by Anne Stevens
“I believe you,” Thomas Cromwell says, for he knows how Suffolk’s mind works, hopping from one thought to another, without any cohesion. “Where is the money hidden now?”
“Under lock and key at Westhorpe Hall, sir.” Suffolk is not a clever man, and wonders how he ever thought to get away with it. “I can only say I was taken in by a sharper witted fellow than I. Your servant, Digby Weller, knows how to weave a web about you, and no mistake. What will happen to me?”
“You should be hanged,” Eustace Chapuys says, in a most un-diplomatic way. “Your actions may have ruined Thomas Cromwell, the finest minister since Cardinal Wolsey, and left the royal treasury depleted, at a time of great need. Your childhood friend, the king, would have your head for this day’s work, I am sure, My Lord Suffolk.”
“Dear God, Cromwell!” Tom Wyatt begs, with a nervous laugh. “Charles is a fool… a damned fool, of course, but he meant you no harm. Once he had slept on it, he would have quietly confessed, and returned what is left. Am I not right, Brandon?”
“You are, Wyatt, I swear it, on my life,” Suffolk says, grasping at the lifeline thrown by an old friend. “How could I ever betray such a good fellow, and so generous a man as you, Master Thomas?”
“Enough of this, My Lord Suffolk,” Tom Cromwell says, gruffly. “Colonel Draper will collect my money tomorrow. I will call the shortfall a loan, between friends, and add it to your account. You will return to the country, and remain there, until my temper has cooled. Do you understand?”
“I do, sir, and beg your humble pardon,” Suffolk says. “I shall never let you down again.”
“You will never have the chance,” Rafe Sadler snaps. “Keep well away from court, sir, for you will find nothing but cold countenances there. In fact, I will speak with the king, and suggest a diplomatic posting for a few months. Somewhere cold, and inhospitable, I think. The Swedes have asked us for another ambassador, since the last perished of the cold.”
“As you say, Master Sadler,” Brandon replies. He is relieved to get off so lightly, and consoles himself with the thought that his tailor, at least, will extend him more credit for a while. “I shall not demur.”
“Now for you, Weller,” Thomas Cromwell says. “I have a mind to deal with you most harshly, but cannot act out of mindless anger. You must, at least, have a chance to speak for yourself, for I do doubt most readily that you will find an advocate amongst our fellow diners, who would defend your vile actions.”
“Nor would I trust their wit, nor their wisdom,” Digby Weller replies, tartly. He stands, and crosses to the fire, where he positions himself, like a witness standing in a court of law. “I start out by reminding you that I did not seek out a position with your household, Master Cromwell. It was you who sought me out. In my comments about the queen, you saw an advantage, and decided to use me against Her Majesty. Everyone in this room knows that Anne and her family wish to remove you from power, and that you must fight against them, for your very life.”
“I do not refute what you say,” Cromwell confesses. “I hired you to spread rumours, and upset the Boleyn family.”
“Just so. I was good… very good … at it, and Queen Anne wanted Henry to set the colonel onto my track,” Digby Weller continues. “It was about this time that I thought to infiltrate the Boleyn fold. I saw what Colonel Draper was about, and suggested to George Boleyn that he might be best put out of the way. He would have had you killed, sir, but I advised against the action, most strongly. Instead, I suggested a trip to the north of the country, for a few months.”
“Thank you for that,” Draper says, coldly. “You seek to make it sound that you saved me. I would have dealt with George Boleyn easily enough, and still found out about you, fellow.”
“Then let us say that it suited my purposes,” Weller replies with a casual shrug. “I fed useless information to Boleyn, and they thought I was their man inside Cromwell’s circle. I took a wage from my master, and brought any bribes back to Austin Friars. You see, Mush had told me the rules. A portion for the house, and a portion for Master Cromwell. I made over a hundred pounds for my fellow Austin Friars agents, and received less back.”
“You received our support, and free board and lodging, as well as your twelve pounds a year,” Cromwell says. “In time, you would have prospered, as have all my other young men.”
“In time.” Digby Weller turns, and spits into the fire, which flares for a moment. “I was born into nothing, and brought up into nothing. Yet I am cleverer than any noble in court, and able to turn things to my own advantage, by thinking on my feet. I saw, almost at once, that Boleyn was a vain fool, yet still smarter than his idiot of a son. Only Anne has any real intelligence, and that is marred by her haughtiness.”
“Is this your defence?” Cromwell asks. “That you did it because those about you were too stupid, or arrogant to stop you?”
“No, sir, it is not.” Digby Weller smiles, winningly at his audience. “My defence is a simple one. Not that I did it because I could, but rather that I had to. I was compelled by my early life of poverty to make the most of my chances. I was a poor fellow, and simply could not help myself.”
“Greed then?” Rafe asks.
“No, it was fear,” Digby Weller replies. “I could not face a life of poverty. When Master Cromwell explained his cunning plan to me, I saw all sorts of possibilities. At first, I wondered how to divert a portion of the money into my own pocket. It would not hurt Cromwell, for it was going to be Boleyn money. Then old Tom Boleyn confessed to me that he did not have any ready cash to hand.”
“That is true,” Thomas Cromwell confirms. “Henry has given them over half of Wiltshire, and a dozen noble titles, and estates. All of which produce a steady income of several thousands of pounds a year. He could not raise seventy thousand in one go. I sought to drive him into borrowing the money, then buying up his markers for a part of their worth.”
“Which is exactly what I suggested to him,” Digby Weller confirms. “I thought to earn a few commissions, if I introduced him to a Flemish banker or two, but he refused my offer. He told me that he had a better, cheaper, way of raising the money, and that I was to keep an eye on the alchemist.”
“Who was hidden away in Folkestone, was he not?” Will Draper asks.
“The whole time. I saw to it that he, and his friend, were kept comfortable, and reported back, once a week, on how well the work was progressing. You see, we had Boleyn’s paper, but could only use it to pay craftsmen, and suppliers. So it was no real use to us. We had to get Boleyn to produce his seventy thousand.”
“I realised where he was taking the money from after the first month,” Cromwell says. “But by then, it was too late. I could not stop him without my part in the plot being revealed. Henry would have damned us both. So, I listened to you, did I not, Master Weller?”
“You did. I suggested that we let him pay over the seventy thousand, then let him see how he was duped. Once the money was gone, Boleyn would be trapped. Master Cromwell could pretend to discover the shortfall then, and offer to loan him the money. In this way, Boleyn was in our power, and all we had to do was repay the stolen thousands.”
“A sound plan, Digby,” Mush says, speaking for the first time. “What went wrong?”
“My personal need for wealth,” Digby Weller replies, and shrugs his shoulders. “I suddenly thought … why return the money at all? If it was stolen … really stolen… I could take at least a half share for myself. Boleyn would still be ruined, and could say nothing about it, without incriminating himself in the original embezzlement. You see my thinking, Mush? Boleyn is caught, and all Cromwell needs to do is replace the missing seventy thousand pounds. I thought he had it, locked in his strong room. Then, it only remained for me to find another, as dishonest as myself.”
“I say!” Suffolk is affronted. He, like most nobles, has the ability to alter the truth to suit his own needs, and is already thinking of himself as the wronged party in all of this. He has been, qu
ite innocently, he thinks, led into stealing a fortune from his king, and trying to ruin Cromwell and Boleyn … as if my mistake. “You make me out to be as guilty as you, fellow.”
“How can that be, sir?” Digby Weller replies, tartly. “For you are of noble blood.” Several of the guests chuckle, and observe the sharpness of the young man’s wit. “I merely remark that I needed an accomplice to the crime. A man who could raise a troop of tough fellows, and would then be able to conceal our ill gotten gains.”
“Then Lord Suffolk was the ideal person,” Eustace Chapuys says, sharply. “For he has plenty of armed men at his disposal, and several fortified castles, and great homes.”
“My only worry was whether I could trust him, or not,” Digby Weller continues. “Then I reasoned it out. If he cheats me, it is a simple matter to drip poison into the right ears, and he is ruined, and must either flee, or surrender to Henry. As he would rather wish to live a life of ease, he would give me my share, without demur.”
“You had all the salient points covered,” Will Draper says to him. “Except for one. Such a plan can only work if everyone has faith in you. Boleyn did not suspect. Cromwell was taken with you, and the rest of Austin Friars thought you a most personable sort of a fellow. I wager even the Duke of Suffolk found you a seemingly trustworthy young man. Only I mistrusted you. You were simply too good a sort. To come from so humble a background, and yet be so faithful, and … well, noble sounding did not sit well with my usual suspicious nature. I looked for the flaw, and I found it.”
“You knew I was the phantom caller of insults, and message writer,” Weller says. “That is all.”
“I asked Mush to watch you,” Draper says, “but I did not fully trust his opinion either. So, I told Tom Wyatt of my fears, too.”
“True enough, Master Cromwell,” the poet puts in. “I owe you a great debt, and did not like the idea that this fellow was using you in some way. I started to frequent the same inns as Weller, and have him followed. I soon found that he was working for two masters, as had Mush. Over the months, I came to realise that he was working some sort of intricate game with Aldo Mercurius, but that Austin Friars seemed aware of it, and did not mind. I did not understand what was afoot, but my regard for your clever wit, kept me on my guard.”
“Plots, wrapped within plots,” Thomas Cromwell mutters. “It is my weakness.”
“Then, things began to happen rather quickly.” Tom Wyatt takes a deep breath, for he is a friend of Suffolk, and would do him as little harm as possible. “I employ a couple of young fellows, who pass information to me, which I then pass on to Austin Friars. One of these lads spotted Digby Weller calling on the Duke of Suffolk, and passed the news back to me. I kept close to them both, and was actually dining with Charles Brandon when one of his stewards came in, and spoke to him about having enough men ready. My friend, Charles, made out that it was for a hunting trip in Cambridgeshire, but why, I asked him, did he not invite me to chase down his stag? Nobles only, he told me. Though he swore it was so, I feared otherwise.”
“As you were right to do,” Will Draper says. “For My Lord Suffolk was arranging a heavily armed war party, to steal away the king’s gold.”
“Boleyn’s,” Suffolk claims.
“Thomas Cromwell’s,” Rafe Sadler corrects.
“I took to hanging around Charles’ place. Then, by chance, I saw him ride out with his gang of robbers. I followed, and witnessed the whole thing. They surrounded the cart, and drove everyone away at gunpoint. Charles hung back, lest he was recognised, I suppose. Once back in London, I told Will Draper, who bade me hold my tongue, for the time being. I did not know that all was to be revealed here tonight.”
“You did well, Master Wyatt,” Thomas Cromwell says. “You still have my friendship, for what it is worth. As for you, Colonel Draper, why, I wonder at how devious you have grown these past twelve months. Your cunning mind, and ready wit, knows no bounds, and you have saved the day once more.”
“You would have come to the same conclusion,” Will replies. “Though I was quicker, because I did not like your Master Digby Weller. His smiling ways did not meet with my tastes, at all.”
“Then, there it is,” Digby Weller says. “I tricked Boleyn, duped Cromwell, enticed Suffolk, and outthought you all, save a man who comes from the same low background as I.”
“No, sir, not the same,” Will Draper retorts. “As low, perhaps, but a background that gave me a set of my own morals to follow. There, my report is made, gentlemen. Suffolk will return the money, and you can repay the treasury, Master Thomas.”
“Thank you, Will.”
“Your servant, sir,” Will replies. “Suffolk must lose his ill gotten gains, and may be banished from court for a while. What of Master Weller? How is the rogue to be punished?”
“Perhaps you can all take a quick vote on my fate, like a jury,” Weller sneers. “All you good, and true fellows, who have never done a wrong thing in all of your lives.”
“Enough. I rule here in Austin Friars, sir, and it is for me to make the decisions,” Cromwell is suddenly cold, and more like the man of old. “The punishment must fit the crime. It can be neither too severe, nor too benign. Are you ready for my judgement, Digby Weller?” Weller shrugs. He has no say in the matter, and must abide by whatever Thomas Cromwell chooses.
“Do what you wish,” he says, looking his master in the eye. “For I did no more than you, when you pillaged the French baggage train, or duped a scheming pope, sir.”
“You sought to gain fabulous wealth from this,” Cromwell tells him. “Therefore, let the opposite come to pass. You came to me with five shillings to your name, no roof over your head, and an empty stomach. You will leave me in the same way.”
“Master, I am worth over two hundred pounds, by my own effort,” Weller complains. “What of that?”
“Then that is the amount of the fine. You forfeit two hundred pounds, and will not spend another night under my roof. I give you twenty four hours leg bail. If I find you within thirty miles of London, ever again, your life is forfeit too.”
“Master, may I speak?” Mush steps from his quiet corner. He has offered little to the proceedings, but now feels compelled to speak out about a man who he calls ’friend’. “Digby Weller has been a good friend to me, these last few months. I grew to trust him, which is not my usual way. Might I ask a single favour … if only because of my past service to you?”
“Go on.” Cromwell knows he must accede to Mush, whatever he might ask, or risk losing his devotion. It sorrows him that the young man wishes to plead for Waller, even after the man has betrayed everyone he has come into contact with.
“Let me take Digby Weller across the river tonight,” Mush tells them all. “That way, he will not be tempted to stay on the London side. He is a wilful sort, and might be tempted to flout the restrictions my master has placed on him. I will row him over to the south side, and see him well on his way.”
“And slip him a bag of gold, no doubt,” Rafe Sadler sneers.
“Is that really any of your business?” Mush Draper replies, fiercely. “You go on about protecting Master Cromwell’s interests to the point of boring us all to death, but you did not see any of this coming, and I have never yet seen you charge into a life or death fight. It takes more than a lawyer’s mind, and a couple of well written writs, to keep Austin Friars together, my friend.”
“I hope Master Cromwell can rely on us both, each in our own ways,” Rafe replies. “It was never my intention to insult you, Mush. The words came out before my ‘lawyer’s mind’ had checked them over. It is true what you say. My interest in the whole business ends when the man is out of Master Cromwell’s employ, and off Austin Friars’ payroll.”
“Well said, Rafe,” Richard growls. He looks as if he could rip Weller’s head from his shoulders, but knows that his uncle is making the right decision. “Digby Weller can spend his penny in any other town, from now on. London is closed to him. Our people will see to that
. No inn will shelter him, or bawdy house entertain the fellow. There is not a place where he will find gainful employment, lest it be outside of this city.”
“The twenty four hours are already running, Mush,” Thomas Cromwell says.
“You may have the loan of one of Miriam’s skiffs, my friend,” Will tells his brother-in-law. There are three tied up at the jetty. Try not to awaken the household when you take one. Miriam does not like her sleep disturbed.”
“Master Cromwell!” The great hall’s door is flung back with surprising violence, and one of the more senior servants, is there, sweating and shaking, as if he has run across the city. “A great fire, sir. Down by the riverside. The boy who comes with the news thinks it is close to Colonel Draper’s house.”
“Dear Christ!” Will leaps to his feet, and runs for the door.
Thomas Cromwell signs for Rafe, and Tom Wyatt to go with him. He will follow, but at a more sedate pace. His running days are long over. Is this the start of it then, he thinks. Have his enemies decided to strike, before he is ready for them?
“I will follow, with as many servants as I can muster, Will,” he calls. “God speed you there, and I pray that no harm has come to any of yours!” Will, Tom Wyatt and Rafe Sadler are gone, and Mush looks undecided.
“Carry on, Mush,” Cromwell tells him. “ Get this perfidious young man out of my city.” Mush takes Digby Weller by the elbow, and leads him off. By the time he gets to the waterfront, he will see that the fire is not at Draper’s House, but in the unfinished new building, next door.
Thomas Cromwell’s servants brings him a warm cloak, and tells him that there are a dozen good men waiting to obey his orders.
“I fear we are too late to help with the fire,” Cromwell says to Richard, who has stayed by his uncle’s side. “I will go there with James, and a couple of the others. We will take food and drink for those who must be helping.”
