“Against Your Grace!”
“Thomas, I understand you well. You serve me with all your heart. I brought you up, and you have had little but insults from these men. But they are the nobility; they make a shield around the throne. They have certain privileges.”
“Your Grace, I concern myself only with the safety of my master.” The Cardinal snapped his fingers. “I care not that for this shield. Your Grace, I crave pardon but I say this: You know not your strength. All men about the throne should tremble at your displeasure…be they scullions or noble dukes. This could be so. This must be so. You are our lord and our King.”
For a few seconds the two men regarded each other. The Cardinal knew that this was one of the most significant moments of his career.
He was showing the young lion that the golden walls of his cage were only silken strands to be pushed aside when ever he wished. Yet looking at this man of turbulent passions, even then the Cardinal wondered what he had done. But he was vindictive by nature; and from the moment he had seen the greasy water splash his satin robes he had determined at all costs to have his revenge.
* * *
THE NEWS SPREAD round the Court.
“This cannot be,” it was whispered. “What has he done, but talk? Who can prove that this and that was said? Who are the witnesses against him? A pack of disgruntled servants! This trial is a warning. Do not forget this is the noble Duke of Buckingham. He will be freed with a pardon and a warning.”
But the King’s anger against Buckingham was intense when he examined the evidence which his Chancellor had put before him.
His face was scarlet as he read the report of Buckingham’s carelessly spoken words. It was infuriating that anyone should dare think such thoughts, let alone express them. And in the hearing of servants, so that those words could be repeated in the streets, in taverns, wherever men congregated! This was treason.
And what care I, thought Henry, if this be a noble duke! Am I not the King?
For the first time he had realized the extent of his power. He was going to show all those about him that none could speak treason against the King with impunity. He was greedy for blood—the blood of any man who dared oppose him. He could shed that blood when and where he wished; he was the supreme ruler.
Norfolk came to him in some distress. Henry had never felt any great affection for Norfolk. The Duke seemed so ancient, being almost fifty years older than the King; his ideas were set in the past, and Henry thought that the old man would have liked to censure him if he dared. He had been young and daring in the days of Henry’s maternal grandfather, Edward IV, but those days of glory were far behind him.
“Well, well?” Henry greeted him testily.
“Your Grace, I am deeply disturbed by the imprisonment of my kinsman, Buckingham.”
“We have all been deeply disturbed by the treason he has sought to spread,” growled the King.
“Your Grace, he has been foolish. He has been careless.”
“Methinks that he has too often repeated his treason to offer the excuse that he spoke in an unguarded moment. This is a plot…a scheme to overthrow the Crown, and there is one word for such conduct; that is treason. And I tell you this, my lord Duke, there is but one sentence which rightminded judges can pronounce on such a man.”
Norfolk was startled. He knew the King was subject to sudden anger, but he had not believed that he could be so vehemently determined on the destruction of one who had been in his intimate circle and known as his friend. And for what reason? Merely a carelessly spoken word repeated by a dissatisfied servant!
Norfolk had never been noted for his tact; he went on. “Your Grace, Buckingham is of the high nobility.”
“I care not how high he be. He shall have justice.”
“Your Grace, he has erred and will learn his lesson. I’ll warrant that after the trial he will be a wiser man.”
“It is a pity that there will be so little time left to him to practice his newfound wisdom,” said the King venomously.
Then Norfolk knew. Henry was determined on the death of Buckingham.
But even so, he could not let the matter end there. He and Buckingham were not only friends but connected by the marriage of his son and Buckingham’s daughter. He thought of the grief in his family if Buckingham should die; moreover he must stand by the rights of the nobility. This was not rebellion against the King; Buckingham had not set out to overthrow the Crown. The King must be made to understand that, powerful as he was, he was not entitled to send the nobility to death because of a careless word.
“Your Grace cannot mean that you demand his life!”
The King’s eyes narrowed. “My lord Norfolk,” he said significantly, “do you also seek to rule this realm?” Norfolk flinched and Henry began to shout: “Get from here…lest you find yourself sharing the fate of your kinsman. By God and all His saints, I will show you, who believe yourselves to be royal, that there is only one King of this country; and when treason stalks, blood shall flow.”
Norfolk bowed low and was glad to escape from the King’s presence. He felt sick at heart. He had received his orders. Buckingham was to be judged guilty by his peers; he was to pay the supreme penalty.
The pleasure-loving boy King was no more; he had been replaced by the vengeful man.
* * *
HE STOOD AT THE BAR, the reckless Buckingham, facing the seventeen peers, headed by Norfolk, who were his judges. His arms folded, his head held high, he was ready to throw away his life rather than beg for mercy.
Old Norfolk could not restrain his tears. He wanted to shout: This is madness. Are we going to condemn one of ourselves to the scaffold on the evidence of his servants?
But Norfolk had received his orders; he had looked into those little blue eyes and had seen the blood-lust there. Insults to the King, though carelessly uttered, must be paid for in blood; for the King was all-powerful and the old nobility must realize that.
Calmly Buckingham heard the charges brought against him. He had listened to prophecies of the King’s death and his own ascension to the throne; he had said that he would kill the King; he had many times mentioned the fact that only the King and the Princess Mary stood between him and the throne.
He defended himself against these charges. He pointed out that none but his unworthy servants had been able to speak against him. Was the court going to take the word of disgruntled servants before that of the Duke of Buckingham?
But Wolsey had prepared the case against him skilfully; and moreover all seventeen of his judges knew that the King was demanding a verdict of guilty; and if any of them refused to give the King what he wanted, it would be remembered against them; and it was likely that ere long they would be standing where Buckingham now stood.
The old Duke of Norfolk might weep, but nevertheless when his fellow judges agreed that the prisoner was guilty he read the terrible sentence.
“Edward Stafford, third Duke of Buckingham, you are found guilty of treason.” His voice faltered as he went on: “You shall be drawn on a hurdle to the place of execution, there to be hanged, cut down alive, your members to be cut off and cast into the fire, your bowels burned before your eyes, your head smitten off, your body to be quartered and divided at the King’s will. May God have mercy on your soul.”
Buckingham seemed less disturbed than Norfolk.
When he was asked if he had anything to say, he replied in a clear, steady voice: “My lord, you have said to me as a traitor should be said unto, but I was never a traitor. Still, my lords, I shall not malign you as you have done unto me. May the eternal God forgive you my death, as I do!” He drew himself to his full height and a scornful expression came into his eyes. “I shall never sue the King for my life,” he went on. “Howbeit, he is a gracious Prince, and more grace may come from him than I desire. I ask you to pray for me.”
They took him thence back to his prison of the Tower, and those who had gathered to watch his progress knew that he was condemned when they s
aw that the edge of the axe was turned towards him.
* * *
MARIA DE SALINAS, Countess of Willoughby, was with the Queen when she heard that the Duke of Norfolk was begging an audience.
Katharine had him brought to her at once, and the old man’s grief distressed her because she guessed at once what it meant.
“I pray you be seated, my lord,” she said. “I fear you bring bad news.”
He gazed at her, and he seemed to be in a state of bewildered misery.
“Your Grace, I have come from the court where I have pronounced the death sentence, for treason, on the Duke of Buckingham.”
“But this is impossible.”
The old Duke shook his head. “Nay, Your Grace. ’Twas so.”
“But to find him guilty of treason…”
“It was the King’s wish.”
“But his peers?”
The Duke lifted a trembling hand in resignation.
Katharine was indignant. She had known Buckingham to be arrogant, to have offended the Cardinal, to have been overproud of his royal connections, but these were venial sins; a noble duke was not condemned to the barbaric traitors’ death for that.
“It is known what influence Your Grace has with the King,” went on Norfolk. “I have come to plead with you to beg him to spare Buckingham’s life. I am certain that this sentence will not be carried out. I am sure that the King means only to warn him. But if Your Grace would but speak to the King…”
“I promise you I shall do so,” said Katharine.
The Duke fell to his knees and taking her hand kissed it.
“Maria,” said Katharine, “send for my lord Surrey that he may look after his father.”
The Duke shook his head. “My son is in Ireland, Your Grace. Dispatched thither on the orders of the Cardinal.” His lips curved ironically.
“The Cardinal doubtless thought to spare him the anxiety of his father-in-law’s trial,” the Queen suggested.
“He sent him away because he thought he might have spoken in his father-in-law’s favor,” Norfolk replied roughly.
Poor old man! thought Katharine. Buckingham is very dear to him and if this terrible sentence is carried out there will be mourning, not only among the Staffords, but the Howards also.
She shivered, contemplating the hideous ceremony of pain and humiliation. They could not do that to a noble duke!
She laid her hand lightly on Norfolk’s shoulder. “Rise, my lord,” she said. “I will speak to the King and implore him to show mercy.”
“Your Grace is good to us,” murmured Norfolk.
When he had gone, Maria looked sorrowfully at her mistress.
“Your Grace…,” she began.
Katharine smiled sadly at her dear friend. “I know what you want to say, Maria. This is a dangerous matter. You want to advise me not to meddle.”
Maria said quickly: “’Tis so.”
“No harm can come to me if I plead for Buckingham. I am at least the King’s wife, Maria.”
Maria did not answer. She was afraid of the new trend of events, afraid of what effect it would have on her mistress.
“I shall go to the King at once,” said Katharine. “I want to put those poor people out of their misery as quickly as possible.”
There was nothing Maria could do; so, as Katharine left her apartment for the King’s, she went to the window and stood looking broodingly out over the gardens.
* * *
THE CARDINAL was with the King.
“What now, Kate?” asked Henry, mildly testy.
“I would have a word with Your Grace if you will grant me a few minutes.”
“Say on,” said Henry.
Katharine looked at the Cardinal who bowed and went with reluctance towards the door.
“Henry,” said Katharine, catching her husband’s sleeve, “I want you to show mercy to the Duke of Buckingham.”
“Why so?” he demanded coldly.
“Because I believe that a warning will suffice to make him your very good friend in the future.”
“So we are to allow traitors to live?”
“It was not treason in the accepted form.”
“And what, I pray you, is the accepted form?”
“There was no rebellion. He did not take up arms against you.”
“How can you know what methods he used against me? I believe he was planning to poison me.”
“Henry, he would never do that. He was rash and foolish…but I do not think he would ever commit a crime like that.”
“And what can you know of the schemes of such a rogue?”
“I knew him well. He it was who met me when I first came to England.”
“I tell you this, Madam,” roared the King. “Any who acts treason against me shall pay with his life—be he your dearest friend on Earth.”
“But Henry, he is a noble duke…the highest in the land.”
“So he believed. ’Twas his opinion of himself which brought him to where he is this day.”
“His relations are the most powerful in the land,” persisted Katharine. “His wife, the daughter of Northumberland; the Percys will not forget. His son married to Salisbury’s daughter. This will alienate the Poles. His daughter is married to Norfolk’s son. The Howards will grieve deeply. Then there are the Staffords themselves. Four of our noblest families…”
Henry moved a step nearer to his wife. “I forget none of this,” he said. “And were my own brother—and I had one—guilty of treason, he should suffer a like fate.”
Katharine covered her face with her hands. “Henry, shall a noble duke be taken out and barbarously killed before the eyes of the people!”
“The fate of traitors is no concern of mine. He was judged by his peers and found guilty.”
Meanwhile the Cardinal waited anxiously in the antechamber. He knew that the Queen had come to plead for Buckingham. She must not succeed.
Moreover it was necessary that the Queen herself should learn her lesson from the fate of this man. Once she and the Cardinal had been good friends; but now, since the friendship with France, she had looked on him with suspicion. He had heard himself referred to as a butcher’s boy in her hearing, and she had offered no reprimand to the speaker.
It was not only noble dukes who must be taught that it was unwise to lose the friendship of the Cardinal.
He picked up a sheaf of papers and looked at them. Then with determination he passed through the anteroom into the King’s chamber.
“Your Grace,” he said, “I crave your pardon for the intrusion. An important matter of state requires your attention…”
The Queen looked angry, but that was of small importance as the King was not displeased.
He was saying: “He shall die. But we will show mercy unto him. It shall be the executioner’s axe in place of the sentence which you feel to be an insult to his nobility.”
The Cardinal was not ruffled.
The method mattered little to him, as long as Buckingham died.
* * *
ON A BRIGHT MAY DAY the Duke was brought out from his lodging in the Tower to meet his death on the Hill.
There were many to watch this nobleman’s last hour on Earth. There were many to sigh for him and weep for him. He had been arrogant and reckless; he had been harsh to some of his tenants, causing them great hardship with his enclosure laws; but it seemed cruel that this man, who was in his early forties, should have to walk out of his prison to face death on such a bright May morning. His good characteristics were remembered; he was a very religious man and had founded colleges. And now he was to die because he had offended the King and the Cardinal.
He met his death bravely, as all expected he would; and while his body was being taken to its burial place in Austin Friars, among those who thought of him were the King, the Queen and the Cardinal…the Queen with sorrow, the King with righteous indignation, and the Cardinal with deep pleasure which was however pricked by apprehension.
Buckingham
would insult him no more, but the Cardinal was too shrewd a man not to know that he had paid a high price for his vengeance.
A subtle change had crept into the King’s demeanor. The lion was no longer couchant. He had risen; he was testing his strength.
And, when he had assessed the full measure of that power, who would be safe? A Queen? A Cardinal?
The Queen’s Enemy
IN HER APARTMENTS AT GREENWICH PALACE THE PRINCESS Mary was being prepared by her women for a ceremonial occasion. They were all very excited and kept telling the little girl that she would be the target of all eyes on this occasion.
She wriggled beneath her headdress which seemed too tight.
“Be careful, my precious one,” said her governess. “Remember, you must walk very slowly and as I have taught you.”
“Yes,” said Mary, “I will remember.”
The women looked at her fondly. She was such a good child, rather too serious perhaps, but always eager to learn her lessons and please those about her.
Six-year-old Mary felt uncomfortable in the stiff gown, but she liked the dazzling jewels which decorated it; she pulled at the gold chain about her neck because it seemed so heavy.
“Careful, my lady. Hands down. That’s right. Let me see the sort of curtsey you will make to your bridegroom when you meet him.”
Mary obediently made a deep curtsey, which was not easy in the heavy gown, and several of the women clapped their hands.
“Does she not look beautiful!” asked one of another.
“She’s the most beautiful and the luckiest Princess in all the world.”
Mary did not believe them, and knew that they were bribing her to behave in such a way that she would be a credit to them.
“What is the Emperor Charles like?” she asked.
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