‘Just four years after I had been knighted, during a tournament in London I suffered a serious injury on my good arm, the right one. Broke most of the bones on the upper part and the wound infested so badly that I almost lost it. I was not able to hold even a stick steadily, let alone a sword or a lance. Disappointed as I was and out of fear that I would never be able to wield a weapon again, I returned to my parent’s house to be nourished. I was not welcome there, though. Whilst my mother was always kind to me, when my father found out what had happened, he beat me bloody, like I was a child, claiming it had all been my fault. I fell into despair and started drinking and whoring in the town’s brothels…’
A light mist was created now, encircling our little camp like a cloud.
‘The following year King Henry the Seventh died and in his place his young son ascended the throne of England as King Henry the Eighth. The noble families hasted to the court to pay their respects, they fell like crows in the aftermath of a battle, doing their best to be in the new king’s good favour. My father one of the best amongst them.’ There he paused and spat in the fire insolently.
‘My arrogant father was distressed of his son’s behaviour and felt that he was disgracing the family name. You see all my elder siblings were serving the family most nobly; with two of my elder brothers being knights themselves and already fought in battles. As for my sister, she made her fortune by marrying Thomas Boleyn…’
‘What? If your sister married Thomas Boleyn that makes you-’ I stopped talking abruptly; the realisation of who this man was, hit me. ‘Who are you, really?’
‘Thus, my lord father decided to get rid of me,’ Belfrigh said, apparently unaware of me and my questions ‘And what better way to hide a man than making him a monk.’ He spat in the fire again. ‘He sent me to Rome on a pilgrimage, a novice Benedictine monk, hoping I would vanish from his life for good. However, I had no intention of becoming a monk, and I would never have been able to keep the three sacred vows of Saint Benedict: The Vow of Poverty, the Vow of Chastity and the Vow of Obedience. Can you imagine me without a wench between my legs for the rest of my life? I’d rather break my arm all over again,’ he said laughing.
The rain had started soaking us to the bone now, but nobody moved. Personally, I felt unable to even stand up. I was so transfixed by Belfrigh’s story that my own thoughts and cares had momentarily vanished.
‘On our way to Rome, many a time I attempted to escape, but I failed and was punished because of it; beaten and humiliated by a bunch of black-dressed weaklings. I could not have defended myself even if I wanted to, for my good arm was hanging almost uselessly on the side of my body. I was alone, you see, and there were eleven of them; twelve in total, like the Apostles of Jesus,’ he chuckled. ‘As if! Those wretched monks were as much corrupted as the Catholic Church itself. Anyway, it took us the best part of a year to reach the city of Rome, but at last, we were there, and I found my opportunity to escape my misery and my brothers.
I spent the next few years working in taverns for a few coins in order to survive. My arm seemed to be mending after all, although it would not be the same as it used to be for many years to come; and even now if you find the exact spot, I swear I could still relive the pain and feel the bones as if they are being crashed again. Hence, I bought a used, cheap, rusted sword and started practising in swordfight again. I was gaining back my strength year after year. I was almost my old self, although, my contempt for my father had not ceased and I felt hatred in my heart.’ He paused and reached for his flask, which he had filled with ale before we left the city. He took a sip and then passed it on to us without looking.
‘I wanted to be a true soldier, to prove myself on the battlefield or at least defend the innocent. Thus, in 1512, at the age of twenty-nine, I became a soldier of the City Guard. I was never content though, for I was still a knight at heart, and all I craved for was to return to England. Fate had other plans though… Whilst my deeds and bravery gave me the nickname Valiant, and as my reputation was growing once more, my past returned to haunt me…
’Twas there I met John Rogers, a fellow City Guard soldier, who had English origins, his family had moved to Rome before he was born, and he had never set foot in England. And now he never will, I guess.’ He stopped, and I was certain that we were all contemplating the same at that moment: what had happened to John Rogers? Had he been killed in the siege?
‘John spoke our language, though and was always fascinated by stories from his parents’ home country. We became friends almost instantly, and all was going well until I fell in love with his sister, Fiore. My flower, this is how I called her, for she was as beautiful as a flower; long brown hair, the colour of the oak-wood and deep blue eyes, as the depths of the sea… I made my intentions clear to Rogers from the very beginning, and as he was unaware of my past, he was more than happy for his sister to marry a hardworking soldier.
However, another man, Lucio, had his eyes on Rogers’s beautiful sister, a man who was willing to do anything to win the woman for himself. That man, that back-stabbing wretch, had discovered my origins somehow and blackmailed me to give up my claim to the woman I loved. Naturally, I refused to do so, and Lucio threatened not only to betray my secret to my friend Rogers but to kill Fiore too unless I deserted the City Guard and left Rome forever.
And weak as I was, I accepted, for I could not risk Fiore’s welfare. Hence, I was once again a disgraced man, but I never left Rome. No, I would not run again. Instead, I became an outlaw and worked tirelessly into gathering as much wealth and resources I could muster with one ultimate goal in my mind: I wanted to return to England and kill the man who had started it all, the man who instead of supporting me in my most difficult and testing period of my life, had sent me away to save the family name, my father, Thomas Howard.’ He massaged his knuckles as if ready to punch something or someone.
‘Time though had tired me, and I had still not returned to my birthplace. Thirteen years passed, and I was still in Rome. However, I was the leader of an outlaw band now. This is where I found Ed. In him, I saw my young self; thus, I recruited him. A couple of years later, when I heard Ed’s story, at last, I detected an opportunity, something I was craving for so long. The fire of revenge was lit in my heart once more. That was the reason I was feeling sympathetic towards Ed’s need for vengeance and that was why I wanted to accompany him back to England. However, I confess my initial motive was to pursue and kill my own father and not necessarily help Ed, because something died inside me when I was disgraced for the second time in my life, something that time itself could not mend… My humanity.
My confrontation with John Rogers though hit me like a brick. Shame, for what I had done, overtook me, and I wanted once more to be a knight and defend the innocent…’ He covered his face with his palms and stayed motionless for some time.
‘Belfrigh?’ I said when I understood he was done talking. I could find nothing else to say, no words of comfort…
He raised his eyes at last and looked at me, then Aeron. ‘I am Sir John Howard of Surrey, son of Thomas Howard who was the second Duke of Norfolk, younger brother of Elizabeth Howard-Boleyn and uncle of Anne Boleyn, who’s the mistress of King Henry the Eighth of England.’
‘All these lies…’ I said in a low voice, almost a whisper. ‘You never told us, told me… Belfrigh the Valiant?’ I brushed my wet hair away from my eyes. The rain did not show signs of stopping, but no one seemed to care about it. On the contrary, it felt cathartic, washing down our dirt and I hoped our sins too… If only it was that easy to cleanse one’s soul.
‘I always found the name Belfrigh odd,’ said Aeron, whose expression indicated the same shock as mine.
‘That’s because it does not exist, lad,’ Belfrigh or Sir John said. ‘I made it up.’
‘Why did you come back? Do you intend to murder your father?’ I asked him.
‘Alas, my father is long dead, unfortunately. I would have liked to kill him myself, though. My brothe
r now holds his place as Duke of Norfolk and Earl of Surrey, and I’m told that he’s very close to King Henry,’ he replied emphatically.
‘What of it? You want to help me now, Your Grace?’ I mocked him.
‘DO NOT CALL ME THAT,’ he shouted and stood up abruptly. Haven’t you been listening? I hated them all, with their noble blood. I NEVER wanted to be like them.’
‘Why did you lie to us, then Belfrigh… John?’ Aeron asked calmly.
‘I was ashamed, of course,’ he said and sat down again. ‘And, please, call me Belfrigh. I hate my original name and everything associated with it. I am a different man now; all these belong to the past. But I genuinely wish to assist you, Ed.’
‘Why would you want that? Why would I believe the man who has been lying for almost two decades of his life? Give me a reason!’ I challenged him. ‘What prevents you from giving me up to your brother and pronounce me a traitor of the crown and have my head on a spike by the end of the week?’ Belfrigh did not answer. ‘Pray tell me! Give me a reason to trust you, I beg of you!’ I waved my arms at him angrily.
‘Because I see myself in you, Ed,’ he said eventually. ‘At the same time, though, you’re the man I never was, but ought to have been. But I was weak and fearful. You, on the other hand, do not abandon the women and the weak… You are a true knight at heart, Edward, as you are my good Welshman.’
My shoulders dropped, and all my anger disappeared as suddenly as it had appeared. I approached my friend and old captain and placed my hand gently on his shoulder. ‘It’ll be all right, Belfrigh!’
How could I hold a grudge against a man who had gone through so much and now looked in such a pitiful state, trying to salvage, nonetheless, whatever dignity had left? He embraced me and wept on my shoulder like a little child cries on its mother’s arms.
*
For the next few weeks we moved from place to place, staying in the open country, the cold ground served as our bed and the open sky as our roof; eating fruit and stolen eggs and drinking water from lakes or rivers. We were keeping our distance from largely populated towns and even villages, for the danger of the plague had not yet passed. Rising smoke was always visible on the horizon, whether closer or farther away. We knew the fires were meant to purge the contamination, but the disease had spread faster than anyone had anticipated.
We moved farther south and into a part of the country unknown to me, but beautiful. It was a continuous flat land, that was either covered by wild grass and flowers or farmsteads.
I thought it would never end, that we would live like that until inevitably be contaminated ourselves and die in agony like so many others before. Then one day, after we were on the road for approximately a month, Eleanor started showing signs of recovery. She was much less tired and could even walk by herself without endangering to fall. I silently praised God day and night for her wellbeing, desperate as I was and believed she would die like Agnese. Despite, her recovery though, we did not dare head back to London, and thus we spent another moth roaming in the countryside, trying to keep the fresh air about us.
It was not until the end of August, more than two months after the disease had started spreading that we saw fit to turn back towards the capital. Indeed, less and less smoke was visible now, and some of the villages that we visited were completely free of contamination, but folk told us that numerous men, women and children had perished with the sweat. However, nothing could be compared with the losses London suffered, which had shrunk half of its size in population. I am not aware of the exact death toll, but it was thousands upon thousands that had died. Moreover, as the disease was active for almost three months without signs of ceasing, all the city’s operations had been crippled, for people had barely had time to work; all they did was to protect their own families, or some of them help fellow citizens.
As for the royal palaces across the city, they all kept their portcullises down, shutting out the outside world, guarded all day long by soldiers, permitting no one to enter. The king was nowhere to be seen either, and many whispered that he had died of the sweat and that any time now they would pronounce his daughter, Mary, queen and appoint a Lord Protector; whilst others even suggested that the king’s young bastard, Henry Fitzroy would take the crown next.
Slowly but steadily, the city returned to normal, as normal it could be after the devastating losses caused by the plague. However, everyone seemed to be back to their businesses and life was moving forward once more. In the mid-September, when I had started wondering whether I should go back to the palace, rather than waiting for someone to summon me, one of Campeggio’s servants found me in an alehouse.
‘My Lord Edward!’ he said formally. ‘I am glad I have found you at last! The cardinal has been scouring the city.’
‘Oh, is that so? Well, I’m happy he survived,’ I answered.
‘I am pleased to confirm that, good lord,’ the servant said without meeting my eyes.
‘I am no lord, my friend. But pray, tell me, do you have a message from the cardinal?’
‘Yes, indeed, my lord. Cardinal Campeggio bade me to inform you that the king is well and has now returned to London. Furthermore, he has summoned his court back to Whitehall Palace.’
I smiled. Not everything had been lost after all.
‘The king and the cardinal require your presence, my lord!’
‘Well, I guess I’ll see you later, gentlemen, for the king requires my presence,’ I said to Aeron and Belfrigh with a grin. They smiled back, these past few months together had strengthened our friendship and love for each other. ‘Lead the way, my good fellow!’
*
‘No, I will not hear any more of this,’ King Henry said. He was seated with all his magnificence in one of the many throne-like highchairs that he possessed, in the audience chamber. That morrow, he was dressed in a simple but no less beautiful white linen shirt, and black jerkin, embroidered with the Tudor red and white rose on the chest. He also wore a golden, thick chain around his neck and shoulders and a high white collar. Upon his head, rested a golden crown.
‘Your Majesty, whether you will hear it or not, it’s the truth,’ Cardinal Campeggio said, who was in his usual red garments and matching hat.
The king looked furious. ‘If Catherine, does not wish to step aside with dignity by following God’s path and becoming a nun, then we shall make her,’ he answered with a seemingly forceful calm voice; I could see it in his eyes that he wanted to burst.
‘Majesty, no one should enter a religious convent by force, for they will not be in God’s good graces,’ Campeggio countered.
The king rose from his throne abruptly. All around him, servants or nobles shrank in his presence; including me. ‘SHE WILL DO AS I COMMAND!!!’ the king yelled at Campeggio, spit coming out of his mouth. ‘The stubborn woman,’ he added.
‘Your Majesty,’ Campeggio said, his voice trembling slightly now. ‘His Holiness, Pope Clement foresaw this, and he has another proposal for you.’
I looked at Campeggio puzzled. Another proposal? I was not aware of that. Yet again, I had been away for months, and Campeggio was sure to have received further instructions from the pope. Whilst the city was dying, the Holy Father’s plotting was still at large.
‘Let us hear it, then,’ the king encouraged him, still afoot.
‘His Holiness understands your wish for male issues-’ Campeggio started.
‘’Tis not a mere wish, Your Eminence. ’Tis my heart’s desire. The desire every king has. Why should I be any different?’ the king interrupted.
‘Yes, Your Majesty!’ Campeggio said through greeted teeth. His struggling was plain. It was known that the cardinal was suffering from gout and every minute standing on his feet, even when laying his weight upon his stick, was torture for him. ‘His Holiness is willing to grant a dispensation, so Princess Mary and your illegitimate son Henry Fitzroy be married. In this way, they will both be your lawful, legitimate heirs.’
A chilling silence fell in the ch
amber, and with good reason. This was a step too far. It appeared to me then that the pope was acting in whatever way he saw fit to try and control King Henry, regardless of what had been agreed between us. That liar had made me believe that I could even become Henry’s true heir and now he was plotting to legitimise his bastard?
‘Unspeakable,’ Cardinal Wolsey spat and made the sign of the cross. ‘I cannot believe my ears. How could the Holy Father grant a dispensation for incest, whilst it is condemned by God Himself?’
King Henry raised a hand to calm his cardinal. ‘It appears to me now, Your Eminence, that the pope is willing to offer me everything but the annulment I wish for. No, I shall not have it. It will not do!’ he said moving his head from left to right in disapproval. ‘We shall go to court, my lords, and God help you if you should give the wrong verdict.’
That was clearly the end of the session. We all bowed and made to leave the room when I heard the king’s voice again. ‘Edward! Pray stay a moment. I must talk to you.’
Campeggio gazed me warningly and withdrew from the chamber whilst I turned in the opposite direction and approached the king who had now re-seated on his throne.
‘How may I be of service to Your Majesty?’ I asked kneeling before him.
‘That is a good question, sir!’ the king replied.
‘With all due respect, Your Majesty, but I am no sir.’
‘Well that could be arranged, could it not?’ I raised my head and looked at his blue eyes. What was hidden behind them? Power, vanity, greed… To name a few of them. ‘Tell me, Edward. Where do your loyalties lie?’
I hesitated for a moment and then decided that the best way to answer was diplomatically. ‘Well, first of all, with God, Your Majesty.’
‘And second?’ the king pressured. He was not an easy man to avoid his questions. I paused, my mind racing, trying to think of something to say that would not cost my head. ‘Let me put it this way, Edward,’ he spoke again and leaned towards me, so we could be on eye-level. ‘How far do you wish to go in this life of yours?’
The Illegitimate Tudor Page 15
