by Amy Wolf
Before I could think more, we halted before the Banqueting House—the very one where Charles I had lost his head. I prayed that despite my company, the current Charles would hold onto his!
“You are a Catholic,” said Cromwell as we dismounted. Hyde reluctantly slashed my ropes with a glinting dagger.
“Actually—” I began.
“For the purpose of this visit,” said Cromwell, “you are a Papist come to plead for your people who are suffering greatly.”
“And who are you?” I asked, my voice laced with contempt. “Dissenter friends I’ve had to supper?”
“I represent a persecuted sect. Just like Her Majesty.”
“This plan is so wild,” I said, “it surpasses even Jeffries.”
“Enough,” Cromwell hissed, pushing me toward the palace. He must have been a gifted player, for his whole air altered as he addressed four guards.
“Begging your pardon, good sirs,” he said, the model of servitude, “we are naught but poor Dissenters seeking audience with our queen.” He pushed me forward. “This young man is a Papist and bears a shocking report of how Her Majesty’s brethren are treated up in the north. It is quite shameful and affects even great peers.”
“Hmph,” said one of the soldiers, placing both hands on his pike. “Think you to merely appear and be granted a royal audience? Such simpletons I have never—”
We did not hear the end, for Hyde lunged quickly, stabbing the man through the heart. Cromwell and Smith dispatched his friends with daggers, displaying an assassin’s skill that would have made Brutus proud. As their bodies fell to the pavement, we dragged them to a side alley, covering them with the refuse that degraded all of London.
With a knife at my own back, I entered the Banqueting Hall. My eyes were drawn to the ceiling where creatures were depicted while awaiting their doom. Cromwell, noting my interest, spat with contempt, “Rubens.”
I followed the once Lord Protector as his minions followed me. Cromwell marched through halls with such confidence it was clear he had once lived here. To his fortune and my detriment, we encountered no more guards: Charles’s recent arrival must have required their presence. Hesitating just slightly, Cromwell entered a suite of chambers which would not have been out of place during the reign of the Tudors.
Strangely, I found myself amongst women: both the painted and earthly kind. The latter were considered the beauties of the age, clad in such silken finery and sporting such ornate hairstyles that I openly gaped. There was one surrounded by others who earned much applause and laughter, for she wore the costume of Charles, including his wig and charcoaled moustache!
Cromwell just looked disgusted, but I felt the sensation to the bottom of my soul. This woman, I thought, performed her charade to amuse, while I adopted mine in order to be free. When I looked on her, what I saw was not an ally, but a mere pretender.
“Boy!”
Cromwell, seeing my distraction, shot me a warning glance, causing me to recover by bowing and clutching my crucifix. He repeated his false tale of persecution, inspiring in these women soft sighs and even tears. They were only too happy to take us deeper into the suite, where I saw the queen—Catherine of Braganza herself!—dining at table attended by yet more ladies. Luckily for me, a newly made “Catholic,” there were several priests around her. The chamber itself was hung with so much velvet that one knew in an instant it was fashioned for royal blood.
Catherine nodded as one of her ladies whispered in her ear.
“Very well, you may come forward,” she ordered, and the four of us did, kneeling before her table which stood on a great dais. I noted that Cromwell and his men bent their knees with great reluctance.
“You come with tales of our people’s woe,” Catherine said.
I started, realizing she spoke to me.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” I mumbled.
“The times are dire indeed,” she said, shaking her head. “Lord Clarendon’s Codes are oppressive, and my husband despises them, but in light of current feeling, what is he to do?”
Looking truly distressed, she saw my blank face, and said, “It may not have reached the north, but the Codes say that Catholics cannot travel more than five miles from our homes. We are forbidden to worship lest we be transported. We cannot attend school, nor even a university. Our taxes are doubled, and we may not serve in government, or as doctors or barristers. The fine for marrying a Catholic is one hundred pounds.”
I shook my head, feeling sorrow for Aventis and anyone of his faith.
“It is altogether disgusting,” I said.
It was then that Cromwell rose.
“Madam,” he said, “these laws oppress more than Catholics. They are for Dissenters as well.”
“Yes.” Catherine waved a hand.
“On the subject of Catholics,” said Cromwell, flashing a smile, “I happen to have in my possession a document of great interest.”
With a flair, he produced the papers I had stolen from poor Sir Richard. He handed them up to a priest, who in turn presented them to Her Majesty.
She sighed, then unfolded the papers and read. As she did so, her face became pale and her hands started to shake.
“Querido Deus!” she cried, rising so quickly that her ladies-in-waiting scattered. “Where did you obtain this?”
“From a friend,” Cromwell said smoothly. “As you see, it is a treaty. Not the false one pursued by Buckingham. The secret one—signed by your husband.”
“Has Charles gone mad?!”the queen cried. “Who could have convinced him to agree to such terms?”
“One he loves and esteems,” said Cromwell, “perhaps even more than Your Majesty.”
He bowed.
“Minette,” Catherine said, steadying herself on the dias.
“Just so,” he replied, “the king’s beloved sister. In truth, she surpasses our finest diplomat.”
“Oh não,” Catherine groaned, and it pained me to see her in such distress. “This treaty,” she said, “it must be destroyed!”
“That will attain nothing,” said Cromwell, “for there is another copy. No matter.” He smiled. “Since Charles’s female relations have such sway over him, we depend on you, dear Catherine, to counsel his abdication.”
“And your elevation!” I cried.
“Just so—” he started to say, but halted when we all heard a noise from the hall. This was succeeded by the sight of a massive body tumbling headfirst into the room. Based on size and garish dress, there could be no doubt who it was. Carnatus!
Despite his hatred of me, I was never so glad to see anyone in my life.
“Huzzah!” I yelled, as Jeffries and Aventis burst in, trailed by twenty soldiers. It would seem than unlike Cromwell, they were not familiar with Whitehall, and had stumbled into a nest of angry Life Guards!
At the welcome sight of my friends, a new boldness seized me, and I in turn seized my weapons while kicking Hyde to the floor. I ran full-tilt toward three guards, engaging them in swordplay which I trust would please Aventis! I thought to use my pistol, but it seemed vulgar in front of the queen, so I continued with my blade: thrusting it through one guard’s doublet, the second’s coat, and, I hesitate to report, the third’s red breeches. They fell in succession like a child’s wood soldiers, but a fourth—a captain by the looks of him—engaged me with his own sword which he used to free my two cuffs from the constraints of my sleeves. The blackguard!
He did not desist as he lunged for me, and I feared I would lose my shirt along my life until Aventis whirled and gave such strokes that the fellow fell dead on the spot. I watched Jeffries and Carnatus work in concert, dealing such punishing blows that the queen looked on in amazement as Cromwell cowered at her feet.
“Halt! Halt!” came the cry, as forty more guards swept in. Though the four of us faced them together, it was clear we could not prevail, and so we lowered our swords.
“Hold them!” cried an officer, and we were divested of weapons in a matter of moments. T
his captain seemed indignant. “How dare you engage my men before her Royal Majesty?!”
I exchanged a look with Jeffries. Was there an appropriate response? Unfortunately, Carnatus seemed ready to make one.
“Querida Catarina. Um momento.”
Even though I was hemmed in by guards, I managed to slap my forehead. How could I forget? Aventis!
“Bernardino,” said Catherine, now daring to unfreeze. I saw a cluster of guards scramble up to surround her.
“Your Majesty,” said Aventis, kneeling, “surely you know in your heart I would never act against you.”
“Sim,” said the queen, nodding. “Rise.”
He did, removing his hat.
“That treaty—” Aventis motioned to the papers she still held in her hand, “has the power to destroy your husband. If its contents are revealed, he will be siezed or killed.”
Before me, Cromwell and his cronies smiled. I fought the desire to strike them with my bare hands.
“Please,” said Aventis to the queen. “Give it to me and I will destroy it. Along with its twin in France.”
Catherine looked down at his face. The queen seemed to regard him as a dear, beloved, friend. Switching my gaze to Aventis, I saw in his eyes no longing or sorrow. Merely a deep regard.
“Very well,” said Catherine. “Ensure they are both burned.”
Aventis bowed low.
“Consider it done,” he said.
She folded the papers and handed them down to him.
“Thank God!” Carnatus muttered. “This damnable business is done.”
At the captain’s signal, the guards stepped back.
“Uh . . .” I began awkwardly.
“What is it, Megs?” Jeffries asked.
I inclined my head toward Cromwell and his two henchmen.
“Of course.” Now Jeffries addressed the queen. “Your Majesty, I fear it is me again.”
“I can see that,” she said tartly.
“I must inform you,” said Jeffries, “that this man is no common Roundhead. In fact, he is Richard Cromwell, son of the late Oliver.”
The queen visibly trembled.
“Such treachery,” she murmured. “Will it ever end from this family?”
“I would lay odds on—” said Carnatus, but Cromwell interrupted.
“My father was a great man!” he cried. “He desired rule by parliament and an end to the tainted Church. I am glad he did not live to witness your husband’s lechery!”
“Charles has his faults,” said Catherine, “but still, he is King of England. Your father was a usuper who brought us war and discord, not to mention misery.”
“It was for your own good!” Cromwell yelled. “To stem the Papist scourge, which even now creeps into this palace!” He cast an accusing finger at the priests on the dias.
“It is true,” Catherine said evenly, “that we follow two different faiths. Yet as both are oppressed, I should think you would join with us.”
“Never!” Cromwell cried. “Only we are the godly especially chosen by Him!”
“I fear it is useless,” said Jeffries, shaking his head. “He must be put to death.”
“Shall I summon the headsman?” Carnatus gave Catherine a wink.
The queen thought for a moment.
“Death?” she asked. “Like my husband’s father? And those who died in the war?” She stepped forward. “Richard Cromwell?”
“Yes,” he said unwillingly.
“It is my desire that you be granted a pardon. These fine soldiers will escort you out of our realm. You are not to return, upon pain of death.”
From Cromwell’s wide smile, one might have conjectured he’d just been granted her hand!
“Thank you, majesty, thank you!” he cried. “You are truly gracious.”
“But—” Jeffries began.
“Suficiente!” said the queen. “The events of this day have wearied me.” She brought a silk cloth to her face, then looked down at Aventis. “Do not fail me, count.”
The Duke
I begged, I pleaded, I actually thought of employing tears (though, as I regarded Carnatus, I quickly abandoned this thought).
“Please, Captain Jeffries, I said, “can we not secure a berth more refined than a dinghy? After all, we have just seen the queen.”
Jeffries tried not to laugh, though Carnatus, despite himself, chuckled.
“Megs, you shall get your wish,” said Jeffries. “On this voyage, we sail in style.”
I exhaled in relief, then thought of our rival travelers.
“The queen will provide Cromwell with similar fittings,” I said. “When, by rights, he should be chained to some oar.”
We stood before the Banqueting Hall, each member of our company astride an elegant horse. Each, that is, but me.
“Megs, climb aboard,” Jeffries said. “You will ride with me until we procure a beast.”
Not another dual ride as if I were a servant! That reminded me.
“Where is Gad?” I asked.
“At home,” said Carnatus, forgetting his vow not to speak to me. “I am punishing him for spending overmuch at Dover!”
“Speaking of which,” said Jeffries and we set off at a brisk pace. Once on the Dover Road, we spotted a fine gentleman who had the temerity—or stupidity—to be bereft of companions.
“On him, Megs!” said Aventis, giving me a wink. “You well know how it is done.”
Indeed I did. As Jeffries leaped off his mount, I approached this coxcomb alone.
“Hullo!” I cried, trying not to laugh at his hat’s profusion of feathers.
“What do you want?” he asked coldly, staring at my drawn pistol.
“Not a great deal,” I said. “I’m afraid I must borrow your horse.”
“Beg pardon?” he huffed. “You mean steal!”
“Call it what you will,” I said, “but I am in a great hurry. Your horse, if you please.”
His feathers ruffling, he reluctantly left his saddle.
“You’re nothing but a common footpad!” he cried.
“Oh no, sir, I am a highwayman. And since you are rude, I must ask for your purse.”
With great indignation, he threw it at my head.
“You could learn a great deal from us,” I told him as I switched mounts. “Perhaps you’ll have time to think during your tedious walk.”
I rode back to the others, where I gave Jeffries his horse.
“Well done!” Carnatus cried, forgetting his rule again. “How dare he call us footpads? You should have whipped him where he stood!”
I smiled as we began our ride north in earnest. Now that I was familiar with the way, I found I could relax. As we pounded down the road, passing travelers who thanks to our haste held onto their guineas, I spurred my new steed to ride alongside Aventis.
“Megs,” he said, “I cannot tell you how glad I am that we found you safe. We were all quite troubled.” He pointed at Carnatus. “Even him.”
“How did you know I had been taken?” I asked.
“The lad who delivered the note. For a shilling, he would have sworn against his own mother.”
I smiled. “Still, I must apologize for wandering off on my own.”
“No matter,” said Aventis. “The treaty is in our possession.”
He felt in his coat pocket, withdrew those cursed papers, then took out a match.
“Aventis,” I said, “before you destroy it, can you tell me what it says? I do not read French.”
“Of course,” he said. “But I must warn you—keep a firm grip on the reins, lest you fall off your horse!”
He proceeded to read, translating for me into English:
The king of England being convinced of the truth of the Roman Catholic religion is resolved to declare it, and to reconcile himself with the Church of Rome as soon as the state of his country's affairs permit . . . . But as there are unquiet spirits who mask their designs under the guise of religion, the king of England for the peace of his
kingdom, will avail himself of the assistance of the king of France, who, as he is quite anxious to contribute to a design glorious not only for the king of England, but for the whole of Catholic Christendom, promises to pay to the king of England the sum of two million tournois, the first half payable three months after the ratification of the treaty, the other half three months later. In addition, the king of France undertakes to provide, at his own expense, 6,000 troops for the execution of this design, if they should be required. The time for the declaration of Catholicism is left entirely to the discretion of the king of England.
“God’s wounds!” I shouted, “I’ll be damned if this is not dam’d stupidity!”
Aventis shook his head.
“It is not the smartest thing that Charles ever did.”
“‘Unquiet spirits’?” I asked. “Is he mad? To restore ENGLAND to the Catholic faith with Bloody Mary still fresh! And . . . and those Clarendon laws, the people detecting plots in their very soup? I must ask, my friend—is this man fit to rule?”
Aventis sighed as he fired his match, transforming those papers into a clump of ash.
“Understand, Megs,” he said, “that Charles has been, so to speak, heavily wrought upon.”
“His sister has that much influence?” I asked.
“And his old Catholic mother, who left this world last year.”
I had an amazing thought.
“Is Charles himself,” I asked, “an actual Catholic?”
Of course, it was absurd! The head of the Church of England? I let out a low groan.
“In his heart, I believe he is,” said Aventis. “He would convert readily to please the queen and himself.”
“An utter disaster,” I muttered. “I cannot imagine anything worse!”
Aventis waited for my mood to pass.
“Now, I am going to tell you something which, in terms of the future, is in fact far worse.”
“Dear God,” I moaned.
“Steel yourself. James, the king’s brother and heir to the throne, has secretly become a convert.”
