The Condottiero: A Tudor Deceit (Tudor Crimes Book 4)

by Anne Stevens

  “Go back to the ghetto, and speak with your people,” he tells him. “Tell them your name, and ask after relatives. Jews always have relatives. If not in Venice, then in Spain, or France. What ever you do, my friend, do not believe you are alone. Your people have a rich history. There are islands, like Cyprus and Malta, where your race mix freely with Christians and the people of Islam. Your people live openly in Jerusalem, and all across the Holy Land.”

  “I cannot just go,” Mush says. “I have a new wife in England, and a sister too. My life is there.”

  “Pretending to be a Christian?” the sword master smiles grimly. “We men are such fools. Why stay where you are not wanted? Sell up, and find your true place in this world. Failing that, come back to Venice, and we will drink, fight, and chase after other men’s wives from dawn to dusk!”

  “Can life be that simple?” Mush asks. He is beginning to realise that there are many different kinds of duty in the world. He is barely eighteen years old, and already has a duty to his new wife, Gwen, his friends, his sister, his faith, and … most of all, it seems, to Master Thomas Cromwell.

  “Perhaps not, my friend,” the sword master says, “but you are too young to spend your days watching over your shoulder for some enemy or other. Finish your business here, and try to lead a quieter life.”

  “Advice you do not yourself take.”

  “It’s too late for me, boy,” Carmino says with a sly smile. “Far too late!”

  5 Lace Gloves, and Cheese

  “God’s teeth, what does the man want now?” The king is in the frost covered gardens at Whitehall Palace, walking with Lady Anne, and wants nothing more than peace and quiet. His Lord Chancellor, however, will not be set aside. “The fellow has even dragged poor Bishop Gardiner with him.”

  “I shall retire,” Anne says, removing her hand from Henry’s arm. “For this particular Thomas is not to my liking, My Lord.”

  “Oh, don’t desert me now, my sweet,” Henry moans. “Stay, and frown at them until they go away.” He beckons the two men forward, and waits patiently, whilst they take it in turns to bow, and offer their best wishes. The moment the flattery ceases, he says: “Well?”

  “Your Majesty, I have received disquieting word from France, and thought it best to come to you, at once,” Sir Thomas says, his face displaying something approximating a smirk.

  “Though you came by Winchester, I see?” Lady Anne says, nodding at Stephen Gardiner, the recently appointed bishop.

  “Bishop Gardiner is here to testify to the truth of what I must impart to you, sire.”

  “You think I would call you a liar?” Henry smiles, and wonders what mischief is afoot now. He thinks he is clever putting the two Thomas’s against one another, but introducing Gardiner to the mix might be a step too far. “Speak, man. What is it?”

  “It concerns Cromwell, sire.” Sir Thomas More is preparing to enjoy his triumph. Rather than conclude Henry’s annulment, he is spending his days trying to unpick everything the Privy Councillor does.

  “Then should not he be present?” More’s face is a picture of horror, and Lady Anne cannot help but add: “I believe he is at court today, attending to Your Majesty’s business.”

  “Capital idea, my love,” Henry says. “Send one of your girls to fetch him. There. The little Seymour wench has nothing to do.”

  Jane Seymour, a recent addition to the Boleyn entourage is sent off, to fetch Master Cromwell, at the king’s insistence. She finds him in the long gallery, near The King’s Wardrobe, where he is berating one of His Majesty’s dressers.

  “Stockings, sir,” he is saying, as she approaches. “Please note the plural. Six pairs of the best French silk stockings have become four pairs, and one stray. Now, will you put your mind to finding them, or shall I hire someone who can count?”

  The young man looks about to cry, but Cromwell pats his shoulder, offers a small, conciliatory word, and sends him about his allotted task. Jane Seymour gives a small cough from behind him.

  “Do you require a doctor, Mistress Seymour?” he says, without turning around. She is surprised, and forgets to curtsey to him. Cromwell is the king’s man now, and must be treated accordingly.

  “How did you know it was me?” she asks.

  “I have magical abilities,” he says, then smiles, and points to the small window to one side. “Reflection. Though I do believe you are fond of wearing lavender oil too.”

  “Too much?” she asks, anxiously. Cromwell waves away her fears, and asks her what he can do for her. She has to think for a moment, then recalls her mission.

  “The king wants you. He was in the rose garden, though there are no blooms … save Lady Anne, of course, but was returning to the inner chamber, with his visitors.”

  “There, my dear,” Cromwell tells her. “You delivered the message beautifully. I shall praise you to the king for it.

  “Thank you, kind sir,” Jane says, and curtseys. As Cromwell makes to walk away, she stops him with a hand laid on his coat sleeve. “His Majesty is with Sir Thomas More, and another, the Bishop of … somewhere or another…”

  “Winchester?”

  “Yes. The Lord Chancellor seems eager to speak with the king, but Lady Anne insists you are present.”

  “Ah, then the man is out to make trouble.” Cromwell sighs, and wonders when they stopped being friends. “Would my magic gift tell me what he has up his sleeve.”

  “News from France, Master Cromwell,” Jane Seymour tells him. She is very slight, and rather pretty, and her voice is as light as a breeze. Ten years ago, a younger, more lustful, Cromwell would have been interested in her. Instead, he claps his hands, and calls for his man. Rafe Sadler breaks off chatting with Charles Brandon, the Duke of Suffolk, and approaches.

  “Yes, sir?” he asks.

  “Run to the office, and bring the red satchel, Rafe,” Cromwell tells him. “I will be with the king, but you must bring it straight to me. Then, find this lady’s size, and buy her two pairs of fine lace gloves.”

  “Yes, master,” Rafe says, and bows to the girl. “I shall attend upon you presently, Mistress Jane.”

  Jane Seymour squeaks a thank you, smiles at this man who now seems like much less of an ogre, and hurries away. Thomas Cromwell, watches her go, and is reminded of his own daughter Jane, now eight years old, and born out of wedlock, and behind his late wife’s back. The episode, with a former serving girl, shames him, and the girl is being raised by a good family in Chester, where she will want for nothing … except her father. The mother was a pretty, feather brained little thing, who did not survive the birth by more than a day or two.

  The Privy Councillor shrugs off the dark memories and, forewarned, makes his way to the king’s inner chamber. Henry is seated on the new, pearl and gold inlaid throne, a gift from the merchants of Antwerp, and Lady Anne is standing by his side, with More and Gardiner off to one side.

  “Well met, Master Cromwell,” Anne says, quickly, and gives him a look that promises her support. “It seems these gentlemen wish to lay charges against you.”

  “No, Lady Anne, not I!” Stephen Gardiner, the recently appointed Bishop of Winchester blurts out. “I am here, merely to corroborate certain facts.” Sir Thomas More throws a contemptuous glance at him, and realises that, as always, he must fight his own battles.

  “Well then,” Cromwell says, “we are well met, My Lady, and with His Majesty here to hear the truth at first hand.”

  “The truth of what?” Henry says, almost shouting. “Out with it Sir Thomas. You three are, after Lady Anne, my most beloved friends, and I want nothing to come between us.” Cromwell has to look down, lest the king sees his smile. Henry strives to do nothing else but set them at one another.

  “Then let me speak as a friend, sire … and as a concerned minister of your government,” More says.

  “Concerned, sir?” Thomas Cromwell interjects. “Have you laid these concerns before Parliament, and the Privy Council, as is the right and proper course?”


  “I have just received the news,” More replies. “My agents in France bring the most disquieting information.”

  “Oh no,” Cromwell groans, theatrically. “Do not tell me the French king has refused my gift.” The room falls into a stunned silence. The Lord Chancellor is expecting a hard fight, yet here is Cromwell admitting the truth.

  “Then you admit it?” Sir Thomas asks. “You admit sending fifty thousand pounds to Paris, as a bribe to King Francis?”

  “Let us call a gift a bribe then,” Cromwell says, testily, “but let us also get our sums right. The figure was a hundred thousand pounds, partly in gold, and some in silver. I see where you go wrong, Sir Thomas. You ask the bishop, who has friends in the treasury, and they supplied the lower amount. Is this so, Stephen?”

  “Why yes, it is,” Gardiner says. “Though I never meant any malice. I simply answered Sir Thomas’s query.”

  “As you should, My Lord Bishop,” Cromwell replies. Then he folds his hands across his stomach, and lapses into silence.

  “Well?” the king asks. Cromwell appears surprised by the king’s statement and spreads his hands wide.

  “Sire?” he says. “I am waiting for Sir Thomas to lay his charges, and did not yet see anything to respond to.”

  “Fifty thousand pounds, sir!” More says.

  “One hundred thousand,” Cromwell says. “Now, why do you say this is a bribe?”

  “It would seem so. Why else would you send … a hundred thousand pounds to the enemy of our king?”

  “Go steady, Lord Chancellor,” Thomas Cromwell says. “For the king is at peace with France these past four years, and loves Francois like a brother.”

  “That is so,” Henry says, “though I do not love him a hundred thousand pounds worth, Thomas.”

  “Fifty thousand, sire,” Cromwell replies, then turns to Lady Anne. “Mistress, your indulgence, if I may ask you something?” Anne smiles, and nods consent. “Has not the king put into my hands, the handling of his annulment?”

  “He has, Master Cromwell. He told me so, himself, and swore you would achieve my desires for me, within two years.”

  “And I was to have a free hand, unencumbered by the Lord Chancellor, or even the Privy Council?”

  “What?” This is news to More, and he can feel his face turning red. “A free hand, surely not, sire?” Henry nods. He has done it to placate Anne, and cannot go back on his word without looking dishonest. More shakes his head in disbelief. “But this does not explain why fifty thousand…”

  “A hundred thousand.”

  “A hundred then, damn it!” More loses his temper for a split second, then takes a deep breath. “The fact remains, you send money gifts to Francis. The man does not support the king in the matter of the annulment, and will never change his mind. Your bribe must be for an altogether different thing.”

  It is then that Rafe Sadler comes in, and goes straight to Cromwell. He bows to the room, and hands him the papers he was sent to fetch. The lawyer thanks him, and rummages through the documents, placing them in order. He hands the top sheet to the king.

  “A letter, from me, to Francis, asking what his plans are for one of his many illegitimate daughters. I believe her name is Marie, after the scullery maid who bore her for the king.”

  “I hear that our dear cousin, Francois. has more than a dozen bastards,” Anne says, slipping into the slight French accent she adopts when wishing to impart something a trifle naughty. She often talks to Henry in this voice, and it drives him mad with unrequited passion.

  “I am only interested in Marie, Lady Anne,” Thomas Cromwell says. He hands over a second sheet. “Here is the reply, from his Prime Minister, asking me what my interest is in the child. I respond … here… saying that I have a marriage in mind, for which I am willing to pay fifty thousand English pounds.”

  “Marriage?” Henry is astonished. He has a bastard son, Harry Fitzroy, who needs a bride, but he is promised now to Norfolk’s girl. “I cannot barter with Fitzroy, Thomas. You go too far!”

  “No, sire, not your most excellent son,” Cromwell explains. “I sought out an altogether different kind of union for the girl. In this letter, you will see that François drives a hard bargain, once he sees what I am up to. He demands a hundred thousand.”

  “But you only sequestered fifty,” Stephen Gardiner says.

  “Correct. I raised the balance personally, from my own resources.”

  “You can lay hands on fifty thousand pounds?” Henry is even more surprised at the admission.

  “In a manner of speaking,” Cromwell replies. “I intend sending the fifty thousand, along with the fifty from the treasury to Paris during the next few weeks. I only await word that the groom is willing.”

  “Who is the lucky fellow?” Lady Anne asks, enjoying the clash immensely.

  “Alessandro de Medici, My Lady.”

  “Who may that be?” More demands, but the king knows the man, and roars with laughter.

  “No, I cannot believe it. Not even of a rogue such as you, Thomas!” Henry roars, and wipes his eyes free of laughter tears.

  “Should I know the gentleman?” Anne asks, puzzled.

  “The Pope’s bastard!” Henry declares. “Wonderful. Why it is almost worth a hundred thousand, just to see his face.”

  “I wager the Bishop of Rome will be pleased, sire.” Cromwell says, with a beaming smile on his face.

  “You come with half a tale, gentlemen,” Henry says. “You may leave us. I have much to talk about with my chief councillor.”

  The moment More and Gardiner leave, Henry turns to Anne, and squeezes her tiny hand.

  “The fellow will not let me make him an earl, my sweet,” he says. “How can I reward him?”

  “I still don’t understand,” Anne says, but is waved into silence.

  “The money disquiets me, Thomas,” he says to Cromwell. “I see about the treasury money, but where, in God’s name did you find your share? I do not pay you above five hundred a year.”

  “I had some savings, and sold a few properties, sire, which raised ten thousand. The rest, I took from Norfolk and Suffolk. Twenty thousand each.”

  “They do not have that kind of cash,” Henry replies, warily.

  “No, sire. I arranged for them to borrow the sums from some Venetian bankers I know.

  “On what surety?”

  “On yours sire.”

  “Mine? Dear God, Cromwell, what are you thinking of?”

  “Your Majesty guarantees the loans, and both of the dukes pledge their estates to the crown, if they default. It will tie them to you, sire. When they default, we buy the debt up, and they are your vassals. For the next hundred years, they will be buying back their own property.”

  “And if they disagreed?”

  “I would have told them you were displeased with them, and thinking of sequestering their lands. Under the new laws, refusing the king, is treason.”

  “You clever fellow,” Henry says. “I would not do that to them.”

  “Of course not, sire, but we do not need to tell them that!”

  “Will it work?” Henry asks.

  “It will, sire. Francis is strapped for money, after his latest disastrous war. The man is no soldier. Perhaps if Your Majesty were to visit his army, and offer to lead the charge?”

  “By God, yes. Did I ever tell you how I swept the field clean with one charge?” The king has moved on, and Cromwell’s plans can advance, uninterrupted.

  “The man must be in league with Satan,” Stephen Gardiner, Bishop of Winchester says, then retracts at once. “No, do not think it. Charge Cromwell with witchcraft, and it is you and I who will end up on the fire. You did not plan well enough.”

  “You were a great help, Master Bishop,” Sir Thomas curses. “Why did you not support me?”

  “I support no one, except the king,” Gardiner replies, rather sanctimoniously.

  “And God?”

  “That goes without saying.”
/>   “Yet you do not do your best for Rome,” More says. “You would have heretics running the church.”

  “Tell me, Sir Thomas, if God hates the protestants so much, why does he allow Martin Luther and the rest to flourish all over the continent? Perhaps he does not care for Rome anymore. The place is venal and corrupt.”

  “Yes, and Cromwell’s mission is there by now.” More is fuming with anger. “They will see the Pope.”

  “To what end?” Gardiner replies. “Were they to give this hundred thousand to Clement, he would laugh at them. It is not enough to buy two cardinals, and that is how many you must bribe to see him.”

  “They will try to push the annulment through. If they succeed, Henry will have no faith in us any more.”

  “They may push all they wish, for Pope Clement will never change his mind. He will sit on his decision, until the halls of hell freeze over, and Henry is too old to care.”

  “Yes, you are right,” the Lord Chancellor says. “Forgive me, old friend, for being so rude to you. I am sure you will do your best, as your ecclesiastical conscience allows. How is it, being a bishop?”

  “Hard, sir, very hard,” Gardiner says, thinking of the two mistresses - the most wanton pair of sisters - that he has been forced to abandon. “My monks watch me like a hawk, and never cease telling me what my holy duty is. I am a prisoner, sir… a prisoner!”

  “I seek Mistress Miriam Draper, girl.” The tall, dark haired man says. “Pray, fetch her, please, and there is a penny for your trouble.”

  “It is no trouble, sir, but keep your coin. I am Mistress Draper.” Miriam looks the man up and down, and sees that, apart from having curlier hair, he is very much like her absent husband.

  “A thousand apologies, mistress, I expected an older lady.”

  “Then I am sorry to disappoint you,” Miriam replies, smiling at this handsome reminder of Will. “Do you have a name, sir? The accent tells me you are from the north.”

  “I am from the city of Chester, Mistress Draper, and my name is Edward Small. I am, for my sins, a merchant.”

  “Come in, Master Small,” Miriam says. She calls for refreshments to be brought, and takes the man into the best withdrawing room. It contains the most comfortable seats, the best wall hangings, and a small table, with her chess board and pieces, set up on it. “What can I do for a fellow trader?”