Mary turned to more pressing matters. “As one so close to the king, you must have some idea of what he intends for Lord Rochford’s future.” Arrest? Permanent exile from court? Neither was answer enough for the upstart George Boleyn’s many years of heresy and ill-government, but she needed information to decide how to act in the matter.
“His Majesty does not share political matters with me,” Minuette answered.
“He sent you here to negotiate my approval of the Spanish visit,” Mary pointed out.
“Because that visit touches on personal affairs, not merely political ones.”
Oh, the girl was quite good for being young and of a common background. But then she had been raised largely at court in the company of William and Elizabeth—perhaps it was not surprising that she had learned how to speak without saying anything.
But she herself had been doing the same since before this chit of a girl was even born. “Surely the matter of the king’s uncle also touches on personal affairs, not to mention the imprisonment of his own aunt.”
“The only matter on the king’s mind at present is the security of England’s coastline and borders. When the threats of invasion are past, then will the king turn to other matters. Nothing concerns him more than preserving England’s security.”
Mary allowed herself a genuine smile, almost pitying. “If that were true, then the king would not be in such haste to throw away powerful alliances for a woman who brings him nothing but a pretty face.”
She rose from the table, Minuette following suit with an expression devoid of anything but polite attention. “I will not meet with you again, Mistress Wyatt. Tell my brother I shall come to London for Spain’s sake, and because I wish it.”
And because my time has come, she thought. Mother, guide my steps.
CHAPTER EIGHT
LETTERS FROM DOMINIC COURTENAY TO MINUETTE WYATT
14 May 1556
Minuette,
William and I are safely arrived at Dover Castle. I will be invested tomorrow with the office of Warden of the Cinque Ports. The gentlemen of the towns as well as the relevant port officials are taking their measure of me, assuming that my primary interest will be in the collection of revenues. If they knew how little I count the riches the king has carelessly granted me. Tiverton and the duchy of Exeter was a far greater gift than I had ever thought to wish for—what need I for even more wealth? All that I need I have in your keeping.
There has been greenery everywhere I looked along this trip. The hard rains of winter have unleashed a riot of growing things and every blade of grass and thrust of flower stem and swish of leaves is bittersweet with memories.
Dominic
22 May 1556
Minuette,
After a tour of the traditional Cinque Ports, we have ridden on to Portsmouth where a French attack is most likely to be made. They’ll want to harass as much of the coast as they can, of course—but they’ll need a deepwater port for an invasion, and Portsmouth is the most tempting target.
It is an impressive sight, the English ships in port just now. The smaller and faster are at sea, to give warning of French movement, but the two great galleasses—the Henry and Anne and the Elizabeth Rose—are enough to make one’s stomach drop even just standing on solid ground. They each hold more than two hundred men and have an average of thirty guns apiece. As I survey them, I begin to doubt that the French will wish to challenge our command of the seas.
But if they do, rest assured we shall be prepared. You would be proud, Minuette—William and I are working together very well. Almost every afternoon we spend an hour or two in the practice yard and there is great pleasure in remembering how well we know one another’s every move. There’s nothing like imminent war to sharpen one’s mind and put personal grudges aside.
Dominic
From the deep blue seaside at Portsmouth
28 May 1556
Minuette,
William has asked to visit Tiverton with me. I suppose I should be grateful for the king’s interest in my home. But I have had to admit to him that, despite what I said upon leaving Yorkshire last autumn, I did not actually travel to Tiverton. It did not seem an important lie in light of the greater dangers of the winter, but I would not wish him to ask around at Tiverton only to discover I had not been there. I told him I went to my mother’s home instead. That, at least, is true enough.
Dominic
8 June 1556
Minuette,
So you want to know what Tiverton is like? At the moment, a dreary, cold castle, old-fashioned within and without. There’s little I can do about the exterior, short of tearing it down, but the interior could be made quite pleasant with a woman’s touch. It has stood empty of family too long. Perhaps, one day, you might advise me on what a woman would find cheerful.
There are many ghost stories associated with the castle. One has haunted me most unpleasantly, though I am not of a superstitious nature. The servants whisper of a spectre known as the Sorrowful Bride, a young woman who hid in a chest during the revels before her wedding. The chest caught tight and would not open from the inside, and the bride was not found until she was dead. In the light of day, I do not believe it anything more than an exaggerated story that could hardly be true. But at night, when I can see neither blue sky nor green grass, my heart misgives me and I find myself praying for all sorrowful brides, whatever their circumstances for pain.
I will be glad to see you again, little star. William and I will meet you and Elizabeth at Hampton Court no later than the twenty-seventh. We would never miss your twentieth birthday.
Dominic
9 June 1556
Minuette,
We leave Tiverton unexpectedly tomorrow, but not to return directly to court. There has been an outbreak of rioting in Norfolk, aimed at Lord Rochford in his exile at Blickling Hall. William wishes to impose his presence on the disorder. This is no ordinary rabble, discontented with the unpopular Rochford. They are disciplined and organized—and there are rumours that they are calling Mary Tudor queen. We still expect to meet you at Hampton Court as planned.
Dominic
By the time William and Dominic rode into Hampton Court, they had gone a long way in restoring equilibrium to their friendship. William had been uneasy seven weeks ago at the thought of so much time alone with Dominic, but Minuette and Elizabeth had both urged him to put aside his resentments. Leave court business behind for a time, they’d counseled him. They had been right.
The first few days had been awkward, with both men avoiding subjects such as Scotland and Renaud. But pressing military affairs had united them in a shared interest, and talk of defenses and tactics and naval prowess provided an easy medium for conversation. Gradually, as Dominic stood at William’s shoulder and both men asked for and shared intelligent opinions, they had eased into a more natural companionship. The continual sparring practice, resumed at court somewhat uneasily, had evolved into the more natural rhythm of years spent working together with swords and on horseback. No one ever pushed William like Dominic, and he gave as good as he got. The exercise allowed an outlet for some of the unspoken resentments the two of them had been holding onto, and with each day they grew easier together, more like their friendship of old.
And it didn’t hurt that William managed to beat Dominic at least one out of every three matches.
But it was the visit to Tiverton that sealed their renewed bonds. Accustomed as he was to the burdens and privileges of his own authority, William had been impressed by Dominic’s easy command and the respect with which he was treated at Tiverton. He was never overbearing, but he didn’t have to be. Dominic was plainly a man who lived by the advice he had so often given to William over the years: speak openly, praise honestly, criticize dispassionately, and pay attention to the details of the men who serve you. Dominic’s men loved him for it, no matter how little they had known him before he’d been handed the estate.
“A touch of the Plantagenets,” William overhea
rd one old crofter say admiringly, and he admitted the truth of it with only a moment’s concern. Dominic was indeed descended from that golden king, Edward IV—but so was William. And unlike his royal grandfather, Henry VII, who might have taken that comment as a threat, William’s throne was certain and he would never be afraid of diluted bloodlines.
When word came from Norfolk that a Catholic mob had taken possession of Norwich Cathedral and was demanding Rochford’s immediate arrest and trial, William found himself listening to Dominic as he had not for too long. They talked late into the night, managing to discuss issues of religion and politics without William feeling that the memory of Renaud LeClerc was hovering over them. Determined to regain Dominic’s trust, William was scrupulous in either accepting or rejecting his advice openly. Together, they worked out a course of action and together they set out to implement it.
It took them a week to reach Norwich, William’s crimson and azure royal banner floating alongside Dominic’s Exeter arms, the two men leading a mixed force of a hundred soldiers from William’s personal guards and those loyal to Tiverton. The Catholics inside the cathedral offered sharp but brief resistance and within twelve hours Norwich was firmly in William’s hands and three dozen men were under arrest, including the Bishop of Norwich, who had defiantly made his stand with the rebels.
As William rode into Hampton Court on June 26 with Dominic at his side, he felt for the first time since the French war that he and Dominic were truly working as one. The relief of that mended relationship was nearly as great as when he greeted Minuette, radiant and waiting at their return.
This rediscovered trust came at the right time, for though their flying trip to Norfolk had suppressed the immediate violence, it had raised more questions than it had answered about the mob’s supporters. Within two hours of his return, William met with the Duke of Norfolk, who had been openly and blamelessly in London for the last month.
Norfolk’s reputation for blunt honesty didn’t fail him today. Upon bowing, his first critical comment was, “You are making a mistake, Your Majesty.”
William exchanged a long look with Dominic, the only counselor present, and could almost hear his friend’s caution. Don’t let him goad you into quick offense.
With a smile that wiser men than Norfolk knew to fear, William asked softly, “In what way?”
“In seeking to make these riots more than what they were. The men in Norwich were unhappy shopkeepers and merchants. They were not rebels.”
“Shopkeepers and merchants with a store of gunpowder and weapons, sufficient for a regiment of soldiers, carefully stowed around the city. They were funded, Norfolk, and dedicated. They began their rebellion with a Roman mass in Norwich Cathedral, offered by my own ungrateful Bishop Thirlby. And to a man, they called me the bastard son of a whore and named my sister, Mary, queen.”
Looking suddenly like the twenty-year-old he was, the Duke of Norfolk said, “I … I didn’t know that, Your Majesty. I can see the danger there.”
Dominic, who had sat silently watchful to Norfolk’s right, now leaned forward. “Where else do you see danger?”
Norfolk was no fool. He answered Dominic’s real question, the one that lay heavily unasked beneath his words. “Examine my correspondence, my household—I swear, you’ll find no links to those men.”
“No, I don’t expect we will,” Dominic replied. “This is not an accusation, Norfolk, it’s a warning. His Majesty has dealt leniently with the Papists, and they repay him in insults and treason. Leniency is at an end. If more blood is shed, it will not lie on our hands.”
William let Dominic’s words hang in the silence for a moment before adding, “That is all, my lord Norfolk. For now. Lady Mary will be arriving at Hampton Court tomorrow for the birthday celebrations. I hope no disagreements will mar the festivities.”
Wrapping the slightly tattered edges of his position around him, the duke bowed with a touch of arrogance. “Who could possibly wish you harm, Your Majesty?” He stalked out of the chamber in much the way William did when he was displeased.
Dominic’s eyes met his after the door shut. “What do you think?” William asked.
“One can never predict what a Howard might do. I’d watch him.”
“Norfolk has got the message, and it will spread through the Catholics. Mary is being watched, and her letters read. So what do I do about Spain? Philip is prepared to come to Dover in a few weeks’ time. He seems eager enough to marry Elizabeth, and bringing him here will soothe tempers a bit.”
Dominic shrugged. “I’m no good at the politics of matrimony.”
William laughed. “You must stop being so particular. All you need do is point your finger and you’d have yourself a wife. And one who is interested in more than your position, if that’s what you fear.”
With a restless movement, Dominic stood and went to the window that overlooked the privy garden. Maybe he was looking for one of the court women. Maybe not. In the last seven weeks, William had realized that he had no idea what Dominic’s personal life entailed. Or if he even had a personal life.
William returned to a conversation they’d had nearly a year ago, and not touched upon since. “Have you considered on Jane Grey as I once asked you to do? The Duchess of Suffolk has made it plain that her daughter is yours for the asking.”
“On whose asking—mine or yours?”
“Dominic—”
“Leave it, William. We have more important issues at hand. Like King Philip’s visit. And Lady Rochford’s trial. And a jilted and restless French army.”
“You haven’t fallen in love with a married woman, have you? Because that would be a complication. Not necessarily fatal—”
“What of your marriage?” Dominic interrupted. “You’ve announced no plans for a state wedding.”
William paused before answering. “No. We’ll make the coronation the grand affair—the wedding will be intimate. Perhaps only you and Elizabeth to witness. I’m thinking Christmas, with the coronation to be held on our twenty-first birthdays next summer. If all goes well, Minuette will be with child by that time.”
There was a long silence, long enough for William to feel the tension that had crept into the room. He was trying to understand where it had come from—turning over every word he’d said to see where he’d gone wrong—when Dominic said, “If that’s all for now, I’m going to check in with Burghley and see how things are proceeding with Lady Rochford in the Tower.”
William let him go with an oddly hollow feeling inside that he tried to dismiss as paranoia. How could weeks of carefully reconstructing their friendship have been undone with one innocent conversation? He’d not even had the chance to tell Dominic of his plans for Minuette’s birthday tomorrow. Well enough—if Dominic did not want to share that kind of intimacy, then he could be made to wait until the morning, when he would be notified of his part in the planned ceremonies.
Politics, William thought a bit forlornly, was infinitely easier to cope with than friendships.
Mary arrived by water from Richmond, where she had spent the last month in a greater swirl of activity than she was accustomed to. With King Philip’s looming state visit, Mary had been flattered to be consulted by her brother’s men even while recognizing that they wanted to disarm her and keep her so busy that she would not think of behind-the-scenes political maneuvering. But she was capable of being both flattered and cautious. No word of disapproval would escape her at Elizabeth being offered to the Spanish king. Not publicly.
In private, she prayed with an intensity that had not been equaled since the early days of Anne Boleyn’s rise, when Mary had still believed that wrongs could be righted by pure faith. Twenty years on she knew better. Faith needed righteous force to triumph. And the arrival of Philip, representative of the pure faith in earthly form, might be what she had so long awaited. An opportunity to right wrongs.
Mary knew that many considered her if not unintelligent, then at least unimaginative. But she was her father�
�s daughter and she knew how to manipulate when it was necessary. She also knew the value of symbolism. The Spanish ambassador might have provided the material support for the Norwich protests, but Mary had suggested using Bishop Thirlby, knowing that his acquiescence in Henry VIII’s religious reforms had been for form’s sake only. And she had been right, for the bishop had seized upon the chance to offer mass to the brave souls now awaiting the punishment of heretics. She trusted Bishop Thirlby’s faith would sustain him in the difficult days ahead.
The events in Norwich had been a test. Now Mary was prepared to play in earnest. She began, as Catholics always began in England, with the Duke of Norfolk.
The duke came to see her within two hours of her arrival at Hampton Court. It was easier for Mary to come to court now that the hated false queen was dead, and she took satisfaction in the elegant furnishings and rich fabrics with which her chambers were adorned. She had dressed with special care for this audience, fussing with her still-thick hair so that the increasing strands of gray were not visible, and relying on the structure of her ebony and silver gown to deflect attention from her increasingly stout figure. It was not vanity; she knew that to be treated as royal, one must appear so.
Though this young Duke of Norfolk had been raised Protestant, he still kissed her hand and called her by the title heretics denied her. “It is a great pleasure to see you again, Your Highness.”
“You may sit,” Mary commanded. Norfolk took a stool that left him half a head shorter than she in her plumply cushioned chair. He seemed unaffected by this, his very young face more handsome than it should be, while his eyes were more cautious than those of most young men of twenty. But then most men of twenty hadn’t lost a father to a treason charge at age ten and a grandfather to a Protestant plot just two years ago. A plot masterminded by the man Mary wished to discuss just now.
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