Redemption

Cromwell replied, 'after what you must have gone through last night, it's understandable.'

  'No it's not,' Winterburne replied, 'I shouldn't have been like it.'

  'It's fine, Sir, honestly.'

  'Even so—'

  'Will you listen to you two?' Alyssa said. 'Just shut up, the pair of you, you're like an old married couple. Be quiet and let me fix this nose in peace.'

  Winterburne thought it better to comply with the order and before too long, Alyssa had finished cleaning his face and had packed his nostrils with small rolls of lint. Despite his protests during the process, Alyssa had been adamant that she was doing the right thing and when she was satisfied that she had finished, she stood back and admired her handiwork.

  'There,' she said, looking around his face. 'All done.'

  'And how long does this have to stay?' Winterburne asked, pointing at the packing. The tone of his voice had changed with the addition of a blocked nose and he scowled at Cromwell who smirked at the sound of his words.

  'About four weeks,' Alyssa said.

  'What?'

  'I said, about four weeks.' Alyssa rested her hands on her hips and looked down at his nose. 'I'll have to change the packing a few times a week, of course.'

  'Over my dead bod—'

  'Shush!' Alyssa said. 'No moaning. You're already rugged enough looking as it is without me having to step out with a man with a broken face. In my opinion, a bent nose never did a man any favours no matter what people'd have you believe.'

  Winterburne glared at Cromwell as he saw him chuckle whilst Alyssa reprimanded him. The smile left his face.

  'Anyway,' Alyssa said, 'I can't stay here all day. I have work to do.'

  'Work?' Winterburne asked.

  'Yes,' Alyssa said, a harsher edge to her voice, 'work. You're aren't the only one trying to make an honest living.' Then, she softened. 'If you must know, I sometimes take in laundry and I've got a batch on the boil. Luke is supposed to have put out the flames by now, but I bet he hasn't.'

  Winterburne smiled, wincing again as his face crinkled, pulling the packing tight.

  'I'll be back to check on you, later.' Alyssa put her hand on Winterburne's shoulder and kissed the top of his head before waving at the two men and scooting out of the office.

  Cromwell watched the woman leave and then turned to Winterburne. 'She really has you under control, doesn't she, Sir?'

  'Don't you start on me too, you're supposed to be on my side,' Winterburne replied, looking across at a puzzled Cromwell. 'Has she gone now?'

  Cromwell looked through the door and down the corridor. He nodded.

  'Are you sure?'

  'Yes, Sir, I'm sure.'

  Winterburne reached up to his nose and pulled on the loose end of the lint, drawing out the packing.

  'Oww!' he said, as the lint, still tinged in places with blood, pulled away in a long streamer. When both nostrils were empty he sat back in his chair and relaxed, puffing out his cheeks as the aching started again.

  'She won't like that,' Cromwell said.

  'I know, but I'll worry about that later.'

  A silence came over the room for a moment before Cromwell said, 'What are you going to do now, Sir?'

  Winterburne ignored the question, looking across his office, towards the window and the people that passed by in the street outside. He thought for a while, trying to decide what his next action should be.

  'It's time for explanations,' he said, after a moment. 'And for hope.'

  'Hope?'

  'I should never have let Courtenay get away.' He turned to look over at Cromwell.

  'But you did everything possible. What more could you have done?'

  'Stop him of course.'

  Cromwell remained silent.

  'This is a major crisis, Milo.' Winterburne frowned. 'Perhaps the biggest crisis in Frederick's reign so far. And, whether I like the thought or not, I am the one that is accountable.'

  'What are you saying, Sir?'

  'People died last night.' Winterburne stood and walked across to the window. He looked out into the street, leaning with his elbows on the window ledge. 'And it's my fault.'

  'I think you're being too hard on yourself, Sir.'

  Winterburne continued to look through the window. 'Someone will have to be seen to be responsible for this mess, and I'll need to face up to the Emperor at some stage.'

  Cromwell crossed the room to join him. 'What do you think he will say?'

  'Let's put it this way,' Winterburne said, looking back at his Lieutenant. 'I think having a broken nose could very well turn out to be the least of my problems.'

  oOo

  It hadn't taken long for Draper to make the short journey to the Watch Headquarters to call Winterburne to the Palace. In truth, the message had arrived sooner than he had expected and now a sense of resignation had settled over him as he waited in the corridor outside of the Emperor's office.

  He felt awkward as he waited. After all, he had been here, in almost the exact same spot, less than twenty-four hours earlier but in altogether different circumstances as he tracked Courtenay, fearing that Frederick had already been killed. He looked over to his left at the point on the floor where he had found the palace guard, already dead. The Palace staff had been at work and there was no trace that anything untoward had taken place.

  As he thought about the incident the door at the opposite end of the hallway opened and Martell walked through.

  Why the hell was he here? thought Winterburne. Surely he wasn't going to be around when he gave his report to the Emperor?

  Martell sauntered, almost nonchalantly towards Winterburne, a wide grin on his face, and as he saw the glint in his eyes it was obvious that he was clearly of the opinion that he somehow held a position of supremacy over him.

  'He's not happy, Winterburne,' Martell said. 'People are looking for a scapegoat.'

  Martell chuckled and Winterburne found his hatred of the man seeping out from wherever it lurked within him. He sighed.

  'And,' Martell continued, 'from the place where I'm standing, you look to be the candidate most likely to get the job.'

  Winterburne knew that he was being mocked but he tried to raise himself above the feeling he had to swing his fist into the man's face. Not this time, he thought, he was better than that.

  'I did what I thought was right,' he said. 'It was the best that I could do at the time.'

  Martell stopped, facing Winterburne and nodding. 'Oh, I know,' he replied, the grin now gone, replaced with an almost sympathetic look, almost but not quite, 'but, as usual, your best isn't good enough, is it?' His eyes glinted in the torchlight.

  Frederick's office door swung open and the two men looked in the direction of the movement. Draper stood in the doorway.

  'The Emperor is ready for you now, gentlemen,' he said.

  Winterburne sucked in a deep breath as they both filed into the office. Frederick seemed to be watching them closely as they entered, seated at his desk, with his hands clasped together. Despite the bruising and swelling after his own assault he had a look on his face as blank and calm as the sea on a windless day. Whatever was in the Emperor's thoughts, his expression did not give any clue.

  Winterburne stepped across to Frederick's left, and Martell fell in to his right, but the Emperor still said nothing. After what felt like hours under the gaze of a hot sun, Frederick looked over at Draper.

  'I think you can leave us now, Lawrence,' he said.

  'Yes, Sire,' the valet replied. 'I will be stationed just outside the door should you need anything.'

  'Thank you, I'm sure we'll be fine,' Frederick said, turning his attention back to the two men standing in front of him. 'I heard that you had been injured,' he said looking across at Winterburne. 'Not too badly, I hope.'

  'I'll survive, Sire.'

  'That's more than can be said for two of my men!' Martell snapped. 'What gave you the right to send one of them to his death?'

  Winterburne turned to face Marte
ll, his eyes narrowing, and this time he was unable to control his temper. It bubbled up to fill his whole being, a cauldron lid ready to blow, and somehow the frustrations of all of their battles came at once.

  'You dare to stand there and lecture me on my rights! If you think I take pleasure in the results of last night's events then you are sadly mistaken, Martell. Decisions were taken, in the thick of things, and it is I that will have to live with the consequences being on my conscience.'

  'You should have called for support!' Martell's face reddened.

  'Support! I saw no support! There were no men on the streets, other than those I ordered, though God alone knows why.' Winterburne glared at Martell. 'No, to hang with it. I know that you gave the order to send your men to the walls, your own guards told me as much. What fool would do that?'

  Martell stepped away, glancing at the Emperor. Frederick gave him a harsh look in return, but said nothing.

  Winterburne felt in no mood to let up his ire. 'And where were you, Martell, when the rest of us were defending the Emperor's life?'

  The Commander took a step backwards, seemingly surprised at the words. 'I had no knowledge that any of this was going on. If I had been kept informed, as I should have been, then I could have contributed to the security plan.'

  'If you had, would it have made a difference?' Winterburne looked into Martell's eyes, a direct challenge. 'Or would you just have made matters worse, as usual?'

  Martell raised his hand and swung it towards Winterburne's face, striking his cheek with the back of his hand. Blood flew from his already battered nose as he recoiled from the blow and he raised his hand to his swollen face, grimacing from the pain.

  'That's enough!' Frederick