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Chapter 24

Although Denoriel had no definite plan for delaying and disorganizing Wyatt's army when he left Underhill, he had found two strongly mischievous friends from the Wild Hunt who could endure the ambiance of iron and steel for short periods and liked nothing better than making trouble in the mortal world. They agreed enthusiastically to join Wyatt's party and encourage in it mutiny, disorder, and pandemonium. Denoriel had worn his young aspect when he spoke to them, although he showed them his present appearance so they would recognize him if they encountered him in the mortal world.

Miralys had been waiting when Denoriel left Llachar Lle. "I am not a small child who needs to be told to be still and rest," he said severely to the elvensteed as he mounted.

There was no sound in his mind; there was no physical reaction to his reproof that Denoriel could detect. Nonetheless he knew Miralys was laughing at him.

Denoriel sighed. He had never yet won any point contested with the elvensteed. He should know better than to try. What he had to decide before they reached the Gate was whether he should twist time to the mortal night after he had been with Elizabeth or skip a night. To twist time an extra day would cost him power, and staying with Elizabeth, with the frequent need to use the Don't-see-me spell, would cost him more. And he had nothing, really, to tell her—only that Wyatt was coming. He did not even know what preparations, if any, the Council would take to protect the city.

The last thought decided him. The Gate brought him to London in the late afternoon of the day after he left. It would cost him no more than an hour or so to learn what Joseph knew and to pass by Cecil's house on Cannon Row. He could explain his reasoning to Elizabeth; she was not a child and not quite so unreasonable.

Denoriel did not forget that if Cecil had won a position with the new government, it would do him harm to be known as consorting with Lady Elizabeth's favorite Lord Denno. Therefore, while they were still Underhill and the illusion would not cost so much, Denoriel put on the aspect of Charles Paget, third son of Lord Paget, a respected member of Mary's Council.

When he dismounted from Miralys, he was delighted to see the knocker affixed to the door of Cecil's house; that meant that Cecil was in London, although he might not actually be in the house at the moment. That did not matter. As Charles Paget, Denoriel plied the knocker. When the door opened, the servant bowed and stepped back to allow entrance to Lord Denno.

"If your master is not within," Denoriel said, "may I leave a note for him?"

"He is within, m'lord," the footman said, "but I know he is busy and may not be able to—"

At which point the rest of the sentence became unnecessary because William Cecil had appeared in the open doorway of the parlor and said, "Lord Denno. A surprise and yet not a surprise. That's all, Perry, but bring some wine and some of those sweet cakes cook prepared." And he turned to Denoriel. "If you would join me in the parlor . . ."

There Cecil closed the door carefully and said in a very low voice. "I cannot tell you how glad I am to see you, but I hope no one took note of your coming here."

"No. I made very sure of that," Denoriel assured him in an equally low voice. "I thought if you had renewed your connections to the Court that it would do you no good, specially in these times, to be seen having private meetings with a favorite of Lady Elizabeth."

Cecil smiled broadly. "I should have known you would  consider that." He sighed, then gestured to chairs well away from the table piled with papers. "I tried to think of some way to let you know I was back, and that Lord Paget finds me very useful, but . . .ah . . . you know Lord Paget. I am very much afraid that I am watched and any letters I dispatch might be carefully examined.

I am almost ready to believe in the mortal God, Denoriel thought, and that He, like Titania, wishes to see Elizabeth on the throne of England. It is Paget who is employing Cecil and quite by chance I picked Paget's son to be Cecil's visitor.

Denoriel shrugged. "I know you enjoy politics and there has been no persecution of Northumberland's followers nor any great pressure yet on individuals to worship with the Catholic rite. I thought you might have taken the chance to offer your services to those who knew you. As you can imagine, Lady Elizabeth is strung tighter than any fiddle."

Cecil shook his head. "I knew it must be so, and if I had any news that would help, I would have found some way or other to send it, but I have nothing . . . except that she still has friends. Rochester, who you know the queen loves and trusts as few other men, speaks well of Lady Elizabeth always, and assures Queen Mary that her sister does love her and is loyal. Paget does what he can, although never openly before the queen. I wish there was more, but Gardiner and the Imperial ambassador continue to use every device to turn the queen against her sister."

"I wonder if it would help if Renard had an accident," Denoriel said softly.

Cecil shuddered. "Truthfully I do not think any 'accident' would not be put down to murder. Mary is convinced the Imperial envoys are in danger. I think the death of the Imperial ambassador by any means would convince the emperor that England was too dangerous for his only, precious son. And if Mary is deprived of Prince Philip—whose portrait she goes ten times a day to see . . . She will kill Elizabeth in revenge and to be sure that Elizabeth cannot inherit, since Mary will feel it was for Elizabeth's sake she was deprived of the possibility of having a child."

Denoriel swallowed hard but did not need to reply because the door opened to show Perry with a tray. Both men stared silently at each other, until the tray was set on a table and wine poured into each of the two goblets. Cecil nodded at Perry and thanked him and the servant withdrew, shutting the door carefully behind him.

"I see," Denoriel sighed as soon as he was sure Perry was gone. "I am glad to hear that Rochester is still Elizabeth's friend. That may help. But to tell the truth, I did not come to hear about Elizabeth but to discover, if you can tell me, what the Council is planning to do about Wyatt. I assume you know that most of the troops sent with Norfolk joined Wyatt instead of fighting him and that the sailors of the ships anchored at Gravesend did the same. There is now nothing to prevent Wyatt from marching straight into London."

"I did not know about the sailors," Cecil said, shaking his head, his lips pressed into a thin line. "Not that it matters. The Council appointed Pembroke and Clinton to command the queen's forces and Lord William Howard to see to the defense of the city."

"Clinton and Lord Howard know what they are doing," Denoriel said, "but why Pembroke? He is barely twenty years old."

"Yes, but he is very hot to protect the queen, and will shame the others if they do not resist with all their strength." Cecil's lips twisted. "Who knows why they do anything. It is not as if one strong will drives them. They are too taken up with blaming each other for this disaster to even propose a proclamation to call the city to arms. Most blame Paget for supporting the Spanish marriage and many blame Gardiner for pressing forward with the change to the Catholic rite. There are all kinds of rumors about Lady Elizabeth also."

Denoriel put down the glass he was holding and sat forward tensely. "Rumors? What rumors?"

"That she is moving away from London to a great castle. That she is gathering troops to join Wyatt—"

"That is utter nonsense!" Denoriel interrupted furiously.

Cecil stared at him for a long moment, then said, "You have seen her. Yes. She would have no part in an open rebellion. I said to Paget that Lady Elizabeth was not such a fool, but he merely shrugged. Paget is too busy defending himself to take a chance of annoying Renard by speaking well of Elizabeth. And the treasurer insists there is proof of the gathering of troops and Elizabeth's household now eats in a week what usually lasted them a month."

Denoriel laughed bitterly. "If Elizabeth hears of any increase in expenses, she will skin Parry alive." Then he sighed and added, "Elizabeth will be able to prove the extra cost is a lie. She insists that Parry keep very exact records of every penny spent, since the Seymour business when she discovered he was lax. She is loyal to her servants so she would not dismiss him, but she made note of his weaknesses and now reads over his accounts and initials them."

"I fear she will need whatever proof of innocence she can get if Wyatt does not succeed."

"I cannot believe he will," Denoriel said, wondering if he should try to gather the merchants and rouse them to defense.

Cecil shook his head. "The Council all fear the worst and are running about like hysterical chickens. They are all urging Mary to flee London because they wish to run themselves but do not dare to leave while she stays." He shrugged. "I am packed and ready to go myself, and will follow if the queen leaves."

Denoriel sighed again. "Let me know if you can if the queen decides to abandon the city."

"I will do my best," Cecil replied as Denoriel rose to his feet, "and for Lady Elizabeth also. But there are hard times coming for her whatever the outcome of this rebellion."

"She is as earnest as I in wishing it had never happened," Denoriel said, as Cecil accompanied him to the door.

"I am certain of it."

Lord Denno stepped through the opened door of William Cecil's house, but Charles Paget, after a slight pause with a hand against the door jamb to steady himself, went down the stairs to untie Miralys's rein and to mount. It was already growing dark. Days were short in February.

Although he did not expect to be seen, Charles Paget rode a little way along Watling Street, then turned his chestnut mount into a quiet alley. After a little while Lord Denno on a black horse rode out of the alley and proceeded sedately to his warehouse near the river.

Joseph was glad to see him. He had news from the east. Wyatt was moving toward London along the south shore of the Thames, nearing Deptford. Lord Denno gathered the men and told them he had news from a newly arrived fellow merchant. Over the narrow sea there is great surprise over the foolishness of the English. No Imperial army is moving anywhere. No ships are being gathered in any port. The Spanish are not planning on an invasion of England.

The men seemed somewhat disappointed rather than relieved, but they all had a very high opinion of Lord Denno and  readily agreed not to join any force that claimed to be against the Spaniards but would probably be used to raid the rich shops and houses of London.

Later, privately, he said to Joseph, "Indeed, why should the Spaniards invade England? Once Queen Mary is married to Prince Philip they will have more influence than a conquering army would. The last thing Emperor Charles desires is any unrest in England."

They left the warehouse with only its normal night guards and returned to Bucklersbury where he and Joseph ate dinner, after which Joseph went out to visit his betrothed and give her family the latest news. Denoriel read for a while, but soon after Joseph returned he went up to his bedchamber, slipped behind the cheval mirror that replaced the one Pasgen had shattered, and Gated to Ashridge.

"Where have you been?" Elizabeth whispered, holding out her arms as he stepped into her chamber from Blanche's. "I am so frightened I can hardly breathe."

"I am sorry, my love," Denoriel replied, his cheek against her hair. "Miralys took me Underhill after I went to Maidstone and Rochester for news of the rebellion. I—" he hesitated and then spoke the truth "—I was . . . tired."

For a moment longer Elizabeth held him tight, then she shivered slightly, released him, and said, "Tell me the news."

 

Rhoslyn was as exhausted as Denoriel. Usually it was safe for her to retreat Underhill to restore herself almost every night, but not since Gardiner brought word to the queen of Courtenay's confession. The chancellor had followed his news of the planned rebellion with an urgent request that he be allowed to arrest Lady Elizabeth and place her in the Tower for safekeeping. He did not mention eventual execution, but Rhoslyn read it in his mind and sent a sharp reminder of disaster to Mary.

As she always did when urged to deal with Elizabeth, Mary hesitated, raising a hand to her temple. The she shook her head at Gardiner and said he could not expect her to make so momentous a decision without serious thought. Gardiner's mouth opened and his face flushed, but he bit back whatever angry words he had been about to say. Mary looked after him, a faint frown wrinkling her brow.

When Gardiner was gone, Rhoslyn eased the thrust that made Mary touch her temple. More gently she renewed in Mary's mind all the fears she had set there about doing harm to Elizabeth. She knew the mental doubts were no longer enough, however. The real threat of rebellion was making the imagined fears pale. But before she could spare any mental effort to influence one of Mary's ladies, she was supported by Jane Dormer, who asked with wide eyes what Elizabeth had done to deserve arrest.

"That will be determined when she is held safe," Mary said.

Rhoslyn drew a shocked breath. Mary sounded as if she were breaking free of the instilled fears, but she did not give an order to recall Gardiner. She was looking at Susan Clarencieux, who was frowning and shaking her head.

Without any pressure from Rhoslyn, Susan said slowly, "I do not like Lady Elizabeth. I think her insincere both in her profession of the Catholic faith and in her affection for you, Your Majesty. Nonetheless I must protest against Bishop Gardiner's advice."

"Why?" Rhoslyn asked, playing devil's advocate to get Susan to state her reasons aloud.

"To arrest Lady Elizabeth without proven cause would, I fear, precipitate rebellion," Susan said. "Remember how Elizabeth names herself 'mere English' as if your Spanish blood was some stain. If Lady Elizabeth is involved with the rebels, would they not cry aloud that in imprisoning her you are a tool of the Spanish, that you wish to sacrifice England to them? The whole country might rise against you."

"Oh, they might indeed," Rhoslyn agreed, pressing the hatred of the Spanish as the cause of the rebellion on Mary's mind to the exclusion of Elizabeth.

To Mary, who was certain that nothing better could happen to England than to be guided by Spanish orthodoxy into fervent Catholicism, fear and hatred of the Spanish was incomprehensible. Resistance to her plans to marry Philip thus seemed more and more reformist resistance to the true faith and became in Mary's mind inextricably connected to heresy, treachery, and now, rebellion.

Nor could Rhoslyn relax her vigilance over the following weeks as the rebellion developed. Gardiner tried several times to get Mary to agree to arrest Elizabeth and Mary's growing anxiety was making the notion of Elizabeth in prison attractive. Only the fact that no one could accuse Elizabeth of anything—and the rebels' constant harping on the Spanish threat permitted Rhoslyn's instilled fears to balance Mary's dislike of her sister.

The anti-Spanish rhetoric added to the fact that not once did anyone use her as a figurehead was Elizabeth's protection. Even when Carew escaped from those coming to seize him, when the duke of Norfolk's army defected to the rebels as did the seamen from the ships at Gravesend, when Wyatt started to move his army south, not once was there any mention of Elizabeth as a rival to Mary. Whenever any of the rebels spoke to a crowd or nailed up a proclamation, it was to warn against Spanish oppression and swear their intention was to protect the queen.

Fortunately Renard did not add his conviction about the danger of leaving Elizabeth free to Gardiner's. He was so concerned with the immediate threat that Wyatt posed to himself and his fellow ambassadors, that a distant threat like Elizabeth shrank to insignificance. All Renard's attention and that of the Council during Wyatt's march was on whether Mary should flee London or stay.

Renard's mind had been muddled by Vidal on the subject of Elizabeth, but he was clear enough on political events aside from trying to be rid of her. He knew that if Mary fled and the rebels took London, England would be in a state of civil war and no use to the Empire for many years to come if it were ever of use. Renard was frightened, but he was a brave man; he stayed in London and advised the shaken queen, who distrusted all her English advisors and her dithering Council, to do the same.

He advised another useful tactic—that Mary try to convince the rebels she would listen to their objections to a union with Spain. Mary was transparently honest and protested that to listen to the rebels' objections was ridiculous. They were wrong in their fears. Spain was no threat to England.

Rhoslyn and Mary's other ladies assured her that although they knew Spain was no threat, it would also be true that she would listen to what the rebels had to say rather than fight them. She did not need to follow their advice, but the time spent in conferences with the rebel leaders might well end the rebellion. The common soldiers would likely lose their enthusiasm as time passed and no Spanish threat appeared; they would slip away. Wyatt would have no army and the rebellion would be over.

So Mary agreed to offer a truce to Wyatt, who had reached Blackheath. To show the queen was serious and respected her opponent, no mere herald, but two gentlemen of her household, Sir Edward Hastings and Sir Thomas Cornwallis, carried a carefully noncommittal message: If Wyatt and his friends were in arms only against strangers and in fear of the Spanish marriage, the queen would appoint persons to confer with him.

In this case Renard's advice did not have the anticipated effect. The message seemed only to make Wyatt feel he was already victorious. He sent back with Hastings and Cornwallis an answer that aroused the normally gentle Mary to rage. He would rather be trusted than trust, Wyatt's message read, and for that trust the surety he desired was the dismissal of four councilors to be replaced by others whom he would name and custody of the Tower of London, and Her Grace the queen in the Tower.

Within an hour of that response, Mary had sent a notice to the mayor, the aldermen, and other important merchants that she would speak to them in the Guildhall. She stood before them under a cloth of estate surrounded by her chancellor, her dithering Council, and her trembling but determined ladies. Small but indomitable, she spoke to them in her deep, resonant voice and told them of Wyatt's progress and answer to her offer.

Standing with others of his Company, Denoriel found it within himself to admire Mary's dogged courage. In plain terms, the queen accused Wyatt of threatening a Spanish invasion as a false pretense to cover his opposition to her Catholicism. She reminded them that they knew the conditions of the marriage and that the marriage would give the Spanish no power in English government. And, she added, rather untruthfully, she was not a slave to her lust and her own pleasure; if the nobility, the commons, and the Parliament should deem the marriage not advisable, Mary said, "I will abstain from marriage while I live."

The queen spoke simply and with great sincerity. Rhoslyn, standing with the other women, knew that Mary lied although, perhaps, Mary did not permit herself to know she was lying. What was important was that she had come in her own person and, so to speak, thrown herself on the mercy of her subjects—she asked if they would defend her against these rebels. "For if you do," she said, "I am minded to live and die with you."

The hall erupted in cheering and when Mary had withdrawn to drink a cup of wine with the lord mayor and then take her barge to return to Westminster, the men in the hall, Denoriel included, went to arm themselves and to gather and arm their dependents.

The next day the streets of London were full of armed men, oddly enough going calmly about their daily tasks. On Miralys, Denoriel was able to visit every part of the city and every part was making ready to defend their queen who sat stubbornly in the palace of Westminster, defying the advice of her fearful Council.

In the afternoon, the guns of the Tower bellowed a warning. The guards there had seen flags moving on the Southwark shore; no long delay proved them to be Wyatt's flags. Joseph came back from the warehouse to tell Lord Denno that word along the Thames was that Lord William Howard had ordered the drawbridge cut loose so the bridge could not be used to enter the city and sent riders along the river to order that all bridges within fifteen miles be broken down. The next order was for the gates of the city to be shut.

Denoriel went up to his bedchamber and Gated to Llachar Lle where he drew from its chest the silver armor he wore when he rode first in Koronos's Wild Hunt. A gesture darkened the silver to look like iron, another put a simple doublet and cloak over the armor. Thus garbed, he stepped back through the Gate and emerged from behind the cheval glass.

When he came down from his bedchamber, Denoriel found Joseph also armored and with his sword belted on. He nodded approval and asked if there were jacks enough for the men they employed. Assured that all their employees would be properly armored, Denoriel told Joseph that he did not believe it necessary to join any other troop in the city unless they were asked for help.

"Remain in the vicinity of the warehouse and watch the river. With the drawbridge down and no other nearby bridges available, Wyatt may try to get his men across in small boats."

"That would be mad," Joseph said and then snorted. "But this whole venture has been mad and here Wyatt is, besieging London. Very well, we will guard our section of the river and I will talk to our neighbors so they set watches on their wharfs also. And you, my lord?"

"I think I will go make my bow to Lord Clinton, who knows me. His first wife was Harry FitzRoy's mother. She learned, perhaps from Norfolk, that I saw the boy often and she invited me to her home to ask about him. Clinton was then very young himself, hardly more than a boy. He knew that the marriage was made to advance him with Henry VIII and was interested in Harry. We met occasionally thereafter and he is aware of my connection with Elizabeth. That I am willing to fight for Mary can only help. Clinton, I believe, has charge of the horse. It is possible he can use my sword."

However, when Denoriel was received by Clinton, he found he had come to the wrong man. Pembroke, young and full of confidence in his personal prowess, was the leader of the mounted defense of the city. Clinton looked at Denoriel's white hair and lined face.

"You will not be warmly received," he said wryly. "I have a far better use for you, Adjoran. I know you hold no office in the Companies of the city, but you know most of the guildmasters and even the lord mayor. Do me the favor, if you will, of speaking to them and of going around the gates and making sure there are no traitors there ready to open to Wyatt if he finds a way across the river."

"Very well, my lord, if that is the way I will be of most use, I will be happy to do it."

"Yet would not Lady Elizabeth be glad to see Queen Mary in Wyatt's hands?"

Denoriel was delighted that Clinton had come out and mentioned his doubts about Lord Denno's own loyalty. He shook his head vigorously.

"Oh, no, my lord. Lady Elizabeth is no fool. Even setting aside the fact that Lady Elizabeth is a loving and loyal sister and remembers the queen's kindness and generosity to her when she had little herself, for purely selfish reasons she wants no part of Wyatt's rebellion. The last thing she desires is to have any harm at all come to Queen Mary. That would incriminate her—no matter that she is totally innocent—and be a cause of endless civil war."

"I am glad to hear that Lady Elizabeth is so sensible."

"She is, and I will do all in my power to see that this stupid rebellion is put down."

There was, however, little to do. Seeing the drawbridge down so the bridge was impassable, Wyatt made no attempt to cross the river. He settled down in Southwark, exerting a tight control over the army that was with him, paying for the supplies his men needed and preventing looting. He was waiting, it seemed, for the Londoners to take the queen prisoner and invite him into the city.

For that, he was a few hours too late. If Mary had tried to flee or had not come in person to appeal to the people of the city, Wyatt's friends in London might have had a more receptive audience. As it was, fired by Mary's courage and steadfastness and perhaps given hope that she would take warning and draw back from the Spanish marriage, London watched the invader on the south shore of the Thames armed and ready to resist.

Nonetheless, Wyatt did have friends. At Ludgate, to which Denoriel had come after dark—he had stopped at the northern gates and eastern gates first—he saw the gate properly closed but a huddle of men standing together. To the mortals, it was full dark and they felt themselves to be invisible to anyone beyond the faint light of their dark lantern. To Denoriel, the dark lantern made it near as bright as daylight.

Responsive as always to his desire, Miralys made no sound and moved into the deeper shadow at the side of the small guardhouse. Denoriel cocked his long ears forward.

"Yes, she is a brave lady," one voice said, "and no one, most of all Sir Thomas Wyatt, wishes her any harm. It is to save her that he has come, to protect her from the evil counsel that has led her to offer herself—and England—to the Spaniards."

"It is true," another voice answered, "that I do not want to see our sweet queen married to that sour Spaniard. I have heard that he wreaked dreadful havoc in the Low Countries, burning men and women and children, too, for defying the pope's rule."

"And if he is Queen Mary's husband," the first voice said, "will he not force the pope upon us and burn us if we resist?"

"The queen is Catholic," a third voice said. "But she has not forced the Catholic rite upon us."

"Not yet," a fourth man said. "But the priest in my church is asking for money to buy chasubles and chalices and thuribles in which to burn incense. I do not like it. I do not wish to see our good, plain worship bedecked in a Catholic harlot's robes."

"And it must be stopped," the first voice said. "The queen must have councilors who will tell her that she may have her Mass but that she may not force it upon us. When Sir Thomas is in control of the city, he will see the right kind of councilors appointed. They will reject this marriage to Spain. If he comes to the gate, will you not allow him entry to achieve this good?"

There was a tight silence. Break it up now, Denoriel thought, before any of the men commit themselves and, with a clatter of seemingly shod hooves, Miralys appeared as if he had come out of an alley onto the main road. The group by the gate fragmented immediately, one man snatching up the dark lantern and darting away along the base of the wall, another hurrying toward the guard house and two coming a few steps toward Denoriel.

"The gate is closed for the night," the man who had spoken against the Catholic rite said. "We are ordered not to open it without an order from Lord William Howard."

"I do not want it opened," Denoriel said. "I am Lord Denno Adjoran, mercer, come from Lord Clinton to be sure the guards at the gates are doing their duty. Has there been any trouble here? I thought I saw someone skulking away down the wall."

"There was one—" the man who had spoken third and defended Queen Mary began.

But the man who had gone into the guardhouse had come out with a torch. Denoriel recognized him as a merchant tailor who had a shop on Watling Street and had bought cloth from Adjoran.

"He was . . . ah . . . asking for news," he interrupted, and Denoriel recognized the voice as the one who had spoken second.

"Very well, Master Harris," Denoriel said. "I bid you and your fellow guards remember that the queen said if the people and the Parliament were against the marriage she would not make it. Now see the gate stays closed no matter who knocks on it."

But no one knocked on it. Wyatt wasted two more days sitting in Southwark and waiting for the Londoners to overpower the queen's guard and invite him to take Mary under his control. Lord William Howard begged the queen for permission to use the guns of the Tower against his encampment, but she would not allow it.

"Think," she said, "of the many innocents in the houses of Southwark who would be killed or injured and the loss of their shelter in this bitter weather."

Word of the queen's mercy was carried from the palace and some who had wondered if they should take the chance to be rid of the Catholic queen were reassured of her goodness. No one urged any welcome to Wyatt. Meanwhile over those three days, all the towns along the river that had bridges showed their loyalty to the queen by obeying Lord William Howard's order and broke them down so Wyatt could not cross.

Wyatt reached Kingston at four o'clock in the afternoon. Only thirty feet of the bridge had been torn away, and the pilings remained. The bridge was repairable. It was then that the seamen who had joined the rebellion saved the situation. The sailors volunteered to swim across the river if Wyatt could disperse the guard set to protect the other end of the bridge.

The guns that the seamen had brought from their ships drove away the guard. That news and the tale of Wyatt's progress came back to London with a man from that guard. Another came hours later, long after dark to say that Wyatt was across the river. The sailors who had swum across came back in barges and Wyatt returned with enough men to drive the remainder of the guard away and to protect the workers on the bridge.

Denno had the news of Wyatt's progress from Lord Clinton to whom he had gone to report that Ludgate and Newgate were not safe and that one John Harris should be watched or warned that if Wyatt entered by Ludgate he would be held accountable. Clinton thanked him, assured him that the warning would be passed to Lord William Howard, and told him that all horse and foot were summoned to be outside the walls of St. James Palace by six the next morning. Denoriel promised he and his men would be there.

He returned at once to Bucklersbury, then Gated to Ashridge and sent the air spirit he had bound to Elizabeth to bring her to her bedchamber. The air spirit could not speak to her or set a message into her mind, but it danced and gyrated and fluttered toward the bedchamber door repeating its performance when she did not respond. Elizabeth just sat, staring into the air over Eleanor Gage's head with as little expression as she could manage.

Air spirits were not clever. Elizabeth feared its movements would brush someone. She wished she could shout, "I understand," but her ladies, and Mary's spies, would think she had run mad. The idea drew a brief hysterical gasp of a giggle from her; she felt as if she were going mad. What would she do if Wyatt won? All eyes turned to her and she shivered and then took advantage of the strangled giggle to bend over with a hand on her belly.

"Are you ill, my lady?" Dorothy Stafford asked.

"My stomach roils," Elizabeth gasped. She rose quickly to follow the air spirit and Elizabeth Marberry jumped up to accompany her. "I do not need any audience to watch by my close stool," Elizabeth snapped.

Marberry knew that Lady Elizabeth was supposed to be watched every moment, but she could not disobey a direct order and slowly sat down again. She herself did not like to be watched while she performed her natural functions and even less when those functions were disturbed. Also she was certain that no message had been delivered to Elizabeth. Not even a servant had approached her since they returned to her chambers from the evening meal. And, all alarmed as they were, they had been unnaturally silent. No message had passed to Elizabeth from her ladies.

Possibly Lady Elizabeth was ill, Marberry thought. She was more drawn and pallid each day. She had noticed that the lady merely pushed food around in her plate, hardly eating. Heaven knew there was enough trouble to make Lady Elizabeth's stomach uneasy. And she certainly did not look eagerly excited by the news of Wyatt's rebellion which had come in letters from the Council.

Elizabeth slammed the door of her bedchamber and spelled it locked. She would, of course, have to release the lock the moment she heard someone try the door, but she would at least have warning of an intruder. Then she hurried behind the screen that hid the close stool and with tears streaming down her face threw herself into Denno's arms.

He held her tight and kissed her forehead, her eyes, and more lingeringly her lips. Elizabeth hugged Denoriel back, but did not respond to his kiss. She stiffened and anxiously felt his breast and shoulders.

"You are armored," she whispered. "Will we be attacked?"

"Not Ashridge," he murmured in reply. "London. I came only to tell you that I will not come tonight or perhaps the next few nights. I must be in the city if there is a call to arms."

"Why should you fight for Mary?" Elizabeth hissed angrily. "What if you are hurt? What will become of me? Remember all those mortal soldiers use iron weapons."

"I fight for Mary because too many know I am your favorite. I must show myself ardent in the queen's cause. Do not be ridiculous Elizabeth. I do not believe Wyatt can win with the force he has . . . unless the Londoners go over to him."

"If he loses, what will happen to me?" Elizabeth sobbed.

His grip around her shoulders tightened. "No worse than what you endured when they sought evidence against Thomas Seymour. And you have been much more careful this time. I hope—"

The door latch clicked. Elizabeth turned her head and spat "Ekmochleuo" over her shoulder, releasing the spell. The latch lifted and the door opened a thread. Someone was looking in to see where she was and what she was doing. Behind the screen around the close stool, she was invisible. "Stickfoot," she hissed, and smiled the first smile in several days when she heard a cry as someone tried to take a step and fell on her face. When she turned back, Denno was gone.

Tears ran down her cheeks again as she straightened her gown of the slight crumpling his embrace had caused. She dropped the top of the stool and sat down on it, taking her head in her hands. How she longed to be queen, to wrest the government from Mary's unsteady hands, to play the treacherous French against the greedy Spanish so that both would grant advantages in trade and policy to England. She could stabilize the currency, pay off much of the debt left by Somerset and Northumberland. England would blossom . . .

"Lady Elizabeth." The anxious voice coming from the still-closed door was that of Agnes Fitzalan. "Are you ill? Do you need help?"

"Ill . . . yes," Elizabeth answered; it being the best excuse for the swollen eyes and reddened nose. "My belly gripes. Come in, Agnes. Find Blanche. Where is Blanche? I need to go to bed."

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Framed