“Must be deliberate,” Shelton said in my ear. “They don’t want too many to see her going into the same place where her mother died. The people love her. They’re starting to realize she truly is their last hope.”
I stood with him among the handful who’d gathered on the side of the Tower entrance, the roars of the caged lions in the menagerie seeming to herald Elizabeth’s arrival. At first, I thought she’d be brought by barge into the Tower via a water gate, but Shelton reminded me the tide ran too low at this early hour. They’d bring her to the wharf, as close as they could get, but she’d have to walk inside on her own two feet.
So it was that, hidden among curious onlookers, I saw her disembark from her barge and stand, utterly still, a hand at her brow as she gazed up at the looming bastion. She wore a black cloak, the hood drawn over her head, but as the guards cordoning the walkway shifted more tightly together and an audible murmur rose from the spectators, she cast back the hood to show her face.
She was very pale, yet appeared outwardly composed, escorted by five somber lords toward the same gateway through which I’d entered the Tower. Close behind her were Mistresses Parry and Ashley, holding bags stuffed with belongings, and a well-formed yeoman in the Tudor livery, carrying the traveling chest filled with her treasured books. My heart wrenched when Kate hastened from the barge to the princess’s side, the last to disembark; as she joined Elizabeth, her hand dropped surreptitiously to clutch the princess’s. Elizabeth turned nervously to her, as if Kate had murmured words of encouragement, and then redirected her gaze outward to the watching crowd.
“God keep Your Grace!” shouted a goodwife. As her shrill encouragement faded into the morning air, others lifted chorus, as if they’d been rehearsed: a fervent cry of good wishes that brought Elizabeth to a standstill. The lords, among whom I espied the tall, white-bearded figure of Lord Howard, exchanged concerned looks. Did they actually fear an impromptu rescue?
Elizabeth was looking directly at us, her eyes like black punctures in her pinched face; she could not acknowledge the greeting. Under suspicion of treason, about to enter the very place from which few ever emerged, she mustn’t risk the accusation that she’d incited the mob. Yet even from a distance I could see how those cries moved her, how she gazed at us with heartrending intensity, as if she sought to engrave this sight in her memory as a talisman to carry with her during the ordeal yet to come. Her fear ebbed away; in its place, for the briefest of moments, like a glimpse of spring on a bare tree, she showed the strength that made her undeniably a Tudor.
I started to push forward, elbowing those around me. The people in front of me grumbled. Shelton chopped his hands at them; they took one look at his mutilated face and quickly shifted aside. All of a sudden, I found myself pressed against the barricade, peering past the row of guards. Howard had urged the princess forward. She took a step away from him, resisting. I yanked off my cap, heedless of the consequences, waving it as high above my head as I could. Everyone around me followed suit, whipping off their headgear—a flotilla of caps and veils and bonnets, swaying in the air like crude flags.
Elizabeth lifted her chin, searching; her gaze found me, wagging my cap as though everything in the world depended on it. For a fleeting second, our eyes met. They held.
She smiled.
* * *
We returned in silence to the Griffin. I couldn’t speak. I had stood there and felt tears slip down my cheeks as they led her under the gateway. Metallic hatred almost choked me; all I could think of was that Robert Dudley had finally won. They were together at last, locked in a web of his making. What his lust for her, and the power she represented, had failed to accomplish, his treachery had.
I wished him the worst. I hoped the queen took his head next.
She wouldn’t, though. She had told me as much. For now at least, the killing was done.
Mary Tudor had a wedding to plan.
Eventually Shelton broke the quiet. “Try not to worry, lad. If anyone can survive the Tower, it’s her. She’s old Henry’s daughter, that one. She won’t break easily.”
I swallowed. It was the height of irony that Elizabeth must now rely on the goodwill of a prince she’d never met, a stranger come to wed her sister—and all because of the revelations of his double agent, a woman of vengeful mystery who would forever haunt my dreams.
“What now?” Shelton asked. I hesitated. I hadn’t considered it. Since my arrival at court, I’d lived day by day, often hour by hour, never looking too far ahead. My future now stretched before me; exiled from court, with Peregrine gone, Elizabeth and Kate imprisoned, and my world in chaos, somehow I had to find a way to live. I had to prepare myself for the day when fate turned again in our favor.
“My horse and hers, and her dog, Urian,” I said. “They’re in the stables at Whitehall. I can’t leave them there. But if I go back, I’ll certainly be arrested. Even if I could get in unnoticed, I’ve nothing to bribe the grooms with.”
“Leave it to me. You forget I was the earl’s jack-of-all-trades. I can’t count the number of times I saw to Courtenay’s horse because he’d passed out in some den. Nan and I have some coin saved, too, enough to rescue the beasts.”
I nodded gratefully. “I promise to repay you, for everything.”
“No need,” he replied. “After all, it is I who owes you the debt.”
* * *
I stayed in the Griffin while Shelton went to Whitehall, after he retrieved a small purse from the parlor. Nan was not pleased, and I tried to make amends by assisting her and the urchin she’d taken in, who slept downstairs, to prepare the tavern for business.
“We’ve been closed days now, since Wyatt came,” she told me. “Time to get back to work.” She indicated a heap of stools. “Set those around the tables, if you please.”
As I proceed to wrestle with the stools, I thought that in Nan, Shelton had found the perfect companion. Her no-nonsense manner suited him, and it was obvious they cared for each other. Again I marveled at the irony of life, that a man I’d always seen as cold and distant, even heartless in his sense of duty, had proved to be anything but.
“You’ll not drag him back into all that court mess?” Nan abruptly asked. “He acts as if he’s a bull, and, compared to most, he is. But he’s had a rough time of it. He has pain still, in his legs. He can’t be running about, looking after naughty earls and the like.”
I managed to extricate the top stools without toppling the rest. “No,” I said. “I don’t expect so. Besides, there’s no court mess anymore, not for me. I’ve been banished.”
“Banished, were you?” She put her hands on her ample hips. “Well, now. What can a mite like you have done to piss off the queen?” She guffawed. “Count yourself fortunate, whatever it was. Court’s no place for a sane man these days. Her Majesty’s gone mad as a hare. She and her Spanish groom will be lighting the Smithfield pyres soon enough.”
She spoke carelessly, turning to blare at the urchin to sweep the ashes out the door, not into the corner, but her words sent a shiver through me. Was this how the common people of London felt about their queen? How had Mary strayed so far, so quickly, from the jubilation she’d earned at her accession? In her zeal to save her people’s souls and produce an heir to rule after her, she had alienated the one thing that no monarch who hoped to rule effectively could do without: the love of her subjects.
I sensed it was a lesson Elizabeth would never forget when her time came.
Chapter Twenty-four
Shelton returned by midafternoon, riding Cinnabar, Urian bounding beside him, spattered with mud from the road and leaping on me in excitement. As I petted him and endured his rapturous licks, Shelton told me he’d had a time of it getting the grooms to release the animals, though the overall chaos in the stables had helped.
“I had to empty my purse,” he said, with an apologetic look at Nan. “They’re getting ready to move to Hampton Court, so a few less animals were not to their disadvantage. But they wouldn
’t let me near the princess’s Arabian. He’s well cared for; apparently Her Majesty has decided to give him as a gift to Philip when he arrives.”
“My lady’s not going to like that,” I muttered. I could imagine the roar when Elizabeth heard of it. Her rage would drown out the very lions in the Tower.
“The court leaves tomorrow,” Shelton added. “Whole pack of ’em, headed off to get the palace ready for Philip and his entourage. Have you thought of what you’re going to do next? I’m guessing you’ll not want to stay here and serve quail pie to sailors.”
“And why not?” demanded Nan. “It’s a respectable trade. Not to mention a tad safer, I’ll wager, than whatever it is he’s been up to.”
“Indeed,” I said, repressing my laughter. I felt lighter all of a sudden, witnessing this domestic squabble. It was a relief to see some people could actually be normal. “I’ll wager it would be. But I should leave London. I’m not a problem you need.” I looked at Shelton. “I have only one option.”
“Cecil,” he said.
I nodded. “Yes. He’ll be anxious for news, and he can hide me.”
The flush in Nan’s cheeks faded. “You’re not thinking of…?” she asked Shelton.
He cupped her chin, leaning over to kiss her. “Just for a little while, love. We can’t let the lad go off on his own, now can we? With his luck, he’s liable to end up in a ditch.”
I was about to remind him that I certainly would not. I was one and twenty years old, a man grown, who’d faced more perilous ventures than an expedition to the countryside. Then I sensed his intent and kept quiet.
A trip to Cecil’s manor was an opportunity we might never have again.
* * *
We departed the next day at dawn. It would be easier to evade unwanted inquiries, Shelton suggested, seeing as the court would be lumbering out of London, and everyone occupied watching the queen’s procession.
I donned my borrowed clothes and kept my head lowered under my cap when we were detained at the gate, where Shelton spun a magnificent yarn about his time in the Scottish wars of Henry VIII, claiming he’d thus earned his impressive facial badge of honor. The sentries were duly impressed. One of them—a gnarled old man whose uniform seemed to wear him, rather than the other way around—had fought in the same wars and proudly pushed up his sleeve to display a ragged scar on his arm. He waved us out, excusing us the exit fee. Soon we were cantering down the rutted road, the city behind us.
I took a long look at London over my shoulder. Though I could not see it, I conjured the Tower in my mind—its White Keep looming over the surrounding walls, the narrow parapets over the leads—and lifted a prayer for the safety of the four beloved women I had left there. I would be waiting when they were released. I would be waiting and I would be ready. Sybilla Darrier had imparted a lesson I would not squander; the time had come to embrace who I was: a spy for Elizabeth, devoted to her welfare. Next time when danger struck, I would not be caught unawares.
Then I cast my thoughts to the church where Peregrine lay.
“Farewell, my friend,” I whispered. “I’ll never forget you.”
Shelton and I rode in quiet companionship through hamlets where people were recovering from the aftereffects of the rebellion, turning our faces from the gibbets where dead rebels swayed. Urian ran before us in delight, romping through woodlands and open meadows, splashing into streams fed by the thaw.
Finally I breached the silence. I’d had plenty of time as we rode to come up with an opening salvo; instead, I found myself asking hesitantly, “Was my mother beautiful?”
He let out a sigh. “Oh, she was. Like no other woman I’d ever seen. There was a reason her brother King Henry called her his Rose. She could bring his entire court to a halt just by walking into the hall. But it was more than that: She had a light in her. It shone even when she was sad. And she was loyal to those she loved. She was never discourteous or demanding; she treated everyone as her equal.”
I stared at him, fascinated. He had known her. He had known my mother.
“Were you…?” My voice faltered; I couldn’t say the words. I felt abruptly as if I were intruding on deeply cherished and private memories.
He kept his gaze fixed ahead, but recollection softened his face, so that I could envision the burly young steward he’d once been, all those years ago.
“Naturally I was,” he said at length. “Any man who met her must have fallen in love with her. She invited desire, through no fault of her own.” He paused and cleared his throat. “But it’s not what you think. It wasn’t a love affair like minstrels sing about.”
The air about me seemed to solidify. “But you and she, you were…?”
He finally turned his head to me. For what seemed an eternity he did not reply. Then he said, “Yes. It happened when her husband, my master the duke, Brandon of Suffolk, went to France with the king and Mistress Boleyn.”
“Elizabeth’s mother,” I clarified. “Queen Anne.”
“Yes. But she wasn’t queen yet. Your mother wouldn’t allow anyone in her presence to call her by any other name. She hated her, you see; she blamed her for stealing the king from Queen Catherine. She was mistaken. Henry wanted what he wanted and didn’t care whom he trampled to get it. He obliged your mother to surrender her best jewels to adorn Mistress Boleyn for the French trip. Your mother was enraged; she and the duke quarreled bitterly over it. I was there. I heard them shouting at each other in the hall.”
A muscle in his face twitched. “Mistress Boleyn had heard of the jeweled artichoke, and she wanted to show it off, to prove to the French king, in whose court she’d served, that she was worthy of being England’s future queen. My lady would not hear of it. When the duke went to retrieve it she locked herself in her chamber and refused to come out. Later she sent me to court to deliver her other jewels. Mistress Boleyn understood the insult and turned her wrath on Queen Catherine, stripping her of every last jewel she possessed. My master, in turn, vented his wrath on me.”
“On you? Why?” I began to understand his prior behavior, when he first brought me to court to serve the Dudleys, his taciturn attitude, his insistence that I obey my betters.
He shrugged. “He wasn’t really angry at me; he was angry at himself. He had supported the king, though he privately disagreed. He did not think Anne Boleyn was worthy of anything more than a bedding, but he also knew telling Henry that wouldn’t be wise. Your mother and he had been at odds for years over it; so much so, in the end it destroyed their marriage. She wouldn’t attend the court, no matter how much Henry threatened. She stayed steadfast to Queen Catherine and made no bones about it. Her husband the duke, on the other hand, bowed to the strongest wind. And he was right. Before they left France, Mistress Boleyn gave in to the king and Elizabeth was conceived.”
I bit my lip, caught between the past and the present. “You did not go to France.”
“No. My master ordered me to his manor in Westhorpe.” His tone lowered, as though even in the midst of these open fields, he might be overheard. “When I arrived, I found my lady, your mother, bereft. She, too, had realized that her brother the king was willing to plunge the realm into ruin for Anne Boleyn, and it caused her no end of despair. A few nights later, a great storm arose, as if God himself showed discontent. One of her women came running to summon me to her chambers. She was having trouble with one of her casements. The wind had thrown it open, and rain was drenching everything. My lady was soaked to her skin, but she kept yanking at that window as if her life depended on it. Her health had been precarious; the births of four children had taken their toll. She didn’t show it outwardly, but I worried she’d catch her death of cold, so I … I tried to—”
He swallowed; all of a sudden, I heard a rupture in his voice. “I was a foolish young man then, lustful and proud, enamored of a woman so far above me in station she seemed unattainable. But that night she was so alone, so lost. She dismissed her maid, and I stayed with her as she sat before the fire. I se
rved her mulled wine, tried to comfort her. She spoke of the past, when she’d been sought after as a royal bride. She told me of how François of France himself had pursued her and why she could never give up that artichoke jewel, because it was all she had left of a time when she risked everything to marry Brandon, the love of her life. Then she smiled and said, ‘And look at me now, Shelton: I’m a sad old lady. No one remembers the girl I was.’”
Heat prickled behind my eyes. I reached over the space between our horses as if to touch his hand on his reins. He jerked away, disdaining my reassurance.
“No,” he said hoarsely. “Let me finish. Let me get this out. I haven’t spoken of it to anyone. I need to tell you as much as you need to hear it.”
He drew Cerberus to a stop beside a stream. As our horses bowed their heads to drink, he dismounted and moved with heavy steps toward an oak. He stood there, staring at it. I slipped from Cinnabar to go to his side. In the distance Urian rolled in a patch of field.
“It was only a few times.” Shelton’s voice turned impersonal, as though he sought to put distance between himself and the man he had been. “That night was the first. I couldn’t help myself. She must have seen it in my eyes. I’d thought myself so clever, keeping my feelings to myself and acting the loyal squire, but she knew what desire looked like. Perhaps it gave her solace, to know she could still rouse such passion, to be young again … but to me—oh, to me, it was paradise on earth! I had never felt anything like it. I pledged my undying love to her, vowed I’d never have another. She laughed, said all men utter such nonsense in the heat of the moment, but I meant it. In a way, I still do.”
His broken mouth creased in a smile. “It’s why I tried to protect you after I found you in the Dudley household, why I sought to keep you hidden from those who might do you harm. It was my promise to her, though I never had the chance to tell her. I know I was hard on you at times, but I believed it was necessary to keep you safe. She wouldn’t have wanted you to suffer.”
The Tudor Conspiracy Page 28