Prologue
Jervaulx Abbey in Yorkshire, England
August 1535
“They’ve fled!”
Arthur Courtenay, the king’s Deputy Lieutenant in Yorkshire, angrily spurred his steed past the flaring torches until the giant animal was snorting and tossing his head not a half pace away from the faces of the cowering servants and villagers.
“Where have they gone?” His voice rasped with barely controlled fury. “When?”
“These fools have all swallowed their tongues, m’lord.”
Sir Arthur drew his sword, and the shoving throng fell away as he nudged the animal forward to the very steps of the abbey’s chapter house.
“Drag the abbot out,” he shouted. “And the monks, as well. Every fat, cowardly one of them. I’ll stick their treasonous heads on pikes if they don’t come up with answers.”
“M’lord!” The sound of one
