by Laura Dowers
‘I should go now,’ she said, getting to her feet and smoothing down her skirts. She looked down at Ned, whose cheeks were reddening, aware that his kiss had not been a success. ‘Why don’t you come to the Hall tonight? You’ll be support for me when I make a fool of myself.’
‘Yes, alright. I need to go home and change though.’
‘Yes, you must be smart before the earl. But be as quick as you can, Ned.’
Amy watched him as he hurried away, reflecting that he was the boy she supposed she would marry one day. Her heart sank a little at the prospect. Ned was really very sweet and she knew he cared deeply for her, but he fell so short of what she wanted. Oh, Amy, what do you want?
26
Stanfield Hall, Norfolk, Later that night
Amy tried to pull away. ‘I must go.’
‘Not yet,’ Robert said, tightening his hold on her.
‘It’s too soon,’ she protested feebly as he pressed kisses to her neck. ‘I only met you tonight.’
‘But, Amy, I could die tomorrow.’
‘Oh, don’t say that, I couldn’t bear it.’ How was it possible to feel so much for a boy she had only just met, she wondered?
Her fears for the evening had been quickly dispelled. The Earl of Warwick had been courteous and warm, not at all as she had expected. He had complimented her father on his pretty daughter and praised his house. And then his handsome sons had drawn her into conversation, and it had been clever and amusing, so unlike the conversations she had with her family, with Ned.
Ned. How she wished she had not asked him to come. He had arrived late and behaved rudely, taking an instant dislike to Ambrose and Robert, though they had done nothing to deserve it. No, it was just Ned being ...well, Ned. He had stuck his fingers in dishes and sucked them clean; he had told vulgar jokes and been the only one to laugh at them. Amy wondered how she could ever have thought she could marry him.
She compared Ned to Robert, and Ned came out wanting. Ned was fair, lumpy and plain; Robert was dark, slim-limbed and handsome. Ned was dull and slow-witted; Robert was intelligent and quick.
So it was that midnight found them together in a dark corner of a stairwell, with Amy wondering how she dared to make an assignation with a stranger, and Robert hardly able to believe his luck.
‘It’s true, I might die,’ Robert realised, putting a dampener on his ardour. ‘Father will offer pardons, but he doesn’t believe Kett will surrender.’ He slumped against the wall, still holding her hand.
‘Are you frightened?’ she asked.
‘A bit. I’ve never been in battle before.’
‘But you know how to fight?’
‘Every man knows how to fight. It’s what we’re brought up to do. I just hope I don’t disgrace my father.’
‘You won’t. I know you won’t.’
He smiled then and pulled her towards him. ‘Would you miss me? If I died?’
‘I think I would die myself.’
He kissed her then, hard, and she pressed her body against his. She would have given herself to him, if he had asked. But instead he said ‘I must get to bed. I wish I could stay with you, Amy, but I dare not be tired for tomorrow.’
‘And I would not have you so,’ she declared. ‘Not if it puts you in danger.’
‘Shall I see you in the morning? Will you see me off?’
‘Oh, I will, I will. And Robert, my sweet Robert, you must come back to me. I couldn’t bear it if you went back to London and never thought of me again.’
He gently kissed her forehead. ‘I’ll come back,’ he promised.
27
Norfolk, July 1549
The City of Norwich fell.
Robert Kett refused the offer of pardons and he and his men defended the city doggedly, but John Dudley and his army broke through their defences. Once inside the walls of the city, they encountered fierce resistance and it took two days and a night of ferocious fighting until the rebels were subdued.
There was no time to enjoy the victory. Examples had to be made of the men who had rebelled against their king. Robert saw a side of his father he had never seen before as a gallows was hastily erected in the market-place and he had watched as forty-nine of the rebels were hanged, swallowing down vomit as their legs kicked in the air. At Norwich, Robert felt he had left his childhood behind.
Robert galloped across the fields, glad to be away from the camp and heading for Stanfield Hall. He pulled his horse up abruptly as he neared a large oak, as he saw Amy sitting beneath it.
She looked up, shading her eyes with her hand. ‘Robert,’ she cried, jumping up.
Without a word, he dismounted, letting the reins trail on the ground. He embraced her, taking her breath away with his kiss.
‘Is it over?’ she asked when he released her.
He nodded, his face grim. ‘It’s done. The rebels are defeated.’
Her face fell. ‘You’re leaving, then.’
‘In an hour or so.’
‘You kept your promise to come back to me though.’
‘I always keep my promises.’
She stepped away from him, tears falling unchecked. ‘I love you.’
‘Amy -’
‘No, don’t tell me I don’t. I know what I feel. I do love you. Won’t you say it back? Couldn’t you even pretend that you loved me, just a little?’
‘I don’t need to pretend. But I am going home, to London. I can’t change that, Amy.’
‘But would you marry me, if you could?’
He didn’t hesitate. ‘If I could, yes, of course.’
‘You’re already betrothed?’
‘No.’
‘Then why can’t –’
‘Amy, my father is an earl. Your father is only... ‘ he searched for a word that would not be too insulting, ‘a gentleman. I’m expected to marry someone of my own station.’
‘Am I so far beneath you?’ she whimpered.
In truth she was; she had little education, she could not read or write, nor ride nor sing. She lacked the gloss of sophistication that he was used to at Court. She was in every way inferior, and yet he wanted her.
‘I can ask my father about you,’ he offered.
‘You will?’ she asked, her reddened eyes widening in hope.
‘I will,’ he promised.
28
Ely Place, London, September 1549
John rubbed at his temples, trying to smooth away the pain. A day spent arguing in the council chamber had left him tired and with a pounding head, so he had returned home, hoping to rest. But there was more work when he arrived home; letters from courtiers pressing their suits, others offering their services in the hope of some reward and, much to his annoyance, letters from the Protector’s secretaries, with more unnecessary instructions for him.
He reached for the wine his servant had left out for him. As the liquid trickled down his throat, he heard footsteps just outside his door. They didn’t pass on but returned and repeated their measure. He listened for a moment, the noise grating on his fragile nerves.
‘Christ’s Blood,’ he roared, wincing as the shout jarred inside his skull, ‘whoever that is, either go away or come in.’
The pacing stopped and a moment later, the door opened with a squeal. Robert’s head appeared in the opening. ‘It’s only me, Father.’
‘What do you want?’
Robert hesitated. ‘It’s nothing. It can wait.’
‘You’ve already disturbed me. You may as well come in and tell me what you want.’
Robert stepped inside. ‘Well, I’m not sure you’re will approve, Father, but I –’ he hesitated as the frown on John’s forehead deepened, ‘I have asked Amy Robsart to marry me and I ask your permission.’
John stared at him, taken aback. ‘Who the devil is Amy - ?’ he began. ‘Wait. You don’t mean Sir John Robsart’s daughter? From Norfolk?’
‘Yes, Father, her.’
‘You’ve got her with child?’
‘No, Father, I
have not,’ Robert cried indignantly.
‘Then why do you want to throw yourself away on a squire’s daughter?’ John demanded. ‘And anyway, what makes you think you can choose a wife for yourself? Your mother and I will choose who you are to marry, as we did for your brothers and sisters.’
Robert pursed his lips and nodded his head understandingly. ‘I see. The answer’s No, then?’
John’s eyes widened. Must he suffer a thousand petty tyrannies by Edward Seymour at the Court only to come home and endure insolence from his son? He jumped up from his chair and charged around the desk. His hand whipped across Robert’s face.
‘You dare talk to me like that again, boy, and I’ll have you beaten for an hour. You understand me?’
Robert’s eyes were watering from the blow. He turned his face away. ‘Yes.’
‘Yes, what?’
‘Yes, Father.’
John returned to his chair, his hand stinging. ‘What has this girl to recommend her, other than a pretty face?’
Robert swallowed, hoping his voice wouldn’t quaver. ‘She is an heiress, Father. She will inherit substantial lands in Norfolk. And I did think that as you have no lands in Norfolk at the moment, they might be of some use to you.’
John slowly rubbed his chin as he considered Robert’s words. ‘Well, you are right. I don’t have any influence in that county. And the girl. I suppose you think you’re in love with her?’
Robert nodded, his eyes still on the floor.
‘Well,’ John said, his voice losing some of its fury, ‘as it happens I don’t have any marriage plans for you, and, as you say, there would be advantages to the match. I’ll write to Sir John in the morning.’
‘You mean I can marry Amy?’ Robert said, finally looking up.
‘Yes, you can marry her,’ John said, trying to avoid looking at his son’s flaming cheek.
‘Thank you. I apologise for my rudeness, Father.’
John gave a tight nod, dismissing him. As the door closed behind Robert, John slammed his hand down on the desk in anger at himself. Never before had he lost his temper with a child of his. It was his business at the Court, he knew, that was fraying his nerves, the behaviour of the Protector that was causing his headaches. He couldn’t go on like this, taking his frustrations out on his family. Something would have to be done, and soon.
29
Ely Place, London, October 1549
‘Really, John,’ William Herbert made an attempt at a laugh, ‘why all the secrecy?’
John had just ushered him into his study and was now checking the corridor to make sure there was no one lurking. He closed the door and turned to William.
‘I’m sorry to involve you in this, William, but I need friends about me now.’
‘Why, John, whatever’s the matter?’ William touched his arm in concern.
John barely noticed and strode past him. ‘I’ve had enough. I can’t allow this to go on.’
‘Can’t allow what? John, talk sense.’
John stood at the window and looked out across the garden. ‘The Protector has to be brought down, William. He’s gone too far. I put down a rebellion and how does he reward me? With scorn and indifference. And he mocks me. Lands that I had promised to a man who had greatly helped me, he deliberately gave to others. He made me look like a fool and a liar and for nothing but spite.’
‘The Protector is acting unreasonably, I agree, John and not just with you,’ William said. ‘But he is the king’s uncle. His position is secure.’
John shook his head. ‘No, not as secure as you might think. He’s made a lot of enemies at Court, not just me, and even the people have turned against him since he sent his brother to the scaffold. Even Paget, who as you know, has been his ally since before the death of King Henry, has been complaining about him and begging him to listen to the council. I promise you, William, the Protector is standing on dangerous ground.’
‘Well, you’ll have my support, but how can it be done?’
‘We’ll have to be careful. We can’t afford for it to look as if we’re just trying to get rid of him to put ourselves in power. And in truth, that’s not what this is about. Seymour will ruin this country if we don’t pull him down. I make no bones about it, William. This comes from me and men can either follow me or not. Now, Seymour’s taken himself and the king to Hampton Court. He’s demanding the council convene there. I shall not go. If he has any sense left in his head, he will realise what that means. Instead, I shall write to the other councillors, telling them what I intend, and if they’re with me, they can meet here at Ely Place. We’ll then send word to the Protector that he no longer has the backing of the council and he should relinquish his post.’
‘And if he doesn’t?’
‘Then we’ll have to remove him forcibly. I don’t want to do it like that, but if it’s the only way....’ John shrugged.
‘And then what?’
‘Then the council rules as one, as King Henry originally intended.’
‘You seem to have it all planned out, John.’
John gave a mirthless laugh. ‘William, it’s the only way I work.’
30
Ely Place, London, October 1549
Robert and Ambrose were up on the Minstrel’s Gallery, watching as men and their masters entered the Great Hall.
‘How many are there, do you think?’ Robert asked.
‘About fifty down there,’ Ambrose replied, ‘maybe three hundred outside.’
‘That many?’ Robert was impressed. ‘And all at Father’s request.’
‘There you two are.’ Their mother, Jane, entered, a little out of breath from the stairs. ‘What are you doing up here?’
‘Just watching,’ Ambrose said, pointing at the hall below.
Jane joined them at the rail, standing between her sons. ‘I hope your father knows what he’s doing.’
‘Of course he does,’ Ambrose said, putting his arm around her shoulder. ‘Just look at the support he has.’
She shook her head. ‘It’s dangerous, what they’re planning.’
‘You mustn’t worry, Mother,’ Robert said carelessly.
‘Oh, it’s all very well for you to say that, you haven’t heard the latest news.’
‘What news?’ he asked.
A strained look came into her face. ‘The Protector has taken the king to Hampton Court and issued a Proclamation ordering the councillors to bring their men to defend the king against your father. He’s making out that your father is threatening the king’s life.’
‘But that’s a lie,’ Robert cried. ‘Father would never do that.’
‘I know that and so do you, but the people may not.’ She pointed down at the men milling about below. ‘Your father wants them to march on Hampton Court and remove the Protector by force.’ There were tears in her eyes as she spoke and Ambrose mouthed at Robert to keep quiet.
All three turned as the floorboards behind them creaked. John appeared at the top of the stairs. He took one look at his wife. ‘Enough of that, Jane,’ he said sternly. ‘There’s no call for tears. It seems we’re not marching anywhere.’
‘Why not?’ she asked, wiping her cheeks.
‘Some of the aldermen down there agree to muster men to defend London, but not to remove the Protector. Without their support, we’re going nowhere.’
‘Then this could all be for nothing,’ Jane burst out, ‘and the Protector will have you arrested and sent to the Tower.’
John didn’t look at her. ‘We’ll see,’ he said quietly, moving to the rail and studying the scene below. A dog, brought by one of the councillors, barked at one of the household dogs and began to strain at its leash. Angry shouts and strained laughter resounded around the hall.
John started. A man wearing the Protector’s livery had just entered the Hall. John called down to one of his men below to bring the man up to him. He waited, a cold chill running through him as his mind ran through the possibilities of what message the man had come to del
iver. An order to be taken to the Tower perhaps, as Jane feared?
‘My lord,’ the man greeted John with a bow of his head.
‘You have a message from the Protector?’
‘Yes, my lord.’ The messenger delved into a leather bag slung over his shoulder and pulled out a letter. He handed it to John.
John snatched it from him. He snapped open the seal and read quickly. ‘The damned fool,’ he laughed and brushed past the messenger. He ran out of the Gallery, his footsteps banging on the wooden stairs and reappeared in the Hall below.
‘Listen to me,’ he shouted and the room fell instantly silent. ‘You good men of London, who are mindful of your duty and loyal to our King. Not fifteen minutes ago, you told me that you were not prepared to march against the Protector but only to defend this city should he attack it. Well, I have just received a letter from him and I feel sure that you will change your minds when you hear what he writes.’ He paused, making sure he had their complete attention. ‘He tells me that if we threaten and intend to kill him, then he will ensure that the king dies first.’ His audience gasped as one. The Protector would hold the king hostage! ‘I tell you, I and my fellow councillors never intended the Protector’s death. We merely wanted him removed from office. He has claimed I threaten the king. That was and has never been my intention. This letter is proof that it is he who threatens the life of our beloved sovereign. So now I ask you again. Will you help me remove this pernicious man?’
This was greeted by a loud shout of Aye and Robert heard his mother breathe a sigh of relief.
She turned her head to look at him and shook her head in incredulity. ‘Your father, Rob, has the luck of the devil.’
31
The Tower, London, October 1549
John glanced down at the floor to a chunk of bread that had fallen from the table. ‘You haven’t eaten,’ he said.
