The Illegitimate Tudor

by James M Stuart

  ‘I believe the king would marry Jane Seymour, given the opportunity,’ I elaborated.

  ‘That would be an interesting turn of events. I hear she’s a devoted Catholic woman,’ Chapuys said stroking his grey beard in contemplation. ‘In any case, we must create this opportunity you mentioned, and it will not be easy. What say you, Master Cromwell? You are the lawyer amongst us.’

  ‘If we are to bring Queen Anne down,’ Cromwell started, his eyes still fixed on me, ‘we need incontrovertible evidence against her. Evidence that would preferably point to treason.’

  ‘You want to have her executed?’ Sir Francis asked puzzled.

  ‘What did you expect?’ I enquired.

  ‘Well, to be frank, I don’t know. But definitely not that,’ Sir Francis admitted shocked.

  ‘’Tis the only way,’ Chapuys agreed. ‘She is the Devil and I am glad you see it now as clearly as I have for years. So, what would the accusations against her be?’

  I answered with a single word: ‘Adultery!’

  ‘And what if the queen has a son before we have time to frame her?’ Chapuys asked.

  This time it was Cromwell who answered. ‘Your Excellency, with all my heart I believe that the king will never have male heirs from Anne Boleyn, for this marriage has been proven to be cursed,’ said the man who had orchestrated it all from the beginning.

  *

  Later that week, Cromwell summoned me to his house in the City of London for a private word. He, of course, had his own lodgings at every royal palace, but the last few months the court was housed in Hampton Court, which was quite far from the city. He often retrieved in this house, when he had business in London, or as some people claimed, when he did not want his private matters to be disturbed by the prying eyes and ears of the court.

  The city was gloomy that night. Snow had fallen earlier, and the coldness of the night had made the streets icy and slippery. There were only a few people outside, as the chill had made most of them return to their homes shortly after the sun had set. Smoke was coming from every visible chimney, and I wished I was next to a blazing fireplace with a cup of warm wine on my hand…

  The house was situated on the north bank of Thames, not far from Westminster Palace. It was one of the most expensive areas to live in London. There were houses of earls and dukes and other wealthy men. It was astonishing how different this part of the city looked in comparison with others, where homeless folk lingered on the frozen streets begging for a chunk of bread. Nevertheless, I was clutching my sheathed sword tightly as I was crossing a deserted alley; every shadow seemed menacing.

  When I finally reached the house, a two-storey building, I was admitted indoors by a servant, who offered to take my furred cloak, but I refused for I was still cold. The servant then guided me through the ground floor. We passed a big dining room and at the end reached a chamber that seemed to be a study.

  Cromwell was sitting in a big armchair, not very unlike a throne, behind a desk full of documents that were spread across the vast surface of a desk. He was so focused on writing something that I had to cough lightly to draw his attention.

  ‘Ah, Sir Edward!’ he exclaimed. ‘Good evening! Have a seat,’ he said pointing with his feathered quill to the stool at the front of his desk. ‘You may leave us!’ he said to his servant.

  I sat down and looked around in the candlelit chamber. It was the first time I had visited his house, and I was expecting something similar to Wolsey’s apartments. Cardinal Wolsey always had the best furniture and lived in luxury; however, Cromwell seemed to be nothing like his patron. The parts of the house I had seen on my way to this chamber were quite simple. As for his study, the greatest parts of the walls were covered by massive bookcases, full of spellbound tomes.

  ‘You wished to see me, Master Cromwell?’

  ‘Yes!’ he confirmed but continued scribbling on his piece of parchment. When he had finally finished what I supposed was a letter, he folded it at three and sealed it with wax. Then he placed it in a drawer under his desk, which he later locked.

  ‘I just wanted to update you on our front, Sir Edward. I summoned you here tonight, for it is safer for us.’ He stood up, circled his massive desk and reached for a jug of wine that was placed on a table next to the window. He poured its contents into two cups, giving me the one and then resuming his seat behind his desk.

  ‘I have started gathering evidence against the queen,’ he said after he had taken a long sip from his cup. He wore simple black robes, and he looked odd without his hat. ‘There are many who claim to have seen her openly flirting with men other than the king, and I believe we would soon have specific names. Next, we will require eyewitnesses’ testimony and of course the confession of the guilty men.’

  ‘How would we achieve that if these men are innocent?’ I asked naively.

  ‘Sir Edward, I believe you have not witnessed my full power of persuasion,’ he said enigmatically, and I understood. The poor men that would be arrested for committing adultery with the queen would have to confess whether they were guilty or not, for otherwise they would be tortured to insanity.

  ‘Furthermore,’ Cromwell resumed, ‘I would like to discuss the bold statement you made to Chapuys about Lady Jane Seymour.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ I asked, but I admit I was expecting that.

  ‘The Seymours are Catholics, Sir Edward. We did not get this far to crown as Queen Consort another pious woman. Our reformation moves at a fast pace, and I shall not do anything that would endanger my plans for a fully Lutheran England.’

  ‘I merely said it to attract Chapuys to our cause. Making him believe that England could return to its Catholic roots might convince him and the emperor to sign the treaty,’ I countered.

  ‘We both know you do not care about this treaty, Sir Edward. So, spare me your lies. You only wish this plot to be a success, so you could satisfy your blood feud with the Boleyns. However, there are bigger things at stake here than avenging your long-dead family,’ he pressed. ‘You do not understand how politics work.’

  ‘Is this it? Are you drawing a line?’ I said standing up. ‘I should stay quiet whilst you make the big decisions that favour you. Like choosing the king’s next wife? What if he has chosen her already without your knowledge, Cromwell? You pretend to know everything in this court, but you cannot presume to know the king’s own mind.’

  ‘Do not forget your place, Sir Edward. You need me more than I need you,’ he muttered threateningly.

  ‘I seriously doubt that! One single word to the king and you are done. So, you would better stop treating me as your inferior for I am the son of a king, whilst you are a son of a blacksmith, whose ambition has taken him so high that a potential fall would be catastrophic.’

  Cromwell stood up from his chair now too, his eyes sparkling with dislike. When he spoke though, his voice was calm. ‘If you want my respect, Edward of York, you have to earn it. I have risen so high only because of my abilities and not of my bloodline. You reached this place by treachery and deceit. I would ask you then not to assume to be a better man than me or any other at this court. Your face is masked like everyone else’s.’

  My argument with Cromwell had made me realise that I could not trust him. He was his own man as I was. Cromwell thought he served a more significant cause: that of banishing Catholicism from England for good, but at the same time preserving the peace. I refused to be his pawn, though. Our secret meeting had somewhat shaken me, and not because I was afraid of him, but merely because of what he had said at the end that made me storm out of his house enraged. He had called me a deceiver, a masked and treacherous manipulator. Was he right, though? Had I become the monster I so much resented at this court on my road to vengeance. No! I refused to accept that, for I was no murderer like these men. I was merely seeking justice where there was none. And our conspiracy to bring down Anne Boleyn was blessed by God, for surely He wanted righteousness upon His Earth.

  ‘’Tis God’s work to avenge,
Edward, not yours!’ Father Edmund’s voice kept saying inside my head. But what if God acted through me? What if I was His tool and was supposed to deliver His vengeance upon these horrible people who had robbed me of my family and friends? I tried to convince myself, believe it with all my heart, for I was afraid of His judgement when the time to act would arrive…

  *

  At the end of the month, the king decided to host a jousting tournament on the grounds of Greenwich Palace. Nobody knew what the occasion was. Although he said: ‘There is no need to be a special occasion, my lords. I just thought we should entertain ourselves, for there have been many grieve events in the last couple of years.’

  Of course, the participants were all knights of major Houses and were competing for the honour. The winner would also receive a considerable sum of gold coins, whilst the runner-up would be rewarded accordingly. The king though had prepared a last-minute surprise for the court; he, too, would take part in the tournament, competing with the other challengers for the prize, although he was the one that would submit the winnings. He did not care about the prize, he wanted recognition and glory; he wished to prove that despite being forty-four years old now, he was still young at heart and able for manly sports, as he used to be during the early days of his reign. But all I wondered was whether his armour would fit him, for the capacity of his belly had significantly increased the last few years.

  In the meantime, Belfrigh was amongst the contestants. He could not resist the call of his old life, though he seemed fearful of a potential injury; it was, after all, what had destroyed his career in his youth and subsequently led him into exile. However, he seemed willing to fight his own demons...

  ‘Are you sure about this, Belfrigh?’ I asked him the day before the start of the tournament. The two of us had recently reconciled. He was the last person I fully trusted, despite his blunder.

  ‘Surer than I’ve ever been, Ed!’ he responded confidently. ‘I have to do this. I must face my fears. Only then I would be truly free.’

  Facing one’s fears is never easy, nor should it be taken lightly. That was why I had never done it myself, and it was one of the reasons I was haunted by my past…

  Big wooden stands had been set in the midst of the palace gardens. They were so spacious that they would surely suffice to accommodate the whole court. The stands were on the left and right respectively of a long charging road were the heavy armoured knights would face each other with their lances, as would the cavalry do in battle. Flags from different Houses were decorating various places of the construction, with the Tudor Rose being the most prominent one. Moreover, tents were risen around the stands to house the contestants and their grooms.

  The warhorses that were used were massive and taller than any I had seen before. They were specially trained to not fear the charging attack of an enemy and were equipped with their own armour. The riders of these large beasts were both heavily armoured and fitted with a long lance and a round shield. The aim of the game was for the knights to procure as much damage to each other as possible; meaning to break their lance on the opponent’s shield or armour to gain points. A match-winning move was when a knight unhorsed the other.

  Everyone seemed excited by the prospect of the tournament, and on the morrow of its start, the whole palace was emptied to attend the opening ceremony. Trumpets were heard, and fools did their tricks until the king in magnificent purple clothing with his golden crown resting on his brow gave the order for the first contestants to fight. Queen Anne was seated next to him, with her father and brother on her side. The Dukes of Suffolk and Norfolk were sitting on the right-hand side of the king, with Sir Francis, Sir Henry and me directly under the dais.

  In the meantime, Cromwell was nowhere to be seen nor was the queen’s musician, Mark Smeaton, who was usually around her in these occasions, ready to play his rebec or flute. I was suspecting that Cromwell was already making his first inquires against the queen, whilst everyone else at court was busy watching the tournament…

  The matches between the knights were drawn randomly from a pot, and I could tell that every man or woman in the stands was waiting to find out whom the king would face. Who would be the one to dare raise arms against his sovereign? It was Belfrigh or else Sir John Howard who would do it.

  There was an uproar of applause, and the king smiled and waved to the crowd. Queen Anne’s expression was cold as stone.

  ‘You should not do this. ’Tis too dangerous and you are-’ she started saying but stopped abruptly. Her tone was hushed, but not low enough that we could not hear her.

  I turned my head discreetly to look at the king. He was still smiling and waving at the crowd.

  ‘Have you lost your mind woman?’ he said in a high whisper and gazed at her menacingly clutching her right hand so tightly one would think he wanted to break it. Queen Anne flinched in pain. ‘I am what?’ the king dared her to finish her sentence. ‘Old? You think I’m incapable of jousting anymore. Don’t you dare assume that the Great Lion of England cannot joust.’ He released her hand which was now red from the pressure and added, ‘I think you had better leave, my dear. The tournament can be upsetting for you.’ He eyed her belly, which had just started showing signs of pregnancy. ‘Rochford! I bid you to accompany the queen to her lodgings back in the palace.’

  George Boleyn nodded and edged towards his sister who seemed quite unwilling to leave, but then her father gave her a stern look, and she finally obeyed and departed the stands heading back to the palace with her brother on her side and her ladies-in-waiting on her heels.

  The king now turned his attention towards the first contestants who were ready to march and were awaiting his signal. He nodded, and the two armoured men mounted their horses. With the wave of a flag, they were off, their lances pointing straight at each other’s hearts…

  I had only watched a jousting match once before in my life, when I was but a small lad, back in York. I remember my father, Thomas insisting on my mother to let me go and watch it, for I was rarely allowed to leave the sanctuary of our mansion. It must have been in the final days of my father, King Henry the Seventh’s reign. Although I remember little of that day, the memory of a single emotion remained, and I was experiencing the same one now: awe. I was amazed at these men’s courage marching towards each other menacingly, and even though I knew the lances used for this game were not the same lethal lances used in battle, it was still considered one of the most dangerous sports, for many men had lost their lives jousting.

  Many clashes and many broken lances and shields later, fifteen men had progressed to the next round, with their beaten rivals narrowly escaping any significant injury. The last pair of opponents was that of the king and Belfrigh. I was secretly hoping for Belfrigh’s dominance, and as I saw the two men, it was plain who was the fittest. Belfrigh, despite being older than the king, looked much more capable of wielding the long lance and sustain the heavy armour. As for King Henry, he was so arrogant that even his fat belly would not discourage him.

  ‘I do not want you to be lenient with me, Sir John,’ the king shouted to Belfrigh after three grooms had finally managed to fit him in his plated armour. ‘Give me your full strength, for I want a fair match.’

  ‘As you wish, Your Majesty!’ Belfrigh said bowing in respect, and I grinned.

  The king then approached Lady Jane Seymour, who was sitting not far away from the royal stand, and with a smile, he asked her to wear her honours in the match; and so, she took off a blue ribbon from her hand and tied it on the tip of his lance. I could tell he was still angry with the queen defying him publicly, but looking at Lady Jane, his face had somewhat changed, softened.

  Then the two contestants took their positions, put on their helmets and climbed their massive horses. The king waved confidently one more time to the crowd, lowered his visor at the same time Belfrigh did, and when the flag was waved, they were off…

  The speed of the horses was unprecedented and their clash imminent. Everyone in t
he vicinity seemed to be holding their breaths, the only thing audible was the hoofing of the horses as they steadily guided their riders against each other. When they met, the clash of lance on shield produced a splintering sound and the next moment the one rider was down on the ground, his shield broken, and his helmet cracked on the forehead. It was the king who had been unhorsed.

  The crowd gasped, for the king was motionless on the dirt. Then chaos followed, as lords, knights and servants ran to his aid, including me. As I kneeled on his side, I could barely surpass a smile; he deserved what he had got, for his arrogance. Belfrigh was much better at jousting. Nevertheless, he rode at the king’s direction humbly, to make sure he was okay.

  Now more and more people gathered around the fallen king, hiding the sun with their shadows.

  ‘Give him space to breathe!’ the Duke of Suffolk yelled. ‘Sir Francis, Sir Edward help me carry the king to his tent. Boleyn! Fetch the physician.’

  Thomas Boleyn looked revolted to be given instructions by Suffolk and to be sent for errands like a page boy, but he hurried away, nonetheless. At the same time, Sir Francis and I, together with Suffolk hoisted the unconscious king and transferred him to his massive tent where we placed him upon a table and removed his cracked helmet. There was a deep cut on his forehead, supposedly from the splinters of Belfrigh’s broken lance.

  For a few seconds, we just looked at him as if waiting for a miracle, but nothing happened. When the physician arrived moments later, he deemed that the king was still alive but only just.

  ‘He may not awake, gentlemen,’ the physician said grimly, and everyone present gasped.

  The king may die? That was unexpected. All our efforts had been focused on deposing Queen Anne and humiliate her family before the king, but if the king died then Thomas Boleyn would be named Lord Protector of the realm until Princess Elizabeth came of age and be able to rule for herself. In that case, Thomas Boleyn would be king in everything but name.