‘Cromwell!’ Henry barked, and they turned to see him nearby, a gentleman putting on the King’s gloves. ‘We ride for London. Who rides with us, Thomas?’
Cromwell stood tall, and all looked at him with surprise, for why would the King be taking instructions from any person?
‘Edward Seymour, Sir Henry Norris, the Duke of Suffolk, Sir Thomas Heneage, the Duke of Norfolk and Sir Nicholas Carew…’
Through the growing group of servants waiting to attend on the King, Thomas Boleyn appeared. He pushed past Nicòla, shoving her hard as he passed. ‘What be all this?’ he demanded. ‘Your Majesty, are you to joust? As the Lord Privy Seal…’
‘I shall hear none,’ Henry interrupted.
‘We do not need you, my Lord Wiltshire,’ Cromwell added. ‘The King is to leave at once.’
‘What? Your Majesty, Queen Anne is waiting to see George joust, he is up next, and…’
Without a word, Henry turned, and his men trailed behind, several scrambling away to find the men Cromwell listed. From now on, Henry had to be surrounded by men who would back Cromwell’s plan to topple Anne. Any person loyal to Anne could plead her case once the story of adultery spread. Hours from now, everyone would know the happenings inside the Tower.
‘You have the horses ready?’ Cromwell asked.
‘Yes, stabled with the King’s horse,’ Nicòla replied. ‘I did so this morning.’
‘Good. Get Fitzwilliam and the ladies on the barge and straight to the Tower. Make sure the ladies speak to no one before they leave.’
Cromwell turned away and headed after the King and Nicòla stood still for a moment. He would not look Nicòla in the eye while they spoke, which never occurred. But there was no time to wonder why Cromwell had been so cold; it was time to bring down a queen.
~~~
Darkness blanketed the Tower when the barge arrived in London, the warmth of the spring day gone from the air as they floated through Traitor’s Gate. None of the ladies accompanied by Fitzwilliam spoke a word on the five-mile barge ride, and Nicòla blamed them not. They knew not why they were in London, pulled away from their mistress, unwilling witnesses to crimes not committed. How she and Cromwell were to interrogate ladies for crimes not committed, Nicòla knew not. Somewhere in the Tower, Mark would be imprisoned, and only God knew what had happened, what Mark had said. The King appeared to know what was said when he left the joust in such hurry, so Henry and Cromwell now knew far more than Nicòla. She and Cromwell had only spent one night apart and already Nicòla felt like she was losing him in this mess of their own making. Had this plan to discredit Anne not been her idea? Had Cromwell not been languishing in his bed while Jane Seymour influenced the King into leaving his wife? Now Cromwell had taken Nicòla’s plan to accuse people of adulterous crimes and turned it into torture. Things progressed at a speed Nicòla had not foreseen.
Nicòla found Sir William Kingston, Constable of the Tower, waiting for the barge to arrive, standing stiff as usual as they tied their boat for the ladies to disembark. Lady Rochford looked ready for tears at the thought of getting back on land.
‘Mr. Nicòla Frescobaldi,’ Kingston said as he leant a helping hand for her stepping onto the cold stone. ‘It has been some time.’
‘Leicester, November 1530,’ Nicòla replied, her voice cold. The same man who had been escorting Wolsey to the Tower for what would have been his execution, had Nicòla not suffocated the old man in his bed. ‘I trust Secretary Cromwella has informed you of what needs to happen.’
‘Quite. We have guards to help Sir William take the ladies to their rooms where they shall reside. I am charged with taking you to a room where Secretary Cromwell awaits your arrival.’
Nicòla left Fitzwilliam with his sister Lady Worcester and the others and began her ascent through hallways and staircases of the poorly lit Tower. Where was Cromwell? Were they still in the tower where the prisoners were kept? Was he preparing for the ladies’ interrogations already? It would be wise to interview them at once.
By the time they reached a small wooden door, Nicòla had quite forgotten her way through the Tower. Kingston opened the heavy door, to the sight of Cromwell in a large cell, candles lit about the room, the last of the fading sun coming in a small window which overlooked the river. The cell had a large bed, fresh linens adorning it, wine and food laid out on a table which had several chairs about it. Not a dirty cell like the one Nicòla sat in years before, this was ready for a noble prisoner.
‘Thanks be to you, Sir William,’ Cromwell said as Kingston closed the door, but not before giving Cromwell the key. They stood in silence for a moment to let Kingston’s ever-listening ears leave the hallway.
Nicòla stood stiff, recalling Cromwell’s ease of instructing the hurt on Mark the day prior. ‘I have removed the ladies-in-waiting to the Tower as you instructed,’ Nicòla said, her eyes at her feet, her shoes damp from the barge ride.
Cromwell brought his hand to Nicòla’s chin and tilted her face up to his. He smiled a little as he watched her cold expression. ‘I am aware of your anger, Nicò,’ he whispered. ‘I only wished to frighten Smeaton yesterday.’
‘If I wished to torture friends, I would sooner tarry in Florence with my husband.’
‘I wish you could call me husband.’
Nicòla just shook her head, unwilling to have that discussion yet again. ‘What of the King?’
‘Smeaton confessed to sleeping with the Queen. He also told us of others who had committed such crimes.’
‘But we know it not to be true.’
‘Smeaton confessed, to not be harmed any further. I have ordered him removed to a cell where he might recover. I said they cannot put him to the rack.’
‘How much pain have you already inflicted on Mark? You stood there, watching him in agony, confessing to crimes which never happened!’
‘Smeaton said what we needed. I need a confession to convince the King, and threats provided the confession. I shall not have Smeaton harmed again, Nicò, I promise you. But Smeaton said just what he needed, that he had been with the Queen several times, and that Norris and Weston both did so. I wrote Smeaton’s confession and he signed it.’
‘Does Mark know what he signed?’
Cromwell let out a heavy sigh but said nothing of poor innocent Mark. ‘On the ride to London, Henry asked Norris if he had slept with the Queen. Naturally, Norris denied everything.’
‘Surely Norris thought it a jest.’
‘The allegation confused Norris. Henry said he would spare Norris’ life if he confessed and named others who had been in the Queen’s bed.’
‘Spare his life? None are to die for this lurid plot!’
‘Calm, Nicò, calm. We shall get their lives spared. But Norris shall not confess without fear.’
‘Norris shall never confess, not without torture.’
‘Smeaton has confessed, and the King is ready to believe any news I report. He has quite forgotten our fight weeks ago. I can now arrest any man I wish as we investigate Smeaton’s words. Anne’s ladies will offer much detail, so I can craft more allegations.’
Nicòla narrowed her eyes. Cromwell seldom spoke in such a way. I can, I wish. ‘You speak as if I am not part of the plan I devised to discredit Anne.’
‘Much is progressing, Nicò and the situation changes by the moment. Norris has been imprisoned, and the King has settled in his private rooms hither for tonight. With God’s fortune, we shall be able to make further arrests in the morning.’
‘The lies told cannot be too lurid, for otherwise, the King might not be merciful, or easy to convince to have Anne imprisoned while we annul the marriage.’
‘I am having Mistress Seymour brought hither by her brother as we speak. Henry shall agree to annul his marriage if I discredit Anne. Anne bore no son, and she is ready to topple me. I must see this plan to its end.’
I am, I will, I must. ‘Tis commonplace to worry.’
‘Anne’s chamberlain, Edward Baynton, has been
so helpful. He came to the Tower and was helpful with questioning Smeaton and will now also help with the ladies he knows so well.’
‘I too know the ladies of the Queen’s chamber. I have been a man close to the Queen for some time.’
Cromwell pulled Nicòla into his arms and held her tight against him. Perchance he felt more grief for his actions than Nicòla could see.
‘I love you with all my heart, Nicò. I wish this could be different. I must ask you a dear favour.’
‘I shall not torture a friend.’
Cromwell took Nicòla’s face in his hands and kissed her lips. ‘I need your rings.’
Nicòla looked to her hands as Cromwell took them in his own. ‘You want my rings?’ she looked back up to him while his tender expression turned to woe. ‘One is the turquoise, the symbol of us, the other the ruby of my father. These never leave my hands.’
The last time Nicòla went anywhere without her rings was in the early days of living in England when the guards of the Tower took her ruby after her first arrest. A shiver ran through her body, like a sharp knife of ice hitting her chest. ‘No.’
‘I am sorry, Nicò…’
‘You are not sorry!’ she cried and pulled her hands from his. ‘You are not sorry for any of this! We wanted to discredit people’s reputations and after one day look at what you have become!’
‘This is for the best.’
‘Best?’ Nicòla cried as she clasped her hands over her rings. ‘Is this to be my cell or shall you throw me in a cell below ground? Tossed back to the tiny cell of my first imprisonment? Shall you torture me like you did to Mark?’
‘This shall be your cell, Nicò.’
‘You may not call me Nicò any longer!’ Nicòla cried as she pulled at her turquoise. She threw the heart-shaped ring at him, which fell to the stone floor.
‘Nicòla, I beg you, listen…’
Nicòla forced her precious ruby from her hand but refused to throw such a priceless trinket. She thrust it against Cromwell’s chest, hard enough to knock him off his footing. He fought none of her anger.
‘When Anne discovers our plot, she will attack me. She, and her family know you are… of a…’
‘That I am a creature.’
‘Whatever you present yourself as, whatever we accept you as, Nicòletta, you are a woman. If others discover you, who knows your fate? If you get locked hither, under suspicion of adultery with the Queen, then no one will believe Anne accusing you of being a woman.’
While Cromwell’s idea had merit, he had planned Nicòla’s imprisonment behind her back. ‘You seek to lock me away like you do your queen? Will it be you and Henry with new women in your beds?’
‘I lied to the King for you!’ Cromwell screamed at her. He turned and swiped the turquoise from the floor. ‘I call you wife! I swore to God you were my wife, Nicòletta! Yet you are the wife to a duke, thousands of miles away who cares not for you! He seeks to belittle you with annulment, and I wanted the easiest solution for you, and tried to create an Imperial alliance! I want to call you wife! I wish to have a wife at court like all the ministers I rule! And yet I am the King’s henchman still, still after all these years, sneaking and lying and being disrespected at every turn! No more shall this be! I make laws, I destroy queens. If Henry wants Jane, he shall have her, and I shall create her! I order you, as my servant, as my wife, to be locked in this cell until such time I see it safe to release you!’
Nicòla took a few steps back and bumped against the edge of the bed. She fell back to sitting, relieved by the bed’s comfort. ‘Perchance I deceived us both, Master. For I thought myself safe. For I thought myself valuable. But I have done little but scurry about like a rat, doing your bidding, and being a weight about your neck. If Nicòla Frescobaldi is to live through this interrogation, perchance it is time he returned to Florence to be with his sister. The young Jane, Giovanna, can go back to her home.’
‘Jane is my daughter.’
‘Jane is also my daughter.’ Cromwell could say anything, do anything, but he would not take Jane. ‘The truth of Jane’s parentage would shame you if all knew you kept a creature who bore your children, who gave you a bastard daughter and two dead sons…’
‘Enough,’ Cromwell snapped. ‘If I am to arrest the Queen tomorrow, I must away. These words of anger must stop.’
Without another glance from his golden eyes, the King’s Chief Minister left Nicòla’s room, locking the enormous wooden door. Nicòla could not even hear footsteps in the hallway. The candles about the room flickered from the sudden movements, the only light left in Nicòla’s life.
C
Chapter 42 – May 1536
a half-trouth is the weakest of all lyes
The Tower, London
George.
But George is her brother.
With her brother.
With George.
George.
When Cromwell said his morning prayers, not one moment of rest had come to his weary body. He prayed for rest; he prayed for Nicòla; he prayed for God not to send him to hell for the lies he told. Cromwell prayed for Mark Smeaton’s broken body in his cell, he prayed that his children never learned the truth about his life. He prayed that everyone aware of this conspiracy remained faithful, so Henry did not part Cromwell’s head from his shoulders.
George.
She calls him Georgie.
Lies on the bed with him.
Always touching, embracing.
They disappear for hours.
As Cromwell sat on the small boat which edged its way to the Tower gate, the oars skimming the water under in the spring sun, words turned in his mind. Next to him sat Lord Chancellor Thomas Audley, who looked as confused as an orphan. The Duke of Norfolk, a man with no time for Cromwell, sat close by, looking out over the water at the city where the river turned towards Whitehall Palace, not that they would reach that far. Archbishop Cranmer sat beside Cromwell, in total silence.
Countess Worcester was the most helpful of the ladies; someone asked her for rumours, and she had gossip ready. No doubt her brother Fitzwilliam had aided her. Elizabeth Somerset had spent a winter as the King’s whore, and when admonished, commented that she was no worse than the Queen. Perchance Lady Elizabeth meant that Anne spent so long as a mistress before being a queen. Perchance she meant that the Queen was a whore. Cromwell could use that as evidence, and let the Countess go, as she was with child. But first Lady Elizabeth stated that George Boleyn slept in his sister’s bed. What they did would never be known, and it frightened Cromwell to think of the Queen engaging in incest with her brother.
Lady Rochford was equally cruel. She was a mild, weak woman, who would tell Cromwell whatever he wanted. She would not condemn her husband George, yet she would not defend him. Lady Jane spoke of how Anne would laugh that the King’s virility was poor, no doubt to scare Mistress Seymour away. To speak of such things was treason, and Jane Boleyn was ready to say anything.
Poor Margery Horsman, who, according to Nicòla, was deflowered by George Boleyn not weeks ago, seemed happy to denounce all Boleyns. She told stories of how Sir Francis Weston spoke of his love of the Queen, and how Henry Norris fawned over Her Majesty daily. They did not need dates, details and places, for Cromwell could create those for court papers. The ladies’ words were all he needed for arrests.
Baroness Anne Cobham, known as Nan, was the Queen’s closest friend. The pair were always together, and Cromwell expected Nan would be difficult to interrogate. As expected, it was Nan who refused to give up on her queen, yet gave answers which played into Cromwell’s plans. She named both Norris and Weston as in Anne’s constant presence, and she spoke of how Anne would tease Mark Smeaton when he came to play in her rooms. Nan confirmed Anne’s discussions of Henry’s impotent nights, and Anne’s angry words about Henry on a regular occurrence. Nan confirmed the angry fight between Anne and Norris, discussing dead men’s shoes.
The ladies were so easy to intimidate. Nicòla would never
have stumbled under that pressure, she would have shown her experience, her education, while these were scared women. Norris, meanwhile, said nothing and spent the night in a basic cell. Nicòla remained in her cell, and perchance could look down upon the river at this moment.
And what a moment. As they drifted along in the boat, under the Court Gate into the Tower, Cranmer turned in his seat and looked Cromwell right in the eye. They had shocked Cranmer when men arrived at Lambeth Palace on Cromwell’s orders. All for their other guest on the boat.
Queen Anne sat in the centre of the boat, flanked by the men charged with her care. They loaded the Queen onto the boat at Greenwich where palace guards, under Cromwell’s orders, arrested the Queen in the King’s name. The most powerful men at court sat in the boat with Anne as they took her to the Tower, where she would spend a long time if Cromwell had his way.
‘Your Majesty,’ Cranmer said as the boat floated its final stretch where Sir William Kingston and Sir Edmund Willingham, the Lieutenant of the Tower, awaited.
‘Waste none of your time,’ Anne interrupted her archbishop. ‘I have not wronged my king. His Majesty has tired of me, as he once did with Katherine.’
‘Please, Your Majesty,’ Cranmer protested, ‘we have discovered your vile acts!’
‘The King has fallen in love with Jane Seymour. It has fallen upon Cromwell to get rid of me.’ Anne paused and turned to her uncle Norfolk. ‘You came hither during a tennis game, with Sir William Paulet, and accused me of adultery with Norris and Smeaton! You believe this shall rid the King of his lawful wife?’
The boat came to a stop, and they helped the Queen from the boat. Only Cromwell disembarked as the others were to return for interrogation another time. As Kingston and Willingham lead the Queen away, Cromwell took a glimpse of Cranmer in the boat; Anne had damaged their friendly relationship. The Archbishop had a grave face but nodded just once in farewell as Cromwell followed Anne, a nod which gave Cromwell hope of saving their friendship.
Shaking the Throne Page 36