Part 25 (1/2)

'Halt!' he barked hoa.r.s.ely. 'What do you want?'

Polly put on her sweetest smile. 'It's only the King's food,' she said simply. 'We can't have him starving, now, can we?'

The guard kept his pike in place. 'Where's Margaret?'

Polly was prepared. 'Oh, she's taken on bad, she has.'

The other guard stepped forward. 'Oh, no,' he said with genuine concern. 'Poor Peg? What ails her?'

Polly let out a fearful moan. 'An ague, it is. s.h.i.+vering like all the snows of the north had settled on her bed.'

She smiled inwardly, rather pleased with the simile. The guard's pike drooped in response. 'I'd not heard,' he said in a low whisper.

His companion let out a cruel little laugh. 'Why, Sam. And you meant to be engaged to the girl!'

Polly felt a little lurch in her stomach, immediately regretting the elaborate nature of Margaret's feigned illness.

'Oh, no. Don't take on so. She'll be fine, I'm sure. She's gone to her bed and will see no one. I shouldn't take it personally.'

The guard called Sam lifted up his visor and his face was full of anxious concern. 'Do you really think so?'

Polly nodded confidently. 'You know what's she's like.

She wouldn't want the man she loves to see her in such a state.'

The other guard laughed raucously. 'Aye, that's true enough, Sam. Your Peg'll not be seen without a dollop of rouge and powder all over her pretty face.'

They seemed satisfied and Polly made to move towards the door, but the first guard didn't move. He lowered his pike but s.h.i.+fted his armoured bulk a few inches to block her path.

'So, no Margaret but a new young la.s.s instead, eh?' Polly nodded demurely. 'And who might you be?' asked the guard, lifting his own visor. His gaze travelled rapidly and appreciatively over Polly's figure.

'I'm Master Spufford's niece. Polly.'

The guard grinned. 'Why, who'd've thought the dry old sticks in Spufford's brood would have juice in their loins enough to sire a kiddie? Never mind such a bonny one as this.'

He reached out with his gloved hand and gently caressed Polly's cheek. She stopped herself from brus.h.i.+ng him away and fluttered her eyelashes instead. Lord, the things she did for the Doctor!

'What's your name?' she asked flirtatiously.

The guard shot a quick look at his friend Sam and smiled.

'Daniel, lady. Daniel Ancrom.'

Polly c.o.c.ked her head. 'Well, Daniel Ancrom, you just let me take this lot to His High and Mightiness in there and then, mayhaps, I'll come out and see you again.'

Ancrom licked his heavy lips and grinned boyishly. Polly moved past him but Sam flattened his hand against the door.

'You're sure my Peg is all right?'

Polly felt bad about deceiving him but she knew she had to get on with this if she was to rescue the Doctor and get away.

'It's nothing, Sam. Honestly. Now let me take this in before the King dies of thirst.'

Daniel Ancrom grimaced sourly. 'Let him, I say. 'Twould save us the trouble of a trial.'

He and his colleague laughed heartlessly. Then, as Polly had hoped, he grabbed the jug of wine and raised it to his mouth. 'I'll have some of this before he does.'

He gave a throaty chuckle and narrowed his eyes as he looked at Polly. ''Twill be something to tell our children, eh, Polly? That their father supped the late King's wine?'

Sam found this very amusing and slapped his armoured side. Ancrom took a hefty swig from the jug and offered it to his friend. To Polly's chagrin, Sam refused. 'Better to spit in it, I say.'

Ancrom shook his head. 'Nay, Sam. Better to drink it and then spit in it.'

They broke into a renewed gale of laughter. Polly sighed.

She couldn't take much more of this bonhomie.

Sam drank deeply of the wine and then spat back into it.

He handed the jug back to Ancrom, who added his own gobbet of saliva before plonking the jug back on to the tray.

He bowed to Polly and opened one of the doors. 'Now, Mistress Polly, just you hurry up in there with Master Charles ruddy Stuart and get your sweet little rump back out here, double quick.'

As Polly swept past him, he patted her on the backside.

She dashed quickly through the doors, which at once closed behind her.

The chamber beyond was plunged in a warm, chocolate darkness, the orange glow of the fire which dominated the room throwing s.h.i.+mmering abstract shapes over the heavily tapestried walls.

Polly caught glimpses of familiar faces sewn into the threads. One showed King Henry Eighth astride a horse that seemed almost as ma.s.sive as himself. Another, the delicate features of Henry's only son, the boy king, Edward Sixth. Yet another, the chalky, imperious features of Queen Elizabeth.

These were all figures familiar to Polly from countless school lessons, their lives and loves doc.u.mented in dry detail on far-off dusty afternoons.

Another figure from those days suddenly stepped into the glow emanating from the fire. He was small and slight, his grave face and neat beard almost lost in shadow.

King Charles moved towards Polly and spoke in his stammering Scots burr. 'Is it t-time?'

Thurloe chose his own chambers for the appointment. It was important that he feel at ease and in control and there was nowhere that produced such an effect better than his own rooms.

He had always liked the place the cool tiled floor, the grandiose fireplace, the high ceilings and richly patterned drapes. In the summer it was quite the most temperate and equable place in Parliament and many an important measure had been agreed within its four walls by some sweating member or other.

Thurloe sat by the fire, gazing up at the huge painting that hung above the mantel. It depicted a scene from cla.s.sical times: the murder of Julius Caesar. Thurloe's gaze flickered over the two-dimensional forms of the conspirators, daggers raised. In the foreground stood Brutus, his blade coated with his Emperor's blood. Next to him was Caesar himself, in his death throes, a look of astonishment on his face.