by Laura Dowers
Henry Grey looked Guildford up and down. ‘He doesn’t look like you, John. I thought all the Dudley boys were dark. He’s got fair hair. Are you sure he’s one of yours?’
‘He has his mother’s colouring. Are you ready, Guildford?’
‘Yes, Father,’ Guildford answered, struggling to keep the sulkiness from his voice.
‘Good. I’m sorry to say that the king cannot attend today, but he sends his good wishes.’
‘My daughter’s waiting,’ Henry said brusquely, edging back towards the door.
‘Yes, lets to the chapel.’ John gestured for Henry to lead, looking behind him to make sure Robert and Guildford followed.
‘You see,’ Robert said in Guildford’s ear, ‘your marriage has the blessing of the king.’
Guildford grimaced. ‘Well, I only hope that if the king does die, and Jane becomes queen, she makes me king.’
Robert grabbed his arm. ‘For Christ’s sake, Gil, hold your tongue. Never talk about the king dying. If anyone heard you –’
Guildford shook his arm free. ‘To hell with you. I’ll stand for Mother and Father telling me what I can and can’t do, but I’ll be damned if I have to take it from you.’
‘Gil, I’m only –’
‘I know what it is. You’re jealous, aren’t you? There’s a chance I might be king one day and you’re wishing it could be you.’
‘That’s ridiculous.’
‘It’s not ridiculous. If you hadn’t been so insistent about marrying your stupid country girl, it would be you marrying Jane.’
Robert watched him hurry after their father. He had not dared admit it even to himself, but he was jealous. The king had seen it and now Guildford. Was he really so transparent?
5
Greenwich Palace, London, June 1553
Robert knocked quietly on the door of the king’s privy chamber. He heard footsteps on the other side and peered into the subdued light of the interior as it opened. ‘Father?’ he almost whispered.
‘Come in,’ John ordered.
The stench hit Robert immediately. A stink of vomit and shit and herbs, all mixing together to create a metallic tang that hit the back of the throat. And something else that Robert couldn’t quite place. He looked towards the bed. The curtains were drawn.
Robert turned to his father. John looked old in the candlelight. ‘How is he?’
‘He’s not at all well,’ John said. ‘I think ... I don’t think he has long.’
‘Poor Edward. Is he in pain?’
‘Terrible pain. The medicine the doctors give him,’ John gestured towards two men sitting before the fire examining a bowl of the king’s urine, ‘make him feel worse than the illness. I’ve half a mind to tell them to stop, to let him die but I dread the consequences. He can’t sleep because of the pain. His mind wanders, but then he has moments of lucidity and he starts to worry.’
‘What about?’
‘He cannot rest easy in his mind for fear that he will leave the throne of England contested between two bastard sisters. He wants the matter settled.’
‘I wish he would not think of Elizabeth so.’
‘Is that all you can say?’ John growled. ‘After all, what is Elizabeth to you?’
‘She’s a friend,’ Robert protested.
‘She’s not your concern.’
‘No, Father.’ A sudden cry arose. ‘What’s that noise?’
John led him to the window. ‘Look down there.’
Robert peered through the glass. People had congregated outside the walls of the palace and were staring up at the window. ‘What are they saying?’
‘They want to see the king. There’s a rumour going around London that Edward is already dead and the people want proof that he isn’t.’ John ran his hand over his face. ‘God help me but I would give anything for the king to be well again. I don’t want to do what I must if he dies.’
‘You mean Jane Grey. And Guildford?’
John nodded but gestured for him to be quiet. ‘Rob, I need you to show him to them.’
Robert looked down again at the crowd. ‘How?’
John moved to the bed and carefully drew back one of the hangings. Robert caught his breath. The hair on Edward’s head was thin and patchy, the skull covered with scabs. His fingernails had begun to fall out, so that his hands were now blood-blistered claws clutching at the sheets. His legs were swollen but it was the skin that was the most shocking sight of all. The king was turning blue.
‘Your Majesty,’ John bent low so the boy could hear, ‘Robert is here. Please forgive me, but we must show you to the people. They’re waiting down below for a sight of you.’
The king’s eyelids flickered open and he looked up at John. ‘Do they think I’m dead, John?’
John smiled sadly. ‘They’re concerned about you.’
‘I don’t think I can walk to the window.’
‘Robert will carry you.’
Edward tried to sit up, but he was too weak and fell back against the sweat-soiled pillow. Robert slid his arms beneath his body and lifted him, shocked by how little effort was required. The king was hardly more than a skeleton.
‘Gently, gently,’ John said.
Edward groaned with each step Robert took towards the window. John unhooked the latch and threw the window open. As the gentle summer air wafted in, contrasting with the foetid odour of the room, Robert understood what the smell was that he hadn’t been able to place. The king’s very flesh was rotting. Robert leaned forward, angling the boy so that his head was almost out of the window. The crowd cheered.
‘Can you wave to them, Your Majesty?’ John asked.
Edward tried to raise his arm, his face grimacing with pain. ‘I can’t,’ he gasped, his head falling back against Robert’s shoulder.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ John said. ‘It’s enough.’
Robert returned the boy to the bed, glad not to have him in his arms any longer, for the smell turned his stomach.
John laid the bedclothes back over Edward, and with surprising gentleness, stroked the king’s face and bid the boy try to sleep. As he stepped back and drew the curtain, Robert saw tears in his eyes. John hurried towards the door and slipped out into the next room. Robert followed.
‘How he suffers, Rob,’ John said, wiping his eyes. ‘It makes me wonder what God is about to let such a good servant to him suffer so. But I suppose he has his reasons. Anyway, we must proceed. The king wants his Device for the Succession, making Jane Grey his successor, made law. Tomorrow I must convince the council to ratify it and that will be no easy task, I tell you.’
‘What if they will not?’
‘Oh, they will,’ John assured him vehemently. ‘Even if I have to shout and threaten, they will do what that boy wants. I refuse to let him die in fear of what he leaves behind.’
6
Greenwich Palace, London, 6th July 1553
John re-read the document before him, King Edward’s Device for the Succession. John had indeed had to shout and threaten to get his fellow councillors to sign it, stretching his patience and his temper to the limit.
He looked up as William Cecil, Seymour’s former secretary, now his, lit a candle on his desk, for though it was only just past eight o’clock, the sky had darkened and a storm was threatening. ‘This was hard won, Cecil, but it’s law now.’
Cecil nodded and blew out the lighted spill.
John sat back in his chair and sighed. ‘I get the impression you don’t approve.’
‘It’s not my place –’
‘What exactly do you object to?’
Cecil hesitated. ‘If I may speak plainly, Your Grace, I fear the people will not like a change in the succession.’
‘It is their king’s decree.’
‘The people may not view it as such.’
‘What you mean is that they’ll think it is all my doing.’
‘Possibly, Your Grace.’
‘It isn’t, you know, Cecil. This,’ John waved the
document before him, ‘came from the king. This is all his idea.’
‘As you say, Your Grace,’ Cecil moved away.
‘But I’m being unrealistic, aren’t I?’ John murmured to himself. ‘How can I expect the people to believe me, when my own damn secretary doesn’t?’
The door opened suddenly and Robert hurtled into the room. ‘Father, he’s dead.’
There was a pause as the news sank in, then John murmured ‘God keep him,’ a look of resignation crossing his face. ‘I knew it was useless, but I had hoped he would rally. This Device was signed just in time.’ He got to his feet. ‘Rob, I need you and Jack to escort the Lady Mary to London. I sent word to her that the king was ill and she should already be on her way, but I want you and Jack to make sure she comes straight here.’
‘What about Guildford and Jane?’ Robert asked.
‘I’ll deal with them.’
‘And Elizabeth?’
John’s eyes narrowed. ‘I’ve told you before, she’s not your concern. Anyway, she’s sent word that she is ill and cannot move from Hatfield, but I’ll send some men there too. Rob, take some men from the Tower and get on your way.’
‘I will, Father. By the way, Henry’s with the king.’ He meant Henry Sidney, his sister Mary’s new husband and Robert’s good friend. The king had died in Henry’s arms.
‘That’s fine. I’ll go and see him shortly,’ John said, waving Robert to be gone. ‘Now then, Cecil. Whether you like it or not, we have to issue a proclamation naming Jane Grey as Queen.’
7
Hunsdon Palace, Hertfordshire, 7th July 1553
The man had kept his hood up, despite Mary’s insistence that she wanted to see who she was speaking with. His message had been brief and to the point. ‘For your own safety, do not go to London. John Dudley will have you in the Tower.’
‘What of my sister?’ she cried.
‘She too has been warned. She keeps to her house.’
‘At least tell me who sent you,’ Mary called after him as he mounted his horse.
He pulled his hood even further over his face. ‘A friend.’
The rooms of Hunsdon echoed with their emptiness. Jack Dudley checked all the rooms, the heels of his riding boots clipping on the flagstones. He returned to the Great Hall, and something glinting on the floor caught his eye. He bent and picked up a gold coin almost hidden by the rushes. ‘She left in a hurry.’
‘Father did say she may be on her way to London,’ Robert pointed out.
‘There’s only one way to London from here. We would have passed her on the road.’
‘Where then?’
‘Kenninghall, probably. It’s the nearest place where she could expect to find allies.’
‘Allies? Against us?’
‘Well, someone has obviously warned her we were coming,’ Jack said. ‘Why else would she flee?’
‘Who would have warned her?’
‘Any number of people. There are plenty unhappy with what Father has planned. But anyway, it doesn’t matter. She’s gone.’
‘What do we do now then?’
Jack headed for the door. ‘I’m going back to London, to let Father know what’s happened. You carry on after her. Go on to Kenninghall, see if you can catch her up.’
‘And if I do?’
‘Not if, Rob. You must catch her, or I fear our family will be in danger.’
Mary Tudor was not to be found at Kenninghall. Robert rode on, growing desperate as he was told time and again at the houses where he made enquiries that he had missed her by only a few hours.
At the home of Lord Huddleston, Sawston Hall, Robert jumped down from his horse, weary, dusty, and in a very bad temper. He banged unrelentingly on the front door.
‘Open up,’ he hissed impatiently, trying not to let his anxiety show to his men who watched and waited.
The door eventually opened to reveal a stocky, bearded man of about forty-five. He looked Robert up and down, and raising an eyebrow, demanded who he was.
‘Lord Robert Dudley, son to the Duke of Northumberland. Get your master,’ Robert barked.
‘I can’t do that. Lord Huddleston is not here. He’s with the Lady Mary.’
Robert cursed and the man smirked. ‘I’ll wipe that smile off your poxy face, you whoreson,’ Robert snarled, raising his whip.
The man grabbed Robert’s wrist. ‘No son of a traitor will ever strike me.’ He shoved Robert away and Robert, who never in his life, had been treated so, stared back at him in silent rage.
Then he found his tongue. ‘Thompson,’ he yelled over his shoulder. ‘Fetch a torch. Brook, Tanner, Hope,’ Robert pointed to three of the burliest men of his train. ‘Get this fool out of my way.’
Lord Huddleston’s servant was strong, but unable to resist the tug of three men. He was pushed to the ground where Tanner promptly sat upon him. Thompson passed a flaming torch to Robert and he entered the Hall. Tapestries adorned the walls of the main chamber and Robert moved to the nearest, touching the flame to the precious fabric. It took but a moment for the flame to spread and Robert felt the heat of the fire upon his face. He moved from room to room, repeating the action, until smoke began to choke him and he stepped back out into the fresh air.
‘Release him,’ Robert ordered his men, throwing the torch away and dusting himself down. ‘I have left Lord Huddleston a message. I’m sure he’ll understand it.’
The man made to lunge at Robert, but Tanner and Brook stepped between them. Servants rushed out of the rear of the hall, the women screaming in terror, the men shouting for water.
Robert felt pleased with himself, but as he walked back to his horse, he looked at his men and read contempt for him on their faces. It put an abrupt end to his pleasure and he looked away, reluctant to acknowledge that perhaps he had been foolish. As he mounted his horse, one of the hall’s windows burst outwards, scattering glass across the ground. The horses jumped and neighed unhappily.
‘Away,’ Robert ordered and spurred his horse back towards the road.
8
Kings Lynn, Norfolk, July 1553
Robert rushed to meet his messenger. ‘What news?’
Taylor jumped down from his horse. His face was stained and bloodied, his clothes torn and dusty. ‘Fearful news, my lord.’
‘What’s happened to you?’
Taylor gulped for air. ‘I was attacked by followers of the Lady Mary. They saw my badge of Warwick on my arm and pulled me from my horse. Then they tore my badge from me and called me a wretch for serving such a vile traitor.’
‘And you let them say that?’
Taylor was indignant. ‘I said my master was none such.’
Robert shook his head in disgust. ‘Have you any news of my father?’
‘He has proclaimed the Lady Mary queen at Cambridge.’
Robert grabbed his arm. ‘He has proclaimed her queen?’
‘He has, but he’s been taken to the Tower, your brothers with him. Jane Grey has been arrested as well.’
‘Then it’s over,’ Robert said. ‘This is what Jack feared. We’re done for.’
‘In that case, my lord, perhaps we should flee,’ Taylor suggested hopefully.
‘And abandon my family?’
‘We can’t help them, my lord. There’s nothing to stay for.’
‘We will stay,’ Robert said, as much to himself as to Taylor.
‘But they will come for us.’
‘They will come for me,’ Robert corrected and began to walk back to his tent.
‘You’re wrong, my lord,’ Taylor hurried after him. ‘We will all be taken, they will punish us.’
‘You will not be taken, Taylor. You have my word.’
With sudden spirit, provoked by his recent misfortune, Taylor grabbed at Robert. ‘What good is your word now?’
The frustration of the past few days bubbled up in Robert. He spun around and threw a punch at Taylor’s jaw. Taylor fell to the ground, dazed.
‘Leave if you want,’ Ro
bert snarled, nursing his knuckles, ‘or stay. But do not dare to show your face to me again.’
He glowered at his men clustering around to watch the sport he was providing. He turned his back on them and entered his tent, and waited for Queen Mary’s men to arrive.
9
The Tower, London, August 1553
‘They’re bringing Rob in now,’ Ambrose said from the window.
Jack joined him and looked down at his brother walking between two guards. ‘He looks grim.’
‘Well, wouldn’t you?’ Ambrose said. ‘You know Rob. He’s going to blame himself for all this.’
‘So he should,’ said a sulky voice from behind them. They turned to their brother, Guildford, lying on a truckle bed. ‘Well, don’t look at me like that. All he had to do was capture a silly old woman and he couldn’t even manage that. Then he goes and burns a house down, as if that helped.’
‘He made a mistake, Gil,’ John said.
‘One that’s going to cost us our heads.’
‘You don’t know that,’ Ambrose said. ‘I think it was all lost as soon as Father had to leave London to march against Mary. Once he was gone, the council didn’t have to pretend to be loyal to him. And to think they are calling Father a traitor. The hypocrites.’
Ambrose and Jack turned back to the window as a door banged shut. They saw the two guards walk away.
‘They’ve left Rob downstairs,’ Jack said in surprise.
‘Why would they leave him on his own?’ Ambrose wondered.
Robert wondered the same thing. Was it to punish him further? It was surprising, given the warmth of the day, how cold the stone chamber was, for little sunlight penetrated through the narrow slit windows. He sat down on the bed; it creaked and spread beneath his weight. He pulled his legs up to his chest and hugged them tight. Whilst he had been in Norfolk, even when he had been brought before Mary and forced to his knees to do obeisance, it hadn’t seemed possible that he was a prisoner. Entering the Tower had made it all too real. He felt cold, so cold. It was fear, he knew. Fear for himself, fear for his father. He thought of his mother, and it hurt him to think how worried she would be. Then he thought of Amy, sitting at home in Norfolk, wondering what had become of him. He cried without knowing he did so, the tears drying and tightening his cheeks. He curled up on the bed. Exhausted, he soon slept.