Denoriel spent a really busy two weeks gathering up the materials he had promised to Magus Gilfaethwy. Surprisingly the least expensive and most satisfying to obtain was the grimoire. Denoriel had guessed why the mindless and dead assassins had been deposited on the steps of that particular house. When the king's men had taken away the fool that dwelled there for questioning, he had entered it, smelled out the secret room in which the magician worked, found the grimoire, and took it. If the theft crippled the magician, it was, he thought, an entirely appropriate punishment for the attack on Harry.
The wool was, of course, no problem. He purchased two fleeces from a Yorkshire wool merchant, thinking that Gilfaethwy might want the wool in its most raw form, as well as a bale of sheared wool, and several skeins of yarn, both dyed and in the natural state.
The blood was the most difficult because of needing a reasonable explanation for the chirurgeon. He had no trouble finding the man, simply presented himself at his own house in London in disguise. He called himself Master Christopher Atwood, and said he was a wine merchant. He wore decent merchant's dress, was dark-haired, dark-eyed, and asked to speak to the business manager he had employed on George Boleyn's recommendation. When he was admitted by the Low Court servants—who recognized him but who were silenced by a gesture—he asked the manager for the name of George's doctor. His own had died, he explained, and he liked to be bled regularly.
The chirurgeon had his doubts when Denoriel asked him to save the blood. He very nearly refused when Denoriel gave him three bottles, although he did not know, of course, that they were bespelled to keep anything within in stasis. However, a heavy purse of gold and an assurance that Denoriel did not want to know the names nor care from whom the blood came soothed the doubts away.
He Gated back to Avalon and delivered his prizes, then took a day to cover on Miralys the distance the cortege had traveled in a month so he could set Gilfaethwy's devices for creating Gates. One he placed under the stair that led into his own apartment in FitzRoy's tower; the other he set in a tiny glade, shielded by a particularly dense patch of woods. The spot was well away from the road but near a trail used by huntsmen that led to Sheriff Hutton. He spent that night masked by the Don't-see-me spell anxiously checking Harry, the nurse, and the four guards and then roaming the castle smelling for magic. He found nothing and the air spirit assured him that it had sensed neither Sidhe nor demon.
By the time he had seemed to travel among the wool merchants and go out to examine the flocks themselves, which were regrowing their fleece, the Gates were in place. Denoriel tested them both and both delivered him to or from Avalon or Logres, from which points he could Gate to London or to Windsor, and to the stair under FitzRoy's tower or the glade in the forest. There was something odd about the transit, a kind of roughness, perhaps a heartbeat longer of disorientation, but Denoriel accepted that as a difference in the kind of magic Treowth and Gilfaethwy used. He was so glad to be able to Gate from one of his responsibilities to another, that he had no inclination to question the means.
He returned to Sheriff Hutton openly, followed by his three servants and the pack mules now loaded with samples of wool of all kinds. Sir Christopher was glad to see him. FitzRoy, now thoroughly familiar with the castle, had nearly given him and everyone else a fit by playing hide and seek. He had tried to explain why such an action was dangerous, Sir Christopher said, but the boy was only a bit over six and he thought Lord Denno's remonstrance added to his own might have more effect.
Denoriel promised fervently to do his best to check that kind of mischief and rushed off to see Harry. He was intact, truly Harry, wearing his iron cross, and the air spirit, also intact, swore he had been with the boy and no magic had come near him. FitzRoy was a little resentful of having his amusement curtailed, but when Denoriel reminded him of the attempt to abduct him, he sighed and said he wouldn't do it again.
In compensation, Denoriel got permission for the boy to go into the outer bailey, accompanied by his guards—now all wearing "holy medals of St. Ursula," which would protect them from any chance of bedazzlement. Just before he left to return to London, Denoriel found the remains of the twelfth-century keep. There was a stair down into a cellar, which was in very good condition and still held some dented pewter cups, some wooden platters, a broken knife, warped barrels, and beyond a crumbling door a smaller chamber that was furnished with manacles, chains, what might once have been whips, and the knotted cords that were twisted around a victim's head to crush his skull by degrees. An unsettling discovery, which reminded him that the Unseleighe were not alone in their ability to invent horrors.
Denoriel Gated two Sidhe who specialized in structure into the castle one night so they could put the strongest spells of support on the old donjon. It would hold up, they assured him, for another hundred years without shifting a single pebble. Then he told Sir Christopher, who promised to allow FitzRoy to investigate with suitable attendants.
He then left, to bring his wool to London, promising Harry he would come to visit in the autumn when he would need to check up on the flocks whose wool he had preordered. He kept his word, found some fault in the treatment of the sheep, and lingered for nearly a month—or seemed to linger. It was no problem for him to Gate to London after FitzRoy was abed and spend a convivial evening, drinking, gambling, and whoring with George Boleyn and his friends.
This was necessary as the turn of political events might have been the reason why no further attempt had been made on Harry. A peace treaty had been signed between France and England on thirtieth August. Since Francis, the king of France, was still a prisoner in Emperor Charles's hands and King Henry was still hoping to convince the emperor to join him in dismembering France, the treaty was not regarded too seriously. However, the emperor persisted in refusing to join Henry in the rape of France, and the king grew more and more resentful and estranged from Imperial purposes. It did not help that he grew more and more estranged from his queen, Catherine, at the same time.
Eventually Denoriel returned to London, but after a period of good weather in December when he might have ridden north, he Gated to the woods outside Sheriff Hutton. There was snow in Yorkshire and when Sir Edward Seymour, the commissioner now in charge of FitzRoy, marveled at his hardiness, he laughed and said the weather was very mild compared to the mountains of his home. However, when it snowed again, it was a good excuse to stay for a while and celebrate Christmas with Harry.
Denoriel was back in London when the news came that Emperor Charles had liberated Francis in January 1526. The terms of the treaty trickled back to England and were so severe that no one believed Francis had any intention of fulfilling the provisions. By early spring new French overtures were being made to England; Francis, a widower, offered himself as a husband for Princess Mary.
Resentful as he was of the Emperor's rejection of his daughter and refusal to cooperate with him, Henry seemed about to get the French territory he wanted through marriage rather than war. Wolsey, however, was sidetracked into making a league against Charles with a number of Italian states.
Denoriel was in Yorkshire again in May, ostensibly to examine and collect the sheared wool for which he had contracted, but really to celebrate Harry's seventh birthday on the seventh of June. Any dealing with the Italian city-states was slow and complicated and there had been no FarSeeing that indicated the league was of any great importance. Denoriel stayed for a month and a half. To mark his birthday, Harry, who was growing noticeably, was given permission to ride out into the area around Sheriff Hutton. He was a very good horseman, and no one was at all concerned about his ability to control his pony.
FitzRoy would be accompanied, of course, by his own two day guards and eight others, but leaving Sheriff Hutton seemed to Denoriel to make Harry very vulnerable. He found reasons and excuses to linger in Yorkshire for several more weeks and warned the air spirit to accompany the boy whenever he was out of the keep. Even after he had officially departed, Denoriel Gated back to Sheriff Hutton every few days to watch secretly for any sign of Unseleighe magic.
However, the Unseleighe Court had more to worry about than a bastard prince whose father seemed to have put aside his intention of making him heir. Fortunately for Denoriel's peace of mind, Wolsey's negotiations with the Italian states were progressing very well and the League was actually formed—but then Wolsey would not commit England to any real participation. He even drew back somewhat from the marriage proposal, having it worded so that one of Francis's sons, now hostage to Emperor Charles in Francis's place, would be accepted as a substitute for the French king. Marrying Princess Mary to Francis's son would be a much weaker tie than if she were the king's own wife.
Denoriel suspected Pasgen's fine hand in Wolsey's wavering, but so long as no Imperial prince was put forward for Mary's hand—and in truth, there was no Imperial prince—Denoriel was satisfied. A new Imperial ambassador arrived in England in December 1526, but he had been arrested in France and detained for six months. His orders were long out of date and he could not prevent King Henry's gradual leaning toward France. Pasgen, and presumably Rhoslyn, too, were probably busy trying to prevent a fatal breach between King Henry and the Emperor and for the moment, Harry was safe from them.
Meanwhile Aleneil was spending much more time than she previously had in the mortal world. She had moved from being simply Lady Rochefort's friend to a wider acquaintance among the wives and daughters of Henry VIII's courtiers. She was still a welcome guest in the Boleyn household, however, and was doing everything she could to divert Unseleighe attention from the fact that King Henry's affections did seem to be fixing on George Boleyn's younger sister.
Mistress Mary Carey was completely out of favor and had retired to her husband's estates in the country. Anne herself had not yet seemed to realize that Henry was interested in more than light dalliance and flirted with him throughout 1526 in the same witty, lighthearted manner in which she flirted with Wyatt and young Percy.
Aleneil was concerned. Her Seeing had hinted that this woman might be the mother of the red-haired babe, but that would not do at all. The red-haired child must have an undisputed claim to the throne. Another bastard, even if it was male, would not be a candidate for the throne. For a time Aleneil was afraid to do anything. To touch Anne, she thought, would leave a mark of magic on her that any Sidhe could read. She carried her troubles to her sister FarSeers, and was given an answer.
Anne, if she married the king, would indeed be the mother of the red-haired child they all awaited, but no one could See how that could come about because the king was already married and notably fickle. The only hope for marriage was for Anne to stay pure. As for helping her keep that resolution—did not Anne already have Talent? Did she not use it, if unconsciously, to draw men to her? Would that not hide the barest touch of magic influence?
Aleneil had burst out laughing when those questions were asked. Even if Rhoslyn did notice Henry's interest and examine Anne, Rhoslyn would far more likely attribute Anne's resolve to remain virgin until married to priestly influence than Seleighe magic. Quite a few of the good and great priests were unconscious magic wielders and some of the prayers they used worked quite well as spells.
Certainly Anne's resolution held firm all through 1527, and the more she resisted her royal suitor, the more fixed he became on having her. Both Rhoslyn and Pasgen were now aware of Henry's passion for the girl but found that they could do almost nothing. Rhoslyn could not reach the king at all, and Pasgen, who could reach him through Wolsey, found Henry's determination so fixed that he would have needed virtually to wipe the king's mind to remove it.
Both arranged to meet Anne and found her well protected. Aleneil had presented the girl with a tiny but exquisite cross, solid gold and set with precious stones—each one of which carried a warding spell. The gift was a charming novelty, and because it was so small Anne wore it constantly, as an earring, as a bangle on a bracelet, as a sparkling accent in her night-dark hair.
Beyond the efficacy of the spells and more important was Anne's own awakened ambition. She had seen her sister . . . and several others . . . used and put aside. Henry, she realized, was not of a constant nature. Likely soon after he got what he wanted, he would lose his taste for it. Thus, as long as he was not able to satisfy his desire for her, he would remain fixed in his pursuit. And if he were utterly determined to have her . . . then he would have to marry her. She would accept nothing less.
Whether it was his desire for her that put it into his mind or whether the idea had long been there but without focus, in 1527 King Henry began moves to free himself of his marriage. In May 1527, a tribunal was summoned to test the validity of the king's marriage. If Henry thought these preliminary steps would bring Anne to his bed, he was mistaken. She remained adamant.
Moreover, Wolsey suddenly developed Pasgen-inflicted doubts and insisted that the secret tribunal was not sufficient. They needed the opinions of more notable theologians than he. However by then it was too late for a tribunal to pronounce on the marriage and then quietly obtain the pope's signature and seal on the annulment. Imperial forces had attacked and sacked Rome two weeks before Henry's tribunal had met. The pope was Charles's prisoner and it was obviously useless to try to get the pope to invalidate the marriage of Charles's aunt.
Virtually indifferent to these early moves in what was to become the king's "great affair," Denoriel continued to watch Harry grow and to be delighted. He had been afraid that as the boy approached young manhood his own interest would wane, but that was not true. He loved the growing boy as much or more than he had loved the child and took even greater pleasure in his company.
Harry's eighth birthday passed and then his ninth. The air spirit was released and replaced by another. This one could put on the cat's guise if necessary, but mostly simply remained invisible. Denoriel found a small white cat and bespelled it to love Mistress Bethany—who had graduated from FitzRoy's nurse to mender and caretaker of His Grace's undergarments—reason enough to be in His Grace's bedchamber whenever he wanted the only mother he had ever known.
The commissioners' intention to dismiss Mistress Bethany when His Grace no longer needed a nurse brought Harry his first taste of power. His grief on being told of Bethy's dismissal alarmed the air spirit, who summoned Denoriel. Having only left a few days earlier, he came secretly at night. He looked at Harry, bravely holding back tears, and at Mistress Bethany, who was weeping freely and said, "You are duke of Richmond, Harry. In so small a thing as your personal servants, you may make your own choices"—and proceeded to suggest ways a royal child could enforce his will.
Thus, when Mistress Bethany was summoned by Sir John Forrester, FitzRoy accompanied her and flew into such a rage that Sir John was taken aback. He had not known that the little duke, usually so biddable, was capable of such fury, and discovered that although the boy loved his horse and the hunt far better than his books, he was very clever and listened with both ears. He had learned enough about the way the northern march was administered to blacken Sir John very thoroughly in the king's eyes, and he made that very, very clear. Sir Edward listened in horror; he was an honest man and fond of the boy he served as Master of the Horse.
Various expedients, such as finding some way to compel FitzRoy's silence (a difficult proposition in the face of four well-armed and fanatically devoted bodyguards), preventing any contact between the king and his son (even more complex when every messenger from the court requested an audience with the boy), and culling his letters—were all abandoned very quickly as being impractical.
Sir John, who had mentioned interfering with FitzRoy's correspondence shuddered on second thought. FitzRoy wrote a great many letters: to the king himself, to the duke of Norfolk, to Norfolk's son Henry Howard, to Mary Howard, even to Lord Denno, although Denno was still a frequent visitor—but in this case unwilling to oppose His Grace's will—and every one of those letters was answered promptly. Any silence on Richmond's part would call forth considerable concern and immediate investigation.
Sir John, Sir Edward, and Lord Henry Percy also discovered that Richmond could hold a grudge far beyond what any of them had expected of the usually cheerful and compliant child. He, who they had hardly known was inhabiting Sheriff Hutton with them until they crossed his will, began to make their lives a hell by constant complaints and demands. If Mistress Bethany was to be gone, he pointed out, they had better get accustomed to hearing that his bathwater was too cold, that his shirt was too starched or not starched enough, that his breakfast did not please him, that he could not sleep and wished to be read to . . . A page carried that message to all three commissioners in the castle at three of the clock in the morning.
Moreover, the commissioners said in hasty consultation the next day, what the boy asked was very little. The nurse's pension would have been nearly equal to the stipend they now paid her, so no real savings were involved in dismissing her. Let him have his way; it was not worth the struggle to break his will—and the truth was that none of them was sure who would win and all were sure that long-lived and bitter hatred would follow.
The next test of FitzRoy's power came when he was deemed capable of riding a horse rather than a pony. He attended closely to Sir Edward's choice of five mounts—two hackneys and three hunters—but he did not interfere. However, Sir Edward quickly recognized Richmond's tone of voice when he stated flatly that the animals chosen were in remarkably fine condition and he would like to keep the grooms attending them.
Although he did not really recognize them, Sir Edward thought the grooms looked familiar; they must have come with some regular guest, he thought. Fortunately no other commissioner had actually promised the positions to any client's stable-hands, and when the grooms professed themselves willing and honored to serve His Grace, Sir Edward agreed. Grooms had no influence.
Thus Kip Ladbroke and Reeve Tolliver came into FitzRoy's household and Harry knew his connection with Lord Denno was assured—if he could get out to the stable no matter where he went. When the dismissal of Mistress Bethany had been contemplated, Sir John had selected a valet from his hangers-on. FitzRoy had never allowed the man to touch him or his clothing, and some weeks after Kip and Reeve had been appointed, he sent for Sir John, accused the valet of theft, and asked that Shandy Dunstan be employed in his place.
Sir John was outraged. Dunstan was common as dirt, a low friend of Ladbroke and Tolliver. He tried to draw the line, refusing to replace his choice with a commoner. Valet to the premier duke of England was a position of power and influence. It must be a political appointment, reserved for a gentleman.
A very regal Richmond informed him coldly that the creature he had selected was a thief and no gentleman, whatever his birth. He was drunk and dirty. Sir John sent furious messages. Several other commissioners arrived to argue and explain, to offer their own candidates.
After a tantrum that covered the dining parlor and the commissioners with thrown food and broken crockery, Richmond was confined to his apartment as a punishment with the valet to watch him. Sir Edward made sure that the valet could do the boy no harm, warning Nyle and Shaylor, who were on guard duty that night to listen for any outcry and succor their master. But they heard no outcry, no suspicious sound of any kind.
Still, right under the nose of the valet, FitzRoy disappeared entirely. The valet spent the whole following day searching for him, having locked Mistress Bethany in her chamber to keep Richmond's absence secret.
When the valet finally confessed, Sir John was terrified; he ordered the valet imprisoned and sent for his fellow commissioners. They began yet another search of the castle and its grounds but found nothing and no guard had seen the boy, including FitzRoy's own four, who were half crazy with rage and fear. They demanded that the valet be given into their hands to have the truth squeezed out of him.
Sir Edward, with Sir John's violent approval, calmed them with promises that the king's torturers would do a better piece of work on him. Then he and his fellows spent the night trying to compose a letter to explain the loss of his son to the king.
They were still at it when Mistress Bethany, coming to grieve and pray in Harry's room among his toys and little precious things, found FitzRoy asleep in his bed, with Shandy Dunstan just entering the room with his hot water. She ran, shrieking with joy, to tell the commissioners that the lost was found. If they suspected that Dunstan was somehow involved, they kept it to themselves. The boy's smile told the commissioners that worse might befall them than a day's anxiety in another contest between them. Nothing more was said about gentleman valets. Let the king appoint Richmond's servants himself if he wished.
Everyone, including Lord Denno who had stage managed the disappearance in a nighttime visit to Harry's chambers, breathed a sigh of relief. FitzRoy's personal household was now fully staffed with men who were safeguarded against Sidhe tricks and otherwise incorruptible. It would be impossible for Pasgen to insert an agent of his own among them. Lord Denno then arrived openly to celebrate Harry's tenth birthday; Harry went back to being a most good-humored, obedient child, and the spring of 1529 began to slide into summer.
Although by no means scholarly, Harry was wide awake on the subject of politics. Over the years he had listened with deep interest when the commissioners discussed the rising and falling fortunes of King Henry's attempt to obtain a divorce from his wife of nearly twenty years so he could marry Anne Boleyn of the light laughter, the witty tongue, the dark eyes and night-dark hair. Harry pleased his commissioners by saying openly and most sincerely that he wished the king well. Nothing could please him better, he swore, than a healthy, long-lived legitimate brother. He did not wish to be king.
By the summer of 1529, however, it seemed more and more likely that his fortunes were again rising. The chances of obtaining the divorce seemed doomed to failure. The pope could not be brought to sign a bull ending the marriage. Wolsey, driven by the king's urgency, convened an extraordinary legatine court to pronounce the marriage invalid and present the pope with a fait accompli, but Wolsey was unable to force the court to come to any decision. The pope's legate adjourned the court and Queen Catherine sent an appeal to Rome.
That Rome would rule against Henry was a foregone conclusion, which meant that Catherine, who could bear no more children, would remain his wife and Princess Mary would be his only heir. It again began to seem that, deprived of the chance to marry again and try for a male heir, FitzRoy might be brought forward and established in Mary's place. The commissioners became more and more accommodating to FitzRoy's every desire; several took the time to explain their function and the meaning of the parchments he was asked to sign.
Other attempts were made to please the boy. He loved to ride and listened avidly to every tale of hunting, so he was included in a hunting party for which deer were driven close to the castle. He acquitted himself so well that a second hunt, less confined, was arranged. The boy kept his seat when others of the party ended up on the ground.
Denoriel was not happy with any of this; not with Harry's growing importance as a possible heir, nor with the freedom the boy had been given. He was made aware of any stranger who came to the castle, but who knew who or what might be lurking in the woods. He took his worries to Aleneil, but she did not think the threat to FitzRoy was great. FarSeeing had shown nothing more than the general danger of abduction that had hung over FitzRoy from the beginning, and she was distracted by her need to protect Anne around whom Unseleighe threats were gathering.
Mwynwen, to whom he also brought his worries, was not much more helpful although she sympathized with him. Richey, who was still alive and actually seemed less frail, was also demanding more freedom. He could no longer be confined to the house; he had Mwynwen's servant guardians, but they were vulnerable to many kinds of attack. She could only shrug and suggest that Denoriel ride along with the hunt unseen. Whether his presence deterred attack, Denoriel could not be sure, but there was none and the air spirit never sensed any magical presence.
After riding to several increasingly long and hard hunts, it seemed ridiculous to confine FitzRoy to traveling in a carriage when the entire party moved to Pontefract—which they had done several times without attack over the years. FitzRoy begged to ride, and permission was granted.
Unfortunately Denoriel could not find any reason to accompany the party and the commissioners were growing just a little wary of FitzRoy's long attachment to him. He elected to follow through the woods. Twice the air spirit came to him; somewhere magic was being worked, but it was not Sidhe magic, maybe only some wise-woman. It had no definite warning to give.
Meanwhile FitzRoy enjoyed the journey immensely and behaved so well that Lord Henry and Sir Edward promised he should ride whenever they traveled. Henry Percy, who had not been on that disaster-cursed journey from Windsor to Sheriff Hutton, was sure traveling was safe. FitzRoy was perfectly willing to remain well within the protections of his small personal Household, which was further surrounded by the royal guards.
Gerrit and Nyle rode ahead, behind the royal guards who rode ahead of the commissioners. Dickson and Shaylor followed just behind FitzRoy and ahead of another contingent of guards. On their heels came Reeve, leading Harry's extra horses. On FitzRoy's right rode Dunstan, now wearing half armor, sword, poniard, and pistol; Ladbroke rode to his left, also, surprisingly, in half armor with, if one looked carefully, knives peeking out of his boots, both sleeves, and behind his neck. He also carried a sword.
They arrived at Pontefract without incident and remained there until the second week in October when three of the commissioners, Lord Henry Percy, Sir William Fenwicke, and Sir John Forrester received notice of the election of a new parliament. In the same mail pouch was an urgent letter from Lord Denno's business manager. He left Pontefract with the commissioners who were going home.
Sir Edward did not like Pontefract, which had been built in 1086 by Ilbert de Lacy. It had been somewhat modified by later de Lacys but was still very uncomfortable compared with Sheriff Hutton. The hunting was better at Sheriff Hutton too. Sir Edward decided to move his charge back to Sheriff Hutton. FitzRoy, pleased by the idea of a journey, made no protest.
Near dawn on the third of November, the same day the new parliament assembled, the duke of Richmond, his servants, bodyguards, and the household in general set out to return to Sheriff Hutton, a little more than eight leagues away. It was a long day's ride, but Harry was sure he could manage and they planned to do it in one day.
Denoriel almost did not Gate north to follow them, even though he had a letter from Harry telling him when they would leave. His attention was also now fixed on Anne as the threat to her grew more intense. Ordinarily the most graceful of women, Anne had twice tripped—seemingly on her own feet—and nearly fallen down a flight of stairs. She had taken the sweating sickness, when no one else nearby had it; Mwynwen had to come from Underhill to cure her, in the guise of an old herb-woman friend of Anne's old nurse, Blanche Parry.
Although it frightened Anne very much because she could half see, half sense them, Aleneil had warded her around with invisible servants. It was tedious and exhausting; the servants could not long endure the mortal world and had to be replaced very often so they had to be watched constantly. Denoriel was forced to take watches with his sister.
George Boleyn had been attacked when he was accompanying his sister Anne home from Whitehall Palace. Neither he nor Anne had been injured, but Anne was frightened even more, sobbing that she had seen demons urging on the attackers. Later she denied that, assuring everyone that it had only been her fright that made shadows take horrible form. Aleneil, however, had been certain Anne's witch-sight had exposed the truth. For the next few days, Lord Denno had accompanied George to safeguard his sister, but then Anne was offered an apartment in the palace.
Aleneil left some air spirits on guard, but she was sure that no attacks on Anne would take place so close to the king. The Unseleighe knew better than to wake suspicions of their existence so close to the heart of mortal government. George was also delighted; he had been tied to Anne's apron strings and had given up many of his own amusements. There was a horse race scheduled for the fourth of November. He invited Denoriel as a thank-you for his help.
Meanwhile several uncanny accidents had happened to Denoriel's house in London. The workroom there, which Aleneil used, was wrecked when a wall collapsed, and a Low Court servant was injured so badly that he had to be sent back Underhill for healing.
Watching the slow progress of the moon across the sky on November second, a sudden anxiety seized Denoriel. After all the hue and cry in and around London, nothing had been accomplished. The damage to his workroom was superficial; no Unseleighe traps were found in it. No harm had come to Anne or George, but threat hung about them. Could all this rather open and pointless damage and threat have the purpose of diverting him from guarding Harry?
Thus when the cortege left Pontefract just after dawn on November third, Denoriel was about a mile ahead, back in the woods where he would parallel their course. He had Gated from London to Logres and then from Logres to Pontefract. He felt oddly sick when Miralys stepped out of the Gate area at Pontefract but was distracted by hearing the scouts for the cortege gallop by.
Harry's party rode until the horses were tired, then stopped for a picnic and to change their mounts and rode on. By midday Denoriel felt foolish. He was much tempted to ride back to Pontefract and Gate back to London to accompany George to the race. Then he sighed and decided to go all the way to Sheriff Hutton. Since he would have to adjust the Gate anyway to deliver him to London in time to meet George for the race, it made no difference whether he Gated a few hours earlier from Pontefract or a few hours later from Sheriff Hutton.
The ride was totally peaceful and Denoriel spent most of his time thinking about Anne. She was not truly beautiful, even by mortal standards, although her face had a most lively and intriguing expression. Her eyes were gorgeous, though, large and lustrous and so dark they looked black, as did her hair, which was also exquisite, hanging to her knees in a shining curtain when it was not demurely covered by a coif, cleverly lighted here and there with a gold chain and a twinkling jewel.
Aside from the small Talent she had, which Denoriel could hardly sense, Denoriel could not for the life of him see why King Henry should be so enamored. True, Anne was very intelligent, very well read, able and willing to discuss religion or politics. She was also not so slavishly subservient as most of the other women that Henry had been interested in, or even the male courtiers that he favored most. She laughed and teased, denied the king any physical satisfaction while assuring him she adored him, and very often scolded—but never about anything she desired for herself. Denoriel would credit her for cleverness; she never asked for anything . . . except for marriage, and even that she said was for the king's good, not her own.
Denoriel sighed and dismissed the thoughts. He was not the only one who wondered at Mistress Anne's grip on the king. He looked around and saw that the woods were familiar; he was quite near the glade that held his Gate. Good. This duty was very nearly finished. The sun was westering, but there was still plenty of light. Another quarter hour's ride would see them safe at Sheriff Hutton.
:Magic! Magic!: the air spirit reported, landing on his shoulder. :Across the road. Coming near.:And then suddenly it uttered a wail of pain and terror and disappeared.