The next afternoon found Charles Brandon in my rooms, gesturing for a cup of ale as I rose my behind my desk.
“I came as soon as I heard about Audley,” he explained, accepting the cup from a page boy.
“Yes,” I said, pleased my friend had returned to help me with this matter. “It will not be easy to find a replacement. Audley may have been inept, but at least he had no agenda. One of the few men here I can say that of.”
Brandon didn’t argue the point, and merely shrugged his shoulders.
“Could say that of,” he responded, and I nodded at the truth of the statement.
“Do you have any ideas?” he asked, carefully sipping his ale as he watched my face.
“Someone at court already,” I said, stating the obvious. “And not someone in France or Scotland at the moment.” That ruled out quite a few men, who were away on my campaigns.
A thought came to me, as I took in Brandon’s mud-soaked boots.
“You did not ride back here for the privilege, did you?” I asked, unable to keep a slight edge out of my voice.
Brandon’s deep laugh reassured me.
“Ah, Your Majesty, could you see me dispensing any amount of justice?”
I laughed with him at this, for it was true. Chancellors must be of sound ability and hold a deep understanding of the law. I doubted my friend would want this responsibility even if it was offered.
“I simply know what you face in this decision,” Brandon said easily, the laughter dying in his voice. “I wished to assist you.”
He was not the only man — or woman, now that I thought back to my wife’s words the night before — who had offered this. But Brandon had been at court his whole life. He knew the players in the game as much as I. And it would help to know who his pick was. Better to know where he would attempt to steer me.
“I am out of ideas,” I said, spreading my hands wide before me. “And open to your suggestion.”
The sharp look on Brandon’s face showed that he clearly did not believe that, but nodded anyway.
“I suppose you had considered Lord William Parr?” he asked. My lips pursed, thinking of my useless brother-in-law.
“The Earl of Essex would hardly be my first choice,” I snapped, but Brandon was already shaking his head.
“No, forgive me, I meant his cousin, Lord Parr of Horton. Also named William. Very confusing.”
I frowned.
“A lowly man,” I responded.
“But one not yet bought.”
I narrowed my eyes, and gestured for a page boy to bring me my own cup of ale. The April winds were sharp and there had been a chilly rain for the past week. I moved closer to the fireplace, still lit even in the middle of the day.
“Any kinsman of the queen has already declared their loyalty to her,” I responded, and Brandon nodded. Taking my ale from the page boy, I reflected. So Brandon was playing for the queen, as the Earl of Essex had as well. Her faction at court was becoming strong, despite my gentle attempts to curtail it.
“There are few men left,” he responded. “Perhaps Dr. Richard Cox?”
Another man well thought of by the queen.
“Not a lord,” I responded. “And he is busy tutoring my son Edward. I do not relish taking him away from the task.”
“No,” Brandon agreed, and I remembered after a moment that his son was at my son’s court and learning from the same tutor.
“A man already here —“ Brandon mused, and then his eyes pinched. “You are not thinking of Stephen Gardiner?”
I could have laughed at his sour expression, but shook my head. In my father’s time, and before, the chancellorship had always been held by a member of the clergy. But since my break with Rome and the formation of the Church of England, I had thought it best to keep power away from bishops and cardinals.
“As Bishop of Winchester, he has many duties already. And I have not had good experiences with churchmen —” I trailed off, unsure how to finish the sentence. Brandon nodded, not needing a reminder of my time with Cardinal Wolsey or to remind me of Thomas More — a layman who had also been unable to fulfill his duties as lord chancellor without offending his precious conscious.
Too many lord chancellorships had ended in treason and then death.
I sat in the wooden chair by the fire, relaxing into the cushions, taking in the warmth of the flames. The slight smoke that puffed gently toward me showed that the chimneys needed cleaning. Looking around at the dirty rushes on the floor, taking in the mud that could not help but be streaked around the room, long before Brandon had tracked in even more, told me that it would soon be time to vacate this palace. Move back to London to install a new chancellor before touring the countryside on progress.
Shaking my head, I tried to bring myself back to the cause at hand.
So Brandon and the queen did not want Stephen Gardiner. Very well, neither did I. Thinking through the members of the nobility who would be against Gardiner — Essex, Hertford, the queen, Brandon — I realized that I needed a strong force in opposition to them.
Traditionally the Duke of Norfolk stood against Brandon, but he was far away in Scotland. And I was not sure I could stomach any more Howards near my throne.
But thinking of Lord Hertford made me remember my council meeting last fall. He had been outwitted, and not by Stephen Gardiner.
“I believe I have the man,” I said, gesturing for the page boys to help me from my seat. Brandon started toward me, raising one eyebrow.
“Still not Bishop Gardiner?” he asked. I laughed and waved away his concerns.
“No, of course not,” I responded. “And I thank you for your help. Your suggestions have helped put me on the right path.”
Brandon smiled, a bit uncertainly, but then nodded, confident that I would choose one of the men he had put forth. Or one like them. Certainly no one like Gardiner. Bowing, he left to change and prepare for supper.
Imagine his surprise that evening when I announced the new Lord Chancellor of England, Thomas Wriothesley, good friend and ally of Stephen Gardiner.
Chapter Five
August, 1544
It had taken longer than I had hoped, but finally I had reached the battlefield in France. Charles Brandon, as always, was by my side and there had been little choice but to leave the queen as regent in my absence.
Wriothesley had proved to be an able chancellor, but hardly a stellar one. There was little he felt he could to without looking to me for guidance, and his continued missives still brought on headaches even across the Channel. With me gone, he should have been reporting most of this to the Queen, but he had obviously found that task distasteful. There were times — usually late in the evening when I was up past all common sense, still worrying about the events back in London — that I thought it would have been better to name one of the men Charles Brandon had recommended. At least then I would have a chancellor who would speak to his queen over the minor matters of state.
But one only had to look at my history with allowing a queen to become too powerful to see the folly in that idea. It may mean a headache now, but it was more dangerous to allow any one person too much power at my court. Never let it be said that I did not learn my lesson in that regard.
The mornings on campaign came early. Still shaking the sleep from me, I would be led to my horse by my page boys. Even the fresh smell of the meadows and the sweet taste of the fruits we found along the French countryside did little to wake me. Eventually the beauty of the hills and the clean air began to blur; before long I could do nothing more than long for home.
Whenever I became too jaded, I would call for Brandon and we would speak — sometimes of home, but mostly of the best of ancient kings, Henry the V, who had conquered so much of France and then been struck down in his youth. It was these talks, these reminders of kings who had left behind nothing but strife, that gave me strength and reminded me of my purpose.
As the weeks went by, we won few victories, and I received little
word from our ally, Emperor Charles of Spain. The victories we did win seemed glorious in the moment, but more than that I was crushed by the drudgery and expenses that this army was taking. And we had now set in for a siege of the city of Boulogne, which drained even more of our resources.
I tried not to speak of this, as it was counter to anything I had ever felt while on campaign before. This was the first time that war had felt like an oppressive way of living, rather than a powerful display. And it pained me to admit it, as I knew that it was only my own advanced age that made me feel like this. All around me I was surrounded by young men who seemed to think this was the greatest adventure of their lives. But often, as I was reading the missives from home and worrying over the state of affairs, Charles Brandon would stick his head into the tent where my secretary and I were working, and I would see the same strain on his face.
“Your Majesty,” he would say, with just enough reproach that I knew he wished me to sleep and not to work into the small hours of the morning.
“It will not wait,” I always replied. And usually he would shake his head and make for his own tent, but one night, after a month on campaign, he pushed aside the flap and came to fall into a chair next to me.
Court etiquette would often lessen while on campaign, but even this was a breach few would make. My secretary’s young eyes were huge at Brandon’s actions, but I did nothing more than wave the boy to his own bed and turn to Brandon.
“Sit,” I said, with enough irony that Brandon laughed aloud.
“Why thank you,” he responded, shaking his head. I noticed the lice scatter with dismay; living in camp was rough, and I imagined I looked no better than he did.
“I must ask, when will we stop this foolishness? We do little good here.”
Brandon rarely spoke so plainly, and I felt startled for a moment as I took in his words.
“Are you feeling too old for campaign?” I asked, trying to keep some amount of lightness in my voice.
“I am too old for campaign,” he shot back, and I heard the unspoken words – and so are you.
The heat of anger, that always seemed so close to the surface, burst through me, but instead of speaking, I closed my eyes until it had passed. Opening them once more, I saw nothing but understanding from Brandon. But still I could only shake my head.
“We must remain,” I insisted, though it was not Brandon’s place to challenge me. “We must remain until we recover lands since lost to the Frenchmen. Or until Charles wins a complete victory in the south and we can carve up —”
But I paused, for it seemed I had spoken these exact words before. My head swam for a moment before I recovered with a small shake.
“We can carve up France,” I finished softly. For then I realized that I had spoken those words before, in a tent such as this, and to Charles Brandon. And they had not come to pass ten years ago, or the first time we had traveled to France at the beginning of my reign. With a weariness that surged through my body, I faced the startling truth that we would not do so now.
“We will withdraw at the end of the season,” I said, but knowing that there would be little for us in France between now and then. “And we may return then. But no sooner.”
Brandon nodded, seeing the political necessity of staying, of not betraying my word to Emperor Charles.
But on awakening the next morning, word came that rendered my promise moot.
****
“He has done what?” I asked, my voice barely holding steady. Brandon was by my side — he seemed forever by my side — but even he dared not reach out to grasp my arm as I swayed.
“The Earl of Lennox has taken hold of the Scottish government.” The messenger before me was shaking, but his voice held firm. He was a brave lad.
“In God’s name, what was he even doing in Scotland?” I demanded. The marriage of the Earl of Lennox and my niece Margaret Douglas had gone through as Katherine had planned, before I had left England for France. But the man had remained in London; I had not trusted him on the fields with me in France, and even less so on the fields before his own kinsmen.
“The Queen sent him at the beginning of the month,” the messenger replied. “She wrote to you of it.”
I glanced at my secretary, who was digging wildly through my papers, shaking his head. Even Thomas Heneage was looking, giving the boy a second pair of eyes, unable to find it. It was not unusual that a letter would be lost on the road, but this letter?
“We received nothing,” my secretary said. “I would swear on my life.”
“It will not come to all that,” Brandon said, a hint of a smile on his face. But one look at my scowl wiped it away, and he bowed his head.
“Perhaps Lennox holds it for you,” Brandon suggested. “He has sworn to be faithful to you.”
“And yet he is Scottish,” I roared, confident that one fact would prove his untrustworthiness. No man — or woman — who had ever come from Scotland had proved to be faithful to me.
I sank into a large chair by my desk, the oak creaking ominously as I did so. Letting my face fall into my hands, I tried to breathe, but the stench coming from the cook’s tent only yards away, meant that this was hardly a calming act.
What to do? I could feel the words being flung at me in every direction, from every face in the tent. As it has always been, every man in the room looking to me for decisions, asking me what could be done. How could I act, here in France, when I was learning of events after they happened? An unfamiliar feeling of helplessness washed over me, and my breath shook.
“What of the Duke of Norfolk?” I finally asked, dragging my eyes back to the messenger.
“He still fights,” the boy said with a slight shrug. “The Earl of Essex has reached him with as many supplies as possible. I do not believe it was what was ordered —”
I waved the boy off. I knew already of Essex’s failure to raise what I had ordered. But since that task had been impossible, it came as no surprise. In fact, the amount of cattle he had obtained shocked me, and I had to wonder what bargains he had made in my name to obtain such a high number of cows.
So Essex had arrived at the feet of the Duke of Norfolk. What could these two men — one so studious and one so brusque — possibly accomplish together?
And Lennox held the seat of Scotland. Well, we could see what he would do with it.
“Very well,” I said finally, and knew that at last my shock had worn off, and I once again sounded like the king. “Return to London. Have a copy sent of the queen’s original letter, stating her purpose for Lennox. Go not to the queen’s secretary for this, but instead have Chancellor Wriothesley request it. Do not speak to the queen or any of her household while you do this.”
The messenger nodded, and I was happy that he was a bright lad. Everyone in the tent knew that had the letter truly been sent and merely lost on the road, then there would be a copy of it amongst the queen’s archived papers. If the messenger asked the queen’s secretary, a letter with the information could be written and made to look like it had been sent in July. However, Wriothesley, who bore no love for the queen, could search for it and would not lie for her.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Brandon purse his lips, but he said nothing. He may be allied with the queen, but he could get a message to her no quicker than my will would be done in London. Besides, his greatest loyalty would be to me. After a moment, he met my eyes and nodded.
And now for Scotland. There were two obvious paths before me. I could either recall Lennox and trust that Norfolk would continue to decimate his way through the wild lands, or I could leave him there and see what became of it. That Norfolk would win was not guaranteed; even the death of King James the previous fall had not bent the Scots to my will.
After a moment of contemplation, I lifted my eyes to Brandon.
“It is not as if Scotland was friendly to us before,” he said, having followed my thoughts precisely. And he spoke the truth — we lost nothing by leaving Lennox where he was. Perh
aps my niece and her new husband would prove true to me. They could not bring more destruction down upon me than the Scottish army was already.
And there were none among us to argue against him. It was times like these that it seemed life might be so much simpler without the courtiers, and chancellors, and certainly easier without Parliament. Brandon agreed with my thoughts. Why did I ever think that campaigning was to be despised? The decisions may rest upon my brow, but better that than the continued bickering that usually followed me about.
“Very well,” I said, nodding my head. “Say nothing to the queen about Lennox. We will not remove him, but we are not yet sure if this is well done. Those words are not to be repeated to her.”
The messenger boy nodded, and I tilted my head at him.
“Should this be written down for you?”
“No sir,” the boy said, his face breaking out in a grin. More than one gap could be seen between his teeth, and I found myself wondering where this boy came from. Certainly I had never seen him at court before.
“Who hired you into my household?” I asked. “And are you sure you can remember all this?”
“The queen hired me, Your Majesty,” he said, with a tilt of his head. “Begging your pardon, the late queen.”
I scowled, as this did little to clarify matters, but I chose not to press it or be reminded that there was more than one late queen who might have hired him.
“And I can remember it; I was schooled in all my letters. The priest said he hadn’t seen one better in all his years teaching,” the boy continued, bragging in that way that so many young men seemed to do these days. Sighing, I waved him off. He wore my emblem, and had obviously been in my household for over a year. Squinting, I realized that there was something familiar about the boy. Glancing at Brandon, I saw his lips were in a tight quirk and knew that not only had this boy been in my employ for some time, but I had spoken to him before and merely forgotten it.
Exasperated, I waved him away. On his way out the tent flap, he almost collided with some minor nobleman, who came and dropped to one knee before me.
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