The King's Angels: High Treason in Henry's Court (Tudor Crimes Book 5)

by Anne Stevens

  “Exactly so, Thomas,” Cromwell concludes. “It will be a long document, written not in ink, but blood, if she gets her way.”

  “She is not queen yet.”

  “They will be married before this coming Christmas,” Cromwell tells his friend, “Or it is my head for the block too.”

  “Then I must read this oath,” More replies, “and hope I can take it, without compromising my beliefs.”

  “Can you not separate your beliefs from your public persona, and swear for one, but not the other? Norfolk will, and so shall I.”

  “No.”

  “I thought not. Then we finally come to the reason for your visit,” Cromwell says. “You must cease being Lord Chancellor of England.”

  “You will recall that I once tried to resign my office,” More responds. “Why would I be able to now?”

  “Then, it would have looked like you were slighting Henry and Anne,” Cromwell explains, “and that would have led to your death. Now, the king is grown used to you not being about the place, and will soon forget you, and appoint a new man.”

  “You, Tom?”

  “Not I,” Thomas Cromwell says. “I do not want the poisoned chalice. It will be someone who is more pliable. I have Audley in mind for the post. First, we must get your resignation accepted, without anyone noticing.”

  “You have a scheme, Tom?” Sir Thomas More smiles for the first time. “Tom Cromwell always has a scheme. Where I rely on faith, you choose to use animal cunning. So, speak out.”

  “I will tell the king that you are of failing health,” Cromwell explains. “I see how you often clutch at your chest, and will play on it. The king is compassionate, and does not want your death on his mind. If he thinks you close to the end, he will let you lay down the mantle, with honour, and retire.”

  “And then?”

  “Go to the continent.”

  “No. That would be cowardice.”

  “God’s teeth, Thomas!” Cromwell is almost distraught. “If you will not flee, then become like some hibernating animal, and bury yourself inside the walls of your precious Utopia. Do not write letters, welcome visitors, or speak out against anything that might bring you to our attention.”

  “You say ‘our’ Tom.”

  “Of course I do,” Cromwell replies. “Considering how the world is working, whose side would someone like me choose?”

  “What of this oath?” More is still agitated. “Will it not follow me, unto death?”

  “As a private person, you may not be asked,” Thomas Cromwell says, “but if you are asked to take it, use sophistry and guile when answering. You must do your very best to accept its wording. If you cannot do that, and must refuse to take the oath, I will see that your wife and family are safe abroad, before the end.”

  “Will they push me?” More is tired, and wants nothing more than to be left alone.

  “They might, if Boleyn supports the move.”

  “Will she?”

  “Yes,” Cromwell says, honestly. “I believe she will.”

  “Then God help me, Thomas, for I cannot swear falsely.”

  “Then you will die.” Cromwell takes More’s hands in his, and kisses him on the cheek. “For the sake of friendship, Thomas, please take the oath.”

  “If I cannot, for the sake of my family, how can I for an old friend, Tom?”

  “I shall do all I can to save you, my friend, but if it comes to it, I will draw up the charges, and see they are pressed. Your death will make you into a martyr, and that is the last thing I want.”

  “Better a living friend, than a dead saint?” More suddenly seems cheerier, and smiles at the thought. “My greatest sorrow is that you cannot love Rome, Thomas Cromwell.”

  “And mine is that you cannot love yourself. I cannot save you from yourself, Thomas More.” They embrace, and More pulls his thin cloak tightly about him.

  “I feel a chill,” he says, “but it is nothing to the wind that is going to sweep across England. I fear for my country.” Thomas Cromwell, cannot help but catch onto the remark and asks:

  “Do you know something, Thomas?”

  “Something?”

  “Yes, something that is to smite England?”

  “Other than God’s wrath?” Sir Thomas More says, regaining his stiff manner. “No, Master Cromwell, I do not.”

  8 Business As Usual

  “I cannot be locked away like a nun, Will,” Miriam Draper argues. “I must keep an eye on our business interests, else they will fail.”

  “Fail?” Will almost laughs. In the brief time of their marriage, Miriam has managed their finances well, and they are worth over three thousand pounds, with an annual income of sixteen hundred. “We are richer than half of the merchants in London, and men of middle years ask your advice. We shall not fail for wont of a few days. Stay in, until the present danger passes.”

  “No.”

  “What?” He is a kind, and tolerant husband, but the stark refusal to obey his wishes edges him towards anger. He makes as if to rise from their bed. “You forget your place, madam. You will do as I say.”

  Miriam realises her mistake at once, and sets about repairing the damage by throwing her arms around his neck. Her chemise is unfastened, and gapes, displaying her superb breasts. He cannot stop himself from slipping a hand up to her cheek, by way of softening his rebuke.

  “Forgive me, my darling husband, but my tongue is still Jewish, and apt to run ahead of my English brain,” she says, and he smiles at the jest. “I mean only to express my concern for our general well being. If you wish me to be safe, then would I not be better sent out of London altogether?”

  “Sent away?” Will considers the suggestion and, foolishly fails to see the trap. “That might be for the best. Yes, if you were in the country, your safety would be more assured.”

  “Such a clever idea,” Miriam says, as if Will was the instigator, and kisses him. He responds, and presses her back onto the bed. She slips to one side, and jumps to her feet. “So is that, but we do not have the time. You must search London for your villainous preacher, and I must go to Cambridge, this very morning.”

  “Cambridge?” Will sighs. He has been duped again, and wonders if he will ever get the better of his beautiful wife. “Why would you want to go to Cambridge, my sweet … are you not clever enough?”

  “Such a jest,” Miriam says, and smiles at him. “I have been invited to visit with Rob Buffery, who wishes to purchase my imported wines for his new hostelry in Cambridge. I have two carts waiting to leave, and have a mind to escort them. I shall be gone, and safe from harm for three or four days.”

  “Sergeant Buffery has fulfilled his dream then?”

  “He has. He is now the proprietor of his own establishment, and wishes to sell fine wines to the clever town scholars. He sought me out, at your own suggestion.”

  “That is so. Buffery is a stout fellow, and will keep you safe,” Will says. “Though I wonder if the university is ready for delicate Italian wines.”

  “Master Cromwell lets me buy from his Flanders contact, and I shall let Sergeant Buffery have a range of quality … from the sweet and smooth, to the rough and ready northern stuff that the French call wine.”

  “Are your carters decent men?” Will asks.

  “They are, and besides, I will have Gregory with me.”

  “Master Cromwell’s son is but a child,” her husband protests. “I did not even know he was back at Austin Friars.”

  “He is thirteen years old, and almost a man,” Miriam replies, as she begins to dress for the day. “He has come to beg an increase in his allowance from his father, and is returning to school in Cambridge, quite empty handed. You know how Master Thomas thinks. Better a penny earned, than a shilling given.”

  “Poor Gregory. I will send him a purse of silver, for his father’s sake,” Will says. “A gentleman cannot go about town without a coin for his dinner.”

  “You will not,” Miriam says, sharply. “Master Cromwell will not
think it well done, and he might even think to be offended by such an action. I have engaged Gregory as my bodyguard, until we reach Cambridge, and will pay him when he has done his duty.”

  “You are as hard as Cromwell,” Will Draper says, and laughs. “What will he earn?”

  “Five shillings.” Miriam piles her hair up, and tucks it under a white linen bonnet. “It will keep him honest.”

  “Then he will be no use to Cromwell.”

  “Hush, Will,” Miriam says. “We owe all we have to Master Thomas, and we must never forget it.”

  “Nor will I, but I must be allowed the occasional opinion, my dear,” Will tells her. “Give my regards to Rob Buffery, and bid him keep you safe for me. As for young Gregory, let me at least give him the loan of a pistol, some shot, and a horn of black powder”

  “Of course, my love,” Miriam says. “Though I doubt he will have any need of it. The road from London to Cambridge must be the safest in England.”

  “True enough. Between them, Thomas More, and Master Cromwell have hanged enough rogues to deter most of the rest from threatening the king’s road. Tell Gregory that he may also have the use of one of my swords … though not the one I gained in Ireland, where I was … ”

  “Please, Will, I beg you not to tell me the Irish story again,” Miriam says, with a smirk. “For I fear the excitement will set my heart a fluttering too much, and I must be about my duties.”

  “What kind of a woman have I married?” Will Draper returns, throwing his hands up in mock horror. “You have our vows all about face, my girl. You promise to dishonour, and disobey!”

  “For that I am sorry,” Miriam says, “but I shall never dis-love you, sir. Not even if all the stars in heaven fall down upon our heads. My love for you is stronger than …”

  “Enough, I understand,” Will says, and pulls her into his arms for a final kiss. “For my part, I will settle for richer, rather than poorer, better rather than worse, and health over sickness.”

  “Until commerce do us part?” Miriam concludes, and kisses him, long and passionately. After a moment, there is the sound of stones hitting their bedroom’s shuttered window. The young couple break apart, then Will Draper crosses the room, and throws the slatted shutters open.

  “Gawd, but I never thought you would wake, Captain,” the small boy calls up. “Though I too would dally, if I was with Mistress Miriam.”

  “I’ll dally long enough to box your ears, Sam Foxton,” Will calls down. “What is it, boy?”

  “I have a message from the Spanisher gent, as what lives by Austin Friars. He says as how he is waiting, with Master Gregory, an’ the mistresses carts, by the St. John’s Gate in Clerkenwell, an’ that you should hurry the mistress along.”

  “Chapuys is going too?” Will asks of his wife, who looks back at him blankly. “What is this about?”

  “I have no idea,” Miriam replies. “Though I cannot refuse his company, can I?”

  “It is Cromwell’s doing,” Will says, frowning. “It is always Cromwell’s doing. Why can the man not simply tell us his wishes, instead of playing fast and loose?”

  “Tell the boy to wait for me,” Miriam decides. “He can lead me there quicker than I can ever find my way. Is it the best way from the city, Will?”

  “For laden carts … yes. Once through the priory gate, the road runs free into the Fenlands.” Will buckles on his favourite sword. “Come, I will accompany you to St. John’s Gate, and pay my compliments to Ambassador Chapuys. Perhaps he might enlighten me, as to why he is leaving London. It seems odd that he should, considering the dangers that seem to be growing about us.”

  “Oh, do not think poor Eustace is involved,” Miriam says, scornfully. “He is a good friend to us, Will.”

  “And a loyal servant of Emperor Charles,” Will Draper replies. “When the race starts, which horse will our friend, Señor Chapuys put his money on?”

  It is not yet the seventh hour, when Miriam and Will come upon their little caravan, stationed by the splendid, new St John’s Gate. Built only twenty years before, the gate is imposing, and made from Kentish Rag stone. Once through the gate, there is a large quadrangle that is the priory of St. John.

  Usually, access is denied to all, save clerics, but Eustace Chapuys has prevailed on the Prior to allow them to pass through the inner courtyard, and out the other side, onto the Clerkenwell road. This saves them a couple of hours, traversing muddy London streets, and the Prior is rewarded with a ‘donation’ to the religious house.

  “Let us see Cromwell gain such a favour from English clerics,” Chapuys says. “We Catholic’s stick together. Thomas, who is a wicked heretic would have to find another way, and get his boots wet.”

  “My humble thanks, sir,” Will says. “Now, may I commend my precious jewel to your safe keeping? I presume, my master has asked the same service of you?”

  “He has not,” Chapuys replies. “It is just that I must travel the same road today, on an urgent mission, and Thomas mentioned Mistress Miriam’s own journey. See, here is young Master Gregory, who must be the man in charge.”

  “Master Will,” Gregory says, bowing to the captain.

  “Gregory, how you have grown,” Will tells him. “Miriam has a sword, and one of my pistols for you, just in case of trouble.”

  “My thanks, sir,” Gregory says, drawing himself up to his full height. He is taller than his father, and of an altogether more athletic build. “I shall cherish them, as if my own. Good hunting today.”

  “Your father has told you?”

  “I hear things,” Gregory replies, smiling. “Father thinks me a small child still, and not worth confiding in.”

  “Not so,” Will says. “He loves you, and wishes only that you have those advantages that we did not. A Cambridge education will do you no harm.”

  “For now, I am the commander of two carts loaded with wine, and guardian of Ambassador Chapuys, and your wonderful wife.”

  “Wonderful?” Will Draper cannot help but smile. “Does any man have a hard word for my Miriam?”

  “Can one ever be too clever, too nice, or too beautiful?” the little Savoyard diplomat says. “We will take care of your jewel, Will. You must take care of yourself, and do not let Cromwell’s enemies triumph.”

  “I shall not,” Will replies. “Though, before I take my leave, I must ask … what is your business away from London?”

  “Queen Katherine.”

  “The Dowager Princess of Wales, sir?” Will is confused as to where Katherine of Aragon fits in to the day’s events. “How is she involved?”

  “She is not,” Chapuys says, firmly. “Henry, in his wisdom, has moved her out of London, at Boleyn’s request. I am going to visit her, near Cambridge, and ensure she is not implicated in whatever mad plot is afoot.”

  “A plot conceived by your emperor, sir.”

  “No, I think not,” the little man responds. “I think his name is being taken in vain. Thomas and I are in agreement about this, and suspect that the infamous Anton Fugger is our man.”

  “You know him?”

  “A money grubbing scoundrel, who will misuse the church, and my emperor, to gain a profit,” Chapuys says. “I met him in Mannheim, some years ago, and formed a poor opinion of the man.”

  “So, you go to watch over your dear Katherine.” Will nods his understanding. The ambassador will insinuate himself into her presence, and make sure she is not embroiled in anything dangerous. “God’s speed to you all.” He kisses Miriam once more, and the small party go through the open St John’s Gate, and disappear from sight.

  Will Draper turns from the gate, and sets off, back towards Austin Friars, where he is to meet with those agents of Cromwell’s who are under his direct orders. It is time to cast the net wide, and see what can be hauled in.

  “Your husband loves you very much,” Gregory says, as he rides along side Miriam. Chapuys, and the two carts are a few yards behind. “I wish to make a good marriage, one day.”

 
“One day,” Miriam replies. The boy is becoming a man, and she does not wish to belittle his desires. “Though you should enjoy your freedom for a few years yet.”

  “Oh, you mean by drinking and whoring?” Gregory asks, with the innocence of youth. “I have no taste for either vice. Though I do enjoy hawking, and running my hounds. Father thinks me to be a wastrel, and of little intellect.”

  “I doubt he was any different as a young fellow,” the girl replies. She is only twenty years old herself, and has no vices, other than a need to do her work well, and succeed at all she turns her hand to. “Why, I once heard he was a soldier, like my Will.”

  “Yes, he has killed in the heat of battle,” Gregory says. He is unsure of his feelings towards his father, and constantly hovers between reverence, and disdain. “Though he has a lawyer’s heart. It is going to be a warm day, mistress. I hope your wine does not spoil in the barrels.”

  “I believe it prospers in warm weather,” Miriam replies, but she has no real idea. Her task is to deliver her cargo to Rob Buffery, and encourage trade with him. The old soldier has used his bounty share wisely, and owns a tavern on the edge of Cambridge, that boasts stabling for a dozen horses, a large, enclosed courtyard, and eight rooms for guests to occupy in some comfort.

  The retired sergeant has, true to his promise, found himself a buxom, young wife, and runs a very fine hostelry, with two large rooms downstairs; one for drinkers, and another to be used as a dining room. His wife provides roast meats and fowl for hungry guests, whilst he keeps an eye on the four girls who work for him.

  He has two tavern maids, and two more who act as bed warmers, and general whores. All in all, the man has a decent establishment, that lacks only a wider choice of drink. Most local inns serve ale, beer or mead, but Rob Buffery will break the mould and offer his patrons a choice of six different wines, by the cup, or by the flask.

  “Sergeant Buffery sounds to be a man who wants to get on in life,” Gregory says. “What does he call his tavern?”

  “He is the Keeper of the Angel,” Miriam replies.