This scheme was every bit as foolish as those that cropped up at regular intervals to restore the Catholic Church to England by overthrowing King Henry. He’d heard enough. Too much. Ned rose and started for the door.

“You will not betray me, my friend. You are loyal,” Botolph called after him. “Besides, you know what will happen to you if you tell anyone.”

Ned stopped, his hand on the latch. He’d be charged with treason because he knew of the plot. Warning Lord Lisle would accomplish nothing except putting himself in prison right alongside Botolph. He turned back. “Listen to reason, friend. This scheme has no chance of success. If you persist, you’ll end up burnt for a heretic, or hanged, drawn, and quartered as a traitor.”

“Only if you betray me. My death would be on your conscience, Ned.”

Ned began to pace. “You will betray yourself when you return to Calais and try to bribe members of the spears.”

“That is why I will not go back, nor ever into England again so long as King Henry sits on the throne. I will send others in my place while I remain safe in the emperor’s dominions.”

Ned stared at Botolph in disbelief as the other man rose from his chair and refilled his goblet. “You intend to sacrifice your friends? That is monstrous.”

Botolph turned, the wine in his hand. He gave Ned a considering look. Then he laughed. “Did you truly believe me? I thought surely the plot was so far-fetched that you would see right through the jest.”

Anger rippled through Ned. His fists came up and he took a step toward Botolph. “A joke? What if someone had overheard? We’d both be in prison for plotting against the Crown.”

“Where is your sense of humor, Ned? You’d be laughing right along with me if it were Philpott I’d cozened with my tale.”

Ned didn’t know what to believe, although it was true Botolph took unholy pleasure from playing just this sort of trick on his friends. Slowly, he unclenched his fists and reached for his wine goblet. “If you did not go to Rome, where were you?”

Botolph’s expression turned serious again. “This is the true confession. When I was a canon in Canterbury, I did something … ill-advised. Sir Oliver learned of it, and for the enmity he bears me, would see me hanged if he could.”

Ned took a long swallow of wine. This, at least, he could believe, but Botolph had not answered his question. “Where did you go?”

“Louvain, to make arrangements for my studies there. And now, Ned, I would think it a great kindness if you would collect the debts owed to me, and a few more things that I left behind in Calais and send them to me here.”

Ned couldn’t believe his ears. “After such a trick, why should I do you more favors?”

Botolph smiled engagingly and exerted the full force of his personality. “Because we are friends, you and I and Clement Philpott. Friends help each other.”

CLEMENT PHILPOTT HAD returned to Calais while Ned was in Gravelines. At his first opportunity, Ned gave Philpott a condensed account of Botolph’s return to Calais, his quarrel with the other chaplains, his departure for Gravelines, and Ned’s own journey there with Botolph’s nag. He left out the wild tale of rebellion in herring time. He told himself he’d been a fool to fall for such a fantastic story.

Philpott set off into Flanders to take Botolph the money Botolph’s brother had sent. Botolph, meanwhile, had sent Ned a letter telling him he was about to leave and asking Ned to retrieve a shirt he’d sent out to be laundered and to collect his blue livery cloak, his pillow, his ring, his sarcenet tippet, the good scabbard for his sword, and his knife, as well as the money he was still owed in the exchange of cloth for nag and saddle. Ned was shaking his head in disbelief by the time he got to the list of other debts Botolph was owed. He wanted Ned to send the money to him in groats, but only after using some of the coins to buy him an ell of the finest colored kersey.

When Philpott returned to Calais the next morning, he brought another missive from Botolph. In this one, Botolph requested that his debts be repaid in ducats from Parma or in French crowns. He also wanted Ned to send him the books he’d left behind.

“And he asked to borrow your servant,” Philpott added. “He wants Browne to go with him as far as Bruges, as it is unwise for a gentleman to travel alone.”

Since Ned was already planning to send Browne as far as Gravelines to deliver Botolph’s money and the other items, he agreed. It hardly mattered if his man rode on a little farther.

“And he said you had some coins for me,” Philpott added.

Belatedly, Ned remembered the broken papal crowns. After that, try as he might, he could not quite shake the niggling fear that Botolph might have been serious about herring time.

AS MARCH TURNED into April and April advanced, it became abundantly clear to Nan that Catherine Howard would succeed in pushing out Queen Anna. The king rarely left Catherine’s side and was clearly besotted with her.

On the twenty-third of April, Lord Lisle arrived at court. He paid his respects to the king, but then he retreated to his lodgings, pleading the sudden onset of illness. Nan, worried about him, visited him the following evening. Her stepfather was the oldest man she knew and, in spite of his usual robust good health, he could not live forever.

She was relieved to find him in good spirits in spite of being propped up in bed and wrapped in furs. He greeted her with a thunderous sneeze. His eyes were red and watery. He’d rubbed his nose raw and used handkerchiefs littered the counterpane. Nan kissed his cheek in greeting, then stepped back a prudent distance.

“I sound worse than I feel.” Lisle swabbed his dripping nose. “This is only a nasty catarrh. A few days’ rest and I will be back to my old self.”

“I devoutly hope so, my lord.” When he fell into a fit of coughing, she found a pitcher of spiced ale on the sideboard, filled two cups, and handed him one of them.

“I have incentive to recover quickly.” He sipped and gave a contented sigh. “I have every expectation of being elevated in the peerage during this visit to court. An earldom, Nan—what do you think of that?”

“That you have served the Tudors long and well and deserve a sign of royal favor.” Nan perched near Lord Lisle’s feet, sinking down into the soft feather bed.

“Honor will be pleased. She and your sisters are in good health. So is my daughter, Frances, and the child she gave birth to last May.”

The baby, Nan recalled, had been christened Honor Bassett. Mother and child remained in Calais while Nan’s brother continued to study law at Lincoln’s Inn. It was a sensible arrangement, as the marriage had been. Frances’s union with her stepbrother kept her inheritance in the family. According to Ned Corbett, the two got along as well as any married couple.

That reminded Nan that she had not seen Ned for some time and that, during his last visit, they’d quarreled. When she’d heard that John Husee had left Lord Lisle’s employ, she’d-half expected that Ned would be appointed to fill his place, but the post was still vacant.

Thinking of Ned—to be honest, missing Ned—inevitably reminded Nan of the son she had borne him. It had been even longer since she’d seen young Jamie. With both Cousin Kate and Catherine Howard suspicious of her, she’d not dared risk a trip into London. She’d consoled herself with the knowledge that even if Jamie were her legitimate child and his father some wealthy nobleman, she’d not be able to spend much time with him. Cousin Mary rarely saw her boy. Even the Countess of Rutland, who regularly journeyed to Belvoir Castle with Cat in tow, had a limited amount of time to spend with her children.

“The young seigneur de Bours has been to visit,” Lord Lisle said when he’d recovered from another bout of coughing. He frowned. “That is a matter I must broach with the king as soon as I recover. The lad wants to marry your sister. A letter from his uncle, as head of the family, formally proposing to open negotiations, arrived just after I left Calais. Your mother sent it on to me in Dover. I must have the king’s approval before I can go forward in the matter.”

“I cannot think why His Grace should object to Mary’s betrothal. She has no Plantagenet blood in her veins.”

“True. Perhaps I can leave the business until later. I have a great deal more to speak about with His Grace. These are difficult times in Calais.” His fingers fumbled with the fur he kept wrapped around himself. His brow furrowed, adding new creases to a face already deeply lined with age.

“Has something in particular happened?” Nan sipped the spiced ale, untroubled by any premonition of disaster. There was always unrest in the Pale.

“A most nefarious plot against the Crown,” her stepfather said.

“Treason?” That, too, was all too common. Someone always seemed to be fomenting rebellion or preaching sedition.

“Of the worst sort—betrayal by members of my own retinue.”

Suddenly uneasy, Nan slid off the foot of the bed and set her cup on the sideboard. “Who has betrayed you, my lord?”

Lisle rattled off a list of names, but Nan heard only one—Corbett.

Her heart stuttered and she couldn’t remember how to breathe. Ned … and treason?

“Sir Gregory Botolph conceived the dastardly plan. The depositions contradict each other on numerous points, but it seems certain that Botolph went to Rome, met with Cardinal Pole, and conspired with him to open the gates of Calais to England’s enemies during herring time, when the town is crowded with strangers.”

“Enemies?” Nan echoed in a choked whisper.

Lisle’s lips twisted into a wry smile. “No one was too clear about what army would come. The French, perhaps. Or the emperor’s men. Someone allied with the pope, that much is certain. When Clement Philpott first came to me with his story, I did not believe him. But when those he accused were questioned, they confirmed everything he told me.”

“Where is … Philpott now?” Nan did not dare ask after Ned. If she spoke his name, the tremor in her voice would betray the depth of her concern for him. She clasped her hands together to hide their trembling.

“Philpott, Corbett, and the rest are in the Tower of London. After they were examined in Calais and gave their depositions, they were brought over to England in the greatest secrecy. I suppose the torturer will have a go at them now, although I suspect they have already confessed everything they know.”

Nan squeezed her eyes shut, but nothing could block out the horrible images crowding into her mind. She had heard terrifying stories about men stretched on the rack until they would admit to anything just to put an end to the pain. She breathed deeply, trying to calm herself. It would not do to let the extent of her agitation show. Any association with a traitor could put a man, or a woman, at risk of being accused of that same crime.

When she had regained a measure of control, she asked, “Are all those arrested equally guilty?”

Lisle blew his nose before answering. “Corbett admits to no more than a single meeting with Botolph in Gravelines and to helping the fellow retrieve money owed him and a few belongings he left behind in Calais. But Corbett did not just convey those things to Botolph. He ordered his manservant to accompany the villain partway to Louvain. He helped Botolph escape the king’s justice.”

Nan blinked at him, and only with difficulty grasped his meaning. “Do you mean to say that all these men are imprisoned in the Tower of London while Sir Gregory, who devised the scheme, remains free?”

“Exactly so. He is at large somewhere in the Low Countries. Flanders, perhaps. No one knows. The king’s agents are trying to track him down. In the meantime, because I brought this treasonous plot to light, Lord Cromwell assures me that I will remain high in royal favor. As soon as I am well again—for you know how His Grace abhors sickness!—I will present myself to King Henry. An earldom is in the offing as my reward for diligence. I am sure of it.”

Nan tried to match his smile, but she was glad the light was dim in the bedchamber. She had a feeling the expression on her face was closer to a grimace. If Lord Lisle did not see the flaw in his logic, she was not about to point it out to him. She had no doubt that Clement Philpott had also expected to benefit from exposing the plot.

Nan suspected that her stepfather would return to Calais with no greater honors than he already possessed. That the plot had been conceived on his watch would count against him in the king’s eyes, and Cromwell would likely use the debacle to have him replaced as lord deputy.