Read Online Swords From the Sea by Harold Lamb - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Harold Lamb
Tags: Fiction, Suspense, Fantasy, Action & Adventure, Short Stories, Sea stories, Short Stories (Single Author), Adventure stories, Adventure fiction
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Perhaps the Fox prefers not to be in London when-if-"
"Edward dies," amended the Spaniard coolly.
The duke started and glanced uneasily at the closed door. Then he poured out with his own hand a measure of Burgundy into a gold goblet on the table. This he offered to D'Alaber, who glanced at it quizzically and waited until he was certain that his host would drink from the same flagon.
"To the happy alliance between our two peoples!" cried Stratford, gulping down his wine. "Nay, do you fancy the goblet, D'Alaber? Then, I pray you, keep the thing."
The Spaniard turned it in his fingers indifferently and handed it to the other man, who made less ado about thrusting it into the breast of his robe, first weighing it in his great fist covetously.
He wore the dull damask of a merchant, yet his sword with its inlaid hilt was costly. He stood utterly still-and few men do that-looking down from his looming height on the two noblemen as if he were the solitary spectator of a rare play.
And, in reality, he was attending upon a discussion only too common in these eventful days, wherein the fate of England rested in the balance. While Cornelius Durforth and D'Alaber sat on either hand, Stratford talked feverishly, giving the Spaniard the tidings of what was passing in the court, and at the same time justifying himself.
Edward was dying. Stratford and certain other officers of the royal household had contrived to keep this secret until now. And secrecy they must have to gain time to raise their liegemen on land and sea and discover who was of their party.
Stratford and the Papists of the kingdom supported Lady Mary, the elder sister of the king. She was daughter of Catharine of Aragon, the first wife of the late king, Henry the Eighth.
Others of the Protestant nobles favored the Lady Jane Grey, or the young Princess Elizabeth. But Elizabeth had inherited her father's love of hawking and the chase and carelessness of affairs of state. Meanwhile, Parliament, ignorant of the true condition of the king, did nothing. A few weeks, and the Papist nobles near London would have enough swords to cut down all opposition to Lady Mary.
"And the king?" D'Alaber asked thoughtfully. "No one suspects his evil case?"
"No one," nodded the duke, "save-"
"Ah. It was your part, my lord duke, to draw a veil around his sinking."
The Spaniard spoke courteously, but his words were like dagger pricks.
"A chuckle-headed squire-a niddering-a nobody overheard Edward make lament that his time was drawing to an end."
"And you?"
"I sent the youth on a bootless errand to Orfordnesse, saying that it was Edward's will. Nay, he will not set foot in London again till all is over."
"And there you blundered, my lord. Only one physic will keep a tongue from wagging. His name and time of setting forth?"
"The lad is Master Thorne of Orfordnesse. On the morrow at dawn he hies him hence."
"Then-" D'Alaber tapped a lean finger on the hilt of his poniard and glanced at Durforth, whose eyes, so dark that they appeared to be without expression, were fixed on him reflectively-"we must try phlebotomy, a trifle of blood letting. And now, messers, I deliver me of my charge."
Unfastening one of the laces of his doublet, he drew out two papers folded and sealed with the royal signet of Spain. These he handed to Durforth, who looked at the seal and thrust them into his wallet. Stratford seemed afire with curiosity as to the nature of these papers, but D'Alaber vouchsafed him no satisfaction. Durforth, however, spoke up, twisting powerful fingers in his black beard.
"My lord duke, you are now one of us; you must run with the hounds now, not with the hare. In your presence I have received from his august majesty, Charles, Emperor of Spain, a letter of commission. The other missive I understand to be a matter of state to be delivered when the voyage hath achieved its end."
The duke filled his goblet moodily, chafing inwardly at the insolence of the Spaniard. He could not do
"Edward dies," amended the Spaniard coolly.
The duke started and glanced uneasily at the closed door. Then he poured out with his own hand a measure of Burgundy into a gold goblet on the table. This he offered to D'Alaber, who glanced at it quizzically and waited until he was certain that his host would drink from the same flagon.
"To the happy alliance between our two peoples!" cried Stratford, gulping down his wine. "Nay, do you fancy the goblet, D'Alaber? Then, I pray you, keep the thing."
The Spaniard turned it in his fingers indifferently and handed it to the other man, who made less ado about thrusting it into the breast of his robe, first weighing it in his great fist covetously.
He wore the dull damask of a merchant, yet his sword with its inlaid hilt was costly. He stood utterly still-and few men do that-looking down from his looming height on the two noblemen as if he were the solitary spectator of a rare play.
And, in reality, he was attending upon a discussion only too common in these eventful days, wherein the fate of England rested in the balance. While Cornelius Durforth and D'Alaber sat on either hand, Stratford talked feverishly, giving the Spaniard the tidings of what was passing in the court, and at the same time justifying himself.
Edward was dying. Stratford and certain other officers of the royal household had contrived to keep this secret until now. And secrecy they must have to gain time to raise their liegemen on land and sea and discover who was of their party.
Stratford and the Papists of the kingdom supported Lady Mary, the elder sister of the king. She was daughter of Catharine of Aragon, the first wife of the late king, Henry the Eighth.
Others of the Protestant nobles favored the Lady Jane Grey, or the young Princess Elizabeth. But Elizabeth had inherited her father's love of hawking and the chase and carelessness of affairs of state. Meanwhile, Parliament, ignorant of the true condition of the king, did nothing. A few weeks, and the Papist nobles near London would have enough swords to cut down all opposition to Lady Mary.
"And the king?" D'Alaber asked thoughtfully. "No one suspects his evil case?"
"No one," nodded the duke, "save-"
"Ah. It was your part, my lord duke, to draw a veil around his sinking."
The Spaniard spoke courteously, but his words were like dagger pricks.
"A chuckle-headed squire-a niddering-a nobody overheard Edward make lament that his time was drawing to an end."
"And you?"
"I sent the youth on a bootless errand to Orfordnesse, saying that it was Edward's will. Nay, he will not set foot in London again till all is over."
"And there you blundered, my lord. Only one physic will keep a tongue from wagging. His name and time of setting forth?"
"The lad is Master Thorne of Orfordnesse. On the morrow at dawn he hies him hence."
"Then-" D'Alaber tapped a lean finger on the hilt of his poniard and glanced at Durforth, whose eyes, so dark that they appeared to be without expression, were fixed on him reflectively-"we must try phlebotomy, a trifle of blood letting. And now, messers, I deliver me of my charge."
Unfastening one of the laces of his doublet, he drew out two papers folded and sealed with the royal signet of Spain. These he handed to Durforth, who looked at the seal and thrust them into his wallet. Stratford seemed afire with curiosity as to the nature of these papers, but D'Alaber vouchsafed him no satisfaction. Durforth, however, spoke up, twisting powerful fingers in his black beard.
"My lord duke, you are now one of us; you must run with the hounds now, not with the hare. In your presence I have received from his august majesty, Charles, Emperor of Spain, a letter of commission. The other missive I understand to be a matter of state to be delivered when the voyage hath achieved its end."
The duke filled his goblet moodily, chafing inwardly at the insolence of the Spaniard. He could not do
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