by David Field
‘Of course not, Your Majesty. If not Courtenay, perhaps Thomas Wyatt?’
Mary snorted derisively. ‘The man is married, Gardiner, and knee deep in children!’
‘He and his wife are separated and at least he has proved his capacity for producing heirs, since his offspring are all male.’
‘Gardiner,’ Mary hissed, white in the face with anger, ‘take yourself back outside and inform your impertinent Commons mouthpieces that I am Queen of England, the daughter of its greatest ever King, and not a brood mare for England. When I marry, it will be for love and it will be to Philip of Spain. To further put paid to any doubt in the matter, have it publicly proclaimed that I will entertain no suit from Courtenay, Wyatt or any other prancing fortune hunter who has the traitorous effrontery to declare a willingness to marry me for the sake of England. Have I left you in the slightest doubt on that score?’
‘None whatsoever, Your Majesty.’
‘Good, then I may return to my devotions. Now get out!’
V
Norfolk rose from his seat by the fire in order to welcome the Papal Legate, Reginald Pole. He kissed the ring that was held out to him, beckoned Pole into the vacant chair on the other side of the fireplace in his luxurious and extensive London townhouse and ordered the hovering server to bring more wine, serve their honoured visitor, then leave the room. As the boy retreated towards the scullery, Norfolk broke the easy silence.
‘Welcome back to England, Reginald. Or must I now call you “your Grace”?’
Pole smiled. ‘“Reginald” will suffice, since we have known each other these many years. Although not recently.’
‘Indeed not,’ Norfolk confirmed as the smile left his face. ‘And you must now be the only member of your family left.’
Pole nodded. ‘Thanks to Henry, you are correct. And his daughter Mary has the effrontery to request my assistance in the return of England to the Pope’s good offices. If only she knew!’
‘That is the main reason why I have invited you here this evening, Reginald. She must never know, or I will be returned to the Tower and you will be sent back to Rome with your mitre rammed up your arse.’
The two men shared a guilty secret that could still prove fatal to one of them. Fifteen years previously, Norfolk — in England — and Reginald Pole, from the safety of Padua, had co-ordinated what became known as the ‘Exeter Conspiracy’. It was a covert response to Henry VIII’s rejection of his Queen Katherine in favour of Anne Boleyn and it sought to overthrow Henry and replace him with Henry Courtenay, Marquess of Exeter, Henry’s cousin. Norfolk had dug deeply into his Catholic connections and had recruited the Pole family, whose matriarch at the time had been the formidable Margaret, Countess of Salisbury and daughter of the Duke of Clarence, brother of the last legitimately crowned Yorkist king, Edward IV. She and her three sons Henry, Geoffrey and Reginald, pledged their allegiance to Exeter and committed their combined resources to the cause.
Norfolk was Yorkist down to his riding boots, and both his grandfather and his father had fought alongside Richard of Gloucester at Bosworth. He had long awaited the opportunity to put an end to the pretensions of the Tudors, but had swallowed his pride and served two Henrys while awaiting his opportunity to put the descendants of Edward Plantagenet back on their rightful throne. The turmoil surrounding Henry VIII’s rejection of Rome had promised to unite the old Catholic families one last time and Norfolk had been in regular correspondence with Reginald Pole as he pursued his clerical career across the Channel. Reginald had undertaken to send men and money, while Norfolk had sought the involvement of every man, and every family, in England that might remain loyal to ‘the old order’. It was his misplaced reliance on the judgment of Margaret Pole that had nearly brought him undone.
Norfolk’s sworn enemy at Court in those days had been ‘Master Secretary’ Thomas Cromwell, who had enlisted, as one of his clerks, the lineal descendent of another of the Yorkist dynasty, Prince Richard of York, son of the late King Edward. As one of the so-called ‘Princes in the Tower’, Richard was popularly believed to have been murdered on the order of Richard of Gloucester on his path to becoming Richard III. But he had been discovered alive and calling himself ‘Perkin Warbeck’, before Henry Tudor contrived to have him executed for alleged treason. However, prior to that Richard had married Lady Catherine Gordon and had given her a son who in turn had sired a son of his own.
This long-lost grandson of Prince Richard had been located by Cromwell, living, under his family name of Richard Ashton, in obscurity on a Berkshire estate. After buying his total loyalty by revealing his true identity to him and employing him as a clerk, Cromwell had made use of Richard Ashton’s presence in and around the corridors of power in order to gain intelligence regarding the activities of his enemies, including Norfolk.
It had been Richard Ashton who had learned of the Exeter Conspiracy when Margaret Pole had unwisely sought to recruit him, given his royal ancestry. Being Cromwell’s devoted servant, Ashton had reported all that he had learned and Cromwell had exposed all the members of the Pole family in their treason. Reginald Pole had remained untouchable in his Cardinal’s vestments, protected by a Pope who was already threatening England as a whole with excommunication, but the remaining members of the Pole family had gone to the block, with Margaret herself becoming a legend in botched beheadings. It was ironic that the latest Tudor was seeking the good offices of a Pole to reunite her and England with the Pope, but there was much covering up to be organised, even fifteen years after the event, although Reginald Pole himself might regard himself as immune from any raking up of the past.
‘You would seem to have survived it all unscathed,’ Reginald Pole smiled as he sipped his wine and chewed thoughtfully on a wafer. ‘Although I know that you spent some time in the Tower — but I believe that was because of your son’s poor choice of heraldic device and not related in any way to the Exeter matter?’
‘Correct,’ Norfolk muttered. ‘And I have no desire to return to that terrible place, so we must be circumspect.’
‘Surely, there can be no-one left who could reveal your involvement after all this time?’
‘Just one, in addition to anyone else he may have told. A man called Richard Ashton, who became Sir Richard Ashton some years ago, when Henry married Jane Seymour. He was given this minor estate in Leicestershire by Cromwell, and as far as I know he still lives there with his wife and — so I believe — two children. The older of the two is a girl called Grace and she is his daughter by Jane Rochford, my former nephew’s whore of a wife. While I was in the Tower I learned that this girl Grace had become a good friend and later lady-in-waiting, to Jane Grey, who as you will know sought to usurp the crown recently and now languishes in the Tower, probably never to be released.’
‘And this girl Ashton still attends her, even in the Tower?’
‘So far as I am aware, yes.’
‘Then what danger can she pose? Even if her father told her anything of his past and your involvement in the Exeter uprising, she is hardly well placed to tell the world, is she? And if she did, who would believe a prisoner in the Tower?’
‘She has a brother, or so I am told.’
‘And where is he?’
‘Still on the estate with his father. He is still a boy, but should we move against the father in order to silence him, we must take care to include the son in our plans.’
‘Surely by moving against either of them you will draw needless attention to yourself? Best leave well alone — that would be my counsel.’
‘You are not the one under threat of exposure, Reginald. Queen Mary imagines treason around every corner and she has made it plain that those of us appointed to her Council are there for as long as it takes for someone to accuse us of suspect motives, then we are lost.’
‘So what are you proposing?’
‘I shall send spies into Leicestershire, first to ascertain whether Ashton and his son are still alive and — if so — how much the fath
er has confided in the son of what he knows about his own forebears and the Exeter matter.’
‘I was counting on your support here in London.’
‘And you shall have it,’ Norfolk assured him. ‘Not that you will require any voice in support of your plans to bring England back into Rome’s fold. Her Majesty is consumed with a passion to eliminate all the heresy that has recently crept into our observances and offer England back to his Holiness. Allied with that is her stubborn determination to make England subservient to Spain by marrying Prince Philip. You had heard?’
‘Indeed, it is the talk of Europe and it is hard to tell which of them is attracting the more sympathy. But Mary is surely too old to bear issue?’
‘She is probably too old to begin carnal activity of any description,’ Norfolk sneered. ‘It is not difficult to accept her implied assurance that she is still a maid and — to be frank with you — not difficult to see how she has remained in that state. But the great fear at the Court here in London is that marriage to Spain and a return to Rome will spell the end of England as an independent nation. My spies have even reported rumbles of rebellion. God forbid another one like the Exeter disaster — I grow too old for that sort of thing.’
Unknown to him, the rebellion that Norfolk dreaded was already underway. Courtenay had already spent several years in the Tower for something of which he had been completely innocent — namely any involvement in the Exeter plot — and while he owed his eventual release and his elevation to the Earldom of Devon, to Queen Mary, there was a limit to his gratitude. He had been shamed and humiliated. Mary had not scrupled against imposing upon him the important duty of presiding over the trial of Robert Dudley, and he could readily see two ways of avenging himself of the slight given to him by a lady who had made such a widely broadcast rejection of a marriage proposal that he had not even lowered himself to make. Both of these acts of revenge would involve the Lady Elizabeth and the sooner the better.
As for Thomas Wyatt, he had another reason for wishing to see Mary brought to heel over her stubborn insistence that no Englishman was good enough for her marriage bed. Quite apart from her public rejection of him, he had a hatred and fear of Spain and its religious intolerance, born of his experience of the Inquisition while fighting for France against the Imperial forces. While he was a Catholic for preference, he could not contemplate for one moment the prospect of those of his fellow countrymen who still retained some Protestant leanings being subjected to the terrible tortures inflicted on similar recusants in Spain. If they could do that to their own countrymen, what would they be likely to inflict on Englishmen once they were both encouraged and protected by a Spaniard who was the Queen’s consort?
They both quickly came to appreciate the strength of English reluctance to see the nation reduced to the status of a Spanish colony once they made tentative enquiries and within a matter of weeks several thousand men at arms had been pledged to what was for many a patriotic cause, rather than a bid for the throne by a spurned senior noble.
Many prominent and wealthy nobles pledged money, armament and men to rise against Mary when called upon to do so and, when secretly advised of what was afoot, even the French Ambassador de Noailles made his contribution, in the form of a promise to arrange for French ships to blockade the Channel against any attempted landing by Philip of Spain, to claim both his bride and his latest conquest. When the conspirators made their plans known to Henry Grey, Duke of Suffolk and father of the imprisoned Lady Jane Grey, he willingly promised his own limited resources and was joined in that by his Leicestershire neighbour Sir Richard Ashton, whose daughter Grace was sharing a cell in the Tower with Jane.
The rebellion was all ready to be launched when Edward Courtenay presented himself at Hatfield and requested an audience with Elizabeth. She was these days naturally suspicious of any visitor from London who was not William Cecil, but when she was told by her Steward that the visitor wished to speak with her regarding the upcoming trial of Robert Dudley, she agreed to receive him and was standing by the fireplace when Courtenay was admitted.
‘I am advised that you are the Earl of Devon, and that in that capacity you will be the person responsible for the conduct of the trial for treason of my lifelong friend and sometime nursery companion, Robert Dudley,’ Elizabeth began.
Courtenay nodded. ‘You are correctly advised, my Lady, and hence my visit today. I must know how you wish the matter conducted.’
‘That is surely a matter for you — and perhaps my sister?’ Elizabeth replied hesitantly.
Courtenay smiled. ‘Indeed, it is a matter for me. Your sister will be interested merely in the outcome. As, I imagine, will you.’
‘Indeed,’ Elizabeth confirmed. ‘But how may I assist in ensuring that my dear friend does not end his days on Tower Hill?’
‘By granting me leave to visit you from time to time here at Hatfield.’
Elizabeth’s mouth dropped open involuntarily, until she realised that it was not a dignified look and she closed it abruptly again before she employed it in her response. ‘Do I understand you correctly — that you wish to pay court to me?’
‘Indeed, madam, that would be my dearest wish. But until we are better acquainted, perhaps only agree that you will leave word that I am to be allowed admission into your presence when I call.’
‘And in return for this simple courtesy, you will ensure that Robert Dudley escapes with his life?’
‘I will certainly ensure that he receives a fair trial and is afforded every opportunity to leave no-one in any doubt that he was as much a victim of Northumberland’s wicked scheming as was his older brother Guildford. Your sister spared his life for the same reason.’
‘It would seem that we have agreement, my lord of Devon,’ Elizabeth replied coquettishly. ‘I receive few enough visitors out here on my country estate and it will be no hardship to be visited periodically by such a fine, handsome and gallant courtier as yourself. And of course I shall think all the more highly of you should you be able to be of service to me in the matter of Robert Dudley. Have you perhaps spoken with William Cecil?’
‘No, my Lady. Does he have information of value to our joint interest in the preservation of a Dudley life?’
‘Not that I am aware. It is simply that he undertook to do what he could for his welfare. Anyway, do please come and sit by me while we enjoy a mug of wine and you bring me up to date with matters in London.’
An hour later Courtenay took his leave, having ensured that no-one in the household had missed his arrival and departure. It would be an unusual country estate indeed that did not have its spies reporting back to someone important in London and he smiled confidently to himself as he contemplated Mary’s reaction when told that he had been so warmly received by the beautiful younger sister of whom she was reputedly so jealous.
Lord Chancellor Gardiner was surprised, but not unduly alarmed, when he heard the arrival of the Spanish Ambassador being announced. As the leading hard-line Catholic bishop in England he was the natural conduit of friendly intelligence in both directions between England and Spain, but it was barely noon on a working day and Simon Renard was a famed late riser who preferred to trade information late at night in dimly lit townhouse parlours. This was therefore likely to be something important.
‘Simon, my good friend,’ Gardiner purred, ‘your visit is both welcome and early in the day. How may I be of service to you and your master?’
‘You can tell me why the Channel is full of French ships, my Lord,’ Renard replied frostily.
Gardiner smiled. ‘Perhaps your understanding of the geography of Europe is somewhat lacking, Ambassador. France lies on the other side of the Channel from England.’
‘Do not do the jests with me, Lord Chancellor. Is England about to be invaded? If so, why have you not sought assistance from my master? Or is it someone’s plan to prevent my master’s son from ever reaching your shores in order to become your King?’
Gardiner suppressed a shiver a
t the revelation that it might be Philip’s ultimate ambition to become, not just the consort of Queen Mary, but even King of England. Were that suggestion to reach the ears of Council, the battle that would ensue between its members and Mary would make life insufferable. He smiled reassuringly at Renard. ‘You may convey my reassurance to your master that England is not being invaded by France, Ambassador. However, to assuage your fears I will arrange for armed men to be sent into Kent and Sussex, in order to look to our southern defences. I will do so without further loss of time, so if you would excuse me?’
The Ambassador took the hint and exited the chamber in a flurry of robes, leaving Gardiner to send an urgent message down the hallway to Norfolk, whose chambers as Earl Marshall were also located in the same Westminster complex that housed most of the essential Government offices.
Two hours later a company of armed men in the royal livery thundered south across London Bridge and within the week they were reporting the suspicious gathering of large numbers of armed retainers on and around the estates of Sir Thomas Wyatt in Kent. This coincided with intelligence that Norfolk had received only two days previously regarding the visit of Edward Courtenay to Elizabeth at Hatfield and his suspicious nose began to twitch. On a whim he ordered the arrest of Courtenay on suspicion of plotting against the throne and it took only a few turns of the rack inside the Tower to yield the names of the other conspirators.
What had promised to be a major and co-ordinated uprising fizzled into nothing once word got out of Courtenay’s arrest. Sir James Croft recognised a futile campaign when he saw one and did not even draw his men out of his native Herefordshire, while the men of Devon proved less than enthusiastic when called upon by Sir Peter Carew to rise up and rescue their Earl from the Tower. Only Wyatt opted to continue what he had helped to start and his enthusiastic band of Protestant men of Kent marched north. They reached Southwark, on the south bank of the Thames and demanded that the Tower be surrendered to them, along with the person of Queen Mary.
