Chapter Three
by Paula B and CJ
25 June 1564
Hampton Court
Late Afternoon
Bright sun dappled off the ripples in the water, lapping along the banks of the Thames. Geese floated serenely while Bittern and a solitary Grey Heron hid in the marsh far from the gaiety. Light laughter joined the singing of Bullfinches and the screeching of Alexander, Lord Nelson’s sparrowhawk soaring overhead. Up the hill the looming, still not quite finished, Hampton Court seemed to fill the sky.
Lord Clayton Webb leaned against the trunk of an oak tree, watching his young queen, Elizabeth, relax from the stress and pressures of ruling England. She was laughing with Lord Alexander Nelson, whom Webb felt to be a fawning toad.
Unlike most people in 1564, Clayton Webb had no qualms about serving a queen with no king or even consort. He knew the queen trusted him. Just like Henry had trusted his father, Neville Webb. But then, the Webbs were unique in the eyes of the queen. For nearly two hundred years they had served the crown from their family estate in Cornwall. In those two hundred years no King had questioned their loyalty. From the Houses of Plantagenet – York and Lancaster both – through the kings and queens of the House of Tudor, the descendants of Edward, the first Duke of Cornwall had quietly and effectively gathered information on the king’s enemies on far off shores. The key of course was ‘far off shores.’ The Webbs never played court politics. They never curried favor with the ruling house. They served quietly and discretely and most of the other courtiers thought them to be ineffectual in everything except the mining of tin. Sometimes it stung Webb, but not often.
Young Bess was surrounded by a score of ladies in waiting and their admirers. Most of who were young and fair of skin and hair. The only exceptions were Lady Walden, widow of Lord Walden. Lord Walden had been a trusted adviser to the young queen’s father, Henry VIII. Lady Walden had been but 25 when she married the 50 year old Duke of Danby. Danby had died two years after his King in 1549. And while Lady Walden was 40 at the time, Bess had honored the memory of Danby by making his widow one of her ladies. Lord Webb didn’t trust Lady Walden, but the queen tolerated her so Webb said nothing.
Today, Lord Webb’s attention was drawn to the another lady in waiting who didn’t quite fit in with other young beauties. Oh, she was young, and Webb thought she was the most beautiful of the lot. But Lady Sarah, of the loyal Scottish Clan MacKenzie, wasn’t fair at all. She had the most incredible, most exotic olive skin. And while most of the other ladies had pale blue or hazel eyes, his Sarah’s were brown. <<<Brown like the richest mead.>>> He sighed and caught himself. He mustn’t allow such thoughts to enter his head. The queen had full say over who would pay court to her ladies, if indeed any suitor did pay such court. He had heard a few unwise courtiers make snide comments about the queen wanting all suitors for herself, but they had been deep under the influence of a rather rich spice wine and Webb paid scant heed. In keeping with his father’s dictate that he stay out of Court politics, Webb turned a deaf ear to such nonsense. He doubted that either drunk would survive long. Machiavelli’s Italy had little over the court politics of the House of Tudor.
He had just returned from a long, but satisfying mission to Rome and had brought back information that the queen would need. She would call for him at her whim. So for now he could concentrate on his favorite past time, watching Sarah MacKenzie. He had made it a point to learn her story, taking care that no one knew he was at all interested in her. It simply would not do.
Sarah’s great-grandfather had been a member of Militi Templi Scotia or The Scottish Knights Templar. And like many of that proud and profane group, Webb had heard both good and bad of the man. The good being that he had been one of the knights trying to return Robert the Bruce’s heart to his beloved holy land. The bad being that while there he had met and wed a Saracen princess. He had remained abroad until near the end of his life, when his son returned him, frail and dying, to Scotland. Since the son was the only surviving descendent, he became the chief of the Clan MacKenzie. A pious man, he had also married late in life, and like his father before him, had left only one heir – Sarah’s father. Unfortunately, the grandson of Robert MacKenzie continued the tradition but in his case his only heir was Sarah. At the age of 10 the child was orphaned when her father and mother were drowned at sea. Henry VIII had accepted her ward and brought her to court to be schooled in the ways of English young ladies. His daughter, Elizabeth, would use the hand of Sarah MacKenzie as an astute bargaining chip in forming an alliance with some house or another. Since no such alliance with the duchy of Cornwall was needed, Webb held little hope in winning her.
"Well, Lord Clayton, what do you think of our young queen."
Webb carefully composed his face turned and smiled weakly at Daniel Wallace. If he didn’t trust Lady Walden, he despised the second son of the Duke of Marbury. Lord Daniel was as useless a hanger-on as Elizabeth had, in Webb’s opinion. Like Sir Francis Drake, Lord Wallace commanded a privateer in the service of his queen. Unlike Drake, there were whispers that Wallace played fast and loose with the proceeds of his ventures. Darker, vaguer intimations of what happened to captives drifted through the court as well. However if his queen tolerated Wallace, then Webb would show him half as much courtesy as the rogue deserved.
"My lord." Webb moved just slightly away from the dandy. Most of the courtiers strove to outdo each other in fashion and color. Wallace was no different. The sleeves of his jacket almost rivaled Henry VIII's. Bright scarlet shot with gold thread, his attire out shown most of the women. Webb himself had developed an almost Italian or Spanish taste in his clothes. He wore dark doublets and while his leggings were fashionably cut, they too were dark. His boots were worn more for comfort than for style.
For some reason this made him very popular with the ladies of the court. Lady Elizabeth Hawkes had solemnly told him, "My dear Lord Clayton, you are perhaps the only personable man in court who actually compliments any dress I wear. All the rest somehow manage to clash when they stand too close." He had laughed with her. He liked Lady Beth, as she was called in Court. It didn’t do well to have two Elizabeths in the same room, even though no one dared call the queen anything but majesty. Lady Beth was witty, almost saucy. She was a better archer than most of the men, certainly better than Webb, but made a point to always just manage to lose to her male opponents. Once, when the rain hadn’t let up for nearly three weeks last year, she had talked him into showing her how to fence. She was a natural and Webb thought it a great shame that she hadn’t been born a man, he would have been proud to serve with her on the field of battle. He only hoped that the very pretty young maid would not be too terribly disappointed in the popinjay the queen would pick for her.
In his duty to the queen he had learned to keep his thoughts in his head and off his face. The distaste he felt for Wallace certainly didn’t show in his calm, almost bland expression. "What is there to think, my Lord Wallace. She is our queen. We serve the queen."
Wallace lip curled in distaste. "Indeed, sir? Did I suggest differently?" Without waiting for Webb to reply he walked down to where Lady Walden stood talking to one of the Queen’s newest ladies, Tess Coulter, who was no doubt thrilled that the oldest of the retinue was taking an interest in her. <<<‘Be careful, child.>>> Webb thought before once again seeking out his Sarah.
He felt it time for his daily treat to himself. Carefully he made his way across the lawn pausing to say a few words to several of the ladies, all of whom took great pains to delay his passage. But he managed to politely extricate himself from each group until he reached her. She looked up from where she sat on the ground playing with two of the queen’s terriers. "Good day, Lord Clayton." Her throaty greeting sent a thrill down his spine.
"My Lady. You are well?"
"Very well, my lord. Come sit a moment and tell more of your travels."
He quirked an eyebrow at her. "Travels, my lady? You mean between here and Cornwall?"
Her delicate snort confirmed his suspicions. He had always known Sarah was one of the queen’s favorites. That she would know that he wasn’t looking after his family’s business interests when he disappeared for weeks, if not months on end, somehow made him feel very special. Even still, the queen could do as the queen wished. He would not speak of it. She seemed to sense his refusal and sighed. "Very well, my lord, how goes it in Cornwall."
He studied her solemnly. "Would you care to walk by the bank, my lady?"
Gracefully she rose and laid her hand against his and whispered. "How very bold, my lord."
They had walked perhaps twenty paces when a breathless page ran up. "Your pardon Lady Sarah. The queen wishes your company at once." They looked up the hill just in time to see Elizabeth enter Hampton Court.
Webb effectively stifled his groan, but did he imagine that he saw just a flash of anger cross Lady Sarah’s face. She curtsied low and he bowed from the waist. "Very well, Lindsay." She followed the man up the sloping lawn, the three terriers running along beside her. He barely noticed that Lady Beth was also following a page up the slope. He certainly didn’t see the self satisfied smile that Lady Walden gave Daniel Wallace.
"You see. I told you she would use the pratting wench to do the deed. You must leave tonight."
"Are you quite sure it will be at Penzance?"
"Of course, Wallace. Now go."
Daniel Wallace hastily bowed and hurried through the courtiers who were just beginning to gather to walk back to the castle for dinner.
Sarah and Beth walked together down the long hallway toward the Queen’s private quarters. They carefully inspected each other’s dresses. Beth picked a piece of grass from the back of Sarah’s dress. Sarah gasped and giggled when she energetically wiped stone dust away from the back of Beth’s dress. "Elizabeth Hawkes. I know where you were. Who were you with?"
Beth sniffed. "Lord Sharkington wished to show me the new wall. I must have leaned against it."
"Against him, you mean."
"Sarah MacKenzie!" Beth dissolved into giggles. "What of it. It was just a kiss and no one saw."
"Beth, what of your reputation?"
"Bah. Tis nothing. Besides I wish to have some little fun before her majesty weds me to some dreadful old favor seeker. We never have any fun or adventure."
"True. But Beth, please, if the queen hears of it things would be very bad for both you and his lordship."
They approached the heavy oak carved doors and the queen’s guards swung them open. They entered the huge room. It’s cold stone walls were covered in tapestries from all over the known world. Bright threads told the story of the Bible, Arthur, wars and unicorns. Heavy furniture was scattered through out the room. Thick rugs, every bit as bright as the tapestries, most from far off Persia and Jerusalem muffled their footsteps. Even as large and as cluttered as the room was they had no trouble spotting the queen. She was standing by the window looking out on the river. Both Sarah and Beth sank into deep curtsies and waited. Sarah strained to hear the swish of the long heavy red gown.
Finally they heard the soft "Rise" and straightened.
Elizabeth was seated in front of her unlit fireplace. She signaled to a footman who quickly left the room. "Come forward."
"Lady Beth?"
"Yes, Majesty?"
"Do you have so little regard for Lord Sharkington that you would risk his head for your dalliance?
Sarah swallowed her gasp but quickly looked at her friend. The humor as well as most of the color had drained from the face next to her. "No, Majesty." The whisper was barely audible.
"Then it will cease immediately."
"Yes, Majesty."
"Good. I will make it easier."
"Majesty?"
"A response was not required." Up until that moment, Sarah could almost have imagined that they had been talking about the weather. But now the 30-year old monarch’s voice snapped like a leather whip. "Lady Sarah?"
Even though Sarah had done nothing to warrant the Queen’s obvious wrath she couldn’t quite keep the quaver from her voice. "Yes, Your Majesty?"
"You are well?" The voice was still cold still but the eyes had softened considerably.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"Good. I require your services."
"Of course, Your Majesty."
As if on cue a small door to the right of the room opened and William Cecil, Lord Burghley, the Queen’s most trusted advisor, stepped into the room. Bowing low before Elizabeth he turned and studied the two women standing in fear before him. "If I may, Your Majesty?"
Elizabeth waved her hand. "Proceed, my Lord Cecil."
"We have several important dispatches that we must get to Jeanne de Navarre. Ever since she declared herself a Calvinist she is one of our best chances to form an alliance in that part of France. Now that Henry has sent Jeanne home to Bearn, holding her son hostage at the court of the whore Catherine de Medici, the Queen of Navarre might prove more amenable to such an alliance."
Sarah looked from Cecil to the queen, sparing only a quick glance at her friend. "Lord Cecil. Pray thee, explain. Why would you entrust me with such an important task?"
Cecil looked at her with almost regret in his eyes. "The mission is simple, the summer seas are calm. The Queen of Navarre herself has asked to see you."
"See ME? Why…oooooo" Sarah’s heart fell. "But, Your Majesty…surely you cannot suggest."
The queen didn’t say a word but her scathing look told Sarah all she needed to know. "But, Lord Cecil, I am but a poor Lady. There is little money for a dowry."
"We will of course provide a dowry to any of our ladies should the chance arise for a fitting marriage." Elizabeth sniffed.
"Thank you, Your Majesty." Sarah’s voice was barely above a whisper. "When do we depart, Lord Cecil?"
Again, it was the queen who spoke. "I have decided that I wish to see Bath. I will take a small entourage; we shall stay there a few days. You, however, on your first day there will start to feel quite poorly. Lady Beth will suggest returning to London."
"They will need an escort, Your Majesty." Cecil interjected. "I would suggest Lord Webb. He of all your courtiers knows the coast; both here and in France."
Elizabeth studied Lady Sarah closely. "No. I need to confer with Lord Clayton. Lord Christopher will fill the role quite nicely I think."
"Of course, Your Majesty." Cecil merely bowed, all looks of understanding completely buried.
"We will leave in the morning. Advise the steward to prepare everything."
"As my liege commands." Cecil bowed out of the room. With a wave of her hand Elizabeth dismissed Sarah and Beth.
"Oh, Sarah." Beth tried to comfort her friend. "I am so very, very sorry."
Sarah didn’t reply. She kept her head held high and ignored everyone and everything. She was the daughter of Scottish Royalty. Her father would have expected much from her and she knew that she would never be allowed to pick her own husband. But a nine-year-old boy! It wasn’t unheard of by any means. So intent was she on her own musings, she almost ran into the men in the corridor.
"My Lady Sarah." Lord Christopher Hatton bowed low. Bess returned the bow, but Sarah could only stare in horror at Clayton Webb.
Webb felt an answering surge of panic. He had noted her ashen face as she walked, unseeing, toward them. "Is something amiss, Lady Sarah?"
"What? Uhm…No. Certainly not. Your pardon, gentlemen." She breathlessly insisted before straightening her back even stiffer. She was a distant relative of Robert the Bruce. Her family’s honor was at stake. "Certainly not." She muttered as she rounded the cold stone corner. She did not allow her tears to fall until she reached her room. She wasn’t even aware that Beth had followed right behind her until she felt her friend’s comforting embrace as she collapsed upon her bed.
30 June 1564
Barrington Court
Wiltshire (Bath) England
Barrington Court was the most rustic of any of the residences where Queen Elizabeth and her court regularly stayed . In comparison to the huge rooms of Hampton Court, Barrington Court offered an almost cozy atmosphere. Small and dark, the candles and two fireplaces did little to illuminate the ‘grand ballroom.' A minstrel strummed on his lute and softly sang one of the queen’s favorite modern songs, Greensleeves.
She strolled amongst her courtiers. She had much on her mind and she sought a few moments of courtly gossip. The ladies were standing together in groups of two or three except for one rather large group, nattering in the corner. Squeals of laughter and gasps of delicious censure coming from the group caught the attention of several of the other courtiers.
Elizabeth did a quick census of her courtiers, who was present and who was missing.Lord Nelson was having an animated conversation with Lord Seaforth. Several other men were studying a new tapestry that Lord Edmonds had just acquired. She spotted a very glum looking Lord Webb leaning against a column. His eyes never lit on anything for long. He was searching for something, or rather someone. The queen sighed. This would not do. It was a pity, but she could ill afford to lose an opportunity to form an alliance with the Protestants in France. Lady Sarah knew her duty.
Elizabeth approached the growing group of women with a seeming aura of regal unconcern. However, she ticked off each name, placed each woman’s proximity in relationship with the others. She noticed at the center of the group her newest lady, Tess Coulter. <<<Odd,>>> Elizabeth had taken Lady Tess to be shyer, more circumspect. As she approached, the women opposite her began to curtsey, drawing attention away from the storyteller. "Majesty." The young woman gasped as she too sank into a deep bow.
"And what pray has my ladies so agog this eve?"
All eyes darted to Tess who blushed unbecomingly in the smoky light. "Tis naught your majesty."
Elizabeth merely waited. Someone would tell her and she wasn’t a bit surprised at who finally stepped forward. The thin annoying voice spoke up and several ladies opened a path so that Lady Walden could approach. "Majesty." The curtsy was almost perfunctory. "Pray forgive our chatter. We were just discussing the abrupt departure of Lady Sarah."
Elizabeth stiffened. "Lady Sarah was taken ill, Lady Beth has accompanied her back to London." Elizabeth carefully studied the oldest of her ladies. Ten years ago, nay even sooner still, she might not have noticed the feral look in the woman’s eye. But years of court intrigue had honed her skills well. "Or do you perhaps have information that I need." <<<Was that a flush on the good lady’s neck and chest? Did her eyes dart a little too quickly around the room?>>>
Walden delicately swallowed. Her hands were sweating, but she fought the urge to wipe them on her gown. <<<This is my chance. I will get my rival; the queen’s favorite.>>> She had no idea why the queen was sending Sarah to France. Her source, the page Lindsey, had been vague. <<<But no profit is gained in overlooking chances. Besides, Wallace is in my pocket and as much of a toad that he is, he boasts of one of the best crews in her majesty’s service.>>> Straightening just a bit, jutting her chin out a bit too far she breathlessly told her lie. "I hear that Lady Sarah has been seen in a rather compromising position with Lord Wallace, your majesty. My maid brought back the story from the groomsman." Her eyes dropped demurely.
Elizabeth was having none of it. "Continue, Lady Walden." There was a snap in her voice that carried and suddenly the small room grew quiet. No one noticed Webb, dressed in his typical dark garb, inch closer to the gathering.
"Well, Lord Wallace, one night after several goblets of wine, confided in me that they had long had feelings for each other. He swore that he would give up everything to wed her if he could. I fear they have eloped to Gretna Green, majesty. Please believe me that I tried to talk some sense into both of them and I think I got through to Lord Wallace. But as you know, Lady Sarah is very headstrong."
<<<Of course she is headstrong, you craven, ill-nurtured harpy. Why else would I have sent her? I need someone who can confront Jeanne and control the boy. What the devil is afoot here?>>> "Dudley!"
"Yes, my queen?" Robert Dudley was immediately by her side.
"Pray thee, where is Captain Wallace?"
"Away, your majesty."
"Away, Lord Dudley?"
"He advised two days ago that he had to return to his ship."
"Is it still tethered in Cornwall?"
"It was, your majesty."
Elizabeth kept her composure. She would not allow any trace of emotion to show on her face. "Indeed." She sniffed and turned regally. She could not miss the look of distress etched upon her chief spy’s face. She had long known the son of the Duke of Cornwall was infatuated with Lady Sarah. <<<Fool probably thought he was being circumspect.>>> She sighed. Perhaps to the rest of the court, but Elizabeth knew the signs too well. But if she could do her duty to her kingdom then so could Lord Webb.
3 July ,1564
Barrington Court
Wiltshire England
Lord Clayton was in a foul mood. Two days ago he had petitioned the queen to return to Cornwall. Elizabeth had searched his face, no, his very soul before sharply denying his request. Instead, she demanded a full accounting of his journey through Italy. Webb knew she had cared little for the extraneous details. But she kept him occupied for nearly six hours. It had done little to calm him. It was all he could do to keep his temper and probably his head when she insisted that he fill in Lord Cecil the following day. Now he just paced in his room.
His room at Barrington Court had little to recommend it. Lord Edmonds had spent a huge sum of money on providing for the queen’s appointments. The great hall and dining room were splendid to the point of bankruptcy. Webb had never seen the Earl of Wiltshire’s private rooms but he was quite sure they were much nicer than this small room. The furniture was well made but simple in design and consisted of a small four-poster bed, the worn curtains tied back for summer. The mattress was straw and rather thin for Webb’s taste. A tall wide wardrobe stood in one corner. Until this morning the only other piece of furniture was a stand with washbasin and pitcher upon it. Before today, the appointments had not concerned him in the least as Webb spent very little time in the room. Most days he would be out riding or talking with the queen’s advisors or leaning against something and watching Sarah.
Today, Lord Burghley had sent word that he was to remain in his room until the queen summoned him. So Webb paced. He ignored the tray of food resting on the small table that several of the staff had hauled up from the dining hall. He paced until the sun was nearly overhead.
<<<Something is wrong.>>> He had known something was wrong from the look on Sarah’s face that day, but he could find no opportunity to talk to her. Once on the way to Bath, he had even tried to ride along beside her but she had kept her face resolutely turned from his. Right after their arrival at Barrington Court he thought that Lady Beth was going to say something to him, but she had been brusquely called away. The next thing he knew, Hatton, Beth and Sarah were no longer at court. When he asked Sir Alexander Nelson about it the old fool had just shrugged. "Lady Sarah wasn’t feeling well. Beastly hot down here. Can’t say that I blame her."
<<<Why didn’t she said anything to me?>>> He thought they were friends. He had told her once that should she need anything, she was not to hesitate to call upon him. <<<That nonsense of her eloping to Gretna Green with Wallace of all people was ridiculous, beyond consideration. Unless…>>>
The sharp rap at the door tore him away from his stony contemplation of the woods beyond the house. He hadn’t even realized he was considering decamping. <<<Where would I go? What would I do when I found her? Take her to Ireland? Perhaps the New World? My family would be ruined. Quiet possibly my father would lose…>>>
Again the rapping at the door intruded upon his dark mood. Striding the few paces it took to get to the heavy oak he jerked it open to find two of the queen’s guards standing there. "What’s this?" He demanded in sour voice.
"Her majesty commands your presence, Lord Webb."
<<<Why the guards? What does she expect me to do?>>> "Of course." He snarled. The worry turned to fear. <<<What if Sarah had run away? What if the queen had presented her with a choice she could not live with? What if the queen suspects me of complicity in her scheme?>>> He followed the men down the hall and was surprised to find that they turned away from the great hall where he had expected to be received. Instead they led him down the el leading to her private chambers. There were more guards posted than was normal and Webb’s fear grew. The guards stopped outside of the queen’s door and one reached out and sharply knocked. The door opened only wide enough for Lord Burghley to poke his head out. "Ah good, you’re here." Webb couldn’t remember a time when the man had looked anything but calm and collected. But today, the worry was clearly on his face. Webb slipped in and the door was closed and bolted behind him.
"Come in, Lord Webb." The queen commanded sourly.
Looking around Webb took in every feature of the room. Nearly thirty feet long and twenty feet wide, the room rivaled the great hall in size. Where the great hall had its trestle tables and rush reed coverings on the floor and only two tapestries of any note, this room was truly fit for a queen. There was a heavy chair next to a huge table by the south window, perfectly situated to catch both the morning and afternoon sun. At the other end of the room stood a huge four-poster bed. The curtains had been removed and soft lace draped the frame. She stood there, by the bed staring down at the person lying there. A gasp escaped Webb’s lips.
Cautiously he approached the bed. Pale to the point of death, Lord Hatton was attended by the queen’s own doctor.
"He arrived early this morrow. He did not awake until an hour ago." Her voice shook slightly and Webb heard the fury there. He wisely kept quiet but leaned over to examine the wounds. Hatton’s chest was bare and the doctor was trying desperately to staunch the blood still oozing from it. The whole side of the man’s face was nearly purple. Blood clotted at the open wound on his forehead.
"I doubt he will live the day, your majesty." The physician whispered.
"Do what you can for him." The queen gritted out and turned away. Webb followed her back to her writing table. It was nearly 100 paces before they reached it and with each step the queen’s anger grew. "I will have their heads for this, Webb. How dare they do this?"
Webb finally ventured one feeble word. "Who?"
He thought she would whirl upon him, but she corrected her stumbled pause and continued. "The brigands who did this to him. The pirates who abducted Lady Sarah and Lady Beth outside of Penzance."
"Penzance! I thought they were returning to London." Webb could not control his own temper. "Why were they in Penzance?"
"You forget yourself, my Lord Webb!" The queen snapped. Lowering herself to her chair she glared up at him. "Do you question my authority as queen?"
"Of course not, majesty. My family has served the crown…."
"Be damned your family, sir. DO. YOU. CLAYTON WEBB. QUESTION. MY. AUTHORITY?"
Fear, anger, regret and anguish were clearly visible on his face. Carefully he met her eye. "Never, your majesty."
More softly she continued, "Do you question my judgment?"
His feelings were clear on his face but he bowed low before her. "I serve the queen, majesty. It is not my place to question your judgment."
"What a damning answer, my lord."
"But the truth, majesty. Pray command me." He never raised his head or his eyes but he could hear and feel her stand and approach him.
"You know the lay of the land here."
"I was a boy here. I know every road, every passage, and every shortcut. Where do you wish me to go? What do you wish me to do?"
"If I tell you to return to London and await my word?" She was so close to him now he could see her pale gold dress at his feet. He could feel her breath against his ear and he realized that she was whispering to him.
She could see the effort it took him. She wondered if he was really telling the truth when he finally answered. "If my queen commands."
"Stand up." She sighed and returned to the window. "Hatton told us of the ambush." A small evil grin lit her face. "He told us that Lady Beth actually picked up one of the guards’ swords and tried to run one of the brigands through. Further, it seems that Lady Sarah let out a cry like a banshee and attacked the other with fists and nails. The brigands killed both of the guards and tried to kill Hatton. I pray he lives."
Webb spared a quick glance back at the young courtier. "I pray it too."
The queen sighed long and low. "If Lord Hatton had not returned to tell the truth, I would have believed the gossip."
Boldly both Cecil and Webb chimed in. "Never, your majesty."
A delicate eyebrow raised in question. "Never, my lords?"
Webb clamped his jaw tightly and prayed that Lord Burghley would answer as he would.
"Your majesty, Lady Sarah has a strong sense of duty to both you and her family. You ordered her to marry Henry of Navarre. She would have done it, even if she was so much older than the boy. She would have done her duty."
Webb felt the blood surge through his body, reddening his face, heating his skin. Just as quickly he felt the chill of certainty. She was truly lost to him. But he would save her if he could. "Majesty?" He managed to keep his voice calm and neutral.
"What is it?"
"Do you feel Navarre is behind this?"
"The Duke? Good lord, no. No one knows of this but myself, Lord Cecil and Jeanne herself." She shrugged. "At least not the final plans." She paced. "And now, of course, the plans are ruined. I have no idea what prompted this. I have no idea what they hope to accomplish, but Jeanne d'Albret had a trusted advisor awaiting them in Penzance. Already word will be sent that Sarah and Beth did not arrive as scheduled. There will be hell to pay for this. On both sides of the channel."
Again Webb kept his face neutral. <<<If the women were no longer any worth to the queen as bargaining chips, what would she do?>>>
"No matter. This atrocity will not go unavenged. How dare they attack me through my ladies." She stalked within inches of him forcing him to look down into her fury. "Find them, Webb. Do what you need to do. Use every source available to you, but find them and bring me the heads of the fools who dare defy my wishes."
Webb stepped back and bowed low, hiding his emotions that he knew he couldn’t keep off his face. "As my queen commands."
5 July 1564
Outside of Trezance Castle
Dusk
The pirates around Penzance were renowned and feared throughout the world. "We could see the sails of the ships in the harbor." The young earl had managed to whisper before slipping back into a dazed sleep. If Hatton was correct and the coach had been waylaid near the coast then Clay had little doubt that someone somewhere had seen it happen. The problem of course was getting them to talk. He would have to have a strong ally to find out exactly what had happened.
Webb rode hard for nearly three days. The queen insisted that he take her prized stallion and the horse served him well. He would have his father send a replacement for the animal. He made the trip in better time than most could have. He knew the shortest route between the two castles and had gotten off his horse only when necessity demanded it. He had not deemed sleep a necessity.
"Hark, friend or foe? Show yerself." The watchman hailed from the rampart.
"Tis I, Clayton!" Webb wearily urged the horse a little further.
"Hoy! Lower the bridge." Came the answering cry. The huge drawbridge lowered and he crossed the still deep moat. The horse stumbled just inside the gate and Webb found himself sliding off the saddle just before the creature collapsed. Shouts rang off the thick stone walls and running feet seemed to echo as they approached. Rough hands helped him up but he had to brace himself to keep from falling. His legs were asleep. As accomplished a rider as he was he could not remember his buttocks ever feeling so numb.
But his physical comfort wasn’t a consideration. He needed to get to the coast and find out what had happened, if anyone knew.
"My lord, you’ve heard?"
Webb turned to find his father’s trusted friend and majordomo Gilles Harrison standing just inside one of the arches leading into the bailey. Webb suddenly awoke to the extent of the activity around him.
Hatton had returned, with the help of one page, to Barrington Court. It hadn’t occurred to either to seek the help of the Duke of Cornwall. "Have they found the bodies of the queen’s guards, Harrison?"
The retainer looked confused and shook his head. "Guards, my lord? Nay. Pray attend your father. Alberthol Chegwidden is with him now."
Until that moment, only the need to get here to see what he could do was what drove him. But now that Webb heard the lawyer’s name a plan he hadn’t even realized he was working on solidified. "Chegwidden! Of course." He breathed.
A surge of adrenaline carried him through to the inner bailey. He found it filled with Neville Webb’s sworn knights and their horses. The castle’s kitchens, which would normally serve a household of perhaps twenty, now bustled with heightened activity. Webb noticed several girls from the village hustling between the two rooms.
Entering the great hall he barely noticed the familiar tapestries. As his mother insisted, fresh reeds covered the cold stone floors. Trestle tables were already set up and serving wenches were placing tankards and huge loaves of bread onto scrubbed wood. Small boys were lighting the tallow candles that graced every available flat surface.
Webb did notice the rich smell of cooking meat wafting through the hall, but he ignored it, though his mouth watered and his stomach firmly reminded him of the dry cheese and bitter mead he had consumed along the road.
His mother looked up from where she was sitting. Only one candle lit the small alcove and for a moment, Webb didn’t notice the other person sitting there. The brown drab garb seemed to absorb the light while his mother’s light, simple gown seemed to grab the light and increase it’s radiance. "Clayton! Darling you’ve come. I didn’t realize that Osgood could have reached you so quickly. Dearest you look exhausted. Come and sit."
Webb bent and kissed his mother’s cheek. "I cannot mother. I must speak with father. But pray, what is amiss here? Harrison told me you did not find the queen’s guards, but how did you know?"
The other woman finally stood and faced Webb. Her face, though smooth as a maid’s, held a look of anguish that showed her true age. Webb thought he knew her, but all he could come up with was a meek, "Sister, you seek sanctuary? Do the Protestants harry you even here in the wilds of Cornwall?"
"Clayton!" His mother admonished. "Surely you recognize Adele Chegwidden!"
"Gods! Your pardon, madam, I did not. Pray forgive me. The light is bad and I am sore tired. I needs must speak with my father."
"I TELL YOU THERE IS NO TIME! I KNOW THEY WENT BY SEA!"
Webb and the women turned at the bellow. The door swung open and a familiar form appeared in the solar. Tall, broad shouldered, his head, near bald. Like Webb, and against fashion, his face was clean-shaven. The scowl on his face was famous for scaring both friend and foe. Just behind him, a strikingly similar, more worried, less fearsome face looked out. Webb immediately stepped forward. "Captain Chegwidden, sir. Tis fortunate that you have come,: I need your help. More importantly, your queen needs your help!
"Out of my way, you popinjay. I have my own worries."
"Martyn, stay, I pray you." Neville, Lord Webb, Duke of Cornwall, gently pushed the giant out of his way. "Clayton, it’s good that you’ve come. We have a grave matter."
"A matter, Sir Neville, that I will handle myself." The Captain of the Privateer Trident snarled. "I cannot wait for scouts to return. I tell you, I know they have left by sea. I shall save my niece myself!"
"Niece!" Webb interjected and stepped in front of the very angry man. "Tell me at once. What has happened?"
"Clayton, darling. Surely you’ve heard. Why else have you come?" Lady Porter stepped up to her son. Her very action insuring his physical safety from Captain Chegwidden.
"Mother, everyone, please. I tell you I am here on the command of the queen, two of her ladies…" he voice cracked with emotion, but he gulped dryly and continued. "Lady Sarah MacKenzie and Lady Elizabeth Hawkes were on their way to set sail for France. They were under the protection of Lord Hatton and two of the queen’s guards. Pirates set upon them a week ago. The guards were murdered and Hatton was left for dead. One groom managed to hide and get Hatton back to Barrington Court in Bath. The queen sent me down here to find a lead. Now you tell me that there is other trouble. Explain yourselves, please."
Chegwidden glowered into the courtier’s face. "One week ago, my niece was also taken by pirates."
A firm, but gentle voice admonished. "Martyn, you do not know it was pirates."
"Who else, Aberthol?" The captain’s voice rose and Neville Webb tried to intercede, as did Porter.
Finally a dry hard voice cracked. "Enough! I want you all to quiet immediately."
All sounds in the great hall ceased. Serving girls, pages, the Duke and Duchess all turned to stare at the little nun standing between Martyn Chegwidden and Clayton Webb.
"Enough I say. Francesca has been taken. Now we hear that two of the queen’s ladies have been taken. It is obvious that Martyn’s source, whoever it is, was right. Slavers have taken them. If this is true then the Duke’s contention that they might have taken Francesca overland to Scotland or Wales is the less likely scenario. Martyn, sit and tell Lord Clayton exactly what your mysterious friend told you."
Clayton stared at the little nun in awe. He didn’t think she had taken a breath throughout her tirade. But she had claimed his attention and he suspected calmed Captain Chegwidden.
Lady Porter cleared her throat and quietly insisted. "Gentlemen, please. Come and sit. It has been seven days. We must plan, and we must hear what Clayton has to say."
Clayton refused to sit. "Mother, dearest, I’ve been sitting in that damned saddle for nearly 48 hours straight. I’ll stand. Now, Sister, tell your story."
Adele waited until her brothers sighed and sat side by side on the large oak bench. Neville stood behind his wife, insisting that she sit back down. Finally when Adele was satisfied she began. "It is my brother's story, but it may be better understood if I tell it. You’ve been away a long time, Lord Webb, do you remember my niece?"
Clayton stifled a yawn but nodded his head. "Yes, Sister. I saw her just last year at the harvest festival. Your niece is quite beautiful."
Webb felt rather than actually heard the growl from the bench. But when he looked over at the brothers, he wasn’t quiet sure whether the warning had come from the uncle or Francesca’s father. Both were in their fifties. Both nearly bald, both broad at the shoulders and thin at the hips. But there the similarities ended. Martyn had the look of the sea about him. He was as dark as any Englishman could be. All one had to do was glance at his hands and you knew he had lived a life among ropes and wood.
Martyn had been a ghostly apparition in Webb’s life, flitting in and out like a solitary albatross, Alberthol, fifteen years older than Webb, had been more of a constant in the Duchy. Like his bother, Alberthol had traveled as a very young man. He had even made a pilgrimage to Jerusalem and to Rome, returning in his late twenties, schooled in the classics and the law, to the tiny hamlet that bore their name. He also brought home a beautiful wife and baby daughter. With the troubles fostered by Henry VIII’s dissolution of the Catholic Church, Marcella Chegwidden had returned to her father’s home in Naples. leaving behind her husband, 15 year-old daughter and 14 year-old son. As far as Webb knew, Alberthol had made no move to have his marriage annulled even after nearly ten years.
Of Adele Chegwidden he knew little except the whisperings of the sculleries when he was a boy. If he remembered correctly there was talk of a scandal and Adele had been sent to a convent. The cloister had done little in taming the woman and Webb let her firm voice draw his attention back to her story for a moment.
"Francesca had gone to the village to take some eggs and herbs to Mrs. Roberts at the Inn. Matilda, Lady Porter’s scullery, was coming home from her family’s farm and spoke to her briefly. From what she tells us, she had just crossed over the little stream at the edge of the north pasture when she heard a scream. Well, Mattie turned and ran back to see what was going on."
"Gel never could resist knowing what was going on." The Duke snorted.
"Yes, well it is a good thing she did this time." Adele retorted, not caring that her target could easily have her put out of the very small nunnery three miles from her bother’s neat little cottage. Not that the Duke cared one way or the other about the politics of religion. At least he made no great show of caring unless a guest made a point either way. Then Sir Neville would nod sagely and keep his opinion to himself.
Webb cleared his throat. "So a scullery sees men dragging Francesca toward the harbor. I assume she runs to the nearest house for help?"
His father sighed. "No. Had she found Raulf they might have been stopped." Even the two brothers seemed to agree with that. Few people, upon meeting the village ironsmith, ever argued with Raulf. "He was helping Walter calf the bull in the west pasture. She was forced to run all the way to the castle. Erik led a group of men back to where Matilda indicated and hunted all the way down to Penzance."
Clay began to pace. Erik was his father’s trusted chief of guards. If he said they were not in Penzance then they weren’t. He had little doubt that there was no coincidence and that different people had not just happened to steal three women for different purposes. He was too tired to try patience and he stopped in front of the Chegwiddens. "And you say you have an informant who swears they went by sea?"
"Aye, boy, I do." Martyn Chegwidden studied the next Duke of Cornwall. Clayton looked exhausted and filthy. There was murder in his eye, and a sharp dirk at his belt. Martyn knew the allegiance that Cornish felt for the queen. Martyn served the queen himself, but family was at stake. He waited for the next question, prepared to protect her at all costs.
"When do we set sail?" Webb had seen the determination in Chegwidden’s eye. Whoever the mysterious informant was, Chegwidden would never tell – at least not in front of everyone. <<<God help him, if he was part of this.>>> Webb had killed few men in his life, but he was swift at it, and if Sarah was placed in further danger because of lost time, then Webb would have little compunction about killing the privateer.
"WE, boy?" The tone was low and menacing.
"Clayton!" His mother rose and took his arm. "You are exhausted. Come away now. Rest."
Webb drew her hand off his arm. "Later, Mother. I’m sure there will be a pallet for me on the good captain’s boat."
"There’ll be little else but that and food. Do ye have the stomach for it?"
"Aye, captain. I have the stomach for many things you have little knowledge of."
"We’ll see courtier." Martyn spat. He rose and stormed out of the solar, shouting over his shoulder. "We sail at the tide. Tronada!" His bellow stirred a dark lump in the corner and Webb recognized the Moor who served as Captain Chegwidden’s first officer.
At last, Webb allowed himself to collapse against his mother’s chair.
"There, you see. You have time to bathe and eat something." Porter soothed. She called to one of the maids. "Agnes, find clean clothes for his lordship." Turning her attention to Adele and her brother she commanded. "I will have rooms made up for you. No don’t argue, Adele. We will wait together. If Martyn is wrong and this is not slavers, we need to prepare."
She didn’t elaborate and Adele finally nodded. "Come, Alberthol, you haven’t slept in days. Martyn will find her."
"I should go with him." The whisper was barely audible.
Adele studied the brother that the entire village thought of as the frailest of the family. No one knew why but ever since his return a mysterious ailment would steel upon him, sapping his strength driving him to his bed sometimes for weeks on end. Few outside the immediate family knew just how sick Alberthol was. Adele prayed that when Martyn returned with Francesca they would finally heed her arguments and sail for the warmer climates of the New World. "Yes, dearest, but you should be here to tell young Dylan the story when he arrives from Oxford."