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Chapter 20

"Where the devil have you been?"

Elizabeth glared at Denoriel, the amber of her eyes seeming to be touched with red, but her voice was too low to be heard by the ladies that followed along the path behind her. In a swift, careful glance over his shoulder, Denoriel saw Lady Alana drop something, cry out softly, and gather the three young women closer to help her pick up the oddments that had somehow fallen out of the purse which had mysteriously come loose from her belt.

"You know where I was," Denoriel replied, equally softly, but walking on swiftly. And in case some vagrant oddity along the path threw his voice back to the women, he added, "I was on a voyage, attending to my business."

"And no doubt attending to some pretty foreign ladies, too," Elizabeth muttered angrily.

Denoriel's mouth opened, but nothing came out for a moment. His heart had leapt right into his throat, choking him. Was Elizabeth jealous? Did she want him to pay court to her or was her anger just because a possession of hers had not been where she wanted it when she wanted it? No, it could not be simple possessiveness. If she were just annoyed by his absence, she would have said something to imply she was more important than his business. Instead she had mentioned pretty ladies. But he had not the courage to put his hope to the test and have it destroyed.

"No," he got out. "It was business." Another glance behind showed the ladies still in sight but certainly out of earshot. "I was . . . I was with Harry. You can ask him."

"And when am I ever likely to see him again?"

Denoriel chuckled. "Whenever you are ready and you promise to stop biting off my head."

"Oh," Elizabeth said. She looked away, also glancing behind to make sure she would not be overheard. Then her eyes came back to him and her lips thinned. "Do you not deserve to have your head bitten off when you have so neglected me? You have been away nearly two months. On business, perhaps, but I am sure you made time for pleasure too and foreign women must be more attractive than plain English girls."

For one moment Denoriel simply stared at her, his eyes wide. Elizabeth had seen elven women, had seen his bedchamber and knew that Sidhe did not sleep; she knew what the bed was for. The geas Titania had put on her prevented her from speaking of Underhill or anything in it. Foreign women was the closest she could come. He called his time Underhill foreign voyages. But in the past Elizabeth had never seemed to care whether he played with women. Aleneil was right; she was changing. It must be jealousy that had honed her tongue.

"There is no woman more attractive to me than you, my lady," Denoriel breathed.

She hissed a little with anger and snarled at him, "I do not like it when you lie to me, Lord Denno."

"I never lie to you, Lady Elizabeth," he snapped back. "Never. There are things I do not say and things I cannot say, but I have never told you a lie."

Elizabeth blinked at him, her firm lips beginning to soften and tremble. Then she lowered her head and glanced at him sidelong from under her lashes. "Well, but it cannot be the truth that no woman is more attractive to you than I. Surely there are more beautiful women with . . . ah . . . with better shaped bodies."

"Yes, indeed." Denoriel grinned down at her, laughing at the shock and fury on her face over his ready agreement. "I have certainly seen women with more beautiful faces and bodies than yours." He paused and added, "So what? What I said is still true. Those women are not nearly as attractive to me as your ladyship."

"You mean as a friend."

Her head was down again. Denoriel glanced back. The women were once more following them, but at a greater distance and they were fully engaged in a lively conversation. Denoriel raised a hand and lifted Elizabeth's chin.

"I am afraid to offend, my lady, being what I am and you what you are, but no, not as a friend, although I value you for that friendship also. To me you are the most beautiful and desirable lady in all the worlds. Indeed, you are the only lady for me, there is no room in my heart for any other—no matter how beautiful or how shapely."

A faint color touched Elizabeth's cheeks and she looked away from him again. "But in your own land, you were a prince," she said softly. "So you need not fear to offend by . . . by saying you favor me."

As if by an accident of the path Denoriel swayed closer so he could take her hand and in the shelter of their bodies kiss it. The color in her cheeks rose. A burst of laughter came from behind. Hastily Denoriel released Elizabeth's hand.

"I wish I could take you on a voyage with me very soon," he murmured.

Elizabeth's eyes lit to bright gold. "It would have to be a short one," she responded. "I do not wish to alarm Queen Catherine by taking to my bed. I do not wish to do anything to diminish her happiness. She glows with joy."

"Yes, I saw. I was required to gain her approval to visit you." Denoriel paused and then added dryly, "I hope she remains happy."

Elizabeth looked surprised. "Why should she not? At last, after three marriages to old men she has a young and vigorous husband. Thomas—" Her voice, which had been full of lively enthusiasm checked, and she went on with more restraint, "I mean Baron Seymour of Sudeley, but that is such a mouthful and he is so good-humored and not one to stand at all on ceremony. We have all begun to call him Thomas."

"Have you?" Denoriel asked flatly. "All of your maidens and Catherine's women call Seymour Thomas?"

"My maidens do," she said defensively, and then with reluctant honesty, "Some of Catherine's women are more formal." She hesitated, aware of Denoriel's disapproval, and frowned back at him. "I cannot see what has put your nose out of joint. Was it not you who told me that Catherine had a right to some joy after her dutiful behavior as wife to three old men? Now she has a lively man who enjoys lighthearted amusement. Why do you dislike Thomas?"

Denoriel was tempted to tell her the man was a flirt and a lecher and add what else he knew about Seymour. But some of it—like the fact that Seymour had tried to get Elizabeth herself for his wife before he returned to Catherine—was better she did not know. It might prove that Seymour was not the faithful lover he pretended to be, but it might make Elizabeth more vulnerable to him by indicating that he wanted her more than Catherine.

About to say something about Seymour's boisterous manner, which he felt was unseemly, Denoriel suddenly saw a reason for dislike that was not only true but would advance his purpose of fixing Elizabeth's mind on himself.

"I do not like any man who has your favor," he said harshly, and abruptly drew her into a side path bounded by high hedges that led into a "wilderness."

Surprise made her stumble against him, and he pulled her tight. That made her look up. Denoriel dropped his head and touched his lips to hers. She stood absolutely still, but rigid, as if turned to stone. Denoriel was too close to see her face. She could have been frightened or disgusted or simply surprised again, but he suddenly remembered Aleneil laughing and saying that surely he did not intend to leap on her and commit rape. Appalled, Denoriel was about to release her, but then her free arm began to slide up his back, holding them close.

A cry came from the path and then another voice asking, "Where did they go?"

Denoriel lifted his head. His eyes blazed like emeralds in the sunlight as he looked down into her face, but his voice was just as usual when he called, "Here, in the path to the right. Lady Elizabeth thought she saw a fox, but it was nothing but a rabbit."

Still staring into his face, Elizabeth ran the tip of her tongue over her lips, but her voice, too, was natural, a little high and touched with irritation. "It was a fox. I could not mistake that shade of red." Then she laughed. "But if you saw a rabbit, Lord Denno, then let us forget the fox. It will do more good than harm in the garden if it takes the rabbit."

For just a moment their eyes locked. "Tonight," he said. "Tell Blanche."

* * *

In the first week of July, actually while Elizabeth and Denoriel were walking in the garden, Thomas Seymour was staring down at a letter bearing a most interesting seal. The letter on a salver had been carried in by a footman who begged pardon for disturbing his master but said he was told it was most important.

Seymour did not notice the man's slack expression or that he should never have been carrying messages at all, his duty being to guard and open the door. Seymour rubbed the seal. It looked flat, but his fingers felt a definite thickness. He rubbed it again, aware of a subtle but pleasant sensation.

Well, he thought, this was telling him nothing, and he broke the seal. It resisted his pressure momentarily, confirming his feeling that the seal was thicker than it looked. And when it broke, one could see that it was not a thin, flat round of wax. Curious, he ran his fingers over the broken ends, but then grew impatient with the silly thing. After all, it was the letter that was important.

The message was from a Fagildo Otstargi, but the direction impressed Seymour favorably, being a house near the Strand where Seymour's own Somerset House stood. Then Seymour remembered the name Otstargi. Wriothesley had sworn by the man, saying he had saved his position, even his life more than once. He had tried, Seymour also remembered, to induce him to consult the conjuror, but he had been too busy and Wriothesley had been eased away from power.

So the charlatan had not saved Wriothesley's position as chancellor. The contemptuous notion was replaced in his mind by the fact that Otstargi had warned Wriothesley in time to retire gracefully . . . and with a handsome title and all his ill-gotten gains. Resentment pushed out any memory of the word charlatan. No common barony for Wriothesley, as had been passed off on him, making him a mere Baron Seymour of Sudeley; Wriothesley was earl of Southampton.

I deserve more, Thomas thought; I am the king's uncle just as much as my damned brother. But Edward was now a duke no less. Thomas had thought he was clever enough, what with Catherine's influence with the young king, to win himself more than the pittance he had received. True the king had supported his marriage to Catherine, but nothing since then. Perhaps a little help from Otstargi, who certainly had raised Wriothesley from knight to earl, would not be amiss.

The letter from Otstargi was simple enough. It apologized for intruding on so busy and important a person but claimed that this Otstargi had learned some facts he felt would be of interest and profit to Baron Seymour of Sudeley, who had been appointed Lord High Admiral of the English fleet. Vaguely Seymour had a feeling he had had a similar letter in the past, but it did not seem important. Why should he not see the man?

It happened that the rest of Seymour's morning was free. John Fowler, a confidential servant who slept in Edward's room and had been handsomely bribed to help make Thomas the king's favorite uncle, had sent a hasty message that Edward had the sniffles and would not be walking out; the planned meeting between uncle and nephew would need to be postponed. So why not use the morning to discover what this Otstargi thought would be of interest and profit? Nothing could make him take the man's advice if he did not like it. Without realizing what he was doing, Seymour pulled on the halves of the broken seal, which readily came off the paper and dropped them in his pocket.

He left no message with his servants as to where he was going. Somerset would have a fit if he heard his brother was about to consult a magician. The thought gave Thomas a certain amount of pleasure as he walked the short distance between his great house and Otstargi's smaller one.

It was, however, a respectable house, large enough to show the owner was prosperous, and the door was opened by a respectable servant, although he was so expressionless as to look like a waxwork. Moreover Thomas was not kept waiting. Only a few moments after the servant carried in his name, the door reopened and he was invited in.

Master Otstargi was standing behind the table at which he had been working. He was a swarthy man, his dark skin hinting at travel in southern climes, his hair and eyes also dark. He bowed, not obsequiously low, but with politeness as if he knew his own worth. For once that did not annoy Seymour. He told himself that a man so sure of his value might actually have some value.

"Please sit, my lord," Otstargi said, gesturing toward a substantial chair opposite his own at the table.

Thomas did not bother considering any particular approach. The man might be nothing more than a common charlatan. "What did your letter mean, that you had made discoveries of interest and profit to me?" he asked directly.

Vidal, in the guise of Otstargi, was no more loath to be direct. "You have been shabbily treated, my lord," he said. "The king has two uncles and the power his office confers should have been shared equally. There can be no doubt that your brother, the duke of Somerset, is most fitted to control the petty details of managing the kingdom. Contrariwise, your warmth of heart and liveliness of nature should have been devoted to managing the king himself. You would win from him by love and laughter every benefit Somerset wrings out by command. That practice with a boy of the king's age, only generates resentment and will, in the near future, breed disaster."

Thomas' mouth opened, but he did not speak. Otstargi had seemingly divined his plans, to split the power in the realm by dividing the duties just as Otstargi described. Thomas knew that for once he had not discussed these plans with anyone, not even with Catherine. Fowler knew, of course, that he was striving to make Edward his friend, but Fowler believed that was to make Edward support his marriage.

Finally Seymour asked sharply, "From whom did you hear this?"

Otstargi laughed. "I have my own methods for getting information and they do not involve bribing servants. You would be best advised, my lord, just to believe what I tell you, and act on it."

Seymour had drawn an indignant breath over the almost contemptuous tone in which the charlatan spoke, but with the words, Otstargi spun across the table a brilliant crystal. Seymour grabbed for it instinctively, and when his hand stopped the stone, his indignation fled. It was a ruby, a deep glowing red with a design he could not quite make out carved into its surface.

For a moment as he picked up the stone to examine it more closely, a wave of dizziness swept over him and an unexpected roiling in his belly. He forgot both sensations, absorbed by the beauty of the ruby, and then he closed his hand over it.

"Beautiful," he said. "Are you selling it?"

"No, it is not for sale, but you might have it as a gift with my goodwill."

Thomas opened his hand and looked down at the ruby, which glowed like pulsing blood in his hand. He knew men did not give such "gifts" without large expectations of return favors, but his hand closed over the stone again.

"That is an expensive gift," he remarked. "I suppose I am in a position to do you a substantial favor."

Otstargi smiled. "And profit yourself richly as well," he said. "You were appointed Lord High Admiral when you were made a baron? Yes?"

"Yes." Thomas's mouth twisted wryly. "A singularly useless appointment. The navy is so starved that it is almost impossible to make any profit from it. The supplies are inadequate. Trying to pinch them only brings complaints from the captains for which the Council blames me."

"Ah, but I can suggest to you an easy way to profit and to save your captains for more important military action . . . for which they will be needed in the future."

"Military action?" Seymour repeated, frowning. "When?"

"That I cannot say with any certainty, my lord, although I think not soon enough to interfere with your profits."

"My profits?"

"This is the beginning of the high season for trade, and thus the high season for piracy."

"Piracy."

Thomas shook his head impatiently, annoyed at sounding like an echo at this third repetition. As Lord High Admiral, part of his duty was to eliminate the pirates that preyed on the shipping coming out of the Mediterranean Sea, along the coasts of Spain and France and even into the Channel. Admittedly he had not exerted himself over that duty, but surely this Otstargi would not gift him with a rich ruby to encourage him to hunt pirates.

Otstargi tented his hands on the table and rested his long chin on the tips of his fingers. "Yes, piracy. A very frustrating charge for you, as it is a large ocean and your few ships cannot be everywhere."

"That's true enough!" Thomas exclaimed angrily. He had been taken to task by a few gentlemen of the court over his lack of success at stemming the piracy.

"It might be arranged for your ships to take some of the pirates with relative ease."

"You have informers who will tell you where and when—"

Otstargi lifted his head and held up a finger; Thomas, his hand tight over the inscribed ruby, fell silent. It felt quite natural to him, and he had no sense of how unusual it was for him to obey such a gesture. Otstargi smiled broadly.

"It does not matter how I know where and when a ship will fall into your power. What does matter is that while your ships are engaged in capturing or sinking those pirates, others—with rather more valuable cargoes—will slip away to a safe haven, in the Scilly Islands, for example."

"There's nothing in the Scillys, except sheep and cows."

"And a deep harbor or two or three. But you are right about the Scilly Islands. They would not be considered a good market for pirated goods, which is why pirates would be safe there."

Slowly Seymour shook his head. "No, because there would need to be a way for buyers to move the cargoes, which means more ships. The fleet sails right by those islands. Some bright and noble captain is sure to notice that there are more ships than usual in the ports and insist on investigating." His mouth twisted with distaste. "Honorable idiots."

"Surely it is within your power to assign the honorable idiots to . . . say . . . the east coast to guard against the French sending men or supplies to the Scots?"

Though he was acting as Otstargi, Vidal had not lost sight of another purpose. When the English attacked the Scots, he did not want help from the French to reach them. The English could not gain a decisive victory, and even if they could, the Scots—with his assistance—would not keep any treaty they made. But if the Scots, with French help, pushed the English back, that might stop the fighting for some time, and that was the last thing Vidal wanted.

"You are right about that, Master Otstargi." Thomas grinned. "And the honorable idiots will be so pleased at being sent to guard against the French that they will bless my name."

Vidal cocked his head. "Then that is agreed?"

"Why not? No one will lose by it. We never seem to catch up with the pirates anyway, so the few we take will redound to the credit of the fleet, and those who . . . ah . . . are not sighted would have done what they did with or without my assistance."

"True, very true. But the trouble is that what you will get from the pirates, although a nice addition to your income, will not be near enough for you to buy support in the Council to give you charge of the king's person."

"I am counting on the king's own preference for me to sway the Council."

Slowly Vidal shook his head. "I am quite sure the king will not be allowed to state his preference unless the Council is somehow encouraged to ask him for it. That will take money, real money."

"My wife is very rich—"

"No. The last thing you should do is strip Queen Catherine's estate, specially so soon after you are married. Even if your wife understands and agrees, there will be—if not outcries of outrage—nasty whispers and rumors from her kin and those who consider themselves her friends. Nor will you be able to defend yourself and show that the spending now will benefit her in the future, not without warning your brother of your plans, which might be fatal. I have a better suggestion to offer you."

Rolling the ruby gently between his hands, Thomas now regretted that he had not sooner taken Wriothesley's advice and consulted Master Otstargi. "Yes?" he asked, eager to hear this new suggestion.

It was very much to Thomas' taste. There was a Sir William Sharington, vice-treasurer of the Bristol Mint who was buying up and minting considerable quantities of Church plate. If Seymour would offer protection to this scheme, Sharington would readily share his huge profits. Thomas quickly agreed to travel to Bristol to settle the matter personally with Sharington, while making calculations about the cost each month of supporting ten thousand men. Enough money would permit him to challenge the Protector openly.

"You will lose that stone, if you keep rolling it about," Otstargi said, a smile in his voice. "You should have it set into a ring."

"I may well do that," Seymour said, tucking the stone carefully into his purse. "Well, I thank you for your good advice," he added, preparing to rise.

"One moment more, my lord," Otstargi said, pretending to appear uncertain. "I have Seen something very strange in my glass and I think I had better tell you about it, although I am not at all sure of its meaning."

"If it does not concern me—" Thomas began, uneasy at the open mention of crystal-gazing and fortune-telling. Both were condemned by the Church and by the law also.

Otstargi shook his head. "But it does concern you, my lord, too closely for me to ignore what I have Seen. More certainly because I cannot understand what I See and have Seen repeatedly. I know you are most happily married to a lovely lady, but I See you always in company with a different lady, much younger, pale with red hair."

"What?"

Seymour's exclamation did not imply that he had not heard what Vidal said but that it had some startling significance to him. This was just what Vidal wanted; knowing Seymour to be something of a lecher, he had been concerned that the man would not immediately identify the pale, red-haired girl with Elizabeth.

"Yes, a young girl, pretty but thin, with very red hair. And there are several images, always in succession. First of playful contacts, a quick caress, a kiss, often in the presence of others. Then images of you two alone in far deeper intimacy. And last—the girl is older in the last image—you and she seated in high chairs under cloths of state in the richest apparel, all trimmed in ermine."

"Seated under cloths of state and wearing ermine?" Seymour's voice was carefully neutral but Vidal was most satisfied with the gleam in his eyes.

He kept his own voice mildly puzzled. "That is the image, I do not understand it at all. The king, God bless him, is alive and well and you are married most happily to a woman with dark hair. But there is no sense of time in these images. The first, likely is now or in the near future. The last may be years away."

Thomas made no reply at first and he had lowered his gaze to the polished surface of the table between him and Master Otstargi. After a long moment he raised his eyes from the tabletop to the magician's face, his expression now thoughtful.

"The first image could be of me fixing my favor with the red-haired girl. The second a natural progression." Thomas smiled complacently; he had brought a number of doubting females to bed. "The last—"

"I beg you will not speak of that. Perhaps I should not have told you of it, but I felt you needed to be warned."

Vidal spoke sharply, thrusting a needle of compulsion at Seymour. The man was a blabbermouth. If he "confided" to anyone his hope of marrying Elizabeth and ruling as consort by her side, he would be hung for treason before he could actually disqualify her for the throne.

"I am not a fool, Master Otstargi," Thomas said, getting to his feet and speaking louder and more assertively than he had since he tucked the ruby into his pouch.

Vidal did not reply nor did he try any further spells. Sometimes spells could conflict and cancel or damage each other's effect. He was also concerned that the spell on Aurilia's amulet was not as effective as it should be unless the amulet was actually in Seymour's hand, and as he saw Seymour to the door he remarked that he hoped the ruby could be set and worn as a ring to remind Seymour of the profits to be gained by their bargain.

The grunted reply was not reassuring, but there was little more Vidal could do. To bind the man securely enough to ensure utter compliance would change his behavior so much that his intimates and servants would know there was something wrong with him. Better to set a watcher on him and see what he would do.

 

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