The Tudor Secret - C. W. Gortner [88]
“Hard enough,” said the gruff voice. “Considering we’ve not seen hide nor hair of them. I still say we should head east. There are plenty of papists sympathizers there, too.”
“And I say I’ve had enough of your bloody dissension!” Robert slammed his fist on his thigh, but I knew him well; I detected an unwitting fear in his voice. My former master was scared, and that gave me hope. “You’ve set us by our ears since we started out,” he snarled, “and I for one am starting to wonder at your purpose. Are you with or against us, Master Durot?”
I watched this Durot swing about on his horse, a large muscular figure clad in a quilted doublet and oversized cap, equipped with sword, short bow, and quiver of arrows. “If you’re questioning my loyalty,” he said “and by implication that of my master Lord Arundel, I can always head back to London to report on your progress. I feel no pressing need to continue on this particular goose chase.”
Robert glared. “You might not, but your master the earl has every need. He’s made a fortune off pillaging the abbeys. I don’t think he’ll appreciate having to explain himself to Queen Mary and her friars,” he added sarcastically. “So I suggest you follow my orders, lest you’d rather see your master hang from a gibbet.”
Durot didn’t respond. Robert swerved to the others. “Anyone else have cause for complaint? Best speak now. I’ll not tolerate it later.” When none spoke, he said, “We’ll head east. This area is infested with Catholic landowners. She could be hiding with any one of them. If we have to search house by house, we will.” He flung his next words at Durot. “Lest we forget, she doesn’t have the brains to fool us, even if she tried.”
No one argued the point. Digging spurs into horse flanks, they charged off.
I slipped back to Cinnabar. Peregrine waited at the crest. “To Suffolk,” I told him.
* * *
We rode at an unflagging pace, hours slipping past as dawn drenched the sky in mauve. Though I had trusted my gut, as the countryside emerged from night into a placid vista of rolling vales and hills, I began to wonder if I had relied too much on it and not enough on harsh reality.
Could Mary have gotten this far? Or was she at this very moment being marched out of her hiding place at the tip of a Dudley sword, bound for the Tower? Rather than chasing her, shouldn’t I be rushing to Hatfield to warn Elizabeth and beloved Kate, and making for the nearest port before the duke arrested us all?
I wiped a hand across my chin. My beard itched. Tugging off my cap, I let my matted hair tumble to my shoulders, glancing over at Peregrine. The boy drowsed on his saddle. We had to stop soon. Even if the horses held out, we couldn’t.
A half hour later I spied a manor ahead, nestled among orchards, a veil of bluish smoke hovering over chimney and courtyard. From this distance, it almost looked deserted.
“Peregrine, wake up. I think we’ve found her.”
The boy started, raised bewildered eyes. “How do you know?”
“Look at the courtyard. There are horses tethered there—seven, to be exact.”
* * *
We rode into the courtyard with our cloaks thrown over our shoulders to expose the sheathed blades at our belts, our hands free and heads uncovered. I instructed Peregrine to remember my new name and refrain from appearing perturbed, while I in turn feigned a calm I did not feel, as servants preparing the mounts froze in midbuckle of stirrups. One of three men overseeing the operation lifted a firearm. The other two advanced. Both were in their middle years, dressed in yeomen garb, their bearded faces haggard.
The elder of the two—who held himself with the dignity of a steward despite his attempt to appear common—barked, “Who are you? What is your business here?”
“Who I am doesn’t matter,” I said. “My business is a missive for the queen.”
“Queen? What queen?” The man guffawed. “I see no queen here.”
“Her Majesty Queen Mary. The missive is from the council.”
The men exchanged terse looks. “Find Lord Huddleston,” the older one directed, and the other ran off.