The Attorney General to the Lord Judges: Let me note unto you that he hath long lived in friendship with this prince, and so highly advanced by His Majesty’s favor that he should have trembled to think of such rebellion as he now has enterprised. Doth not my lord of Exeter now enjoy his title by the gift of this prince? Was he not made Lieutenant of the March at the mere age of twenty? One of His Majesty’s council? To be Warden of the Cinque Ports, set above men who were his superior in both sense and experience? Yet all these were as cleverly forgotten as if they had never been.
When the examinations had been made, Dominic was removed from the hall for a short time. Too short, he thought wryly, following the lieutenant back in after less than twenty minutes. Though he hadn’t expected salvation, it was disconcerting to be proven right so quickly.
The lords were polled individually. He listened without moving as, one by one, each lord stood with bared head, placed his left hand on his right side, and proclaimed Dominic guilty. When they had finished, all eyes turned to the bar.
Lord High Steward: Dominic, Duke of Exeter, you must go to the place from whence you came and there remain during His Majesty’s pleasure, from thence to be drawn on a hurdle through London streets, and so to the place of execution, where you shall be hanged, boweled, and quartered. Your head and quarters to be disposed of at His Majesty’s pleasure, and so God have mercy on your soul.
Dominic was asked if he had anything he wished to say.
This was the moment he’d been waiting for, and he invested his final words with as much humility as he could muster. “My lords, do but send to me at the time of my death and you shall see how penitent and humble I will be in acknowledging His Majesty’s exceeding favours to myself. And I do most humbly desire His Majesty that my death may put a period to my offenses committed, and be no more remembered by His Grace.”
It was the nearest he could come to petitioning William directly for Minuette’s life.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“TELL ME, DR. Dee, did you see Dominic Courtenay’s fate in the stars when you spoke to us at Greenwich? Did you know then how all this would end in blood and tears?”
Elizabeth prowled her presence chamber at Hampton Court, the glittering space empty apart from herself, Francis Walsingham, and John Dee, who had arrived in England from his Continental travels just the day before. Though Dee’s face bore the marks of fatigue and long hours of hard journeying, his eyes and voice were steady as ever.
“Your Highness, I have told you many times that I see only what the stars lay out according to men’s natures and positions. I do not tell the future, nor do I ordain it. We are all as God made us in our various spheres.”
“That’s not good enough!” Elizabeth slammed one palm on a tabletop, not sure if her temper was fury or grief.
Or terror.
Because Minuette would stand trial for high treason the day after tomorrow. If William could indeed condemn Dominic to the executioner’s block, what else might he be capable of?
With effort, Elizabeth pulled the edges of her unraveling self together. “How has God made me, Doctor? Do I act according to my impulses, or restrain myself to prudence?”
There was a long silence, and Elizabeth turned to face the men. Walsingham caught her eye and she was more grateful than she could say that she had met him. A man committed wholly to her service was such a luxury of relief. Dominic had once been that man for William …
When John Dee spoke, Elizabeth felt that odd sense of present and future combining. She had felt it the first time she met him, a certainty that this was a man important to her, a man she would seek out again and again in the years to come. A man who would give her not easy answers but a path to find the hard ones.
“God made you to see widely, Your Highness. Rarely will you be blinded by immediate troubles, looking always to what will follow from how you deal with them.”
“So I am cold and prudent?”
“You are wise. That does not mean you do not feel. Only those who feel deeply can judge rightly the effects of their own and others’ choices.”
There were times when Elizabeth would like someone to tell her that she was lighthearted or merry or restful … but she was too clearheaded and ambitious for those moments to last long. Now she sighed, and finally sat down. Waving the two men to seats of their own, she said, “What is the latest word from France?”
None of it was good. The Duke of Norfolk had at last been received at the French court and King Henri appeared to be giving serious consideration to providing the duke with troops and ships in the spring to launch a new offensive in England. The seriousness of the offer was underscored by the news that Norfolk was negotiating a marriage to the daughter of one of the French king’s courtiers. Elizabeth wondered how much Henri’s maneuvering of Norfolk was simply a gamble to see if England could be plucked away from the troublesome Tudors with someone else bearing the physical brunt of the work. Money and mercenaries were relatively simple to come by, compared with a leader in whom burned a righteous fervor. Also, Mary Stuart, Queen of Scotland and the lead Catholic contender for England’s throne, would soon be fifteen. Rumour was she would finally marry the French dauphin in the next year. What better wedding gift for her new father-in-law than an island ruled jointly by Mary and her French husband?
“Your Highness,” Walsingham finally said. “Have you given thought to Mistress Wyatt’s condition?”
The entirety of Europe knew that Minuette was now seven months pregnant. If her trial ended in a conviction and sentence of death, she would at the very least be spared long enough to give birth. That gave Elizabeth precious time in which to maneuver. If she decided to maneuver. That was the thrust of Walsingham’s question, for he knew the princess very well indeed. If she decided to aid Minuette, then Walsingham would be her hands.
“I am constantly giving thought to her condition,” Elizabeth answered. “I have asked Robert Dudley to attend her trial. When he brings word to me of the verdict, it will be time enough for you and I to speak.”
Because she still had hope, slender though it was, that the jury would not convict a pregnant woman. That if they did, they would soften her sentence. That even if Minuette were condemned, William would be moved to one of those careless acts of mercy which he favored. She would not undermine her brother while she still had hope.
LETTER FROM ROBERT DUDLEY TO ELIZABETH TUDOR
10 October 1557
Elizabeth,
It is done. I am truly sorry. She has been convicted and sentenced to death.
Early on it seemed the case might founder, for the witnesses were either so vague as to be meaningless or so openly hostile as to discredit themselves more than her. The greatest sensation of the morning was poor Jonathan Percy, summoned from his quiet life of musical composition to provide evidence of Minuette’s early moral laxness. He would not play their game. As he poetically put it, “She is as pure as the snow and as good as a springtime morning.” And then he denounced all as a scourge of hypocrites, and stalked out. They didn’t even try to bring him back. They knew their most damaging witness was still to come.
Unlike her twin brother, Eleanor Percy is such a skillful liar she could make the Pope believe that Martin Luther was a reasonable man. She spoke of her brother’s admirable if ill-conceived defense of a woman he had once loved, twisting that defense into a matter of honour rather than truth.
But Eleanor had more. She did not so much as bat an eyelash when she claimed that Minuette had sought out “unnatural practices” to keep the king enslaved to her body and soul. I have a shrewd idea of what practices Eleanor meant—and how she comes to know about them. But none of that matters. All that matters is that she painted a convincing picture of a scheming, manipulative whore who was sleeping with half the court and either wanted to kill William to prevent him finding out or wished to get herself pregnant so William would have to marry her.
Minuette is back in the Tower tonight, she and Domini
c both, waiting for William.
Don’t do anything rash.
Robert
Elizabeth exercised all her control to stand still. Pacing would have been both unfeminine and far too revealing of her state of mind. She must appear calm, appealing to reason rather than emotion, or she wouldn’t have a chance.
She sank into a graceful curtsey the moment the door opened and kept her eyes carefully lowered until she was spoken to.
“Elizabeth,” her brother said flatly, then to whoever was with him, “Leave us.”
Elizabeth drew a shaky breath as footsteps receded and the door was closed.
Straightening, she fixed her brother with what she hoped was a look of modest submissiveness. Not that she could overplay it, for William knew her far too well.
“I don’t recall inviting your presence today, sister.” His words were like a slap, but she knew that he wasn’t furious so much as afraid. He didn’t want her here because at least part of him was ashamed of himself.
She knew him even better than he knew her.
“I have come to petition for a commutation of sentence.”
His eyes flickered. “Which prisoner?”
She had toyed briefly with the idea of pleading for both, but had reluctantly concluded that Dominic was beyond anyone’s aid, especially as his execution order had already been signed for tomorrow. “Minuette.”
His face might as well have been carved from granite for all the expression in it. He has finally learned to control his countenance, she realized wryly, as he said, “She was tried and convicted fairly. I cannot overturn the court’s verdict.”
Repressing her opinion of the trial’s fairness, Elizabeth said quickly, “But you can commute it. A death sentence is not valid until you have signed the execution order. Leave her in prison, or send her to house arrest far from here. Surely she need not die merely to assuage your wounded heart.”
She tried to bite back the last words, but too late. William’s eyes hardened. “She will die because she is a liar and a whore and a traitor. Her life is mine.”
“And the life of the child?”
She thought for a heartbeat she might have overreached, but William answered, if rather glacially. “Of course she will live long enough to safely deliver the child.”
“And then?”
“If it is a girl … I have no need of another daughter. But if it is a boy, I will acknowledge it. Neither son nor daughter will save the mother.”
It was the first confirmation that he had reason to at least consider the child might be his. Elizabeth wanted to weep at the thought of what that experience had cost Minuette and William both, and it was that emotion that wrung out in her next words. “William, please, you are not yourself, you must not do this.”
“Go back to Hatfield, Elizabeth. I will send for you when you are wanted.”
As she tried desperately to think of any words that might suffice, William added abruptly, “Jane is pregnant.”
Startled, she met his eyes—and she knew. Why death, and why now. He thought he could bury his pain and regret in blood. He wanted to be free of his ghosts before his legitimate son was born.
So much for hope. Now was the time for action.
By sunset of his last night on earth, Dominic was ready. He had written his will, disposing of those few items that had been wholly his—horse, saddles, books, sword—and, more terribly, a last letter to his wife. He had pressed that upon Harrington, who had reluctantly been released earlier that day.
“I’ll stay,” Harrington had said stubbornly, when told by the lieutenant that he was free to go with no charges laid against him.
“You’ll go,” Dominic ordered.
The lieutenant had withdrawn and allowed the two men to fight it out among themselves. Dominic had won. Harrington’s continued presence would accomplish nothing but a show of support in his last hours, and though Dominic valued that, it was more important that Harrington be free. “There is nothing you can do for me,” he’d told the big man who’d become his friend, “but you might be able to help Minuette. And if not, then Carrie will need you. Keep your head low, but stay in London. I’ll bet you that within a day, Walsingham will have found you for Princess Elizabeth’s sake. They will tell you if there’s anything you can do.”
So Harrington had gone, bearing Dominic’s farewell to his wife and leaving him, grateful for the twists of fate—and Lord Rochford’s scheming—that had brought the two of them together.
If it were not for his memory of the night Minuette had been poisoned, Dominic would have thought this the longest night there had ever been. But even counting down the hours to his own certain death was not as difficult as the hours he’d waited in desperate uncertainty of hers.
He stood at the window of the inner chamber, from where he could see little but the bulk of Middle Tower to the west. He could smell the river and tried to let his mind ease into the tidal rhythm of the Thames. When the door opened behind him, Dominic ignored it. If it was William, come to gloat at the end, he would not engage.
He recognized the lieutenant’s voice. “One hour.” Then footsteps retreating, and the door closing. Then absolute silence.
No, not absolute. Someone was with him—someone whose breath came soft and fast. He closed his eyes, afraid to turn around for fear that he was dreaming. If it were a dream, he didn’t want it to end.
But even in dreams, self-control extends only so far. He turned.
If he were dreaming her, surely he’d dream her in her wedding dress—or nothing at all. Minuette wore a gown he’d never seen before, dark brown and clumsily cut. There were shadows beneath her eyes and lines around her mouth. She looked older, and weary. Only her hair was unchanged, hanging loose to her waist and seeming to warm the air around her. And beneath the gown, cut high just under her breasts, the perfect shape of a woman heavily pregnant.
One moment they were staring at each other, the next moment she was in his arms and he was crushing his wife against him and breathing out a prayer of thanks to whatever god or mortal had given them this hour.
Beneath his almost terrifying joy—and the round swell of the child—Dominic was aware of how thin Minuette was, her neck and shoulders as fragile as a bird’s. He was afraid he might break something if he held her too tight. Slowly, he eased the embrace until he could see her face. She looked as dazed as he felt.
“Come here.” He led her to the hard, neatly made bed in the corner of the room. “You look as though you haven’t slept in a week.”
Her voice was stronger than he’d expected. “You don’t think I’ll sleep now.”
“No.”
She raised an eyebrow in inquiry and he laughed, a half-choked laugh at the gift of her expression. “Nor do I expect anything else. It’s the most comfortable spot in the room. We’ll sit, love, and talk.”
He braced his back against the wall and Minuette nestled beneath his arm. He was dizzy from the feel of her and the scent of her, as though all his senses were heightened, imprinting this moment upon him so that he would remember it …
The rest of his life.
They talked, much in the manner they had in the first weeks of their marriage. At night, after other activities, they would lie drowsily tangled and play “Do you remember?” And so they did tonight. They rambled in memory through every moment of their brief times together—the day she’d jumped to him at sixteen and tipped the balance of his heart forever, the night she’d confronted him in anger in Hampton Court’s kitchen lanes, the perfect moment when he’d kissed her for the first time, setting a seal upon their future.
Beneath the surface words and pleasant memories, Dominic was achingly aware of the opportunity he’d been given. He had said nothing of this in the letter he’d written her, but now that she was here, now that he could see her face-to-face, there was something he must say. A favour he must plead.
She wasn’t going to like it.
“Minuette,” he said softly, his hand twine
d in the silk of her hair as she leaned against him, “has William been to see you?”
He felt the answer in the slight stiffening of her body, and hoped she would not bother to lie. They didn’t have time for that.
She didn’t lie. “Yes.”
“More than once?”
“Yes.”
She drew breath to say more, and he stopped her. “I can guess. He has offered to spare your life if you will be his mistress.”
Her answer was quick and tart. “Since he cannot have me when I am dead, my life is a necessity, not a bargain.” When she continued, her voice wavered. “He offered your life. Was I wrong to refuse?”
He kissed her hair. “You need not ask me that. I would not want a life in which you were kept from me, and I doubt he would have kept his word in any case. But there’s something more I must say and I want you to listen until I am finished.”
She nodded warily.
“Tomorrow, when I am … William will come to you once more. He will give you one last opportunity to choose—him or the scaffold.” He could not look at her as he finished. “Minuette, choose him.”
He heard the shock, even a twist of betrayal in her voice. “You would have me sell myself?”
You haven’t already? he nearly answered. But that was jealousy, not reason. “I would have you live. Bear children …” He touched her stomach and felt the lazy kick of the child within. “Find a measure of happiness.”
She was silent for a long time. At last she faced him, her hazel eyes steady and unequivocal. “I would not do it for your life—I won’t do it for mine.”
She kissed him once, then slipped back into the comfort of his embrace. “Besides, you are wrong. William is finished with me. He will not offer again.”
By some inner sense, they knew when the hour was nearly done. Without a word, he helped her to stand and wrapped his arms around her, made clumsy and unfamiliar by her shape.
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