by Laura Dowers
‘I’m Henry, Henry Sidney,’ he said with a warm smile. ‘How are you with a bow?’
Taking his hand and feeling a firm grip, Robert shrugged. ‘I’m quite good.’
‘Quite good? Are you being modest?’
‘No. My mother says I don’t know the meaning of the word.’
‘Oh, that’s nothing,’ Thomas said, pushing past Edward, ‘you should hear what my mother says about me.’
They laughed, and Edward, who always liked to be the centre of attention, snapped, ‘Are we going to the butts or are we planning to stand here all day?’
‘We’re going,’ Barnaby said hurriedly, slipping his arm through Edward’s and leading him towards the garden. The others followed.
‘Don’t mind him,’ Henry said softly to Robert. ‘He’s very much his father’s son, if you understand me. But then, you already know that. You studied with him.’
‘About four years ago.’
‘And you were friendly with his sister?’
‘Yes, but I haven’t seen much of her for a while. She lives at Hatfield and doesn’t come to town much.’
‘I should like to meet her. Edward thinks a lot of her, you know. Even if he does sometimes sound a little… oh, what’s the word? Sanctimonious.’
They laughed, causing Edward to look around. ‘Keep up, you two,’ he ordered.
Henry raised his eyebrows at Robert, and they quickened their pace.
3
Whitehall Palace, London, April 1546
As the last of September’s daylight faded, John Dudley studied the king. Henry was certainly ill. His body, already corpulent, had seemed to swell like a bellows over the past month. The small eyes were bloodshot and yellowed, sunk into the flesh that rose in mounds of clammy pinkness, the contours of the bones long since buried.
Henry’s fat, trembling hand laid down a knave of hearts. ‘Can you match that, John?’
John scanned his cards. ‘No, Your Majesty, I fear I cannot.’
‘Ha ha, then pay up.’
John shoved four gold coins across the table to clink against the king’s winning pile. He began to deal another hand.
‘How does your son, John?’ Henry asked. ‘The one with the prince.’
‘Robert? I had a letter from him this morning. He is doing well. The prince enjoys his company and Robert hopes he is of great service to him.’
‘Ah, now,’ Henry waggled a fat finger at him, ‘service is a trait that runs in your family, John. Your boy serves my son, you serve me well, I might even say, very well.’ The little mouth pursed and expelled a puff of sour breath. ‘And your father…your father, John, served my father well.’
‘So I understand, Your Majesty.’ John felt the king’s eyes upon him, but he kept his own firmly upon the cards.
‘I think much on the past, John. Too much, my Fool says, but I cannot seem to help it lately. I did a foolish thing, John, when I allowed your father to be executed.’
‘A foolish thing, Your Majesty?’
‘Yes, foolish. But I was persuaded to it by my council. My father was a mean man, John. He loved money more than anything. And by using your father, my father extracted all the money he could from his subjects.’ Henry reached for his goblet and raised it to his lips, feeling the hot wine spill over his slack lips and soak into his beard. ‘I was persuaded,’ he continued, ‘it would show the love I had for my people to…to…’ he floundered for the right words.
‘To offer my father up as sacrifice,’ John suggested, his voice brittle.
Henry frowned. ‘You’re still angry about it.’
‘He was my father, Your Majesty.’
‘But you must have been very young.’
‘Old enough to remember his execution. Indeed, I wish I could forget it. The jeers, the shouts, and the foul names my father was called. He tried to speak but the mob drowned out his words. And then came the kneeling, the wait while the axe was raised and then the bl…,’ his voice broke and he willed himself to be strong, ‘the blood.’
Henry’s little eyes grew moist. He blinked and tears fell down his cheeks. ‘I had hoped you would have forgiven me.’
John watched in amazement as Henry’s massive body began to shudder with the violence of his sobs. John was unable to move, to offer comfort, torn between pleasure that the king should feel such remorse, and yet horrified that he, John Dudley, had made the king feel so. Someone brushed past him. The crying had roused Will Somers, who had been dozing in a corner of the room, and the loyal fool now took the king’s hand and pumped it up and down playfully, trying to raise a laugh. He turned a scowling countenance to John and mouthed a question. John shook his head in bewilderment and moved to the king’s other side, sinking to his knees, wincing as he felt his knee bones crack.
‘Your Majesty, think no more on it. I do forgive you,’ he lied. ‘All is forgiven.’ The little eyes opened and stared at him. John thought he could read gratitude in them. ‘Indeed, Your Majesty, there is nothing to forgive. As you said, it was not of your doing. You were persuaded to it by others.’
‘I was, I was.’ Henry’s hand clutched at John’s. With a loud sniff, the tears began to subside, and then ceased altogether. ‘But look how you weary me,’ Henry said, pushing John’s hand away.
‘Of course, Your Majesty,’ John scrambled to his feet. ‘It is late, I should let you get to your bed.’
John went to the door and called for the king’s servants. As they fussed around the stumbling mountain of flesh, John made his goodnights and hurried back to his rooms.
‘John?’ a sleep-heavy voice mumbled from the bed as he entered and shut the door behind him.
‘Yes, it’s me.’
Jane sat up, blinking as John lit a candle. ‘It must be late.’
‘It is,’ he said with a sigh.
‘Is something wrong?’
He sank onto the bed and fell back across her legs. ‘Christ’s Wounds, Jane, what a night
I’ve had. The king…’
‘What?’
‘He has such moods these days. There’s no knowing what he will do.’
‘Tell me,’ she insisted, her fingers expertly massaging his skull.
He closed his eyes, enjoying her touch. ‘I made him weep, Jane. He burst into tears right in front of me.’
Her nails dug into his skin. ‘What in Heaven did you say to him?’
‘Sheath your claws, vixen, it wasn’t my fault. He began talking about my father. Do you know, Henry actually expected me to have forgiven him for cutting off my father’s head?’
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘It’s true, I swear. And then that mood passed and he wanted to be rid of me.’
‘Oh, John, are you in disgrace?’
‘No, nothing like that,’ he assured her, sitting up and untying his jerkin. ‘I’m still his John, his good fellow, someone to while away the time with.’
‘Then I thank God for that,’ she said, sinking back into her pillow. ‘Though I wish He would take that old monster to his bosom sooner rather than later.’
‘Jane!’ John barked, grabbing her wrist. ‘Do not speak of the king in that way. I shall not tell you again.’
Jane shook her wrist free. She found her husband’s unquestioning respect and admiration for sovereignty irritating. She watched him as he undressed. ‘Anne Seymour was here earlier, snooping about. Whatever possessed Edward Seymour to marry that woman, I’ll never know.’
‘Aye, she’s a shrew alright.’
‘Still, there’s no danger of her cuckolding him like his first wife. After all, who would want her?’
‘Edward Seymour, obviously.’
‘He must have ice in his veins.’
‘Not ice. Ambition. And she is relentless, she drives him on.’
‘Like I drive you?’ Jane asked teasingly as John climbed into bed beside her.
‘You don’t drive me on, you hold me back.’
She pressed against him and rested her he
ad on his chest, matching her breathing to his. ‘Must we be friends with the Seymours, really, John? I do dislike them so.’
‘Nonsense, Edward’s a good fellow. And if we’re to rise further, Jane, he will be just the friend I need. As the prince’s uncle, Edward Seymour will be invaluable to him when he becomes king and, in turn, we will be invaluable to the king’s uncle, you see?’
‘I suppose so,’ Jane nodded unhappily. ‘I just wish his wife wasn’t such an old cow.’
4
Hunsdon Palace, Hertfordshire, August 1546
Robert’s greyhound insisted on poking its sleek head through the window, with the window’s leather roll bunched around its neck like a bizarre headdress. It stood on the toes of Mary Dudley, who had long since given up trying to hold the animal back. ‘We’re almost there, Rollo,’ she said, joining him at the window and wrinkling her face at the chill November air.
‘It’s a pity Rob can’t keep him,’ Jack, the eldest son in the Dudley family, said through a yawn. ‘He’s been pining for him ever since Rob left.’
‘I know, poor Rollo. Oh look, Jack, we’re here.’
‘Can you see Rob?’
‘Yes, yes, there he is,’ she cried, jumping down from the coach before it had even come to a stop.
Rollo was even faster than she. He bounded up to his master, nearly knocking him to the ground. Robert buried his face against the dog’s neck and squeezed the small body.
‘Don’t we get a hello?’ Jack joked, walking towards his brother with arms outstretched.
‘Course you do,’ Robert said, wrapping his arms around Jack’s waist. ‘Mary.’ He pulled her towards him and kissed her chill cheek. ‘You’re freezing. Come inside.’ He led them into the main hall where a large fire filled the room with heat. ‘I’ve had food set out for you. You are hungry, aren’t you?’
‘Famished,’ Mary admitted. ‘We left so early we didn’t have time to eat.’
‘Well, help yourself.’ Robert waved them to a table where small beer, bread and mutton were laid out.
Mary and Jack both tucked in. Rollo, who had been nudging Robert’s hand with his nose, whined.
Robert snatched up a thick slice of the mutton and fed it to him. ‘Has Mary been looking after you, old boy?’
‘Of course I have,’ Mary said. ‘But he misses you, Rob. Can’t you keep him here?’
‘I don’t know. I suppose I could ask.’
‘What’s it like here?’ Jack asked, gulping down some beer.
‘It’s fine.’
‘Just fine?’
‘I miss home,’ Robert confessed, ‘but there’s always something to do here and the other boys are good company.’
‘And the prince?’
Robert checked to make sure they were alone. ‘He’s a bit of a prig, truth to tell.’
‘He always was.’
‘Jack, hush,’ Mary scolded.
‘Well, he was, Mary.’
Robert continued. ‘He studies a lot, and expects us to as well. He always likes to win at whatever game we’re playing and makes such a fuss if we sometimes refuse and win ourselves.’
‘He is the prince, Rob.’
‘I know that, Jack, and I wouldn’t dare say anything, except to you.’
‘You didn’t say this to Father when he was here then?’
‘Lord no, he’d have thrashed me,’ Robert shuddered. ‘Jack, when he came down last week, Father said he had been banished from Court. Was that true?’
‘It’s true.’
‘I thought he was joking. What happened?’
‘It’s quite ridiculous really,’ Mary giggled. ‘He hit the Bishop of Winchester.’
‘Hit him!’
‘Struck him about the face,’ Jack nodded. ‘During a council meeting. I don’t know what Stephen Gardiner had said to him, but it got Father worked up and he hit him. The king banished him from Court.’
Mary stretched and opened her mouth in a wide, loud yawn, just as Henry Sidney walked in. Her face reddened.
‘Excuse me,’ Henry said, making to leave.
‘No, Henry, don’t go,’ Robert ordered, waving him over to the table. ‘This is my brother, Jack, and my sister, Mary.’
‘Pleased to meet you both.’
‘Oh, and this is Rollo,’ Robert said, bending down to kiss the dog between the eyes. ‘My dog that I’ve told you about.’
‘Oh yes, the fabulous Rollo,’ Henry said.
‘Fabulous?’ Mary raised an eyebrow.
‘Yes. Apparently, there has never been, nor ever will be, a dog quite like Rollo,’ Henry said with mock seriousness, making Mary giggle again.
Robert threw a chunk of bread at him. ‘Henry, try to amuse my sister without being vulgar, while I talk to my brother.’ Angling his body towards Jack, he asked in a low voice, ‘Is Father really all right?’
‘He’s fine, Rob, really,’ Jack assured him, dipping his bread in his ale. ‘The king banished him more as a gesture than anything else. From what Father said, the king had a hearty laugh when he heard about the slap. Said he wished he’d been there to see it.’
‘So, Father’s doing well?’
‘It seems so. He and Edward Seymour are very thick. Mother doesn’t like it, because it means she has to put up with Seymour’s wife, who is, to use Mother’s phrase, a Devil-whipped bitch. Father’s almost constantly with the king, so there’s really nothing to worry about. You just do what Father wants you to do here.’
‘Oh, I can do that with my eyes closed. The prince is a prig but he’s manageable enough.’
‘Yes, but you keep that kind of opinion to yourself, Rob, eh?’
‘Yes, all right.’ Robert sighed and slumped back in his chair. ‘Now, Henry, what do you think? Should I should ask if I can keep Rollo here?’
5
Bankside, London, August 1546
John Dudley pressed two pennies into the pit master’s hand, one for himself, one for Edward Seymour, and climbed the few steps into the enclosure.
‘Why we couldn’t go straight back to Court, I don’t know,’ Seymour said, leaning on the wooden barrier and gazing down into the ring of blood-stained sawdust.
‘It won’t hurt you to take a few hours rest,’ John said. ‘You’re looking very worn, Edward.’
‘Is it any wonder? Between the king and my wife...’
‘Tell me everything I missed. How are we doing?’
‘We’re doing very well. I think I’ve persuaded the king to change his Will.’
John’s mouth dropped open in astonishment. ‘You’re not serious?’
‘I’m perfectly serious. You see what you miss when you gallivant around the country?’
‘I haven’t been gallivanting, Edward, I was banished from the Court. How is Gardiner, by the way? Recovered?’
‘You only gave him a slap, John.’
‘Ah, but it was a very hard slap, Edward. The poor man was almost crying.’
‘Do you want to hear this or not?’
John grinned and nodded. ‘I’m listening.’
Seymour looked about him uneasily. ‘I’m not sure we should be having this conversation here.’
The cock-pit gallery was filling, and the owners of the cocks had brought them into the enclosure. A hubbub filled the air.
‘Nobody’s listening, Edward, they’re far too interested in the cocks.’
‘You can never be too sure.’
‘Edward,’ John snapped, ‘just tell me.’
Seymour nudged himself closer. ‘I’ve been dining with the king every day while you were away, trying to keep him amused. I know I’m not as good at that as you are, it’s been hard work. But I think he’s frightened.’
‘Of what?’
‘Of what will happen when he’s no longer here. He fears for the prince.’
A cheer erupted from the spectators as the cocks were set down to fight.
John leaned forward, his gloved hands gripping the barrier. ‘Not without reason.’
‘The Catholics are a particular concern to him.’
‘But the king’s a Catholic.’
‘He’s a king first. And he wants his son to enjoy the same royal privileges he has enjoyed since he married the Boleyn bitch. He’s worried that the Catholics will put the Pope back in power in England.’
‘They would certainly try,’ John agreed. ‘And so he’s changing his Will?’
‘Thinking about changing his will,’ Seymour corrected. ‘So that’s what I need you to do. Add your voice to mine, and together, we should be able to change it.’
‘Wait a moment, Edward, you talk of changing his Will, when I don’t even know what it contains. And now I think about it, how do you know?
Seymour shrugged. ‘Paget showed it to me.’
‘Sir William Paget, the king’s secretary?’ John’s voice rose in astonishment. ‘But he’s a Catholic.’
Seymour put a finger to his lips to quieten John. ‘A Catholic that will bend with the prevailing wind. He sees the way things are, John, and he’s anxious to side with us. He knows Gardiner is out of favour with the king. It was noted by all how short your banishment was.’
‘And Paget showed you the Will?’
‘No, he didn’t show me. It’s locked away. He told me of its contents.’
‘And they were?’
Seymour spoke close to John’s ear. ‘The Will appoints a Council of Regency to govern for the prince. Now, at the moment, it’s a mixture. Catholics and Protestants in almost equal measure.’
‘Am I on this council?’
‘Yes. As am I. Paget’s there, of course, and Wriothesley. In fact, all those you would expect.’
‘The Howards?’
‘Unfortunately, yes.’
John grimaced. ‘They are our biggest opponents, Edward.’
‘I agree. If we really mean to remove Catholic opposition in this land, we must first remove the Howards.’
One of the cocks drew blood and the spectators roared encouragement.
‘You sound as if you have a plan.’
‘No, John, no plans. Only a hope that the Howards will damage themselves.’
