The queen took their hard-hearted advice to her prie-dieu. “Jane is guilty of nothing but her lineage,” the queen whispered, looking up at the statue of the crucified Christ.
She waited, as if hoping for the miracle of a reply.
“And You know, as I do, that Elizabeth is guilty indeed,” she said, very low. “But how can I send my cousin and my sister to the scaffold?”
Jane Dormer shot me a look and the two of us moved our stools so as to block the view and the hearing of the other ladies in waiting. The queen on her knees should not be overheard. She was consulting the only advisor she truly trusted. She was bringing to the naked stabbed feet of her God the choices she had to make.
The council looked for evidence of Elizabeth’s conspiracy with the rebels and they found enough to hang her a dozen times over. She had met with both Thomas Wyatt and with Sir William Pickering, even as the rebellion had been launched. On my own account, I knew that she had taken a message from me with all the ease of a practiced conspirator. There was no doubt in my mind, there was no doubt in the queen’s mind, that if the rebellion had succeeded — as it would have done but for the folly of Edward Courtenay — that it would now be Queen Elizabeth sitting at the head of the council and wondering whether she should sign the death warrant for her half sister and her cousin. There was not a doubt in my mind that Queen Elizabeth too would spend hours on her knees. But Elizabeth would sign.
A guard tapped on the door, and looked into the quiet room.
“What is it?” Jane Dormer asked very softly.
“Message for the fool, at the side gate,” the young man said.
I nodded and crept from the room, crossed the great presence chamber where there was a flurry of interest in the small crowd as I opened the door from the queen’s private apartments, and came out. They were all petitioners, up from the country: from Wales and from Devon and from Kent, the places which had risen against the queen. They would be asking for mercy now, mercy from a queen that they would have destroyed. I saw their hopeful faces as the door opened for me, and did not wonder that she spent hours on her knees, trying to discover the will of God. The queen had been merciful to those who had taken the throne from her once; was she now to show mercy again? And what about the next time, and the time after that?
I did not have to show these traitors any courtly politeness. I scowled at them and elbowed my way through. I felt absolute uncompromising hatred of them, that they should have set themselves up to destroy the queen not once, but twice, and now came to court with their caps twisted in their hands and their heads bowed down to ask for the chance to go home and plot against her again.
I pushed past them and down the twisting stone stair to the gate. I found I was hoping that Daniel would be there, and so I was disappointed when I saw a pageboy, a lad I did not know, in homespun, wearing no livery and bearing no badge.
“What d’you want with me?” I asked, instantly alert.
“I bring you these to take to Lord Robert,” he said simply and thrust two books, one a book of prayers, one a testament, into my arms.
“From who?”
He shook his head. “He wants them,” he said. “I was told you would be glad to take them to him.” Without waiting for my reply he faded away into the darkness, running half stooped along the shelter of the wall, leaving me with the two books in my arms.
Before I went back into the palace I turned both books upside down, and checked the endpapers for any hidden messages. There was nothing. I could take them to him if I wished. All I did not know was whether or not I wanted to go.
I chose to go to the Tower in the morning, in broad daylight, as if I had nothing to hide. I showed the guard the books at the door and this time he riffled the pages and looked at the spine as if to make sure that there was nothing hidden. He stared at the print. “What’s this?”
“Greek,” I said. “And the other is Latin.”
He looked me up and down. “Show me the inside of your jacket. Turn out your pockets.”
I did as I was bid. “Are you a lad or a lass then, or something in between?”
“I am the queen’s fool,” I said. “And it would be better for you if you let me pass.”
“God bless Her Grace!” he said with sudden enthusiasm. “And whatever oddities she chooses to amuse herself with!” He led the way to a new building, walking across the green. I followed him, keeping my head turned from the place where they usually built the scaffold.
We went in a handsome double door and up the twisting stone stairs. The guard at the top stood to one side and unlocked the door to let me in.
Lord Robert was standing by the window, breathing the cold air which blew in from the river. He turned his head at the opening of the door and his pleasure at seeing me was obvious. “Mistress Boy!” he said. “At last!”
This room was a bigger and better one than he had been in before. It looked out over the dark yard outside, the White Tower glowering against the sky. A big fireplace dominated the room, carved horribly with crests and initials and names of men who had been kept there so long that they had the time to put their names into stone with pocket knives. His own crest was there, carved by his brother and his father, who had worked the stone while waiting for their sentence, and had scratched their names while the scaffold was built outside their window.
The months in prison were starting to leave a mark on him. His skin was pallid, whiter even than winter-pale, he had not been allowed to walk in the garden since the rebellion. His eyes were set deeper in their sockets than when he had been the favored son of the most powerful man in England. But his linen was clean and his cheeks were shaved and his hair was shiny and silky, and my heart still turned over at the sight of him, even while I hung back and tried to see him for what he was: a traitor and a man condemned to death, waiting for the day of his execution.
He read my face in one quick glance. “Displeased with me, Mistress Boy?” he demanded. “Have I offended you?”
I shook my head. “No, my lord.”
He came closer and though I could smell the clean leather of his boots and the warm perfume of his velvet jacket, I leaned away from him.
He put his hand under my chin and turned my face up. “You’re unhappy,” he remarked. “What is it? Not the betrothed, surely?”
“No,” I said.
“What then? Missing Spain?”
“No.”
“Unhappy at court?” he guessed. “Girls catfighting?”
I shook my head.
“You don’t want to be here? You didn’t want to come?” Then, quickly spotting the little flicker of emotion that went across my face, he said: “Oho! Faithless! You have been turned, Mistress Boy, as often spies are. You have been turned around and now you are spying on me.”
“No,” I said flatly. “Never. I would never spy on you.”
I would have moved away but he put his hands on either side of my face and held me so that I could not get away from him, and he could read my eyes as if I were a broken code.
“You have despaired of my cause and despaired of me and become her servant and not mine,” he accused me. “You love the queen.”
“Nobody could help loving the queen,” I said defensively. “She is a most beautiful woman. She is the bravest woman I have ever known and she struggles with her faith and with the world every day. She is halfway to being a saint.”
He smiled at that. “You’re such a girl,” he said, laughing at me. “You’re always in love with somebody. And so you prefer this queen to me, your true lord.”
“No,” I said. “For here I am, doing your bidding. As I was told. Though it was a stranger who came to me and I did not know if I was safe.”
He shrugged at that. “And tell me, you did not betray me?”
“When?” I demanded, shocked.
“When I asked you to take a message to Lady Elizabeth and to my tutor?”
He could see the horror in my face at the very thought of such a
betrayal. “Good God, no, my lord. I did both errands and I told no one.”
“Then how did it all go wrong?” He dropped his hands from my face and turned away. He paced to the window and back to the table that he used for a study desk. He turned at the desk and went to the fireplace. I thought this must be a regular path for him, four steps to his table, four steps to the fireplace, four steps back to the window; no further than this for a man who used to ride out on his horse before he broke his fast, and then hunt all day, and dance with the ladies of the court all night.
“My lord, that’s easily answered. It was Edward Courtenay who told Bishop Gardiner and the plot was discovered,” I said very quietly. “The bishop brought the news to the queen.”
He whirled around. “They let that spineless puppy out of their sight for a moment?”
“The bishop knew that something was being planned. Everyone knew that something was being planned.”
He nodded. “Tom Wyatt was always indiscreet.”
“He will pay for it. They are questioning him now.”
“To discover who else is in the plot?”
“To get him to name the Princess Elizabeth.”
Lord Robert pushed his fists on either side of the window frame, as if he would stretch the stone wide and fly free. “They have evidence against her?”
“Enough,” I said acerbically. “The queen is on her knees right now, praying for guidance. If she decides that it is God’s will that she should sacrifice Elizabeth, she has more than enough evidence.”
“And Jane?”
“The queen is fighting to save her. She has asked Jane to be taught the true faith. She is hoping that she will recant and then she can be forgiven.”
He laughed shortly. “The true faith is it, Mistress Boy?”
I flushed scarlet. “My lord, it’s only how everyone talks at court now.”
“And you with them, my little conversa, my nueva cristiana?”
“Yes, my lord,” I said steadily, meeting his eyes.
“What a bargain to put before a sixteen-year-old girl,” he said. “Poor Jane. Her faith or death. Does the queen want to make a martyr of her cousin?”
“She wants to make converts,” I said. “She wants to save Jane from death and from damnation.”
“And me?” he asked quietly. “Am I to be saved, or am I a brand for the burning, d’you think?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know, my lord. But if Queen Mary follows the advice she is given, then every man whose loyalty is questionable will be hanged. Already the soldiers who fought in the rebellion are on the scaffolds at every corner.”
“Then I had better read these books quickly,” he said dryly. “Perhaps a light will dawn for me. What d’you think, Mistress Boy? Did a light dawn for you? You and the true faith, as you call it?”
There was a hammering on the door and the guard swung the door open. “Is the fool to leave?”
“In a moment,” Lord Robert said hastily. “I haven’t paid him yet. Give me a moment.”
The guard glared at us both suspiciously, shut the door and locked it again. There was a brief painful second of silence.
“My lord,” I burst out, “do not torment me. I am as I always was. I am yours.”
He took a breath. Then he managed to smile. “Mistress Boy, I am a dead man,” he said simply. “You should mourn me and then forget me. Thank God you are not the poorer for knowing me. I have placed you as a favorite in the court of the winning side. I have done you a favor, my little lad. I am glad I did it.”
“My lord,” I whispered earnestly. “You cannot die. Your tutor and I looked in the mirror and saw your fortune. There was no doubt about it, it cannot end here. He said that you are to die safe in your bed, and that you will have a great love, the love of a queen.”
For a moment he frowned as he heard the words, then he gave a little sigh, as a man tempted by false hope. “A few days ago I would have begged to hear more. But it is too late now. The guard will come. You have to go. Hear this. I release you from your loyalty to me and to my cause. Your work for me is finished. You can earn a good living at court and then marry your young man. You can be the queen’s fool in very truth and forget me.”
I stepped a little closer. “My lord, I will never be able to forget you.”
Lord Robert smiled. “I thank you for that, and I will be glad of whatever prayers you offer up at the hour of my death. Unlike most of my countrymen, I don’t really mind what prayers they are. And I know that they will come from the heart, and yours is a loving heart.”
“Shall I carry any message from you?” I asked eagerly. “To Mr. Dee? Or to the Lady Elizabeth?”
He shook his head. “No messages. It is over. I think that I will see all my fellows in heaven very soon. Or not, depending on which of us is right about the nature of God.”
“You can’t die,” I cried, anguished.
“I don’t think they will leave me much choice,” he said.
I could hardly bear his bitterness. “Lord Robert,” I whispered. “Can I do nothing for you? Nothing at all?”
“Yes,” he said. “See if you can persuade the queen to forgive Jane and Elizabeth. Jane because she is innocent of everything, and Elizabeth because she is a woman who should live. A woman like her was not born to die young. If I thought I could leave you with that commission and you could succeed, I could die in some peace.”
“And for you?” I asked.
He put his hand under my chin again, bent his dark head and kissed me gently on the lips. “For me, nothing,” he said softly. “I am a dead man. And that kiss, Mistress Boy, my dear little vassal, that kiss was the last I will ever give you. That was good-bye.”
He turned away from me and faced the window and shouted: “Guard!” for the man to unlock the door. Then there was nothing for me to do but to leave him, in that cold room, looking out into the darkness, waiting for the news that his scaffold was built, the axeman was waiting, and that his life was over.
I went back to court in a dazed silence and when we went to Mass four times a day I dropped down to my knees and prayed in earnest that the God who had saved Mary should save my Lord Robert too.
My mood of exhausted pessimism suited the queen. We did not live like a victorious court in a victorious city. It was a court hanging on a thread of its own indecision, sick with worry. Every day, after Mass and breakfast, Queen Mary walked by the side of the river, her cold hands dug deep in her muff, her steps hastened by the cold wind blowing her skirts forward. I walked behind her with my black cape wrapped tightly around my shoulders and my face tucked into the collar. I was glad of the thick hose of my fool’s livery and glad of my warm jacket. I would not have dressed as a woman in those wintry days for all the Spanish princes in the empire.
I knew she was troubled and so I kept silent. I dogged her footsteps two steps behind her because I knew she liked the comfort of a companion’s tread on the frozen gravel at her back. She had spent so many years alone, she had taken so many lonely walks, that she liked to know that someone was keeping vigil with her.
The wind coming off the river was too cold for her to walk for long, even with a thick cape and a fur collar at her neck. She turned on her heel and I nearly bumped into her as I ploughed forward, my head down.
“I beg pardon, Your Grace,” I said, ducking a little bow and stepping out of her way.
“You can walk beside me,” she said.
I fell into step, saying nothing, but waiting for her to speak. She was silent till we came to the small garden door where the guard swung it open before her. Inside a maid was waiting to take her cloak and to offer her a pair of dry shoes. I swung my cloak over my arm and stamped my feet on the rushes to warm them.
“Come with me,” the queen said over her shoulder and led the way up the winding stone stairs to her apartments. I knew why she had chosen the garden stairs. If we had gone through the main building we would have found the hall, the stairs, and the presence chambe
r filled with petitioners, half of them come to beg for sons or brothers who were due to follow Tom Wyatt to a death sentence. Queen Mary had to pass through crowds of tearstained women every time she went to Mass, every time she went to dine. They held out their hands to her, palms clasped, they called out her name. Endlessly they begged her for mercy, constantly she had to refuse. No wonder that she preferred to walk alone in the garden and slip up the secret stairs.
The stairs emerged into a little lobby room, which led to the queen’s private chamber. Jane Dormer was sewing in the window seat, half a dozen women working alongside her; one of the queen’s ladies was reading from the Book of Psalms. I saw the queen run her eye over the room like a schoolmistress observing an obedient class and give a little nod of pleasure. Philip of Spain, when he finally came, would find a sober and devout court.
“Come, Hannah,” she said, taking a seat at the fireside and gesturing to me to sit on a stool nearby.
I dropped down, folded my knees under my chin and looked up at her.
“I want you to do me a service,” she said abruptly.
“Of course, Your Grace,” I said. I was about to rise to my feet in case she was sending me on an errand but she put her hand on my shoulder.
“I’m not sending you to run a message,” she said. “I am sending you to look at something for me.”
“Look at something?”
“Look with your gift, with your inner eye.”
I hesitated. “Your Grace, I will try, but you know it is not at my command.”
“No, but you have seen the future twice with me; once you spoke of my becoming queen and once you spoke to warn me of heartbreak. Now I want you to warn me again.”
“Warn you against what?” My voice was as low as hers. No one in the room could have heard us over the crackle of the logs in the fireplace.
“Against Elizabeth,” she breathed.
For a moment I said nothing, my gaze on the red ember caverns under the big applewood logs.
The Queen's Fool Page 21
