Sub Rosa - Part Two
Master Post || Part One
Acta non verba
deeds not words
In the morning, Nate woke to the smell of cooked eggs and a man shouting. He sat up and pulled his jerkin on over his undershirt before heading to the kitchen to great Lady Alice. Eggs, blocks of cheese, and loaves of bread were spread on the table.
“Good morning, Sir Nathaniel. We have only modest means after Sir Thomas resigned, but please help yourself to what we have,” she said from her place at the stove.
Nate thanked her and grabbed a piece of bread before he went outside to investigate. A buff and bearded mercenary was dragging a man in shackles to Sir Thomas’ cell. The man was bleeding from his forehead and lip, and he was dressed only in a long white undershirt. His thick beard and the blood that was dried on his face made it hard to tell who he was. Sir Thomas was soon standing at Nate’s side.
“He has been charged with heresy for making English copies of the Bible. He was caught red handed at a protestant meeting, passing out pamphlets. We searched his house; he had English copies of many books including The Bible.” Sir Thomas’ voice was stern. Clearly he had already made up his mind about this man’s guilt.
“Will he go to trial?” Nate asked.
“His trial will be here. He will be taken to be burned if he does not repent.” Nate could feel Sir Thomas watching him, waiting for him to comment. Nate just nodded, not sure what to say. He had always felt that each man deserved to plead his case in front of a Court.
“You can talk to him yourself, if you would like.” Sir Thomas walked back inside and Nate decided to take him up on the offer.
The barn reeked of animal waste and straw. The prisoner lay on the ground, in the small spot of sunlight that reached his cell.
“Excuse me, Sir?” Nate pulled up a stool. The prisoner rolled over to sit up, and the sunlight illuminated his face. He had bright brown eyes and thick eyebrows. His curly hair framed his face. He had wiped the blood from his brow, so dirt now smeared his forehead. Nate sucked in a breath. Even with the dirt, Nate recognized him from numerous drawings he had seen. People had often talked about him at his Church.
“Master Webster?” Nate inquired.
“You recognize me, but forgive me I do not recognize you.” Webster breathed out slowly, taking in Nate’s appearance.
“You wouldn’t. You were cursed at my church. You used to write about so many things, not just religion. I only know you because I’ve read some of your stories. I loved your fiction. And your critiques of war were so poignant, especially for a Knight,” Nate said in a huff, still surprised that Master Webster was in such a state as this.
“Ah, yes. Then you are a knight. And a Catholic. How rare that someone like you would find comfort in my words.” Webster folded his legs under himself and stretched out his hand between the bars to shake Nate’s.
“I’m Sir Nathaniel. It’s so nice to meet you, Master Webster, although I wish it was under other circumstances. What happened?”
“You can’t translate Bibles into English without consequences, I’m afraid.”
“But you’ve contributed so many other great literary works! I will speak up on your behalf, I’m sure Sir Thomas will understand.”
“Your young heart will serve you well in other matters, but I’m afraid in this you are wrong. There is no sympathy for heretics.” Webster looked resigned to his fate, and it made Nate sad to see such a skilled writer look so defeated.
“Well, is there anyone you would like me to send word to?” Nate asked, searching for some way to help.
“I do not have many friends, I’m afraid. Perhaps it is better if they don’t find out what has become of me. I was supposed to set sail yesterday on a voyage to Spain. I had planned on looking for Sharks and cataloguing my discoveries.”
“Very well, Master Webster.” Nate took his leave and without hesitation walked brusquely to Sir Thomas’ study. Nate wasted no time in getting to the point.
“Sir Thomas, I must confess that I know Master Webster. He is a good man and a talented writer. I think-”
Sir Thomas stood from his chair and cut Nate off.
“Sir Nathaniel, he has already confessed. He will be burned at Smithfield tomorrow.”
“But, Sir-” Nate began again, unafraid to stand up to Sir Thomas because he thought truth was on his side.
“Your job here is just to observe. You do not make decisions because you have no authority to do so. The Catholic Church has given me this most sacred duty and so I must carry it out.”
Sir Thomas’ voice left no room for further argument. Nate knew when he had been beaten. He tried his best not to look furious as he bowed and walked back to his room.
He turned the issue over and over again in his mind, but he saw no way out. He could not break Master Webster out because everyone would surely know it was him and the punishment for both of them as a result would be much worse than burning. Nate refused to believe that Master Webster deserved his fate.
Then Nate remembered who had sent him here in the first place. Surely Mr. Cromwell would have known that Master Webster was to be captured. Mr. Cromwell could well have dug up the fact that Nate often read Master Webster’s work at Court. Or he had talked to Cardinal Wolsey about Nate back when he was knighted. All of this smelled like a much too elaborate conspiracy against such a young knight, but somehow Nate did not think Cromwell was above that level of manipulation. Maybe Nate was just another pawn in Sir Thomas and Cromwell’s struggle for power.
Strains of happy music interrupted Brad’s train of thought as he walked closer to the great hall. He had been following the Spanish Ambassador with no usable intelligence to show for it. The man liked chocolate. And he liked women. He had left to go see Lady Mary, King Henry’s only daughter. The music meant that The King was throwing another party. Brad hesitated, knowing that attending parties wasn’t exactly in his job description. Nate was still gone, so there was no one for him to check in with. That also meant there was no one for him to talk too. Besides, it was only right that he indulge in some of the luxuries afforded to all those at Court. The Ladies in Waiting were in good spirits, and that meant Brad might find something to take the edge off of his unsuccessful encounter the other night.
His boots clacked on the floor when he entered, and several heads looked up at him. He was easily the tallest man in the room. He made his way around the dance floor to lean against the wall and survey the room, his hand resting against the hilt of his sword.
As he looked around, the brunette lady in waiting who had talked to him the night he first arrived caught his eye. She offered him an easy smile, and that prompted Brad to let his gaze linger on her. Brad didn’t smile back, but Lady Margaret might be just the kind of distraction he had been looking for.
“Mr. Colbert, it is so nice to see you again,” Lady Margaret said as she walked up next to Brad and handed him a cup of wine.
“That it is. I hear you are close to Lady Anne?” He asked, thankfully taking the cup. It seemed that the wine never stopped flowing at Court.
“I am, indeed. She grew up near me and my brother, the Court poet.” She smiled deviously over the rim of her cup, and Brad recognized a certain hunger in her eyes. This seemed like an opportunity Brad would be wise not to pass up. Brad leaned in to whisper in her ear.
“Would you happen to know of any enemies of Lady Anne and The King in Court?”
Lady Margaret tipped her head slightly back to answer him.
“Their enemies are many, I’m afraid. You would have an easier time making a list of friends.”
Brad noticed how, at the corner of her green eyes, her skin crinkled when she smiled. He noticed how tightly her bodice was wrapped around her body and how her breasts moved with each breath she took. But then his eyes settled on her mouth and her pale pink lips that stretched as she talked.
Lady Margaret noticed and took his wine cup from him to place it on a table. “Mr. Colbert, would you care to take this discussion to a more secluded location?”
Brad nodded in agreement. He appreciated a woman who could be on the same page as him so quickly.
Brad vaguely wondered what Nate was doing as he was led through a hallway and into a dimly lit room. Surely not this, he thought. Nate looked like too virtuous a Knight to bed a Lady for no other reason than for the simple pleasure of doing so.
Brad’s eyes returned to Lady Margaret’s lips even as she was untying her bodice. Brad stopped her with his hands as he brought his lips to hers. He licked at her bottom lip and she opened her mouth for him. He licked along her top lip before she plunged her tongue into his mouth. They wasted no time and Brad was grateful for that.
She reached down to untie the laces holding his hose up. She felt along Brad’s codpiece and Brad felt her smile against his mouth. He reached under her petticoat to grip her thigh. She pushed forward and Brad brought his hand to her hip. Brad sucked at her tongue and she moaned softly. She moved her hands to his ass and pulled him closer to her.
Brad pulled back to gaze at her, breathing heavily. Brad could see how this would play out, from start to finish. He saw himself playing with her clit as she moaned, her reckless abandon as he fucked her hard and fast, her accomplished smile after he came. He saw all of it and it bored him. Then an idea dawned on him. A way to make this much more interesting.
“So tell me, Lady Margaret,” Brad began as he moved his fingers up Lady Margaret’s thigh. She looked at him and sucked on her bottom lip. That reminded Brad of Lady Rose, and Brad pushed his thumb against her clit to change her expression. He had been with other women after her Rose, but sometimes there were still certain moments that would bring back memories. Brad hated himself for that.
“Yes?” She whispered, thrusting her hips as Brad started to make small, fast circles.
“Has the Spanish Ambassador been around the Lady Anne more than usual lately?” Brad asked while slowing down his fingers to move them farther down.
An angry groan escaped Lady Margaret after Brad’s question and Brad smiled deviously.
“I would rather not talk about the Ambassador right now,” She said before she bit Brad’s lower lip. Brad stilled his hand. Lady Margaret narrowed her eyes but Brad knew she was too far gone to protest vehemently. He waited it out as she watched his face.
“Yes. Yes he has been. I’ve seen him walking through the Lady’s chambers on different occasions as if studying the buildings,” She huffed out, eager for Brad to continue. He smiled against her mouth as they began to kiss again. She put her hand under his Jerkin to roll his nipples under her thumb. Brad hissed and Lady Margaret bit at Brad’s throat. Brad plunged two fingers inside her and Lady Margaret moaned in appreciation. Brad held her hip steady with his left hand as he thrust in and out of her, fucking her. She buried her face in his neck when she screamed, and Brad rubbed at her clit with his thumb. She came with a laugh, and her voice rang in Brad’s ears. A sense of accomplishment washed over him. He could make someone else feel that good.
“Would you like to-,” She whispered as Brad pulled his fingers out of her and wiped them on the inside of her petticoat.
“We wouldn’t want you to get pregnant,” Brad said simply. She searched his face but Brad offered no other answers. He didn’t think “I’m all good here” would sound very chivalrous. Her eyes darted away, seemingly ashamed for a moment. Brad almost felt guilty of depriving her of the sense of accomplishment he had felt just a moment ago, but that didn’t make him change his mind.
“Well, if you ever feel like playing our little game again, I trust you will find me,” she said, disengaging herself from him.
As she walked away, it dawned on Brad that he had given up on women. Or on sex. There was no feeling in it, just doing. But at least he hadn’t wasted a perfectly good party. Or an opportunity to gather intel.
That evening, Nate arrived back at Court still angry but without a clue as to how to help Webster. He requested an audience with Cromwell and paced outside his office. Mike happened to walk by carrying a huge basket full of fruit and did a double take when he saw Nate.
“Back early?” Mike asked.
“Ya, well. Things happened.” Nate kept it vague, not wanting to make Mike an accomplice in whatever trouble he was about to get himself into.
“If you need me, you know where to find me.”
Nate nodded, appreciative of Mike’s support.
“What’s with the fruit?” Nate changed the subject.
“They’re from the new world. The King is leaving for France and he wants to take them with him. I’ve got to go help him pack the remainder of his things.” Mike patted Nate’s shoulder before heading off.
Nate was back to waiting alone. He tried not to chew his bottom lip but was unsuccessful.
Finally, he was admitted inside. Nate made sure the door was shut before he started with his questions.
“Did you do that on purpose? You knew Master Webster would be sent there and that I would find sympathy for him, didn’t you?”
Cromwell did not seem surprised as he continued to shuffle through the papers on his desk.
“Did you find sympathy for him?” Cromwell asked.
“I severely detest the lack of justice I saw there. But now I like neither you nor Sir Thomas.” Nate stood with his shoulders squared and his hand on his sword. He was now unsure of the direction this conversation was taking.
For his part, Cromwell was unperturbed. He put down his papers and looked Nate in the eye.
“I do not need for you to like me. But there are two sides to every story. Now that you have seen this, I may call on your services in the future.” Cromwell said this final statement like a dismissal, but Nate was not ready to leave.
“Cromwell, if you need me I cannot say that I will answer your call. But if you hear of another like Master Webster that I can be of service to, I beseech you to tell me.” Nate took his leave after he saw Cromwell nod.
Back out in the corridor, Nate chewed on his lip as he thought about what Cromwell had said. What “services” could he be referring to? Clearly there was nothing he could do at the moment short of riding back to More’s estate and forfeiting his entire career. Nate wasn’t going to be able to get through the night without reading or writing something about his experience, because his mind was racing. He would probably have to submit a debrief anyway. He was so intent on getting back to his chamber he almost didn’t notice the man suddenly blocking his path.
“You seem to be back early.” Brad’s clear blue eyes gazed at Nate under long lashes, and Nate nodded hello before continuing down the corridor. Brad hastened his pace to catch up.
“I had seen enough.” Nate slowed down when he looked at Brad and realized that Brad intended to talk to him. He considered just how much he should actually divulge to Brad, but luckily Brad saved him from having to be curt or lie to him.
“I have something to tell you,” Brad said.
“Oh?” Nate asked, ushering Brad into his room.
“I believe the Ambassador has hired an assassin. He is up all hours of the night and he has been casing the Lady Anne’s chambers. I almost caught the assassin himself but he evaded me.” Brad listed these facts like he was reading a grain inventory, but his eyes gave away his excitement.
“Good work, Brad. What will you do now?” Brad laughed then, and Nate wasn’t sure why. Nate’s puzzlement seemed to make Brad laugh more.
“No one calls me Brad. It sounds unprofessional and much less intimidating than iceman.” Brad said once he caught his breath.
“I believe the assassin is more important than discussing your nicknames,” Nate chastised him even as he grinned.
Nate must have been caught up in thinking about Cromwell. Or maybe he was distracted by Brad’s enthusiasm. But it had taken until now for Brad’s previous statement to register.
“Wait, the assassin evaded you?” Nate whispered harshly as he ushered Brad into his inner chambers and shut the door. No one else needed to hear their conversation.
“This guy is a professional. He’s not fucking around. He is definitely hired muscle. And he has a gun.” Brad’s face was solemn as he avoided Nate’s gaze, like he was embarrassed. Nate knew that there was nothing more Brad could have done, but he avoided offending Brad’s pride by saying so. He waited for Brad to continue.
“I am going to have to talk to the Ambassador, once I get him alone. He has been avoiding me.” The conversation seemed to have winded down, but Nate wanted to enjoy Brad’s company for a little longer. Nate did not want to push aside his responsibilities or Webster, but a little distraction might help him clear his head. The only thing Brad would be keeping him from was his paperwork, which suddenly did not seem as important as it did five minutes ago.
“Did you have anything else you needed to accomplish today?”
“I might case the palace again, but The King and Lady Anne are going to France today. So there is no reason for the assassin to be here tonight.” Just the answer Nate had been hoping for.
“Care for a game of cards, Brad?” Nate mocked, but Brad didn’t mind the nickname as much the second time.
Brad agreed, “On the condition that I not be sent to the Tower of London once I soundly beat you at your own game.”
“I assure you I don’t have the jurisdiction to lock you up.” Nate grabbed a deck of cards from his dresser and began to shuffle.
If Brad noticed Nate’s previously preoccupied state of mind, he didn’t make mention of it. The ease with which the pair of them settled down like old friends surprised Nate. What surprised Nate even more was the way he enjoyed the smile that Brad wore almost the entire afternoon. Nate was sure that with the reputation and the good looks Brad was gifted with, Brad must have had his pick of company to keep at Court. And yet Brad did not leave until it was well past the appropriate time to be entertaining company in a Knight’s chamber. Nate even managed to push Webster and the reformation out of his mind until he bade Brad good night.
The week that The King and Lady Anne were scheduled to return from France, the rest of the Court that had stayed in England had their hose in a bunch. The King had sent a royal messenger ahead of their party to order the Court to prepare a jousting tournament. While everyone knew that King Henry loved and appreciated a good joust, rumors were spreading like wildfire that The King had married Lady Anne.
The corridors were filled with men and ladies of the Court rushing around. Banners were unfurled and tied to poles, tables were carried outside and covered, and the jousting pit was scraped and adorned with ribbon. Brad was amused at all the pageantry, but when he saw Nate walking briskly towards him with a sweaty brow and pursed lips he wondered if maybe there was something he could do to help.
“Thanks for the offer, Brad. But we are almost ready for The King’s arrival.” Brad nodded and moved out of Nate’s path, knowing that Nate would surely want to return to work. Vaguely Brad wondered when it had become acceptable for Nate to call him Brad. The only other people that called him Brad were Walt and Ray, but he had known them forever. Maybe it was because last week he and Nate had gone on a day long hunting trip. Or maybe it was because the week previous he and Nate had gone to town to barter for new clothes. If Brad was being honest, the use of his nickname had probably become acceptable the very first time Nate had said it the afternoon they played cards.
Nate looked up from the notebook he was carrying and Brad watched as Nate flicked his eyes over Brad’s thin green hose, his low slung belt, his sword, his fingers resting on the hilt, and the part of his neck exposed from the collar of his shirt. Brad shifted his weight, suddenly uncomfortable. He couldn’t tell what Nate was thinking.
“Although maybe you feel daring enough to enter?” Nate asked with an edge to his voice. Brad tried to hide his smile at the seeming frivolity of Nate’s proposition. Mercenaries and Knights traditionally did not really get along, let alone compete in jousting matches together. Jousting was just showing off. After that thought crossed his mind, Brad became intrigued by the prospect of beating a Knight. Especially a worthy opponent, which Brad was sure Nate would be.
“Will you be competing, Sir?” Brad cocked his eyebrow, hoping his intention was obvious enough.
“Yes. But you won’t be able to compete against Knights, mercenary.”
Brad hid his disappointment behind a retort.
“Excellent. Then I won’t have to hurt you.”
Nate’s eyes burned with competitive fire at Brad’s remark and Brad quite enjoyed it. Brad decided the tournament was still worth going to. Brad could not think of a time when he had changed his mind more times in such a small amount of time.
“I will make sure to include your name on the list,” Nate called as he headed back to the jousting arena.
Brad glanced at Nate’s ass as he walked away and mentally chastised himself. It wasn’t the first time he had realized he was gazing at Nate with more than friendly interest, but then again the Tudor Court couldn’t fault him too badly for his slight misconduct. After all, he had seen the way Lady Anne’s brother looked at the Court musician and Brad was not that far gone for the Knight. Nate was just pleasant and interesting and made Brad smile. It wouldn’t exactly be the first time Brad had forayed into other types of pleasure and if ever there was a place to find willing accomplices in those pleasurable pursuits, it would be The King’s Court. But of course Nate’s virtue as a Knight was probably very well guarded and Brad doubted Nate had ever even considered doing something that went against the rules of the Knights of the Garter. If Brad really wanted to know, he would have to do something to make Nate consider it, to consider him.
Brad really needed to focus on work.
With all of the festivities sure to begin the moment The King arrived, the Ambassador was sure to be around. He needed to find him. There was no way the Ambassador would admit to his nefarious plot, but if Brad made it clear that he knew of his intentions, maybe that would make the Ambassador back off. Brad began his search of The Court, quadrant by quadrant. He diligently covered all of the corridors leading to the Great Hall and the courtyard. He walked past pages dressed in red moving furniture. He walked past the royal butchers who were preparing hogs for supper. He saw the Ladies who had been left at Court finishing their needlework projects. He was reminded of Lady Margaret and wondered if she had enjoyed France. For some reason, he was sure she had.
Brad had been to France once, to study with a well-known literary scholar. Few knew this about him, because as a mercenary he saw no benefit to touting his book learning. France held endless amounts of amusement and entertainment, but Brad would never trade that for the business of being a soldier. He trained and he completed missions; and those tasks gave his life purpose. He knew that Lady Margaret felt that same sense of purpose serving Lady Anne. Brad’s train of thought led him to wondering if Nate felt he had a purpose.
Brad heard someone talking, and immediately tucked himself behind a corner in the shadows. As the noise moved closer, he could hear two people. One was giggling and the other was telling her she looked beautiful in her dress. The voices suddenly stopped, and Brad peeked around the corner. Only a small amount of light penetrated the hallway as dusk had set in and Brad could not discern who the people where; he could only make out silhouettes. Two bodies were intertwined and wondering hands were groping the Lady’s ass. The Lady had her leg wrapped around the man’s, and the man pushed his hand up under her dress. Brad decided he had not paid for this show and was therefore not entitled to watch, so he slowly crept back out the way he had come. He was smiling at the depravity of The Court as he walked to the stables. It was unlikely that the Ambassador was there, but he had to tell Trombley to prepare his horse for the joust. After he stopped at the stable, he returned to the Great Hall.
Everyone was a flurry of activity when he got there. Last minute decorations were added to the tables and servants were bringing food from the kitchen. He stopped a page before he scurried off.
“What has befallen the Court?”
“Haven’t you heard? The King has returned! The joust is on!”
Brad remembered the couple he had seen in the corridor; the identity of the pair was no longer a mystery. The honeymoon phase had begun. It would take a while for The King to be prepared for the joust, no doubt. Brad began to search again for the Ambassador.
“The Knight makes his challenge!” The jousting official, an older Knight, called from his chair above the jousting field. The two competitors nodded up at him.
At one end of the jousting field, a man pulled down his helmet. His thick metal armor clanked as his horse danced around, ready to run. At the opposite end of the field, a dapple grey stallion tossed his main and snorted. His rider pointed his lance straight ahead. A boy dressed in the red uniform of the Court stood in the middle of the jousting field and raised a flag.
The crowd that had gathered on the bleachers adjacent to the field collectively held their breath, and all was quiet.
Then the boy dropped the flag.
Both horses lunged forward, dirt flying up behind them. Both men held their lances straight ahead and the crowd began to cheer. They crashed together, and one man’s lance splintered into pieces when it hit the other man’s shield. He clattered to the ground and his horse kept galloping away. The victor raised his arms and the stands cheered louder. A page ran out on the field to collect the fallen rider.
Nate stood off to the side with his horse so that he could see the field. He looked over his mare appreciatively. Her main was covered with a shiny new blue hood covering and blue ribbons adorned the top of the hood for decoration. The Order’s symbol was bright on the blanket that covered almost her entire body. Although he couldn’t be proud of everything the Order did, he respected the lengthy history and tradition that was an essential part of the Order. He held her bridle as the next two competitors made their way onto the field.
One of the men had bright blond hair and stood almost a head above his competitor. As he rode closer, Nate knew it was Brad. Brad’s stallion side-stepped and flung up dirt, and Brad’s page scrambled to get out of the way. Brad came close enough to flash Nate a smile, and the sun illuminated his face. Brad sat tall and straight, and he wore worn but well cared for armor. He seemed at home on his horse. Brad’s face was relaxed even as his shoulders were squared and his arms were stiff, and he projected both comfort and confidence. It would have been an intimidating sight for even a seasoned jouster.
Nate thought he looked rather magnanimous. He silently wished Brad's competitor good luck because he knew that man was going to need it.
It was traditional for the competitors to give their favor to a lady or two before the joust. The other man, dressed in shiny black armor, put on his helmet but kept the visor up. He rode his light brown horse up to the bleachers and pointed his lance at one of the ladies of the Court. It might have been Lady Mag, but Nate stopped watching when he noticed Brad riding up to him.
“Sir,” Brad nodded at Nate. Nate couldn’t read Brad’s expression.
“Mercenary,” Nate nodded back. Brad stuck his lance out towards Nate.
Nate looked from the tip of the lance and back to Brad’s face. He hoped he didn’t look as surprised as he felt.
“Humor me. No one is looking. They are too busy watching Sir Show-off on the jousting field.” Brad nodded to his competitor, then turned his attention back to Nate.
“As if the whole lance-pointing thing wasn’t sexual enough,” Nate scoffed to break the tension that was suddenly building a thick wall between them.
There was silence for a heartbeat and Nate almost laughed at the sheer ridiculousness of Brad’s request, but if Brad was joking he didn’t show it. Nate’s cheeks started to heat up, and he figured the only way to get out of this was to acquiesce or make a hasty retreat. And Nate wasn’t fond of retreating. He pulled a blue ribbon from his mare’s hood and tied it onto Brad’s lance. Brad kicked his horse and the pair of them whirled away from Nate to trot out onto the jousting field.
“The mercenary makes his challenge!” The jousting official shouted from his chair. The man in black stood ready, and his horse pawed the air. Brad looked calm at the other end of the field as he snapped his visor closed. Nate’s palms suddenly felt sweaty. He hoped that by giving a man his favor, Brad hadn’t earned some kind of terrible curse. He reminded himself that he didn’t really believe in superstition before the flag was waved and the two riders were off.
Nate’s eyes were wide as he enjoyed the spectacle before him. Brad was obviously the superior rider and his horse picked up speed just before Brad’s lance met the other man’s shield. A loud crash signaled the moment of contact. The black armored man’s lance hit Brad’s shield moments after, but his momentum had already been thrown off by Brad’s direct hit. The other man’s lance fractured and pieces flew into the bleachers. Ladies screamed and ducked, and Brad galloped away amidst a loud chorus of cheers. Nate clapped from where he stood, mildly impressed. He wasn’t about to tell Brad that, though. He felt his gut churning as he thought of Brad, hoping that his performance wouldn't disappoint Brad.
Nate put his foot in his stirrup and mounted, knowing that he was next. He patted his mare before he directed her towards the field. It was customary for him to parade in front of the bleachers as a knight, to show off the symbol of the Order and pick the ladies who would receive his favor. He nodded at Stafford and Christenson when he noticed them in the stands and he saw Mike waiting for him at the edge of the field. Brad clearly had left the field to tend to his horse, and Nate hid his disappointment.
“Keep your eye on your competitor, Sir,” Mike cautioned when he handed Nate his lance.
Nate shook himself and was all business again. Leave it to Mike to get the task at hand back into focus for him. At the other end of the field, Nate saw his competitor close his visor. Nate inhaled deeply and then did the same. He stepped onto the edge of the field, and he could feel the way his mare settled down underneath him. She was just as tense as he was. All Nate could see was the flag. Then it dropped and he leaned forward. His mare took off with barely any encouragement.
Through the slit in his helmet, all Nate could see was his competitor’s lance growing larger as it came closer. Nate kept his arm steady as his hips rocked to the rhythm of his horse’s gallop. He tipped his lance slightly to the left just before his competitor’s lance reached him. It was over in an instant, but it took great effort for Nate to hold his arm at his side as his competitor’s lance scraped his shield. He was pitched to the right and then jerked backward as his horse continued galloping. Nate thought of nothing at that point except holding on and he squeezed his thighs together to keep himself from flying off.
The adrenaline rush afterwards never got old, and Nate relished it. His mare slowed and Nate rode up next to Mike to hand off his lance. He looked back and saw that his competitor’s lance had broken but he hadn’t been unhorsed. Nate pulled off his helmet and wiped the sweat from his brow.
Nate appreciated the pure pleasure of the sport. Although it was dangerous, it was he who was talking the risk and he alone who would deal with the consequences. It was a war game, but most importantly it was a game. He did not have to feel the fear of leading men into battle, not knowing how he would be able to direct their destinies. He did not have to feel guilt due to the unexplained and pointless orders of his superiors, nor did he have to clean up the mess of insolent soldiers. He did not have to choose some lives over others. For that reason alone, he decided it was okay to revel a little in the cheers of the crowd. He scanned the sea of faces for Brad and noticed him riding up onto the field on his horse. It looked like Brad would be competing again. If Nate was a betting man, he could have easily chosen the winner.
After Brad’s second victory, he headed back to the stable feeling confident. Nate hadn’t rejected him and on top of that, he had won. He reveled in the adrenaline high that he normally only got from using his longbow on the battlefield or engaging in close combat. Mercenaries always told each other that killing was easy because no one wanted to appear weak, but Brad preferred not to talk about his deadly encounters. Brad just did what he needed to do to complete the mission. Losing himself in the moment was a common side effect of battle, but the sport of jousting afforded few other similarities to war itself. He was not working in a team, he did not have others he could rely on or tell what to do, and he did not have to answer to any boss or superior. Jousting was a whole new set of logistics. When he competed against a skilled jouster Brad nearly felt guilt free. That last competitor had been a much more serious rider than the first, but Brad was able to catch him slightly off guard. He dismounted as Ray and Walt came over to congratulate him.
“Nice job nearly killing that poor, small, inferior jouster.” Ray slapped Brad on the soldier and Brad rolled his eyes.
“Nice of you boys to show up.” Brad deadpanned as he handed his reins to Trombley.
“We couldn’t miss the biggest party of the year,” Walt said, reaching out to pet Brad’s stallion.
“Trombley, why the long face?” Ray poked Trombley, who looked sullen and withdrawn.
“Look at all those bloody dogs hanging around the field waiting for scraps. We should get rid of ‘em,” Trombley growled.
“You will not be shooting any dogs, Trombley.” Brad started to pull off his armor, and Ray helped him lift the chest piece from over his head.
“I could get my bow and-” Trombley was still grumbling.
“No.”
Ray was laughing under his breath and Trombley started to walk away with Brad’s stallion.
“So, can we enjoy the free food now?” Ray was giddy beside him, and Brad suddenly felt like he was back on another mission with Ray and Walt by his side. Their presence made Brad aware of just how long he had been at Court. This mission had gone on too long already. Brad needed to figure out a way to make the Ambassador get rid of his assassin.
A royal page rode up and waved to get Brad’s attention. Out of the corner of his eye, Brad saw Nate riding towards him. The page reached Brad just before Nate did, but Nate was close enough to hear what the page said.
“The King is willing to accept a challenge from you, Mr. Colbert, as you are one of the few who has unseated two competitors. Do you wish to issue a challenge?” The page waited expectantly, and Brad looked from him to Nate.
Nate was shaking his head and his piercing blue eyes were unyielding. Brad realized that Nate was telling him to decline. Challenging The King usually meant accepting injury, because if you didn’t let The King win he would be furious. If you let him win, you would most likely be hit by the lance and unseated. Normally, Brad would not stand down from an opportunity to knock The King down a peg, but he knew the risk he ran by trying to beat The King. If The King were injured, he would surely be in serious trouble. He wasn’t exempt from torture or beatings - he wasn’t even a knight. Although he he was in a no-win situation, the choice normally would have been easy for him; except for the way Nate was looking at him, pleading him to say no. He knew what he had to do. He gritted his teeth and bit the bullet.
“No, I will not challenge him. My horse must rest.” Brad looked at Nate when he said it.
“Very well, Sir.” The page rode away, and Brad’s eyes flashed with anger. His pride was severely wounded because for some reason, he had let Nate exert superiority over him. He had gone against his instinct but once he looked at Nate he hadn’t hesitated. He didn’t like the way it made him feel; like he was dependent on someone else, on Nate. He turned around to head to the stable. He didn’t have anything else to say.
“Brad, no one gets lucky three times in a row,” Nate called to him.
“That wasn’t luck,” Brad said without looking back.
Ray and Walt hurried after Brad, and Ray whistled.
“Someone is whipped,” Ray teased.
“Fuck off, Ray. I have work to do.” Brad was going to find the Ambassador and get the hell out of Court, whatever it took.
“We came all the way out here to see you and that is no way to treat your Ray-Ray.” Ray stuck out his bottom lip in an imitation pout, but Brad had already stopped paying attention. What Ray had said was true. They had come all the way to Court.
“Well then, maybe you should help.”
“I like the sound of that.” Walt smiled as the three of them leaned together to form a plan. Brad figured three expert soldiers were better than one. Surely the Ambassador would not be able to evade him now.
Brad let Ray take the lead-
Ray made sure to say, “Aw Brad, you really do love me!”
-and the boys headed off. Nate was the farthest thing from Brad’s mind, if Brad was lying to himself.
Walt and Brad trailed behind Ray as he silently edged along in the long shadows surrounding the north side of the palace to get to the garden. Brad’s body was tense, his ears were pricked for any and all noises, and he eventually could focus all of his thoughts on just his surroundings.
The three of them split off to walk through different parts of the garden. The tall shrubs could conceal anyone, and the grass could hide the sound of footsteps. If Brad was going to hide, this is where he would do it. They searched for nearly half an hour, and Brad was getting worried. If it got dark, his chances of finding the Ambassador would diminish tremendously. Then somewhere near Brad’s left he heard Ray.
“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you-” Ray abruptly stopped talking as the sound of someone crashing through the shrubs became obvious. Walt ran up from behind until he was next to Brad, but Brad didn’t move. The Spanish Ambassador, in a long glittering green robe, was walking very briskly away from where Ray had tried to stop him. And right towards Brad. He had nowhere to go.
“Mr. Ambassador.” Brad stopped him with a raised hand. Walt stood beside him, quiet.
“Mr. Colbert.” The Ambassador nodded and made to go past him, but Brad grabbed his arm in a vice grip.
“I’m sure you know what I’m about to say. Don’t make The King angry. There are dire consequences for such actions.” Brad’s voice was as hard as ice but his eyes were like fire. He wasn’t angry at what the Ambassador had done, after all this was just a mission; Brad was still just angry. This was one case where Brad could and would use his emotions to his advantage.
“Are you threatening me?” The Spanish Ambassador asked, watching Brad’s face very closely.
“It isn’t me you have to worry about.” Brad let go of the Spanish Ambassador’s arm, and he nodded at him before turning on his heel and walking away.
“He didn’t back down. That man has some cajones, if you know what I mean,” Ray said as he emerged from the shadows.
“Or he’s just reckless,” Walt commented.
Brad suspected it was a little bit of both. Which meant this wasn’t over.
“Now presenting, His Majesty King Henry VIII and Queen Anne!” The royal crier and the royal trumpeter were heralding The King and Queen’s arrival as they made their way down the streets of London. Lady Anne had just been crowned King, and Nate was on high alert.
Well, Nate was on high alert because he knew Brad was. They had parted ways when the royal procession had started. After Brad’s encounter with the Spanish Ambassador, Brad had been up at all hours of the night trying to find the assassin. He hadn’t made an appearance. Brad had told Nate in a brusque all business-tone at the beginning of the parade that the assassin had probably waited until today to make his move. Nate thought his logic was sound. Since the parade was going to move at a snail’s pace, Brad would be on foot searching for the man.
Since the jousting tournament, Brad had only talked business with Nate. Nate had turned the incident over and over in his mind, but he knew he had done the right thing. Brad need not suffer consequences not deserved. He idly wondered if consequences mattered all that much to Brad. He was sure that they did, but not in the way they did to Nate. Brad did what he had to do and accepted the consequences afterwards. Nate always had to plan ahead for all possible consequences. Maybe that was why he hadn’t been as bold in his affections with Brad as Brad had been with him. Maybe he should take a page from Brad’s book in that regard.
This coronation was going to be a much more nerve racking experience than a coronation should be. If Nate was working with Brad, scanning the crowds and trying to track down the killer, he would not feel this way. He felt nervous because he could do nothing to help. He had a different kind of job to do, but he gladly would have traded places with Brad if only to make sure Brad was safe. Or maybe it was the fact that they were in a fight that really made Nate feel uneasy about this whole thing.
Nate’s duty as a member of the Order and as a trusted aid to The King was to hold the flag of the Tudor family crest while he rode his horse in the front of the royal carriage. Mike was on his right and kept glancing at him, knowing something was amiss. Nate tried to focus on the road ahead of them. “Make way for The King and Queen!” someone shouted. A band of trumpeters were on a stage up ahead, heralding The King and Queen’s arrival. Nate could make out Stafford and Christeson walking among the male members of the Court. In front of the procession, London-ers parted ways to stand on the sides of the parade route.
The distinct lack of excitement on behalf of the gathered crowd was underwhelming. Nate would have expected much more fanfare, but clearly Anne’s supporters were feeling subdued. They could have been keeping quiet for fear of derision from their peers. Or there simply weren’t that many of them.
Looking over his shoulder, Nate could see The King and Queen sitting very calmly on their thrones. The Queen waved her hand slightly and smiled upon her subjects. The King’s mouth was stretched in a thin line; he was surveying the small crowd and he was not impressed. The father of the new Queen and her brother, George Boleyn, were riding alongside the carriage. The Duke of Suffolk suddenly slowed his horse to let Mike and Nate and then the carriage pass him. Nate stayed focused on the road straight ahead, but The Duke of Suffolk was the High Steward of the coronation. He must have received a signal from Brad. Something caught Nate’s eye in a window to his right and he glanced up. Light glinted off metal for a moment before it disappeared.
Nate’s fingers tightened on his reins and he glanced at Mike. He nodded, signaling that he had seen it too. Nate tried to locate The Duke of Suffolk but couldn’t see him. He must have fallen back from the procession. Nate tried to keep his hands from shaking as his mind raced with all of the things that could have gone wrong. He would just have to assume the best.
When the procession arrived at Westminster Church, horses were handed off to pages and everyone filed into the Church. Nate scanned the crowds for Brad. He finally spotted The Duke of Suffolk, whose piercing blue eyes were scanning the crowd as well. He did not look alarmed, so Nate took that as a good sign. He finally went inside when the last of the procession had taken their seats so that he could stand in the back.
The Duke of Suffolk and the family of the Queen had dawned the thick red robes of the Court and the Queen sat on her throne looking serene. Nate thought she looked beautiful, but it was The King that beamed with a pride that lit up the Church. The ladies of the Court had recently let the secret out of the bag and everyone knew the Queen was pregnant with King Henry’s child. The Queen’s family looked smug and The Duke of Suffolk looked uncomfortable and the contrast might have amused Nate had he not been on alert for Brad.
As the Bishop was reading hymns, a shadow moved to Nate’s left. He edged over, slowly, and the dim light in the Church illuminated Brad’s silhouette.
“Brad,” Nate hissed. Brad glanced at him but otherwise did not react. Nate noticed the crimson blood smeared on the side of Brad’s blue jerkin.
“Fuck, Brad, are you hurt?” Nate moved forward to touch Brad, but Brad held out his hand.
“It’s not mine,” he said shortly.
“Well-” Nate moved forward again.
“Shhh. Respect the new Queen.” Only Brad could whisper with such sarcasm, but he turned his attention to the front and Nate reluctantly did the same.
The King took the crown from the Bishop and crowned his Queen himself. The crowd gasped ever so faintly, and Nate could not blame them. It was an arrogant gesture of supremacy on behalf of The King, since the King and Queen’s power was supposed to be derived from God. But King Henry had just made clear that he was the supreme power in England and while making that point he had implicated his new Queen as an accomplice to the new order.
After the crown was atop the Queen’s head, Brad slipped out of the church and Nate followed. Once they entered a dark hallway quite far away from the main room, Nate grabbed Brad’s arm and forced him to turn around.
“I completed the mission. I will probably be relieved of duty today.” Brad was obviously trying to keep his voice neutral.
“I did what I had to do, you know.” Nate was toe to toe with Brad. He hoped he looked fearless in that moment. Ever since the joust it was like Nate could never catch his breath around Brad. But here, now, he was at least certain how this should confrontation was supposed to end. Put a Knight and a mercenary together with tension so thick you could cut it with a dagger and someone was bound to get beat up.
“I know,” Brad nodded. Nate wasn’t sure if that counted as a sign of forgiveness, but at least it didn’t look like Brad was going to fight him anymore. Nate was drawn once again to the blood on Brad’s jerkin, and suddenly Nate realized he probably just killed a man. This was entirely too petty of a conversation to be having after what Brad just did.
Brad came impossibly too close and Nate felt Brad’s hot breath on his face. Later, he would blame Brad's earnest expression for what came out of his mouth next.
“You know, if you were a lady this is when I would say that I want to court you.” Nate regretted it when he said it. At least he trusted Brad enough to have faith that he wouldn't report him to Cromwell. Well, Cromwell might let it slide considering how he had said he needed Nate.
Brad rolled his eyes and pushed Nate, but Nate stood his ground.
“I’m not a Lady, Sir.” Brad tried to break the spell they had been enveloped in. This was the moment of truth and since Nate put it out there, he needed to know.
Finally Brad’s face relaxed and he smiled. Trombley chose that moment to come upon them in the hallway.
“Did you get ‘em, Sir?” Trombley was ecstatic when he saw the blood on Brad’s jerkin. He didn't wait for Brad to answer.
“Just in time for the coronation festivities!” Trombley took Brad’s longbow and arrows and headed for Brad’s quarters. Brad glanced over at Nate with a raised eyebrow and Nate nodded because he understood. They would see each other again after Brad got cleaned up. That wasn't good enough, but Nate would have to be patient. Something he was familiar with, working for The King.
--> Part Three
Acta non verba
deeds not words
In the morning, Nate woke to the smell of cooked eggs and a man shouting. He sat up and pulled his jerkin on over his undershirt before heading to the kitchen to great Lady Alice. Eggs, blocks of cheese, and loaves of bread were spread on the table.
“Good morning, Sir Nathaniel. We have only modest means after Sir Thomas resigned, but please help yourself to what we have,” she said from her place at the stove.
Nate thanked her and grabbed a piece of bread before he went outside to investigate. A buff and bearded mercenary was dragging a man in shackles to Sir Thomas’ cell. The man was bleeding from his forehead and lip, and he was dressed only in a long white undershirt. His thick beard and the blood that was dried on his face made it hard to tell who he was. Sir Thomas was soon standing at Nate’s side.
“He has been charged with heresy for making English copies of the Bible. He was caught red handed at a protestant meeting, passing out pamphlets. We searched his house; he had English copies of many books including The Bible.” Sir Thomas’ voice was stern. Clearly he had already made up his mind about this man’s guilt.
“Will he go to trial?” Nate asked.
“His trial will be here. He will be taken to be burned if he does not repent.” Nate could feel Sir Thomas watching him, waiting for him to comment. Nate just nodded, not sure what to say. He had always felt that each man deserved to plead his case in front of a Court.
“You can talk to him yourself, if you would like.” Sir Thomas walked back inside and Nate decided to take him up on the offer.
The barn reeked of animal waste and straw. The prisoner lay on the ground, in the small spot of sunlight that reached his cell.
“Excuse me, Sir?” Nate pulled up a stool. The prisoner rolled over to sit up, and the sunlight illuminated his face. He had bright brown eyes and thick eyebrows. His curly hair framed his face. He had wiped the blood from his brow, so dirt now smeared his forehead. Nate sucked in a breath. Even with the dirt, Nate recognized him from numerous drawings he had seen. People had often talked about him at his Church.
“Master Webster?” Nate inquired.
“You recognize me, but forgive me I do not recognize you.” Webster breathed out slowly, taking in Nate’s appearance.
“You wouldn’t. You were cursed at my church. You used to write about so many things, not just religion. I only know you because I’ve read some of your stories. I loved your fiction. And your critiques of war were so poignant, especially for a Knight,” Nate said in a huff, still surprised that Master Webster was in such a state as this.
“Ah, yes. Then you are a knight. And a Catholic. How rare that someone like you would find comfort in my words.” Webster folded his legs under himself and stretched out his hand between the bars to shake Nate’s.
“I’m Sir Nathaniel. It’s so nice to meet you, Master Webster, although I wish it was under other circumstances. What happened?”
“You can’t translate Bibles into English without consequences, I’m afraid.”
“But you’ve contributed so many other great literary works! I will speak up on your behalf, I’m sure Sir Thomas will understand.”
“Your young heart will serve you well in other matters, but I’m afraid in this you are wrong. There is no sympathy for heretics.” Webster looked resigned to his fate, and it made Nate sad to see such a skilled writer look so defeated.
“Well, is there anyone you would like me to send word to?” Nate asked, searching for some way to help.
“I do not have many friends, I’m afraid. Perhaps it is better if they don’t find out what has become of me. I was supposed to set sail yesterday on a voyage to Spain. I had planned on looking for Sharks and cataloguing my discoveries.”
“Very well, Master Webster.” Nate took his leave and without hesitation walked brusquely to Sir Thomas’ study. Nate wasted no time in getting to the point.
“Sir Thomas, I must confess that I know Master Webster. He is a good man and a talented writer. I think-”
Sir Thomas stood from his chair and cut Nate off.
“Sir Nathaniel, he has already confessed. He will be burned at Smithfield tomorrow.”
“But, Sir-” Nate began again, unafraid to stand up to Sir Thomas because he thought truth was on his side.
“Your job here is just to observe. You do not make decisions because you have no authority to do so. The Catholic Church has given me this most sacred duty and so I must carry it out.”
Sir Thomas’ voice left no room for further argument. Nate knew when he had been beaten. He tried his best not to look furious as he bowed and walked back to his room.
He turned the issue over and over again in his mind, but he saw no way out. He could not break Master Webster out because everyone would surely know it was him and the punishment for both of them as a result would be much worse than burning. Nate refused to believe that Master Webster deserved his fate.
Then Nate remembered who had sent him here in the first place. Surely Mr. Cromwell would have known that Master Webster was to be captured. Mr. Cromwell could well have dug up the fact that Nate often read Master Webster’s work at Court. Or he had talked to Cardinal Wolsey about Nate back when he was knighted. All of this smelled like a much too elaborate conspiracy against such a young knight, but somehow Nate did not think Cromwell was above that level of manipulation. Maybe Nate was just another pawn in Sir Thomas and Cromwell’s struggle for power.
Strains of happy music interrupted Brad’s train of thought as he walked closer to the great hall. He had been following the Spanish Ambassador with no usable intelligence to show for it. The man liked chocolate. And he liked women. He had left to go see Lady Mary, King Henry’s only daughter. The music meant that The King was throwing another party. Brad hesitated, knowing that attending parties wasn’t exactly in his job description. Nate was still gone, so there was no one for him to check in with. That also meant there was no one for him to talk too. Besides, it was only right that he indulge in some of the luxuries afforded to all those at Court. The Ladies in Waiting were in good spirits, and that meant Brad might find something to take the edge off of his unsuccessful encounter the other night.
His boots clacked on the floor when he entered, and several heads looked up at him. He was easily the tallest man in the room. He made his way around the dance floor to lean against the wall and survey the room, his hand resting against the hilt of his sword.
As he looked around, the brunette lady in waiting who had talked to him the night he first arrived caught his eye. She offered him an easy smile, and that prompted Brad to let his gaze linger on her. Brad didn’t smile back, but Lady Margaret might be just the kind of distraction he had been looking for.
“Mr. Colbert, it is so nice to see you again,” Lady Margaret said as she walked up next to Brad and handed him a cup of wine.
“That it is. I hear you are close to Lady Anne?” He asked, thankfully taking the cup. It seemed that the wine never stopped flowing at Court.
“I am, indeed. She grew up near me and my brother, the Court poet.” She smiled deviously over the rim of her cup, and Brad recognized a certain hunger in her eyes. This seemed like an opportunity Brad would be wise not to pass up. Brad leaned in to whisper in her ear.
“Would you happen to know of any enemies of Lady Anne and The King in Court?”
Lady Margaret tipped her head slightly back to answer him.
“Their enemies are many, I’m afraid. You would have an easier time making a list of friends.”
Brad noticed how, at the corner of her green eyes, her skin crinkled when she smiled. He noticed how tightly her bodice was wrapped around her body and how her breasts moved with each breath she took. But then his eyes settled on her mouth and her pale pink lips that stretched as she talked.
Lady Margaret noticed and took his wine cup from him to place it on a table. “Mr. Colbert, would you care to take this discussion to a more secluded location?”
Brad nodded in agreement. He appreciated a woman who could be on the same page as him so quickly.
Brad vaguely wondered what Nate was doing as he was led through a hallway and into a dimly lit room. Surely not this, he thought. Nate looked like too virtuous a Knight to bed a Lady for no other reason than for the simple pleasure of doing so.
Brad’s eyes returned to Lady Margaret’s lips even as she was untying her bodice. Brad stopped her with his hands as he brought his lips to hers. He licked at her bottom lip and she opened her mouth for him. He licked along her top lip before she plunged her tongue into his mouth. They wasted no time and Brad was grateful for that.
She reached down to untie the laces holding his hose up. She felt along Brad’s codpiece and Brad felt her smile against his mouth. He reached under her petticoat to grip her thigh. She pushed forward and Brad brought his hand to her hip. Brad sucked at her tongue and she moaned softly. She moved her hands to his ass and pulled him closer to her.
Brad pulled back to gaze at her, breathing heavily. Brad could see how this would play out, from start to finish. He saw himself playing with her clit as she moaned, her reckless abandon as he fucked her hard and fast, her accomplished smile after he came. He saw all of it and it bored him. Then an idea dawned on him. A way to make this much more interesting.
“So tell me, Lady Margaret,” Brad began as he moved his fingers up Lady Margaret’s thigh. She looked at him and sucked on her bottom lip. That reminded Brad of Lady Rose, and Brad pushed his thumb against her clit to change her expression. He had been with other women after her Rose, but sometimes there were still certain moments that would bring back memories. Brad hated himself for that.
“Yes?” She whispered, thrusting her hips as Brad started to make small, fast circles.
“Has the Spanish Ambassador been around the Lady Anne more than usual lately?” Brad asked while slowing down his fingers to move them farther down.
An angry groan escaped Lady Margaret after Brad’s question and Brad smiled deviously.
“I would rather not talk about the Ambassador right now,” She said before she bit Brad’s lower lip. Brad stilled his hand. Lady Margaret narrowed her eyes but Brad knew she was too far gone to protest vehemently. He waited it out as she watched his face.
“Yes. Yes he has been. I’ve seen him walking through the Lady’s chambers on different occasions as if studying the buildings,” She huffed out, eager for Brad to continue. He smiled against her mouth as they began to kiss again. She put her hand under his Jerkin to roll his nipples under her thumb. Brad hissed and Lady Margaret bit at Brad’s throat. Brad plunged two fingers inside her and Lady Margaret moaned in appreciation. Brad held her hip steady with his left hand as he thrust in and out of her, fucking her. She buried her face in his neck when she screamed, and Brad rubbed at her clit with his thumb. She came with a laugh, and her voice rang in Brad’s ears. A sense of accomplishment washed over him. He could make someone else feel that good.
“Would you like to-,” She whispered as Brad pulled his fingers out of her and wiped them on the inside of her petticoat.
“We wouldn’t want you to get pregnant,” Brad said simply. She searched his face but Brad offered no other answers. He didn’t think “I’m all good here” would sound very chivalrous. Her eyes darted away, seemingly ashamed for a moment. Brad almost felt guilty of depriving her of the sense of accomplishment he had felt just a moment ago, but that didn’t make him change his mind.
“Well, if you ever feel like playing our little game again, I trust you will find me,” she said, disengaging herself from him.
As she walked away, it dawned on Brad that he had given up on women. Or on sex. There was no feeling in it, just doing. But at least he hadn’t wasted a perfectly good party. Or an opportunity to gather intel.
That evening, Nate arrived back at Court still angry but without a clue as to how to help Webster. He requested an audience with Cromwell and paced outside his office. Mike happened to walk by carrying a huge basket full of fruit and did a double take when he saw Nate.
“Back early?” Mike asked.
“Ya, well. Things happened.” Nate kept it vague, not wanting to make Mike an accomplice in whatever trouble he was about to get himself into.
“If you need me, you know where to find me.”
Nate nodded, appreciative of Mike’s support.
“What’s with the fruit?” Nate changed the subject.
“They’re from the new world. The King is leaving for France and he wants to take them with him. I’ve got to go help him pack the remainder of his things.” Mike patted Nate’s shoulder before heading off.
Nate was back to waiting alone. He tried not to chew his bottom lip but was unsuccessful.
Finally, he was admitted inside. Nate made sure the door was shut before he started with his questions.
“Did you do that on purpose? You knew Master Webster would be sent there and that I would find sympathy for him, didn’t you?”
Cromwell did not seem surprised as he continued to shuffle through the papers on his desk.
“Did you find sympathy for him?” Cromwell asked.
“I severely detest the lack of justice I saw there. But now I like neither you nor Sir Thomas.” Nate stood with his shoulders squared and his hand on his sword. He was now unsure of the direction this conversation was taking.
For his part, Cromwell was unperturbed. He put down his papers and looked Nate in the eye.
“I do not need for you to like me. But there are two sides to every story. Now that you have seen this, I may call on your services in the future.” Cromwell said this final statement like a dismissal, but Nate was not ready to leave.
“Cromwell, if you need me I cannot say that I will answer your call. But if you hear of another like Master Webster that I can be of service to, I beseech you to tell me.” Nate took his leave after he saw Cromwell nod.
Back out in the corridor, Nate chewed on his lip as he thought about what Cromwell had said. What “services” could he be referring to? Clearly there was nothing he could do at the moment short of riding back to More’s estate and forfeiting his entire career. Nate wasn’t going to be able to get through the night without reading or writing something about his experience, because his mind was racing. He would probably have to submit a debrief anyway. He was so intent on getting back to his chamber he almost didn’t notice the man suddenly blocking his path.
“You seem to be back early.” Brad’s clear blue eyes gazed at Nate under long lashes, and Nate nodded hello before continuing down the corridor. Brad hastened his pace to catch up.
“I had seen enough.” Nate slowed down when he looked at Brad and realized that Brad intended to talk to him. He considered just how much he should actually divulge to Brad, but luckily Brad saved him from having to be curt or lie to him.
“I have something to tell you,” Brad said.
“Oh?” Nate asked, ushering Brad into his room.
“I believe the Ambassador has hired an assassin. He is up all hours of the night and he has been casing the Lady Anne’s chambers. I almost caught the assassin himself but he evaded me.” Brad listed these facts like he was reading a grain inventory, but his eyes gave away his excitement.
“Good work, Brad. What will you do now?” Brad laughed then, and Nate wasn’t sure why. Nate’s puzzlement seemed to make Brad laugh more.
“No one calls me Brad. It sounds unprofessional and much less intimidating than iceman.” Brad said once he caught his breath.
“I believe the assassin is more important than discussing your nicknames,” Nate chastised him even as he grinned.
Nate must have been caught up in thinking about Cromwell. Or maybe he was distracted by Brad’s enthusiasm. But it had taken until now for Brad’s previous statement to register.
“Wait, the assassin evaded you?” Nate whispered harshly as he ushered Brad into his inner chambers and shut the door. No one else needed to hear their conversation.
“This guy is a professional. He’s not fucking around. He is definitely hired muscle. And he has a gun.” Brad’s face was solemn as he avoided Nate’s gaze, like he was embarrassed. Nate knew that there was nothing more Brad could have done, but he avoided offending Brad’s pride by saying so. He waited for Brad to continue.
“I am going to have to talk to the Ambassador, once I get him alone. He has been avoiding me.” The conversation seemed to have winded down, but Nate wanted to enjoy Brad’s company for a little longer. Nate did not want to push aside his responsibilities or Webster, but a little distraction might help him clear his head. The only thing Brad would be keeping him from was his paperwork, which suddenly did not seem as important as it did five minutes ago.
“Did you have anything else you needed to accomplish today?”
“I might case the palace again, but The King and Lady Anne are going to France today. So there is no reason for the assassin to be here tonight.” Just the answer Nate had been hoping for.
“Care for a game of cards, Brad?” Nate mocked, but Brad didn’t mind the nickname as much the second time.
Brad agreed, “On the condition that I not be sent to the Tower of London once I soundly beat you at your own game.”
“I assure you I don’t have the jurisdiction to lock you up.” Nate grabbed a deck of cards from his dresser and began to shuffle.
If Brad noticed Nate’s previously preoccupied state of mind, he didn’t make mention of it. The ease with which the pair of them settled down like old friends surprised Nate. What surprised Nate even more was the way he enjoyed the smile that Brad wore almost the entire afternoon. Nate was sure that with the reputation and the good looks Brad was gifted with, Brad must have had his pick of company to keep at Court. And yet Brad did not leave until it was well past the appropriate time to be entertaining company in a Knight’s chamber. Nate even managed to push Webster and the reformation out of his mind until he bade Brad good night.
The week that The King and Lady Anne were scheduled to return from France, the rest of the Court that had stayed in England had their hose in a bunch. The King had sent a royal messenger ahead of their party to order the Court to prepare a jousting tournament. While everyone knew that King Henry loved and appreciated a good joust, rumors were spreading like wildfire that The King had married Lady Anne.
The corridors were filled with men and ladies of the Court rushing around. Banners were unfurled and tied to poles, tables were carried outside and covered, and the jousting pit was scraped and adorned with ribbon. Brad was amused at all the pageantry, but when he saw Nate walking briskly towards him with a sweaty brow and pursed lips he wondered if maybe there was something he could do to help.
“Thanks for the offer, Brad. But we are almost ready for The King’s arrival.” Brad nodded and moved out of Nate’s path, knowing that Nate would surely want to return to work. Vaguely Brad wondered when it had become acceptable for Nate to call him Brad. The only other people that called him Brad were Walt and Ray, but he had known them forever. Maybe it was because last week he and Nate had gone on a day long hunting trip. Or maybe it was because the week previous he and Nate had gone to town to barter for new clothes. If Brad was being honest, the use of his nickname had probably become acceptable the very first time Nate had said it the afternoon they played cards.
Nate looked up from the notebook he was carrying and Brad watched as Nate flicked his eyes over Brad’s thin green hose, his low slung belt, his sword, his fingers resting on the hilt, and the part of his neck exposed from the collar of his shirt. Brad shifted his weight, suddenly uncomfortable. He couldn’t tell what Nate was thinking.
“Although maybe you feel daring enough to enter?” Nate asked with an edge to his voice. Brad tried to hide his smile at the seeming frivolity of Nate’s proposition. Mercenaries and Knights traditionally did not really get along, let alone compete in jousting matches together. Jousting was just showing off. After that thought crossed his mind, Brad became intrigued by the prospect of beating a Knight. Especially a worthy opponent, which Brad was sure Nate would be.
“Will you be competing, Sir?” Brad cocked his eyebrow, hoping his intention was obvious enough.
“Yes. But you won’t be able to compete against Knights, mercenary.”
Brad hid his disappointment behind a retort.
“Excellent. Then I won’t have to hurt you.”
Nate’s eyes burned with competitive fire at Brad’s remark and Brad quite enjoyed it. Brad decided the tournament was still worth going to. Brad could not think of a time when he had changed his mind more times in such a small amount of time.
“I will make sure to include your name on the list,” Nate called as he headed back to the jousting arena.
Brad glanced at Nate’s ass as he walked away and mentally chastised himself. It wasn’t the first time he had realized he was gazing at Nate with more than friendly interest, but then again the Tudor Court couldn’t fault him too badly for his slight misconduct. After all, he had seen the way Lady Anne’s brother looked at the Court musician and Brad was not that far gone for the Knight. Nate was just pleasant and interesting and made Brad smile. It wouldn’t exactly be the first time Brad had forayed into other types of pleasure and if ever there was a place to find willing accomplices in those pleasurable pursuits, it would be The King’s Court. But of course Nate’s virtue as a Knight was probably very well guarded and Brad doubted Nate had ever even considered doing something that went against the rules of the Knights of the Garter. If Brad really wanted to know, he would have to do something to make Nate consider it, to consider him.
Brad really needed to focus on work.
With all of the festivities sure to begin the moment The King arrived, the Ambassador was sure to be around. He needed to find him. There was no way the Ambassador would admit to his nefarious plot, but if Brad made it clear that he knew of his intentions, maybe that would make the Ambassador back off. Brad began his search of The Court, quadrant by quadrant. He diligently covered all of the corridors leading to the Great Hall and the courtyard. He walked past pages dressed in red moving furniture. He walked past the royal butchers who were preparing hogs for supper. He saw the Ladies who had been left at Court finishing their needlework projects. He was reminded of Lady Margaret and wondered if she had enjoyed France. For some reason, he was sure she had.
Brad had been to France once, to study with a well-known literary scholar. Few knew this about him, because as a mercenary he saw no benefit to touting his book learning. France held endless amounts of amusement and entertainment, but Brad would never trade that for the business of being a soldier. He trained and he completed missions; and those tasks gave his life purpose. He knew that Lady Margaret felt that same sense of purpose serving Lady Anne. Brad’s train of thought led him to wondering if Nate felt he had a purpose.
Brad heard someone talking, and immediately tucked himself behind a corner in the shadows. As the noise moved closer, he could hear two people. One was giggling and the other was telling her she looked beautiful in her dress. The voices suddenly stopped, and Brad peeked around the corner. Only a small amount of light penetrated the hallway as dusk had set in and Brad could not discern who the people where; he could only make out silhouettes. Two bodies were intertwined and wondering hands were groping the Lady’s ass. The Lady had her leg wrapped around the man’s, and the man pushed his hand up under her dress. Brad decided he had not paid for this show and was therefore not entitled to watch, so he slowly crept back out the way he had come. He was smiling at the depravity of The Court as he walked to the stables. It was unlikely that the Ambassador was there, but he had to tell Trombley to prepare his horse for the joust. After he stopped at the stable, he returned to the Great Hall.
Everyone was a flurry of activity when he got there. Last minute decorations were added to the tables and servants were bringing food from the kitchen. He stopped a page before he scurried off.
“What has befallen the Court?”
“Haven’t you heard? The King has returned! The joust is on!”
Brad remembered the couple he had seen in the corridor; the identity of the pair was no longer a mystery. The honeymoon phase had begun. It would take a while for The King to be prepared for the joust, no doubt. Brad began to search again for the Ambassador.
“The Knight makes his challenge!” The jousting official, an older Knight, called from his chair above the jousting field. The two competitors nodded up at him.
At one end of the jousting field, a man pulled down his helmet. His thick metal armor clanked as his horse danced around, ready to run. At the opposite end of the field, a dapple grey stallion tossed his main and snorted. His rider pointed his lance straight ahead. A boy dressed in the red uniform of the Court stood in the middle of the jousting field and raised a flag.
The crowd that had gathered on the bleachers adjacent to the field collectively held their breath, and all was quiet.
Then the boy dropped the flag.
Both horses lunged forward, dirt flying up behind them. Both men held their lances straight ahead and the crowd began to cheer. They crashed together, and one man’s lance splintered into pieces when it hit the other man’s shield. He clattered to the ground and his horse kept galloping away. The victor raised his arms and the stands cheered louder. A page ran out on the field to collect the fallen rider.
Nate stood off to the side with his horse so that he could see the field. He looked over his mare appreciatively. Her main was covered with a shiny new blue hood covering and blue ribbons adorned the top of the hood for decoration. The Order’s symbol was bright on the blanket that covered almost her entire body. Although he couldn’t be proud of everything the Order did, he respected the lengthy history and tradition that was an essential part of the Order. He held her bridle as the next two competitors made their way onto the field.
One of the men had bright blond hair and stood almost a head above his competitor. As he rode closer, Nate knew it was Brad. Brad’s stallion side-stepped and flung up dirt, and Brad’s page scrambled to get out of the way. Brad came close enough to flash Nate a smile, and the sun illuminated his face. Brad sat tall and straight, and he wore worn but well cared for armor. He seemed at home on his horse. Brad’s face was relaxed even as his shoulders were squared and his arms were stiff, and he projected both comfort and confidence. It would have been an intimidating sight for even a seasoned jouster.
Nate thought he looked rather magnanimous. He silently wished Brad's competitor good luck because he knew that man was going to need it.
It was traditional for the competitors to give their favor to a lady or two before the joust. The other man, dressed in shiny black armor, put on his helmet but kept the visor up. He rode his light brown horse up to the bleachers and pointed his lance at one of the ladies of the Court. It might have been Lady Mag, but Nate stopped watching when he noticed Brad riding up to him.
“Sir,” Brad nodded at Nate. Nate couldn’t read Brad’s expression.
“Mercenary,” Nate nodded back. Brad stuck his lance out towards Nate.
Nate looked from the tip of the lance and back to Brad’s face. He hoped he didn’t look as surprised as he felt.
“Humor me. No one is looking. They are too busy watching Sir Show-off on the jousting field.” Brad nodded to his competitor, then turned his attention back to Nate.
“As if the whole lance-pointing thing wasn’t sexual enough,” Nate scoffed to break the tension that was suddenly building a thick wall between them.
There was silence for a heartbeat and Nate almost laughed at the sheer ridiculousness of Brad’s request, but if Brad was joking he didn’t show it. Nate’s cheeks started to heat up, and he figured the only way to get out of this was to acquiesce or make a hasty retreat. And Nate wasn’t fond of retreating. He pulled a blue ribbon from his mare’s hood and tied it onto Brad’s lance. Brad kicked his horse and the pair of them whirled away from Nate to trot out onto the jousting field.
“The mercenary makes his challenge!” The jousting official shouted from his chair. The man in black stood ready, and his horse pawed the air. Brad looked calm at the other end of the field as he snapped his visor closed. Nate’s palms suddenly felt sweaty. He hoped that by giving a man his favor, Brad hadn’t earned some kind of terrible curse. He reminded himself that he didn’t really believe in superstition before the flag was waved and the two riders were off.
Nate’s eyes were wide as he enjoyed the spectacle before him. Brad was obviously the superior rider and his horse picked up speed just before Brad’s lance met the other man’s shield. A loud crash signaled the moment of contact. The black armored man’s lance hit Brad’s shield moments after, but his momentum had already been thrown off by Brad’s direct hit. The other man’s lance fractured and pieces flew into the bleachers. Ladies screamed and ducked, and Brad galloped away amidst a loud chorus of cheers. Nate clapped from where he stood, mildly impressed. He wasn’t about to tell Brad that, though. He felt his gut churning as he thought of Brad, hoping that his performance wouldn't disappoint Brad.
Nate put his foot in his stirrup and mounted, knowing that he was next. He patted his mare before he directed her towards the field. It was customary for him to parade in front of the bleachers as a knight, to show off the symbol of the Order and pick the ladies who would receive his favor. He nodded at Stafford and Christenson when he noticed them in the stands and he saw Mike waiting for him at the edge of the field. Brad clearly had left the field to tend to his horse, and Nate hid his disappointment.
“Keep your eye on your competitor, Sir,” Mike cautioned when he handed Nate his lance.
Nate shook himself and was all business again. Leave it to Mike to get the task at hand back into focus for him. At the other end of the field, Nate saw his competitor close his visor. Nate inhaled deeply and then did the same. He stepped onto the edge of the field, and he could feel the way his mare settled down underneath him. She was just as tense as he was. All Nate could see was the flag. Then it dropped and he leaned forward. His mare took off with barely any encouragement.
Through the slit in his helmet, all Nate could see was his competitor’s lance growing larger as it came closer. Nate kept his arm steady as his hips rocked to the rhythm of his horse’s gallop. He tipped his lance slightly to the left just before his competitor’s lance reached him. It was over in an instant, but it took great effort for Nate to hold his arm at his side as his competitor’s lance scraped his shield. He was pitched to the right and then jerked backward as his horse continued galloping. Nate thought of nothing at that point except holding on and he squeezed his thighs together to keep himself from flying off.
The adrenaline rush afterwards never got old, and Nate relished it. His mare slowed and Nate rode up next to Mike to hand off his lance. He looked back and saw that his competitor’s lance had broken but he hadn’t been unhorsed. Nate pulled off his helmet and wiped the sweat from his brow.
Nate appreciated the pure pleasure of the sport. Although it was dangerous, it was he who was talking the risk and he alone who would deal with the consequences. It was a war game, but most importantly it was a game. He did not have to feel the fear of leading men into battle, not knowing how he would be able to direct their destinies. He did not have to feel guilt due to the unexplained and pointless orders of his superiors, nor did he have to clean up the mess of insolent soldiers. He did not have to choose some lives over others. For that reason alone, he decided it was okay to revel a little in the cheers of the crowd. He scanned the sea of faces for Brad and noticed him riding up onto the field on his horse. It looked like Brad would be competing again. If Nate was a betting man, he could have easily chosen the winner.
After Brad’s second victory, he headed back to the stable feeling confident. Nate hadn’t rejected him and on top of that, he had won. He reveled in the adrenaline high that he normally only got from using his longbow on the battlefield or engaging in close combat. Mercenaries always told each other that killing was easy because no one wanted to appear weak, but Brad preferred not to talk about his deadly encounters. Brad just did what he needed to do to complete the mission. Losing himself in the moment was a common side effect of battle, but the sport of jousting afforded few other similarities to war itself. He was not working in a team, he did not have others he could rely on or tell what to do, and he did not have to answer to any boss or superior. Jousting was a whole new set of logistics. When he competed against a skilled jouster Brad nearly felt guilt free. That last competitor had been a much more serious rider than the first, but Brad was able to catch him slightly off guard. He dismounted as Ray and Walt came over to congratulate him.
“Nice job nearly killing that poor, small, inferior jouster.” Ray slapped Brad on the soldier and Brad rolled his eyes.
“Nice of you boys to show up.” Brad deadpanned as he handed his reins to Trombley.
“We couldn’t miss the biggest party of the year,” Walt said, reaching out to pet Brad’s stallion.
“Trombley, why the long face?” Ray poked Trombley, who looked sullen and withdrawn.
“Look at all those bloody dogs hanging around the field waiting for scraps. We should get rid of ‘em,” Trombley growled.
“You will not be shooting any dogs, Trombley.” Brad started to pull off his armor, and Ray helped him lift the chest piece from over his head.
“I could get my bow and-” Trombley was still grumbling.
“No.”
Ray was laughing under his breath and Trombley started to walk away with Brad’s stallion.
“So, can we enjoy the free food now?” Ray was giddy beside him, and Brad suddenly felt like he was back on another mission with Ray and Walt by his side. Their presence made Brad aware of just how long he had been at Court. This mission had gone on too long already. Brad needed to figure out a way to make the Ambassador get rid of his assassin.
A royal page rode up and waved to get Brad’s attention. Out of the corner of his eye, Brad saw Nate riding towards him. The page reached Brad just before Nate did, but Nate was close enough to hear what the page said.
“The King is willing to accept a challenge from you, Mr. Colbert, as you are one of the few who has unseated two competitors. Do you wish to issue a challenge?” The page waited expectantly, and Brad looked from him to Nate.
Nate was shaking his head and his piercing blue eyes were unyielding. Brad realized that Nate was telling him to decline. Challenging The King usually meant accepting injury, because if you didn’t let The King win he would be furious. If you let him win, you would most likely be hit by the lance and unseated. Normally, Brad would not stand down from an opportunity to knock The King down a peg, but he knew the risk he ran by trying to beat The King. If The King were injured, he would surely be in serious trouble. He wasn’t exempt from torture or beatings - he wasn’t even a knight. Although he he was in a no-win situation, the choice normally would have been easy for him; except for the way Nate was looking at him, pleading him to say no. He knew what he had to do. He gritted his teeth and bit the bullet.
“No, I will not challenge him. My horse must rest.” Brad looked at Nate when he said it.
“Very well, Sir.” The page rode away, and Brad’s eyes flashed with anger. His pride was severely wounded because for some reason, he had let Nate exert superiority over him. He had gone against his instinct but once he looked at Nate he hadn’t hesitated. He didn’t like the way it made him feel; like he was dependent on someone else, on Nate. He turned around to head to the stable. He didn’t have anything else to say.
“Brad, no one gets lucky three times in a row,” Nate called to him.
“That wasn’t luck,” Brad said without looking back.
Ray and Walt hurried after Brad, and Ray whistled.
“Someone is whipped,” Ray teased.
“Fuck off, Ray. I have work to do.” Brad was going to find the Ambassador and get the hell out of Court, whatever it took.
“We came all the way out here to see you and that is no way to treat your Ray-Ray.” Ray stuck out his bottom lip in an imitation pout, but Brad had already stopped paying attention. What Ray had said was true. They had come all the way to Court.
“Well then, maybe you should help.”
“I like the sound of that.” Walt smiled as the three of them leaned together to form a plan. Brad figured three expert soldiers were better than one. Surely the Ambassador would not be able to evade him now.
Brad let Ray take the lead-
Ray made sure to say, “Aw Brad, you really do love me!”
-and the boys headed off. Nate was the farthest thing from Brad’s mind, if Brad was lying to himself.
Walt and Brad trailed behind Ray as he silently edged along in the long shadows surrounding the north side of the palace to get to the garden. Brad’s body was tense, his ears were pricked for any and all noises, and he eventually could focus all of his thoughts on just his surroundings.
The three of them split off to walk through different parts of the garden. The tall shrubs could conceal anyone, and the grass could hide the sound of footsteps. If Brad was going to hide, this is where he would do it. They searched for nearly half an hour, and Brad was getting worried. If it got dark, his chances of finding the Ambassador would diminish tremendously. Then somewhere near Brad’s left he heard Ray.
“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you-” Ray abruptly stopped talking as the sound of someone crashing through the shrubs became obvious. Walt ran up from behind until he was next to Brad, but Brad didn’t move. The Spanish Ambassador, in a long glittering green robe, was walking very briskly away from where Ray had tried to stop him. And right towards Brad. He had nowhere to go.
“Mr. Ambassador.” Brad stopped him with a raised hand. Walt stood beside him, quiet.
“Mr. Colbert.” The Ambassador nodded and made to go past him, but Brad grabbed his arm in a vice grip.
“I’m sure you know what I’m about to say. Don’t make The King angry. There are dire consequences for such actions.” Brad’s voice was as hard as ice but his eyes were like fire. He wasn’t angry at what the Ambassador had done, after all this was just a mission; Brad was still just angry. This was one case where Brad could and would use his emotions to his advantage.
“Are you threatening me?” The Spanish Ambassador asked, watching Brad’s face very closely.
“It isn’t me you have to worry about.” Brad let go of the Spanish Ambassador’s arm, and he nodded at him before turning on his heel and walking away.
“He didn’t back down. That man has some cajones, if you know what I mean,” Ray said as he emerged from the shadows.
“Or he’s just reckless,” Walt commented.
Brad suspected it was a little bit of both. Which meant this wasn’t over.
“Now presenting, His Majesty King Henry VIII and Queen Anne!” The royal crier and the royal trumpeter were heralding The King and Queen’s arrival as they made their way down the streets of London. Lady Anne had just been crowned King, and Nate was on high alert.
Well, Nate was on high alert because he knew Brad was. They had parted ways when the royal procession had started. After Brad’s encounter with the Spanish Ambassador, Brad had been up at all hours of the night trying to find the assassin. He hadn’t made an appearance. Brad had told Nate in a brusque all business-tone at the beginning of the parade that the assassin had probably waited until today to make his move. Nate thought his logic was sound. Since the parade was going to move at a snail’s pace, Brad would be on foot searching for the man.
Since the jousting tournament, Brad had only talked business with Nate. Nate had turned the incident over and over in his mind, but he knew he had done the right thing. Brad need not suffer consequences not deserved. He idly wondered if consequences mattered all that much to Brad. He was sure that they did, but not in the way they did to Nate. Brad did what he had to do and accepted the consequences afterwards. Nate always had to plan ahead for all possible consequences. Maybe that was why he hadn’t been as bold in his affections with Brad as Brad had been with him. Maybe he should take a page from Brad’s book in that regard.
This coronation was going to be a much more nerve racking experience than a coronation should be. If Nate was working with Brad, scanning the crowds and trying to track down the killer, he would not feel this way. He felt nervous because he could do nothing to help. He had a different kind of job to do, but he gladly would have traded places with Brad if only to make sure Brad was safe. Or maybe it was the fact that they were in a fight that really made Nate feel uneasy about this whole thing.
Nate’s duty as a member of the Order and as a trusted aid to The King was to hold the flag of the Tudor family crest while he rode his horse in the front of the royal carriage. Mike was on his right and kept glancing at him, knowing something was amiss. Nate tried to focus on the road ahead of them. “Make way for The King and Queen!” someone shouted. A band of trumpeters were on a stage up ahead, heralding The King and Queen’s arrival. Nate could make out Stafford and Christeson walking among the male members of the Court. In front of the procession, London-ers parted ways to stand on the sides of the parade route.
The distinct lack of excitement on behalf of the gathered crowd was underwhelming. Nate would have expected much more fanfare, but clearly Anne’s supporters were feeling subdued. They could have been keeping quiet for fear of derision from their peers. Or there simply weren’t that many of them.
Looking over his shoulder, Nate could see The King and Queen sitting very calmly on their thrones. The Queen waved her hand slightly and smiled upon her subjects. The King’s mouth was stretched in a thin line; he was surveying the small crowd and he was not impressed. The father of the new Queen and her brother, George Boleyn, were riding alongside the carriage. The Duke of Suffolk suddenly slowed his horse to let Mike and Nate and then the carriage pass him. Nate stayed focused on the road straight ahead, but The Duke of Suffolk was the High Steward of the coronation. He must have received a signal from Brad. Something caught Nate’s eye in a window to his right and he glanced up. Light glinted off metal for a moment before it disappeared.
Nate’s fingers tightened on his reins and he glanced at Mike. He nodded, signaling that he had seen it too. Nate tried to locate The Duke of Suffolk but couldn’t see him. He must have fallen back from the procession. Nate tried to keep his hands from shaking as his mind raced with all of the things that could have gone wrong. He would just have to assume the best.
When the procession arrived at Westminster Church, horses were handed off to pages and everyone filed into the Church. Nate scanned the crowds for Brad. He finally spotted The Duke of Suffolk, whose piercing blue eyes were scanning the crowd as well. He did not look alarmed, so Nate took that as a good sign. He finally went inside when the last of the procession had taken their seats so that he could stand in the back.
The Duke of Suffolk and the family of the Queen had dawned the thick red robes of the Court and the Queen sat on her throne looking serene. Nate thought she looked beautiful, but it was The King that beamed with a pride that lit up the Church. The ladies of the Court had recently let the secret out of the bag and everyone knew the Queen was pregnant with King Henry’s child. The Queen’s family looked smug and The Duke of Suffolk looked uncomfortable and the contrast might have amused Nate had he not been on alert for Brad.
As the Bishop was reading hymns, a shadow moved to Nate’s left. He edged over, slowly, and the dim light in the Church illuminated Brad’s silhouette.
“Brad,” Nate hissed. Brad glanced at him but otherwise did not react. Nate noticed the crimson blood smeared on the side of Brad’s blue jerkin.
“Fuck, Brad, are you hurt?” Nate moved forward to touch Brad, but Brad held out his hand.
“It’s not mine,” he said shortly.
“Well-” Nate moved forward again.
“Shhh. Respect the new Queen.” Only Brad could whisper with such sarcasm, but he turned his attention to the front and Nate reluctantly did the same.
The King took the crown from the Bishop and crowned his Queen himself. The crowd gasped ever so faintly, and Nate could not blame them. It was an arrogant gesture of supremacy on behalf of The King, since the King and Queen’s power was supposed to be derived from God. But King Henry had just made clear that he was the supreme power in England and while making that point he had implicated his new Queen as an accomplice to the new order.
After the crown was atop the Queen’s head, Brad slipped out of the church and Nate followed. Once they entered a dark hallway quite far away from the main room, Nate grabbed Brad’s arm and forced him to turn around.
“I completed the mission. I will probably be relieved of duty today.” Brad was obviously trying to keep his voice neutral.
“I did what I had to do, you know.” Nate was toe to toe with Brad. He hoped he looked fearless in that moment. Ever since the joust it was like Nate could never catch his breath around Brad. But here, now, he was at least certain how this should confrontation was supposed to end. Put a Knight and a mercenary together with tension so thick you could cut it with a dagger and someone was bound to get beat up.
“I know,” Brad nodded. Nate wasn’t sure if that counted as a sign of forgiveness, but at least it didn’t look like Brad was going to fight him anymore. Nate was drawn once again to the blood on Brad’s jerkin, and suddenly Nate realized he probably just killed a man. This was entirely too petty of a conversation to be having after what Brad just did.
Brad came impossibly too close and Nate felt Brad’s hot breath on his face. Later, he would blame Brad's earnest expression for what came out of his mouth next.
“You know, if you were a lady this is when I would say that I want to court you.” Nate regretted it when he said it. At least he trusted Brad enough to have faith that he wouldn't report him to Cromwell. Well, Cromwell might let it slide considering how he had said he needed Nate.
Brad rolled his eyes and pushed Nate, but Nate stood his ground.
“I’m not a Lady, Sir.” Brad tried to break the spell they had been enveloped in. This was the moment of truth and since Nate put it out there, he needed to know.
Finally Brad’s face relaxed and he smiled. Trombley chose that moment to come upon them in the hallway.
“Did you get ‘em, Sir?” Trombley was ecstatic when he saw the blood on Brad’s jerkin. He didn't wait for Brad to answer.
“Just in time for the coronation festivities!” Trombley took Brad’s longbow and arrows and headed for Brad’s quarters. Brad glanced over at Nate with a raised eyebrow and Nate nodded because he understood. They would see each other again after Brad got cleaned up. That wasn't good enough, but Nate would have to be patient. Something he was familiar with, working for The King.
--> Part Three