The Illegitimate Tudor

by James M Stuart

  It took me another month to recover fully. Belfrigh visited me frequently, and as for Eleanor, she hardly ever left my bedchamber, save for using the garderobe. I seemed to be more popular as I had thought, for more distinguished nobles knocked on my door. Lady Anne Boleyn for one, who had a heated silent encounter with Eleanor. Queen Catherine also visited me, although for her own purposes it seemed. She had evidently thought that I, being the son of Cardinal Campeggio, would still vouch in her favour and she left disappointed when I confessed there was nothing I could do any more to influence my supposed father or the king on the matter. In any case, she bade me well.

  Even King Henry himself honoured me with his royal person. He reassured me that he was looking forward to my full recovery and the resuming of my duties. He only had kind words for me that day. However, he did remind me again of the dangers of meddling with the common folk in the dangerous streets of London…

  *

  The year of our Lord 1531 had come, and with it, a triumph for the king who had been at last declared Supreme Head of the Church of England, but only to the extent the Law of God allowed. The title was merely decorative for the moment, but it would mark the start of the never-before-seen events in this realm called England.

  As the news of the king’s supremacy broke out in the city and the rest of the country, some people grasped the opportunity to be critical towards the clergy and the Catholic Houses that abused their power to acquire wealth. At the same time, more and more Lutherans arose from the dark, as if from nowhere, and started preaching to the masses in the streets of the city.

  It was something that did not go unnoticed by Lord Chancellor, Sir Thomas More, who was a deeply pious man that condemned everything against Catholicism to be heresy. He had already burned dozens of heretics at the stake, with the king turning the blind eye. However, the occurrences of heresy in the city were now so many that he did not know where to direct his attention. Then he decided to strike where he would have the best effect…

  ‘No mortal man on this Earth has the power to abolish one’s sins,’ preached the pastor to anyone who would listen. ‘Only God could do that if only we repent. But listen carefully my good folk. You shall not have to go to a church for that, for God is everywhere, and you may speak to him wherever you are. And if any Catholic priest should tell you otherwise, then he is an ignorant fool.’

  The crowd murmured in acceptance and then applauded. There was a time when these gatherings were performed in absolute secrecy, Eleanor had attended a few herself, but now Lutherans were becoming bolder and bolder, preaching under the open sky, fearless.

  On that day, I was guided to that particular spot in the city by none other than the Lady Anne Boleyn, who was standing now beside me clapping and encouraging the pastor’s preaching along with the rest of the people around us, who were numerous. The pastor was standing on a high rock, where he could face all the people underneath him. The sky was cloudless, and the sun was shining like it was a sign from God Himself.

  ‘Let us not forget,’ the pastor resumed once the murmur and applause had ceased, ‘that only the wealthiest and most privileged of people have the luxury to learn how to read the Bible, for it is written in Latin. Therefore, why should we believe the priests when they tell us about a sin that is written in the Holy Scripts? Show us where! Let us read and share the Word of God and his son Jesus Christ, let us have the Bible translated into plain English so that the common folk can read and understand it!’ The pastor paused, and his words were followed by another round of applause.

  ‘Let us all make a pledge to the king to make this happen. And then we won’t need priests to tell us what sin is and what is not. Every man, woman or child who has been baptised is a priest for themselves,’ he continued, and that last statement caused a few gasps.

  ‘Now, this is the truth, Sir Edward! You see?’ Lady Anne whispered next to me. She was a head shorter than me, and the tip of her raised hood barely reached my chin.

  ‘This is quite intriguing, my lady. Do you reckon the king would approve?’ I asked her.

  ‘He’s still reluctant to accept some of these ideas, and there are people who drive him towards the wrong direction, but things will soon change. And yes, he will eventually, approve of this preaching,’ she answered in confidence.

  ‘We must also abolish idolatry and superstition, for it keeps the mankind in the darkness. We do not need sculptures or paintings to pray. God is everywhere!’ the pastor repeated louder this time. ‘God is here this very moment that I speak to you, and he’s blessing us all for keeping our minds open against the oppression of the Catholic Church and the so-called Holy Father!’

  The crowd cheered again. It was the beginning of the end for the Catholic Rule in England.

  *

  ‘So, what now, Sir Edward?’ Eleanor asked as she was caressing my bare chest with her left hand. She was my woman again. Looking at our relationship, it seemed that nothing had changed, that she had never left, and I had never been injured.

  ‘I am no-’ I started but did not finish my sentence.

  ‘But you are!’ Eleanor said smiling.

  Indeed, I was a knight, and it was a title that I could not still get used to nor like, for I had not earned my knighthood fighting wars or accomplishing noble deeds. The king had knighted me for the sole purpose to compliment Cardinal Campeggio who was my supposed father. I wagered he regretted his decision a few months later when Campeggio did nothing to hasten his verdict for his Great Matter. Nevertheless, here I was, a knight of England, respected amongst the most prominent figures at the King’s Court.

  ‘Now, I should like to proceed to the next step of our plan,’ I said at the end.

  ‘Have you had any correspondence with Campeggio or the pope recently?’ Eleanor asked next.

  I was taken aback by her question, and I tried to distance myself from her. ‘I don’t need them to tell me what to do. They were both mere instruments for me to use in order to navigate my way through King Henry’s Court.’

  She looked at me puzzled and then kissed me on the lips. ‘Sometimes you’re so naïve, Edward.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ I said, and this time I pulled myself away from her and stood up from the bed. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘You need them, Edward. Especially Pope Clement for otherwise, he can prove himself the most dreadful of enemies,’ she argued whilst putting on her white undergarments to cover her naked body.

  ‘I do not need him! Besides the tide is changing in England. Soon the pope will have no power in this realm.’

  ‘You are here because of him, though; you were knighted because of him, you owe him…’

  ‘He would have me killed,’ I countered. ‘That man who killed Aeron was in fact after me.’

  ‘How can you be so sure he was sent by the pope?’ she asked sceptically.

  ‘Who else could it be? He’s the only person alive apart from you and Belfrigh that really knows who I am,’ I argued.

  ‘What about Norfolk?’

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘He’s Belfrigh’s brother, isn’t he?’ she pointed out.

  ‘You suppose Belfrigh let something slip?’ I asked and stood abruptly from the bed, making my recently healed wound hurt momentarily. I had now a large horizontal ugly scar on my left upper arm; the physicians had said that it would hurt from time to time. ‘Belfrigh reassured me that he did not reveal anything to his brother about me.’

  Eleanor did not argue but looked at me sceptically. Her breasts were exposed, and they seemed larger than usual. ‘Eleanor are you with child again?’

  She smiled reluctantly and then said, ‘I think so, I missed my last bleeding.’

  ‘This is wonderful!’ I said reacting completely different than I had the last time, for now, I knew how precious she was to me.

  ‘Really?’ she asked me and traced her hands on her bare and still flat belly. ‘You don’t care if there is another bastard in this world?’


  ‘He won’t be a bastard, my love because we’re going to get married,’ I announced and hugged her. We kissed passionately and then went back to bed to become one once more.

  At that point, the door of the chamber banged open, and half a dozen soldiers barged into the room, brandishing their long spears.

  ‘Eleanor Welthemore, you are hereby arrested in the name of the king with the charges of heresy and witchcraft.’

  Eleanor who was still on top of me turned to face them. The guards grabbed and forced her into iron shackles, whilst she was in absolute shock.

  ‘This is ridiculous, unhand her at once,’ I said making a move for my sword, which was lying in its sheath onto a small desk next to my bed. If only I could reach it. But it was six of them, all in armour and helmets and holding long spears that could skewer me in an instance in this small place. And how had he called her? Welthemore?

  ‘Do not attempt any folly, Sir Edward,’ said one of the soldiers, as he had apparently seen me eyeing my longsword. ‘This is the king’s business.’

  ‘You mean to say that the king himself ordered the arrest of Miss Eleanor?’ I asked incredulously.

  ‘Hardly, sir,’ the same soldier answered again with a stern look. ‘Merely his Lord Chancellor, Sir Thomas More.’

  ‘That pious bastard,’ I said recklessly.

  ‘Careful now!’ he warned me, neglecting to pronounce me with my title this time. ‘Insulting the Lord Chancellor openly is a serious offence and may have grievous consequences.’

  I frowned. ‘Where is your proof, then? How do I know he ordered the arrest?’

  He gave me an exasperated glare and then said to the others the phrase that everyone in this country dreaded to hear: ‘Get her to the Tower!’

  ‘At least let her dress so she can be decent,’ I said angered.

  ‘There is no decency for traitors and heretics, lad.’

  ‘YOU BASTARD!’ I yelled and punched him in the face. In no time at all, the rest of the guards had seised and placed me into shackles too.

  The man I had punched stood up, wiped his mouth with his palm and saw blood there. He then spat on my feet.

  ‘You’re the only bastard here, and you’re going to regret this. Take them away at once!’ he commanded, and we were both dragged towards the exit of the chamber.

  CHAPTER X

  A Commoner’s Fate

  ‘You fool! You attacked a king’s soldier. What did you expect them to do but arrest you on the spot?’ said Belfrigh, he was standing with his arms folded over his fancy black doublet, whereas I was dressed in rags and my unwashed body had started to produce a foul odour. Three days had passed since they had apprehended us; three nights I had spent in a stinking cell in the Tower of London.

  ‘So, what? Are they going to execute me because I assaulted an insolent soldier?’ I asked in anger.

  ‘You were the insolent one, Ed!’ Belfrigh countered. ‘But no, I don’t think you are up for any harm. They just want to teach you a lesson. Eleanor, on the other hand…’ he paused and sighed.

  ‘Eleanor, what?’ I stood up from my stool to face him better. ‘What have you heard, Belfrigh?’

  ‘She’s charged with heresy and witchcraft, Ed,’ he said matter-of-factly.

  ‘Heresy I can accept,’ I started, thinking what Eleanor had told me about her secret visits to Lutheran gatherings. ‘But witchcraft? What is this?’

  ‘Ms Welthemore’s past is turbulent, Sir Edward,’ said a voice from behind us. A man dressed in a simple black cloak and a matching hat had just entered my cell. He motioned to the guard, who closed the heavy iron door with a thud, giving us privacy.

  ‘Welthemore?’ There was that name again that reminded of someone…

  ‘Surely you knew her relatives back in York, Sir Edward. Your sister Margot was engaged to one of Eleanor’s younger brother before his tragic death,’ claimed the man.

  My mind had stopped. I could not think clearly. How was it possible that Eleanor was the daughter of Lord Welthemore whose family had almost joined mine all those years ago in York before my family and house were burned.

  ‘That’s a lie! The Welthemores had only three children,’ I said and counted silently: Two twin brothers and a younger sister.

  ‘Three that you knew of,’ the man persisted.

  ‘And how do you know this, Cromwell?’ Belfrigh asked the man.

  Thomas Cromwell was the rising star at the King’s Court, a bright example that even a blacksmith’s son with a brilliant mind could ascend to a most prominent position and be in the king’s favour. He was a stout man, in his mid-forties with long black-grey hair that reached his shoulders, and a clean-shaved square chin.

  ‘I have my sources,’ Cromwell answered simply. ‘Miss Eleanor was banished from her family long before you met them, Sir Edward.’

  ‘Banished? What for?’ I demanded.

  ‘The exact reasons are yet unknown to me; however, rumour has it that she was of such a free spirit that no one, not even God could contain her,’ Cromwell responded in a clear voice. ‘I believe they wanted to send her to a nunnery, but she instead ran away one day, and they never saw her again. It suited them well, I must say. As I found out, Miss Eleanor ended up being a prostitute in Rome, never to use her old family name again.’

  She never mentioned that our pasts had been so well connected. Yet again, she never spoke of her life before Rome…

  ‘Do you know who I am?’ I asked Cromwell after a few seconds of contemplation.

  ‘You are Sir Edward of York, bastard son of Queen Elizabeth and King Henry the Seventh, half-brother of King Henry the Eighth.’

  In the blink of an eye, Belfrigh unsheathed his sword and pointed it straight at Cromwell’s chest. ‘Another word and you’ll be a dead man, Cromwell.’

  ‘I would advise you against it, Sir John or should I say Belfrigh the Valiant?’

  ‘How the fuck do you possess such information for our persons?’ I asked him in awe.

  ‘That’s my job, gentlemen. I know things and use them to my advantage. Sometimes to other people’s advantage too, if they treat me well,’ he responded eyeing Belfrigh’s sword disapprovingly. Belfrigh did not move an inch. ‘The way I see it, Sir Edward, I am your only chance to get you out of here alive.’

  I scratched my dirty stubble and looked at him in wonder. ‘And what would you require in return, Master Cromwell.’

  ‘Your everlasting support in all matters, of course,’ he replied, removing his hat and taking a seat on my vacant bed. ‘I hear you’re very close to the king and therefore possess a relative influence over him. I also happen to know that you are familiar with the king’s mistress and soon to be Queen of England, Lady Anne Boleyn.’

  ‘Soon to be Queen of England?’ Belfrigh asked in disbelief, having lowered his sword now. ‘Is this another piece of your inside knowledge, Cromwell?’

  ‘This time, ’tis my intuition, Sir John,’ he said. ‘Queen Catherine’s reign is approaching its inevitable end, all we can do is give it a last push. The old Catholic ways will follow next, for I am told Lady Anne is of our faith.’

  ‘Our faith?’ I said raising my eyebrows.

  ‘Lutheranism,’ Cromwell said simply. ‘Let us not pretend, gentlemen. I know that you are both sceptical towards the Catholic Church’s anachronistic practices and would welcome a change in this realm. I’ve seen you attend gatherings.’

  ‘Okay, let’s say we have,’ I started. ‘How is this going to help us? And what about Eleanor? She’s charged with heresy and witchcraft.’

  ‘Sir Thomas More’s power will soon be diminished too, but until then we must be patient,’ he replied knowledgeably. ‘I can assure you, that no harm is going to befall you, Sir Edward; but I’m afraid I cannot guarantee the same thing for Miss Eleanor. Her past has returned to haunt her, someone wants her dead to get to you. This was no random arrest. As for the witchcraft charge, it might be nothing more than false accusations to strengthen More’s
case against her.’

  ‘Who could it be?’ Belfrigh asked, whilst I was hiding my face in my hands. My sweet Eleanor was in grave danger. The revelation about her past was shocking no doubt, but it did not make me feel less for her.

  ‘The way I see it. Someone else has discovered your origins, Sir Edward and wishes to exterminate you as a potential threat to the king’s legitimate heirs,’ Cromwell speculated.

  Cromwell’s mind was unbelievably fast in connecting events and people to come to a conclusion. His speculation was dead right; the exact thing my mother had told me before she died. However, my mother had also counselled me not to trust anyone, and I was smarter than to trust Cromwell’s motives. I closed my eyes and saw her again.

  ‘You must not trust anyone,’ she had told me. I still remembered her beautiful eyes vividly sinking into the abyss of death. ‘I love you, son,’ her final words had been.

  ‘Queen Catherine, maybe?’ Belfrigh suggested bringing my mind back from hundreds of miles away, where I seemed to have witnessed the death of my mother again.

  But then it dawned on me, as the pieces of this mystery started to stick together. It was not the king who wanted me dead, for his behaviour had indicated his ignorance about my origins. Besides, if he knew who I really was, he would have killed me long ago. It was certainly not Queen Catherine either, for she really seemed to believe I was Cardinal Campeggio’s son.

  ‘The Boleyns!’ I uttered out loud eventually.

  ‘What?’ Belfrigh exclaimed.

  ‘I suppose it’s possible,’ Cromwell concurred. ‘My sources tell me that Thomas Boleyn orchestrated the king’s intimate relationship with Anne Boleyn, as he had attempted to do the same a few years ago with Anne’s sister, Mary. But the king grew bored with Mary and dismissed her as his mistress a few months after their initial meeting. Then Thomas sent his other daughter, Anne, who is rumoured to be quite experienced in the art of love, having spent years at the French Court in Paris.’

  ‘Yes, I wager she is experienced,’ I agreed. ‘However, the king believes Lady Anne is a virgin. What if we prove otherwise?’