by Jean Plaidy
The Cardinal excelled at collecting information about those he wished to destroy. His spy ring was notorious throughout the Court. Did Buckingham think that because he was a noble duke – as royal as the King, as he loved to stress – he was immune from it?
The music over, the King rose from the banqueting table. On such an occasion it was the duty of one of his gentlemen to bring a silver ewer in which he might wash his hands. The duty was performed by noblemen of the highest rank, and on this occasion the task fell to the Duke of Buckingham.
The ewer was handed to Buckingham by one of his ushers; he took it and bowed before Henry who washed his hands as was the custom.
When the King had finished, the Cardinal, who had been standing beside Henry, put his hands into the bowl and proceeded to wash them.
For a few seconds Buckingham was too astonished to do anything but stand still holding the bowl. Then a slow flush spread from his neck to his forehead. He, the great Duke of Buckingham, who believed himself more royal than Henry Tudor, to hold the ewer for a man who had been born in a butcher’s shop!
In an access of rage he threw the greasy water over the Cardinal’s shoes, drenching his red satin robe as he did so.
There was silence. Even the King looked on astonished.
The Cardinal was the first to recover. He turned to Henry and murmured: ‘A display of temper, Your Grace, by one who thinks himself privileged to show such in your presence.’
Henry had walked away and the Cardinal followed him.
Buckingham stood staring after them.
‘ ’Tis a sad day for England,’ he muttered, ‘when a noble duke is expected to hold the ewer for a butcher’s cur.’
In the King’s private chamber, Henry was laughing.
‘ ’Twas a merry sight, Thomas, to see you there with the water drenching your robes.’
‘I am delighted to have provided Your Grace with some amusement,’ murmured Wolsey.
‘I have rarely seen you so astonished. As for Buckingham, he was in a rage.’
‘And in your presence!’
Henry clapped a hand on Wolsey’s shoulder. ‘I know Buckingham. He was never one to hold in his temper. And when you . . . Thomas Wolsey . . . not a member of the nobility, dipped your hands into the bowl . . .’
‘As Your Grace’s Chancellor . . .’
‘Buckingham pays more respects to a man’s family tree than to his attainments, Thomas.’
‘Well I know it, for the man’s a fool, and I thank the saints nightly that this realm has been blessed with a ruler who is of such wisdom.’
The King smiled almost roguishly. ‘As for me, Thomas, I care not whether men come from butchers’ shops or country mansions. I am the King, and all my subjects are born beneath me. I look down on one and all.’
‘Even on Buckingham!’
‘Why do you say that, Thomas?’
‘Because the Duke has strange notions about his birth. He fancies himself to be as royal as Your Grace.’
The roguishness disappeared and a look of cruelty played about the tight little mouth. ‘You said Buckingham was a fool, Thomas. We are once again in agreement.’
Now it was Thomas’s turn to smile.
He believed the time had come to make an end of his enemy.
The Cardinal allowed a few weeks to pass; then one day he came to the King in pretended consternation.
‘What ails you, Thomas?’ asked Henry.
‘I have made discoveries, Your Grace, which I hesitate to lay before you, of such a shocking nature are they.’
‘Come, come,’ said the King testily; he was in a white silk shirt and purple satin breeches, puffed and slashed, ready for a game of tennis.
‘They concern my Lord Buckingham. I must regretfully advise your Grace that I believe him to be guilty of treason.’
‘Treason!’
‘Of a most heinous nature.’
‘How so?’
‘He lays claim to the throne and declares he will have it one day.’
‘What!’ roared the King, tennis forgotten. There was one subject which filled him, as a Tudor, with alarm. That was the suggestion that anyone in the realm had a greater right to the throne than he had. His father had had to fight for the crown; he had won it and brought prosperity to England, uniting the houses of York and Lancaster by his marriage; but the hideous Wars of the Roses were not so far behind that they could be forgotten; and the very mention of a pretender to the throne was enough to rouse Henry to fury.
‘I have long suspected him,’ the Cardinal soothed. ‘Hence his hatred of me and the enmity between us. This I should feel towards any who sought to harm Your Grace. I have made it my duty to test his servants, and I now have the results of these labours to lay before Your Grace.’
‘What are these results?’
‘In the first place Buckingham feels himself to be as royal as your Grace.’
‘The rogue!’ cried Henry.
‘He has said that there is no bar sinister on his escutcheon.’
Wolsey had the pleasure of seeing the red colour flame into the plump cheeks. ‘He has told his confessor, Delacourt, that if you were to die and the Princess Mary were to die, he would have the throne.’
‘By God!’ cried the King. ‘He shall lose his head – for it is his just deserts.’
‘That is not all,’ went on the Cardinal. ‘I have learned that he consults a soothsayer, and that he has been told that one day he will mount the throne.’
‘And how can he do this? Tell me that. Does he think to go to war . . . with me!’
‘He’s a fool, Your Grace, but not such a fool as that. He knows the people love you and that you have your friends. Soothsayers often practise another trade. I have heard they are often well versed in the art of poison.’
Henry was speechless for a few seconds. Then he burst out: ‘We’ll have him in the Tower. We’ll have him on the rack. We’ll have the truth from him. By God, his head shall be forfeit for what he has done.’
‘Your Grace,’ murmured the Cardinal, ‘we must build up a case against him. This I believe we can do.’
‘You mean we can send him to the scaffold?’
‘Why should we not, if we can prove him guilty of treason?’
‘He would have to be tried before his peers. Forget not, Thomas, that this is Buckingham; ’tis true that there is royal blood in his veins. You think his peers would judge him worthy of the traitors’ death?’
‘If the case were strong enough against him.’
‘Norfolk would be one of his judges. You know the bonds between them. He and his fellows would be loth to condemn one of such nobility. Had he raised an army against the Crown, that would be another matter. But it would seem that he has done nothing but prate.’
‘Against Your Grace!’
‘Thomas, I understand you well. You serve me with all your heart. I brought you up, and you have had little but insults from these men. But they are the nobility; they make a shield around the throne. They have certain privileges.’
‘Your Grace, I concern myself only with the safety of my master.’ The Cardinal snapped his fingers. ‘I care not that for this shield. Your Grace, I crave pardon but I say this: You know not your strength. All men about the throne should tremble at your displeasure . . . be they scullions or noble dukes. This could be so. This must be so. You are our lord and our King.’
For a few seconds the two men regarded each other. The Cardinal knew that this was one of the most significant moments of his career.
He was showing the young lion that the golden walls of his cage were only silken strands to be pushed aside whenever he wished. Yet looking at this man of turbulent passions, even then the Cardinal wondered what he had done. But he was vindictive by nature; and from the moment he had seen the greasy water splash his satin robes he had determined at all costs to have his revenge.
The news spread round the Court.
‘This cannot be,’ it was whispered. ‘What ha
s he done, but talk? Who can prove that this and that was said? Who are the witnesses against him? A pack of disgruntled servants! This trial is a warning. Do not forget this is the noble Duke of Buckingham. He will be freed with a pardon and a warning.’
But the King’s anger against Buckingham was intense when he examined the evidence which his Chancellor had put before him.
His face was scarlet as he read the report of Buckingham’s carelessly spoken words. It was infuriating that anyone should dare think such thoughts, let alone express them. And in the hearing of servants, so that those words could be repeated in the streets, in taverns, wherever men congregated! This was treason.
And what care I, thought Henry, if this be a noble duke! Am I not the King?
For the first time he had realised the extent of his power. He was going to show all those about him that none could speak treason against the King with impunity. He was greedy for blood – the blood of any man who dared oppose him. He could shed that blood when and where he wished; he was the supreme ruler.
Norfolk came to him in some distress. Henry had never felt any great affection for Norfolk. The Duke seemed so ancient, being almost fifty years older than the King; his ideas were set in the past, and Henry thought that the old man would have liked to censure him if he dared. He had been young and daring in the days of Henry’s maternal grandfather, Edward IV, but those days of glory were far behind him.
‘Well, well?’ Henry greeted him testily.
‘Your Grace, I am deeply disturbed by the imprisonment of my kinsman, Buckingham.’
‘We have all been deeply disturbed by the treason he has sought to spread,’ growled the King.
‘Your Grace, he has been foolish. He has been careless.’
‘Methinks that he has too often repeated his treason to offer the excuse that he spoke in an unguarded moment. This is a plot . . . a scheme to overthrow the Crown, and there is one word for such conduct; that is treason. And I tell you this, my lord Duke, there is but one sentence which right-minded judges can pronounce on such a man.’
Norfolk was startled. He knew the King was subject to sudden anger, but he had not believed that he could be so vehemently determined on the destruction of one who had been in his intimate circle and known as his friend. And for what reason? Merely a carelessly spoken word repeated by a dissatisfied servant!
Norfolk had never been noted for his tact; he went on: ‘Your Grace, Buckingham is of the high nobility.’
‘I care not how high he be. He shall have justice.’
‘Your Grace, he has erred and will learn his lesson. I’ll warrant that after the trial he will be a wiser man.’
‘It is a pity that there will be so little time left to him to practise his new-found wisdom,’ said the King venomously.
Then Norfolk knew. Henry was determined on the death of Buckingham.
But even so, he could not let the matter end there. He and Buckingham were not only friends but connected by the marriage of his son and Buckingham’s daughter. He thought of the grief in his family if Buckingham should die; moreover he must stand by the rights of the nobility. This was not rebellion against the King; Buckingham had not set out to overthrow the Crown. The King must be made to understand that, powerful as he was, he was not entitled to send the nobility to death because of a careless word.
‘Your Grace cannot mean that you demand his life!’
The King’s eyes narrowed. ‘My lord Norfolk,’ he said significantly, ‘do you also seek to rule this realm?’ Norfolk flinched and Henry began to shout: ‘Get from here . . . lest you find yourself sharing the fate of your kinsman. By God and all His saints, I will show you, who believe yourselves to be royal, that there is only one King of this country; and when treason stalks, blood shall flow.’
Norfolk bowed low and was glad to escape from the King’s presence. He felt sick at heart. He had received his orders. Buckingham was to be judged guilty by his peers; he was to pay the supreme penalty.
The pleasure-loving boy King was no more; he had been replaced by the vengeful man.
He stood at the bar, the reckless Buckingham, facing the seventeen peers, headed by Norfolk, who were his judges. His arms folded, his head held high, he was ready to throw away his life rather than beg for mercy.
Old Norfolk could not restrain his tears. He wanted to shout: This is madness. Are we going to condemn one of ourselves to the scaffold on the evidence of his servants?
But Norfolk had received his orders; he had looked into those little blue eyes and had seen the blood-lust there. Insults to the King, though carelessly uttered, must be paid for in blood; for the King was all-powerful and the old nobility must realise that.
Calmly Buckingham heard the charges brought against him. He had listened to prophecies of the King’s death and his own ascension to the throne; he had said that he would kill the King; he had many times mentioned the fact that only the King and the Princess Mary stood between him and the throne.
He defended himself against these charges. He pointed out that none but his unworthy servants had been able to speak against him. Was the court going to take the word of disgruntled servants before that of the Duke of Buckingham?
But Wolsey had prepared the case against him skilfully; and moreover all seventeen of his judges knew that the King was demanding a verdict of guilty; and if any of them refused to give the King what he wanted, it would be remembered against them; and it was likely that ere long they would be standing where Buckingham now stood.
The old Duke of Norfolk might weep, but nevertheless when his fellow judges agreed that the prisoner was guilty he read the terrible sentence.
‘Edward Stafford, third Duke of Buckingham, you are found guilty of treason.’ His voice faltered as he went on: ‘You shall be drawn on a hurdle to the place of execution, there to be hanged, cut down alive, your members to be cut off and cast into the fire, your bowels burned before your eyes, your head smitten off, your body to be quartered and divided at the King’s will. May God have mercy on your soul.’
Buckingham seemed less disturbed than Norfolk.
When he was asked if he had anything to say, he replied in a clear, steady voice: ‘My lord, you have said to me as a traitor should be said unto, but I was never a traitor. Still, my lords, I shall not malign you as you have done unto me. May the eternal God forgive you my death, as I do!’ He drew himself to his full height and a scornful expression came into his eyes. ‘I shall never sue the King for my life,’ he went on. ‘Howbeit, he is a gracious Prince, and more grace may come from him than I desire. I ask you to pray for me.’
They took him thence back to his prison of the Tower, and those who had gathered to watch his progress knew that he was condemned when they saw that the edge of the axe was turned towards him.
Maria de Salinas, Countess of Willoughby, was with the Queen when she heard that the Duke of Norfolk was begging an audience.
Katharine had him brought to her at once, and the old man’s grief distressed her because she guessed at once what it meant.
‘I pray you be seated, my lord,’ she said. ‘I fear you bring bad news.’
He gazed at her, and he seemed to be in a state of bewildered misery.
‘Your Grace, I have come from the court where I have pronounced the death sentence, for treason, on the Duke of Buckingham.’
‘But this is impossible.’
The old Duke shook his head. ‘Nay, Your Grace. ’Twas so.’
‘But to find him guilty of treason . . .’
‘It was the King’s wish.’
‘But his peers?’
The Duke lifted a trembling hand in resignation.
Katharine was indignant. She had known Buckingham to be arrogant, to have offended the Cardinal, to have been over-proud of his royal connections, but these were venial sins; a noble duke was not condemned to the barbaric traitors’ death for that.
‘It is known what influence Your Grace has with the King,’ went on Norfolk. ‘I hav
e come to plead with you to beg him to spare Buckingham’s life. I am certain that this sentence will not be carried out. I am sure that the King means only to warn him. But if Your Grace would but speak to the King . . .’
‘I promise you I shall do so,’ said Katharine.
The Duke fell to his knees and taking her hand kissed it.
‘Maria,’ said Katharine, ‘send for my lord Surrey that he may look after his father.’
The Duke shook his head. ‘My son is in Ireland, Your Grace. Despatched thither on the orders of the Cardinal.’ His lips curved ironically.
‘The Cardinal doubtless thought to spare him the anxiety of his father-in-law’s trial,’ the Queen suggested.
‘He sent him away because he thought he might have spoken in his father-in-law’s favour,’ Norfolk replied roughly.
Poor old man! thought Katharine. Buckingham is very dear to him and if this terrible sentence is carried out there will be mourning, not only among the Staffords, but the Howards also.
She shivered, contemplating the hideous ceremony of pain and humiliation. They could not do that to a noble duke!
She laid her hand lightly on Norfolk’s shoulder. ‘Rise, my lord,’ she said. ‘I will speak to the King and implore him to show mercy.’
‘Your Grace is good to us,’ murmured Norfolk.
When he had gone, Maria looked sorrowfully at her mistress.
‘Your Grace . . .’ she began.
Katharine smiled sadly at her dear friend. ‘I know what you want to say, Maria. This is a dangerous matter. You want to advise me not to meddle.’
Maria said quickly: ‘’Tis so.’
‘No harm can come to me if I plead for Buckingham. I am at least the King’s wife, Maria.’
Maria did not answer. She was afraid of the new trend of events, afraid of what effect it would have on her mistress.
‘I shall go to the King at once,’ said Katharine. ‘I want to put those poor people out of their misery as quickly as possible.’
There was nothing Maria could do; so, as Katharine left her apartment for the King’s, she went to the window and stood looking broodingly out over the gardens.
