The First Horseman: Number 1 in Series (Thomas Treviot)

by D. K. Wilson

  ‘Very well, but, in God’s name, let’s find a fire first.’

  We passed through several chambers and eventually chanced upon a small unoccupied annexe close to the main guard room where a pile of logs smouldered unenthusiastically in the grate. Augustine crouched down and made a great show of stoking the fire and blowing on the embers.

  ‘So,’ I prompted, ‘Robert’s conversation with Donne.’

  ‘You’d better ask Donne,’ Augustine muttered, staring at the tiny flames twining reluctantly round the wood.

  ‘Donne is conveniently hidden deep in the West Country,’ I said.

  He shrugged. ‘Anyway, who’s to say that whatever they talked about has any bearing on Robert’s death?’

  I grabbed the hood of Augustine’s cloak and hauled him to his feet. Turning him around, I thrust my face close to his. ‘The only thing that convinces me that it does have a bearing is your reluctance to admit it.’

  He shook his head and pushed me away.

  ‘Very well,’ I said. ‘Let me tell you what I think happened. Donne told Robert who was behind Tyndale’s persecution. Robert persuaded the monk to pass the information on to Cromwell, who, for some reason, declined to make full use of it. Robert believed he should have been more persuasive. That was why he blamed himself for Tyndale’s eventual fate.’

  ‘Truth is never that simple, Thomas.’ Augustine drew his cloak more tightly around him. ‘I must be about My Lord’s business. The only help I can offer you is to repeat the warning I gave you weeks ago: you are sailing in tempestuous seas; return to harbour while you still can. Leave politics to those who understand it.’ He grasped my hand in a brief, tight handshake, then turned and left the room.

  I remained there for several minutes, nursing feelings of frustration, anger and despair. Somewhere among all the events and words I had encountered over the last few weeks there was a vital secret, like a vein of gold encased in obscuring layers of centuries-old rock. Robert had known that secret. Cromwell had ardently pursued it. Augustine had been a party to it or had guessed it. And, try as I might, it eluded me. I left to make my way back to Lord Cromwell’s quarters. As I approached the antechamber a young page in plain blue livery stepped into my path.

  ‘Master Thomas Treviot?’ the boy enquired.

  I nodded.

  ‘My master would like to meet you and desires me to bring you to him. He would be honoured if you would join him for dinner.’

  ‘And who is your master?’ I asked.

  ‘Sir Harry Seagrave,’ he replied.

  Chapter 35

  I hesitated. The Seagraves had no reason to wish me well but surely they would not attempt any mischief here, in the king’s palace.

  The messenger had obviously been told to anticipate reluctance on my part, for he now added, ‘Sir Harry instructs me to tell you that he wishes only to extend to you the hand of friendship.’

  With that assurance, I allowed myself to be led to the courtier’s chamber.

  It was a smallish room overlooking an internal courtyard, its furnishings simple but of a good quality. Two men were seated by the fire but rose as I entered. The elder was a grey-haired man of about fifty, clad in sombre black but with a doublet chastely embroidered in gold. He stepped forward, smiling and holding out a hand.

  ‘Master Treviot, I am delighted and much relieved that you have accepted my invitation. I had hoped to make your acquaintance earlier but was informed that you were overseas.’

  ‘Yes, I was in the Netherlands, on business for Lord Cromwell.’

  ‘So I understand. You are, indeed, fortunate to enjoy His Lordship’s patronage.’

  I listened carefully to see if there was an edge of sarcasm in the speaker’s voice but could detect none.

  Sir Harry continued, ‘May I introduce my son, my only son, Hugh.’

  Young Seagrave was something of a contrast to his father. He was, I estimated, about eighteen or nineteen years of age, tall, athletic of build and bonneted with the same straw-stalk hair as his brother. His court clothes – powder blue, heavily embroidered doublet over blue trunk hose slashed with yellow – suggested exuberance bordering on questionable taste.

  ‘Good day to you, Master Treviot.’ Hugh Seagrave’s smile was not exactly enthusiastic. He turned to his father. ‘I’ll have the servants fetch dinner.’ He left the room.

  Sir Harry motioned me to a seat. ‘Pray forgive the boy’s manners, Master Treviot,’ he said. ‘He and Nathaniel were very close.’

  ‘And he blames me for his brother’s death?’

  ‘Things appear very simple to the young. ’Tis only with the passing of the years that we can see their complexity. Do you not agree?’

  ‘I think I’m beginning to understand that things are seldom what they seem,’ I said. ‘For example, your page intimated that your invitation was a gesture of friendship. Would I be altogether wise to accept that assurance?’

  Seagrave gave the slightest of smiles. ‘I doubt whether I would in your position. That means that I must try all the harder to convince you. My reasons for wanting to talk with you are not entirely altruistic.’ He sat back in his padded chair and closed his eyes. ’Tis seven months and eleven days since they dragged Nathaniel’s body from the river. Fathers should never have to bury their sons – ’tis against nature. I pray you never have that doleful duty, Master Treviot.’

  ‘I am sincerely sorry for your loss,’ I said, ‘but Nathaniel’s death was none of my doing.’

  He waved a hand, as though brushing away a fly. ‘What’s done is done. Yet my grief, my family’s grief, would be easier if we knew why it was done. Nathaniel set out one fine spring evening for an assignation with some woman or other – as young men do. Then, he simply disappeared. We had no news of him’ – Seagrave dabbed his eyes with a kerchief – ‘’til some boatmen… found him five hundred yards below the bridge. Why, Master Treviot, why? Was he so great a sinner that he deserved to appear before God unshriven?’ He stared at me appealingly with red-rimmed eyes. ‘He sometimes fell in with bad company. That we know. Possibly I had indulged him too much. Perhaps if I had kept him on a tighter rein… Master Treviot, can you help us to understand? We don’t want to know who killed our son. We don’t seek revenge. We just want to understand.’

  At this point servants bearing silver dishes of food from the palace kitchen appeared and set them out on Seagrave’s table. As an attendant on the king, Sir Harry enjoyed bouge of court, the provision of all his meals. Hugh Seagrave rejoined us as we sat to table.

  ‘Master Treviot was about to tell us what he knows of Nathaniel’s death,’ Sir Harry explained to his son.

  ‘In truth it is very little,’ I said. ‘I met your son only once… at a party.’

  ‘In a Southwark bordel,’ Hugh sneered.

  ‘Yes. He had drunk more than was wise. Probably I had, too. If our wits had not been befuddled, we wouldn’t have fallen into an argument. It was foolish but it was no more than a brief flare-up. Friends separated us.’ I shrugged. ‘That’s all there was to it. I never saw Nathaniel again.’

  ‘We have been told that you were defending a foul-mouthed, treason-spouting harlot,’ Hugh said, glaring across the table.

  ‘If you are so well informed you have no need of my testimony.’ I tried to remain calm.

  Sir Harry was quick to intervene. ‘We have, of course, made enquiries elsewhere. There are different accounts of what passed that evening. We are merely trying to tease out the truth.’

  ‘And I have no desire to conceal or distort it,’ I said. ‘Certainly there was a woman involved and certainly, in the heat of the moment, she made statements that were… ill-advised. We all know that women’s tongues are apt to get the better of them. A wise man makes allowance for such foolishness. Sadly, on that evening, wisdom had temporarily deserted your son. He reacted violently. His discourtesy annoyed me.’

  ‘And you threatened to kill him!’ Hugh shouted.

  His father’s response was
equally abrupt. ‘Guard your tongue, sir! Master Treviot is our guest.’

  ‘I take no offence, Sir Harry,’ I responded. ‘Master Hugh has every right to be angry. In truth, I cannot recall what I said in the heat of the moment but I solemnly swear that I had no part in what happened afterwards. I only learned about it days later.’

  ‘Is it true,’ my host asked, ‘that you subsequently took the woman in question under your own roof?’

  I nodded. ‘She had been seriously wounded. She needed care. I felt in some part responsible for her misfortune.’

  ‘And the “care” you offered – did it include revenging her injury?’

  ‘On my oath, Sir Harry, such a thought never occurred to me,’ I said.

  Hugh muttered something I did not hear but his father said, ‘You are an honourable man, Master Treviot. I accept your assurances.’

  With a feeling of considerable relief, I thanked him and added, ‘I would not have you think that I know nothing of what you feel. A very dear friend of mine was brutally murdered recently. My first reaction was to obtain justice for him but now I am coming to realise that retribution is like a briar. If it is not stopped, it spreads rapidly and takes root over and again.’

  Sir Harry sighed deeply. ‘You are right. Sometimes I feel that nursing grief is driving me to an early grave. Hugh, the time has come to call a halt. We have learned everything we can. Prayer is now all we can offer for Nathaniel. Let that be sufficient.’

  The conversation moved on to pleasanter topics. It seemed that a weight had, indeed, been lifted from the older man’s shoulders and he had a fund of interesting stories to tell about life at court.

  ‘Is life very different here with the new queen?’ I asked.

  Father and son exchanged glances before Sir Harry replied cautiously, ‘Queen Jane’s greatest advantage is that she is not Queen Anne. She is quiet and submissive. No one could ever have described her predecessor as possessing those qualities. Anne had a mind of her own and did not hesitate to express it – even to the king. Life around the court was never dull in her day. She was lively and sometimes indiscreet.’

  Hugh sniggered. ‘You should have heard what she said about her husband’s performance in —’

  ‘Hugh! Enough!’ Sir Harry struck the table with his palm.

  ‘Did you like Queen Anne, Hugh?’ I asked.

  ‘Well enough but her family were insufferable, especially her brother, George Boleyn.’

  ‘What was wrong with him?’

  ‘Always surrounded by preachers and trying to ram his New Learning down other people’s throats.’

  ‘Wasn’t the queen of the same persuasion?’

  ‘Oh, aye, she was always getting her companions to read holy books. But all that was, of course, in her own private chambers. On the king’s side we saw little of it.’

  ‘Yet, despite her piety, she was committing adultery with other men, including her own brother,’ I suggested.

  Hugh laughed. ‘If you believe that —’

  Once again his father intervened. ‘Master Treviot doesn’t want to hear all our court gossip. I have an idea: why don’t you take our guest for a ride in the park? His Majesty is hunting this afternoon. You will be able to watch.’

  ‘That’s very kind, Sir Harry,’ I said, ‘but I have to wait upon Lord Cromwell’s pleasure.’

  ‘That won’t be a problem. I’ll have a man in Cromwell’s chambers. He will find you as soon as My Lord summons you.’

  ‘Cromwell won’t be back in his office for some time,’ Hugh said. ‘His Majesty sent for him to the hunting field. I saw him leave. I think the king wants him to be present for informal talks with his “special guest”.’ His lips curled in a sneer.

  ‘You mean Aske?’

  ‘Who else? We all have to dance attendance on the traitor this Christmas. By the mass, it grates with me!’

  I needed little persuading. It was important that I should buttress my reconciliation with the Seagraves. Added to that was the fact that the fire and a large dinner were making me drowsy, so the prospect of fresh air out in the deer park was appealing. Then there was also the intriguing possibility of a closer look at the man who had raised half the kingdom in revolt. I thanked Sir Harry for his hospitality and accompanied Hugh to the stables, where I had Golding saddled. Then, with my companion, I rode away from the bustle and noise of the palace.

  For half a mile or so we jogged along beside the river. It was a bright, crisp, clear afternoon, the air so sharp that it made my throat tingle. Golding was also enjoying the outing. His ears twitched and he looked around him in apparent curiosity. Since Hugh was obviously less inhibited than his father about sharing court gossip, this seemed a good opportunity to discover more about the workings and personnel of the royal household.

  ‘Have the Seagraves been longtime attenders on His Majesty?’ I asked.

  The young man was happy to boast. ‘My father has been at court as long as I remember – some fifteen years, or so. He is a great favourite with the king… especially at the gaming table. ’Tis only a matter of time before he is raised to the Council.’

  ‘Even so?’

  ‘Oh yes. He is very close to the Duke of Norfolk, who relies on him for news when he is away on campaign.’

  ‘That must have been very valuable to His Grace in the last few weeks,’ I suggested. ‘I gather he has had a difficult task facing the large rebel host with only a much smaller armed force. Tell me, how much truth is there in the rumour that the duke has sympathy with the Pilgrimage of Grace?’

  Hugh bristled. ‘That’s a calumny put about by the Cromwell crowd. You had best not give ear to it, Master Treviot. It springs from jealousy.’

  ‘Jealousy?’

  ‘Oh yes. The jealousy of a Putney brewer’s son for the first lord of the realm.’ The thin ice of Hugh’s discretion was melting rapidly.

  ‘Cromwell’s strange and swift rise must be resented by the king’s traditional councillors,’ I mused. ‘How do you think it can be explained?’

  Hugh scoffed. ‘That’s easy. He promises to give His Majesty whatever His Majesty wants.’

  ‘I thought that was what all royal councillors did, but, then, I know little of politics.’

  Hugh took obvious pleasure in enlightening me. ‘It isn’t always possible. For example, when His Majesty sent the duke north to meet the rebels, he demanded a military victory. His Grace had hell’s own job explaining that he would have to negotiate in order to get the traitors to disperse. The king was furious for two or three days. We all kept out of the way as much as possible. Eventually His Majesty realised that My Lord Norfolk was right.’

  ‘I see. A councillor’s job is obviously not an easy one.’

  ‘Not with this king. The old cardinal discovered that right enough.’

  ‘Wolsey?’

  ‘Yes. Remember how powerful he was? Cock of the roost for a dozen years or more. And all by giving the king what he wanted – new ships, more taxes, military victories and so on. Then the king said he wanted rid of his wife. Wolsey couldn’t arrange it, so farewell cardinal.’

  ‘Still, Cromwell seems to be doing very well at the moment. There must be thousands pouring into the treasury from the confiscated abbeys.’

  ‘And when that source dries up and still the king wants more, what then? Master Cromwell… Oh sorry, I should say My Lord Cromwell.’ He sneered. ‘He may look all powerful at the moment but eventually he will overreach himself. Then the king will see the wisdom of putting his faith in the great nobles and not in upstarts. Take my advice, Master Treviot, don’t get too close to Cromwell.’

  By this time we had turned away from the river and were riding deeper into the thickening woodland. We could hear the cries of hounds and the shouts of beaters away to our left. Rounding a bend in the track, we came to the edge of a large clearing. At a signal from Hugh I reined in Golding and looked across the open ground. It was ringed by royal guards. Opposite us was an enclosure marked out by
flags. King Henry was seated within it, with Robert Aske at his right side, Cromwell at his left and a handful of other favoured royal companions.

  I was puzzled at the sight. ‘Does the king not hunt today?’ I asked.

  ‘Not this last year,’ Seagrave replied, in a confidential whisper, enjoying airing his superior knowledge. ‘He had a bad tiltyard accident – fell from his horse and the beast rolled over him. For several hours his physicians feared the worst.’

  ‘I heard nothing of this,’ I said.

  ‘It was kept very quiet. He recovered… after a fashion.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘Simply that he is not the man he was. And the court is not the court it was. Few dances and maskings now. The king is troubled in his legs and moves about with difficulty. And he has had to give up his love of hunting. It irks him sore and when the king is irked… well, let us just say he becomes difficult to serve.’