Conspiracy (16 page)

So I put my own dressing gown on, and ran downstairs to the small sideboard where the extra wine flagon is kept, and brought it back upstairs and panted into the Queen's own chamber with it. Lady Helena was there, fast asleep in the truckle bed ready to attend the Queen. So Her Majesty hadn't really needed to send me.

“Here you are, Your Majesty,” I said, going to one knee. “I'm really so sorry-—”

“Oh, hush, child,” interrupted the Queen. “I don't
really
mind one pillow fight! But I'm afraid that none of my gentlemen has been able to find John anywhere. I have sent riders out along the roads, and we will use the dogs in the morning, but it seems he may have got away.” She looked at me very seriously. “Now, are you sure that you did not warn him, Grace?”

“No, of course I didn't!” I cried. “I would never do that. I never even thought of it. Once I knew what he was up to, I came straight to Your Majesty.”

“What might have alerted him?” the Queen asked.

“Well, I suppose he may have found that Sir William Cecil's livery was missing from under his palliasse? I'm sorry, I didn't think that—”

“Ah. I expect it was that,” agreed the Queen. “It's a pity. Unless we can catch him, I cannot possibly tax His Grace the Prince with his outrages against me. But no matter—the Prince is embarrassed already, for other reasons, and so he should be.”

I nodded. “My lord the Earl of Leicester saw through your disguise in about two heartbeats,” I remarked.

The Queen smiled. “Of course he did,” she said. “My Robin is very sharp-eyed. Well, we shall see what we shall see in the morning.”

And so I left Her Majesty and returned to my chamber. And I know I shouldn't, but I do hope John got away. Perhaps he should have stayed to explain himself, but if he ran away, I hope he escapes. I don't want to see his severed head above London Bridge.

We are in the middle of packing up again, but mine is finished and it is much more important that I write down all that has happened.

First of all this morning, when we were all dressed in our travelling habits, the Queen decided she would have a final ride around the lake, with the Earl and Prince Sven. Lady Helena and the other Ladiesin-Waiting accompanied her.

I had packed up quite early, because of not being able to sleep properly, and Ellie had helped me. So while the other Maids of Honour were still arguing over who had hidden the pot of crimson wax, and whose was this smock with the grass-smeared back, I crept out of the keep with Ellie.

We wandered along the road that wound down past the paddock where the Prince's carts were lined up. The paddock was in an uproar as the Swedish Prince broke camp. All his men were taking down the pavilions, and the servants were staggering about under long tent poles, putting them in the row of carts lent by the Queen.

The carthorses were having their breakfast in their nosebags and stamping their soup-plate feet.

Ioverheard one of the carters saying, “They foreign gents don't know how to stow a cart properly,” to the crowd of children and dogs who had come up from the village to watch everyone leaving.

As we sauntered along beside the carts, patting the horses, we came upon Masou standing
thoughtfully on his hands next to an apple tree. “Masou, you're back,” I cried.

He flexed his arms, jumped down smoothly onto his feet, and came over to us, smiling. “Back?” he said, blinking in a puzzled way.

“From being Puck—we've 'ardly seen you,” sniffed Ellie.

Masou grinned. “I'm glad I'm back, too,” he admitted. “It was a lot of work. And I've been looking after Gypsy Pete. He's feeling better already.”

Ellie and I smiled to hear that the little boy was on the mend. Then the three of us walked along the row of carts, peering inside to see what Prince Sven had brought from Sweden to make him feel at home.

Suddenly, I noticed something odd. Among the loaded carts, there was one packed with carpets and rugs and tapestries and so on, all rolled up. There was no food on board at all, and yet every dog in the place was gathered around it, sniffing with interest at the wheels. One of the big lymers even put his huge paws on the side of the cart and pushed his nose in amongst the hangings….

“Masou,” I hissed, “give me a boost!” And I hurried towards the cart while the coast was clear—the carter was having a pork pie for his own breakfast, while his horse munched and whuffled in his nosebag.

Masou followed me, linked his hands, and boosted me up into the cart. I looked among the hangings, while the curious lymer tried to follow—so Masou caught his collar and pulled him down.

There certainly was a peculiar smell on the cart. I pulled at a rolled-up tapestry, and it unrolled slightly—revealing a leg! A stiff, dead leg, side by side with anothei:.

Feeling sick, I pushed it open further, and saw John's hose, and the hand with the burn on it, clenched tightly shut. I touched it once. It was quite still and cold.

I jumped down at once and moved away from the cart, shaking.

“What is it, Grace?” asked Ellie, catching my hands. “You look white as your shift.”

I am not Lady Sarah, and I am
not
going to swoon, I told myself angrily. For I was very angry indeed. There had been nothing at all wrong with John the night before, when I saw him fetch a bottle from his tent. “There's a c-corpse in the cart,” I gasped. “It's John.”

“Oh, my God,” said Ellie. “Are you sure?”

Masou had already jumped up and lifted the tapestry. He jumped down again, not pale, but certainly looking shocked. He nodded once at Ellie.

“I have to tell the Queen,” I said. “But if we show we're suspicious, the Prince will simply leave the rest of his equipment here and depart at once.”

“I'd say the carts are nearly ready to go anyway,” Ellie pointed out. “I should think they will go first, and the Prince and his gentlemen will leave once they get back from the ride with the Queen. That's how they usually do it, because the carts go so slowly.”

“We must stop them, and we must get the Queen to have her Gentlemen of the Guard search the carts,” Masou said.

“No,” I said, “that won't work. He's a Sovereign Prince. The Queen can't just search his carts, there'd be a diplomatic incident.”

Masou and Ellie were staring at me.

I thought frantically and came up with an idea. “We've got to do something to make the cart tip so that everything falls off,” I said. “If you two distract the carter so he doesn't hear me, I'll creep up and knock the pin out of the wheel axle.”

“Distract 'im?” said Ellie thoughtfully.

“I know,” put in Masou. “We'll fight.”

They crept away, with Masou whispering into Ellie's ear. Soon they were on the other side of the road, in the paddock, and Masou was shouting at Ellie very realistically.

“You evil kinchin mort!” he yelled, which is thieves' cant for a girl (which I didn't know he knew). “You prigged my best jerkin, you know you did.”

“No, I never!” shrieked Ellie. “Yxi lost it and you're just trying to get me in trouble!”

“You did!” roared Masou. “Give it back!”

“I never!” shrieked Ellie again, and aimed a great slap at him.

They were very clever—Masou fell back, clapping his hands to make it sound as if she'd hit him, and then he slapped her and she did the same. And then they were acting the most wonderful fight. Of course, the carters soon gathered round and started laying bets.

I hefted a stone in my hand and crept up to the back wheel of the cart that had John on it. There was the pin. I looked at it carefully. It went right through the axle, holding the wheel on so that it could still turn. There was a cap on one end, which I took off with my fingers, as the shrieking and swearing from Ellie and Masou got louder and louder. There was a roar—ah, I knew they must be grappling now.

My hands were sweating. I tapped the end of the pin with the stone, but it was stuck. I tapped it again, harder, and it popped out and fell on the
floor. Quickly, I picked it up and replaced it with a stick, so it would not be obvious the pin was out. I hoped that the minute the cart went over a rut or a stone, its wheel would fall off and everything in the cart would be tipped into the road. Then I slipped away, and as soon as Ellie and Masou saw that I was finished, Ellie dead-legged Masou and took to her heels up to the castle, with Masou chasing her.

I went up the path much more sedately, until I was out of sight of the paddock. Then I ran after Ellie and Masou. I found them in the corner of the stable yard, where they had collapsed breathlessly, laughing at their play-fight.

I realized I needed a plan to reveal what the Prince had done, and to prevent him from leaving with his crimes undiscovered. So I thought very carefully about what to do, and decided it must be dramatic.

When Masou and Ellie had recovered, I asked them to help me find a dryad disguise and mask, and get all dressed up—so no one could recognize me. Then I found a nice spreading chestnut tree on the Queen's route back to the castle, and got Masou to give me a boost again. I am very good at tree-climbing, although Mrs. Champernowne thinks it disgraceful.

Masou and Ellie hid in the bushes, while I settled down to wait for the Queen's party.

Sure enough, after about ten minutes I heard hooves approaching. The Queen rode into sight, surrounded by the Earl of Leicester, Prince Sven, and all the attendants.

Feeling very nervous now that the time was upon me, I stood up on my branch and steadied myself on another one. “Halt!” I cried.

Most of the party thought that this was another of the Earl's entertainments, but I think the Queen recognized my voice, for she frowned as soon as I began my speech.

“Here's a story I'll relate, of Elizabeth, the Queen so great …,” I started, and then gave up the verse because it's much harder to do than it looks. You try to think of a rhyme for Elizabeth!

“Pray listen, Great Queen,” I began again. “A sad tale I have to tell. …” And I related the whole chain of events—all about the Swedish Prince's plan, and how it had failed.

As I told my story, there were many gasps of amazement from the Queen's Ladies-in-Waiting and the Earl of Leicester's henchmen. Eric, the Prince's secretary, had come forward to translate for his lord. And Prince Sven looked more and more furious—
until I was glad to be out of reach in my tree, and not down on the ground.

At one point, he made a move to leave, but somehow there were too many of the Earl's attendants in his way. “O beauteous Queen—” he started to say, but she held up her hand imperiously to hush him.

I gripped the branch tighter, took a breath, and carried on with my tale. When I got to the point where I suspected John had discovered Secretary Cecil's livery missing from his tent, Prince Sven suddenly spurred his horse forward, shoving one of the Earl's henchmen out of the way. “I vili not listen to more childish rubbish,” he snarled. “Ve go now. Good day, Your Majesty.”

Followed by his attendants, Prince Sven rode towards his carts and waved the drivers on angrily. They whipped up the horses and set off. First one cart, then another.

The one with John's body on it started off. It was rolling along perfectly well. Oh, no! I thought. Had they noticed and replaced the pin? Was my speech for nothing?

The cart went over a big pothole. Very slowly, the wheel rolled up, came off the end of the axle, and fell over on its side. As it did so, that side of the cart tilted and tipped, until all the carpets and rugs and
tapestries tumbled off and onto the ground. And there in the middle of them all, its stiff limbs sticking out at odd angles, lay John's body!

There was a huge gasp from everyone watching. The dogs barked joyfully, and the lymer made a dive for one of the corpse's legs. Luckily, the carter was quick-thinking, and he stood on the seat and cracked his whip to keep the dogs away.

There was a moment of absolute silence.

Then came the Queen's voice. “Your Grace,” she said coldly. “What is that?”

Prince Sven gabbled something, but Eric, his translator, wasn't doing his job. The tall, grim-looking man had suddenly hidden his face in his hands and hunched forward over his horse's neck.

“Well, Your Grace?” snapped the Queen.

Lady Helena came forward, offering to help with the translating. Her lovely face was white and strained.

Eric straightened up decisively, dismounted, went over to the Queen, and kneeled before her. “Your Majesty,” he said, “? throw myself on your mercy.”

“Yes?”

“Johan, he is … he vas my brother,” he said, gesturing at the body. “My father married again ven my mother died of plague. He married an
Englishwoman. Her son vas Johan. He learned English as veil as Swedish, much better than me. His Grace, the Prince, sent him ahead to become part of the Earl of Leicester's household and then— to do as this maid has said—to make accidents against the Queen to frighten her and make the Earl look careless.”

The Prince snarled something vicious at Eric, who ignored him. Lady Helena whispered a quick translation to the Queen, who looked furious.

“Hold hard, Your Grace,” she coldly. “This is my realm, not yours. I will not have you threaten anyone ink.”