Disgrace And Favour

by Jeremy Potter

  By persisting in his refusal to be sent abroad, Overbury played into his enemies’ hands. To their glee, he declined the honour of an embassy in such terms as to constitute an insult to the King. He had overreached himself before but this time Nemesis chose to strike him down. The speed and severity of the blow left no doubt that the avenging hand was that of Henry Howard, Earl of Northampton. Before Carr had returned from a day’s sport in Enfield Chase, Overbury was lodged a close prisoner in the Tower on a charge of contempt.

  What passed between Carr and the King remained a secret, but Overbury was not released and the commission began its work at once. For six months the ten learned men devoted long hours to an intimate inquiry into the physical intercourse of the Earl and Countess of Essex. During the period of co-habitation, had there or had there not been carnal copulation? If there had not, what was the nature of the impediment? Was the Earl incapable from puberty of erection and emission, or had he been rendered impotent towards his wife by means of witchcraft? If the latter, should the marriage be renewed for a trial period?

  The Earl allowed his organs of generation to be examined and put to the test. He was widely reported to have given a performance before a sub-committee of the commissioners which left them no room to doubt his potency or, indeed, his prowess. The Archbishop did not attend the demonstration, but it gave him hope that the plaintiff wife’s case could be dismissed. No one but King James would have regarded the work of the commission as a fitting occupation for the Primate of All England. Surely it could now be brought to a speedy conclusion?

  The Archbishop was disappointed. Essex himself had come to favour divorce. Overbury’s insult was not forgiven, and he no longer wished to oblige the Protestant party. Carey interceded in vain. Provided his manhood was not impugned, the Earl now desired nothing more than to be rid of his Howard Countess. He gave evidence that, while not impotent towards other women, he was in truth impotent towards her. Despite every endeavour on his part, the union had never been consummated. Under cross-examination he stated that on more than one occasion he had been frustrated because his wife had blocked her passage to deny him access. His desire had been continually thwarted and with it his powers of penetration. In the interests of justice the commission was spared no details.

  A convincing semblance of modesty did not lie within the Countess’s powers of pretence, but she ogled the commissioners to melt their hearts and feigned astonishment at her husband’s accusations of non-co-operation. The prettiest liar in the realm, she brazenly asserted that, owing to his incapacity and despite his lewd charges of her seeking pleasure in other beds, she had remained a virgin uncorrupt. It was the commission’s turn to express astonishment. Was her maidenhead then open to inspection, the Bishop of London inquired. If he would not accept the oath of a noblewoman, she replied, she had no choice but to oblige him. Whitehall, Westminster and the City were agog, and the question of the day in every alehouse and bedchamber became, not whether the Countess of Essex had preserved her maidenhead or no, but how she intended to gull the commission into supposing that she had.

  The Archbishop in disgust sought leave from the King to resign from the commission. From the beginning he had entertained doubts about the legal validity of its proceedings and the case had now assumed the form of a public scandal. But it was for this same reason that the King could not afford to let him go. James had set his heart on the divorce and it could only be achieved with some appearance of respectability if its pronouncement came from the Archbishop - and certainly not after his resignation. Did he set his conscience above his sovereign’s, the King demanded to know. Had he forgotten that James was the representative of God here on earth? Who had appointed him to Canterbury? Of whose Church was he head?

  Harried on all sides, the Archbishop remained a commissioner but continued to argue publicly against the divorce and to carry a slender majority of his colleagues with him. Steadfast as St Peter, he stood his ground against his King and his King’s favourite and all the blandishments and threats of the Howards. If the King was obstinate, so was he; his cause might not be as noble as Becket’s or Cranmer’s, but what would happen to the sanctity of Christian marriage if a precedent such as this were set? Large sums of money were wagered on the outcome, but the odds did not favour the Archbishop. One will was stronger than his - or the King’s. Frances Howard had been spoiled as a child and ever since. Dazzled by the power of her own beauty, she determined that nothing would prevent her from having her way.

  The ally essential to a victory for the Archbishop still lay a prisoner in the Tower. When Overbury had been arrested it was assumed that Carr would have him released within a few days. As these became weeks and the weeks months, it grew clear that he was to be held until the divorce was pronounced. No word from him was allowed to reach the Protestant party, but ugly rumours began to circulate concerning his health.

  To communicate with a state prisoner under close arrest was an act of treason, but at a secret meeting at Southampton House Carey, with a burst of his old fire, offered to make the attempt.

  The next day he entered the Tower with permission to visit Ralegh and met the old favourite, elegantly dressed, strolling in his private garden. After satisfying himself that they were out of earshot of warders, Carey explained his mission and inquired where Overbury lay.

  Ralegh pointed to a neighbouring tower. ‘He is closely guarded, but that is his window. Speak to him if you can. I will watch from here and be your sentry.’ His eyes brightened at the opportunity of adventure.

  When the time came for Carey to be released from Ralegh’s quarters, instead of taking the path direct to the gatehouse he went, unobserved so far as he could judge, to Overbury’s window. Beneath it he paused, as though to inspect an object on the ground, and cautiously announced himself.

  The window was too high for him to see within, but a faint sound reached him and a moment later a pair of hands grasped the bars.

  ‘I am too weak to pull myself up.’ The voice quavered like an old man’s, but was Overbury’s unmistakably. ‘Is that you indeed, Sir Robert?’

  ‘It is,’ Carey assured him. ‘I have come to render you what assistance I may.’

  ‘Then tell me why I am a prisoner still and kept so close. My servant has been dismissed and replaced by a stranger. Even my family has been forbidden to visit me. I write to Carr daily and he replies that I must be patient. He promises to secure the order for my release, but it does not come.’

  ‘Your friends believe that you are to be kept here until the Countess is granted her divorce and Carr has married her.’

  ‘Carr would not have me believe so. He swears eternal friendship. Yet I have told him I am sick and he does nothing. Answer me plain, Sir Robert: has he lost the King’s ear or does he juggle with me?’

  ‘He has not lost the King’s ear - far from it. The King continues to embrace him before all the court.’

  The hands slipped out of sight and a long, low moan sounded through the window.

  ‘Sir Thomas,’ Carey called sharply, ‘be of good cheer. I will speak with Carr on your behalf. There is but one condition. You must promise me to purge your contempt with a most humble apology to the King.’

  Overbury had been accused of being prouder even than Ralegh. An apology would come hard to him, but it was Carey’s assignment to obtain it. Once it was given, freedom could not be denied him.

  ‘It is your sole means of release,’ Carey urged, ‘but a sure one.’ Still there was no reply and he grew alarmed. ‘Do you hear me, Sir Thomas? As you value your life, you must admit a fault whether or not you have committed one. Speak now before we are discovered.’

  The fingers of one hand reappeared and the voice sounded more firm. ‘I have already written to Carr and to Northampton stating my readiness to confess my error and make amends. What you say of Carr means that he has betrayed me. I shall never forgive him and will today write and tell him so.’

  ‘Do nothing rash,’ Carey begged hi
m. ‘You have other friends. Do not antagonize him and do not despair.’

  ‘He and Northampton are poisoning me. I know it now. I am a dead man, but first I shall be revenged. Listen to what I have to tell you.’ There was a pause.

  ‘Does it concern the death of Prince Henry?’ Carey was alerted by the mention of poison. ‘Make haste, I implore you.’

  Even as he spoke, they were interrupted by a loud snatch of song. Ralegh in his garden had broken into full voice, tunefully lamenting the passing of the days of his youth on the Spanish Main. It was the arranged signal of danger.

  Without a single second’s delay Carey turned aside from the window and walked briskly round the corner of the building into the arms of the Lieutenant of the Tower. Both were surprised.

  ‘Sir Robert Carey!’ the Lieutenant exclaimed. ‘What errand brings you here, pray?’

  Carey knew him by sight only. Sir Gervase Elwes was his name, his appointment a cause of suspicion. His predecessor had been removed from office shortly after Overbury’s committal and Sir Gervase was a Howard man.

  ‘As your guard will have informed you, I have been calling on Sir Walter. The Queen commanded me to deliver a message to him. She has not forgotten his attempt to save Prince Henry’s life.’

  In truth he carried no word from the Queen, but Sir Gervase was a toadying knight of little account and Carey calculated that her name would serve to awe him.

  ‘But mine own eyes inform me that you have not come from Sir Walter’s quarters. Our rules are strict and visitors are not permitted to wander at will. I must ask you to acquaint me, on your honour, whether or not you have been endeavouring to communicate with another prisoner. Think well before you reply. The offence is not a light one, but concealment of the truth will make you liable to harsher penalties.’

  Carey was careful to show no sign of fear or guilt. ‘Of what crime do you make so bold as to accuse me?’ he demanded, assuming his fiercest expression and thrusting his face forward at the Lieutenant’s. ‘By God, you shall answer for this, Sir Gervase.’

  The Lieutenant retreated a step, taken aback. ‘Forgive me,’ he replied weakly, ‘but it is my binding duty to inquire into your movements. I have custody of this place and am answer able to the King and his Council.’

  ‘That is beyond dispute,’ Carey acknowledged. ‘The safety of the prisoners is your responsibility in law.’ His eyes were challenging and the Lieutenant dropped his gaze. It was a bad omen for Overbury.

  ‘I await your explanation, Sir Robert.’

  ‘It is innocent enough. Can I not humour Sir Walter without incurring your unworthy suspicion? He did but invoke my aid in an experiment of science.’

  ‘The nature of the experiment?’

  ‘To ascertain how far his singing voice would carry with the wind in this direction. When it veers he will conduct the experiment again and make his comparisons. Is that not correct, Sir Walter?’

  He shouted to Ralegh, who stood watching them from a distance. Before the Lieutenant could prevent him he repeated his explanation more loudly, until Ralegh obligingly nodded his corroboration.

  ‘It is not to be permitted,’ said the Lieutenant flustered at their nonchalance. ‘Sir Walter has licence to write and make experiments in his chamber, but not outside it. Such a thing has never been heard of within these walls.’

  They had moved nearer to Ralegh and the words reached him.

  ‘Do not presume to speak to me of the customs of the Tower,’ he bellowed at the Lieutenant. ‘Remember that my years here exceed your weeks. If you wish to know them, ask me and I will tell you. It is a pity that Sir William was dismissed so abruptly, otherwise you would perchance be less ignorant.’

  ‘I shall report your words,’ retorted the Lieutentant, ‘and Sir Robert’s conduct too.’ He mustered his dignity and escorted Carey to the gate while Ralegh defiantly invoked a pox on his impertinence and resumed his interrupted song.

  Carey took a boat from the Tower stairs directly to Whitehall. Seeking out Carr would be no easy task, but for Overbury’s sake and in the Protestant interest it could not be delayed. At the palace he was told that Viscount Rochester had accompanied the King to Hampton Court for a day’s coursing in Bushy Park, but would be returning in the evening or the morning following.

  Two further days passed in hour-long attendance in the palace audience chamber before Carey ran his quarry to ground. The circumstances were unpropitious but no opportunity could be let slip.

  Carr walked without notice or ceremony through the chamber, deep in conversation with a grey-haired companion. Carey did not notice him until they had passed. He hurried after them, begging to be allowed to pay his respects. When they turned he recognized the face of the grey-haired man with dismay. Before him stood his old enemy, the warden of the Scottish Middle March.

  ‘What have we here?’ Kerr greeted him. ‘The hangman of Geordie Bourne.’ He was jaunty; living proof that the ungodly flourished.

  ‘Your servant, Sir Robert.’ Carey bowed low, noting with pleasure as he did so a scar on the other’s chin: a relic of that rough evening at Norham.

  ‘Sir Robert no longer.’ The Scotsman bared his teeth in a smile of triumph.

  Carr was frowning haughtily at the interruption, tapping the floor impatiently with his foot. ‘His Majesty has seen fit to reward my cousin for long and faithful service in pacifying the Border,’ he deigned to explain. ‘You are addressing the new Lord Roxburgh.’

  Carey bowed low again, to acknowledge the honour and hide the hatred which gathered on his face. A barony bestowed on the wretch who deserved to be hanged as an accomplice alongside Geordie Bourne! Was there no limit to the extent of the King’s favour to his Scottish countrymen?

  ‘You at any rate are still a Sir Robert,’ gloated Lord Roxburgh. ‘I trust there is no mistake about that.’

  ‘Permit me to salute your lordship,’ Carey replied, his anger now masked. ‘There have indeed been changes on the Border since the years of my wardenship. Do you visit London for long?’

  The cousins exchanged glances before the elder replied. ‘That depends upon my young kinsman, in whose gracious hands my fortunes rest. One day we hunt with the King, on the next we dine with the Queen. Today we go to pay our respects to his highness, the Duke of York. Your charge, I believe, Sir Robert.’

  Carey took warning from his sneering tone and their laughter at the mention of the Prince being his charge. ‘With your permission,’ he replied, ‘I will accompany you.’ Why had he not been told of their visit?

  ‘That will not be necessary,’ said Carr.

  ‘It is the duty of my office to ensure that proper arrangements are made for the reception of your lordships at St James’s. I would assuredly have been with the Prince myself at this time if you had made your intention known.’

  ‘The King himself has prepared our meeting with the Prince,’ said Carr. ‘Your presence will not be required.’

  ‘Then I crave a minute of your lordship’s time here. I wish to make a plea on behalf of my other guest at Norham when we three last met together. Sir Thomas Overbury is ill-used, my lord.’

  At the name and accusation Carr flushed as though in bad conscience. Yet the rush of colour to his cheek served only to enhance his handsomeness: time had treated him more kindly than Overbury. Smooth-faced and straight-limbed still, he was dressed in green doublet and hose of the finest velvet and silk and shimmered like a vision of Adonis. His hair was fair, his mouth soft as a girl’s. Small wonder that his charms bewitched the King, tortured Overbury with jealousy and inflamed Frances Howard’s lust.

  ‘You speak for Overbury!’ His indignation was petulant. ‘By Jesu, this is an unexpected embassy, and one without fair cause. I would have you know, Sir Robert, that I am hourly pressing his Majesty for Sir Thomas’s release. My friends have no need for intercession by others.’

  This time the delicate foot stamped on the ground, but Carey had done with bowing and refused to be put down.
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  ‘May God grant your lordship success, but the months pass and the air in the Tower is notoriously unhealthy. It is rumoured that Sir Thomas is locked in a putrid chamber, that he is deprived of all company, that his food is disagreeable to him and that he suffers sorely from sickness.’

  ‘He has given great offence to the King, but if he is ill a doctor shall be sent to him. Go tell your rumour-mongers that. As for yourself, I mistrust you, Sir Robert. You have meddled in my affairs before and attempted to set the heir to the throne against me. What business of yours is this? What knowledge and interest do you claim?’

  ‘Knowledge that Sir Thomas is willing to purge his contempt if so permitted, and that if not he is like to die.’

  ‘Such knowledge is treason. How came you by it? Do not dissemble, I command you, or I shall have you arrested.’

  Carr seized Carey violently by the shoulders and shook him as though in hope that the truth would drop from his body and lie on the floor to be picked up. Carey restrained himself with an effort and offered no resistance. He was coolly reckoning that his arrest would lead to an investigation which the favourite, shorn of Overbury’s guidance, could ill afford. In the King’s absence attendance in the audience chamber was sparse, and before the quarrel could attract attention Lord Roxburgh pulled his cousin away.

  ‘Come, Robin,’ he bade him, ‘do not wrestle with hangmen.’

  Carr allowed himself to be led away. ‘The King shall learn of this,’ he promised over his shoulder.

  Carey deliberated for an instant whether to let him go. Then he decided on a last appeal. Moving quickly, he placed himself in Carr’s path and knelt.

  ‘My lord of Rochester,’ he declared, ‘you have my solemn oath that I would be your friend. The imprisonment of Sir Thomas is a plot by your enemies to ensnare you. While he is in the Tower you are deprived of his counsel. If harm befalls him there, you will be blamed. In soliciting his release I am acting in your own interest. Trust me, I beseech you.’