At last, I knew where I belonged.
* * *
On January 15, 1559, the date designated by Dudley’s astrologer Dee as the most auspicious, we gathered in Westminster Abbey among a horde of dignitaries, nobles, and officials, while outside in the snow-strewn streets, the crowds shouted their approval as bells clamored and the new queen of England made her procession from the Tower.
The pew selected for us was not close to where her throne waited, but it did not matter. When she reached the Abbey to a deafening blast of trumpets, ablaze in cloth of gold trimmed in ermine, her hair loose upon her shoulders and mantle carried by noblewomen, she was all any of us could see, her stately walk down the aisle as we dropped into obeisance bringing a surge of pride and joy to my heart.
She kept her chin up and gaze level, never once acknowledging those around her, as if it were only her and that empty throne in private consummation; but I saw her tremble faintly and recognized, as few could, her awareness of what it had cost her to attain this glory. Now, she must prove worthy of it. Elizabeth I’s reign had only just begun.
As she knelt at the altar for her ceremonial anointing and the trumpets blared again, Kate slipped her hand in mine. I turned to her. Though a queen took the throne that day, my eyes remained fixed on the woman with whom I would spend the rest of my life.
* * *
Dudley came to me during the banquet in Westminster Palace. The cavernous hall had become an arbor, silken greenery slung from the high eaves and tapestries hugging the ancient, damp-streaked walls. I was not sure how I felt, watching his damask swagger and envy-provoking proximity to the queen, flaunting before all the high favor in which she held him. Around us, conversation and wine flowed, Elizabeth at the high dais sampling an endless round of dishes before the pages circulated them among her guests.
All of a sudden, he was at my side. “Prescott,” he said, “a moment alone, if you would?”
Kate gave me quick assent, and so I left my seat to follow him. He led me from the hall, past nobles already scheming in various alcoves, down the corridors where the chill of the day congealed into frigid night, until we reached an empty enclosed courtyard, the star-speckled sky above us outlined by Westminster’s barbed silhouette.
Without preamble he said, “I wish to suggest a truce.”
He stood with one hand on his hip, magnificent as only he could be, the jeweled gleam of Elizabeth’s favor draped upon his shoulders. His dark eyes flared when I did not answer. “Do you not agree? You intend to hold enmity against me forever?”
“My lord,” I said, “the enmity is also yours. You would have seen me to my death.”
He clenched his jaw. At length, he said, “I only followed her command.”
“As you always do,” I replied, though I already recognized that this lifelong quarrel between us must end. He was the man Elizabeth had chosen to love; I did not agree with it and probably never would, but I could not fight it anymore. Moreover, how could I judge, after I too had succumbed to destructive passion? Only those who suffered it could learn to overcome it.
“She intervened,” Dudley said, and if I had not known him as well as I did, I might have thought he attempted an apology. “I took that ring to her as you bade. She went to see you. She believed whatever it was you told her.” His voice hardened. “You can consider yourself safe now. She will not let anyone, including me, harm you again.”
I resisted a smile. Elizabeth might love him, shared her secret with him, but she had not confessed everything. She knew Dudley could never be trusted with the truth of who I was.
He eyed me, pawing the ground with the tip of his boot. “Well? I propose a truce, not a friendship. I hear you will depart court anyway, to retire to Hatfield and tend a garden. I see no reason why we cannot agree to dislike each other from a distance. Not to mention, I spared you from that she-wolf, when I might have killed you as well and claimed she did it.”
“Yes,” I agreed quietly. “That you did.”
He wrenched off one of his cordovan leather gloves, extending his hand to me. As I reached out to take it, he suddenly grasped me, yanking me close. “That evidence against me you said you had,” he breathed. “I trust it too will be forgotten?”
I drew back. “Naturally, my lord,” I replied and I turned heel, leaving him to scowl.
It was also wise to let him believe I still had something to hold over his head.
* * *
Before we departed for Hatfield, Kate and I went to the graveyard by the Tower to pay our respects to Peregrine. The mound of earth was hoar-frosted now, a simple stone crucifix set at its tip the only indication that a beloved friend lay there. We held hands and said a prayer for his departed soul, Kate struggling to contain her tears.
We then rode to the Griffin, where we found Archie on the mend, though his wound had been even worse than mine, and his recovery not as swift. Still, he lumbered about the tavern, grumbling of how Nan kept fussing over him until he thought he might go mad. Kate persuaded him to let her assess his injury and apply her special herbal salve. While she did, Nan and I shared a tankard and I told her the queen had granted me a pension and retirement from service.
“Only a pension?” she exclaimed. “She owes you a title and deed of land to go with it, after everything you endured for her sake!”
“She would have given it, had I asked,” I said. “I did not. I never needed much.”
Nan harrumphed. “More’s the fool who refuses what could be taken.” Nevertheless, she was ecstatic that Kate and I planned to wed and would reside in Hertfordshire, far from London. “We’ll come to visit as soon as he is well. You must not marry until we do,” she added, with an emphatic wag of her finger. “We must be present to witness the ceremony.”
“I am well now, woman,” Archie declared, shrugging on his shirt as Kate hid her grin and left a jar of her salve on the side table. “This girl can work miracles with her touch. Look: I am ten years younger already.”
Nan rolled her eyes, beckoning Kate. “I have some fresh-baked pies you can take with you on your journey.” Together, they went into the kitchen.
Shelton gave me a pensive look. “Are you happy, lad?”
“I am,” I said. “Or at least, I plan to be.”
“Well? Which is it?”
“Both.” I looked away as I spoke. He said gently, “It will not be easy, staying away from her. It is all you have done these past seven years—protect and defend her. You might get bored after a while with all that country air and lovemaking.”
“Good!” I laughed. “I hope so. You must also visit us often. I … I need my father, now that I have found him.”
He grunted, only now he was the one to avert his face. “Yes, well, we’ll see that we do, eh?” He paused, returning his gaze to me. “The lad. Is he…?”
I nodded. “He will live with us. He is at Hatfield already. He does not understand what happened to him; only that it was terrifying and now he is safe.”
“Innocence,” grinned Shelton. “It is a rare gift. Only children and beasts have it.”
Kate called from the kitchen: “Brendan, it’s starting to snow. We should be on our way.”
I rose and helped Shelton upstairs. As I began to step away, he grabbed me in his burly embrace. “Be well, my son,” he said, his voice rough. “You deserve happiness. Love and cherish Kate, and the lad, too. And let queen and kingdom shift for themselves.”
I held him tight. “You, too. Take care of that wound. Do not overexert yourself.”
We parted abruptly, as men do, Shelton saying he must rest a while as I took the stairs back down to find Kate in her cloak, a covered basket of Nan’s pies on her arm. Nan wept unabashedly as she kissed us good-bye, promising to come and see us soon. I knew they would, but as we went outside to untether our horses and I helped Kate mount before I clambered awkwardly onto Cinnabar, I was stricken with sudden melancholy.
“He is not a young man,” Kate reassured me. “But his
injury will heal in time.”
I nodded, taking one last lingering gaze at the tavern before I turned to her.
“Come, my love. Let us go home.”
Author’s Note
I am indebted as always to my agent, Jennifer Weltz, who continues to champion my work with enthusiasm and expert guidance, as well as to her colleagues at the Jean V. Naggar Literary Agency, Inc. I am also grateful to my editor, Charlie Spicer; assistant editor April Osborn; copy editor Eva Talmadge; and the creative team at St. Martin’s Press. In the United Kingdom, my editor, Suzie Dooré, and her team at Hodder & Stoughton publish me with vigor and I am so appreciative for their support, especially to Suzie for her keen editorial skills. I also wish to give thanks to my friend Linda Dolan, who read an early draft of this book and provided suggestions for improvement, as well as my friend Sarah Johnson, who is always there to talk me through the shoals of my profession and read portions of my works in progress.
At home, my partner supports and encourages me, taking care of everyday details that I neglect in my preoccupation with writing. I am indeed blessed to have him. My cats, Chu and Mommy, have endeavored to fill the void left by the loss of my beloved corgi, Paris, and bring me joy, laughter, and love every day, reminding me that tuna time, naps, and belly rubs are not optional.
Independent bookstores are my heroes; in this increasingly complex era of digital revolution and entertainment choices, they continue to promote the importance of the printed word. I especially wish to thank Bookshop West Portal and Orinda Books for handselling my books, recommending me to book groups, and supporting local authors.
In that vein, I am also grateful to all the bloggers who participate in my virtual tours, as well as those who discover my books and take the time to review or mention them.
My author friends, in particular M. J. Rose, Margaret George, Donna Morin, and Michelle Moran, keep me sane when it all starts to feel overwhelming, sharing this often perplexing path of being a fellow writer with me, with all its myriad ups and downs.
Last, but never least, I thank you, my reader. Your e-mails, social media messages, comments on book-related sites, and ongoing support mean so much to me. Without a reader, a writer’s words are mute. You give them voice. I hope to entertain you for many years to come.
Rescue work is my passion. Every day in the United States, over ten thousand homeless animals die because of irresponsible breeding and ownership. I will continue to fight against shelter euthanasia and for the rights of animals who cannot defend themselves.
To learn more about my work and schedule book group chats with me, please visit: www.cwgortner.com.
Discussion Questions
1. The Tudor Vendetta takes place in the first few months of Elizabeth I’s accession to the throne. What did you discover about the country she first inherited? What were some of the challenges she faced? How does England at the start of her reign differ from her later years?
2. Religious conflict in England is a strong motivator for certain characters. How did Catholics feel about Elizabeth Tudor’s right to rule? Do you see any parallels in today’s religious divides?
3. Brendan Prescott is Elizabeth I’s private spy. In this novel, he must make difficult choices that change his perception of the queen he serves. What are some of the decisions he faces? How do you think you may have acted if you were in his shoes?
4. Secrets are the underlying theme of this series. Do you find the secrets credible?
5. What are your perceptions of Philippa Vaughan? Do you understand her reasons for her actions? What does her character tell us about the roles of women in the Tudor world?
6. Brendan’s relationship with Elizabeth is one of both confidant and pawn. Do you agree with how Elizabeth treats him? What are your impressions of his loyalty to the queen? Do you think he likes her?
7. Yorkshire, London Bridge, and the Tower are sites featured in this novel. What did you learn about how common people lived? What are some of the differences they faced compared to those who lived at court? If you had to choose, where would you prefer to live?
8. Elizabeth Tudor is one of history’s most famous queens, but here we see a different side of her. Do you agree with the author’s depiction of her? Did you find her sympathetic? Why or why not?
9. During the course of the novel, there are many twists and turns. Which was most unexpected for you?
10. Who was your favorite character in the book and why?
For more reading group suggestions, visit www.readinggroupgold.com.
Also by C. W. Gortner
The Tudor Conspiracy
The Tudor Secret
The Last Queen
The Confessions of Catherine de Medici
The Queen’s Vow
About the Author
C. W. Gortner holds an MFA in Writing with an emphasis on Renaissance Studies from the New College of California. He travels extensively to research his books, and has experienced life in a medieval Spanish castle and danced a galliard in a Tudor great hall. His novels have been translated into twenty languages to date. An advocate for animal rights and environmental issues, he currently lives in Northern California.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
THE TUDOR VENDETTA. Copyright © 2014 by C. W. Gortner. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.stmartins.com
Cover design by Kerri Resnick
Cover photographs: castle © Howard Marsh/Alamy; horseman © Stephen Mulcahey/Arcangel Images; snow © djgis/Shutterstock.com; background writing © Arkady Mazor/Shutterstock.com; texture © David M. Schrader/Shutterstock.com
eBooks may be purchased for business or promotional use. For information on bulk purchases, please contact Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department by writing to [email protected].
The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.
ISBN 978-0-312-65858-8 (trade paperback)
ISBN 978-1-250-05853-9 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-1-4668-5787-2 (e-book)
e-ISBN 9781466857872
First Edition: October 2014
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