by Anne Stevens
“Your cast is assembled, Captain Draper,” Cromwell says. “Though I am at a loss as to its purpose. Cannot you simply name the felon, and have the King give judgement?”
“Oh that it is so easy,” Will replies. “I must beg your indulgence, Majesty. All will be revealed. Both guilt, and innocence must be shown, lest the blameless suffer in error.”
“A fine point,” Henry says. “The law of England is there to protect, as well as punish. What say you, Thomas?”
“Never a truer word has ever been spoken, your highness,” Cromwell replies, but some true words are best unsaid, he thinks. The truth can start a conflagration that even the Thames cannot quench. He prays that Will understands the merit of truth in small doses. “Let the captain speak out. He is charged to act with independence, and even I know not what he will say.”
Bravo, Master Cromwell, Will thinks. In one sentence he gives me leave to speak, and denies all blame if I step wrongly. The next few minutes will be crucial, to all their futures. He takes a scroll from his tunic, and holds it up for all to see. Percy blanches with fear.
“You might have scraped your chin, cousin Percy,” Harry says, as he notices Northumberland’s condition.
“My apologies, sire,” he mumbles, trying to make himself look small. “Circumstances forestalled me from my usual toiletries.”
“My fault, Your Majesty,” Will explains. “I rescued Lord Percy from a dangerous place, and locked him away safely, until just now.”
“Hah!” Henry’s expression grows cold. “You must stop your carousing, Percy. You are our strong arm in the north. Which makes me wonder why you are not there now.”
“Let me answer that, sire.” Will draws attention back to himself, and the tightly rolled scroll. “My master Thomas Cromwell recently had recourse to speak with Lord Percy, over a delicate matter of love. He did so at the request of Cardinal Wolsey, just before his sad death.”
“Ah, was there ever a better servant to a King?” Henry casts down his eyes, and sighs. “I summoned him back, you know, Cromwell. It was my intention to forgive him.”
Forgive his twenty years of loyal, devoted service, Cromwell thinks. Forgive his faultless running of England? He wants to tell this to his selfish King, but he cannot. Cardinal Wolsey, on his death bed, placed no blame on Henry.
“He told me so, sire,” Cromwell says instead. “He had nothing but love in his heart for you, and was sure you would forgive him. You were, perhaps, misled by people who wanted him gone.”
“Not dead though!” Norfolk cannot contain himself. “We all knew his worth, Henry. He just needed to be taken down a peg or two.”
“Yes, he was a vain man, but a great servant,” Cromwell says. He sends Norfolk a look that says, ‘shut up, before the King recalls your involvement’.
“Lord Percy took the Cardinal’s good advice, but formed a dislike for Master Cromwell. In his cups, he spoke ill of my master, rather as another, a King, once did about Beckett.”
“Who will rid me of this turbulent priest,” Henry mutters.
“But substitute the word ‘lawyer’ and you grasp my meaning, sire,” Will tells the king. “A man close to the duke decided to fulfil Lord Percy’s wishes.”
“Assassination!” Henry’s blood runs cold. It is what he fears most. “Percy sent someone to murder Cromwell?”
Thomas Cromwell is all ears now. It is clear why Percy has come to court out of his usual season. He recalls marking him down in his black book once, and vows vengeance, no matter how long it takes him.
“Unwittingly, Your Majesty.” There, Will provides a way out for the King. “Once he realises the killer is on his way, he gives chase. He catches him, even as he reaches the court, and is in search of his victim.”
“Infamous,” Norfolk says, ambiguously. He is, as yet, unsure which way to let the wind take him. “So, Percy stops the man?”
“He does, my Lord. The fool is locked up, and no harm done.”
“No harm?” Henry is enraged. “One of your louts comes to my court, intent on murder? Had he succeeded, I would have your head, Percy. Instead, you will return north. Find your dampest, coldest fortress, and shut yourself up in it, until I say otherwise. See to it Thomas. I will leave your would be assassin to your mercy.”
Thomas Cromwell is short on mercy this morning. Harry Percy comes with a hardened killer, to slay him, and he is to be forgiving? He will strangle Drew Jennings with his own hands, and deal with his lordship later. He knows about Percy’s boast against Lady Anne’s virtue, and will use it to devastating effect, when the time comes.
“Hold hard,” Norfolk says. “This is a pretty story, Draper, but it does not solve the murder committed in this very room. Come, my boy. What of the dead Jew?”
“Patience, my lord.” Will toys with the paper in his hand. “I must now touch upon why the Duke of Suffolk is present.”
“Damned impudence,” Henry says. “Charles Brandon is not in my favour. He is a … a… person of poor character.”
“Not so, Your Majesty,” Will tells the King. “He came to court to tell you how he is slandered. All the world knows of your deep love and friendship for the Duke, and some resent it.”
“Steady on!” Norfolk is uncomfortable. It is true that he dislikes Suffolk, who he considers to be a common upstart, but, in truth, he dislikes everyone who might detract from his own position.
“I do not look to you, my Lord,” Will says. “You have been a steady friend to all the King’s best men. No, my investigation has brought up a significant fact. The young woman who claims to be Charles Brandon’s lover is wrong. My men discovered that one of my Lord Suffolk’s servants, assumed his identity to enhance his chances of bedding the lady.”
“I don’t believe it!” Henry is right not to, but Will puts on as serious a face as he can manage. The foolish young man has confessed, and has been sent to work on Suffolk’s estate in Ireland. The young woman, even after being disabused of her belief in the fellow’s blue blood, has decided to go with him.
“All this tale needs for a happy ending, is for your friendship to be restored.” Will gestures for the two men to embrace, and they do. Henry is almost crying with relief. Brandon is a childhood friend, and that makes him special in the King’s eyes.
“You forgive me, Harry?”
“There is nothing to forgive,” Henry says, slapping his friend’s back, heartily. “What a fine ruse though, Charles. Assuming a higher status to get a girl abed!”
“Alas, not one you can use, sire,” Will says, and the King roars with laughter at the joke. Yes, who is higher than the King? He cannot look up, only down, so must rely on his charm to land a wench.
“You risked your life coming to court,” Henry says. He is becoming maudlin. “Did ever a King have so fine a friend?”
“It was not to clear his own name, sire,” Will says. Wheels move within wheels, and Will Draper must play his hand out to the last card is down on the table. “He came, because he feared you might be listening to poor council.”
“Is this so?”
“Er… yes,” Suffolk says. “Let young Draper explain. He speaks more eloquently than I.”
“Thank you, my Lord. It is clear that Suffolk and Norfolk are, together with my master Thomas Cromwell, the rocks upon which you build your kingdom.”
“That is so,” Henry says. “Cardinal Wolsey never failed to commend Cromwell to me. He has a fine lawyer’s head, and a prince’s good heart. That is how the Cardinal spoke.”
“God bless him,” Will says. The rehabilitation of Cardinal Wolsey is almost complete. If the King can love Wolsey again, he can love Cromwell, as his chosen man. “It is of others that Suffolk wishes to speak, sire. He sees that powerful men still wish you to bend the knee to Pope Clement.”
“What is this?” Sir Thomas More has been silent, but now, he is driven to say something. “A common soldier seeks to advise the King on religious matters? Is the world going mad?”
“I spea
k only my Lord Suffolk’s words, sir. He worries that there are people in court who are not fully behind his marriage to the Lady Anne.” Will turns, and bows to Anne, who is looking at More with daggers in her eyes. “He sought only to warn you, sire.”
“His thoughts are not dissimilar to mine,” Henry says. “I understand your good intentions, Sir Thomas, and Gardiner’s too. But you must understand. My marriage to Katherine is false, and I will marry Lady Anne. On my oath!”
Thomas Cromwell is pleased. Will has learned his lessons well, and uses information as it is meant to be used. Percy, More and Gardiner are warned, and must scorn the King’s wishes at their peril. Norfolk promises to show a kinder face to him, and Suffolk is made into a devoted friend. Well done. Is now the time to uncover the man who murdered Isaac ben Mordecai?
“Then I must come to a very delicate matter, Your Majesty.” Will twists the scroll between his hands. “A matter that might well cost me dear. May I speak frankly?”
“By God, you may,” Henry says. He is getting all his own way, and is ready to reward where it is due. “Speak without fear, young Draper. You have my word that you are safe.”
“Very well. It touches the matter of Your Majesty’s night time arrangements.” Henry’s face freezes into a mask of horror. He is caught. If he reneges on his promise, the whole court will know he has a secret to hide. “The court is a place where idle gossip is exchanged, and on each telling, it becomes ever more malicious.”
Lady Anne and George glare at sister Mary, who smiles at Will, and nods her consent. He bows to her, and turns back to a horrified King of England.
“Even Sir Thomas and Master Gardiner have heard the rumour that Lady Mary Boleyn visit’s a lover, and that the man concerned is you, Your Majesty.”
“Preposterous!” It is all Henry can think of to say. He has his own peculiar set of morals, and finds it difficult to lie, even to save his own skin.
“Yes, it is.” Will spreads his arms wide, as if offering himself up as a sacrifice. “For it is I who is to blame. Ever since I first saw Lady Mary at Esher House, I craved her love. I write her sonnets, and send little tokens of love. It is wrong, for I am to marry soon. My brides brother is in this room, and I must beg his forgiveness.”
Mush gives a small bow, if only to conceal the idiot smile on his face. Another tale for Cromwell’s breakfast table is being born.
“It is true, my Lord,” Lady Mary says. Will has primed her well, and promises lavish gifts for her co-operation. “I found the good Captain to be a most comely man, and was flattered. Then, I realised he was becoming infatuated with me, and put a stop to it.”
“Yes, sire. She came to me on two occasions, and begged me to forget her. Regrettably, she was seen, and the rumour went about that it was you she visits.”
“Absolutely preposterous!” Henry is back on safe ground. Lady Anne has been frowning too much of late, and was beginning to suspect another woman. “Still, I know what it is to love.” He holds out a hand to Anne Boleyn, who smiles, and joins him.
“You are a brave man to tell us this, Captain Draper,” she says. “My sister is a Boleyn, and therefore has a certain attraction to men. Many men have felt as you do, but it will pass.”
“Oh, yes. I forgive you, of course, but you must not aim above your station, Master Will!” Draper bows, and sighs. There, the King is saved from Lady Anne’s wrath.
“You are too gracious, sire… Lady Anne,” Will says.
“I will keep the lad busy, your majesty,” Thomas Cromwell says to the couple. “Between work and his new bride, he will have no time for courtly love.”
George Boleyn leans and whispers in his sister Mary’s ear. In less than brotherly terms he sneers at her taste in men. She has soiled the family name. Mary gives him a cursive look and mutters back a certain name. George is startled at what she knows, so moves away to lick his wounds.
“I believe we should have a scribe summoned, sire,” Norfolk says. “For all these tales rival the stories we can read about Arthur and his court.”
“I think not,” Suffolk says to him. “For few of us are shown in an altogether goodly light.”
“God’s flaming tongue, Brandon,” Norfolk replies. “I am growing old, listening to one clever story after another. You are a saint, come to rescue Henry from his wicked councellors. More and Gardiner are serpents, and Thomas Cromwell is able to walk on water, and part the Red Sea!”
“What is that you say, Uncle Norfolk?“ The King has stopped paying loving attention to La Boleyn, and hears the tail of the Duke’s sharp comment. “Who is it who walks on water?”
“Captain Draper, it would seem,” Cromwell says, diverting the King from a scowling Norfolk. “He is reminding us of friendship, and our duty to God and the King. My Lord Suffolk is reconciled to you, by his doing, and you see clearly where each man’s loyalties lie. I think we might say this is a good morning all around.”
“You speak for us all,” Stephen Gardiner says, rather stiffly. “For we all want that which His Majesty desires, whilst still allowing His Holiness to save face. Pope Clement’s concern is to keep the legitimate church from harms way.”
“The legitimate church, you say? Spoken like a true lawyer, Stephen,” Thomas Cromwell says. Legitimacy is a touchy subject with Henry, and one Gardiner should avoid. “You know well enough that Pope Clement can always save face… for it is said that he has two of them.”
“Have a care,” Sir Thomas More mutters. Kings may come and go, but the church is everlasting, and it has a long memory. The Lord Chancellor knows that if Henry dies, powerful men will fight to put Princess Mary on the throne. Then, Master Cromwell, he thinks, we will see who has two faces!
“Do not misunderstand me,” Cromwell replies, loud enough for the King to stop stroking the Boleyn arm. “I believe the Pope must be brought to understand King Henry’s needs, and smooth the path to the correct conclusion. It will take a rare man to bring him around from his current way of thinking.”
“A rare man, Thomas?” the King asks.
“Yes, Your Highness. I think Master Gardiner will do a fine job for us. He is an ordained cleric himself, and can argue the finer points of canon law. Who better to sway the papacy than he?”
“By God, yes, Thomas. You are right.” Henry is very pleased with the idea. “See to it for us.”
“At once, Your Majesty.” Thomas Cromwell says. Gardiner almost faints with shock. Italy is awash with fever, outlaws and rampant mercenaries. Cromwell is ecstatic. Stephen Gardiner is a constant thorn in his side. His removal to Rome for six months, or even a year, will work wonders for the peace of the court.
He will never manage to change Pope Clement’s venal mind, of course. Not without a huge bribe. Rome will stand on its moral high ground, Henry will be furious, and Cromwell’s great scheme for the reordering of England will progress without further hindrance.
Richard Rich, who has remained silent and invisible until now, steps forward, and pats Stephen Gardiner on the back. He mutters a few, reassuring words, and promises to keep an eye on his law caseload. The lawyer glares at his friend, knowing that he will also keep an eye on his sisterly mistresses. Cromwell is pleased , as Rich is a man who is easily bought, and will serve Henry’s cause well, in return for a knighthood.
“Ah, Gardiner,” Norfolk cackles, “give my fond regards to your pox ridden Pope. Now, for the last time, Will Draper, who, in hell’s name murdered the King’s Jew?”
15 Revelations
Will Draper is in danger of losing his audience. Perhaps he has made too many revelations, and told one tale too many. He can only admire the way Master Cromwell has taken advantage of a half chance to rid himself of the troublesome Stephen Gardiner, but it is time to bring things to a head.
“Your Majesty, my Lords, and ladies, pray attend my words carefully.” The room quietens again. There, that is a much better atmosphere in which to conduct a piece of magic. “In a moment or two, a man will knock on the door, and cra
ve entry. Admit him, Mush, for he knows who the killer is, and how he did the foul deed.”
Every eye turns towards the door. You can hear them breathing, some calm, and some laboured. Henry thinks something wondrous is about to happen… something magical, and he shivers. Mush and Harry Cork move from the door, and turn to face it. Seconds pass. Then, quite distinctly there is the sound of three sharp raps.
Even though it is foretold, the women gasp, and shudder in superstitious fear. Harry Cork stands and stares, but Mush is made of far sterner stuff. He steps forward, unlatches the door, and swings it wide open. Captain Will Draper steps into the room, and everyone gasps.
“What’s this?” Norfolk looks to his left, where a moment before Draper had stood, talking to them. “Is this witchery, Master Draper? Shall we pile the faggots high, and burn you?”
“For a simple trick?” Will pushes through the gathering, and stops in front of the King. “I see you thinking, sire. Speak your thoughts out loud, for lesser mortals.”
“A secret passage of some sort,” Henry pronounces, and they all say ‘of course’, and how clever of Henry to know the trick. In truth, Thomas Cromwell has muttered the secret into the Kings ear, even as the door was opened. By nightfall, Henry will believe he guessed all by his own self, and that he is the cleverest monarch in all Christendom.
“Built by Cardinal Wolsey’s builders,” Will explains. “This room was his bedroom, and the room next door was for his guest. I am told she was a pleasant looking lady, though not of the highest birth.”
“I knew it!” Norfolk is almost choking. “Old Wolsey had a mistress. The cunning fox.”
“She would slip from room to room by a secret door, concealed behind the screen,” Will says.
“How do you know this?” Henry demands. He is a prudish man in the matter of others morals, and he is shocked at his old Cardinal’s worldly lustfulness.
