And Less Than Kind Read online

  When he turned to Albertus, however, the smile was gone. His dark eyes ran over Albertus as if he were a piece of offal left in the middle of the floor. Briefly Albertus closed his eyes. Creature was he? Somehow, someday, he promised himself, he would get his revenge.

  "Your work is incomplete," Vidal snapped. "Even the surrender of the ships does not ensure Mary's accession."

  "That is true, my lord, but now that the king is dead, I have no more excuse to be at Court. No simple physician would be listened to if he gave advice on political matters. One higher than I must spread the news of the mass defections in Mary's favor, must describe the fate of all those who continue to support Northumberland, and must hint of Lady Mary's compassion toward those who escaped Northumberland's influence and brought the Council to proclaim her queen in London."

  There was an infinitesmal pause while Vidal realized he had not thought of the need to induce Northumberland's supporters to desert him. He had been thinking of using the men Albertus had hired to attack Northumberland himself. But that would likely waste the force this Howard commanded, which according to what was in Albertus's mind was far fewer than Northumberland's. It would be much easier to have Rich convince the council to proclaim Mary.

  His hesitation was brief enough that Albertus would not have noticed and Vidal said smoothly, "No, of course not. I have those bound to me at Court. I was thinking that now that they are free of needing to protect Mary, this Howard of yours can busy himself with removing Elizabeth."

  Albertus frowned. "I doubt it, my lord. The last time Howard examined Hatfield, he reported that it was closed so tight he wondered the air could get through. No one is allowed in—"

  "They must eat and drink, I suppose," Vidal snapped.

  "Victuals and drink are left by the gate. The victualers must draw off as far as the town before the guards open the gates and the servants bring in what they left. This much Howard told me the month before the king died, when you bade me order him to take Lady Elizabeth. He said it would take an army to break into Hatfield."

  "My lord," Aurilia said, "why would you bother with Elizabeth now? She is not setting herself up as a rival to Mary, and once Mary is on the throne, she will remove Elizabeth. All her advisors will agree that she can never rule in safety while Elizabeth lives."

  "Whatever she herself does, there are others who will contest Mary's rule over their idiotic differences in religion."

  Aurilia's eyes opened wide. "So much the better. I have been hoping all along for a civil war. Let Mary and Elizabeth fight over the throne."

  Vidal sighed heavily. "Were we assured of Mary's victory—as I said before—I would agree. But we are not so assured." He turned away from Aurilia to look at Albertus again. "Send Howard to test Hatfield's defenses. They may be relaxed now that Elizabeth knows Northumberland's attention is fixed on Mary."

  That same night Elizabeth was Underhill at the Inn of Kindly Laughter. A great deal of her anxiety had been dispelled by the news she had from Denno already. London was abuzz with talk, and the merchant community, whose well-doing depended on peace and a steady government, was gathering every scrap of news.

  They knew already that the Council that Northumberland had left in London to protect his interests and Queen Jane was rapidly tearing apart. Some had secretly hoped Northumberland would restore Catholic practice when they first supported him, but he had become radically reformist. Now with the temptation Mary's accession held out to them, only fear had bound them to Northumberland. When he left London to oppose the forces gathering to Mary, the grip of fear loosened.

  Others truly indifferent to what rite was observed grew more and more uncertain about the highly questionable device Northumberland had used to set Queen Jane on the throne. They knew, the whole realm knew, the succession had been long established and the realm, according to the news of those flocking to support Mary, was rejecting Northumberland's devise.

  There was no longer a great secret to hide. Queen Jane had been proclaimed. The tight control of the servants was loosened and interesting tales trickled out to those who did business with the Council.

  The Lord Warden of the Cinque Ports—from where the ships that had declared for Mary had sailed—and the earl of Pembroke were making ready to slip out of the Tower where the Council was supposed to remain all together. The lord treasurer, the old, clever marquess of Winchester, had escaped; his fellow councilors sent a force to bring him back, but Sir Edward Peckham, Treasurer of the Mint, had gone beyond recall and taken with him all the money from the king's privy purse to make over to Mary.

  Cropper, sent to deliver wines to the Tower in the late afternoon of July sixteen, only two days after Northumberland had left, did not return to the house on Bucklersbury until after dark. He told Master Clayborne that the clerks coming and going from the chamber in which the Council had gathered whispered that there was already argument about saving themselves by declaring Northumberland a traitor.

  On the afternoon of July 18 Denoriel heard the outcome of that argument from a grim-faced Cecil, who stopped by the house on Bucklersbury. Cecil had resigned his office as secretary of state in protest when Northumberland had Jane proclaimed queen, but he still had eyes and ears inside the Tower. Master Clayborne showed him at once into Denoriel's parlor.

  "This may be the last news you will have from me," Cecil said, shaking his head at the offer of a chair and a cup of wine. "I kept hoping Northumberland would come to his senses. If he had publicly demanded that Mary accept the reformed religion and she refused, he could have declared her a papist unfit to rule, and presented Elizabeth as the proper heir."

  Denoriel shrugged. "He knew that Elizabeth would be rid of him as soon as she could manage to call a parliament. Her will is as strong as that of Lady Mary, and Elizabeth has her father's ability to judge the possible and make others obey her."

  "It will take all the skill she can muster to stay alive when her sister is on the throne," Cecil said, "and I will not be able to help in any way." He uttered a dry, mirthless chuckle. "Likely I will not survive Queen Mary's crowning."

  "Now that is an appeal for unnecessary sympathy." Denoriel snorted gently. "You are not even in office and signed the devise only as witness, not supporter. You will be in no danger from Queen Mary who, I have heard from very reliable sources, is gentle and compassionate, not naturally vengeful. What irks you is that you may not be employed by the Catholic queen. Just be quiet, do not openly parade your reformist inclination. There are those who will return to power under Mary, like Norfolk, with whom I have some influence, which you may be sure I will exert on your behalf. You will soon have a place."

  Cecil nodded. "It is not only for myself that I am concerned. Lady Elizabeth will need all the help she can find. She is, I am sure, too wise to involve herself in any intrigues against the crown, but there will be those who use her name without permission and, unfortunately, those who Lady Mary trusts far more than she should will make such use known to the queen."

  "I know. I have warned her, but I am no more than a rich merchant." That was a bald lie, but even Cecil could not be allowed to know the truth. Denoriel went on without a blink. "If the warning comes from someone deeply involved in the government, it will stick more firmly in her mind. But we are talking as if Mary had the throne already."

  "She has," Cecil said. "I have heard that the Council has written a proclamation offering a reward for the arrest of Northumberland for treason. That was not long after word came from Framlingham that Mary's army has swelled to near twenty thousand. The Council, or at least those not fanatic reformers, will have her proclaimed Queen tomorrow."

  The increase in Mary's army and the likelihood that it could stand successfully against Northumberland, who was England's best soldier, was the news being discussed in the Inn of Kindly Laughter. That Mary would fight if she must was promptly confirmed by Rhoslyn, who had the further information that the forces Northumberland had brought with him from London were deserting. He was
arrogant and still unable to recognize the nation's antipathy to him. His eldest son quarreled with Lord George Howard, who promptly rode off to join Mary at Framlingham. And when Lord Grey opposed Northumberland's orders to burn and loot the property of Mary's supporters, Northumberland shouted Lord Grey down. It was unwise; the burning and looting took place, but Lord Grey and the force he had brought with him were riding north to join Mary.

  "I am glad to hear it," Elizabeth said although she sounded rather uncertain. She was glad Mary would be queen because that increased the likelihood that she, herself, would reign, but she foresaw the problems she would face. With a sigh she added, "But as you all know, Mary does not love me." Her eyes went to Harry FitzRoy. "What should I do now, Da?"

  "Summon every gentleman who owes you allegiance, love," Harry said, his eyes gleaming. "They will have, I think, about two to three weeks to make ready and gather at Hatfield or Enfield. Bid them all be arrayed in Tudor colors, the green and white of your father and grandfather, and be sure that each message you send says in plain words that you ride in support of your sister, Queen Mary, and to do her honor and service."

  Elizabeth frowned. Ever since her faith in Parry's ability as controller had been shaken, she checked on her accounts and, seeing the cost of her household, had become quite frugal. Denoriel could ken gold for her, more than enough to help with the expenses of a young girl living retired in the country, but there was no chance at all that he could provide gold enough to support a queen. Elizabeth was well aware that she must find the lion's share of her expenses out of her own income.

  "That will be expensive, Da, and will not Mary feel threatened if I come with a great concourse of followers to London?"

  "I do not think Mary will notice your followers. In the rosy glow that will surround her from hearing herself proclaimed queen and hearing and seeing the joy with which she is welcomed, I think your people would need to fire an arquebus at her to cause her alarm. However, many others will notice—her people and the foreign envoys will note you have support and are not defenseless."

  "Is that not a double-edged sword?" Denoriel asked. "Those who desire Mary be followed by another Catholic may not like a show of Elizabeth's strength."

  "Poor Mary," Rhoslyn sighed. "She has not even come to rule and you are talking of her successor."

  "She is near twenty years older than Elizabeth and has never been strong," Pasgen said.

  Elizabeth shook herself briskly. "You are right, Rhoslyn. It is unwise to talk this way. I must consider how to live while Mary rules, not even think of a most unknowable future. And Denno, you are right about the double-edged sword, but I think I know how to deal with that. I will discover how many attend Mary, and if my attendants are more numerous, I will dismiss some so that our numbers are near equal. That will also reduce the cost to me."

  Harry nodded. "Some you will have to supply with suitable garments, but many will provide their own finery. And sending away some of your followers is a wise thought." He hesitated and looked from Rhoslyn to Denoriel. "Will one or both of you be able to tell us when Mary will arrive so that Elizabeth will be perhaps a day earlier and able to adjust her numbers?"

  "I hope we are all not dreaming a future to our liking," Aleneil said. She had been very quiet, and now everyone looked at her with worried frowns. "When last I looked into it, the great lens still showed an image of Jane. And Northumberland is not yet taken. He has fought before against forces larger than his own and triumphed, and most of Mary's army are untrained peasants."

  Chapter 11

  Aurilia spent far more time than she had expected in making the amulets she had promised Dakari. She was surprised by the unexpected difficulties; dominance amulets had long been a specialty for her. The trouble came about because most of the amulets had been created during Vidal's absence so that she could rule the Dark Court. The dominance they generated was general. Any being who came within their emanation would be forced to obey. Aurilia had no intention at all of giving so powerful an amulet to Dakari. Who knew what so weak a creature given power would do, certainly not confine his commands to Wahib and Wahiba.

  No, the power of the amulet must be directed only to the witch and werewolf who had offended her. For that she needed something of the essence of each. The imps she dispatched on that errand either did not return at all or returned to say that the witch and her werewolf son were guarded against such attempts. Aurilia bestirred herself; she had bested those two before and in time she had samples of hair and even a scraping of skin from the ear of the werewolf.

  More time was expended in molding the spells to the subjects, and then testing them. It was the end of June before Aurilia was ready to send for the witch, the werewolf, and Dakari.

  When the imp Aurilia sent as messenger found Dakari, he was clearly visible, a short Sidhe with mud-colored hair and mud-colored eyes, scrawny, and wearing a rumpled tunic and hosen with holes here and there. He was, for once, completely at ease, lying on a slightly worn but elegant sofa. The chamber was bright with elf-light and had a glowing fire (in which Dakari sometimes burnt small creatures so he could hear them squeak); it was low-ceilinged . . . but Dakari was not tall, and most important of all, the chamber was forgotten, down in the bowels of Caer Mordwyn.

  Dakari had made the chamber his own many, many mortal years before. Weak as he was and constantly the target of the cruel games the Dark Sidhe played, he had sought a safehold and found it. For centuries no one had discovered his place, and he had furnished it to his taste by stealing this and that or picking up furniture discarded by Sidhe better skilled in making.

  The imp attacked without explanation, pulling Dakari's hair and biting the tips of his ears, catching at his clothing and pulling so that if he did not come, the imp's claws would have made more holes. Imps were imps and took great pleasure in tormenting those they were sent to summon, but there was just that shade of extra insolence that told Dakari that it must be either Vidal or Aurilia who had sent for him.

  First Dakari was frozen with horror, fearing that his masters had discovered his one safe place in the world, but after a moment he remembered that imps did not need doors or windows, corridors or stairs. An imp could always find him, but it could not betray his hiding place. In a second moment, he had swatted at the annoying creature and risen to obey the message it finally communicated. Aurilia wanted him.

  Dakari began to fade even as he moved toward the door of his room. He knew Aurilia would be angry before he even reached her. Unlike an imp, he could not ooze through walls and he was not strong enough to make a Gate. He would have to thread his way through the mazelike corridors under Caer Mordwyn and climb the stairs, and it would take time.

  As he hurried along, Dakari did not wonder why Vidal had constructed the complicated understructure of Caer Mordwyn. He had done so in the past, but it had never occurred to him that Vidal had simply copied his keep from some great mortal structure. The mortals had used the lower chambers for storage (or for keeping prisoners) and the corridors had been useful for their servants and armsmen to get from place to place without contacting and "contaminating" their betters.

  The curses and howls Dakari heard when he approached Aurilia's apartment only made him more insecure. The witch and the werewolf were already infuriated. They would be more difficult to force into obedience. His instinct was to flee, to hide himself. Possibly he could catch and kill the next imp sent after him, but what good would it do? Aurilia would just send a horde of the things to catch him and she would be much, much angrier.

  Dakari slid along the wall of the corridor and eased around the door frame into the room. He saw Aurelia gesture, and the noise the witch and werewolf were making shut off as if she had slit their throats. But she did not look at them.

  "What took you so long?" she snapped at Dakari.

  He bowed double, shadow shifting around him. "I beg your pardon, madam. The Gate is a long way from my humble dwelling."

  It was a lie; Dakari could only h
ope Aurilia had not set a truth spell, but he was unwilling to admit that he lived in Caer Mordwyn itself; she might set herself to discover his only safe place if he did.

  "Oh, well, come up here." She gestured to the raised dais on which her magnificent chair was set.

  Trembling, Dakari approached, stopping at a respectful distance, but Aurilia gestured him closer. Then, squinting as if to enhance her vision, she suddenly stabbed a finger at him. A small jolt of power ran over him and he knew she had overwhelmed his little magic of fading to shadow so that he was completely visible.

  Laughing, Aurilia reached out and caught his ear. Dakari shrieked as pain, like a red-hot needle lanced through one earlobe and then, when he turned to run and was caught, through the other.

  "Be quiet you ninny," Aurelia said contemptuously. "I have just placed the amulets that will give you power over Wahib and Wahiba where you cannot carelessly lose them and they cannot steal them." She smiled, showing her sharp pointed teeth. "They look quite decorative."