Faithful Traitor: The Story of Margaret Pole (Plantagenet Embers Book 2)

by Samantha Wilcoxson

  It took more time and patience than she had anticipated, but the longed for move finally occurred. That is when Margaret discovered that God can have a rather dark sense of humor.

  November 1539

  “I have informed his majesty that my wife will no longer accommodate your noble desires, nor will I trouble myself with questioning you further. Quite frankly, my lady,” Fitzwilliam informed Margaret. “You are not worth my time.”

  Without waiting for her to ask any question or respond to his brusque announcement, he parted with saying, “Prepare to leave and not return.”

  A sliver of joy shone itself, but Margaret was reluctant to allow it growth. Fitzwilliam had not said where she was going, and that seemed an evil omen. He was not one to put hope or trust in, as she had learned well in the past year. He had informed her of Geoffrey’s miserable condition and her grandson’s continued imprisonment as if they were jolly stories he had picked up at the tavern. He had not mentioned where she was going on purpose. Because it was a victory for her that he did not want to admit?

  The caravan that was prepared for Margaret’s travel was present to prevent her escape more than for her protection, but it would serve as both if need be. Despite her efforts to smother any remaining hope, she found she was glad to be leaving. She was no longer able to ride and would use a litter, but that no longer bothered her. She had taken so many things for granted and was content simply to be leaving, even if her destination remained a mystery.

  As they rode out, she recognized their course was set toward London but would learn no more from any of those traveling with her. Fitzwilliam must have instructed them that she was to know nothing, and he clearly paid well. Margaret’s questions were met with blank stares and one or two sympathetic apologies but no answers.

  She had her answers soon enough as the whitewashed stone of the Tower of London came into view.

  December 1539

  Margaret was enclosed within a small room, relatively clean but not at all comfortable, with nothing to entertain her besides the enumeration of the ancestors she joined within these blood soaked grounds.

  Her father was a vague memory. She had been so young when he died and so many years had passed since. Her brother. If her end was near, she must find a way to forgive those who had conspired to end his days so that she could, in turn, be forgiven by God for her own sins. He had been a sweet child, taking happiness in the small joys in life, even after he was committed to this bleak prison.

  Elizabeth had not been a prisoner of the Tower, but it had taken her life and that of her newborn daughter just the same. Had the secret of her brothers been revealed before she drew her final breath?

  Margaret could at least take comfort in the fact that she had so many to welcome her to heaven when the inevitable day came.

  It should have no longer shocked her to receive an unexpected visit from John Hussey. When he was escorted into her cell, she knew not whether to jump for joy or close her ears.

  “You should not be here,” she admonished him. “Any favor toward me will be interpreted as disloyalty to the king.”

  He nodded, seeming to consider her advice. “You are probably correct. It is a good thing that the guards currently on duty are in the pay of a common friend.”

  Realization dawned on Margaret. “All this time?” she asked.

  Hussey only smiled. Of course, Margaret thought. How else would he have managed all that he had without the support of Princess Mary?

  “Still, I will not have much time,” he continued as he emptied sacks of practical items like dried meat and a woolen blanket.

  “Thank you,” Margaret murmured, humbled by the items that she could no longer provide for herself. She waited for Hussey to speak, but he seemed content to gift her these necessities. “Tidings?” she prompted.

  He shrugged. “Much is as it was and you know of. Your grandsons remain here, though I doubt you will be able to see them. Gertrude Courtenay has been released.”

  “But she is guiltier than anyone!” Margaret snapped. “Her ambition to wed Edward to Mary was the scheme that sent her husband to his death.”

  Another shrug. “I know it as well as you do, as does the king. It must serve some purpose of his to forgive her.” He paused to check the bottoms of his bags and found them emptied. “You may be interested to know that he will be taking his fourth wife.”

  Margaret’s eyebrows shot upward. She did not need to ask what woman could possibly think that all the riches of England were worth marrying a temperamental tyrant.

  “She does not know him,” Hussey answered her unspoken inquiry. “Anne of Cleves was the option put forward by the king’s secretary, Thomas Cromwell.”

  “He takes a Lutheran bride?” Margaret was stunned. It seemed Henry still had the power to surprise.

  “It would seem so,” Hussey agreed. He seemed convinced that anything could happen and none of it would shock him given what he had seen.

  “How are my sons?” Margaret asked, not wishing to spend any more time thinking of the king.

  “Reginald does well, as he always does. It is good that he left when he did.” They shared a look that spoke volumes of what they may have done differently had they only known. “He has loudly proclaimed his brother and cousin as martyrs of the Holy Church,” Hussey added with a smile that reflected a father-like pride. “Geoffrey,” he paused to cough, and Margaret knew it to be a signal of choking on words that he would rather not say. “He struggles with guilt. I pray that you will not be offended if I say that I believe he wishes that he had died with his brother.”

  Margaret nodded in understanding. Geoffrey’s sentence was to live with what he had done.

  “I do not know how vital this will be to you at this point,” Hussey went on. “But Jan has revoked her vow of celibacy and married Sir William Barentyne.”

  Anger flared, and Margaret slammed her hand down on the table with more force than Hussey would have thought possible. “She cannot,” Margaret insisted sternly.

  Hussey seemed taken aback by her vehemence. “She has.”

  “I have done little to protect my children’s lives but will see that their inheritance goes to their children,” Margaret stated with her old fire. “See that the marriage is challenged,” she ordered before adding more demurely, “If you would.”

  “Why not?” Hussey said with a sigh. He had believed the news to be inconsequential and now he had another tedious task to accomplish.

  A light tap on the door alerted them that their time must end, and Margaret suddenly felt as though she had misspent it.

  “Hussey,” she pleaded not knowing what she would ask of him. She simply did not want him to go. “Will I see you again?” she asked.

  “That is known by God alone,” he said as he returned the soft knocking. “I pray that he will bless and comfort you, Margaret.”

  Then he was gone, and Margaret was left feeling more alone than ever before.

  December 1540

  Margaret passed more than a year in the confines of the small room with little besides the comforts that Hussey had provided or those that she complained loud and long enough to receive from the king’s hand. Henry never had her brought before him or had her questioned. She was held just as her brother had been, with no hope of release or resolution. How many more years would pass before God himself affected her release?

  Most of her time was spent in silent meditation and prayer. Initially, she had tortured herself. No need for Henry’s men to do the dirty work. Replaying each moment of her life, every decision and each word, had been worse than the rack. In so many instances, she found ways that she could have saved her son. She should have been content to submit to the king in all things. Princess Mary could fight for herself when the time came, and God would be content with her worship regardless of the liturgy. Margaret had sunk into a deep depression with no one around her to pull her out.

  It had been the comfort of the Holy Spirit that had finally drawn h
er out. At her deepest depth and all alone in prison, God was her rock. Though she continued to struggle with forgiving herself for the choices she had made, she knew that God had already done so and that her Henry was rejoicing in heaven. He was there with his father and Arthur. Margaret longed to join them, so her prayer time was the closest route she had.

  During her year in the Tower, the world went on around her, but she only caught snippets of it. The king married and divorced Anne of Cleves. Lucky girl, Margaret thought. His new wife, for he had not waited long before choosing another, was young Catherine Howard. Margaret knew little of her, for she was of an age with her grandchildren. More than that, she no longer cared.

  Hussey had managed to press the suit that had Jan’s new marriage annulled, and Margaret was content with that. Arthur’s children would have their inheritance. It was the last of her scheming. God’s will, rather than hers, would decide the future.

  It had not even brought her any satisfaction when Thomas Cromwell had been executed. The man who had sent so many good men, women, and even children to their deaths for not taking up the reformed faith finally had pushed his king too far. Margaret had, however, reached the point where she was more curious as to whether she would see the man in heaven than gratified by his downfall.

  Would Reginald someday be king consort to Mary? Margaret doubted that she would find out, and God had given her peace in that uncertainty. She had done all she could, and Reginald had proven time and again that he was capable of looking out for himself. Margaret still hoped, of course, to see it but was no longer consumed by it.

  She had made her peace and could only wait.

  March 1541

  Geoffrey was in too low of a place himself to attempt to visit his mother. Reginald continued in happy exile, and Hussey had little reason to take the risk. At least that was what Margaret believed. She had no way of knowing that John Hussey had also made his walk to the scaffold for treason. Therefore, Margaret was pleasantly surprised to see her door opening after many moons without a visitor.

  The first thing that caught her eye was the bright auburn hair, so like hers had once been. She almost fell to reminiscing before reminding herself that this was a person who had come to see her, not a ghost of her past. The rich dress also appeared like something out of another lifetime. Margaret had worn such silks before the damp and cold of the Tower forced her to choose warm wools.

  Bright blue eyes and a sweet smile were found on the face of the woman that Margaret barely knew and certainly had not expected to see.

  “Catherine Howard!” she exclaimed in a rusty voice. “Queen Catherine,” she corrected after clearing her throat. How odd it felt to use her old friend’s name for this youthful beauty.

  The young woman dimpled, appearing honored that the old countess had recognized her. “I have brought you some warm clothes,” she said in a high, sweet voice. “I also asked the tailor to make them fashionable, as your rank demands.”

  Margaret watched as the girl, for she was hardly more than a child, draw out lovely clothing from the trunk that had been dropped just outside the door for her. Each item was held up and admired, and Catherine did not seem to mind that Margaret was unable to form words of thanks. Once each rich piece had been paraded by, Margaret finally found her voice.

  “Catherine, you should not have taken this risk,” Margaret whispered. She felt wholly ungrateful in admonishing the girl for her generosity, but Margaret understood how dangerous it was to demonstrate favor to the wrong people.

  “Nonsense,” Catherine brushed her objection aside. “My husband is aware that I placed this order with you in mind. I am not solely a plaything for his majesty.”

  “No,” Margaret agreed, though she had the distinct feeling that the comment was directed at someone other than herself. “It was remarkably kind of you to think of me,” Margaret said more confidently, daring to touch the soft, thick fabrics that were ideal for the cool, moist interior of the Tower. “May God bless you,” Margaret said. She began moving to her knees to ask for the queen’s blessing, but Catherine stopped her with a hand upon her shoulder.

  “Do not, Lady Salisbury. It is not needful and would cause you pain.” She made the sign of the cross upon Margaret’s forehead, and Margaret closed her eyes to memorize the sensation. It had been so long since anyone had touched her. “May the Lord bless you and keep you,” Catherine said in a simple blessing.

  “And you,” Margaret replied, inclining her head. “I thank you, Catherine. Please take care.”

  “I am always careful,” Catherine said with a playful wink.

  Margaret watched Catherine stride away and prayed that the girl had what it took to survive King Henry.

  May 27, 1541

  As the weather warmed, Margaret found she could wear fewer layers of the fine clothing that Queen Catherine had brought her. The visit still gave Margaret reason to smile when she remembered the young queen who had cared enough to ensure the comfort of an aged traitor. She had not heard of any rumors regarding the girl and wished her well in what was certain to be a trying marriage.

  Not that Margaret heard much in her little room. It was as if she were separated from the entire world. As this new day dawned bright but cold, Margaret wondered how much longer she would be here. Would they simply forget that she was there as she outlived everyone who had once cared for her?

  The creaking of her door was unanticipated that early. The meager ration brought to break her fast normally came at erratic times but much later than the sunrise. Margaret turned without much curiosity, but the dark face of the guard caused her to flinch.

  “Lady Salisbury,” he grumbled with the slight incline of his head. “It is my duty to inform you that your sentence will be carried out this morn.”

  “My sentence?” she asked in confusion. “I have never stood trial. What is my crime to justify this mysterious punishment?”

  Margaret stood firm as she asked these questions which she already knew the answer to. King Henry, so accustomed to committing legalized murder, was not bothering to go through the legal niceties anymore. And why not? Guilt was a foregone conclusion in Tudor England’s treason trials. It was unfair to make this lackey squirm, but she would not get a chance to do so to the man who deserved it.

  After a moment spent in search for the proper words, the guard stumbled over those he had chosen. “You are to be executed by the axe two hours hence.”

  Now it was Margaret’s turn to be lost for words, but the guard did not mind. He left quickly, glad that his task was complete. As the door shut on Margaret for the last time and she heard the locks secured, she was suddenly afraid.

  Two hours. She had felt ready since Henry’s death, but now every fiber of her being screamed out that the timing was not right. Yes, she was aged, even unneeded, but did that sentence one to death?

  Why now?

  Margaret had been sitting in this room and at Cowdray and Warblington before it for more than two years. What drove the king to make his move at this point when she had not made one to spur it on?

  She could only guess that anger against Reginald pushed the king to vengeance. Since his assassins failed in their attempts to bring down the cardinal, they would hurt him through his mother.

  Very well. She gladly stood proxy that one of her children would live.

  Looking around the room that had seemed so bare only moments before, Margaret noticed details that had slowly turned it into something of a home during her lengthy stay. A letter from Jane. Her rosary beads. A small bunch of wildflowers handed to her by a shy kitchen maid when she delivered Margaret’s dinner a few days previously. Had the girl a notion of what was to come when she made that kind gesture?

  It did not matter. None of it mattered.

  She fell to her knees to pray for the last time.

  ~~~~

  An unfamiliar guard arrived after what seemed to be only moments, but Margaret was prepared. One does not spend a life surrounded by death and not kn
ow how to greet it. She followed him with another guard close behind as if they were afraid that a sixty-seven year old traitor may attempt escape.

  Should she make a run for it, just for fun? A small smile enhanced the wrinkles around her mouth.

  Arriving on the Tower Green, her nerve failed her and her bowels turned watery. There was no scaffold in sight, but she noticed that her guard was looking to a small block that had been placed unceremoniously upon the ground.

  She furrowed her brow. The secrecy and suddenness felt wrong. What was behind this?

  “Lady Salisbury,” a deep voice beckoned. “Have you any sins to confess?”

  The priest that accosted her would surely take any confession back to the king, but Margaret did not mind. He would be disappointed. “Bless me, for I have sinned, Father,” she began and saw the gleam in her confessor’s eye. “I am a sinful woman, sinful from birth. I have failed to do all the work my lord set before me and ask him to welcome me now into my heavenly home.”

  She was offered a half-hearted absolution before the priest stalked off disappointed. Her guards shoved her closer to the block.

  “What is the meaning of this?” she demanded. “I have had no trial of my peers, and know of no crime brought against me.” She fixed her gaze on the guard who appeared weakest. “This is a mistake.”

  He made to grasp her arm and she moved a step away. “Do you know that I am one of the highest peeresses in the land? That the king is my cousin? You should be aware of what you do before you do this.”

  She moved another step as he grabbed for her.

  “Our orders come from the king himself. Now prepare yourself,” this came from the other guard, who held her in a firm grip until she was standing before the pathetic block.

  This must be how Lord Hastings felt all those years ago, she thought and then wondered why a crime of almost sixty years ago would spring to mind at this moment. Then she remembered something far more important.