“See to it!” Cromwell barked, the words so loud that Gwynnie heard them this time. He marched away, leaving Tombstone staring after him. Gwynnie walked back toward Tombstone, moving so quietly that when he noticed she was there, he jumped.
“You creep around like a mouse.”
“There’s something you need to know,” she began. She couldn’t waste any more time. She had to tell him before Renard noticed that the jewels had been planted on his person.
“What is it?” Tombstone asked.
“It is him.” She pointed through the crowd, pretending not to know his name. “The man with the French accent.”
“Renard?”
She shrugged, as if she could not be certain of the name. “I saw him this morning as he walked here. He was looking at some jewels in his hand, then he stuffed them into some linen and put them in a pocket in his cloak.”
Tombstone stared at her.
The roar of the crowd grew louder, suggesting that King Henry and his opponent were about to clash.
“They could be his own jewels,” Tombstone said.
“Is he a wealthy man?” Gwynnie asked, wrinkling her nose with suspicion. “I thought he was lower gentry in Fitzroy’s service. Those jewels … they were expensive indeed.”
Tombstone didn’t need telling again. He marched away from her, pushing his way through the crowd in order to reach Renard.
Gwynnie stood on the bench, the extra height allowing her to see what was going on.
“Get down, girl!” someone behind her shouted.
“This is no place for a maid!”
She ignored their cries, watching as Tombstone closed in on Renard’s position.
King Henry and the knight clashed. Yet at the last minute the knight lifted his lance, allowing Henry’s lance to strike his shoulder, knocking him cleanly off his horse. He rolled across the ground as the crowd cheered so loudly that Gwynnie covered her ears.
As King Henry thrust his lance into the air in celebration, the horse beneath him suddenly bucked.
The clamour of the crowd faded as the horse bucked again. The king dropped his lance as the horse grew wild, rearing furiously.
Tombstone had nearly reached Renard. As everyone watched the king and his horse, Tombstone’s hand nearly had hold of Renard’s shoulder.
With an almighty clatter of metal, Henry fell to the ground, dirt and dust clouding the air. The horse raised itself up on its back hooves, kicking the air and whinnying loudly before tipping backwards and falling upon the prone king.
The crowd gasped. Then a woman’s scream pierced the air. Queen Anne clutched the edge of the royal box, her two ladies trying to pull her back as shouts rang out.
“Get to the king!”
“He’s not conscious. We need a physician. Now!”
Gwynnie glimpsed blood on the ground as the horse rolled over King Henry and tried to scramble to its hooves.
In the chaos, she had lost sight of Tombstone. She searched the crowd for him, spotting him just in time to see his hand about to clasp Renard’s shoulder, before the throng pushed forward, trying to get a proper look at what was going on. Tombstone and Renard were separated, Renard none the wiser.
“No,” Gwynnie whispered, as people jumped onto the bench where she stood, trying to see over others’ heads.
In the crush Gwynnie was pushed off the bench and fell to the ground.
“The queen!” someone cried.
Gwynnie moved to her knees and saw that the queen was no longer on her feet. She was lying on the ground with her ladies standing over her.
CHAPTER 15
“You’re needed.” An elderly maid thrust a pile of heavy sheets into Gwynnie’s hands, a bundle so high that Gwynnie had to poke her nose over the bergamot-scented sheets to see over it. “Go to Queen Anne’s chamber.”
“The queen’s chambers?” Gwynnie repeated in surprise.
She was a maid, yes, but her work had principally been washing sheets in the laundry, sweeping out the ashes from the fireplaces and laying the wood for later, and running errands. She was not one of the finer maids that worked in the ladies’ chambers, and she certainly was not Queen Anne’s maid.
“Now!” the elder woman ordered, clicking her fingers at Gwynnie. “We have no time for questions.”
Gwynnie kept her head down as she walked out of the laundry room and across the courtyard, tempted to talk back, though it would do her little good.
Gentlemen and ladies were still gathered in the courtyard, talking earnestly of what they had seen at the joust. Some ladies had wrapped their fur cloaks around their mouths as they tried to hide their whispers.
“Did you see?” one lady whispered as Gwynnie walked past. “It was Jane Seymour. The king took her favour before the joust.”
“I am surprised Queen Anne did not collapse at that very moment,” another lady said, tilting her chin high and looking down her long nose. “The audaciousness, to offer up her favour in that manner.”
“Did she offer it, though?” another lady asked. “Or did he rather demand it?”
