The Chalice

by Nancy Bilyeau

  “I thank the Virgin that you at least are safe,” she whispered before letting me go. And then, louder, “I will always be grateful to you for what you’ve accomplished tonight, Norfolk.”

  The duke made a stiff bow. So this was why he’d extracted me from the wagon, not for belief in my innocence or to turn me over to Gardiner for vengeance but to gain favor with the princess.

  The Lady Mary looked at me expectantly and then at the bishop by her side. My stomach clenching, I took two steps over to stand directly before Gardiner. I knelt and then bowed my head.

  From under lowered lashes, I saw the hand extend. What I had done thus far was not enough. The bishop was determined to wring every last form of obeisance from me. To obey readily and never contradict your superior—those were core principles taught at Dartford. I must perform them.

  I kissed Gardiner’s ring, a golden one set with amethyst. My lips grazed that smooth white hand, and I forced myself not to shudder.

  Very slowly, the bishop withdrew his hand and I rose to my feet.

  “Benedictite, Sister Joanna,” he said in a mild voice.

  “Dominus,” I answered automatically.

  “My most faithful bishop is recalled to England after three long years,” the Lady Mary said with a tremulous smile.

  “You honor me with your trust and favor,” Gardiner said.

  Fingering her crucifix, she declared, “You are a great counselor of the realm and purger of the faith.”

  The words of Orobas from two nights previous echoed in my mind: The Lady Mary wears a crown, she walks with a cardinal and a bishop. Would Gardiner help Mary rule?

  Aloud, I said, “My lady, I believed you to be at Hunsdon House, far away in the country.”

  “Cromwell said it was best I return to London,” she said. “The Lord Privy Seal has me watched more closely than ever.” She squinted into the farthest corner of the room as if searching there for spies.

  “Your privacy is assured in this room,” Bishop Gardiner said soothingly. “There is no danger for you in Winchester House. Norfolk and I are the king’s most loyal servants.”

  Gardiner, a most loyal subject? When he had forced me to search my priory for a mysterious relic that could have halted the king’s Reformation? With deep frustration, I accepted that I’d never be able to penetrate the depths of the bishop’s deceptions and discover whom he really served: the king, the Lady Mary, the pope, or simply himself.

  Lady Mary said, “I do not know why Cromwell wanted me close to court now—he gave no reason and I know better than to question him.”

  “It must be the arrests tonight,” Norfolk said, pacing the room. “If there was any question of upset, of citizens rising in rebellion, Cromwell wanted you within reach, my lady. Not in the country, where he fears you could rally the discontented.”

  Bishop Gardiner asked, “Did you see any signs of such discontent, Thomas?”

  The duke shook his head. “London is loyal to the king. They would never take up arms against him. Courtenay and Pole have no popular support.”

  I burst out angrily, “There was no rebellion planned. Those men are loyal.” I turned to Norfolk. “What evidence could Sir Godfrey Pole possibly give Cromwell? Dudley said his information was freely given. Is that true?”

  Norfolk stopped his pacing to snort. “Godfrey was taken to the Tower and questioned over and over, by men who are skilled in such matters, and he broke. Then he tried to take his own life. I’m told he stabbed himself but the knife was too blunt to do the fool serious damage.”

  I made the sign of the cross as did the Lady Mary, fresh tears swelling in her eyes.

  Bishop Gardiner patted the princess’s arm protectively and said, “We need not press into the sad details of this matter.”

  But press on I did. “Forgive me, Lady Mary, but I still don’t believe this.” I pretended not to see the bishop’s icy stare. “I would swear on my life that Henry Courtenay never conspired against the king. I cannot imagine that Baron Montagu or Sir Edward Neville did either.”

  Dabbing her eyes, the Lady Mary said, “Well, Norfolk? What are the grounds for arrest?”

  “I’ve just heard rumors—no one knows but Cromwell and the king,” Norfolk said, his face darkening. Plainly he hated being kept in ignorance by the Lord Privy Seal. “Of course, Montagu’s greatest crime is that Cardinal Pole is his younger brother. I heard there wasn’t much to what the other brother supplied in the Tower but grumbling. Montagu once said the king was served by knaves and heretics. Courtenay has been heard lamenting the changes in religion the king made.”

  Stunned, I said, “Is that all?”

  Gardiner said, “A recent Act of Parliament states that it is high treason to maliciously wish, will, or desire by words or writing, or by craft imagine, invent, practice, or attempt any bodily harm to be done or committed to the king’s most royal person. Almost anything can be bent or stretched to fit such a definition.”

  The Lady Mary dazedly twisted a strand of dark red hair that had escaped from her Spanish headdress. “My poor friends,” she said. “Such good people. The Poles were the English family my mother loved above all. Sir Edward Neville is a gentle soul. Gertrude Courtenay has done more for me than any other lady dared, and Henry is so kind, always so kind.”

  Bishop Gardiner said, “They have royal blood in their veins, my lady. They are a threat to the House of Tudor. The French ambassador told me today that the king said he long wanted to destroy Montagu and the rest of the Poles, for they were of the House of York.”

  It was almost word for word what Baron Montagu said earlier this night. Bishop Gardiner studied me. I bit the inside of my cheek, desperate to quiet my humors.

  The bishop said, “As long as Emperor Charles and the king of France stand against England, the king can brook no grumblings in his court. Should there be invasion and war, a disloyal group of nobles could join forces with Emperor Charles.”

  A distant look came over the Lady Mary. With her dark red hair, blue eyes, and pale complexion, there was nothing outwardly Spanish about her. My coloring marked me as far more foreign than hers. Yet, at that moment, seized by such aloofness, she was the granddaughter of Queen Isabella of Castile and King Ferdinand of Aragon. What would happen if the emperor, her cousin, set out to conquer England? I knew that that was what Gertrude dreamed of. Was it possible that she had ever discussed such dreams with the princess?

  The Duke of Norfolk cleared his throat. “Lady Mary, I counted these men among my friends, too, but it must be admitted that their removal would make you more secure.”

  “Do not say that to me,” she said, her voice deepening into command. “I would never wish for a blood sacrifice of good Christian men so that I could sleep safer in my bed at night.”

  Suddenly she sagged in her chair. “Oh, you cannot know what it is to be the cause of such suffering,” she moaned. “No one ever could but my mother. Men martyred themselves; they went to the block rather than abandon her cause. How could this be happening to me now?” Tears slid down the princess’s ravaged cheeks.

  Gardiner said that the Lady Mary had endured enough for one night. Norfolk left to order her party to prepare for the princess’s departure.

  She held out her arms to me again, for an embrace. “I do not know when we will see each other again, Joanna. Please, please, please exercise better caution from this day forward.”

  I gently freed myself from the Lady Mary. “Forgive me, I don’t follow,” I said. “Better than what?”

  She sighed. “It was not wise to stay for weeks on end with Gertrude Courtenay. I love her dearly, yet she can be ruled by reckless passions. I must admit, I was surprised to learn you had become such close companions. I thought you happy in your lodgings in Dartford.”

  I said slowly, “Weren’t you the one who sent Gertrude to Dartford to find me and take me into her home? That’s what she told me.”

  The Lady Mary was even more startled. “Why ever would I do that? I
corresponded with Gertrude over the past year, yes, but I wrote of no other friends of mine in those letters. To do so would be most unwise.”

  I had no opportunity to say more, for Norfolk reappeared with the princess’s retinue. She turned to me a last time and said fervently, “Joanna, we must have faith in Almighty God the maker and redeemer. Pray to the pure and blessed Virgin for the safety of our beloved friends.”

  I promised to do so, and she left.

  The men who had been waiting outside burst into the room: two priests of Winchester House. The bishop took papers from the older priest.

  “I wonder,” he mused, as his eyes traveled down the sheet of paper, “who it was that told Gertrude Courtenay to find you in Dartford and bring you to the Red Rose.”

  Keeping my voice as calm as possible, I said, “It’s possible I made a mistake.”

  Bishop Gardiner handed the first sheet of paper back to his priest attendant and beckoned for a second. “Yes, I do know you are very capable of mistakes,” he said.

  I must not let myself be baited by Gardiner. It was far preferable that he think me incompetent than learn that I had never told him the full truth of what I had found at Dartford Priory.

  As Gardiner’s eyes traveled down the second paper, the room was silent. Norfolk and Richard had left without my noticing. Had the Duke of Norfolk departed from Winchester House entirely, leaving me with the bishop? That possibility made me go cold, despite the roaring fire.

  Gardiner leaned back in his huge chair. “You aimed high in trying to match yourself with Montagu,” he said in that mild, musing voice. “Some people thought he had a claim to the throne. Did you fancy yourself worthy to be queen of England?”

  “I’m a loyal subject of the king, just the same as you,” I answered.

  A smile stretched across his face. “Last year, when I suggested that you marry someone for the sake of appearances to better assist the cause of the true faith, you shouted at me in your usual rude manner. I had no idea you were saving yourself for a prize like Montagu. And such a worldly man, not the husband I’d have envisioned for you. Not that it matters—you’ll never be a baroness now.”

  Something was abundantly clear to me.

  “You don’t care what happens to Montagu, or the Courtenays, or Neville,” I whispered.

  “They are dispensable,” he said calmly. “As are you, Joanna. I’d not care a whit if you were back in the Tower but for the fact that you have ingratiated yourself with the Lady Mary. As long as His Majesty’s daughter cares about your welfare, then so do I.”

  “I have no need of your solicitude,” I said. My desperate hold on my temper was fraying. Soon it would be gone.

  Gardiner studied me in silence for a moment. “Do you know, I am not even sure of the legality of a union between a man and a woman who has taken vows of chastity advisedly. The king has quite pronounced views on the matter. I will discuss it with him during my next audience.”

  To my great relief, Norfolk reappeared. He huddled with Gardiner for a moment, and then beckoned for me. “Time to go,” he said.

  “Wait, Thomas,” said Gardiner. He murmured something to one of his minions, and a moment later a cloak was borne into the room on a page’s outstretched arms. It was black velvet with the letter W embossed in gold.

  “We wouldn’t want the Lady Mary’s protégée to sicken from the cold,” he said.

  “I thank you, Bishop Gardiner,” I said between gritted teeth, and wrapped myself in the heavy cloak.

  “Di te incolumen custodiant,” he responded, the Latin pleasantry trilling off his tongue.

  At nearby Howard House, a tall torch flickered outside the entrance to the sprawling manor. A man slumped next to it, deep asleep. Norfolk jumped off his horse and kicked him in the leg. “Wake up, cur!” he shouted.

  Servants rushed out the doors in a panic. Others scrambled from around the house to take our mounts to the Howard stables.

  Richard helped me off my horse. My legs, my arms, my feet, my neck and shoulders, even the tips of my fingers, ached with weariness.

  “How long am I to stay here?” I asked thickly.

  Richard shrugged.

  Norfolk heard my question and said, “As long as it takes to make arrangements to bundle you up to Stafford Castle.” He turned to a hard-eyed female servant. “Find her a room.”

  My quarters that first night at Howard House were shabby by most standards. The bedding wasn’t clean; unwashed goblets littered a table. But all I could think of were the new prisoners at the Tower of London and what cells they huddled in tonight. I blew out the smoldering candle stump and stumbled into bed, still wearing the cloth of silver Gertrude had commissioned for me and the heavy cloak Gardiner forced onto my shoulders. I’d brought nothing with me. It was either sleep in these absurd garments or be naked between soiled sheets.

  I should have lost consciousness at once. But they crowded before me, whether my eyes were open or shut: Gertrude, her eyes pleading. Henry Courtenay, clutching his weeping son. Baron Montagu, masking his terror with a show of arrogance. Geoffrey, struggling to pull me to safety—but never quite able to. And finally James, lifting the bloody head of his twin brother off the street. Each vision pierced me in a different way.

  I’d told Baron Montagu I would pray for him; I’d promised the Lady Mary as well. And pray I did. Whispered pleas filled my dark, dirty room. But they were all but drowned out by the noises in my head. Screams and sobs. Horse hoofs on Lower Thames Street. The slap of oars on the Thames. And one man’s voice, Stephen Gardiner’s, saying a single sentence over and over.

  “I wonder who it was that told Gertrude Courtenay to find you in Dartford and bring you to the Red Rose.”

  25

  Wake up, Joanna,” said a woman’s voice. “Ah, you’re still one of the hardest people to rouse in the morning.”

  I opened my eyes to a small room flooded with sunlight. Sitting next to me on the bed was a long-faced woman in her middle years: my cousin Elizabeth, the Duchess of Norfolk.

  Her presence in the house of her husband made no sense. The marriage of the Duke and Duchess of Norfolk was the unhappiest in all of England. Their mutual hatred often erupted into shouting and even blows, until my cousin ceased sharing a roof with the duke five years ago. She’d lived alone in the country ever since, refusing to grant the Duke of Norfolk a divorce or reconcile.

  Elizabeth gathered a fold of my cloth of silver dress in both hands, holding it up to the light “Where did you get this dress?” she asked.

  “Gertrude Courtenay gave it to me,” I muttered. My throat ached and my head spun from lack of nourishment. “Do you know what happened last night?”

  She sat back down on the edge of the bed. “Yes, it is all most upsetting,” she said calmly. “I will order that food and drink and suitable clothes be brought to you. If this were my father’s house, it would all be here within minutes. But it’s a Howard house and I’ve only been back a week. I’ve not yet got the staff in hand. So it may take an hour.”

  She made for the door. She wore a somber, square-necked dress, the sort my mother favored years ago.

  “Wait—Elizabeth,” I cried. “What’s to happen to me?”

  “You’re to be sent up to Stafford Castle as soon as possible. The Howard secretary writes a letter today to my brother. When the duke returns from court, the letter will be signed and dispatched.”

  Pulling myself up in the bed, I said, “But I have a home in Dartford. Arthur must be there by now. My friends are there—my life is there. Please, you must help me.”

  Elizabeth frowned. “Don’t be tiresome, Joanna. It’s all been decided. Arthur will be sent up to Stafford Castle, too, when the time comes. But he can’t stay at Howard House. The duke won’t hear of it.”

  She opened the door. “You can attend me in my receiving room later, but not if you intend to harangue me. Your tantrums always made my head ache.”

  With a swish of her dark skirts, she was gone. />
  The Duchess of Norfolk was correct, it took nearly an hour for a chunk of bread and mug of weak ale to arrive. But that gave me time to think. And once new strength flowed into my body, I was ready to attempt a plan.

  I was not going to be sent anywhere but Dartford. I would do whatever it took to find a way home.

  Elizabeth and I had never been close. She was seventeen years older. Among the females of the Stafford family, she, the eldest daughter of the Duke of Buckingham, reigned at the top of the heap. My place was near the bottom, if not the bottom. But Elizabeth’s young half sister, Margaret, was the closest companion of my childhood. After the Duke of Buckingham was executed, Margaret went to live with her unhappy sister. I saw them both on visits, and Margaret wrote me many letters besides. I knew something of the moods of Elizabeth.

  I could hear the duchess’s sharp voice from outside her receiving room. “Must I go through this again?” she demanded. “Do you remember nothing of what I taught you?”

  I eased inside.

  Elizabeth stood, arms folded, mouth set in a severe line, in front of a table. There were a few objects set upon it: pewter plates, cups, tiny mounds of salt in dishes. And a large knife. It was a strange assembly and yet familiar, too.

  On the other side of the table quavered a girl of about sixteen, short and verging on plump, with long auburn hair. She was not the duchess’s daughter. The only other time I had been inside Howard House, at a masque party given by Elizabeth’s oldest son, the Earl of Surrey, I met this girl. Catherine Howard. She was one of the many nieces of the Duke of Norfolk. I remembered her as giggling and lovely, with deep dimples. She most definitely did not exhibit dimples now. Catherine was frozen in indecision, her hand hovering over the knife.

  “You must prostrate yourself three times before you touch it,” said Elizabeth.

  “The knife—or the salt?” she whispered.

  Elizabeth threw up her hands. “See what I must cope with, Joanna?” she demanded, seeing me enter the room. “My husband said I am to train her for court service. The Howards are making her their candidate for maid of honor. Catherine is the only one of the right age and bonny enough to qualify. But she knows nothing! Her only talents are lute playing and dancing. The Howards haven’t taught her anything serious—she can barely read—and yet they expect her to wait on a queen brought up in Paris or Brussels? Ridiculous.”