part suggests another assassin is on his way from an unspecified harbor with instructions to infiltrate the ranks of those coming to partake of the Order of the Garter’s celebrations and harm Your Grace’s person. This account frays me the most, for it reveals careful planning and a strong intent. As of yet, I have not been able to determine whether the sinister author of the foul plot is foreign or domestic, although I suspect he retains insidious sympathizers among Your Grace’s companions, persons desirous of usurping your rightful throne, ready to aid and abet the assassin on English soil.”
“The pox to them!” King Henry bellowed. “You must discover the subversive elements in my court, Wolsey, so that I will make an example of them for others entertaining like designs!”
“I would advise Your Majesty to restrict the numbers attending at court. Howbeit, as such measures may not be possible during the annual chapter, I have taken it upon myself to compose a list of individuals who may have sufficient cause to conspire against Your Grace.”
The king waited, his light blue eyes, inherited from his grandam’s grandsire, Prince John of Gaunt, King Edward III’s son, ablaze with royal effrontery and Plantagenet wrath.
“I suggest we make good watch on the Duke of Buckingham, my Lord Northumberland, my Lord Derby, my Lord Wiltshire, and on others whom Your Grace may think suspect.”
“Buckingham! That warmongering, bilious malcontent! He runs his domains like a kingdom within my kingdom, maintains an army twice the size of mine own, and has his henchmen kiss his ringed hand before speaking to him! I shall have him banished from court!”
“If he is the mastermind, as I suspect he is, it will be wiser to keep him close and watched.”
“Yes, of course. You are the coolheaded betwixt us, Wolsey. Apply yourself to spying on His Grace and report to me of your findings. As for Northumberland, why suspect him?”
“My Lord Northumberland was recently fined for swelling his retinue and thus exceeding the tolerable number of armed retainers. He did not like it and was heard muttering treason.”
“Pestilent traitors! I was about to tell you privily that the queen my wife is with child!”
Wolsey, unhappy bearer of bad tidings, feigned utter and joyful astonishment. “Ave Maria gratia plena! Benedictine, Your Highness! England shall rejoice to no end! Please allow me to be among the first to congratulate Your Graces.” He bowed effusively in a puddle of scarlet robes.
“I thank you for the good wishes, Cardinal. Deo gratias, I shall have a son. Alack, your news now hangs over mine own as a black cloud that eclipses all happiness.”
“My beloved king, I am aggrieved that my haunting worries have destroyed such happiness. The reasons for my mistrust, to which none are privy but Your Majesty and me, are so grave and secret that I could not, in good faith, keep still. But now I think upon it, mayhap Her Majesty, God give her health, ought to repair to a safer place until the other matter is resolved.”
The King of England planted fists on hips, his glare as formidable as his person. “We do not dance to the piping of traitors, Wolsey. You find them. I shall hang, draw, and quarter them.”
Traffic was heavy on the river Thames. Dignitaries coming to attend the opening feast of the annual chapter of the Order of the Garter poured out of spruced barges in their colorful silks and satins, gold-trimmed velvets and brocades, fur-lined cloaks, and extravagant jewels.
Sitting atop Archangel at the head of a small retinue, Michael observed officious mothers reminding their youthful daughters to smile, dance, and flirt with influential personages and do their best to attract the attention of Their Majesties. He saw courtiers renewing acquaintances and forming new alliances, making overtures at the ladies and boasting of their successes in the hunt, in money schemes, and in the tourneys of the bedchamber. Gossip spiced serious topics, such as quarrels, marriages, deaths, obtaining patronages, offices, lands, preferments, and privileges.
Michael, feeling acutely incongruous, was nevertheless aware he had one thing in common with the rest of them. He, too, had come to court in search of something.
His lord had assured him that his superior combat skills and comprehensive education would compensate for minor deficiencies, such as his not being familiar with a single soul at court, and that his presence would command attention by sheer merit. His trunks carried the richest clothes, the finest armor, premium utensils, a treasure in coin, and his secret potion. “And you have you,” his lord had said with a confident gleam in his eye. “One may lose all and regain tenfold, so long as one has faith in one’s abilities. Be true to the man you are, Michael. You may surprise yourself.”
Michael stirred his horse and retinue toward the palace courtyard, where armed guards in red and black uniform struggled to repel a swarm of petitioners begging entrance, shouting names, titles, affiliations to this and that, the mighty men of the court, as well as wide-eyed Londoners jostling for a peek at the lords and ladies of the realm, and create a path for the dignitaries to traverse. An officer assessed Michael’s flaunts, horse, and attendants, and shouted to let the great lord through. Pleased, Michael herded his small cavalcade through a whirlwind of bad odors—the fetid stench of the ragged poor mingling with the cloying perfumes of the overscented—into the chaotic middle court. Servants displaying various liveries and badges rushed hither and yon, carrying trunks, walking horses to the stables, and endeavoring not to tramp on their betters.
Michael swung off Archangel’s back and tossed the reins to his groom. His first business was with the king’s receiver. King Henry, having been crowned on St. George’s Day, considered it his official birthday. Lord Tyrone, conscious of this fact, had sent the king a precious, delicate, and very garrulous gift. A survey of the courtyard pointed Michael in the right direction, for he was not the only one who was come bearing gifts. He beckoned two of his hired porters to follow him with the canvas-wrapped cage and approached one of the clerks sitting behind a long table.
“Good-den, I am Michael Devereaux. I bring a gift for His Majesty, courtesy of the Earl of Tyrone, Lord Lieutenant of Ireland.”
“Please state the contents of His Lordship’s gift, sir.”
With a flick of his wrist, Michael unveiled the cage, causing quite a stir, inside and beyond. “Gerfalcons, goshawks, peregrines, tiercels, sparrowhawks, and merlins. Two of each.”
The clerk grinned. “Like Noah’s Ark.”
Who the pox was Noah? Michael wondered as he noted with satisfaction the numerous faces crowding to have a look at the valuable items. The falcons, wearing tiny hoods and bells, their talons ribboned with red silk jesses, perched on fetter-locks and were heatedly discussing the weather. Michael was well aware the earl’s gifts surpassed all others, in market value and style. As soon as Lord Tyrone got wind that King Henry, a renowned sportsman, had built a mews at Greenwich right next to his privy lodgings, the die was cast. The king would love his new birds.
Michael returned to his retinue in good cheer. Now for his second task: lodging. He stopped an idle stable hand. “Pray,