Jane the Confidant

by Leigh Jenkins

  I sigh, as I leaned back against my chair.

  “They mean Master Cromwell,” I said, though both men know this. “That has been their most consistent cry from the beginning.”

  “Your Majesty, addressing these demands may help in quieting Robert Aske and the other leaders of the rebellion,” Edward said.

  “Perhaps,” I answered. “But you said yourself that quieting these men will not be enough. They must be completely silenced.”

  Edward bit his lip but did not respond. Outside the door, his young namesake burst into tears as he took a tumble across the stone floors. I could hear Jane outside cooing to him, and after a moment his cries lessened.

  Across the table, Charles’ face held a grimace. I understood from it that his thinking now coincided with mine.

  “Edward, I wish for you to write to Sir Robert Aske,” I began, waiting for a moment as Edward pulled out paper and quill, ready to write what I command.

  “Tell him that we wish to invite him here to London to discuss peace,” I continued. Edward glanced at me momentarily but did not pause. “Inform him that Cromwell has been dismissed from his post, and his conduct is being investigated by the nobles of my court.”

  Edward continued to write as Charles narrowed his eyes before questioning me.

  “Do you believe that wise, Your Majesty? Master Cromwell has been a valuable member of the court.”

  I smiled grimly at Charles; I knew what complementing Cromwell must have cost him. Charles had never been fond of the man. Still, even he could not deny that Cromwell had done much for my kingdom and nobles.

  “Cromwell will do us a greater good by residing in the Tower for the moment,” I said, with a glance at Edward, whose hand hovered over the paper as he waited for me to continue with my letter to Robert Aske. “And Cromwell cannot know of this plan. I do not believe he would be able to act the part necessary of him if he believes himself to be safe.”

  “Might I ask what the plan is?” Edward said, as he looked between Charles and myself. Charles averted his gaze from the younger man; he chose instead to look at the thick snow now falling outside of the window. It was left for me to explain.

  “Robert Aske, assured by me that Cromwell has been locked in the Tower, will travel here to London. His fellow leaders will accompany him. While they are here, my guards will arrest them and execute them on charges of treason. With such a swift loss of their leadership, the rebels can be rounded up and sent home, and any who cause issue will be executed as well. Only then will we be able to release Cromwell and bring him back to court.”

  “Your Majesty, will Robert Aske really come to London?” Edward asked. “On his last visit here, he was arrested. Surely he will not repeat the same mistake.”

  Charles leaned across the table to answer for me.

  “He will see His Majesty’s actions with Cromwell as a good reason that he can trust us. Aske believes firmly that we only act on Cromwell’s orders. If Cromwell is locked away in the Tower, then supposedly his evil influence is removed and Aske will be heard.”

  “Your Majesty, I am not so sure it will be this simple,” Edward said, shaking his head. “Robert Aske is a much different man than he was when he first visited the court. I do not believe he will come to London without his army to protect him. What will we do if he sees this as a trap, or if he refuses to come?”

  Both men look to me, Edward’s face opened and questioning, Charles looking older than his years as he peers at my face. I sigh and look to Charles as I answer.

  “Then we will execute Cromwell.”

  ******

  The Christmas festivities at the court were meager; nothing compared to the spectacles I had put on earlier in my reign. No masques or silly entertainments were planned; we could not afford the elaborate sets and costumes that were necessary. A small traveling troop had been brought in the previous night to entertain us with a small play, their only price being a meal and a warm bed for the evening. It had been vastly different from any other entertainment for the court. There were no props or sets and the seven players all remained in their dark and muddied traveling clothes.

  But it seemed this was the best we could afford. I looked around my great hall and took in the tapestries. The large pieces of cloth were a necessity in my palaces; they kept eyes from noticing the dirty and chipped walls and kept the room warm with the heat from the fire that roared in the hearth. However, where I had once held a vast collection of tapestries, pieces that had been woven to depict wonderful stories from history and the Holy Bible, I now only had thick, plain cloth that told no stories and refused to delight the eye. All my tapestries, including my prized possession of the seven pieces that depicted the labors of Hercules, had been sold, their money filling my empty coffers.

  I was surrounded by examples of my court’s poverty. All around me clothing seemed to droop; jewelry was now a rare thing to see among my courtiers. The once-bright colors that had graced my courtiers seemed to disappear, the clothing that was made from brightly colored dye was older and faded, the color gone from too many washings. A bitter smile overtook my face as I recalled a time when the ladies of the court would have been horrified to have a garment washed and reused; the Duchess of Norfolk in particular had a hatred of laundry women. Now, the widowed old woman sat in a plain brown gown, its skirt faded along the hems.

  Even Jane was dressed in a manner unbecoming of a queen. She still retained the jewelry I had given her upon our marriage; times had not become as desperate as that. She rarely wore it however, out of what I assumed was respect for the ladies of her court, who had been forced to sell off their own precious items to help their husbands raise troops for my war. There had been little cloth for new dresses; any that could be purchased Jane had sent on to first Edward and Margery, then Mary, and even a bolt for Elizabeth so new garments could be made for them to wear at court for the Christmas season. Indeed, Elizabeth had been so pleased with her dress that she had worn it every day since arriving at court.

  Meals were not what they used to be. Before, Christmas had been a time of huge feasts, the tables being laden with food. Now, between the harsh drought and war-ravaged countryside, food was scarce, and the delicacies I had so often enjoyed too expensive for my table. Our dinners now consisted of only three courses, and there were often only a few dishes at each meal; one supper had boasted only a thin broth for the first course.

  But I had to be pleased with my wife and the courtiers. I had heard no mutter of complaint, no backhanded word about the lack of meats on the table. Jane led the court in its graciousness, even last Sunday having the bishop say a special blessing for our court and the great meals we had enjoyed. I know she spoke with him about his message, which had emphasized how much the members of my court had, and the suffering seen in the country and among the commoners now. I had not been best pleased that she had reminded my court of the toils of the war, and the embarrassments that had been laid upon me because of the rebels. The message was well received, however, and I knew of a few nobles who had immediately given food to be sent out among their tenants. These generous actions would keep fewer people from joining the rebel army, something we could not afford now that we had finally turned the tide of the war.

  There was one face missing from my court now. The day after meeting with Charles Brandon and Edward Seymour, I had Thomas Cromwell placed under house arrest. Word was given out that his treasonous actions were being looked into. I planned to move him to the Tower of London after the Christmas season; I did not wish to darken the holidays by questioning a loyal servant of things he was not guilty of.

  I had told Edward Seymour to not write to Robert Aske until after Epiphany. It would be better to let Aske think that Cromwell was truly being suspected for treason, that I had actually uncovered some evil plot among my courtiers. To write to Aske immediately after arresting Cromwell would be to suggest that he was only arrested to please the rebels. I did not wish to give them that much power, or to quibble w
ith them during the holiday season.

  Pulling my face into a smile I looked over at Jane, her well-worn dress tight over her stomach. She would go into confinement within a month or so, hopefully to deliver a much-desired second son.

  Immediately Jane smiled back at me, the same carefree smile she had worn every day through this war, the smile of someone who was confident that everything would turn out as she thought best. She reached over, grasping my hand, her small fingers cold in mine.

  “Your Majesty,” she said, with a slight bow of her head. “Shall I call for music?”

  I smiled at my wife, this woman who tried so hard to please me and to keep me happy. I patted her hand softly.

  “Whatever you wish, Jane.”

  ******

  Only a month later we were carefully ensconced at Hampton Court, Jane preparing for her confinement. The few courtiers who had joined us at Christmas had traveled back to their estates during the cold winter months, a quite unusual occurrence. The large brick palace seemed empty; many rooms were not even in use. During the cold month of February I found myself wandering the empty rooms, wrapped in furs to ward away the chill. Tapestries were only hung where necessary; it was strange to walk these rooms and reach out to feel the cold brick underneath my fingers, running my hands across the cracks that lined some of the windows.

  The invitation for Aske to visit court and talk over peace had been delivered to the rebel camp the previous week. It had taken almost a month for the messenger to find them, and even after he had, Aske had not written back an answer, instead telling the boy that he would need time to consider his options. We had no word on when he would answer us, and the government had come to a standstill. Everything seemed to revolve around what Aske would decide. Trade merchants refused to ship goods to London, finances were frozen, people refusing to act or take risks before knowing what the rebels would do.

  It left me with very little to do beyond wander my own halls. When Jane had first entered confinement Charles Brandon had come to me, head slightly bowed, and asked where I wished to go, my hunting lodge at Oakland or St. James Palace.

  “I personally recommend St. James Palace,” he said. “As it will allow Your Majesty to take part in the pleasantries London has to offer. And the ground is too hard for hunting.”

  I had stared at Charles, momentarily confused by what he said. Why would I travel anywhere when my wife was about to give birth?

  But then I remembered. During Edward’s birth I had gone hunting, afraid of another death. Margery had been born while I was strategizing at St. James Palace, and I had been uninterested in Jane, whose sympathies had seemed so aligned with the rebels. This time, however, I had not even considered leaving Jane’s residence, anxious to be near the one who had become so dear to me.

  “I will remain here, at Hampton Court,” I had answered his questioning eyebrow, raised slightly as he waited for my answer.

  “There will be few ladies of the court,” he responded thoughtfully. “Those here will be in the Queen’s attendance.”

  I had narrowed my eyes for a moment before understanding his meaning. I had not taken a mistress since Edward had been born, over two years prior. In the wake of everything that had happened to my country it had not occurred to me to do so. It seemed that war had changed not only my country, but me as well.

  “That will not be necessary,” was all I said, and he had nodded, stepping away from the frigid room and leaving me with my hand upon the window pane.

  And now there were even fewer ladies at the court, none certainly who would entertain my fancy. Charles’ wife had retired to their estate for her own confinement; she would give birth shortly after Jane. Anne, the wife of Jane’s brother, had remained with the court, but the woman had grown even more over-proud since her husband’s heroic wins on the battlefield.

  The entire court felt void of happiness. My daughter Elizabeth had returned to her own establishment, although the Lady Mary had stayed to help her stepmother through birth once again.

  All-in-all, it was a meager group who had remained to assist Jane. To compensate, I had sent for an additional midwife to tend to the confinement chamber, more to keep Jane company than for her skills.

  Sighing, I turned away from the empty rooms and began to walk back up the empty halls towards my own chambers. Dinner, meager though it was, would be served shortly and the two page boys who silently accompanied me during my wanderings would appreciate the heat from the fireplace.

  There would be little for me to do after dinner beyond ordering another round of torture for Cromwell. They told me that he begged to know what he had done, to at least be asked questions before the torture began so that he could answer them. But there were no questions to ask, nothing he could confess. I had to be satisfied in the knowledge that the rebels had certainly heard of his imprisonment by now and could take it as a showing of good faith for their visit to London.

  Pulling my furs tighter around me, we entered my chambers. The two pages moved closer to the fire to warm themselves, but I did nothing more than walk to the window, looking out at the frostbitten land. I considered calling up my tailor to have another one of my jackets taken in; with the little food that could be bought by the court, my girth seemed to be shrinking away until I could disappear altogether.

  I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, trying to chase away the negative thoughts. It would do the country no good for me to disappear now.

  Chapter Fourteen

  March 1540

  It did not work.

  I was in my chambers when Edward Seymour came to me, eyes downcast and letter trembling in his hand. It was one of the few winter days that had given us sunshine; the heavy curtains had been drawn away to allow the light to stream in from the east windows, lighting the dreary room and showing the dirty rushes on the floor. A few servants were now scurrying around trying to clean the more obvious stains, and a bundle of new rushes sat in the corner, waiting for me to go to dinner.

  I put aside my book and sat up straighter at my desk. At this point I could read Edward well enough to know if the news he brought me was good or ill; the man often wore his emotions on his face. I took a deep breath before waving for the servants to leave the room.

  “Send for his Grace, Sir Charles Brandon,” I called out to a page, and he ran from the room. It seemed the pages could read Sir Edward’s face as well.

  “Your Majesty—“

  “Wait for his Grace to arrive,” I interrupted. “I can see that the rebels have not fallen for our plan, but Sir Charles should hear these words as well.”

  Edward nodded, and I gestured for him to sit. A page boy stepped forward with a pint of ale which he took down in one gulp; I nodded for him to be brought another one.

  As the boy poured from the earthen jug once again, I stood up. Edward almost knocked the boy aside in his effort to stand before me, but I waved him down again. I stepped to the fireplace and began to pace.

  For weeks I had been restless. Jane was still trapped in confinement, though her midwives assured me that she would give birth at any moment. The court was small, and we had been waiting weeks for a response from Sir Robert Aske. The longer the rebel leader took in answering me, the more I had felt trapped in my own palace, wandering the halls and staring, looking out the window.

  And there was nothing to comfort me with. I could not bring myself to visit the women of London; I could not even find the desire. And the comfort that a feast could bring me had been taken away this season. There had been no meat for the past week, the one sheep that had been bought last Tuesday had been slaughtered and its choicest bits made into a thick broth for Jane, who I was worried would be losing strength.

  If we could quiet the rebels, and the harvest was good this year, I was certain that this famine would cease. Farms that we had been barred from for the past two years would once again rush to sell food to my court. Though many old faces had gone, new nobles would rise, there were always eager families rea
dy to step into dead men’s shoes in England.

  “Sir Charles Brandon!”

  I turned to watch as the duke entered the room, took one glance at Sir Edward, and shook his head.

  “They did not agree to come to London,” I said, returning to my table to take a seat. Edward stood while I was being seated and then both he and Charles sat on either side of me.

  “They were at least willing to talk,” Edward says, holding out the letter. “It is not as bad as it could be. They simply refuse to come to London before Cromwell is executed.”

  “They do not believe I will hold to my word?” I demanded.

  Edward seemed lost at how to respond to this.

  “Your Majesty, we must think of another way,” Charles said, leaning toward me, but I pushed away from him, standing once again.

  “I have been trying to think of another way!” I roared, slamming my hand down on the table in anger. Both men jumped from their seats, trying to stand in my presence, but I turned away from them towards the northern facing window.

  “I have spent nothing but these past few months thinking of another way,” I continued. “Thinking if there was another advisor that could be executed, if there could be false rumors spread about Cromwell’s death, perhaps another army raised. But this has all come to nothing.”

  “Why could false rumors not be spread?” Charles asked. “That is quite a brilliant plan.”

  I turned around to list the different ways in which that plan could fail like all the others, but Edward was already shaking his head.

  “Forgive me Your Grace,” Edward said. “But it is quite obvious from the letter sent that Robert Aske has someone inside the Tower. He is able to list dates and quite specific details on what has been done to Cromwell. It would be quite difficult to smuggle Cromwell out and hide him, when we do not know whom is spying for Aske in the Tower. And another bad show of faith would harden these men away from us forever.”