Rhoslyn hurried away from the palace in Caer Mordwyn so worried about what Vidal had told her of Northumberland's plans that she nearly fell into one of the slimy pools that dotted the red marble road to the nearest Gate. She drew back in time, but her shoes were ruined, the glutinous, foul smelling stuff that filled the pool clinging to anything it touched. However, Rhoslyn noted with some interest that, disgusting as it was, the liquid did no real harm.
That was new. In the past, Vidal's traps if not fatal caused agonizing pain so that he could enjoy listening to the shrieks and bellows as the trapped creature escaped or died. The realization that Vidal had seemingly stopped destroying his own subject did not wake any hope that Vidal's essential nature had changed. It only reinforced Pasgen's warning that the Prince of Caer Mordwyn had somehow learned self-control, which made him all the more dangerous.
The idea of Vidal as a reasoning and calculating being only made Rhoslyn hurry faster. One thing Vidal now saw clearly was where his own benefit existed, which made his warning about the threat to Mary all the more urgent.
Achieving the Gate, Rhoslyn transferred to the Goblin Market and from there to the empty house. Her favorite in the past was the Elves' Faire, but she avoided it now because that was where she used to meet Llanelli when her mother was alive. To her surprise and relief, Pasgen was sitting in the atrium with several closely written sheets spread out in front of him.
"Thank the Mother that you are here," she said.
"I stop in often now to see if you need me," he said, turning to face Rhoslyn. "Hafwen reminds me, but today I wanted to talk to you in particular as you are a maker. Hafwen says the self-willed mist wants to know what a house is."
"That seems to be a singularly pointless inquiry for something like a mist," Rhoslyn said absently, still thinking about what Vidal had told her. And then, really hearing what Pasgen had said, she asked, "How can Hafwen know what a mist wants to know?"
"She has no idea," Pasgen admitted, "and is rather shaken by the communication. She—"
"Never mind the mist," Rhoslyn interrupted, putting a hand to her head. "We will get to the mist when we can. I've just been with Vidal—and you are quite right, Pasgen, he is much changed. Not once did I need my shields . . . Well, Aurilia threatened me but not Vidal. And Caer Mordwyn is no longer rotting away." She grimaced. "But it is still full of stupid traps." Then she shuddered. "That does not matter. Vidal told me that those attempts on Mary's life were not just random lunatics who hate and fear Catholicism but likely directed attempts to kill her by Northumberland."
Pasgen thought for a moment. "I am not surprised. He is tied too close to the reformed religion and has himself pressed Mary too hard to conform to his rite. He cannot hope that his experience in ruling could recommend him to her. If she comes to the throne, she will dismiss him at once and might be likely to put him in the Tower." He glanced down at the closely written sheets he had been studying and sighed. "I suppose you want me to come help you protect Mary."
"It will not be for long," Rhoslyn said apologetically. "Vidal says the boy cannot live beyond two mortal weeks longer, and Mary's fate will be decided within a mortal week or at the most two after that. If she is not taken prisoner and killed at once, many in England will rally to her. Once that happens she will be guarded like a queen."
Pasgen sighed again. "Very well. I must tell Hafwen that I will be mostly in the mortal world for one of their months. Then I will come through your Gate. Draw aside the man you want me to imitate. I think it will be much easier if I simply take his place and put him in stasis. I will extract from his mind what his duties are and who are his intimates, and I will feed to his mind the happenings of each day, so I can free him to his own devices each night. That way, his body will take no harm and when the crisis is over, he can take up his life again."
"Oh, Pasgen, that would be wonderful. Can you do it?"
"Yes, of course. It is distasteful to me and a dreadful waste of my time when I should be attending to the mist Underhill, but I can do it."
It seemed over the last two weeks in June that Pasgen's distasteful task was also useless. He daily took the guardsman's place, but Mary's household ran in its usual placid course. The few persons who came to Hunsdon with pleas for help or works dedicated to Lady Mary were mindscanned by Rhoslyn or Pasgen or both and were innocent of any ulterior purpose.
The only sign that life was not as placid and ordinary as it seemed, was the extra Masses that Mary requested with an anxiety that made her voice shake and her ladies' inability to settle easily to ordinary tasks. Also unusual was the eagerness with which Mary seized on the usual twice-a-week letters from Lady Catherine, who had resumed her place with the duchess of Northumberland.
The news in the letters was scarcely startling, the only unusual items were personal and seemingly had nothing to do with the Court. Lady Catherine was planning a series of visits for later in the year, certain dates were noted as being likely times for Lady Catherine's departure. There was some uncertainty about the dates, but they seemed to become firmer as the fact that one of Lady Catherine's daughters-by-marriage was with child became more certain.
On the fourth of July, the outwardly placid tenor of life in Hunsdon was broken. Midday there came a letter from the duke of Northumberland. Anxious to know what Northumberland had to say, Mary did not wait for the priest she had summoned but withdrew into her bedchamber with only a few of her trusted ladies. The news was bad. His Majesty Edward VI had taken a serious turn for the worse in his illness. In fact, Northumberland wrote, the king was on his deathbed and was asking for his sister Mary.
Rhoslyn sent a thrust of thought into SusanClarencieuxceaux's mind. Not a new thought; Susan had had it before, but Rhoslyn needed Susan to speak it. Susan wavered on the stool she sat on near Mary's chair and put a hand to her head. A sharp pain had pierced her temple. Then her lips thinned with determination.
"I do not think you should go, my lady," she said. "I fear . . . I am not sure what I fear, but the duke of Northumberland has London in a grip of iron. Oh, my lady, remember Lord Arundel's warning. If you enter the city you will be totally in his power."
"But Edward has asked for me."
The slight uncertain apprehension in Mary's deep, strong voice betrayed that she knew all too well the truth of Susan's warning. A martyr's courage would not permit her to accept it.
"Perhaps, now that Edward knows he must face God he sees that he has strayed from the true path. If he repents . . . if he desires to confess and hear Mass, he can still be saved."
"Unless what he desires is to make you swear to keep his rite as the price of being named his heir," Rhoslyn said, and cast another spear of thought, this time at Jane Dormer.
"Surely not, Rosamund," Mary said. "Surely by God's sweet mercy Edward has been vouchsafed a last chance at salvation."
She believed it; Mary truly believed in miracles. She was convinced it was by God's direct intervention that she had always narrowly escaped being forced to conform to the new rite. Rhoslyn barely swallowed a hiss of irritation. She dared not insert more fear, more suspicion of Northumberland's purposes, into Mary's mind. Rhoslyn suspected that the greater Mary's fear, the more sure she would become that her brother's last chance at salvation rested in her hands. Desperately, but with more care, Rhoslyn changed the thought she was pressing on Jane.
"I do not believe Northumberland would have sent you this message if there were any chance that King Edward would convert," Jane Dormer said slowly. "I greatly fear, my lady, that the king is already dead and this summons is no more than a trap."
"There is good sense in that," Rhoslyn said, keeping her hands folded in her lap. "Only think of the dates in Lady Catherine's letters. The last one surely implied that the king would live only until today, and it is most likely that he would slip away sooner considering how weak he was rumored to be."
"And no mention was made of sending for Elizabeth," Susan put in. "Surely both sisters should be summoned . . . unless the duke only needs to trap you. Elizabeth is of his persuasion, after all, and she is said by many, if wrongly, to be King Henry's daughter."
Rhoslyn had a brief image of cramming a large, soft roll into Susan's mouth to gag her, but it was too late. Mary bit her lip.
"But it is also possible that no mention was made of Elizabeth because Edward did name me," Mary said. "And because he knew it was Edward's dying wish, Northumberland feared to deny it."
"There is very little Northumberland fears," Rhoslyn said. "Certainly not violating an inconvenient dying wish. I am sorry to dampen your hope, madam, but I cannot believe the duke would invite you to see Edward unless all hope of your actually seeing him were extinguished. Like Jane, I fear the king is dead."
Mary rose to her feet, gesturing at her ladies to remain seated, and began to pace, wringing her hands. "I do not know what to do. If there is the smallest hope that I might be the means of saving my brother's soul, my own danger should count for nothing."
"No, madam," Jane said. "Although he is the king and your brother, Edward is only one soul. If Northumberland succeeds in keeping you from taking the throne, which is your right and your duty, every soul in England would be lost."
There was a dead silence. Mary stood absolutely still, her hands pressed together but no longer twisting with indecision. Rhoslyn drew a deep breath as she felt Mary's exaltation mingled with iron-hard purpose conquer doubt and fear. And behind her eyes Rhoslyn saw the dark pool in the FarSeers' tower where flames leapt over twisting bodies and burning children screamed.
She had blanked that Vision from her mind for a very long time, concentrating on the fact that Mary was a sweet, kind woman and did not deserve to be sacrificed to Northumberland's ambition. She had almost forgotten that Mary was determined to bring England back not to her father's religious practice but her mother's. She would reconcile with the pope and reinstate the full catholic rite, believing she would thus save every soul in the country. And she would not count the cost.
Momentarily Rhoslyn was tempted to reverse her effort to save Mary and send her into Northumberland's hands. Then she recalled Denoriel's guess that the lens of the Bright Court and the black pool of Vidal Dhu's tower were showing a sequence of events rather than three different possibilities. That might be true. Edward had come to the throne, but the Visions of Mary and Elizabeth had not faded—although there was the puzzling new Vision of the pale, weeping girl, which one moment was clear and in the next wavered. Still, now that Edward was dying or dead, the Vision of his rule was gone, and Mary and Elizabeth came in that order. If the Visions were of what would be—and Aleneil said her fellow FarSeers all knew of such Visions—then if Elizabeth were to rule, Mary must come safe to the throne first.
"Well," Mary said, breaking into Rhoslyn's troubled thoughts, "although I am still not sure exactly what to do, I know we must move from this house. Hunsdon is not defensible. If we leave tomorrow morning and take the road to Hoddesdon, we will be going toward Greenwich—"
"My lady—" Susan began to protest, but the guard by the door opened it and Susan stopped speaking.
"My lady," he said, "you sent for Francis Mallet, but he is laid upon his bed with an uneasiness of the belly and sent another priest in his stead. Will you see him?"
Mary sighed. "Only to ask about Father Mallet. A stranger can give me no advice. Yes, let him in." She then turned toward Susan and said, "We will not go too far south, but I wish to be on a good road, so if we go to Hoddesdon—"
Mary stopped speaking as she became aware that a young man in priest's dress, but clutching around him a thigh-length cloak as if he were chilled, had come through the door and was approaching, bowing repeatedly. Rhoslyn stood up abruptly as a wave of hatred and desperation flooded out from the black-clad form, but she was on the far side of the group of women. Why did Pasgen not act?
"Madam," she cried.
It was the worst thing she could have done. Mary looked away from the man advancing on her toward Rhoslyn, who gasped "Beware!"
That was also a mistake because Mary looked wildly around the room and, nearsighted as she was, saw little beyond a blur. The only thing that was moving was the dark-clothed priest and Mary had no fear of a priest who was connected to Father Mallet. But the priest had let go of his cloak and leapt forward, a long knife now gleaming in his hand.
Mary did not see clearly enough to notice the knife, but Jane Dormer, who was closest, screamed and jumped to her feet. She started forward, but she was not close enough to throw herself between Mary and the attacker. And then the guard who had admitted the man was there, sword in hand.
Only the attacker did not back away from the threatening guard. Instead he tried to dart around the sword, and the guard leapt ahead a long pace and thrust at the priest. But the priest still did not retreat; his eyes fixed and staring, he shrieked, "Papist bitch!" raised the knife and, as if he could see nothing but Mary, threw himself forward to strike at her.
Everyone was in motion now. Mary backed a few steps away from the struggling men. Jane reached Mary and flung her body before her mistress, her arms outstretched to ward any attack from the side. Susan was only a few steps behind Jane, the two providing a living wall of protection. Rhoslyn, who could not reach Mary except by going around the men seized the back of the attacker's cloak, ostensibly to pull him away, but actually to push him forward sharply.
The guard cried out, but his warning was too late. The attacker had spitted himself on the sword. The guard gasped and stepped back as the knife fell from the priest's hand almost striking his foot, and now Rhoslyn did pull on the cloak and the man slid off the guard's sword and fell to the ground.
"Are you safe, my lady?" he cried, turning to Mary.
"Yes." Mary's voice was loud and steady. She sounded more indignant than frightened. "I am perfectly well, but you had better hurry to Father Mallet's chamber and discover whether this madman did him any harm."
"But—" The guard gestured at the body on the floor, which was beginning to twitch and moan.
"Let me call another guard, madam," Rhoslyn said. "Susan, pick up that knife and put it out of that lunatic's reach."
As she spoke, Rhoslyn went toward the door on the heels of the guard. She saw Jane run to the hearth and picked up the poker, holding it so the heavy knob on the end could be used as a weapon. In fact, Rhoslyn did not need to call a guard. Apparently Jane's and Susan's screams had been heard. One guard was reaching for the door and another was no more than two steps behind.
"A madman attacked Lady Mary," Rhoslyn said.
Both men exclaimed in horror and rushed into Mary's chamber while all the other attendants cried out and hurried in the same direction. That permitted Rhoslyn to catch hold of the guard's sleeve and say, low-voiced, "Holy Mother, Pasgen, you cut that close. He was so full of hate and fear and rage that he almost stunned me. I could not move fast enough to get between him and Mary. Did you not sense his intention?"
"Of course I did, but what did you want me to do, run him through before he made any threat?"
"But what if you had not reached him in time?"
"Oh, he would have stumbled or, at need, forgotten what he intended to do." Pasgen shrugged, irritated. "Besides I think so close an escape will be a salutary lesson for Mary. She will take more care now and perhaps be a little less trusting of priests, and I will be able to go back to my own affairs."
"Not yet," Rhoslyn begged. "When we get to some place that can be defended—it will only be a few days more—you can go. Oh, by God's Grace, I forgot all about Father Mallet. You had better go and see if he is all right."
"I will go, but there is nothing wrong with Mallet. That false priest was going to hit him on the head, but I checked the blow and cast a sleep spell on Mallet." Pasgen paused, pretended to make a huge sigh and added, "Could we not leave the man asleep and pretend he was struck. It would keep him quiet for a while. I could do without another Mass."
Rhoslyn giggled. "I also, but unfortunately Mary has three more chaplains. If Father Mallet does not say Mass, one of the others will, and Mary says she thinks better after prayers." Then Rhoslyn looked slightly indignant. "What have you to complain about? I have to be in the room with her and at least look as if I am paying strict attention."
They parted then, Pasgen going toward Father Mallet's room and Rhoslyn hurrying back to Mary. She found that the guards had bound and removed the attacker but that an argument was going on about what to do with him. Sir Robert Rochester, Mary's Comptroller, was demanding that the man be straitly questioned and Sir Francis Waldgrave agreed with him. Master Edmund Englefield was asking, "Question how? He is a priest. Surely you do not intend to lay hands upon a priest?"
"Who, beside he himself, says he is a priest?" Rhoslyn asked.
Everyone turned to look at her with expressions varying from scorn to shocked realization.
"He said he was Father Mallet's . . ." Mary began and then said, "Oh no, of course he could not have been in Father Mallet's service. Did he harm Father Mallet? Where is the guard?"
"He should be back any moment, my lady," Rhoslyn said. "But it is too easy to gain admittance to your lodging by claiming to be in holy orders. This is the second so-called priest who has come with a knife instead of prayers."
SusanClarencieuxceaux gasped, recalling the old man with the wild eyes who had suddenly grasped at his chest and fallen and the long knife with a discolored blade that had slipped from his clothing. "Madam, we must be more cautious. You must give orders that no one even one in holy orders should be admitted."
"Or at least anyone not known to us must be accompanied by a guard," Jane Dormer said.
"And what true priest would harm another priest in order to attack an unarmed woman?" Rochester put in. "If this man is in holy orders at all, it must be in this reformed rite that does not demand of its priests true holiness. And if he did attack Father Mallet, as we know he attacked you, he has forfeited the protection of Mother Church. He must be straitly questioned so we discover who instructed him to kill you, madam."
There was another silence as the horrified members of Mary's household faced the truth, finally stated bluntly, that someone desired their lady's death. Before anyone could think of what to say, the door opened and the guard stepped in.
"Where is Father Mallet?" Mary asked. "Was he hurt?"
"Not severely, madam," Pasgen said, looking around the crowded room. "He is safe, but laid upon his bed. I called his servant to him. The intruder struck him on the head, but he is awake now and seems to be recovering, except for the pain in his head."
"How did Father Mallet know this man?" Rochester asked, his voice sharp and suspicious, his eyes traveling from face to face.
The question was not addressed to the guard, who could not be expected to have questioned Father Mallet or to know who among Mary's people had introduced the man. The guard bowed slightly and turned to leave, half drawing his sword as the door opened and then stepping aside as Father Barkley entered.
"I have been with Father Mallet," he said, bowing to Lady Mary. "His servant sent a boy to tell me he had been attacked and to warn the household."
"You are a little late," Rochester said. "This guard was fortunately in time to save Lady Mary from being stabbed. How did it come about that Father Mallet invited this murderer among us."
"God have mercy," Father Barkley breathed. "Father Mallet was in haste to send me to warn you all. He only told me that he did not know the priest at all. He came, he said to Father Mallet, to beg asylum. He said he had been expelled from his parish by Bishop Ridley for using the rite King Henry had established. And when Father Mallet began to warn him that Lady Mary was not likely to be able to help him, the times being so uncertain . . . he suddenly did not remember any more but he thought the young man had jumped forward and struck him on the head, since his head ached fiercely."
"It is time now," Waldgrave said, "to shut the gates against all comers, no matter their garb or what sad tale they tell. My lady," he turned to Mary and bowed, "you are not safe, and each hour makes you less safe."
"Yes, I see that," Mary said.
She seemed about to say more, but Rochester interrupted her. "And I think I will now go and discover who sent that pretend priest. Then we will be able to plan further what to do. I will leave you now to rest and recover, madam. But if you will forgive the boldness, my advice is that you keep with you only a few of your ladies, those who will not trouble you with much talk."
"Yes." Mary smiled wanly. "I give you all leave to go."
The room emptied quickly, but Mary signed for the three ladies who had been with her and had all defended her against the attacker to remain behind. She then went to kneel at her prie-dieu to thank God for her escape, her ladies kneeling behind her. Rhoslyn strangled a sigh but bowed her head, seeming also to pray. What she thought was that Denoriel might know what was going on at Court and whether Edward was dead already. Eventually Mary rose to her feet.
"We will leave tomorrow, as early as possible and go to Hoddesdon," she said, casting a glance over her shoulder at the crucifix hanging on the wall. "That is a safer house and it is on a good road that goes south to London." She hesitated, then went on with a twist to her lips. "Let whoever passes news to Northumberland and must tell him that the attacker failed also tell him that I seem to be moving toward Greenwich. But the road from Hoddesdon also goes north to Newmarket and Thetford toward Norfolk."
A letter carrying the same news and order as that delivered to Mary was also delivered to Elizabeth on the fourth of July, but in Hatfield it elicited no more than a sigh from Elizabeth. She had long since given up any hope of seeing her brother ever again. She showed Kat and Sir Edward the letter. Neither one raised the question of obeying Northumberland's order or discussed the possibility of going to London or Greenwich. She did not tell her ladies what the message said. Perhaps they guessed. If so, none spoke of it.
The messenger had not been allowed to see Elizabeth and was hustled out before the letter could possibly have been read. When he was gone, the household went about its business much as if no message had been received. The state of the king's health was not mentioned. No spy from Court or Council could report any reaction at all to the announcement that Edward was dying.
Only when all were asleep—Dorothy Stafford in the truckle bed bespelled not to wake—Elizabeth crept from her bedchamber to that of Blanche and sat on her maid's bed, waiting for her Denno. When Denoriel stepped through the Gate, she ran to him to seek shelter in his arms.
"Is poor Edward already dead?" she whispered, her voice catching on a sob.
"I do not know," Denoriel replied. "I think it likely but no announcement has been made, and I still have no safe friend at Court. More than one among the Councilors wear bespelled gems, which means that Vidal has his talons well into them. I dare not inquire too openly lest light gossip carry my interest where I do not want it to go."
"Still nothing from Cecil?"
Denoriel shook his head. "Northumberland is planning something desperate and he has always known that Cecil is your friend. I sent Cropper on an errand to Canon Row—not to Cecil's house but to another who does business with the mercer Adjoran—and Cropper reported that at least one man was watching Cecil's door to see who called or whether any footmen or other messengers came. He could not see any other watcher, but said he was sure the back door was also watched. In fact, I do not believe Cecil is at home and I know Matilda is not. She went to stay with her father some time in May."
"Can we get no news?"
"I can think of no way until Tuesday. Perhaps Rhoslyn and Pasgen will come to the Inn of Kindly Laughter. Rhoslyn will at least know what is happening in Mary's household and it is possible that Pasgen can discover what, if anything, Vidal is doing."
"Vidal? The illness that has killed Edward is his fault, or perhaps mine for not protecting my brother well enough."
"Elizabeth you were a child and what happened was no fault of yours."
She blinked away tears and asked angrily, "What more has Vidal to do with Edward's death?"
"With that, nothing, I believe. There was enough conflict and misery in Edward's reign to keep the Dark Court well supplied with power. But Vidal has always wanted Mary to reign. He thinks she will summon the Inquisition and so much trouble will be caused, perhaps even civil war will be raised in your name to free the people from that scourge, that the Dark Court will gain enough power to overwhelm the Bright. It has happened in the past."
Elizabeth closed her eyes for a moment. "Civil war . . . No. Even if it is successful and I am so raised to the throne, it will be endless as long as Mary lives." She closed her eyes again. "I could not . . . I could not order her killed."
"Let us hope she feels the same about you," Denoriel said, his voice harsh. "For I fear there will be rebellion against her attempts to force England back under the pope's rule and that rebellion will be blamed upon you. You must have nothing to do with any attempt to overthrow Mary—not by word or look and most certainly never in writing."