Page 22 of Twin Flames
‘I don’t know, Your Grace. By nightfall, I imagine. Is there anything I can do? Should I prepare a tisane? You are fraught; it’s not good for your nerves.’
‘Before the king left, he was like a bull with a sore head.’ The queen sank onto the window seat beside Cara and lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘I’m beginning to fear for my life and for the safety of my household. Do I imagine the plotting and the intrigue? It’s as if I’m in a living hell. I swear I must be in Dante’s Inferno. The king has become impossible to live with since his accident. I can barely look at him without him losing his temper. He is simply irascible.’
Cara had to think quickly. She had sworn to be a loyal confidante to the queen, and she too feared for their positions at court; for their lives. She was also aware that one wrong word overheard by a vengeful pair of ears was as good as signing her own death warrant and that of her family.
‘Is your dear husband accompanying the king on this trip? Please do tell me what you’ve heard. I don’t trust Cromwell: he seeks to stir up only trouble between us. He serves his own interests purely,’ continued Anne.
‘I will enquire for you tomorrow, Your Grace, replied Cara. I haven’t heard anything of import. You know how the servants hesitate to tell us anything which may cast them in a poor light. I’ve received only a short note from George assuring me he is well and asking after my health and that of the children.’
The queen questioned her no further, and Cara was thankful she’d managed to buy herself a little time to think things through. She would try and have a private word with George upon his return so they could decide on the best course of action. He was a master in matters of diplomacy. He would know what to do.
Anne and Henry’s court which had once been renowned around the world as a sensuous delight of feasting and merriment was now as poisonous as a viper’s nest.Cara focused on her handiwork, but she was overcome with a dreadful sense of foreboding. The future had never looked so dark. As she sewed, she silently prayed George would return soon with King Henry at his side, in good spirits, and they would all be restored to their former state of contentment.
London, 1536
Cara, George and Swifty ran as fast as they could once they exited Newgate Street. They darted in and out of narrow alleys in an attempt to put as much distance between them and the prison as possible. After about ten minutes, Cara could barely breathe, and she glanced at George to see whether they might rest a moment. He had slowed down, and his steps faltered.
‘George, are you quite well?’ She turned back and retraced her path. She noticed bright red blood pooling on his hand and spilling through his fingers as he clutched at his neck. The blooddripped onto his shirt. ‘Oh, my God. You are wounded. Why didn’t you say?’
‘It’s nothing; just a surface graze from one of those damned arrows, although these wounds do bleed like the devil. We must get away from here fast; there’s no time for dawdling.’
‘But darling, your neck: it looks bad. Let me see.’
Cara touched George’s shoulder as she waited for him to lower his head for her to examine the wound. It was a bloody mess, but the gash was small.
‘I think you’re right. Let’s hope it’s only a flesh wound. Thank God. Swifty we need water to cleanse Lord Cavendish’s neck, or we’ll be in trouble. I fear it will become infected.’
The lad looked at her with a puzzled expression. ‘Infected?’
Cara clicked her tongue, impatient as she realised she might as well be speaking Chinese.
People drank ale. The water in the Thames was putrid and you’d be liable to get very sick if you drank it.
‘What does your mother do when you or your brother cut yourself?’
‘She wipes the blood away with a cloth and then wraps it around the wound to stop the bleeding,’ said Swifty.
‘So, she wouldn’t try to clean it?’
Swifty moved his head to one side as if seriously considering this proposition. ‘No, she don’t do no cleaning,’ he said.
If Cara wasn’t so worried about George’s condition, she’d have laughed at Swifty’s befuddled expression. She tore a piece of fabric from the lining of her long skirt. Tying it up had been a good move. The material was clean and dry. This would have to do for a bandage. She had no clean water or ale.
‘Let me tie this around your neck to stem the blood flow. It looks like quite a gash, but I think if we can just stop the flow, it will soon congeal and you should be fine. We can tend to it better when we stop for the night.’
George obediently knelt down on the dusty ground, bowed his head, and she secured the cloth around his wound with a tidy knot. Girl guiding came in handy in Tudor England.
‘You look pale. We’d better try and get some ale and bread to restore your blood sugars. We won’t get far if you’re weak.’
‘Blood sugars? You do come out with some strange things lately.’
‘I’ve been reading some new books from the continent,’ she said. ‘They are way ahead of us in medicine, you know.’
‘I see.’
‘Well, I don’t know about blood sugars, but we have miles to go along the Great North Road. We’re almost at Smithfield now, and from there we can join the road. If we get lucky, we’ll be able to ride with someone, or failing that we’ll need a couple of horses.’
‘We must disguise ourselves,’ said Cara. ‘We have a good few hours yet to get a head start but once they summon us for the trial and realise we’re gone, no doubt they’ll begin searching for us. That’s if the guard didn’t realise we were escaped prisoners and already sound the alarm.’
