Now I wish they had confronted me in that garden at midnight. At least I could have known and found a way to stop them.

  Nosewise trotted ahead of me, running about and sensing his freedom to do as he pleased. His cheerful brashness cheered me. But suddenly he pulled up short, tail up, ears back. His nose began to twitch and cautiously he stepped forward.

  What has he got into now? I wondered. But even as I neared, a chill of remembrance shuddered through me. Hadn’t he done that very thing when he found Gonzalo? Please God Almighty, make it not so.

  Nosewise was as good as his name. Alone, on the grass, lay a man. I ran forward. God help me! I slid to the ground before him and grabbed his hand. Not again!

  ‘Rodrigo?’

  THIRTEEN

  His hand was warm … and a pulse throbbed under my fingers. He was alive!

  ‘Help! Help! Guards!’

  My cry was taken up by unseen servants or courtiers and I heard the running of guards from somewhere.

  I smoothed back the hair from Rodrigo’s face and he moaned and turned his head.

  ‘Don’t try to speak, Rodrigo. It is I, Will Somers. Help is coming.’

  With the guards, crowds arrived. Everyone wished to look because it is human nature to want to see. When I looked up, I noted Kendrick in the mix, and the whoreson never bothered to offer prayers or kindness. He looked him over, sneered, and made haste away.

  What’s amiss, Kendrick? Disappointed he’s still alive? Aye, that’s when I began to rightfully consider that this priest was priest in name only, and willing to murder. I had to find out more about him, but not for the moment. I held Rodrigo’s hand instead, muttering a prayer.

  A guard ran off to fetch a physician, but one of the friars arrived first. He commanded we carry him to the infirmary in the Church of the Observant Friars, and I and others carried him thence.

  Once he was laid gently onto a cot the friar dismissed them all but bid me stay.

  ‘Master Somers, you seem to know this man.’

  ‘Aye, Brother. He is Rodrigo Muñoz, from the Spaniards’ men.’

  He wrung out a cloth in a basin and gently wiped at the wound to his head. ‘What happened?’

  ‘I don’t know. My dog found him.’ Just like he found Gonzalo, I mused with a tingle of warning rushing over my skin.

  The friar bent over the man, pushing his hair aside as Rodrigo squirmed. ‘This man was coshed on the head. A little blood, a little bruising, but I don’t think it will be a great matter. I will keep an eye on him tonight to make certain of it.’

  ‘I am grateful to you for that, Brother … Brother …?’

  ‘Fulke. I will make him a potion to drink to ease the pain and possible fever. You can help me, Somers.’

  ‘Anything, Brother.’

  I chopped the leaves of a plant as directed, and then Brother Fulke, with his stubby, calloused, and scratched fingers scooped it up and put it in the small cooking pot on a trivet before the fire. He stirred it about, added honey, and then poured the brew into a cup. He brought it to the cot and sat at the head, gently cradling Rodrigo and hefting him up so that he could drink it. The patient made a face, but when he’d drunk nearly all of it, Brother Fulke seemed satisfied and laid him down again. He examined his head, decided he didn’t need a bandage, and gestured for me to come with him to the far side of the room.

  ‘You are his friend?’

  ‘Oh aye.’

  ‘Then you will come to check on him, eh?’

  ‘I will. Whatever you say.’

  He patted my shoulder. ‘Some take you for only a fool, Will Somers, but you are much more than that.’

  ‘May I sit with him now?’

  ‘If you are quiet. He needs to rest. But someone does need to attend to him the rest of the night. To listen to make certain he is only sleeping.’

  ‘I can do that. But I must know, Brother. Did someone try to kill him?’

  He looked back at the man in the bed and sighed. ‘If so, they didn’t do a good job of it. Striking a man to kill takes a good, solid blow. He was blessed that it did not crack his skull. So I would say that the blow was not hard enough.’

  ‘Or he’s got a hard head.’

  He smiled. ‘Even so. God has watched over and protected him.’

  ‘Then … if you or I would have coshed him, we would have fouled it. Is that what you are saying?’

  The friar was about ten years my senior, with hazel eyes and brown hair, where it wasn’t shorn for his tonsure. And though he shaved his face, his beard was stubborn and left a shadow on his cheeks and chin. ‘That is the gist of it. It was an inexpert hand, I should say.’

  ‘Then … not an assassin.’

  ‘Assassin? What notions you have.’

  ‘He is in the imperial ambassador’s retinue. And his master, Don Gonzalo de Yscar, was murdered nearly a week ago.’

  He looked back at Rodrigo, chest rising and falling in his troubled rest. ‘That is very interesting.’

  ‘Aye, it is.’

  His eyes roved over me. ‘It is rumored you found the body of his master.’

  ‘It is true, Brother. And I have been troubled ever since. I have been trying to ascertain who could have killed him. And now they are trying to kill his groom. Something is very amiss.’

  ‘You have been?’

  ‘It was a terrible thing that happened to Don Gonzalo. And in King Henry’s court! And now this. I need to know that they will both find justice.’

  ‘Well … then sit with him a while. When he is better, you can ask him if he saw anyone. It was to the back of his head. He may not have seen the assailant. Or he may not remember. The blow to the head … it does things to the mind.’

  ‘Oh. That is a fearful thing.’

  ‘Pray on it, Somers.’

  ‘I will. I beg you to help in that, Brother.’

  ‘And so I shall.’

  I found a stool and brought it to his bed and sat myself upon it. Sometime in the evening, Nosewise wandered in and jumped onto the cot to lay beside him, and by that I knew that the pup was saddened as I was saddened. I felt that Rodrigo would be eased by the dog’s soft presence. And I sat watching him most of the night … until I dozed off.

  ‘You are no great watchdog,’ said a rough voice as I climbed up to wakefulness.

  ‘Rodrigo!’ I nearly shouted. I scooted to the edge of the stool and grabbed his hand. It was morn, with a hazy sun streaming in through the shutter ajar. He looked fine and flushed with good health. Nosewise sat up and panted a smile. ‘How are you?’

  ‘My head rings like a bell, but not as badly as last night.’

  ‘You poor, poor thing. But God is good and has preserved you.’

  ‘He has.’

  ‘What happened? Do you know?’

  He slowly shook his head. ‘I barely recall it. I was following an idea I had, and walking through the garden to get to another part of the palace when I felt this hard pain in the back of my head. I don’t know what happened after that. I must have fallen. I remember you there … and then many hands carrying me here. Where is here?’

  ‘We are in the infirmary of the Church of the Observant Friars.’

  He nodded before he stopped himself with a hand to his forehead. ‘Ow.’

  ‘Lie still. I will fetch Brother Fulke. He nursed you.’

  I left Nosewise in his care and went in search of our friar apothecary. Their liturgy of the hours had finished, and Brother Fulke met me at the door with a tray of food. ‘How is our patient?’

  ‘He awakens.’

  ‘Good. I hope he has an appetite.’

  I hurried ahead of him and stood beside the bed. Rodrigo was sitting up and petting Nosewise. ‘Bless you, Brother,’ he said.

  Brother Fulke set down his tray and sat in the stool by the bed. He cupped Rodrigo’s face and turned his head gently this way and that. ‘And how are you feeling today?’

  ‘Much like someone who has been hit on the head.’

  Fulke held up a finger. ‘Do you see one, or two?’

  ‘One.’

  ‘God is good. I don’t think you will suffer any ill-effects, except for an aching head. I urge you to have some gruel.’

  ‘I will eat it, Brother, whatever it is.’

  Fulke handed Rodrigo the wooden bowl, spoon and cup. ‘Water will slack your thirst. Take a little wine today – only a little, mind – to aid the blood that was lost.’

  ‘Thank you, Brother.’ He scooped a spoonful and shoved it in his mouth.

  When Fulke moved off, I sat in his place. ‘Did you see who attacked you?’

  ‘Alas, no. I do not even remember such a thing happening. One moment I was investigating, the next awakening here.’

  ‘What was it you were going to investigate?’

  ‘I had an idea about Kendrick. But now … I don’t remember what it was.’

  ‘Oh, that poor head of yours. Did you find out anything else about your master’s doings?’

  Rodrigo gingerly scooped up more gruel from his bowl and seemed to enjoy it. ‘I found more letters …’ He snatched a glance to where the friar had disappeared, reached into his shirt, and pulled out some folded papers. ‘You see.’

  ‘I don’t read Spanish, my friend.’

  He set his bowl down and, as soon as he did, Nosewise had his face in it, lapping it up.

  ‘Nosewise! You little beggar.’ I grabbed him away, but Rodrigo waved his hand.

  ‘Let him eat. I’ve had enough.’

  I set the dog back down and he was back in the bowl again.

  Rodrigo wiped his hand on the blanket and unfolded the paper. He sighed and shook his head. ‘I wish what I found would have been good news, but it was not. It seems my master was promising Queen Catherine one thing – help from Spain to stop this divorce – but also promising Henry something else; help with the divorce. Oh Will. Why was my master doing this?’

  ‘He said this, did he?’

  ‘Sí. Plainly.’ He rested the paper on his lap.

  ‘Aye me. Your master was a diplomat. His task was to walk a very fine line between two sides. To what end? Well … we cannot guess. Was he a friend of Cardinal Wolsey?’

  ‘He had occasion to discuss certain things with him. Once, the cardinal was in his chambers, but mostly, he went to the cardinal’s and I did not accompany him.’

  ‘What was said when you were nigh?’

  He sighed again. ‘Something about making it easier for both Spain and England. But each time I tried to hear more, they would dismiss me from the room. The rooms are built very solidly and, alas, I could hear no more.’

  ‘Was Wolsey alone?’

  ‘Never. He was always with Cromwell and Kendrick.’

  Kendrick again. But of course he was always with Wolsey. And Kendrick was the one looking for papers in Gonzalo’s room.

  ‘I am tired,’ said Rodrigo, lying back against his pillow.

  ‘Shall I take the letter for safekeeping?’

  He handed it to me without another word. I took the bowl away and set the cup of water at his bedside. Should I leave him? I thought Brother Fulke would look after him, so I sought him out to tell him I had to depart.

  What would Henry think of his absent jester? I was not there to soothe his brow whilst he went to his bed after his stroll with the Lady Nan … alone. Unfulfilled. Poor Henry. A lusty man like him would surely not wait for a divorce and a new wedding. Would he find another more willing? I wish I had the time to find out who kept the king warm at night, but I had other things on my mind. I was beginning to suspect that Kendrick had something to do with this, so that was my next pursuit. After the king tired of me, that is.

  Kendrick was not as difficult to find as I thought he might be. He had a perpetual snarl to his face. One wonders how any poor soul would pour out their hearts in confession to such a one as he. But that gave me an idea.

  I had my bladder on a stick as I cavorted through the crowds at court and found his clutch of crows in their dark corners and whispers. I tapped him on the back of his head with my bladder stick. He whirled about, ready to take me to task when I announced, ‘Father Kendrick, I wish to make my confession!’

  ‘Who has the time for that many hours?’ he snarled.

  They laughed. I laughed, for it was a good jest. But I was not in a jesting mood, but in a more bodkin sort of mood. ‘For shame, Father. Making light of the sacraments? Well, I’m certain Wolsey would be displeased. I’m certain Henry would be displeased.’

  The laughter fell suddenly away.

  Kendrick stalked toward me. ‘It was not I who made light of the sacraments, but you, you jackanape.’

  ‘You wound me, sir. For I do wish to confess. I confess …’ All held their breath listening. I yanked at my hose. ‘I confess … that my breeches are too tight.’ I waddled about, grabbing my cod while the others laughed. Kendrick did not.

  ‘Ah, that was a jest in truth, Kendrick. But I have other business with you, if you will find another dark corner to talk. I will shoo the spiders away for us.’

  ‘I have nothing to say to you, fool.’

  ‘But the king’s jester has plenty to say to you.’ I emphasized ‘the king’ just that much, and his brows ticked upward. Men such as these cannot take a step without thinking of their ambitions, and here was a man – Wolsey’s man – who gave great thoughts to his ambitions. That ladder again. It was a wobbly thing, that ladder, pegged together with greed and evil against their fellow man. It would never support such a weight for too long. Indeed, Wolsey was on the downward rung. Perhaps Cromwell thought to take his place in Henry’s esteem.

  He led the way, saying naught, and I followed him to an alcove far from the others. ‘What is it you want, Somers? You are like a piece of meat stuck betwixt my teeth and no straw will flick it out.’

  ‘Ha! That’s good, Kendrick. Very vivid. No. I merely wondered something. About your association with the Spanish.’

  He stalked forward and I suddenly found myself backed against the wall. He had murder in his eyes. ‘Harken, Somers,’ he said in a low growl. ‘Your games have got me in trouble with Wolsey. I’ve been working for years to be in His Grace’s company. One flippant remark from you has undone it. Be certain that I have not forgot it, fool. And I will find a way to make you pay.’

  It was like all the air was sucked out of my lungs. I had not been in peril of m’life before. Oh, once or twice from the king, but he didn’t mean it. But this man certainly did. I am ashamed to say that my knees knocked as I tried to make m’self smaller into that corner.

  And yet I still piped up with, ‘You can pay me by any coin of the realm, Kendrick.’

  I felt his hand, then. He swatted me good with his open palm across my cheek. It burned but, when others turned to look, he paled and skulked away. Kendrick’s star was a falling one and I felt no guilt at all if I had aught to do with it.

  I shrugged to the others in the corridor and flattened the bladder to make a farting sound. They laughed. Aye, all was merry in their lives again. So what if the fool is slapped by a priest? So what if that fool’s knees knocked in fear of his life? It was just another day at court, wasn’t it? Will, you forget your place too often. One of these days, one of these fine courtiers you insult is going to slip a bodkin right between your ribs, and it might take days for your poor corpse to be found.

  At least Marion would come looking for me.

  I decided I was hungry, and headed for the kitchens.

  Edward was there, giving me his smoldering looks. I don’t have the time, lad, said my look back at him.

  ‘Who’s gone and smote you, Will?’ said John Bricket, Master Cook.

  ‘What?’ My hand went to my cheek. It still felt hot. ‘Oh, it was a blessing from a priest. And a pious hand he has.’

  ‘You no doubt deserved it,’ said the French cook, Pero Doux, the privy kitchen cook with the exalted title of Yeoman Cook for the King’s Mouth.

  Laughter followed the remark even as Bricket gathered his cooks and gave them orders.

  I adjusted my doublet and retied one of the points that had come loose when I yanked at my hose. ‘Is that any way to treat the king’s fool?’

  ‘What are you doing here, Will?’ Bricket said, adjusting his apron.

  ‘I’m hungry.’

  ‘Breakfast is over, my lad.’

  ‘But I was tending to a sick friend. Should I suffer after doing God’s own work?’

  Bricket sighed and opened the buttons of his coat under his white linen apron. The kitchens were never idle, and he was fixing to get the dinner ready for its presentation hours away. It was hot work. ‘Walter,’ he called to one of his kitchen serjeants, ‘get this varlet a bit of cold capon.’

  ‘Oh, bless you, sir. And bless you, Walter.’

  ‘You’ll eat in the serving hall,’ said Bricket over his shoulder as he hurried to the doorway to the many smaller kitchens. ‘On a wooden trencher,’ was the last order he gave before he disappeared.

  ‘With bread, eh, Walter?’ I called.

  Walter was an obliging lad and he set my meal down at a long board table and served me ale from a leather jug into a wooden cup. But none of that vexed me. A Shropshire lad making airs above his station? I was grateful to eat at all. I did thank him, for it was more trouble to clean up after me as late as I was.

  I ate quickly after crossing myself with a prayer of thanks. I swallowed just enough to satisfy my hunger. I wolfed down the small manchet and then wiped my hands on the napkin that I had perched on my shoulder. I took that off, wiped my mouth, and told the scullions I was done. Now. On to serving the king.

  I went in search of him and found he was still busy with his privy councillors, but not too far off – in a withdrawing chamber with an open door – was Lady Nan and her ladies. There was one lingering in the doorway and, cuds-me, it was Lady Jane.

  I made as if I didn’t notice her until she was forced to call out.