The Crown of Destiny (The Yorkist Saga)

by Diana Rubino

  The arms dropped limply to the ground, the head severed, rolling into the basket. The struggle was over.

  The executioner lay down the axe and wiped his hands, drenched with sweat, over his robe. He tore off his hood and breathed a sigh of relief. Yet now that Henry was back to beheading his enemies, who would be next?

  Word of Topaz's second attempted rebellion reached Cleobury, and sick with fear, Amethyst was about to go to London when she received an invitation from the King himself. She wasted no time waiting for the servants and baby Harry, but rode on ahead by herself to the palace as if her life depended upon it.

  She was not sure Henry would let Topaz live this time, and sick dread pervaded her, which her mount's jostling gallop did not help a jot.

  She returned the polite but curious nods of the courtiers as the King's guards led her to his chambers. He welcomed her in a pale blue robe, a dark wine stain splashed across the front.

  "What happened to Topaz, sire? Did she rouse another army? Was there another battle?"

  He shook his head. "Nothing of the sort. She merely had messengers send notes throughout her former followers and neutral subjects, in her son's name, to rally around him in a non-military coup. I expect she was counting on the neutral subjects, but many of them sent the messages right here to the palace to inform me.

  "Then my fool, Will, answered the door of his sister's house where Topaz went to personally deliver one of the messages. We invited her here and he confirmed her identity. We matched her writing to all the letters. It was then that we seized her. She has been taken to the Bell Tower, where she will remain this time.

  "The sad part is that it aroused such a great deal of support. But that is my fault, and my fault alone. My people have sent me a message, and in the remaining years I have as king, I must make amends with my subjects.

  "I plan to go on more progresses, and perhaps even take Edward with me. After all, he will be the next king in the fullness of time. The people should get to know him better." He took a chicken leg from a pile on a dish and bit into it.

  "Aye, sire. He is well enough to travel with you and do you credit as the future king."

  He nodded, smiling, then returned to the business at hand.

  "We seized several men along with your sister," he said, chewing. "Among them was your cousin Geoffrey Pole. Another was Roland Pilkington."

  "Roland? But I thought you sent for him to serve in the navy?"

  "He never showed. He resurfaced just yesterday, as one of your sister's supporters."

  "Where is he now?"

  "In the Salt Tower, with your cousin Pole, awaiting execution."

  She took several deep, rapid breaths. Roland was going to die. A wave of unbidden sadness washed over her. What a terrible waste of a human life. Things might have been so different had his mother lived or his father been a decent man.

  "I hope you will let her live, sire. Not to give her freedom this time; just that she be allowed to live. She is a disturbed woman. As long as she is imprisoned, she cannot be a threat to you, so please, let her live, to spare my mother her grief, and so that the lads will still have a mother?" she begged softly.

  Henry took another bite, wiping his hands on his robe. "Princess Elizabeth once asked me where her mother was, and I tried to explain, saying she'd gone to heaven. But she didn't quite understand where heaven was, or why her mother had gone there."

  Amethyst pitied that poor child for all the hurt and resentment that would flood through her, not to mention the hate she would harbor for her father, once she found out the truth.

  "So, out of my enduring love for you and respect for your mother, I shall let Topaz live. But she is never to be set free. Not ever. No matter what."

  She nodded. "I understand. Thank you, sire. I know my mother will be forever grateful."

  He dropped the chicken and gazed up at her. "Now I must make amends with you. I have wronged you time and again like I have never wronged another human being, and the tragically sad irony of it all is, you are the one I've cared about the most. You are the one person who would never deliberately hurt me, or cross me, or harm the succession to the crown in any way.

  "Everything I did, I did for the kingdom and to gain a son, but that was no excuse for the whole Anne Boleyn fiasco. And yes, I did become a little in love with Jane for a time, but she was like a doll, a young plaything to cosset as a means to getting what I really wanted, a son. As for Catherine Howard, well, I've been a damned old fool. In the main because I was so lonely for you."

  "Oh, Henry—"

  "I am sorry, truly. I acted impulsively when you told me you were expecting Gilford's child. I am growing old, Amethyst. All those who have betrayed me in the past have left so many scars; I cannot think straight any longer. My jealousy of you made me react irrationally. I really did want to marry you and make you my queen at last. In my mind I felt you'd betrayed me when you came to me bearing Gilford's child. I want you to know how truly sorry I am. Tell me what I can do to make it up to you. Give me your wish, and I shall grant it."

  "Then let me out of my current loveless and horrid marriage, sire," was Amethyst's prompt request.

  He nodded. "Very well, your wish is granted. I shall obtain a dispensation for an annulment. Although I can never right the wrong I did you, I can at least do this. But, Amethyst, there was one person whose life I was not able to spare."

  "Who?"

  "Your Aunt Margaret. She was imprisoned here in the Tower in March and she was executed this morning for treason. I am so sorry, Amethyst. It had to be done."

  Margaret. The aunt that had helped raised her since the day of her father's death, and for many years a second mother to Mary. As the last claimant to the crown, she and her sons had to be eliminated.

  She sighed heavily. "I am sorry, too, my lord. But I expected it."

  His face relaxed at her meek acceptance of the news. "I cannot risk having any more traitors threatening me or Edward. I am letting Topaz live because of my love for you. But I simply could not help the others. Treason is punishable by death and so must it still be."

  Her heart heavy, she nodded. "I understand, sire. I must leave you now. I've got chores to attend to."

  He did not try to stop her. "I understand, only too well. I shall see you soon."

  "Aye, sire. And thank you. Thank you again. For her life and for, well, trying to make amends."

  She exited the palace with a heavy heart and took the barge to the Tower to visit Topaz at the place where her sister had been destined to be born, and now it appeared, destined to die.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Hampton Court Palace, November, 1541

  Amethyst was in Princess Elizabeth's apartments giving her a lesson on the virginals when Henry entered and embraced them warmly.

  "It is so good to see you, my lord," she said, rising to greet him. "How was the progress?"

  "Splendid, my lady. Your fair Warwickshire truly loves their king!" They left Elizabeth with her ladies and headed for his apartments.

  "I have ordered a dispensation for your annulment, Amethyst. I will let you know when it will be final."

  The King held out his arms for his Esquire of the Body to remove his cloak. "Fetch me my black satin robe, Patrick."

  He began twisting and yanking the rings off his fingers, a laborious endeavor, as his fingers had grown so fat and thick that the ruby on his thumb was permanently stuck on. His last attempt to remove it had been nearly two years ago.

  "Thank you, sire. And when should that be?"

  "As soon as I get round to it. Just be patient with me, Amethyst."

  As hard as it was to even think patiently, relief washed over her. "That should go fast indeed. I have been busy with Elizabeth's music lessons. 'Tis so good to be back at court, sire. Even temporarily."

  He smiled down at her. "A better tutor she could never have. And every time I look at her, I think sadly that she could have been yours."

  She turned away, tears
stinging her eyes, tears for what could have been, should have been, but could never be.

  A page delivered a message to the King that he was wanted in the council chamber at once.

  "What is it now?" he muttered to himself, hiking himself out of his monstrous chair and lumbering towards the chamber doors. "I shall return shortly," he told Amethyst. "Should you see my wife the Queen, pray tell her I have returned."

  "I shall, sire."

  But she knew Queen Catherine was not roaming the palace searching for the King to welcome him back into eager arms and enquire about the success of his progress. She was undoubtedly either in her chambers or those of Thomas Culpeper, with whom she spent a great deal of her time.

  He called for Amethyst an hour later and she returned to his chambers. He looked as if he'd been struck down by God himself.

  "Sire! What is amiss? What happened at the council meeting? Are we being invaded by France again?"

  "Nay, we are not being invaded by France." His voice was a spitting rasp. She'd heard this tone only once before, when he had spoken of Anne, two days before her death, when he'd spat forth fury and rage like a dragon hissing fire. What could have happened to make him so livid?

  "We are not being invaded by France!" he repeated. "My wife is being invaded...by a list of rogues the length of your arm!" He balled up a sheet of parchment and flung it across the room. It hit a goblet, sending it crashing to the floor, a purple pool seeping into his precious Persian carpet.

  "Oh, Jesu..." She'd warned Catherine, the uninhibited lass she'd met at Kenilworth that fateful Christmas. She had caught the King's attention just as she had schemed, but her standing as Queen of England had done nothing to alter her flirtatious behavior.

  She'd regarded Cathy as somewhat of a younger sister. "Cathy, please," she'd warned her, "please be more discreet, meet Culpeper or...whoever else," since she knew there were others, "as far from the Palace as possible, for you are the Queen of England. You must keep your private life strictly separate from court life, and you know the penalty for adultery."

  But she had continued her dalliances, in her own chambers with the King barely two rooms away, practically under his nose, as if in an act of defiance, to avenge him for his flabby body and his lack of sexual appeal.

  She had been able to see Catherine's end in sight as the young ignorant girl had not. With the immorality of youth, she had continued her romps, her trysts, thinking that her position as queen would grant her immunity from the court gossip.

  "She has shamed me, she has ridiculed me, has ridiculed the crown, has ridiculed the entire kingdom! She will pay for this, and she will pay with her life, just like her slut of a cousin!"

  The King showed no remorse as for his former wives, no self-pity, no pleas to God as to why he'd been chosen to suffer. He was now immune to any wrong any woman could do him; his life was the kingdom and personal relationships were no longer a priority.

  He displayed rage; pure, indignant exasperation, no longer diluted with those crippling emotions of hurt or grief as one scorned or betrayed by a loved one. He had spent too many years trying to mend ways and reconcile. Now, anyone who crossed him, on a political or personal level, paid with their life. The Queen of England would be no exception.

  After Mass the next morning, Amethyst headed for the door to exit the chapel. As she opened the door, she heard a faraway shrieking, the wails of a woman, mouthing incoherent noises, the primitive cries of someone crazed with terror.

  She could barely make out his name, "Hen-reeeah! Hen-reeeah!" once or twice more, not so much a name, but a howl, long and drawn out, then receding until the cries were an echo in the distance.

  "Sire, what was that?" she asked in alarm.

  "You heard it too?" the King whispered. "I thought it was in my mind again."

  Amethyst exited the chapel and peered into the long gallery, where all was quiet. The doors running along the left were closed, as were the windows at the right, shut against the harsh cold of winter.

  It sounded like someone had been murdered…

  Henry scratched his signature on Catherine Howard's death warrant as he sat in the council chamber. "She is to die by the axe on Tower Hill in one week." His tone was as flat and defeated as he felt.

  Catherine was brought to Tower Hill and executed upon the same scaffold her cousin Anne Boleyn had climbed six years ago. Her alleged lovers preceded her to their deaths.

  Once again Topaz watched the spectacle from her cell in the Bell Tower. "I die a queen but I would rather die the wife of Culpeper," were Catherine's last words as she laid her head upon the block.

  Topaz sneered. Even with her last breath, Catherine lacked the diplomacy and eloquence of her cousin Anne, and cared not how her final words would ring throughout history, not having bothered to deliver a rehearsed speech before the raucous crowd that had assembled to sop up her blood.

  Henry was away at Richmond Palace on the day of the execution. Amethyst, staying in Mortimer's London town home while awaiting her annulment, had just bitten into her breakfast when she heard the cannon shots. She put the piece of bread down and pushed the plate away, leaving the remainder of her food uneaten.

  The King was a widower for the third time. And she was about to become free again, by a strange coincidence. She sighed heavily. Once the thought of being Henry's queen had filled her with delight. With another wife now beheaded, she thanked God she had never had that misfortune. And hoped to God she never would.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Richmond Palace, June, 1542

  King Henry summoned Amethyst to the palace, where his groom and mount waited for him to arrive for a ride through the countryside.

  She sat on the garden wall, pushing up her sleeves so that her arms could get some sun. It was a glorious day and a few cloud wisps floated through the sky like languorous kites suspended over the earth with invisible strings.

  The King arrived in his special litter, dressed all in white, his riding cloak draped over his arm.

  "Amethyst, I need to try to quell this anxiety. I need to gather my thoughts and rid myself of these haunting demons."

  "Which demons, sire? What is wrong?" She looked into his eyes, troubled and glazed over, no longer the glistening gold of his youth, but two muddy puddles surrounded by sagging pouches of gray. He looked as if he hadn't had a decent night's sleep in weeks.

  "I am troubled and need to speak with someone whom I believe has guided me a great deal through my life. I need to rid myself of hauntings, memories, the specters of my dead wives." He spoke in a low voice, not wanting any of the servants to hear him speaking of demons and ghosts.

  He had never cared what servants thought before; throughout the years, they'd seen him at his very worst, but he cared not, for they didn't dare cross him.

  Yet now, his thoughts and fears were for Amethyst's ears only. That was it, she realized. He'd never been afraid of anything or anyone in his life until now. And what was he afraid of? The dead, who could not possibly harm him.

  "Sire, there are no demons. No one is haunting you. They are all dead and gone."

  "You do not see what I see, Amethyst. As close as we ever could be, you cannot enter my head; you cannot hear the voices, you cannot see with my eyes, you cannot see Anne's ghost or see Catherine's blood spurting out before me. I need to go on a pilgrimage and I would like you to join me."

  "A pilgrimage to where, sire?"

  "Amethyst, there is something I wish to do, and I want you to accompany me, as you are the only person I would have with me when I do this."

  "What is it, sire?"

  "I want to visit my parents' tomb in the Abbey. I hear my father beckoning me, and I must go to him."

  Westminster Abbey. The place that fascinated her in her childhood, to which she'd promised to return one day. Why hadn't she returned on the exploring mission that she'd promised herself? Life had not bestowed upon her the luxury of much free time to appreciate her country's magnificent history at h
er leisure.

  "Aye, I shall return to the Abbey with you, sire. As you wish."

  He planned their visit for seven o'clock the next morning, for no one would be present then. They would have the entire Abbey to themselves. He needed help out of his specially made throne to the carriage, and again out of the carriage. He leaned on two golden canes, two ushers, and Amethyst, and still had to take painstakingly small steps.

  It seemed to take an interminable time to alight from the carriage and walk through the West Entrance, but once she was within the shadowy shrine, she knew where she belonged.