Game Of Seduction

Chapter 13

When Sir Francis meets them at the quayside, they are having their goods unloaded into the cart.

"Gentlemen, so glad that you could join me so swiftly. I have great need of you all."

"Sir-" They all salute their boss smartly.

Sir Francis is a familiar figure with his dark fox-like face and shrewd demeanour. A clever man, a ruthless man, who saw their individual talent, groomed and exploited them until they were perfect instruments for England's defence. To a man they all love and respect him as their leader, even more so because he is happy to work with them in the field when necessary.

'Sir Brad.' He shakes his hand. 'Lord Hasser. I don't think I've met you before.' He says, his sharp dark eyes meeting Trombley.

'Harold James Trombley.' Brad introduces the new guy. 'He's a new addition to the group. Lord Burghley and I are training him to become a full member of the group. This is his first big assignment.'

Sir Francis catches the eye roll shared by Ray and Walt. Obviously they do not share Brad's favourable opinion of the new recruit. He manages to be polite as he extends his hand.

'Quite a first assignment. Welcome, Mr Trombley.'

Trombley stares at the great Lord Walsingham with a deceptively guileless youthful face. Brad imagines he might be a little star struck, though he'd never admit that in public. Ray would tear him to shreds for the next couple of years.

'You will be staying at Sir Henry Norreys's house at first before we present you all at court. We have a lot to do before you get to that stage. I'll brief you later in the day once we arrive at the house. I imagine you all want food and a good night's sleep.'

'You'll tell us more about the case then?'

"I'll try to. It seems this case is a great deal more complicated than it at first appears. You'll be pleased to find out I will be on assignment with you all. You will all join me at court for now-"

This was unusual. Sir Francis usually left them to work independently, trusting them with a great deal of autonomy. The group sneak careful looks at each other.

"At Court?" Ray asks. This was quite a lot different from their usual modus operandi, usually relying on stealth and subterfuge .

"Yes." Sir Francis replies. "Rest assured, Person all will be explained once we arrive at base."

When they get back to the house on the Rue de Roi de Sicile, they meet Sir Francis's new wife Ursula , a imposing woman dressed in black wool with a big starched ruff emblazoned with discreet blackwork round her neck. Her greying dark hair is pulled back severely underneath a white starched coif.

"Well she looks like a bindle of laughs!-" mutters Ray under his breath to Walt, gaining a sharp elbow to the side for his troubles.

'This is the group?' she says, a disapproving tone to her voice. She looks them up and down, plainly thinking they all are no better than they should be.

'Yes, dear wife.' Sir Francis says pleasantly, ignoring her mild censure. 'They will be staying with us until further notice, so try to make them feel welcome.'

*

"Sir Henry Norreys and Lord Stephen Ferrando, at your service." Meeting the elder statesman, Brad notes he looks harassed. There are deep lines on his face and more grey hairs than he remembers. France must have really taken it out of Lord Norreys. By contrast, Lord Ferrando actually looks younger and more revitalised than when he last saw him. He's a distinguished figure of a man with his silvering hair and very penetrating blue eyes. He and Sir Francis are quite a team, both as driven and ruthless as the other.

'Sir Henry will be joining the briefing later. He has been the diplomat here for some time and has been an invaluable source of information as he hands over his duties to me.' He says in that distinctive raspy tone of his.

'Well, I wish you better luck of it, Sir Francis than I have had. These people would drive a saint to drink!' Norreys declares. 'Frankly, I count myself well shot of the place.'

"We're going to have to observe the suspects at close range. Get to know their feuds and intrigues intimately. Extract confidences and confessions. We need to gather information and judge the severity of the threat posed by the de Guise clan. They can't be doing this alone. Our job is to see just how far the rabbithole goes."

The team grasp what he for the moment leaves unsaid. Does the conspiracy go further than we thought? Right to the top?

He rolls out a scroll of parchment onto the table. "Gather round, gents." The team examine the scroll.

"This is a family tree of the de Guise family. Just as a start, so you can all get to understand the family ties that bind this court and who we may be able to trust or not. This is our first weapon in the investigation."

"Very detailed, Sir." Brad traces the lines on the parchment, starting to get a feel for the family ties that dominate the French court.

"They are one of the richest and most powerful families in France. By a combination of clever intermarriage and inheritance they control vast tracts of land. Their scions hold positions of authority within the army and the church, even at court. Until not so long ago here we would be paying our court to them rather than the royal family, the Valois. If we are investigating their involvement in a plot against our queen, we will have to use all our skill and tact."

'Lord Ferrando?'

'It's been a troublesome time, I'll admit it. 'Things haven't been easy. But Ferrando doesn't give up at the first difficulty and neither will his men. Will they ?"

"No, Sir!" the men say in chorus.

"Why does he always talk about himself in the third person? Does he know how odd it sounds?" whispers Ray. Walt nudges him hard in the ribs to shut him up before Ferrando notices.

'I'm expecting Monsieur de Nançay here in a couple of minutes, so I'll have to introduce you.' Ferrando remarks. "A most useful connection to have at court, I assure you. There's no one who knows the inner workings of the royal palaces better. After all, 'tis his job to guard them."

Sir Francis is interested at once. 'The Captain of the Swiss Guard?'

'Yes, a rum fellow, but useful in his way." Godfather tells them, running through his commentary at a brisk rate. "He's like most of them, highly biased against Huguenots of any type so try not to take any cracks of his to heart. You'll find sirs, that public opinion is strongly Catholic here. The prospect of Henri bringing his entourage here, as he is perfectly entitled to do as a King of Navarre is setting off a veritable powder-keg of feeling in the city.'

Brad nods understanding what Ferrando is telling him at once. Religious tolerance is causing all sorts of social pressures within the city. They need to remember this during their investigation into de Guise's doings.

*

Nançay is a rather dashing man, younger than Brad and Walt expected with long dark blond hair and very blue eyes which suit his very Teutonic features. His doublet and breeches are of the very latest Italian cut, the very height of fashion. Only a highly polished gorget and an epeé at his belt shows him for a soldier. He looks them up and down with all the practiced hauteur of a courtier, nose wrinkling in disdain.

'I find I have need of an entourage, to help me get through my workload. This is Lord Brad Colbert, Lord Walter Hasser, Master Ray Person and Master Harold James Trombley. My entourage newly arrived from England.' Sir Francis says, a hint of a playful smile threatening to come through. Brad fancies that his boss likes to mess with Monsieur de Nançay for sheer amusement. It wouldn't remotely surprise him.

'Yet more Protestants flooding into the city, clogging up the Faubourg de St Germain. Well, this will be an interesting state of affairs.'

'Do you have a problem with our faith?' enquires Brad, polite as ever. He's deliberately ignoring Sir Henry Norreys's futile attempts to shut him up.

'I don't have a problem with your beliefs.' Nançay replies with a scornful curl of his lips. 'You will have to account to heaven for your heresies. I am concerned with civil unrest in my city.'

'We will not bother anyone if you will not bother us. We are reasonable men. But if we are insulted, we will respond in kind.'

"And what is that meant to mean?"

Brad holds the other man's gaze. "Exactly what I said."

"If I thought you were that foolish, I would consider what you just said as a threat."

Brad doesn't have patience for this preening i***t. "You may consider it how you like, sir. You will have to account to heaven for your stupidity, won't you?"

Brad draws off his gauntlet and throws it down in front of Nançay. "Pick it up, sir."

Ursula cannot believe Brad is challenging Nançay to a duel when he has only been in the country for a couple of hours.

'Lord Colbert! Sir Francis, aren't you going to do something?'

'About what?' he says to his wife, politely.

'Lord Colbert just challenged Monsieur de Nançay to a duel!'

Sir Francis shrugs, barely paying attention to his wife.

'Aren't you going to try and stop them, husband?'

'No.' he says, blunt as ever. 'Why should I?'

'Francis!'

"The French have to learn respect for my men. I wouldn't feel bad for Sir Brad; he's perfectly capable of defending himself. If I was a gambling man, which I'm not-" he adds, at a sharp glance from her. "-I would feel sorry for Nançay. He obviously has no idea what is about to happen, or he wouldn't have been so hasty to challenge him to a duel."

Brad draws his sword and takes the requisite amount of paces. He's stripped down to his shirt and jerkin.

"These are the rules of engagement. Three bouts, five minutes each. First to draw blood from their opponent wins the round. Any illegal moves and you forfeit the match. Are we agreed, Gentlemen?" Godfather says.

"Agreed." says Brad with a sharp businesslike nod. He's observing the way his opponent moves, looking for trends, for weakness in his technique. He's fairly confident in his own fighting style: his trainer puts the team through their paces on a regular basis. Signor Reyes is worth his weight in gold. If Sir Francis and Godfather didn't object, he'd like to get him shipped out here, keep the team on their toes.

Brad has the advantage of a longer reach and long legs, but Nançay is by no means a pushover. He's a scrappy fighter, always pushing the boundaries of acceptable conduct in his effort to win the bout. He's obviously been trained by a Florentine and quite well too. But there are distinct gaps in his fighting technique under pressure which Signor Reyes's tutelage has taught him to exploit, and Brad's going to take full advantage of it.

Brad knocks the epeé from Nançay's hand. It clatters to the ground. Brad puts his foot on the blade, threatening to snap it. He briefly considers it, but decides against it. After all, he's won the match. No need to be obnoxious about it. He's perfectly capable of being magnanimous.

"Do you submit, Sir?" he asks with an exaggerated politeness which could so easily come across as insolence.

Nançay's eyes gleamed with anger. His pride has been severely bruised by Brad's victory. He manages to lay two or three good punches before Brad seizes him and bends his arm right back

"Do you submit now, or do I have to break your arm to make my point? Do not force the issue as I'm losing all patience." Though his voice is quiet and measured there's no doubt that Brad will do as he says.

Nançay is silent, obviously reluctant to cede the match. Brad merely puts a shade more pressure on the limb.

"I submit." Nançay grits out. "Damn your hide!"

"Good. There is some intelligence there deep down."

"There's no need to needle him, Colbert." Sir Francis says with an indulgently reproving smile. "You've proved your point."