The Scar-Crow Men

CHAPTER SIXTY




RECLAIMING HIS HORSE FROM THE SEMINARY STABLES, WILL WAS soon galloping through the narrow streets of Reims, with Grace clinging to his back. At the walls, a sleepy guard in a padded leather doublet opened the gates for them. As much as the spy hated passing through the lonely vineyards and meadows by night, he knew he could not remain in the town until daybreak. Fabian’s warped compassion for the human race would be tested to the limit in the coming hours.

‘Were you harmed?’ he asked. ‘You spoke of being battered and—’

‘It is nothing. I am well,’ the woman replied with a brusque tone that surprised him. He felt that he had offended her in some way.

For a while, he questioned Grace on the circumstances of her capture at Nonsuch and how she was brought to Reims, but her memory was addled by potions. He was, however, concerned to hear of the mounting fear and repression at the palace. But when Grace noted that she feared for Nathaniel, he added, ‘Nat has survived far worse. I would trust him to win through in any situation.’

‘Then you should tell him,’ she snapped, ‘instead of criticizing him at every turn.’

‘Grace, if there is something wrong—’

‘Nothing is wrong.’ The woman gripped the spy’s back as tightly as his devil.

Will rode on in silence. But as the dusty track passed from the vineyards into the woods, he noticed a light glimmering away in the trees. Two more appeared as he trotted on. Had Xanthus found him at last? The spy frowned. Reining in his steed, he considered riding back to the vineyards.

In silence, two musketeers stepped out from the trees and trained their weapons upon him. Their moustaches and beards waxed and pointed, they wore felt hats, short leather jerkins and bandoliers. From the well-tended weapons and clothes, the spy could see they were not roadside bandits.

In French, Will tried to explain that he and Grace were simply poor travellers who could not afford to pay for a night at an inn in Reims. The men’s cold eyes didn’t waver. With a thrust of their weapons they silently ordered the two travellers to dismount.

The spy could not risk injury to Grace. His anger simmering, he allowed the two of them to be marched through the trees.

On the other side of the small wood, canvas flapped in the breeze. Moths performed intricate dances in the pools of light thrown by lanterns at the entrances to a huddle of grey tents. The smell of roast pork still hung in the warm air around a crackling camp fire, and Will could hear horses snorting and stamping their hooves nearby. From the men sitting around in groups holding quiet conversations, he guessed it was a small fighting force.

As they neared the largest of the tents, a tall, balding man stepped out to greet them. His beard flecked with white, he wore a black gown, but he carried himself with the strength and grace of a fighting man. ‘My name is Maximilien de Béthune, duc de Sully. Follow me,’ he said in English, his voice deep.

‘There is some mistake. I am just a lonely traveller,’ Will began.

Maximilien gave a knowing smile. ‘No, you are not. You are England’s greatest spy, William Swyfte.’

For once, Will was silenced.

‘We are not fools here, sir. Our spies are as proficient as your own,’ the gowned man continued, holding open the tent flap for them to enter. ‘You have been under observation since you disembarked at Cherbourg.’

‘Then I apologize for my deceit,’ Will replied, stooping to enter the warm golden glow of the lamplit interior. ‘I doff my cap to fellow practitioners of the great art.’

Behind his wry exterior, the spy was instantly on his guard, his eyes darting around in search of any threat. A trestle stood to one side covered with charts, a flask and a half-eaten knob of bread with a knife stuck in it. But his attention was drawn to a tall, tanned man standing with his hands folded behind his back. He was expensively outfitted in a gleaming sapphire doublet, the buttons jewelled, the ruff extravagantly folded. His beard was well tended, his smiling face suggesting a man of good humour.

‘The King,’ Maximilien boomed.

‘Your Majesty.’ Will gave a deep bow. Grace curtsied at his side, her gaze fixed shyly on the ground. Henri let his eyes linger on her for a moment, his smile becoming playful.

‘The King indeed,’ he said in heavily accented English. ‘The word is still strange to my ears after this long, hard struggle. There were times when I thought I would always remain Henri de Navarre.’

‘The Catholic League now support your claim to the throne?’ the spy asked, puzzled.

Henri chuckled. ‘Why, I am a Catholic these days, Master Swyfte. Had you not heard? On the twenty-fifth of July I renounced my old faith completely. Now I am a committed Papist,’ he tweaked his waxed moustache, his eyes gleaming, ‘the resistance in Paris will eventually crumble and I will finally be allowed to ride into my capital city. And so, all things fall into place.’

The spy recalled Cecil’s suspicions at the Rose Theatre almost three months earlier. ‘And the Huguenots?’ he enquired.

‘After the bitter religious strife that has torn this country apart for so long, they are understandably distressed that I appear to have crossed to the other side. But they will come around. What other choice do they have?’

‘I imagine my Queen is not best pleased that you have renounced her faith.’ It was an understatement. Will imagined Elizabeth flying into one of her incandescent rages when the news was delivered to her.

‘Once I am crowned in Chartres, she will understand that I am still the same Henri.’ The King strode to the trestle and took a sip from his flask of wine. ‘Perhaps I will even be more useful to her. I see myself as a bridge, Master Swyfte, like the one I plan to build across the Seine when I am finally allowed into Paris, to unite the right and left banks. There will be peace in Europe only when our two religions can live side by side. When we achieve that, then we can join together against our common Enemy.’ His eyes flickered from Grace to Will, and he nodded to indicate that he would not elucidate while the woman was present. ‘For now,’ he continued, ‘Paris remains beyond my control.’

The spy inwardly winced. It would be difficult enough to spend time in the Unseelie Court’s midst without also having to deal with a city that had only recently survived Henri’s siege and would suspect any stranger of being one of the King’s spies.

‘There are other matters afoot, of which we will speak more in a short while.’ Draining his flask, the King smacked his mouth.

The tent flaps were furiously thrown open and in a flurry of skirts a woman stormed in.

‘You!’ Grace exclaimed.

Red Meg O’Shee cast only a fleeting glance at her. ‘I hear the buzzing of a fly,’ she sniffed.

Grace fumed, but the Irish woman had already turned her attention to Will, a cold fire in her green eyes.

With a hand to his high forehead, the King exclaimed, ‘Mistress, if Gabrielle finds you here—’

‘Do not worry, Your Majesty. Your true love’ – the red-headed woman gave the words a sardonic twist, her gaze still fixed on the spy – ‘will not be made aware of such an outrage.’

In Meg’s disrespectful attitude towards the monarch, Will saw the deep currents that run between old lovers.

‘Did you not find my blade sharp enough the last time, Master Swyfte?’ she asked scornfully.

‘About as sharp as your tongue, Mistress O’Shee, which is very sharp indeed.’

Meg turned to the King and said, ‘Send him away. He will never help our cause.’

Looking from the Irish woman to the spy, Henri gave another knowing smile. ‘Your passions are aroused, my sweet. Master Swyfte must have struck you a stinging blow to anger you so.’ He waved a hand, playfully dismissing the tension in the tent. ‘But enough of petty emotions. Mistress Meg, our friend here has been helping my cause for long weeks, unbeknown to himself. And so have you.’

The red-head’s eyes narrowed. ‘What web have you been weaving, Henri? If you have been playing me for a fool you will regret it.’

‘You threaten a king?’ Henri feigned astonishment, then laughed. ‘Ah, but that is why we all love you! You would shake your fist at the gods themselves.’ He turned to Will and said, ‘I would have a word, in private, about our common business.’

Understanding, the spy asked Grace if she would wait outside. Flashing a searing glance at Meg, she strode out.

After the monarch had called for Maximilien to pour them all flasks of wine, he said, ‘A drink then, to an alliance of all the nations against our mutual Enemy. And to give thanks for the aid you have given France in these dark times.’

Sipping his wine, Will studied the French king with growing respect. He wondered how far the royal’s clever scheming extended.

‘Once England antagonized the Unseelie Court they preyed less upon my countrymen. Though they would never admit it, I believe they feared resistance on more than one front,’ Henri continued. ‘Yet they were still a threat. Of course they were. Life in France was one of constant balance. We always waited for the sword to drop.’

‘Aye. Bastards all,’ Maximilien growled, throwing his wine down his throat.

‘And then, as I campaigned for the throne, a representative of the High Family asked me for my aid.’

‘An alliance?’ the spy asked.

The King snorted. ‘Do the Unseelie Court ever truly ally? They take what they want and spit out the rest. I had to tread cautiously – I could not risk alienating them.’

‘Your plans to win France would have been over in the blink of an eye,’ Meg observed, ‘and you would have been found stuffed with straw, with button eyes, a puppet with his strings cut.’

‘That is true,’ Henri said with a nod. ‘A wise king lives in this world and not in his head. They wished to use France as a staging post for their invasion of England, and Paris in particular. In the city they could mass their forces, and conjure up whatever dark magics would help them achieve their aims.’

‘I would wager that with Paris controlled by Catholics calling for your blood that decision did not trouble you for long,’ Will noted wryly.

Returning his flask to the trestle, Henri gave a quick smile. ‘I care for all my subjects equally, Master Swyfte. But, yes, I gave them Paris. I could not refuse. But I also knew that, once taken, they would not give it up again easily, if at all. You know they now seek to take this world for their own, sir?’

‘I do.’ Will mulled over his wine for a moment. ‘So, while acceding to their request for the use of your capital, you also had to put into effect a scheme that would ensure their plans failed.’

The King clapped his hands with glee. ‘You are a cunning fellow. I could find much employment for a man like yourself.’

‘His Majesty played his part convincingly,’ Maximilien said, pouring himself more wine. ‘Trusting that he secretly loathed England as much as they, the High Family let slip aspects of their plan that we could use to our advantage.’

‘I knew of their foul work beneath the seminary in Reims, and of their Scar-Crow Men.’ Henri’s smile darkened. ‘Those damnable things …’

‘And you used me to save him,’ Meg pointed at Will, ‘so you could entice both of us into your web.’

‘And who better to use, my sweet?’ Henri smiled, teasing. ‘You fit in so well everywhere. And you refuse to fail, even when faced with the most daunting odds.’ He eyed Will. ‘And England’s greatest spy. How could such a man turn his back on this plot once he became aware of it? Why, he might even pursue my enemies into the heart of France itself, and undermine the foul works being carried out at Reims that were beyond my ability to influence. He might even – could this be – unseat the High Family themselves – a clan, I am told, that he has had some success against before.’

‘You should have told me your plan,’ Meg blazed. Will thought she was about to throw her flask at the King.

‘You are always more effective when you are left to your own devices, my sweet.’ Henri winked at Maximilien, who replied with a conspiratorial smile.

The Irish woman set her jaw. ‘And in what other way did you play me? Tell me now, for if I find out for myself later my temper will know no bounds.’

‘And your temper is a fearsome thing to behold. Then let me speak truly. As deep as my affection is for you, my sweet, I would not trust you with alms for the poor.’ The monarch waved a finger when he saw Meg clench her fists. ‘And I know you well. How could I not?’ he said, softening his harsh assessment with a tender note. ‘You love your country, and your people, and I knew you could not resist trying to steal Dr Dee away from under English noses. Which is why I had my own men waiting to steal the good doctor away from you.’

‘I thought those men at Petworth were there to save me,’ the woman exclaimed. Will held a hand out to restrain her. She glared at him.

Henri gave a dismissive shrug. ‘Sadly, Master Swyfte thwarted that part of my plan. I half expected that would be the case. But Dr Dee is a prize that all the countries of Europe desire.’ He bowed to Will. ‘Yet he is not truly valued in his own land. That is always the way. Keep a hold of him, Master Swyfte, or else your defences will become someone else’s.’

Meg rounded on the spy. ‘You have been the King of France’s performing ape,’ she blazed. ‘Where is your anger? He has had you dancing to his tune, tumbling and falling and fooling. And you have cleaned up his dirty business in Reims with your own life at stake.’

Will shrugged. ‘Though it pains me to say it, I have had worse jobs in my time.’

Meg gaped, incredulous.

‘Master Swyfte understands this business well, Mistress Meg,’ Henri noted. ‘He now has the soon-to-be-crowned King of France in his debt. That is a good card to hold in your hand in any game. So, what now, sir?’

‘Now we head to Paris, Your Majesty, and if you can find a way to get me past the city walls and into the very heart of the Unseelie Court’s forces, that would go some small way to repaying me for the work I have done on your behalf.’ Will gave a deep, ironic bow.

‘I think I can help you there, Master Swyfte. Yes, indeed.’

‘I am joining you,’ Meg snapped.

‘So you can thrust a dagger between my shoulder blades when I least expect it?’

‘I would not resist her request, sir.’ Henri laughed louder.

‘Very well,’ Will sighed. ‘Perhaps I can throw you to the Unseelie Court as a distraction.’ The spy could see the Irish woman was restraining herself, yet despite her betrayal at Petworth he was surprised at how appealing he still found her company.

‘Good,’ the redhead replied. ‘Then I will go and make my preparations.’ She flounced out, ignoring Grace, who stood outside the tent’s entrance and stuck out her tongue as the Irish woman passed.

Will’s tone darkened. ‘The Unseelie Court have something which could destroy the Scar-Crow Men in the blink of an eye. It is the key to ending this business.’

The monarch looked to Maximilien, whose expression became grim. ‘They gather at the Cathedral of Notre Dame. It stands on an island in the river and will be nigh on impregnable with so many of those bastards swarming around. You journey into hell, Master Swyfte.’

‘That place holds no surprises for me.’ The spy knew the immensity of the threat that awaited him, but he felt no fear for himself. All men died – it was a matter only of when, and how. ‘But we must set out immediately. The High Family know my intentions and will do all in their power to prevent me reaching Paris.’

‘Very well. Maximilien, give the men their orders,’ Henri said.

After the adviser had left, Will added, ‘If I can make good, I will need a ship to take me to England. It may already be too late if matters at home have taken an unfortunate turn. Speed is of the essence.’

‘That too can be arranged. I have a galleon moored upon the mouth of the Seine at Le Havre-de-Grâce.’

Lowering his voice, Will said, ‘I ask one further thing.’

‘Go on.’

‘If I am not to survive, look after my friend Grace. She is an innocent in these matters and she has suffered greatly. England may not be safe for her if we fail.’

The King gave a concerned smile. ‘I will care for her as if she were a member of my own family. But I warn you, Master Swyfte, if we fail there may be no safe place anywhere.’

When he stepped out of the tent, Will paused briefly to look at the stars in the vast vault of the heavens. He felt oddly at peace.

When she returned from the camp fire, Grace saw it too. ‘You seem changed,’ she said, peering curiously into his face. ‘That black mood that has gripped you for so long has lifted.’

And Will was surprised to realize she spoke the truth. Although death was closer than it had ever been, he had rediscovered the urge to live. He would have laughed if it would not have unsettled the young woman.

Thunder rolled out across the warm landscape, and the horizon flashed white with lightning.

‘Oh,’ Grace said, puzzled. ‘The weather has turned. How odd.’

The spy watched the black clouds rolling with unnatural speed across the hills. He knew what came with the storm.