He didn't shift a muscle. "Strike me if you must. But it won't return what was taken from you. I may be guilty of many things, but I did not do this. I did not steal your birthright. Lady Dudley did; she she concealed it. She used and murdered your Mistress Alice for it." concealed it. She used and murdered your Mistress Alice for it."

I was beyond reason. An abyss opened beneath my feet, full of horrors I did not want to see. Of Lady Dudley, I could believe anything, including this monstrous deed. But my poor Alice... How could she have left me in ignorance, all these years? How could she have not realized that, in the end, what I did not know might be the one thing used against me?

"Alice cared for me," I heard myself whisper, as if I needed to convince myself. "She kept me safe.... They mangled her, tethered her like a beast, only to kill her in the end."

"Yes," he said quietly. "They did. And she endured it, out of love for you."

I looked at him. "Is that what it was? Love?"

"Never doubt it. Mistress Alice gave her life to you. She took you from your dying mother, from the sister who wanted you dead, and brought you to the one place where she thought you'd be safe. She couldn't have known what would occur; no one could have foreseen it, all those years ago. But she must have suspected enough about Lady Dudley to take steps to protect you. Your name alone proves it."

I thrust out a hand. "No more. Please. I-I cannot bear it."

"You must." He shifted from the wall. "You must accept the treachery and the lies, and you must overcome them. Otherwise, it will be your your undoing." He paused. "She named you Brendan not because of her reverence for the saint but because it is the Latin form of the Irish name Breanainn, which is derived from 'prince' in ancient Welsh. Mistress Alice gave you your legacy from the start. It has been with you all this time." undoing." He paused. "She named you Brendan not because of her reverence for the saint but because it is the Latin form of the Irish name Breanainn, which is derived from 'prince' in ancient Welsh. Mistress Alice gave you your legacy from the start. It has been with you all this time."

"Then why?" Desperation edged my voice. "If Mistress Alice knew who I was, why didn't Lady Dudley kill her the moment she brought me to her? Why did she wait so long?"

He went quiet for a moment before he said, "I can't say. All I can think of is that she depended on Alice's complicity. Any servant could raise you as one belonging to the lower cla.s.s, and that was the illusion Lady Dudley had to create, that you belonged to no one. But servants gossip; word could get out about you. We can a.s.sume Lady Dudley knew you had to be hidden from Frances of Suffolk, and she needed someone to care for you whom she could trust. Alice would do both, so Lady Dudley took the risk that one day she might tell you the truth. At the time, there was no pressing need to do otherwise. You were still a babe; you could die, as many do. n.o.body knew how the succession would resolve itself, but a secret like you could prove invaluable. Absolute silence was required-silence and the patience to wait."

He paused, watching me. My heart pounded in my ears. There was more; I could feel it uncoiling just beneath the surface, shedding its brittle false skin.

Then Cecil added, "Of course, there is another possibility. Perhaps Lady Dudley did not kill Mistress Alice at first because she knew Alice had confided in someone else; someone who would reveal your existence should anything happen to her. If so, then between Alice and this other person, Lady Dudley found herself cornered; she did not dare act impulsively, at least not until she found her opportunity when King Edward fell ill." He paused. "Is there anyone you can think of whom your Mistress Alice might have trusted with so dangerous a secret?"

I went still, recalling Stokes's words: But something happened in those last hours; Mary of Suffolk must have confided in the midwife, said something that fostered her mistrust.... But something happened in those last hours; Mary of Suffolk must have confided in the midwife, said something that fostered her mistrust....

And then Mary Tudor's: Charles of Suffolk's... squire came to see me. A stalwart man...

I wanted to bolt from the room, run as far as I could. I didn't want to know anymore. There would be no peace for me, no hiding. I'd be condemned to search until the end of my days.

But it was already too late. I knew how Alice had protected herself: with my birthmark, which another servant caring for me would see. And I also knew whom she had confided in. Like everything else, it had been there all along, waiting for me to learn enough to see it.

I shook my head in response to Cecil's question. "No, I don't. And it doesn't matter. Mistress Alice is dead." I hardened my voice. "But I know this much: You have no proof. There is no proof. I intend to keep it that way." I met his eyes. "If you ever tell another soul, I will kill you."

He chuckled. "I'm relieved to hear it." He adjusted his doublet, walked past the broken chair to his valise as if we'd been discussing the weather. "Because the revelation of your birth could create complications that would be most unfortunate for all concerned-especially you."

Raw laughter burst from me. "Is that why Walsingham was on the leads with a dagger? Given the uncertainty surrounding the succession, I must have presented a terrible hindrance!"

"You were never a hindrance." Cecil draped his cloak about his shoulders. "I underestimated your ingenuity perhaps, but I had no intention of letting you die, in my service or otherwise." The gravity in his tone took me aback. "If you consider the events, you'll see that when you first arrived here, all I had was an unfounded rumor and knowledge of an herbalist who had once served Mary of Suffolk. I couldn't possibly have known everything beforehand."

As if I were back in Whitehall the night of Elizabeth's arrival, I heard that cryptic whisper: Il porte la marque de la rose. Il porte la marque de la rose.

I couldn't rage anymore. I couldn't fight. "Not until someone confirmed it for you," I said. "That's why you had Walsingham follow me, isn't it? To see if he could catch me undressed. The mark on my skin, the mark called the rose-it would have proven everything."

He inclined his head as though I'd offered him a compliment. "I have no further secrets from you. Now, we can work together toward a cause greater than both of us-the cause of Elizabeth, who, I a.s.sure you, will soon face a challenge far worse than any Dudley."

"I didn't say I wanted anything more to do with you," I replied.

He smiled knowingly. "Then why, my dear boy, are you still here?"

Chapter Twenty-nine.

It was late afternoon when we emerged from the house. Having never been on a barge before, I had to concede it was the preferable way to travel when in London. Though the river surface was peppered with flotsam I didn't care to examine too closely, exuding an acrid aroma that clung to one's clothes, the periodic tides that washed in ensured the Thames remained cleaner than any city street and far more navigable. I was amazed by the speed with which the hired boatman, half drunk as he was, propelled us toward that great stone bridge spanning the river, over which ran the main road from Canterbury and Dover.

The cakelike structure was perched on twenty cramped piers, ornamented with a southern gatehouse and roofed with teetering tenements. As I gazed up, Cecil said, "Some people are born, live, and die on that bridge without ever leaving it. When the tide is full, 'shooting the bridge' can be quite an experience, if you survive it."

The boatman grunted, displaying a toothless grin, and catapulted the barge with nauseating force through one of the bridge's narrow vaulted arches. I gripped the edge of the wood seat, my belly in my throat. Catching a churning swell on the other side, the barge reared up and down like a leaf caught in a maelstrom. I tasted vomit.

I would stick to my horse henceforth.

We entered steady water, sailing toward a breathtaking view of a mirror-still tidal pool, where anch.o.r.ed galleons swayed against the lowering sky. The Tower brooded at the far end, guarding the city approach. Though I couldn't see them, I was certain cannons protected every inch of those river-lapped walls. In the waning sunlight, the Tower's weathered stone was tinted with a rusty hue like blood, confirming its repute as a foreboding place no one should willingly enter.

Cecil said, "You needn't do this in person. There are many ways to deliver a letter."

I stared at the central keep mortared in white, its four turrets tipped with standards. "No. She deserves this much, and you owe it to me."

Cecil sighed. "Ingenious and and headstrong. I hope you understand we can't overstay our welcome. I've no idea what to expect after I relay the queen's orders; regardless, in a few hours, curfew will be upon us and the Tower gates will close. Whoever gets locked inside, stays inside." headstrong. I hope you understand we can't overstay our welcome. I've no idea what to expect after I relay the queen's orders; regardless, in a few hours, curfew will be upon us and the Tower gates will close. Whoever gets locked inside, stays inside."

The barge docked. Cecil stood. "Pull down your cap. Whatever you do, don't speak unless you have to. The less they see and hear of you, the better."

"You'll get no argument from me," I muttered.

We mounted the water steps, turned past an open field to a gatehouse, where an alarming number of guards patrolled the entry into the Tower. I heard the muted roar of lions, lifted my hooded gaze to the edifice rising before me. Crenellated battlements studded with barbicans thrust into the sky, shielding the white keep.

A guard stepped forth. Cecil pushed back his hood to reveal his face. The guard paused. "Sir William?"

"Good day to you, Harry. I trust your wife is doing better." Cecil's voice was as smooth as the tidal pool shimmering below us. I hunched my shoulders, watching the guard from under my cap, which I'd yanked down about my ears. I was glad for once for my slim build and modest height. Dressed in my worn traveling gear, I looked like any other servant accompanying his master.

"She's on the mend," the guard said, with evident relief. "I do thank you for asking. Those herbs your lady wife sent served us in good stead. We are indebted to Lady Mildred and you for your kindness."

I had to smile, despite my mistrust of Cecil and his wiles. Trust him to have sowed a debt where it most mattered by offering medical a.s.sistance to a Tower guard's wife in need.

I heard him say, "Absolutely not. Lady Mildred will be pleased to hear her panaceas worked. She's ever tinkering with her recipes. By the way, Harry, I forgot to collect some papers when I was here yesterday." He motioned to me. I bowed. "This is an apprentice clerk of mine. Would you mind letting us through? We'll only be a moment."

Harry looked discomforted. "I'm afraid I can't, Sir William." He glanced over his shoulder at his companions, who were engrossed in a game of dice. "My lords Pembroke and Arundel gave strict orders to let no one in without their express leave." He moved closer to Cecil in confidence, his voice lowering to a whisper. "A missive from the Lady Mary arrived this morning. My lords left at once for the earl of Pembroke's house. Rumor has it, she's threatened to send the lot to the block if they don't declare for her by tonight."

"Indeed?" said Cecil, as if the news were of no particular account. "Rumors say so many things these days; one hardly knows who or what to believe anymore."

Harry chuckled uneasily. "Aye, it's like a gander of goodwives around here lately. Still, what with all this talk of mutiny at Yarmouth and the duke's army up and deserting him, a man need be careful with what he does, if you understand my drift?"

"I do, most certainly," replied Cecil, and he remained quiet, a subtle smile on his lips, his manner so disconcerting in its tranquility that it prompted Harry to blurt, "Before they left, the lords even ordered Lady Jane and Lord Guilford confined to their apartments for their own safety. Lady Dudley was beside herself. She threatened Lord Arundel with a dire end when her husband returns. My lord wasn't exactly civil in return, if you get my meaning."

He paused, searching Cecil's expression. "Some say his lordship of Northumberland cannot win. I'm not one for gossip, Sir William, but if it's true, I'd appreciate fair warning. I've my own to see to, as you know, and truth be told, I only follow orders. I rightly don't mind who sits the throne as long as I can feed my wife and children."

"Naturally." Cecil set a hand on Harry's arm, a gesture so imbued with understanding for a lackey's circ.u.mstances that Harry visibly started. "I don't think we should be discussing this in the open," Cecil added, and he drew Harry into the gatehouse shadow, where they conversed out of my hearing. I saw him slip Harry one of his ubiquitous pouches.

When Cecil returned, I hissed, "What is he talking about? What missive? The queen entrusted me with her letter, and I gave it to you less than an hour ago."

"It appears yours wasn't the only one she sent." He smiled thinly. "I had to bribe Harry for more information and to let us through, so save your questions for later."

He walked forward briskly, nodding to the other guards, forcing me to hasten after him like the menial I was supposed to be. We pa.s.sed under the iron portcullis, into the outer ward.

Cecil halted, pretending to adjust his sleeve, his valise clutched in one hand. In a hushed tone he said, "Mary has learned a thing or two, after all. She dispatched a duplicate of her orders via another courier, along with the news that she's ama.s.sed thousands to her cause. She prepares to march on London. The more sensible lords on the council have retreated to debate her reception; Suffolk went with them. More telling, his wife the d.u.c.h.ess has departed for their country manor. It seems all those involved save for Lady Dudley have abandoned Jane and Guilford. Both are here, in the same rooms where they were scheduled to await their coronation."

He looked about, drew a quick breath. Again, I was struck by the turns and twists of these past few days, that I must now rely on the very man whom I'd considered my foe only hours ago.

"I believe the council will declare for Mary by this evening at the latest," he said. "As soon as they do, anyone still inside these gates will most likely not leave until she deigns it. Are you certain you still want to proceed? I for one would rather not take the chance. The Tower is no place for an extended stay."

I regarded him. "You sound afraid. I didn't think you capable of it."

"You'd be afraid, as well, if you had an ounce of sense," he retorted. He squared his shoulders, a.s.suming his suave aura of invincibility as if it were a well-worn coat. "Come, then. Let's get this over with."

We strode onward toward the keep.

I barely had time to reflect on the fact that I was in the infamous Tower of London. The murmur of the Thames at the water gates echoed through the inner ward, magnified by the breadth of unrelenting stone walls. Guards, pages, and functionaries rushed to and fro, attending to their business without a smile to be seen among them, adding to the claustrophobic air.

Cecil didn't acknowledge anyone. In his unadorned hooded cloak and flat velvet cap, he could have been any one of the numerous clerks looking for their shifts to end. Indeed, any of said clerks could have been other than what they appeared. I scanned the ward. For a heart-stopping moment I thought I glimpsed a slim figure pause to mark us. When I focused, however, there was no one there.

The hair on the back of my neck p.r.i.c.kled. It couldn't possibly have been Stokes; he'd be with the d.u.c.h.ess on her way to her country manor, seeking to put as much distance between her hapless daughter Jane and herself as she could. I must be more tired than I'd thought. I was letting fatigue get the best of me. And I was beginning to think I must be mad to have insisted on this errand. Impregnable walls closed in around me; under my feet unraveled miles of pits and dungeons, where men suffered the most agonizing of torments. Death on the scaffold was considered a mercy compared to the array of devices inflicted on those imprisoned here, some of which were so horrific many never made it to the scaffold.

Fear rooted in the pit of my stomach. I concentrated on keeping my expression impa.s.sive when we were detained again at the keep's entrance. Once more Cecil parlayed his credentials and astonishing recollection for first names and familial details, not to mention a discreet use of coin, to earn us admittance.

Inside, torches on the walls gurgled flame. The hall we traversed was damp, cold; the sun never penetrated here. We climbed a turnpike staircase to a second floor roofed in timber, where two stern-faced yeomen in uniform, with snub-nosed dags at their belts, stopped us.

"Master Cecil, I regret to say no one is allowed in," a burly fellow informed us, though not without an apologetic note in his voice. Did Cecil know every guard of import in the Tower?

Evidently, for Cecil smiled. "Ah, yes, Tom. I was told the lords had ordered the lady confined for her own protection." He removed Mary's letter to the council from his pocket, the broken seal showing. "However, this man brings news from Lady Mary. I don't think we should interfere with Tudor family business, do you?" His tone was light, almost amiable. "We might soon find ourselves having to explain our own rather insignificant roles in this unfortunate affair, and I for one would prefer to say I did what was right. Besides, he needs only a moment. "

Good guard Tom didn't need to be told twice. Motioning brusquely to the other, he had the door unlocked. I waited for Cecil to move forward. Instead he stepped aside. "I actually do have some papers to fetch," he told me. "You've a few minutes. That is all."

I stepped inside.

Though small, the room was not unpleasant; it looked like any lady's bower, hung with tapestries, fresh rushes strewn on the plank-wood flooring. She sat in a chair positioned at the cas.e.m.e.nt window, which offered a circ.u.mscribed view of the city.

Without looking around Jane Grey said, "I'm not hungry, and I am not going to sign anything, so put whatever you have on the table and go."

"My lady." I bowed low. She stood, her anxiety showing in her quick movement. She wore a fustian gown, her ginger-colored hair loose over her thin shoulders. In the gloom of the chamber, where premature dusk already began to settle, she seemed tiny, a child in adult garb.

Her voice caught in her throat. "I... I know you."

"Yes, my lady. I am Squire Prescott. We met at Whitehall. I am honored you remember."

"Whitehall," she repeated, and I saw her shudder. "That horrible place..."

I wanted to take her in my arms and hold her close. She looked as if she hadn't known an hour of peace in years, as if nothing except tragedy would ever touch her again.

"I've little time," I told her, and I took a step closer. "I've come to tell you not to despair." I removed Mary's second letter from within my cloak. "Her Majesty sends you this."

She recoiled, as if she'd been struck. "Her Majesty? Is it over, then?"

"It will be soon. By tonight, the council must declare for her; they can do nothing else. The duke's army has deserted him. It is a matter of time before he surrenders or is captured."

She gnawed at her lip, glancing at the letter in my hand. "G.o.d knows in His Wisdom, I never desired this," she said. "The duke and his wife, my parents and the council... they forced this on me. They made me marry Guilford and do their bidding. Thus shall I tell Mary, if she ever finds it in her heart to forgive me."

"She already has. Her Majesty knows how grievously you've been used."

Her voice was as firm as the hand she held up. "Pray, do not seek to lighten my burden. I've committed treason. There is no other remedy than to suffer the punishment. I will not shirk my duty, not even for my life."

I felt tears perilously close. I extended the letter to her. "Her Majesty won't let you suffer anything. As soon as she's seen to the true culprits in this affair, she will release you. You will go home, my lady, back to your studies and your books."

"My books..." Her voice caught, and I couldn't resist anymore. I strode to her, engulfed her in my arms. She sagged against my chest. Though she didn't utter a sound, I felt her weep.

Ebbing light slanted through the window. In that moment, I wanted to tell her everything I had discovered, so that she would know she was not alone, so that she would always find in me an uncle who cared for her.

But the words stuck in my throat. I could never tell her the truth; it was too dangerous. It would only darken the terrible burden she already carried. Though I might one day come to understand why the Dudleys had done what they had, I knew in that instant that I would never forgive them for the devastation they had wrought on this fifteen-year-old girl.

She drew back. She was composed, the wetness on her cheeks fading as she took the crushed letter from me and slipped it into her gown pocket. "I'll read it later," she said, and she was about to say something else when she was interrupted by the sudden disquieting toll of bells.

"You must leave," she said. "You cannot be found here. It wouldn't bode well for you."

"My lady," I said to her, "if you ever find need of me you have only to send word."

She smiled. "Not even you can save me from the path G.o.d has ordained."

I bowed again, went to the door. I glanced over my shoulder. She had returned to her vigil at the window, twilight gathering itself about her.

Cecil rose from a stool in the pa.s.sage. Thanking Tom, who locked the door once more, he took me by the arm. "I was about to come in after you. Did you hear the bells? We must leave at once. In an hour at most, the gates shall close in Mary's name. This will be her prison."

I shook his hand away. "G.o.d speed, then. I still have unfinished business."

He stared at me. "No. I know what you're thinking, and it is madness. She is not a prisoner. She's free to move about, tell anyone she pleases that you are alive and well."

"She won't. She's too busy trying to save her precious son. Besides, there was never any proof. Alice is dead. I'm no longer a threat, if indeed I ever was."

"Be that as it may," he said, and for the first time since we'd met I sensed genuine concern in his voice. "Would you put your life in her hands? Think before you do this. I will not be held responsible for whatever may befall you."

"I never expected you to. I've asked Peregrine to wait for me in the fields outside the city with our horses. If I'm not there by nightfall, he's to go to Hatfield. You can meet him and ride off to be with your family. But I must stay. She has something I need."

Cecil's jaw tensed under his beard. He stood silent for a long moment before he drew his cloak about him and tightened his hold on his valise. "May you find what you seek," he said tersely, and he went down the staircase without a backward glance.

I resisted the claw of fear in my belly. Turning to meet the guards' curious stares, I said, "If one of you might indicate the way to Lord Guilford's room...?"