by Donna Hosie
“Father, this is Charles, son of the Duke of Cleves from the Rhinelands,” said Edward. “My father, Sir John Seymour. And this is my mother, Margery Wentworth, daughter of Sir Henry Wentworth.”
A beautiful woman walked across the floor and stood at her husband’s side. She had flaming red hair that was pinned in ornate waves on top of her head. I bowed; she nodded her head.
“Are you favored by the king, boy?” asked the older Seymour.
“He is,” said Edward, answering for me. “The resemblance is remarkable, wouldn’t you say, Father?”
Idiot, I thought. Edward Seymour had Charlie and me mixed up. It was my brother the king liked better. I had just been introduced as Charles. Edward had asked for the wrong twin to accompany him.
“The resemblance is clear,” replied Sir John. “And what does our queen think of you, Cleves?”
“I have barely spoken to Her Grace,” I said.
“Has Cromwell gotten to him yet?” asked Sir John.
“No,” replied Edward, his mouth twisting into a sly smile.
“Good,” replied Sir John. He pushed his chair back and stumbled. Serving staff rushed forward, as did his wife, but the old man yelled at them to leave him alone.
“I’m not hungry,” he said, gripping the table. “You can eat without me.”
“He doesn’t appear well,” I said quietly as he walked slowly from the long hall. The old man looked as if he was in pain.
“My father is as strong as an ox and will outlive us all,” retorted Edward. “And you would do well to say nothing to the contrary at court.”
“What did he mean when he asked if Cromwell had gotten to me yet?” I asked.
Edward walked around the table and sat in the velvet padded seat his father had just vacated. It was probably still warm, I thought. He grabbed a chicken leg and tore into it with yellow teeth.
“Cromwell has eyes and ears everywhere,” replied Edward. “There is a certain…sense to an alliance with him, as he is influential, to be sure. But the Seymour family is on the rise. We reward loyalty—and destroy those who work against us.”
“And you brought me here to get me on—on your side?”
“You have eyes, Cleves. You will have seen the way the king acts around Lady Jane. Their union is only a matter of time. And when she produces a son—the world will belong to the family she represents.”
“And what does Lady Jane say about this arrangement?”
Edward threw down the chicken leg and thumped the table.
“She does what she’s told,” he snarled. “And you would do well to do the same. Stay away from Lady Jane. She is not destined for a marriage bed in foreign lands.”
He really did have me mixed up with Charlie.
“I serve and obey the king,” I replied.
“His Grace looks to you for advice. You have been in the court for barely a whisper in time and yet he’s looking to you for your counsel—on matters like the Duchy of Cornwall! So while you have his ear, tell him to marry Lady Jane.”
“The king is married to Queen Anne,” I replied coolly.
“Are you defying me in my own home?”
“Not at all,” I replied, with a deferential nod. “I am honored to be a guest. All I am saying is that I have no sway over the king. I am barely in his thoughts. My brother, Charles, is the one the king converses with more freely. I am Alexander. I did not correct you in front of your father, as I did not wish to embarrass you. It is an easy mistake, but a mistake nonetheless.”
“I thought…I asked—” said Edward, his eyes widening.
“We look very similar,” I replied. “Many people mistake us.”
Edward’s mouth curled. “Then perhaps it should be your brother who gets the warning. The king will marry Lady Jane. And I will kill anyone who gets in the way.”
I read the letter thrice over. I could hardly bear the finality of the last few words:
This letter must do us both well, dear Margaret. The duty you undertake now as my daughter will be your greatest achievement until such day as you provide your husband a son and heir. The king’s permission will be sought forthwith. I see no reason unbidden that His Majesty will refuse this request, as it will further secure ties between the Scottish lords and those in this kingdom who already benefit from his magnificent grace.
It is your duty. Do not forget that. Or forsake me.
Your loving Father
I threw it on the fire.
Even so, the amber flames could not burn my father’s words from my mind. The rumors were true after all. He intended to seek the king’s permission for my marriage to the Earl of Moray forthwith. Negotiations were done. A settlement had been agreed upon. All without my knowledge or assent. My opinion was worth less than the charred embers curling in the grate.
Like my friend Lady Jane, I was the chattel of men.
Lady Jane believed she had no choice in her future. I believed differently. My choice was to adhere to the path laid down by my father, or to at least try to change the course of my future.
To turn against my father was akin to treason. I would be abandoned at best, arrested at worst.
Yet the more I struggled with accepting my father’s decree, the more resolved I became. I simply had to move faster.
And pray for courage.
You have a woman?” asked the king.
“I do not, sire,” I replied.
“Why? What is wrong with you?”
I didn’t know Henry well enough to tell whether there was humor in his question. The king had summoned several young and old courtiers to take a walk with him around the gardens of Hampton Court, which were filled with mint.
We of The 48 understand the symbiotic value of herbalism. Mint is the herb of choice to camouflage distinguishable poisons, or odors about one’s person. It is useful, for example, to mask the sulfuric buildup exhibited by many Assets with considerable time travel experience.
It felt good to recite to myself a Tenet excerpt in the silence that followed Henry’s question. Thinking about how older Assets smelled wasn’t pleasant, but it gave me a few seconds to think of something other than Alex.
The king was in a foul mood, despite the sunny day. Cromwell was at the king’s right side as always, and looked unperturbed. Looking more worried was the ludicrously named Richard Rich, who was the king’s solicitor. I knew he was looking into the legality of the king’s marriage to Anne, though that had not been explained to me here.
“I asked you a question, Cleves,” snapped the king. “Answer me.”
“I do not believe a man should rush into any relationship,” I replied, trying to keep the nerves out of my voice.
“You do prefer women?”
I knew now what the king was asking. The Buggery Act had been passed by Parliament only three years earlier, and it would be hundreds of years before it was repealed.
Only the day before, five men had been hanged for crimes in defiance of the act at Tower Hill in the heart of London. A messenger had arrived that morning to tell the king.
“I enjoy the company of women very much,” I said, silently cursing him for his cruelty.
“Then I will make a match for you that will benefit Cleves and England,” said the king. His shoes were squelching into the dark mud, which was getting thicker as we walked farther from the palace. I tried to steer him back onto the flagstone paving, but he didn’t seem to realize where he was treading, or he just didn’t care. After all, it wasn’t as if the king cleaned his own shoes. He didn’t even wipe his own ass. The Groom of the Stool did that.
“I would be honored, Your Grace, by such a match. The joining of Cleves and England would delight my father and my homeland,” I replied.
And I will be long gone by the time it comes to any wedding service, I thought.
“Do you enjoy po
etry, Cleves?”
“When created by someone who knows the written word better than I, yes,” I said, not sure where this conversation was going.
“I write poetry,” said Henry, and there was a humble tone to his voice that I hadn’t heard before. Henry was such a strange man. The smallest thing could move him, and yet his temper was horrible. He was like two different people in one enormous body.
And now here he was, apparently confiding in me. While my head was pounding with tension, I had been training for such a moment for years. I had to continue to engage the king. I had to make him trust me.
“Do you write often?” I asked.
“When the occasion befits,” replied the king quietly. He was staring ahead, but not really seeing.
“For a lady?”
“Always.”
It was a pretty safe bet that these days, he wasn’t writing poetry for the queen. I smiled casually. “May I inquire as to the name of the lady who was fortunate enough to receive your words of admiration?” I asked.
The king suddenly stopped walking. A cold drenching of fear gushed through my insides. I had moved too quickly—gone too far by being too intimate.
“It was the Lady Jane,” said the king slowly. “I gave her a purse of money. And a few verses, sealed in a letter. She did not open it.”
Because she’s smart, I thought.
“Walk with me further, Cleves,” ordered the king. “Only you.”
Cromwell’s sallow face twisted as he and Rich removed their hats, bowed, and were left standing with the rest of our confused little group as the king and I continued to walk along the saturated gardens.
“She kissed the seal of the letter,” said the king. “What am I to make of that, Cleves? Lady Jane refused my gift and yet kissed the seal of a letter she did not even read.”
“Lady Jane does not strike me as a woman who teases,” I replied. “She is also virtuous. Lady Jane sees the landscape, not just the portrait, and does not wish to be tainted by even the hint of scandal. It is the same in Cleves with women who…who understand their place. Perchance another lady would give you the outcome you desire? Lady Margaret is spirited and yet penitent.”
“It is the queen’s doing, isn’t it? She is the bringer of misfortune. She has cursed me.”
“Your solicitors can advise you in that regard better than I, Your Grace.”
“You are uncorrupted by the court, Cleves,” said Henry. “You have not been here long enough to build alliances, nor to have made enemies. I see so much of my younger self in you. Tell me, if you were to walk in my shoes, what would you do?”
I took a deep breath. I am from The 48, I thought quickly. This is the moment. My moment. To change history and set things right as best I can. Anne’s time as queen was nearly over, but I could try to negotiate a good settlement for her and Elizabeth. I was a time writer, after all. I could change things already recorded if they didn’t directly impact the assignment.
“Have your solicitors draw up the papers declaring your marriage to Anne illegal,” I said confidently. “Have her and the Princess Elizabeth safely removed from the court. You could set her up in her own house like the Dowager Princess of Wales. Then you would be free to seek a more suitable queen of the Protestant faith. Someone still chaste and virtuous.”
“Jane is chaste and virtuous,” replied the king wistfully, completely ignoring my comment about looking for a Protestant. “She is queenly.”
No, not Jane, you imbecile! I thought. That’s not who I meant!
“The people—and God—will love her and reward me for that choice,” continued Henry. “You are right. Your counsel is received with gratitude, Cleves. An English education has been for your betterment. I am of a mind to create a high position for you.”
“I would be honored with a position in your court, Your Grace,” I replied, wanting to punch him in the face.
“I’ll speak with Rich. He can take you on in the legal chambers.”
The king made no offer for Alex—he hadn’t even mentioned him—and my worry for my brother intensified.
But I did what I was supposed to do and bowed.
* * *
—
As we rejoined our party and headed back to the palace, the king seemed much cheered. He remarked on the grass, lush and long after so much rain. And the gardens, which were ablaze with color from across the spectrums.
“Come to my rooms at sundown,” said Cromwell, sidling up to me. He didn’t take his eyes off the king, who was also now walking with a pronounced limp. “We can take supper together.”
“I would be happy to,” I lied.
“You’re favored by the king, Cleves,” said Cromwell. “It’s time to take sides.”
* * *
—
Inside, I headed to the library, where I could eavesdrop under the pretense of having my nose buried in a book. And be spared the pressure of conversation, at least for a little while. Except—
“Charles of Cleves. What a joy to see you.”
I looked up from my reading to see Jane Seymour. I couldn’t help grinning at her. She looked…happy. Probably because she wasn’t being suffocated by the overbearing presence of her brother.
“Lady Jane—you look radiant.”
She really was glowing. Her skin was colored a slight shade of pink, as if she had sat out in the sun for just the right amount of time. She was wearing a dark green velvet dress with a high neck. Her pale red hair was swept back tightly under a small pearl-edged hood.
I rose and bowed, trying not to catch the eye of other courtiers who were clearly listening in.
“Shall we walk?”
Jane beamed and offered her hand. “To the chapel?” she suggested.
She was a smart one. No one could say that a walk to the chapel was untoward, and it was just down the hall.
We passed a couple of yeomen, one of whom was Marlon; he raised an eyebrow at me. I resisted the urge to thump him. I was just walking with Lady Jane. Nothing more.
* * *
—
Like every room in the palace, the chapel was a spectacle of gross wealth at work. There were so many variations of gold in the room, from the floor to the high, star-speckled ceilings, that my eyes hurt. I almost didn’t see Lady Margaret there, deep in prayer. But she must have heard us enter, because she quickly crossed herself and stood to face us. She nodded to Jane, curtsied to me. Her face was streaked with the drying tracks of tears.
Jane Seymour dropped to her knees in front of the altar and crossed herself.
“The queen told us this morning that the king is moving the court to Windsor,” said Lady Margaret, quickly composing herself. “Will you be making the journey, Charles of Cleves?”
Great. Alex and I needed a change of setting right now like we needed the Black Death. “If I am asked,” I replied. “Although I am expecting my brother to return soon. He is with yours, Lady Jane. What was their business away from court?”
“You do me the honor of pretending to believe I know,” replied Jane with more than a hint of sarcasm.
“It would trouble me not to be here when he returns,” I said.
“You and your brother are very close,” observed Jane.
“Yes. He is my dearest friend and ally.”
“I have seen you laugh together,” said Jane. “It is a glorious sight.”
“Do you have someone like that, to laugh with?” I asked.
“Not yet,” replied Jane. She crossed herself and stood.
“Do you, Lady Margaret?” I asked. “Do you have a confidant you trust beyond all others?” If she did, then I would make it my business to befriend them, just to find out what Margaret was really like.
“I will have such a person…one day,” replied Lady Margaret carefully.
“Your father knew what
he was doing, bringing you and your brother to court, Charles of Cleves,” said Jane, taking a step toward me. Her eyes glistened like pools of pale water, catching the ethereal reflection of the candles lit behind me.
“Does the king desire a match for you?” asked Lady Margaret. “You were walking alone with him just now.”
I tried to conceal my shock. It had been a half hour, at most, since my conversation with Henry. News traveled faster here than in the twenty-first century.
“I have neither the time nor the inclination for marriage.”
“Inclination and time are irrelevant,” said Lady Margaret. “We all serve His Grace.”
“Then it is not a subject I give much thought to,” I replied.
“It is unusual to see someone new to the court keep their counsel as you do,” said Jane.
She stepped even closer to me. She smelled of rose water.
“Do not close your eyes for a moment, Charles of Cleves,” she whispered. “Watch and listen to everything. Very little in this court is what it seems.”
Jane’s warning wasn’t malicious. The kindness in her face was so endearing it made me want to hug her. Then she and Lady Margaret curtsied and left the chapel. I counted to twenty to give them a decent head start so no one would think worse of them if they saw me leaving too.
Damn, this was tiring. And now I had my upcoming conversation with Cromwell to think about.
I made my way back to our rooms, where I discovered my door was open. Maybe a servant was inside, stoking the fire for the evening. I wasn’t taking any chances, though. I pulled out my knife and slipped the cuff of my shirt over my fingers to conceal it as I stepped into the room.
“What the—”
Bile rose in my throat at the sight before me. I had seen a lot of death in my seventeen years of training, but this was something else.
Blood was smeared all over the floor, wet and glistening. My pulse pounded in my ears.
