A Traitor's Tears Read Free Page A

why?’
    I thought about it, visualizing Hawkswood, that quiet, grey stone manor house with its big, light hall, its two pleasant parlours, its terrace and the rose garden that Hugh had so much loved, and wishing myself back there, with all my heart. Life at Hawkswood was …
    â€˜At home,’ I said, ‘life is simple. Everyone knows who they are and what they have to do each day. We’re like a family, even if most of us aren’t related to each other. At court, everyone’s watching everyone else. They’re sensitive about where they’re seated in the dining hall, or who goes first and who goes last when coming into the queen’s presence. They eye each other, wondering if so and so, who smiles at them so nicely, is really scheming to oust them from whatever position they’re in. Roland Wyse aches to be granted a title and appointed to the Privy Council; I know he does. I’ve heard him say so. People at court become subtle, cunning, suspicious, and when I’m here for any length of time, I find myself beginning to think like them, seeing the world through their eyes and I don’t like it.’
    â€˜I never thought of it that way!’ said Sybil, much astonished.
    â€˜No, you just see the dresses and the jewellery and the sunshine on the River Thames!’
    â€˜Not today,’ said Sybil gravely.
    John Ryder arrived to accompany us when we set out but in fact, it was a big group that left Whitehall. We rode, as it was some distance to Tower Hill. Roland Wyse was there, on a showy chestnut gelding. Robert Dudley of Leicester was not, and there was no sign either of Lord Burghley. Neither, I knew, greatly cared for gruesome spectacles. There were, however, many ladies and gallants who had chosen to attend, though they were surely not obliged to do so. Some would have come to sorrow, perhaps to give Norfolk some kind of support. But others, those who didn’t know him well, were probably just there to gawp at the scene. I shivered, thinking about it. My stomach was churning.
    To keep my mind off the immediate future, I brought my horse alongside John Ryder and asked him why Roland Wyse was in London with Lord Burghley and not in Paris with Walsingham. Since Ryder himself belonged to Burghley’s entourage, he was likely to know.
    He did, and laughed. ‘He’s still officially one of Walsingham’s assistants but he’s been seconded to Burghley till Walsingham comes home for good. Rumour has it that Walsingham wants a rest from Wyse’s pushy ways. I think he lends Wyse to other departments, or sends him on errands away from the court whenever he gets the chance!’
    I nodded. I knew all about Wyse’s pushy ways.
    â€˜My lord Burghley uses him sometimes for the courier work I used to do,’ Ryder said. ‘I still do some short journeys but the longer ones are too wearing nowadays. I’m getting older! Wyse is welcome to those.’
    â€˜Does he mind?’ I asked. ‘Being sent back to England to run errands for Lord Burghley?’
    Ryder shrugged. ‘Can’t tell. But one impression I do have is that if Walsingham doesn’t really like him, he doesn’t like Walsingham, either.’
    I had some sympathy with that. I knew that Walsingham was a valuable and most loyal servant to the queen, but he was also a stark, stern man who on the few occasions when I had met him had made me ill at ease. I had even heard rumours that the queen herself didn’t care for him either, though she trusted him. The two things aren’t the same.
    As we rode through London we noticed that many people, on foot, were going in the same direction. ‘By the look of things, half the city means to be in at the death,’ Brockley muttered, coming up on my other side.
    It was a beautiful morning with brilliant sunshine, though London, of course, was as smelly as ever, with chimney smoke and horse droppings, food cooking in