Philippa (Friarsgate Inheritance #3)

Chapter 17

S he could not see the men who spoke so easily of murdering King Henry. And fortunately they could not see her. But when the dust storm subsided and they did see her, would they realize she had overheard them? She listened more closely. Her French was excellent, but these men spoke it with some sort of local dialect. She could understand them, but only barely.

“It is agreed then?” a rough voice said.

“It is agreed. They will all be there in the same place at the same time. It is too good an opportunity for us to pass by, mes amis. We shall never again have such a chance. Instead of the cursed English always troubling us with their claims on France, we shall claim England. With the upstart Tudor, his pious Spanish wife, and the fat cardinal out of the way, our king will take custody of the princess Marie who is betrothed to our own Dauphin, and England will be ours in the chaos that follows these deaths. When the king learns what we have done for him we will all be well rewarded.”

“Will the emperor not object?” the second voice said. “The English queen is his aunt after all, and blood is valued among the Spanish. And are you certain we will be rewarded? Or will we be executed for what we have done?”

“Of course the emperor will be annoyed, you fool! But we have people in England who will grab the little princess from her keepers and bring her quickly to France. Our king may be angry at first, but he will see the advantages in what we have done. And the queen dowager will protect us, for we are her servants, are we not? Once King Francois has the English princess in his possession the marriage can be performed. Even the emperor would dare not defy the church. The threat the English have always been to us will be removed. France will govern England. And their noble families will come around quickly enough. They always do, don’t they? When push comes to shove they will think of themselves before anyone else.” And then there was laughter.

“The king’s salamander will be the signal, eh?”

“Oui!”

The wind was beginning to die down, and with it the dust storm. There was no place for her to hide. Philippa gritted her teeth. “Coming through!” she shouted, and pushed through the gloom towards the men whom she could now just make out. “Coming through! Make way for the countess of Witton! Make way!” She was almost upon them.

“What the devil ...” one of the men, a rough-looking fellow, exclaimed, and he stepped forward to block Philippa’s path.

“Get out of my way, you French baboon!” Philippa said in English, her tone decidedly haughty. She glared at the man.

“Did she hear us?” the second man asked.

“Move aside for the countess of Witton!” Philippa said boldly. And she shoved at the large man before her.

“How long have you been here, madame?” he asked her, grasping her wrists. “How long?”

“How dare you put your hands on me, sirrah!” Philippa shrieked, outraged. “Release me at once! I shall have you punished for this!” Her heart was hammering wildly. Could she get away with this? Could she convince them she didn’t understand them, or their language? She kicked the man holding her, hard.

He released her at once, leaping backwards and cursing, rubbing his shins. “The bitch kicked me,” he said to his two companions, who were now laughing at his antics.

“Madame,” one of the other men said, “parlez-vous francais?”

“What?” Philippa replied. “What is it you say? Why do you not speak English? Damned French bandits! Let me pass at once. I shall have you arrested! Help! Help!” she began to shout. “Bandits! Thieves! I am being attacked !”

The three men looked horrified at her shrieks.

“She does not speak French,” one of them said. “She could not have understood what we said, and her cries will bring those who should not see us together. Let her go, Pierre, before she brings knights upon us. Look at her garments. She is a lady.”

The large man who had been blocking Philippa’s way snarled angrily. “I think we should strangle the bitch, and have done with it! I thought all these fine court ladies spoke French, but then they are English, Michel, aren’t they.” He stepped aside, opening the way for Philippa, and picking up her skirts she ran down the path between the tents, emerging with relief onto the jousting field once again.

The area was still crowded with spectators, and she felt safer. She slowed her pace and looked about for someone she knew, giving a cry of surprise when a hand clamped firmly about her elbow. Whirling, she found herself facing her husband, and Crispin did not look very pleased at all.

“Where have you been, madame?” he demanded of her. “And just what have you been doing?” His gaze was stem, and perhaps angry, perhaps worried.

“There is a plot, my lord,” she managed to gasp out. “A plot to kill the king!”

“Which king?” he snapped, suddenly looking alert.

“Our king!” Philippa hissed at him. “Do you think I give a bloody damn about the French king? It is Henry Tudor who matters!”

“When?” he said.

“I don’t know,” she replied.

“Where?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she answered.

“Who are the assassins?” He was looking very exasperated.

“I don’t know,” she told him for the third time.

“God’s blood, woman!” he roared, causing those about them to stare. He lowered his voice. “There is a plot against the king, but you don’t know who, or where, or when, or even why. Are you mad then, Philippa? Has the heat of this dusty and damnable French countryside finally affected your wits?” He appeared even more irritable now.

“Please, Crispin, not here,” Philippa pleaded with her husband. “Let us go back to our own pavilion, and I will tell you what I heard.”

Almost dragging his wife by her arm, the earl of Witton made his way to where their horses were waiting. He boosted Philippa into her saddle and climbed aboard his own mount. Together they made their way back to the English encampment. The wind was rising again, and the sky was growing darker with the dust swirling up into the atmosphere. Some of the smaller tents were beginning to pull loose from their pegs and collapse onto the ground. They could hear the shouts of the French, frantic to keep their camp from blowing away entirely. Ahead of them they could see Queen Katherine’s open litter with its gilt columns. Its cloth of gold curtains with their red satin trim were blowing wildly in the winds. The queen was huddled inside, a scarf drawn about her face to protect herself from the fine stinging dust.

Crispin and Philippa finally reached the comparative safety of their own tent. While it was swaying in the wind, the earl could see the pegs holding it to the earth were planted firmly. They dismounted, and he said to Peter, his serving man, “Bring the horses inside the tent. This is a nasty blow, and I don’t think it will end soon.”

Peter nodded. “Aye, milord. I agree.”

Inside, the earl led his wife past the partition that served to divide the tent, waving Lucy away for the moment. He sat in one of the two chairs and pointed to the other. “Sit down,” he said to Philippa, “and explain yourself to me, madame. I go to find you among the queen’s ladies, only to be told you have gone off with my cousin. Surely you realize that Guy-Paul is not a man to be trusted. He was a sly boy, and I saw immediately upon our renewing our acquaintance that he had not changed. What the hell were you doing with him, Philippa?”

“You’re jealous!” she said, astounded to hear herself voicing the words. Why on earth would he be jealous? She was his wife, of course, but certainly he understood that she had an honorable nature, that she would never betray him. Why should he feel so strongly about her being with his cousin?

“Answer the question, madame,” the earl said.

“King Francois saw me at the queen’s banquet. He admired me. He wished to meet me. I saw no harm in it,” Philippa explained.

“You saw no harm in being served up like a lamb to that great lecher?” the earl shouted at her. “What happened between you two?” he demanded. His eyes were cold.

“Nothing happened!” Philippa shouted back, enraged that he should doubt her. “How dare you impugn my honor, Crispin? I am your wife and not some court whore!”

“A woman alone with that king stands in danger of losing her good name, madame. And it is my name, damnit! Where was my cousin while you met Francois de Valois? And who else was there, or were you alone with that seducer of women?”

“Your cousin left me with the French king,” Philippa said coldly. “The little turd scuttled away like the dung beetle he is. Were it not for the king’s servant, I should have had my good name compromised, Crispin. I hope you will speak to Guy-Paul about his less than chivalrous behavior. I know that I shall never acknowledge his existence again. Now if you are through making certain that your possession was not damaged or used by another, I shall tell you what I overheard as I was attempting to make my way through the French camp and back here.”

God’s blood! the earl thought irritably. Was that what she thought? That he considered her only his possession ? Did she think he could make love to her the way he did and have no feelings for her? He gritted his teeth. “My concern was only for you, little one. I could not find you, nor could I find that bastard with whom I share blood. I ... I ... never mind! Tell me about this alleged plot you think you overheard.”

“There is nothing wrong with my hearing, Crispin,” Philippa snapped. “As I was desperately attempting to find my way back to the jousting field I was caught in one of these dust storms that we have been having recently. It was then I heard them, and what I heard froze my blood in my veins. There were three of them. From what they said I believe them to be in the service of the dowager queen Louise of Savoy. The largest of the trio is Pierre. Another is Michel. The third was not named, and he remained silent. They spoke of murdering King Henry, the queen, and the cardinal.”

“To what purpose?” he wondered aloud.

“They said they had compatriots in England who would steal Princess Mary away from her keepers and bring her to France. Once here her marriage to the Dauphin would be celebrated.”

“And England would be France’s,” the earl finished.

“They said not even the pope would stop it,” Philippa continued.

“Nay, he would have no grounds, the betrothal having been agreed upon by both Henry Tudor and Francois de Valois,” the earl remarked.

“And they said our great families would not oppose them,” she told him.

“Some would, and look for another English heir. Others would side with France because they had the princess. It would be civil war, Philippa.” He shook his head. “I thought we were past that when the differences between Lancaster and York were settled. The question of England’s throne has been raised before. When Duke William of Normandy overcame the last of the Saxon rulers, Harold. When Stephen and Matilda fought each other for years. The wars between the roses of Lancaster and York.” He sighed. Then he said, “What else did you overhear?”

“They mean to do it sometime when they are all together, and they said that the salamander would be the sign,” Philippa replied.

“The salamander is the French king’s personal sign, but from what you have said he is innocent of any involvement in this plot. His mother, however, is another matter altogether. The woman is fiercely ambitious, and I would put nothing past her. She would do anything for her son, but murdering a king of England, his queen, and the cardinal is quite a grand scheme. I wonder if she knows, or if these men are acting on their own? Still, I shall have to speak to the cardinal, and he may want to talk to you, Philippa. How fortunate it is that you overheard this intrigue. You are certain that these conspirators did not see you.”

“Of course they saw me when the dust died down, and they accosted me for they were afraid, but I pretended not to understand them. I spoke English to them, and was quite imperious. Make way for the countess of Witton!” She giggled. “The one called Pierre wanted to strangle me, but the one called Michel said my clothing indicated I was of some importance, and there would be questions. He thought since I didn’t speak French it would be safe to let me go, and so they did. I was frightened to death, but I never showed it. And I was quite rude, as they expected an English lady to be when dealing with mere French minions,” she finished with a grin.

“You could have been killed,” he said softly. He felt his heart ache at the thought of losing her. Not once had he ever told her he loved her, but he realized now that he did. What if she had died never knowing that he loved her?

Outside there came a great shouting, and Peter ran out to see what it was. He came back several minutes later to tell them that the French king’s huge pavilion had just blown away in the windstorm. “Their tents were flimsily affixed, my lord. There has been but slight damage among our tents.”

Taking Philippa by the shoulders, the earl looked down into her face. “Promise me that you will remain here, little one. I must go and speak with Wolsey It is up to him to decide what to do about this matter.” He kissed her forehead. “I will come for you if the cardinal wants to see you. Go with no one else. Do you understand?”

She nodded, and watched as he left her. There had been an odd look in his eye when he had spoken to her that she did not understand. Philippa stood up, and then sat down again. The realization of the danger she had been in was now beginning to sink in. She looked after Crispin, but he had quickly gone. He had been very angry when he had first found her. She had accused him of being jealous. Was he jealous? And if he was, why was he jealous? He had to know she would do nothing to bring shame upon his good name. She knew he knew that. So why was he jealous?

A tiny curl of possibility began to awaken in her brain. Was it possible, just possible, that Crispin St. Claire actually cared for his wife? Liked her? Loved her? She had no knowledge other than that he had given her, but surely a man did not make love to his wife the way her husband did if there was not something pleasing about the lady. Philippa sighed. The queen would not know such things. Royalty were different from ordinary folk. Lucy would not know. Her practical serving woman had never been in love in her life. Only her mother would have such answers. But she was in France, and Rosamund was in the north of England. Philippa sat quietly waiting. She had no other choice in the matter.

“Is there another banquet tonight?” Lucy was at her side.

Philippa nodded. “Go to one of the queen’s women, and say I ask to be excused. That the wind and the dust have given me a terrible aching in my head. That I will wait upon her highness in the morning before the mass.”

“Are you alright?” Lucy wanted to know.

“I am not certain,” Philippa responded. “Go now!”

“I’ll come right back,” Lucy promised, and hurried off.

Now that the storm had passed, Peter led their horses back outside and tied them to the railing set up for that purpose. Returning, he shoveled up the manure and removed it. Lucy returned, and Philippa gathered the two servants to her side and told them what she had overheard, and that the earl had gone to inform the cardinal.

“You can say nothing,” she warned them. “I do not know what the cardinal will do, but I expect he will want to catch the conspirators if he can. We must give them no advantage over us,” Philippa finished.

“What a terrible thing!” Lucy said, genuinely shocked.

“I’ll keep me ears open, and me mouth shut,” Peter offered.

Philippa smiled. “It will all be resolved to the good,” she assured them.

“You might have been killed,” Lucy said. “And what would I have told your mother then? And Annie would have killed me.”

The remark made Philippa laugh. “I fear life back in England is going to be intolerably dull for us, Lucy,” she teased her serving woman.

Both Lucy and Peter chortled.

“It has surely been more interesting for me since you married my master,” Peter admitted with a small grin. “If your ladyship doesn’t mind me saying so.”

Crispin returned with the news that the cardinal wanted to see Philippa, but that he would come under cover of darkness to their pavilion, for it would seem odd if she appeared in his quarters. There were too many people around the cardinal, and that would lead to too many questions. He would come after the evening’s banquet.

“I have sent word to the queen that I am ill,” Philippa said. “I did not think I could face a large gathering tonight so soon after learning what I did this afternoon.”

The earl nodded. “I will go, and I will bring Wolsey back here myself with only one servant. No one will think it odd that we are together given my previous service.” He smiled a small smile. “Here I was supposed to be the one listening for information that might be of use to the king, and I have heard nothing that everyone else does not know, until today when my wife stumbled upon a scheme that could change the face of our world as we know it. Thank God you did overhear these men, Philippa, but I am even more grateful that you escaped them unscathed.” His previous anger over her foolish visit to King Francois seemed now to be forgotten.

“I have told Peter and Lucy,” Philippa said. Why did his eyes warm so when he looked at her?

“Aye, they should know, and they are wise enough to keep silent,” he replied. Then he put his arms about her and tipped her face up to his. “Promise me you will go nowhere alone until this matter is settled,” he said.

“I promise,” she said breathlessly, and then he kissed her tenderly, and Philippa melted against him. If only he would love her, she thought, and then wondered why such an idea had come into her head. She was his wife. It didn’t matter if he loved her or not. But it did, she suddenly realized. But why did it matter? She didn’t understand why it mattered so much to her. Yet it did. She wanted to go home to England. She wanted to see her mother, who could surely explain all these puzzlements to her.

“You must not think when I kiss you,” he gently teased her.

“I was thinking how much I like it when you kiss me,” she flattered him. “I believe that I like being married to you, my lord husband.”

His heart leapt beneath his doublet. “I am glad that you do, Philippa, for I find that I enjoy being your husband. Far more than I ever anticipated.” He kissed her again. “I miss our bedsport,” he murmured in her ear. “Do you?”

She nodded, blushing. “I was also thinking I cannot wait to get home to England, my lord. I think perhaps that I have had enough of the court for now. I want to see my family in the north. I want you to meet them, and know them. My stepfather will want to take you grouse hunting. He does love the sport muchly. I want you to see Friarsgate.”

“Have you changed your mind about it, little one?” he asked her.

“Nay, it is not for me. Your Brierewode suits me far better,” she said. “It is peaceful, and would appear to be a good place to raise children,” and she blushed again.

He drew away from her. “I must get ready for tonight’s banquet. Holding you in my arms like this is difficult, Philippa, especially when I want to take you to bed, and make love to you, and create that first of our children.”

Reaching up, Philippa caressed his face with delicate fingers. “There is time, my lord, for all of that. We will depart this Field of the Cloth of Gold, as it has come to be known, in just a few more days. England and the rest of this summer await us.”

“I want to go to Brierewode first,” he said. “Before we go north.”

“My sister is to be wed in late summer,” she reminded him. “We shall know the date when we reach Oxfordshire. We will stay at Brierewode as long as we may, but I must see Banon wed to her Neville.”

“Agreed, as long as you and I may spend the winter in our own little nest,” he replied. “I picture us by ourselves before a warm fire on a snowy winter’s night.”

“Agreed,” she responded with a small smile. “But you must let me sit in your lap, husband, and you must promise to caress my breasts so I may have pleasure of you.”

He groaned. “Madame, the picture you paint makes me want to wish away the months until we may be together in so intimate a conjunction.”

“Peter,” Philippa called. “Come and help your master prepare for the banquet this evening. Lucy, go to the cook tents, and fetch me some supper.” She slipped from his embrace easily with a small smile. I love him, she thought to herself, surprised.

The earl washed himself in a basin, and then with his serving man’s aid dressed for the banquet being held this evening, given by the French admiral for the two royal couples. “I don’t know when I’ll be back,” he told her before he left. “You know how these things can go, and each side has been striving to outdo the other.” He kissed her lips lingeringly, and then with a sigh drew away.

“If I fall asleep, Lucy will awaken me when you return,” she said. “I want to be helpful to the cardinal. It cannot hurt to have him in our debt.”

“Thomas Wolsey only takes, little one,” her husband said. “And he will not remain in power forever. He has made many enemies over the years. No matter his value to the king, there will come a day when he makes one mistake too many, offends the absolute wrong person one time too many, and poof! The king will dismiss him without a thought, and even take revenge on him for disappointing him.”

“King Henry would never be unkind,” Philippa said innocently.

“May you never see that side of him, little one,” the earl told her, and then, turning on his heel, he went off to the banquet being held this night.

Lucy was returning with food for them as he left. She was practically bowed down by the weight of the tray she carried. Mistress and servants sat down at the table to eat. There was a fat capon roasted to a golden brown, three meat pastries, fresh bread, butter, a soft French cheese, and some fresh peaches. To her surprise Philippa found, despite all that had happened today, she had a large appetite. She ate heartily, and drank two cups of a sweet rich wine. But having eaten, she found that she grew quickly sleepy.

“I can’t sleep,” she said.

“You can’t remain awake either, my lady,” Lucy said. “Come along. When the earl returns I will awaken you.” She escorted Philippa into the smaller half of the tent, helped her to undress, leaving her mistress in her chemise, brushed her long hair, and put her to bed. Philippa was instantly asleep. “Poor lady,” Lucy said to Peter when she had returned into the other room, “she was so brave today, but surely she must have been very frightened. I know I should have been.”

“Aye,” Peter agreed. “I’ve seen those before who have taken a fright. Afterwards they sleep, and it helps to heal them. She was a brave young woman standing up to those French ruffians, pretending she didn’t understand their garbled tongue.”

The earl returned close to midnight, bringing Cardinal Wolsey and his servant with him. He instructed Lucy to awaken Philippa, and then the three servants waited outside beneath the awning while their masters met in secret. Philippa came from the makeshift bedchamber in her long silk chemise. It was tied at the neck with white silk ribbons, and had long sleeves. Her garb was as modest as it could be under the circumstances. Her unbound long hair gave her a particularly young and innocent look.

“Your grace,” she said, curtseying, and kissing the outstretched hand. The cardinal, she noted, had a large hand with well-shaped, graceful fingers and neatly pared, clean fingernails.

The cardinal was seated, but he did not invite his host and hostess to sit. “Your husband has told me, madame, of your adventure this afternoon. Now I would have you tell me. Begin where you left the French king’s tent.”

Philippa blushed, but then she began. “My husband’s cousin had departed, and left me to find my own way. And the tent, your grace, was where the king changed after the jousts. It was not that great thing that blew away this afternoon. As you may know, the tents in that area are small, and lined up one after the other. It was like being in the midst of a garden maze. I had no idea where I was, or how to proceed. Then I recalled that our encampment was to the west. I looked to see if I might ascertain the position of the sun, and once I had I went in that direction, turning twice. I finally saw the jousting field ahead of me, but there was also a party of rather rough-looking knights near the exit, and so I moved one row over in order to avoid them. Frankly I did not wish to be seen. At that point another of those nasty little dust storms came up, and I could see nothing ahead of me. I was afraid to proceed lest I be lost again, and so I stopped, waiting for the storm to subside. It was then I overhead two men talking.”

“Your husband said there were three,” the cardinal interrupted.

“There were, but only two spoke. And when I first heard them I could not see them through the dust,” Philippa replied. She looked directly at the cardinal. He was a fat man with a long nose. He was dressed in his red cardinal’s robes, but the sleeves that showed from beneath his robes were black.

He looked back at her from beneath his hooded eyelids. “Continue, madame.”

She did, reciting her tale once more, and when she had finished he nodded at her.

“You are certain they are in the service of the dowager of France?” he asked.

“Aye, and they said she would protect them if they were caught. Your grace, I somehow believe this plot is of their own making in an effort to ingratiate themselves with their mistress. Although she could have said something in an unguarded moment that they misunderstood, or mistook, I cannot believe a great lady like Louise of Savoy would devise such a conspiracy.”

“For a girl at court for four years, madame, you remain singularly innocent of the evils that men do. I suppose it is the queen’s influence upon you,” the cardinal noted dryly. “Frankly it matters not to me if the French dowager is personally involved. What is important is that we find a way to foil this plot. Except for these three fools, anyone else implicated will escape retribution, especially the higher one looks up the ladder. But when will they attempt this perfidy? That is the puzzle we must solve.”

“They said it was a time when you would all be together,” Philippa said.

The cardinal appeared to be deep in thought. His elegant fingers drummed softly upon the wooden arm of the chair in which he sat. His mouth was pursed. His eyes closed. And then they opened. “Of course!” he exclaimed. “It is the perfect time!”

“My lord?” the earl said.

“The last event of this great flummery is a mass at which I will personally preside,” the cardinal said. “Everyone will be there. Both royal houses, both courts, and as many of their servants as can crowd into the chapel that will be erected over the tiltyard. What better place for an assassination to take place? King Henry and his queen will be up front, as will the dowager of France, King Francois, and his queen. And I will be there.” He fixed his gaze upon Philippa. “Would you recognize these three men, madame, if you saw them again? Did you get a good enough look at their faces in your fright?”

“I was frightened, your grace, but I was not blinded by that fear,” Philippa told him. “I can recognize those three without any difficulty.”

“Excellent, madame,” the cardinal said.

“What of the salamander that is to be the signal?” Philippa boldly queried him.

The cardinal shrugged. “I have no idea what it might mean, but the important thing is that you are able to identify these men among the queen dowager’s servants.”

“Surely you cannot demand that Louise of Savoy make her servants line themselves up for your inspection,” the earl said.

The cardinal barked a small laugh. “Nay, my dear Crispin, it would be too easy for our conspirators to avoid such an event, and frankly I doubt the dowager could identify the faces of all of her servants. How often do we actually observe those who serve us, my lord? They matter not. Only that they do their duty to us.”

“Then you plan to wait until the mass itself,” the earl said. “Is that not dangerous, your grace? Will there be time at that moment to stop these assassinations?”

“There is no other way,” the cardinal said calmly. “God will protect us.” Then he arose from the chair where he had been ensconced. “I must return to my own quarters before it is realized that I have not yet come back from the banquet. Madame, I thank you for your cleverness, and your sharp ears. I did not know your father personally, but I do know from what has been said of him that he would be proud of you this day.” He held out his hand to her once again, and Philippa kissed it. The cardinal then looked to the earl. “You are to be commended in your choice of a wife, Crispin.” The hand was once more extended, and the earl kissed it. “Good night to you both,” the powerful cleric said, and then sweeping past them, he departed the pavilion of the earl and countess of Witton.

“In all my time at court I never before met him,” Philippa said softly. “I find him both compelling and frightening.”

The earl laughed. “He is indeed both, little one.”

“Will he indeed make no effort to find the assassins before the mass?” Philippa asked her husband. “If we walked about the French camp, especially near the dowager’s pavilion, we might spot them.”

“Or they might spot us, and realize that you had indeed understood every foul word that they had uttered,” the earl said. “Nay, little one. While the cardinal’s plan may seem simple, perhaps even dangerous, he always seems to know just what to do.” He put an arm about her and kissed the top of her head.

Unable to help herself, Philippa leaned against her husband as a feeling of total happiness seemed to sweep over her. I love him, she thought once again. If only he could love me, but then as kind as he has been since our wedding, he only wed me for the lands he wanted. It is unlikely to ever be anything more. And yet ... She sighed.

On the following day gifts were exchanged between England and France. They were lavish to the point of excess, but illustrated the amity that seemed to exist between the two sovereigns. But even though Henry and Francois had exhibited great cordiality towards one another, it was not genuine. Beneath the civilized veneer the old enmity still existed. Yet there had been no breaches of etiquette between any of the participants at the Field of the Cloth of Gold as the courtiers and their servants followed in the footsteps of their masters.

The French king presented his English counterpart with two magnificent horses. One was a sorrel mare named Mantellino who was prized for her great ability on the jousting field. The other, the dappled Mozaurcha, was equally famed. Henry gave the French king a jeweled collar with an enormous ruby pendant in the shape of a heart, as well as several horses. The Mantuan ambassador, however, was heard to remark that the French horses were the better bargain. Queen Claude gifted Queen Katherine with a beautiful litter complete with mules to pull it, and several pages. Queen Katherine gave Queen Claude four splendidly trapped riding horses. The cardinal received from the French king two gold vases. In return he offered Francois an illuminated Book of the Hours that had been made for King Louis who was called saint. Louise of Savoy gave Wolsey a jeweled crucifix. He gave her a relic of the true cross that had been placed in a jeweled setting.

After almost a month of feasting and jousting and general sociability, the Field of the Cloth of Gold was drawing to a close. On the day of the gifts the jousting field was empty of combatants. Instead it was filled with carpenters and joiners, glaziers and tilers, all busily erecting a temporary chapel. The two kings swore that a church, Our Lady of Friendship, would one day rise on the spot, and that they would return to pray and socialize in the years to come. It was planned that Cardinal Wolsey lay the foundation stone of the new church after the final mass.

The court crowded into the chapel, Philippa making certain she was near the queen with her husband. The choir from the Chapel Royal would sing the mass. The candlesticks from Westminster Abbey adorned the altar, sitting upon an altar cloth brought from the Notre Dame cathedral in Paris. The chalices came from both cathedrals. The cardinal in his scarlet robes was attended by both English and French priests.

And then Philippa saw him. The man who had remained silent the day she had heard the conspirators. For a moment she could not believe her eyes, but then she leaned over and whispered softly to her husband. “Crispin, one of the three is on the altar with the cardinal. My God! Is he a priest? This is terrible!”

“Which one?” the earl whispered back, signaling discreetly to one of the English priests he knew who stood with the queen even as he asked the question.

“The red-haired man. He wore a cap that day, and the dust obscured his hair color, but it is he. There are just two elderly priests between him and the cardinal,” Philippa said nervously.

“My lord?” The priest was at his side.

“The red-haired man near Wolsey is an assassin, father. Wolsey was expecting it, but did not know the identity of the man. We have only just identified him. Can you reach the cardinal?” the earl of Witton asked.

The priest nodded. He recognized the earl as a man once in the king’s service who took his orders through the cardinal. He recognized his pale-faced young wife as a devoted servant of the queen. Quietly he slipped into the choir, moving past the choristers in the rear row until he was at the far end on the altar. He murmured to another priest, and together the two men eased themselves nearer the red-haired priest until they were on either side of him.

“You will come with us, father,” the queen’s man said softly. “Your plot has been discovered, and the cardinal will want to speak with you after the mass.”

The French priest looked startled, but then allowed himself to be escorted off without making any disturbance. They took him through a side door out into the field. The earl was already there, and a quick search of the prisoner revealed a rather nasty-looking dagger. Its tip was darker than the rest of the blade.

“Beware!” the earl cried. “The tip is poison!”

“You may have saved your cardinal, but shortly your king and your queen will be dead. There is nothing you can do to save them,” the priest snarled.

The earl of Witton grasped the French priest about the neck, the tip of the poisoned dagger close, but not yet touching his throat. “I want the location and names of the other two in this nefarious plot,” he said.

“Go to the devil!” the priest replied venomously.

“Are you really ready to give up your life in this ridiculous hope that having murdered England’s monarchs in order to steal their child, France will rule England? There are still men in England whose blood makes them legitimate heirs to its throne. The duke of Buckingham for one. Only their acquiescence to the Tudors has allowed that family to rule, but if the Tudors were gone these men would rise up to claim what is their right.” He moved the dagger closer to the priest’s skin.

The priest was silent, but they could see he was considering the earl’s words very carefully. “What will become of us?” he finally asked nervously.

“Give me the names of the others, and where they stand. I will return you all to your mistress. What she does with you is her business. We do not want to destroy the amity that has existed in this month between our nations. Tell me now, or as God is my witness I will prick you with this blade, and leave you to die unshriven! Will you go to your maker, priest, with this sin on your soul?”

“Pierre and Michel, serving men of the dowager queen. They stand with her now in the chapel. Pierre is taller than any other there but your own king. Michel stands to his right,” the priest cried. “Take the blade from my neck, I beg you!”

The earl shoved the man to the ground and handed the dagger to the queen’s priest. “Watch him carefully, and do not permit him off his knees until the Swiss Guard come for him, good fathers. If he attempts to escape you, blood him with the dagger.”

Then the earl hurried back into the chapel, quickly speaking with the captain of the king’s own Yeomen. Quietly the men-at-arms moved to where the two men they sought stood among the French dowager queen’s servants. Discreetly they hustled the two from the chapel even before they might protest. Few noticed, for the courtiers were caught up in the sumptuous beauty and magnificence of the mass. Most there recognized that this was the close of a most historic event. They wanted to absorb it all so they might tell their children and their grandchildren one day. Even Louise of Savoy ignored the small to-do.

Outside, the three conspirators were now on their knees, their arms bound behind them, the yeomen watching over them. The two English priests had disappeared back into the chapel.

“Take them somewhere where they will not be seen by the kings or the courts,” the earl said to the captain of the guard. “I will speak with his grace after the mass, and he will decide what is to be done with them.”

“Aye, my lord,” came the response.

Suddenly down the field there came a shouting. “The Salamander! The Salamander!” There was the smell of gunpowder and a whine in the sky.

“What is it?” the captain of the yeomen asked.

“It would appear,” the earl said, “that one of the fireworks for the festivities later was exploded prematurely. I will go and check.” And when he did, the earl learned that he was correct in his assumption. The Salamander, which was the French king’s own personal sign, had been accidentally lit by a young boy, those in charge of the fireworks told the earl. A local lad hired to help.

“Clumsy brat!” the fireworks artisan said angrily. “Any other piece I could have tolerated, but the king’s own symbol! There will be no time to make another.”

“Where is the boy?”

“I beat him, and sent him off,” the man said.

“Do you know who he is?” the earl asked patiently.

“My sister’s worthless son,” came the answer.

“I need to speak with the lad,” the earl told the artisan.

“Piers, you miserable little turd, where are you?” the man shouted. “Get back here or when I catch you I’ll flay the very flesh from your skinny bottom!”

They waited a long moment, and then a boy crept from the shadows of the artisan’s wagon. He was dirty, and looked hungry.

“Come here, brat!” the artisan shouted. “This fine gentleman wishes to speak with you, though why I have no idea.”

“Stay,” the earl said quietly. “Come, lad.” He beckoned the boy in kindly tones.

“Yes, milord?” the boy whispered. He looked frightened.

“Now, lad, you must tell me the truth, and if you do I will reward you. But I will know if you are lying to me. Do you understand?”

“Yes, milord.” The answer was subdued.

“Did someone pay you to fire the king’s Salamander when the sun reached its zenith this morning? The truth now, lad.”

The boy looked very frightened. “Did I do something wrong, milord?”

“Perhaps you did, but I will not punish you for it nor will anyone else. But I need the truth from you. Did someone pay you to fire the Salamander?”

“Aye, milord.” The boy nodded his head. “ ’Twas a priest, and he gave me a silver penny to do it. He said the king’s mother wished to play a jest upon him.”

“A silver penny?” the artisan exclaimed. “Where is it, you little turd? The penny should be mine for all the trouble you’ve caused me.” He glowered menacingly at his nephew, and thrust his hand in the boy’s face. “Give it to me!”

“I gave it to my mother,” the boy shouted back at his uncle. “You have paid me nothing since you took me as your apprentice. My mother needs to feed her children.”

The artisan cuffed the boy angrily, but the earl put a hand on the man’s arm.

“Leave the boy alone,” he said. “I may need him to identify this priest, and if he can there is something in it for you.”

“What is this about?” the artisan suddenly asked, now nervous of this tall Englishman.

“There has been a plot against someone in a high place, and your nephew was duped into lighting the Salamander which was to be the signal for the assassins,” the earl answered.

The fireworks artisan crossed himself nervously, murmuring, “Mother of God!”

“The boy is innocent of any wrongdoing,” the earl told the artisan quietly. “He was offered a chance to gain a silver penny, and he took it. No one was harmed, because the conspiracy was discovered in time. But I will want the boy to identify the priest for the proper authorities. You must both come with me.”

“Who are you?” the artisan asked.

“My name would mean naught to you, but you should know I am in the service of Cardinal Wolsey You will be rewarded for your cooperation, I promise you.”

The artisan shook his head. “Very well, we will come with you,” he said. He might be French, but everyone knew of the great cardinal who some said was the real ruler of England and the English. He reached out and grabbed his nephew by the collar of his shirt. “Come along, Piers, and tell the truth, you worthless piece of merde!”

The earl led the way from the field where the fireworks display was set up, through the English encampment to the cardinal’s pavilion. Recognized by the guard at the entrance, he was allowed to pass into the tent with his companions. Inside he saw the trio of miscreants on their knees before Wolsey, now returned from the mass.

“That’s him!” the boy burst out without even being asked. “ ’Tis yon priest who paid me a silver penny to light the Salamander before I should.”

Cardinal Wolsey beckoned them forward. “Explain, Witton,” he said.

“Remember that Philippa said ‘the salamander’ was to be the sign for the assassination. The lad is the fireworks artisan’s apprentice. He was paid a silver penny to light the Salamander when the sun reached its zenith this morning. The fireworks, of course, are not until this evening. The Salamander was to be the signal for the assassination to commence. The boy knew nothing of that, of course. He said a priest paid him, and said that the king’s mother wished to play a jest on her son.”

“And you see that same priest here in my pavilion, lad?” the cardinal said.

“Aye, your grace. He kneels before you there.” The boy pointed directly at the guilty man.

Cardinal Wolsey nodded. “Thank you, lad. Kneel, both of you, and I will give you my blessing.” The cardinal was known to be parsimonious. When he had blessed the pair he surprised the earl by reaching deep into a pocket hidden in his robes and drawing forth two coins. The larger of the two he gave to the artisan, the smaller to the boy.

The earl saw the glint of silver, and almost smiled. This information must have meant a great deal to the cardinal that he would part with silver.

“You,” Wolsey said to the artisan, “will return to your fireworks, for the display tonight must be a fine one. I will send the boy to you before evening. I need him to remain for now. He will have to tell his story to another.” The cardinal turned to one of his servants. “Have my litter prepared and brought forth. I am going to pay a visit upon the dowager queen herself, and see what she has to say about this plot.” Now he focused his gaze upon the earl of Witton. “You have done well, as you have always been wont to do, Crispin. Now go and find your wife, and enjoy the rest of this spectacle. One more interminable banquet filled with over-rich foods, a show of fireworks, and we may all finally go home again to our perfect English summer. Provided, of course, that it does not rain for weeks on end, but then after this unbearable heat and all this dust I think I will welcome the rain. Go! Go!” He waved his beringed hand at the earl.

Crispin St. Claire bowed to the cardinal. “Thank you, your grace,” he said. “I am glad to have once again been of service, but it is really my wife to whom the glory should go. If she had not overheard these three, their wicked plot might have succeeded.”

Comprehension dawned upon the face of the largest prisoner. He looked to the man called Michel and said, “I told you we should have strangled the bitch. She understood every word we said that day”

“Aye, she did,” the earl told them. And then, laughing, he left the cardinal’s pavilion to find Philippa and tell her all that had transpired.