An Uneasy Crown: Power and politics at the Tudor court (The Tudor Saga Series Book 4)

by David Field

  AN UNEASY CROWN

  The Tudor Saga Series

  Book Four

  David Field

  Table of Contents

  I

  II

  III

  IV

  V

  VI

  VII

  VIII

  IX

  X

  XI

  XII

  XIII

  XIV

  XV

  XVI

  XVII

  XVIII

  XIX

  XX

  XXI

  XXII

  XXIII

  XXIV

  XXV

  XXVI

  XXVII

  XXVIII

  XXIX

  XXX

  A NOTE TO THE READER

  MORE BOOKS BY DAVID FIELD

  I

  Two little girls, giggling hysterically, rolled and tumbled down the gentle slope from the stables of Bradgate House. They were wearing the ‘play’ smocks that Nanny Calthorpe had insisted on, out of an abundance of caution, but they would still be in serious disgrace when eventually obliged to show themselves to her.

  Of the two girls, Grace was by far the muddier as their wild career down the grassy slope came to a natural end when they reached the fishpond.

  ‘Let’s go and look at the carp!’ Jane suggested and Grace needed no persuasion.

  They scampered to the muddy edge of the natural water-filled hollow, their bare feet squelching deliciously as they felt the cool ooze welling up between their toes in relief against the cloudless heat of an August sky. They had just begun to compete with each other as to which of them could spy the most fish when a stern voice with which they were both only too familiar boomed down at them from the top of the slope.

  ‘Get out of there immediately, you naughty girls! We must get you cleaned up and changed without delay! The guests have arrived and your fathers will beat you if they see the state you’ve got your clothing into. Up here — now!’

  Jane and Grace sighed and extracted their feet from the slime with a sucking noise that invoked more giggles, then trotted dutifully back up the slope under the stern glare of Nanny Calthorpe.

  Although she was now well over sixty, Mary Calthorpe had lost none of the formidable authority with which she had once presided over a small convent of Benedictine nuns as ‘Mother Mary Magdalena’, before the house had been closed on the order of the former Master Secretary, Thomas Cromwell. Mary had been allowed to continue her work within the local community, thanks to the kindness and foresight of the Lord of the Manor of Knighton, Sir Richard Ashton, on whose estate the former convent had stood.

  Knighton lay half a day’s ride to the south of Bradgate House and Mary Calthorpe’s natural skill in healing had led Sir Richard to choose her to assist in the delivery of his daughter, Grace, four years previously. Mary had then been employed as wet-nurse and governess at Bradgate House for the slightly elder girl, Jane Grey. Though Mary was officially only governess to Jane, she performed a similar service to Grace, who was Jane’s constant companion.

  Jane Grey, now aged five, was the daughter of Henry Grey, Marquess of Dorset and Lady Frances, who in turn was niece of King Henry VIII, through the marriage of his sister to Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk. By virtue of this family connection, Jane’s father had once been regularly at Court, but for all his honours and high esteem Henry Grey was at heart a simple man who preferred his country estate in Leicestershire to the noise and intrigue of life at the Court of Henry VIII.

  Henry Grey had grown close to Richard Ashton, and the two men had been happy to allow their two girls to grow up as companions, given that they were the only two daughters of wealth for miles around. But the ‘wealth’ of their two estates was sharply contrasted. Whereas Bradgate ran into hundreds of acres, with a river, a deer park, an ornamental garden of sorts and several fishponds surrounding the substantial many-roomed brick and timber house towards its southern boundary, Sir Richard Ashton’s manor of Knighton was far more modest, despite his lineage.

  Richard Ashton came by direct descent from the so-called ‘usurper’ Perkin Warbeck, who he had been told had in reality been the long-lost Duke of York, one of the believed murdered ‘Princes in the Tower’. This had been revealed to Richard Ashton by his mentor Thomas Cromwell, Master Secretary to King Henry, whose life had ended on the scaffold two years previously. Had it not been for the victory of the first Tudor, Henry of Richmond, at Bosworth, only a few hours ride from Bradgate, Richard Ashton would have become in due course the rightful King of England.

  Cromwell had used this fact to manipulate Ashton into acting as his spy at the Court, then presided over by Anne Boleyn. Information supplied by Ashton to Cromwell, while carrying out a very secondary role as one of his clerks, had led Anne to the executioner, but not before Ashton had met and bedded Anne’s sister-in-law Jane, Lady Rochford, who had borne him a daughter — Grace. Jane Rochford had then returned to the intrigue of Court in time to meet her death on Tower Green on the same day as the most recent of Henry’s queens, Catherine Howard. Richard Ashton, meanwhile, had fallen for and taken to wife, Mary Calthorpe’s own niece, Kate Calthorpe.

  Ashton had seen enough of life at the Tudor Court to want none of it, but he had, as ‘Cromwell’s man’, made an implacable enemy of Thomas Howard, Duke of Norfolk, and he lived with the ever-present, if slowly diminishing, fear that Norfolk was not yet done with him. He therefore relied heavily on the protection of his near neighbour Henry Grey, whose father-in-law Charles Brandon, the Duke of Suffolk, was Norfolk’s enemy at Court, where the two men competed for volume in King Henry’s ear.

  Both neighbouring families were awaiting the latest news from Court from Edward Seymour, Earl of Hertford, brother of the late Queen, Jane Seymour and uncle to the infant heir Edward. Edward Seymour and his wife, Anne, had arrived at Bradgate House only an hour previously, with their entourage in tow.

  The two girls shivered their penance as Mary Calthorpe doused each of them with a pail of cold water and began scrubbing them vigorously with a rough cloth, ignoring their howls of pain and their pleas for mercy. Then they climbed into their best gowns and submitted with gritted teeth to the tugging out of their hair. Grace had taken the dark auburn hair colouring of the birth mother she had never really known, whereas for Jane it was the ubiquitous red that was seemingly the legacy of every Tudor, and in her case came from her royal grandmother the Princess Mary, King Henry’s late younger sister.

  Suitably cleansed and robed, Jane and Grace were led into the Great Hall by a stern-faced Mary Calthorpe and told to sit at the small table to the side which, as always, was reserved for them. At the centre of the head table sat the banquet host Henry Grey, with his wife Lady Frances to his left. To his right sat Edward Seymour with his wife, and beyond him Richard Ashton and his young bride Kate, only some two months away from giving birth herself.

  The guest of honour, Edward Seymour, moved his seat next to Ashton’s, in order to bring him up to date with affairs in London. Seymour and Ashton had formed a natural friendship when the Seymours had been elevated from their humble Wiltshire estate by the marriage of their oldest daughter, Jane to King Henry. Jane had been a lady-in-waiting to the former Queen Anne, who had bullied and belittled her openly during her daily audiences. As a young clerk, Richard Ashton, sent into the royal presence by his master Cromwell, had been one of the few to befriend Jane and after a while had given her the courage to accept Henry’s hand
in marriage.

  The Seymours had remained forever grateful for this kindness and even after Jane’s tragic death, following the birth of Prince Edward, they had smiled favourably on ‘Sir’ Richard Ashton, as he had been knighted by an equally grateful King Henry. Edward Seymour had also bathed in the warm glow from the throne and now bore the titles of Viscount Beauchamp and Earl of Hertford. He was also Warden of the Scottish Marches and it was in this capacity that he was riding north at the head of an army.

  ‘I had not been aware that we were at war with the Scots,’ Ashton admitted to Seymour as he peeled a plum, ‘although, of course, I have long been absent from Court, for reasons of which you will be only too aware.’

  ‘You need no longer fear Norfolk,’ Seymour assured him, ‘since he seems reconciled with Henry of late and therefore will not risk creating any further ructions in Council. With Cromwell gone, Norfolk seems of late to have lost some of his bile.’

  ‘That is something for which to be grateful,’ Ashton replied, ‘and I thank you for that happy intelligence. But why the armed progress into Scotland?’

  ‘Henry’s real wish is to invade France,’ Seymour continued. ‘But, as ever, he is conscious of Scotland at his northern boundary, eager to create difficulties as part of its long-lasting understanding with France. As you may be aware, Francis of France and Charles of Spain are at each other’s throats once more, and Henry has concluded a secret alliance with Charles, one of the terms of which is that he will invade France. He has delayed doing so and has finally been shamed into undertaking an invasion next year. But he wishes to guard his back door, hence his orders to me to ride north with an army and remind King James that any nonsense from him will result in the most serious consequences for his nation.’

  ‘Surely as Henry’s nephew by marriage, the Scottish King will be happy to oblige?’

  Seymour frowned. ‘James will shortly be delivered of an heir through his wife Mary of Guise, which further strengthens Scotland’s unofficial alliance with France. His mother — Henry’s sister — died late last year and there is no longer anyone north of the rather uncertain and lawless border to argue for an enduring peace with England.’

  Mary Calthorpe had been hovering a few feet away, respectfully awaiting the opportunity to speak to Sir Richard. Richard Ashton beckoned her over with a smile and introduced her to Edward Seymour.

  ‘This is the Earl of Hertford, Mary. He rides north in a few days to put the Scots in their place. Edward, this is my daughter Grace’s nurse and taskmistress, although she is officially employed as governess to the Lady Jane and her younger sister the Lady Catherine. But since Jane and Grace are inseparable, Mary discharges duties in respect of them all. She is the finest governess and nurse I could wish for.’

  Edward Seymour nodded formally to Mary, who blushed, curtsied, then turned to address Richard Ashton. ‘Begging your pardon, Master, but will you require Mistress Grace to be prepared for travel shortly? She has dined and grows restless and should it be your intention to return to Knighton today, then I shall needs be required to hold on to her by the neck of her gown, ere she slips out into more mischief with the Lady Jane.’

  Richard chuckled lightly and nodded. ‘Indeed, we shall be riding back to Knighton long before the sun begins its descent, if we are to be assured of reaching it by dark, so please ensure that my daughter does not leave the hall.’

  As Mary bowed backwards and slipped away with her instructions, Edward Seymour followed her progress down the hall with his eyes and nodded to where the two young girls were in animated conversation.

  ‘You are most fortunate in having a suitable companion for your daughter so close at hand.’

  ‘They are far too friendly,’ Ashton chuckled, ‘and a thoroughly bad influence, the one upon the other. Although Jane is almost a year older than Grace, she is somewhat strictly governed in her upbringing, in consequence of which she tends to celebrate the more freely when she is released into Grace’s company. The two of them can be relied upon to leave the house appropriately clad in clean garments, only to return — whenever their hiding places can be discovered — looking like scarecrows from the field. Mary is forever demanding that I chastise Grace, but somehow I fail in that simple task whenever I look into her eyes and she gives me that whimsical smile so full of love and childish innocence.’

  Seymour laughed and nodded. ‘It is, I think, the fate of all fathers to be in thrall to small daughters. I have three of my own, one of whom is little older than your Grace, and whenever her mother calls upon me to administer the rod, I cannot bring myself to do it if I look first into her little face.’

  ‘I hope to fare better should Kate bear me a son in a few weeks,’ Ashton said as he nodded towards his wife, still deep in conversation with the Countess Anne.

  ‘Grace is not Kate’s daughter, I believe?’

  ‘Indeed she is not,’ Ashton confirmed, ‘for all the difference it makes to Grace, who has never known any other mother. Her birth mother went to the scaffold along with the last Queen. Hopefully the days are now past when vile intrigues at Court can make such things possible. Has the King shown any interest in further marriage?’

  Edward Seymour looked round carefully before lowering his voice in reply. ‘No, and after the last two, who can blame him? But in truth, apart from his crown he is no great prospect — not as he once was, anyway. He grows fatter by the day, but will not exercise and his face has lost that healthy glow of the athlete and soldier that was wont to set him apart from other men — that and his height, and even that seems to diminish as his width swells to compete with it. His ulcerous wound also creates a permanent and disagreeable smell about him. All in all, he needs a nurse more than he needs a wife, and I suspect that he knows that.’

  ‘Very sad indeed,’ Ashton nodded. ‘And now, if we can separate our wives, I must make preparations to depart. Do you stay here the night?’

  ‘Several nights, probably,’ Seymour replied, ‘since it is the last chance that Anne and I will have to sleep together in comfort. Once I rejoin my men we must recommence the northern march, while my wife will ride back under escort to our estate in Sussex, where our children await her return.’

  ‘One of the hardships of being a successful soldier,’ Ashton observed. ‘I have rarely lifted a sword, even for exercise, and I do not intend to do so ever again, since it would cause Kate so much anguish were I to be away in battle, with no certainty that I would return.’

  ‘Yet there is no shortage of men prepared to hazard such risks,’ Seymour reminded him. ‘Even that old warhorse Norfolk, who one would have expected to hang up his armour and weaponry years ago, is champing at the bit to be the one to lead Henry’s forces into France. In that he is opposed by Suffolk, who is no younger than Norfolk by any great measure. They are held in check by King Henry, who — God help us — still commands his armourer to forge new and more costly armour for him to wear at the head of his army. I pity the poor horse condemned to carry that lot on its back.’

  II

  ‘When may I see the baby?’ Grace demanded excitedly as a weary Mary Calthorpe brought the good news downstairs at Knighton.

  ‘When your father says you may,’ Mary replied sternly. ‘Even he has not seen him yet.’

  ‘Is Kate sleeping now?’ Richard Ashton enquired from his seat in the corner, wine mug in hand.

  ‘Yes, Master,’ Mary replied. ‘It was not the easiest laying-in I have attended, but neither was it the worst, and Baby Thomas is being bathed and wrapped as we speak.’

  Grace had wandered over to where her father sat and as she eased herself into a standing position between his knees she looked up at him with her dark eyes set in the pleading expression that she had never known to fail. ‘Father, when you go up, may I go with you? He’s my baby brother and I want to hold him.’

  Ashton smiled lovingly, leaned forward and ruffled her untidy dark locks with his free hand. ‘Come on then — let’s go and see.’

  Susa
n Lilybank smiled shyly as she handed Ashton the snuffling bundle, relieved to be free of the unaccustomed responsibility of holding something so small and defenceless. ‘He’s already fed at the breast, Master, and I’ve cleaned him up. The Mistress is sleeping soundly.’

  ‘Thank you, Susan,’ Ashton replied with a gentle smile. ‘You’ve done very well and Mary speaks highly of your assistance. Now perhaps you need to go and rest.’

  ‘Yes, Master. Thank you kindly.’ The girl curtsied as she scuttled for the narrow staircase.

  Richard Ashton looked down at the bundle in his arms, blowing mucus bubbles by way of their first introduction, then he lowered it so that Grace could peer into the swaddling.

  She frowned. ‘Why are his eyes closed?’

  ‘He’s sleeping.’

  ‘He looks like a mole, or a rat.’

  Ashton chuckled. ‘Best not say that when he grows to manhood,’ he told her, ‘or he might box your ears.’

  ‘If he does, I’ll get my husband to run him through,’ the little girl replied innocently.

  Ashton froze. ‘Do you know what that means, Grace?’

  ‘No, but Jane says that’s what gentlemen do at Court.’

  ‘Then perhaps you should stay away from Court, as I do.’

  There was a faint stirring from the bed and Grace rushed over and, to Richard Ashton’s horror, leapt straight onto the rousing form.

  ‘Get off there now!’ Ashton commanded her and as she rolled sideways he hurried over and apologised as he took Kate’s limp and coldly sweating hand. ‘He’s beautiful — thank you.’

  ‘Thank Aunt Mary for her skills and tender care,’ Kate replied hoarsely. ‘It was quite difficult near the end, but she seemed to know where to press and then Thomas just seemed to slide out easily. We did agree to call him “Thomas”, didn’t we?’

  ‘Yes, we did, after the man who brought me from obscurity into the world where I met you. And, of course, for the Cardinal who first placed his feet on the road to wealth and fortune.’