‘Well, Thomas – since we are using our Christian names – you speak the truth of it. The king is my master and I am his man. All of court know this.’

  ‘Of course they do. Would it surprise you to know that I admire you?’

  ‘Very much so.’

  ‘But I do.’

  I almost expected him to approach me and throw his arm about me, but thank Christ he did not.

  ‘I do admire you, Will. That is why I have this proposal.’

  At last. What great boon would he ask of me? What thing would it be to cause the king to pull my limbs apart and set my poor, ugly head upon a pike to stare endlessly and senselessly from the ramparts of London Bridge?

  ‘My proposal is … to continue to do what you do. To advise the king to move wisely in this course on his Great Matter. To advise him to caution and to do what is best for the kingdom.’

  A knife-sharp rejoinder was ready on my tongue. Until I reckoned what it was he said. ‘What?’

  ‘You are the soul of the king. I have not failed to notice it. Tell him what his soul should hear.’

  ‘My Lord Cromwell, what makes you think that my mind follows your reasoning where this Great Matter is concerned? Though I am but a poor uneducated man, it is my sense that the kingdom would greatly benefit from the king keeping Catherine by his side. And though I bow to the king’s command, it would be my fervent prayer to send Lady Nan on her way. Why would you wish for me to undermine the very thing you are persisting in teaching him?’

  He smiled. Would the crocodiles in the Nile recognize a brother in that smile? ‘I only want what’s good for the kingdom, Will. As do you. And for the king, of course. And the king needs a male heir.’

  ‘But how could what I say help that cause?’

  ‘I said I admire you. Your counsel is wise. And the king hears the words of many counselors. Yours might be a little more … strident … than the rest.’

  ‘But …’

  ‘It is simplicity itself, Will. Do as you are doing. Counsel the king. We both will save his soul.’ He nodded once to me, and walked sedately away.

  Cuds-me. What had happened? Was Cromwell agreeing with me … or I with him?

  In a manor house, and as a servant of such, one had only to maneuver around the gossip and romantic entanglements, and the worst thing that could happen was to get a bruised chin from a fist or get sacked and set adrift along the road. But at court, it was a viper’s nest of intrigue where a man’s life hung in the balance from some jealous courtier, or if one said the wrong thing to the wrong man. Was I really suited to this life? Was I able to tread carefully over the river stones and make it safe to the other side, or would I plunge into the churning waters bestirred by men such as Cromwell?

  I blinked for a time, just thinking, weighing … until I brushed thoughts of Cromwell aside. I had to. After all, I had a killer to find. I considered. Best start at the best place, Will, I told myself. Who benefits from Gonzalo’s death? I couldn’t answer that, for I did not know what Gonzalo was about.

  I made my way back through the corridors, back to the Spanish chambers with their guards who eyed me with the utmost suspicion. But I raised my cittern and plucked the strings. I had learned a Spanish song some years ago from the queen and I played it now, humming, for I could not pronounce the words.

  One of the guards relaxed from his stiff posture, and I strummed and moved closer until the other succumbed too.

  Of course, I didn’t know how to proceed. What if they didn’t speak English? How would I make them understand?

  And then the door opened a crack. A Spanish lady was standing near the door, receiving orders in that speeding language, tripping over itself to get to the next word, when out of nowhere came running a small creature behind me. And it was only when it slipped between the doors and the tail disappeared that I realized it was Nosewise! How had he got loose?

  I dived for the door, calling the dog’s name. A woman rushed out of the doors, the guards got entangled with her, and I slipped in, running after that naughty dog who seemed to have saved the day.

  ‘Nosewise!’ I hissed, scouring the corners and alcoves for the little cur. Behind me, I heard the sound of running feet. I spotted the creature behind a curtain, whereupon I snatched him up, held him against my chest, and ducked behind said curtain as the guards rumbled past. I kissed the side of his snout. ‘Good boy,’ I whispered. ‘Now. Stay close to me, eh?’

  I peeked behind the drapery and saw no one in the corridor. I moved carefully forward toward Gonzalo’s chamber. When I reached it, I held the dog close and knocked.

  I didn’t know what I expected but it certainly wasn’t Father John Kendrick. And yet, here he was.

  He answered the door and stared at me a good long time. He obviously didn’t expect me either and I could very well see the cogwheels behind his eyes moving into place.

  ‘Somers? What are you doing here?’

  ‘My lord,’ I said, bowing. ‘I’ve come looking for Don Gonzalo’s groom.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Well … truly. I don’t think everything must be confessed to a priest, sir.’

  He narrowed his eyes. ‘He’s not here.’

  ‘Oh? Might you be acquainted with where he’s got to?’ I tried to look past him with keen eyes, but could discern no one else lurking in the shadows. I turned Nosewise this way and that like a puppet, in search.

  ‘I’m not your servant, Somers. Go away.’ And he slammed the door in my face.

  And so. Father Kendrick. Again. What was he doing in Gonzalo’s quarters? Searching his papers? Why was he being allowed to do so? An English priest in a Spanish embassy?

  There was nothing for it but to continue my search. If only these men here spoke English. If only I spoke even a smattering of Spanish. I could try Latin, but I didn’t know enough and who could be certain about these gentlemen … although they were strong in their religion and likely knew their Latin well enough.

  And there, coming from the other direction, was the clerk I had met earlier, Francis de Aguilar. I bowed to him, and he stopped. ‘Oh,’ he said. ‘You’re the fool.’

  ‘Indeed, sir. Could you do me the service of directing me to the groom of Don Gonzalo?’

  ‘Groom? I do not know this word.’

  I reached into my mind for the proper Latin. ‘A … kalator?’

  ‘Ah. Sí. Rodrigo Muñoz. The poor man. He is in mourning.’

  ‘And where would that be?’

  ‘In the Church of the Observant Friars.’

  ‘I thank you, señor.’ I bowed again, and held the dog under my arm as I rushed back down the corridor and headed for the church.

  The friary church was adjoined to the palace. Henry and Catherine were married there. The Princess Mary was christened there. It was Henry’s church more than Westminster ever was, but it was also Catherine’s, for they supported her against this divorce. It was too bad. They were pious men in this friary, where there were so few on this island of ours, and I feared for them.

  I released Nosewise and sent him on his way before I stepped into the cool, dark interior. I saw friars moving about, like ghosts in their gray habits, but I think I was looking for the man kneeling at the rood screen.

  Thank Christ I was wearing no more bells, for I did not want the sounds to ring out in the desperately quiet silence as I made my way down the nave.

  I got as close as I dared to whisper, ‘Señor Muñoz?’

  A face of a carven statue. Perfect features and bright though saddened eyes of hazel. Dark hair curled just so behind his ears. A noble nose, noble lips. A handsome creature this, made for a tumble.

  God’s beard, Will. This is a church! A man’s eye will wander even in a church, I feared.

  He got to his feet and looked at me. ‘You are the fool.’ His accent was thick enough to cut with a knife, but thank God he spoke English.

  I bowed. ‘Will Somers. And you are … were … the groom to Don Gonzalo?’

  ‘I do not know this word … groom.’

  ‘You were his man, his attendant personalem.’

  His eyes filled with tears again and I put my arm around him to steer him out of the church before the friars noticed us.

  In the courtyard under a pleasant autumn sky, he broke down, weeping on my shoulder. I patted him whilst searching for anyone watching us. Finally, he drew back.

  ‘Er … your attendance upon him was …’ I searched for the words. ‘I know it was very sad. Were you with him a good many years?’

  He sniffed. ‘Not so many years. He was a good master. Good to me.’ A sob broke through again, and I patted him on the back condolingly.

  ‘There was once an older man kind to me. He, er, taught me much about life. And … other things.’

  Muñoz’s face rose, tear streaks etched on his cheeks. ‘Taught you about life?’

  ‘Took me in hand … if you will.’ Christ’s toes, Will. What were you confessing to this man? A servant can have deep feelings for his master without any poking under the sheets. Except that I was as broken as Muñoz when my older patron passed from this world. I took a breath, and tried, ‘Was he more … personalem … than anyone might have thought?’ I asked quietly.

  He stared at me in fear. I knew that look. ‘Ease your mind, señor. I, too, was … erm … personalem with Gonzalo.’

  Now his eyes scoured me, running higly-pigly over my features, no doubt trying to discern the truthfulness of my admission. I shrugged, holding out my arms, for I could not be called a handsome man. My beauty was in my character. Or so I liked to think.

  ‘I was with him last, I think. I … I also found him.’

  ‘Oh.’ It was a sigh, an expression of shared grief. ‘I knew he was meeting someone. We … we were amantes. Lovers. Sometimes. He was my señor, my master, mostly.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  He wiped his nose with his finger.

  ‘Why would anyone wish to kill Gonzalo?’ I asked.

  He shook his head. ‘I have been thinking on this myself. He … he was an important man.’

  ‘Aye. Anyone belonging to the imperial ambassador’s retinue must be important. Do you know what he was about … what he was entrusted to do? Was it about … King Henry’s divorce?’

  He looked around again. We were quite alone. Unless the trees themselves were spies.

  ‘Sí. It was the most important business.’

  ‘But why kill him particularly? Do you see my meaning? Surely there were others who were more important to this business.’

  ‘I do not know, Señor Somers.’

  Señor Somers. I rather liked the sound of that. But I said, instead, ‘Will. Call me Will. And I shall call you … Rodrigo, eh?’

  He nodded, even tried to smile amid his sadness.

  ‘And so, Rodrigo, my handsome friend …’ He smiled shyly, cheeks blooming with color. Ah, such a sweet visage. ‘It is important to me to know who killed our friend. Can you spare some time to talk to me of this?’

  Nosewise took that moment to run up to us and leap into Rodrigo’s arms. The poor man was so startled he let out a little yelp. But that most precious of dogs began licking his face, and Rodrigo could no longer be startled or sad.

  ‘Who is this creature?’ he asked, giving him a grateful smile.

  ‘I must confess that he is mine. His name is Nosewise because, as you see, he pokes his nose into everything. Much like his master.’

  Rodrigo did not relieve himself of the dog, but found comfort in holding him. I let him. Without more words spoken, we retreated to my rooms, and it was there that he finally let the dog down. Nosewise sniffed his way all around Rodrigo’s shoes, hose and coat and, when he was satisfied, he found his basket, circled within it, and settled in.

  ‘He is an affable dog,’ said my guest. And then he raised his eyes to me. ‘Like his master.’

  He fell upon me, his mouth on mine. The rough feel of his cheek with its stubble always aroused, and I kissed him heartily back before I got hold of myself. I whipped my face away from him.

  ‘We cannot do this here in the mid of the day. But I would be agreeable this evening.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, flushing with embarrassment.

  ‘Oh, never fear that. We are the sort of men who must rush in when we can when we find an available and willing partner. It is I who am sorry about Gonzalo.’

  ‘Sí.’ He nodded. ‘I fear my feelings were stronger for him than his was for me. Of course, my status is lower. We were … the English word? … convenient … for one another.’

  As Marion was convenient to me when I lusted for the taste of Woman. As I was to her to get the love of a man.

  ‘I’m afraid, my good sir, that we are the kind of men who live between the shadows of such convenience. Aye me. I am sad for the both of us. Not for this life, but for the one so carelessly wasted. The one we both mourn.’

  He sniffed. ‘Sí. Wasted.’

  I got in closer and he raised his face to me. I glanced once at those lips and looked away. ‘You see, my dear Rodrigo, I am looking for a reason why he was killed. So I can find the cur who did it.’

  ‘You are looking for the murderer? How can I help you?’

  Could I trust him? I was going to. ‘My friend, not long after his death, I received a missive, extorting me. Telling me that they would make known my relationship with Gonzalo if I did not spy on the king for them.’

  ‘Oh!’ He jumped to his feet. ‘This is horrific!’

  ‘Yes. And I was to meet them in a certain garden at midnight two days after I was with your master to discuss what they wanted.’

  ‘What happened? Who was it?’

  I shook my head. ‘They did not arrive. I have heard no more from them. I wonder if they, too, are dead.’

  Slowly, he sat again, his mouth agape. He crossed himself and murmured a prayer. ‘That is strange.’

  ‘Yes, it is. I can think of no other reason why my blackmailer should have stopped sending me messages … or even meeting me. Though I know they could see me at any time. I am nearly more visible than the king himself.’

  He stared at me. And now I could see it all in his eyes. ‘What the hell was I doing with a jester?’ he must be thinking. A man so visible, so envied and feared. I measured the man. Would he excuse himself, run in fear? Would he disappear never to be seen more? Either made sense.

  I waited.

  He ran his hand over his face and dropped that hand to his lap. ‘This is difficult.’

  ‘Yes, I know it is. It’s all right, Rodrigo. If you must flee from me, I will understand.’

  He blinked. ‘Flee from you? Why should I do that? Do you want me to go?’

  ‘No, of course not.’

  ‘I thought you wanted my help.’

  ‘By Christ, I do.’

  ‘Then … what can I do?’

  ‘What can you do? Why … be my spy.’

  SEVEN

  Rodrigo said, before I could mention it, ‘You should come to my lord’s apartments. You should see for yourself. We can see together.’

  Yes. I wanted to see for myself. To look one last time and to touch the things Gonzalo had touched. Perhaps I was not through with the memory of him any more than Rodrigo was.

  ‘Can you steal me in there?’

  ‘I …’ He faltered. ‘I can go. But how to bring you? How should we explain it?’

  ‘Aye, that is a problem.’ I looked about, trying to discern the answer from the very stones of the palace walls. ‘You will simply take me in. And if we encounter anyone, there is a piece of music you know that Lord de Yscar wished for me to have … since he and I were discussing music.’

  ‘Will that be enough?’

  ‘With God’s grace it will suffice.’

  But I sent up an additional prayer anyway.

  We walked down the corridor, side by side. At first, we were silent, filled with nerves as we were, but it suddenly seemed absurd to observe me, the jester, silent. And so I engaged Rodrigo in nonsense conversation, telling him to laugh occasionally, for I could not think of any of the usual prattle I do.

  I still had my cittern over my shoulder, and I brought it round to the front so that I could pluck and walk. After all, the guards seemed used to me doing so.

  We came to the Spanish apartments, and though the guards glanced at me, they were familiar enough now with my few brief moments here, so I was allowed through. We had worried for naught.

  I urged Rodrigo to enter Gonzalo’s apartment first … just in case Father Kendrick was still skulking about. With a whispered word from Rodrigo, I entered and closed the door behind me. ‘Where are his papers and such?’ I asked.

  ‘Well …’ He cast about; the room had been gone over fairly thoroughly. His coffers had been opened and clothes and other things hanging from them. His desk had been ransacked and his writing things disturbed. Even the mattress of his bed and its bolster had been turned over.

  ‘What disgrace is here?’ I cried.

  ‘They were looking for his secret papers.’

  ‘That Father Kendrick!’

  ‘The English priest? Sí, he has been here often in talks with my master. But I was always sent away when he met with him.’

  ‘Then all is lost.’

  Rodrigo smiled grimly. ‘Not so.’ He strode to one of the coffers and knelt beside it. Carefully, lovingly, he folded the linen shirts and nightshirts that had belonged to our mutual lover. I came to stand beside him and ran my hand over the pieces. I had only had the one night with Gonzalo. But Rodrigo, being in love with the fellow, felt the loss that much more keenly. Poor Rodrigo. I dropped my hand to his shoulder and squeezed it in sympathy.

  After he had carefully repacked the coffer, he closed the lid, pressed his fingers to the carvings on the side of it, and a click sounded before a small drawer slid out.

  ‘Rodrigo …’ I breathed.

  He reached into the tiny compartment and pulled out some folded papers. He unfolded one and flattened it out on his thigh. It was scratched out in Latin. Rodrigo’s eyes widened. ‘This was dated only a few days ago. Listen to this part,’ he said quietly, reading it haltingly: