Chapter Four: Late Night Discovery

"Poor Sir Hubert," Catherine sighed, hugging her soft pillow. "Everywhere we went today, people asked about his missing son. I mean they said missing, but from the way they talked you could tell they all think Jack's gone forever. Oh, yes! That feels good."

"People feel sorry for him. He is a good man!" It was bedtime at the gloomy country home of Sir Hubert Hawley. Inside Catherine's bedchamber, Helga the housekeeper was vigorously rubbing the young queen's bare back and slender shoulders with scented oil. The soothing ritual was part of her regular bedtime routine.

"I think they know what happened to him." Pretty little Catherine loved gossip, and she always shared everything with Helga. "Some people say Jack was devoured by a huge red-eyed wolf. Others say he fell under the spell of a wicked witch!"

"Those hungry wolves won't hurt my baby, all safe and snug in her bed." Helga chuckled, slowing her pace and relaxing Catherine with her strong, skilled hands. "Ach, it is so late! My queen has dazzled enough eyes for one day. Time to give those beautiful blue eyes a rest. Lady Anne will defeat the wolves!"

"Sir Hubert says she's got to be careful. He says the fens are dangerous, especially late at night when everyone is asleep." Catherine yawned as Helga did up the laces of her bed gown.

"Ah, no danger can touch my pretty young queen, asleep in bed. But tomorrow is another day. Tomorrow my queen will wake up early and go to the fair. There will be music, jugglers, plenty of sweets to eat . . . and plenty of good-looking boys!"

"Boys," Catherine sighed. Her bright blue eyes blinked once or twice and then fell shut. Her rose-red lips parted just a little, and her long golden lashes cast delicate shadows on her cheeks.

"Out for the night?" Anne of Cleves was waiting for Helga in the cozy kitchen downstairs. Dressed in tall black boots and a man's leather hunting outfit, the long-legged former queen was sitting by the fire in a high-backed wooden chair, with her feet propped up and a frothing mug of ale in her hand.

"Out for the night? Yes, our little queen has had a busy day!" Helga sat down heavily on a low cushioned footstool by the fire. The housekeeper looked up at Anne, her gray eyes gently probing. "You are driving yourself too hard. You should rest too."

Anne shook her head. Her hunting clothes were all muddy, and her scratched and sunburned face had the drawn look of someone who had been on her feet all day. "That swamp is huge. Those deep, black pools go on for miles. What they call the fens."

"Did you see nothing?"

"I felt something." Anne drank more of her ale, leaning back in her throne-like chair and crossing her long legs. She was always in her element, dressing in male attire and behaving as men did. She was even puffing on a long, thin pipe of tobacco just like the local farmers. "Listen, Helga. I think Jack Hawley is still alive."

"Still alive? Ach, such talk is foolishness!" Helga snorted, taking the pipe out of Anne's slim white hand and puffing on it herself. "Even sweet little Catherine knows better than that. That poor boy has been lost in the swamp for weeks, nothing to eat, no shelter, all alone in that foul place. You know what it's like! The air is full of biting flies. Even the water is foul. Young Jack Hawley must be dead by now, poor thing."

"Maybe." Anne frowned, rubbing her tired and aching head. "Maybe it was all my imagination. I need more time to come up with evidence. So far I've got nothing to report to the king. Anyway, I don't want Catherine wandering into the swamplands."

"Oh, do not worry! That one will never venture into mud and mire. Catherine doesn't care for the outdoors. She loves dancing and music and gossip and boys, and sweets. During the day she prefers to swan about indoors, turning heads in those lovely new gowns, and at night she wants a hot bath and a soft bed. And speaking of a hot bath . . ." Helga was already tugging on Anne's tight-fitting muddy boots. She struggled mightily, and then all at once the boot came off and she nearly fell over backwards. Both women laughed. But something fell out of Anne's boot.

"A gold medallion," Helga muttered. "How can it be?"

"It's a pagan charm of some sort. A wolf's head, with ruby eyes." The two women stared at the ancient talisman that had somehow gotten into Anne's boot while she searched the foul-smelling swamps for the missing Jack Hawley.