Winter King: Murder in Henry's Court (Tudor Crimes Book 1)

by Anne Stevens

  “May we discuss the matter of treason, Your Majesty?” Cromwell has a list, and wishes to put names in to Henry’s mind for future consideration.

  “If we must.” Henry dislikes unpleasantness, but sees it must be faced. “Jane Hurstmantle has behaved in a ridiculous way. It is always so when women try to think. What shall we do with the poor demented creature?”

  Cromwell thinks a sharp axe will suffice, but there is a problem to overcome. Apart from being a woman, Lady Jane was at the court when Henry’s father died. She consoled Henry for a few months, and is still fondly remembered as an accomplished lover, in the French way. So he councils clemency.

  “Had it been a man, no matter who, I would say… death. The lady is, as you say, muddled in her mind. Perhaps a stiff letter from Your Highness will suffice. You might suggest she visit her cousin in Durham for a year or two.”

  “Her cousin?”

  “Several times removed, but still an actual blood relation, I am told. Harry Percy’s heralds will know better what the exact relationship is.”

  “Percy? By God, Cromwell…. Do you think…?”

  “There is no proof of a connexion, sire,” Cromwell says, “but my people will look into it, carefully. My Lord Percy has irked you several times of late.”

  “He has.”

  “Might I suggest you sequester one of his castles, and hand it over to Suffolk?”

  “Charles?”

  “Why not? It will cement your friendship.” And bind Suffolk to me all the tighter, he thinks. “I have other names on my list. All men.”

  “Are they proven to be traitorous?”

  “Beyond doubt, sire.”

  “Are any of them of the aristocracy?”

  “No, your majesty. One mayor, still stubbornly loyal to Katherine, a couple of Thomas More’s outspoken friends, and Stephen Gardiner’s ex secretary. You did mention the penalty for men, I believe?”

  “Do it. It will keep More and Gardiner honest.”

  “It will be done,” Cromwell says. He must compose a stiff letter to Jane Hurstmantle, who is to be spared because she once gave Henry a lesson in the French way of things. It is, he thinks, only for show, and will not need to be delivered.

  “Is it done?” Miriam is sitting in front of a mirror. It is Flemish made, and cost Cromwell the equivalent of a small house. He has one in every bedroom. Will nods. He tells her only that Harry Cork is the man, and that Mush has settled the matter honourably.

  “Your grandfather’s soul can rest now,” Will says.

  “We do not have souls,” Miriam says. “We are Jews, and not allowed them. Mush and I will play out our roles in public, but in private, we are true to our God.”

  “You can worship a parsnip, for all I care,” Will replies. “Just as long as you marry me.”

  “Don’t mock religion so freely, my dearest one,” Miriam says. “I think that a storm is coming. Soon now, men will kill over what language your holy book is written in.”

  Will understands, but he is beginning to feel the invincibility that all of Tom Cromwell‘s young men acquire. He has saved the King from assassination, and advanced the Cromwell cause. Power and riches are there for the taking.

  “Let your mind rest easy, Miriam,” he says. “Come, the priest is waiting.”

  “Moshe wishes to give me away,” she tells him, “but he thinks your Master Cromwell might wish that honour. After all, I am under his roof.”

  “He does not seek to replace your grandfather, or Mush,” Will says. “He is content to watch from the side. It is what he does so well.”

  “You think Master Thomas is a benign observer then?” Miriam asks. Will smiles.

  “Sometimes,” he replies.

  Sir Andrew Jennings stands for a moment, allowing his eyes to become accustomed to the light of candles in the room. It was a small matter for him to scale the wall and slip into the bedroom. He crosses to the bed, and sees that there are two bodies therein. One, a woman, is lying on one side, and she is buxom and naked. The other is a man. He is lying on his back, snoring. The noise stops as Jennings slides a knife across his throat. He jerks, once, and is still.

  The woman stirs then, and turns over. She is about to scream, but the assassin is on her. He clamps a strong hand about her throat, and squeezes slowly. Lady Jane Hurstmantle struggles, but to no avail. As she passes into unconsciousness, her killer whispers in her ear.

  “Thomas Cromwell sends his regards, My Lady.”

  Outside, Rafe Sadler is holding the horses. Master Cromwell usually likes to have someone watch. It bonds his young men together. Tonight will be different. Drew Jennings appears from the gloom. Behind him, flames are licking out of the great house’s windows. Lady Jane is known to like a candle in the night.

  “Accident waiting to happen. Such a shame,” Cromwell will say to the King, and he with a stiff letter already drawn up to sign.

  The King will sigh, and speak of the fickleness of fate.

  “Is it done?” Rafe asks.

  “It is,” Drew Jennings replies. He might add how much he enjoyed the double murder, but he does not. Instead, he crosses to the nearest horse, and raises his left foot to the stirrup. Rafe Sadler is close behind. He draws his dagger, and drives it up into Jennings’ unguarded back. As the man slumps down, Rafe bends and whispers in his ear.

  “Best regards, from Tom Cromwell.”

  ~end~

  Afterword.

  Thank you for reading this book. It is, of course, a work of fiction, hung on a skeleton of fact, and should be judged as such.

  The house at Austin Friars is a real place. It was taken over by Cromwell, and used by him throughout his life. York Place was the elegant town house of Cardinal Wolsey, who lost it to Henry at the time of his fall from grace (c1529). During the next few years, it became known as ‘Whitehall’, and grew in size until it contained almost 1500 rooms.

  Will’s sword is of German origin. The description given is for one often used by soldiers of the Emperor Charles Vs guard, and was in wide use throughout Europe between 1520 and 1540. That such a sword might end up on an Irish battlefield is entirely possible. English armies comprised mercenaries from all nations, with entire companies of Genoese, Dutch, French and Welsh incorporated.

  The discriminatory edict against the Jewish race survived for about four hundred years in England, and robbed the country of access to a vast amount of European and middle eastern culture. Many Jewish men of business risked death by trading in London, under the guise of being Spanish or Dutch traders, and their religion was demonised right up until the reign of Charles II.

  From 1530 onwards, Henry’s reign became increasingly bloody. His quest for a son changed the face of Europe for ever.

  TightCircle Publications 2015.