My eyes filled with tears. “Henry would surely not let that happen.”
“No. He has told me that if pressed, he will send me into exile. Exile, when I have served my country since I was seventeen and when my father and my brothers all died for the English cause! But it is better than the alternative, I suppose.” Suffolk crossed to his window and looked out. “Your grace, I am grateful that you are here, for there are two things I want you to promise me in case I am condemned to exile or worse.”
“Anything.”
“I say this first because I trust you, as you have trusted me. I have known our king since he was a boy, and I dearly love him, but he is not the man his father was. There has always been something in me that wanted to protect him, and perhaps that is part of the reason that I am where I am today. I should have let him make his own mistakes in his own name, to have encouraged him to lead. Perhaps with me gone, he will.”
“Suffolk, I don’t want you gone! I cannot bear it.”
“That is where your grace is wrong. You can bear it, and you will. If I were to choose between you and Henry, I would say that you are the stronger. That is why I want you to promise me that you will stand by him always.”
“My lord, that is almost an insult. I have never been anything but a loyal wife to him.”
“I know, your grace. But there may come a time when you wish he were a different man, a time when you might be tempted to side with a stronger man simply because his strength attracts you. For your sake and for his, do not give way.”
“Very well, my lord,” I said irritably. “But if I were not so concerned about you, I would not allow you to be presumptuous.”
Suffolk smiled. “I will be more presumptuous yet and tell you that I have come to think of you not as my queen, but as a daughter. It has given me untold pleasure to watch the girl I first saw at age fourteen grow into beauty and grace.”
I put my arms around Suffolk, who gently disengaged himself. “That brings me to the other promise I wish you to make, and that is that you will be careful of yourself. You are vulnerable as a Frenchwoman—and, if I may speak plainly, as a woman who has not got with child. You are a natural scapegoat. When I have served my purpose, they will come looking for more, because they will soon find that my being gone has not produced the miracle they expected.”
“I will. Oh, I do hope that they will listen to your answer and heed it.”
“I do too, for it is not death I fear. It is the disgrace—that I shall die with all of these falsehoods ringing in my ears.” He turned to me, his face working. “They are not part of the charges against me, but have you heard what else they are saying? That I abandoned my post and caused my brothers’ deaths at Jargeau? That my Jane was conceived when I defiled a nun the night before my capture? Good Lord, I have done wrong in my life, but never have I forced myself upon a woman. Jane’s mother was put into a convent by her parents because they could not afford a dowry. She hated it there. We caught each other’s eye when my forces were occupying Jargeau. I should have left her alone, God knows, but I was lonely and she was unhappy, and we cheered each other for a short time. When she got with child I arranged for her to live with some friends of mine, where she died while Jane was little. And that my girl shall hear these things of me and her mother!”
He suddenly put his head in his hands and seemed for a moment to be about to sob. Unable to stand by and let him grieve without comfort, I put my arms around him until he gained his composure as rapidly as he had lost it. Almost in his normal voice, he said, “Let the wrong person see you do that, your grace, and you’ll only make matters worse.”
Remembering how he had rebuffed my affectionate embrace earlier, I stepped back. “Whatever do you mean?”
“You haven’t heard?” I shook my head. “Well, I suppose it’s natural that you’d be the last to know.” Suffolk sighed. “Among the other slanders, I am said to be cuckolding the king.” I crinkled my brow, puzzled at an English word I did not know, and he repeated himself in French.
I clapped my hand to my mouth, sickened. “They say something that vile?”
“I am afraid so, my lady. I am sorry I had to pollute the air here with it.”
“But that is nonsense. You are so much older!”
“Well, I am not quite in my dotage,” Suffolk said with a grim half-smile.
“But you know what I mean! You said just now you thought of me as a daughter, and I think of you as a father. I have been with you longer than I ever was with my father, for he was away so much.” My tears began to flow. “None of this would have come upon you if you had not arranged my marriage to Henry and been kind to me. I have brought nothing but grief to you and him.”
“Nonsense.”
“It is true! They should send me back. I can’t bear a child. I have failed to make peace. I am worthless.”
“Not true, not true at all. Come, your grace. Cry yourself out here.”
“The commons—” I hiccupped as Suffolk took me into his arms.
“Sod them. I’ll not let a lady and my queen cry without comforting her.”
I put my head against Suffolk’s doublet and wept heartily as he gently patted my back. When I had calmed at last, he said quietly, “Henry loves you, your grace, you must know that. His face lights up whenever you come into a room. He has been much happier ever since you came into his life. Never let me hear you say again that you are of no worth.”
“But see? I came to cheer you and I only made you sadder.”
“No, I have been missing you.” He reached for one of the books I had sent him. “Henry’s men have been very courteous to me, but they have no liking for verse, so I have not inflicted it upon them. Perhaps one of your ladies can read to us awhile before we part?”
I nodded and beckoned to Katherine Peniston, who despite being the youngest of my ladies had the most expressive reading voice and the best pronunciation. We settled back as she read, and for a short time, I could imagine us in happier circumstances. Suffolk himself visibly grew less tense and even smiled at one or two lines. “Thank you, mademoiselle,” he said, as Katherine curtseyed to him, and I reluctantly rose to go. “You gave me much pleasure and comfort. And now I think I can sleep well tonight.” He stood and led me to the door, then kissed me on the cheek as I turned, weeping once more, to leave. In a low voice, he said, “You have made my life very sweet, your grace. Whatever happens, remember that. I always shall.”
***
On March 17, Suffolk was brought to a small chamber at Westminster where, in the presence of Henry and the lords of the land, he once again denied the charges against him and declared that he was submitting to Henry’s command to be done with as the king wished. Henry, as arranged, ordered him banished from the kingdom for five years, beginning on the first of May.
“Do be careful of yourself,” I begged Suffolk later as twilight fell and he prepared to leave Westminster under cover of darkness. The commons, it was reputed, were furious that Henry had banished Suffolk instead of ordering his execution.
“Don’t worry, your grace. I’m well armed.” Suffolk breathed in the chilly air as he waited for his horse to be brought round. “Despite the circumstances, it is indescribably delicious to be in the open again.” He smiled at me. “Don’t look so sad, your grace. I am sorry to be going, but I am three-and-fifty and in good health. God willing, I shall live to see both of you five years from now.”
“And things may change, and I may be able to bring you back earlier,” Henry said. “I will try my best. In the meantime, I am certain the Duke of Burgundy will welcome you within his realm.”
“Aye, Burgundy, where all sorts of flotsam and jetsam wash up.” In a graver voice he said, “Your grace, I will do all I can to aid England while I am away. Perhaps doing so will help to clear my name as well.”
“It was never a clouded one for me,” Henry said, shaking his head as Suffolk’s horse and the men Henry had collected to escort him home arrived in sight.
“Nor for me,” I said, as we embraced Suffolk in turn. “God have you in his keeping, my lord.”
“And you too,” Suffolk said, mounting his horse so quickly I suspected that his emotions were once again threatening to get the better of him. He raised his hand in farewell, and the procession started moving through the evening mist and out of sight. As I watched it, tears stinging my eyes, Henry put his arm around me.
“Don’t fear, my love,” he said. “He will come back to England soon.”
My dear and only well-beloved son, I beseech our Lord in Heaven, the Maker of all the World, to bless you, and to send you ever grace to love him, and to dread him, to the which, as far as a father may charge his child, I both charge you, and pray you to set all your spirits and wits to do, and to know his holy laws and commandments, by the which ye shall, with his great mercy, pass all the great tempests and troubles of this wretched world.
And that also, weetingly, ye do nothing for love nor dread of any earthly creature that should displease him. And there as any frailty maketh you to fall, beseech his mercy soon to call you to him again with repentance, satisfaction, and contrition of your heart, never more in will to offend him.
Secondly, next him above all earthly things, to be true liegeman in heart, in will, in thought, in deed, unto the king our aldermost high and dread sovereign lord, to whom both ye and I be so much bound to; charging you as father can and may, rather to die than to be the contrary, or to know anything that were against the welfare or prosperity of his most royal person, but that as far as your body and life may stretch ye live and die to defend it, and to let his highness have knowledge thereof in all the haste ye can.
Thirdly, in the same wise, I charge you, my dear son, alway as ye be bounden by the commandment of God to do, to love, to worship, your lady and mother; and also that ye obey alway her commandments, and to believe her counsels and advices in all your works, the which dread not but shall be best and truest to you. And if any other body would steer you to the contrary, to flee the counsel in any wise, for ye shall find it naught and evil.
Furthermore, as far as father may and can, I charge you in any wise to flee the company and counsel of proud men, of covetous men, and of flattering men, the more especially and mightily to withstand them, and not to draw nor to meddle with them, with all your might and power; and to draw to you and to your company good and virtuous men, and such as be of good conversation, and of truth, and by them shall ye never be deceived nor repent you of.
Moreover, never follow your own wit in nowise, but in all your works, of such folks as I write of above, ask your advice and counsel, and doing thus, with the mercy of God, ye shall do right well, and live in right much worship, and great heart’s rest and ease.
And I will be to you as good lord and father as my heart can think.
And last of all, as heartily and as lovingly as ever father blessed his child in earth, I give you the blessing of Our Lord and of me, which of his infinite mercy increase you in all virtue and good living; and that your blood may by his grace from kindred to kindred multiply in this earth to his service, in such wise as after the departing from this wretched world here, ye and they may glorify him eternally amongst his angels in heaven.
Written of mine hand,
The day of my departing fro this land.
Your true and loving father
I sealed John’s letter and handed it, along with a letter to my wife and another one to my daughter, to one of my servants who had followed me to Ipswich, from where I was to set sail to Calais. “Deliver them with my love.”
“I will, my lord.”
It was the last letter I might ever write on English soil, I realized with a pang.
***
I had spent the last six weeks at my manor of East Thorp with Alice and John, tidying up my affairs as well as I could and listening for the latest news from Normandy, which had at first been heartening: Thomas Kyriell, at last in France with a strong force of men, had taken Valognes. Barely had this good news arrived when bad news followed right behind it: on April 15, Kyriell had been caught near Formigny by forces led by the Count of Clermont and by Pierre de Brézé. Nearly four thousand of our men had been slaughtered, and Kyriell himself had been captured. At least, I thought grimly as I boarded the ship that was taking me overseas, I could not personally be blamed for this latest disaster.
I had two ships and a pinnace to carry me and my small retinue, along with our horses, overseas. As we headed into the Straits of Dover early on May 1, I decided to drop anchor and to send the pinnace ahead of the rest to Calais, where I was to stay before traveling to Burgundy. I had kept the matter from Alice, as we had enough to sadden us during those past six weeks together, but after I left the king and queen at Westminster, I’d been nearly killed by a crowd, furious that I’d escaped a death sentence. Materializing out of nowhere, as foul things often do, the mob had pursued me as far as St. Giles until my men finally beat them off. After this incident, I decided, it would behoove me to determine whether the citizens of Calais were in a similar mood.
As I watched the pinnace sail on and disappear from sight, I fingered the safe conduct Henry had procured for me and tried to preserve the optimism that I had been determinedly cultivating. An exile was not an end, and what was a five-year absence to a man who’d spent over a decade of his young manhood serving in France? Of course, I’d not had Alice or John or Jane to leave behind then, and I was no longer a young man…but there would be letters, and probably visits too in due course. And I would exert myself so hard on Henry’s behalf that the commons might be begging for my return, the scoundrels…
Someone upon deck gasped, and I looked up from my reverie and saw a ship bearing down on us. It was twice the size of my own two ships put together. “Pirates?” whispered Henry Spenser. He was one of the king’s yeomen.
I looked around and saw that the sailors on my own ship—pressed into my service by order of the king—were watching the larger ship with utter indifference, almost as if they had expected to see it. And then I knew that all was lost.
Presently, the larger ship lowered a boat, and I watched nearly as indifferently as the sailors as the men on it rowed in our direction and hailed us. “Be you the Duke of Suffolk?”
“Yes. Bound for Calais at the king’s orders.” Surprised that I could speak the words so calmly, I held up my safe conduct. My hand did not shake; I had entered a strange state of resignation.
“Then, my lord, our master wishes to have a word with you.”
“Don’t go!” hissed Jacques Blondell, who had been in charge of Queen Margaret’s horses until she sent him to wait upon me.
I shook my head. “I’ve no choice.” I had a dozen or so armed men with me, not enough to put up a fight even if the sailors with me had shown the slightest inclination to help. All resistance would accomplish would be to get my companions killed. “Lower me down,” I said.
My confessor put his hand on my shoulder, and I saw that there were tears in his eyes. “I will accompany you, my lord.”
“Me too,” my page offered.
Whatever was going to happen, I would not have this boy be a part of it. “No. Stay you here.”
A sailor produced a rope ladder in an instant, and I climbed down it, followed by my confessor, and into the waiting boat. My new companions said nothing, and indeed I had no desire to make conversation with them. Instead, I looked for the name of the ship to which we were heading.
Nicholas of the Tower.
Involuntarily, I half rose, remembering the prophecy of doom I’d once heard. The strongest of the sailors pushed me down hard. “You wouldn’t be after disappointing my master, would you, my lord? For he sorely wishes to see you.”
In a few minutes we were alongside the Nicholas. I climbed up another rope ladder, looking down only once at the sea beneath my feet. For a moment I was tempted to fling myself into it, but to jump would be not escape but certain death. When I arrived on board, I saw the
master standing before me, surrounded by armed men. He was wearing a fine cloak, of which I suspected he’d robbed someone. He made a mock bow. “The Duke of Suffolk, I presume?”
“Yes. What do you want with me?”
“We’ll be asking the questions, my lord, if you please, from now on. But for now, we just want to welcome you.” He smiled, showing what struck me as absurdly good teeth for a man of his station. Then he and the crew said in unison, “Welcome, traitor!”
***
I thought that my captors would beat me to death, as poor Adam Moleyns had been, but instead they pushed me upon a barrel as the master nodded approvingly. “You didn’t dare ask Henry for a trial, did you? Well, you’re going to get one now. Judge”—he pointed to himself—“jury, and audience, all here!”
“Does it not matter to you that you are violating the king’s safe conduct?” I had been clutching it like some sort of talisman.
“The king’s safe conduct,” the master mimicked in a fair approximation of my voice, and snatched the paper from me. “The king’s next to worthless, and so is this.” He ripped it to shreds and tossed its seal over to one of the sailors. “Piss on it, why don’t you? We don’t know your king, Suffolk. What we do know is the community of the realm, and that’s what the crown stands for. We respect the crown. Just not the head it sits on.”
“Community of the realm? Those are fine sentiments for a pirate, which is the manner of man you look to me. Who fed them to you? Who put you up to this, whatever your name is? Have the guts to tell me, you whore—”
A single blow to the chest, causing me to crumple and slide off the barrel, was the answer to my question. My confessor bent over me as I lay there gasping, then looked up as I slowly managed to sit upright. “How dare you treat him so?”
“Oh, we can treat him any way we please,” purred the master. “His precious king’s not going to help him, is he? We can give him a death like a nobleman, following a proper trial, or”—he pulled a dagger from its sheath and waved it in front of my face, then brought it lower—“we can cut his balls off as a preliminary and kill him nice and slow. His decision, really. Yours too. Now, shall we get on with the trial?”
The Queen of Last Hopes Page 7