Shaking the Throne

by Caroline Angus Baker

  Cromwell looked up from his desk and looked through the open doorway. From his Windsor Palace office, a small doorway led to the presence room, just a few small chairs by a fireplace. There sat Nicòla, facing away from Cromwell, with baby Jane on her lap. Mother and daughter, both with their long rose-gold hair loose over their dark skin, Jane’s golden eyes closed. Cromwell could not see Nicòla’s expression, but she was talking in Italian to Jane, perchance singing a little tune. Gregory sat in a nearby seat; he sat upright with his young head on the back of the chair, fast asleep. They had made the thirty-mile ride from Austin Friars to Windsor, under heavy guard. Austin Friars was a safe place, for Richard, Ralph and Cranmer had their wives and children there. But Nicòla needed to see her daughter.

  A delicate knock came upon the office door and with haste came Rich again, this time with a sullen face, his eyes red, no doubt from lack of sleep.

  ‘I come bearing news, Lord Cromwell,’ Rich said. ‘It is from Lord Darcy at Pontefract Castle, only twenty-five miles south of York city.’

  ‘What does he say?’ Cromwell asked as he double-clicked his fingers for the letter. The clicking disturbed Nicòla from her song with Jane.

  ‘The letter comes from Thomas Milner,’ Rich replied. ‘The King needs to know, and no one dares to do such a task.’

  Nicòla appeared the small doorway, Jane left behind on the warm seat by the fire. Cromwell’s eyes skimmed the words, but they did not seem real.

  ‘What does it say?’ Nicòla asked as she secured her long hair under her soft cap behind Rich.

  ‘It says the rebels, numbering in the unknown thousands, descended upon Pontefract Castle, on Lord Darcy, Archbishop Lee of York, and many others of the local gentry. They are running low on provisions and cannot hold out against the rebels, who are on their way to York. Lord Darcy had no choice but to yield the castle to the rebels and has sworn allegiance to their cause, as has Archbishop Lee and all others present at the castle. Darcy would rather side with the rebels than with the King. Darcy now considers himself a leader of the uprising alongside Robert Aske. Darcy believes I am the sole target of the rebellion, and my head shall soothe the entire region,’ Cromwell sighed.

  Nicòla let out a whimper and Rich’s head sunk in sorrow. The King needed to hear this at once. The way to end the uprising would be for Cromwell to let his head fall into a basket, just like innocent Anne Boleyn, not five months past.

  Cromwell rose from his seat as he folded the letter up once more, its creases coated in a layer of dust from the ride south. ‘I can pray the King finds the kindness to allow me my head,’ Cromwell added. ‘Please leave us, Rich. You may share this news, for all shall hear of it soon enough.’

  Rich bowed and closed the office door behind him and Nicòla just stood in the doorway. She had a look of loss, one he had never seen. Cromwell may as well have already been dead; but first, he knew what else he needed to carry out once they returned to London.

  C

  Chapter 54 – October 1536

  a lye is a betrayal that shall never be mended

  Whitehall Palace, London

  ‘War is an impossibility in winter in the north,’ Henry said to Cromwell. The King stood in his privy chamber at Whitehall, back in the one room that the King could call home. Back at Whitehall, things could take a more serious turn.

  Henry stood with his arms out as servants brushed his long red sleeves, the fabric new and prepared for the coming weather. Whatever the doctors had done to the King’s leg, God had directed their hands. Queen Jane had prayed fervently for the King’s recovered honour, even though the bloodletting of Henry had been horrendous for the royal couple to endure. But now, Henry was in control of himself and wanted his country back.

  ‘Who do these traitors think they are?’ Henry spat as he shooed his servants away. ‘To think they can demand my Lord Privy Seal’s head! You are the Vicegerent of the spirituals, you are a member of the nobility now. These commoners and their traitorous gentry can all burn. The Archbishop of York shall see himself stripped of many powers, as shall all the bishops and priests who join this crusade against their king and their God.’

  Cromwell smiled just a little; for the King did not want to stop the rebellion by cutting off his head. The King wanted blood, yes, but it was the blood of the commoners, of those who dared defy their anointed sovereign.

  ‘The rebels wish to take London,’ Cromwell replied. ‘My nephew Richard is mustering men again to guard the roads north of the city, so the rebels will never reach this far. Both yourself, and the gracious Queen Jane shall be safe.’

  ‘I will ride out and slaughter these men myself!’ Henry cried. ‘For I offered pardon to a great number and they still fight against my men.’

  ‘Norfolk is near Pontefract Castle at present, Your Majesty,’ Cromwell said as he looked at the papers in his hands. ‘Norfolk complains he has around 6,000 men at his back, yet the rebels number some 30,000. But Norfolk’s men are trained and equipped, and the battle would be a bloody affair. These rebels are not wise or learned men; they would be cut down almost at once.’

  ‘Like you said, Thomas,’ Henry said as he wandered to the fireplace to warm his hands, ‘we would save much time and money if we did not have war with our own people.’

  ‘Indeed, Your Majesty, and yet this treachery cannot go unpunished.’

  ‘I shall ask Norfolk to go to Lord Darcy and to Robert Aske. You know how much I respect Darcy, for all he has done for me and my father before me.’

  Cromwell also knew how Darcy was one of Cardinal Wolsey’s best friends and yet turned against him without a thought. ‘Yes, Your Majesty.’

  ‘But we must ready for war hither in London. Do you think it wise to move Jane to the Tower for safety?’

  ‘I do not believe that decision is necessary yet, but there may be many courtiers who ask for that solace for their families in coming days and weeks.’

  ‘It should be your family who lives in fear more than mine,’ Henry said without a moment of thought for how harsh it cut Cromwell’s heart. Something drastic was needed and Cromwell knew just the ship leaving London which would do the task.

  ~~~

  Cromwell walked into the main entrance to Austin Friars, to many welcomes from his household, clerks, maids and servants alike. All supported their master for the kindness he gave. Their fealty never wavered. Perchance retirement to Austin Friars to be a merchant once more was a better choice than life in the King’s shadow.

  Everyone asked to gather was there, ready to discuss the war coming to London. The parlour yielded Cromwell’s closest family; Nicòla stood there with Gregory and little Jane. Richard had his children, Henry and Francis, no longer children themselves. Ralph and his wife Ellen waited with their sons, and Cranmer awaited with Margarete, who, after many miscarriages, was large with yet another child.

  ‘I am certain you know why we all gather,’ Cromwell said. ‘Richard, you are to use the military training you gained, for it shall not be jousting this winter, but a siege upon London. Tonight, a ship belonging to Stephen Vaughan shall leave its dock in London and travel to the Low Countries, with a stop in Calais. I have a manor there ready to receive all who wish to leave England to prepare for the war.’

  ‘My children know I shall head north to ready the defence of London, so they shall leave for Calais,’ Richard said, and both Henry and Francis nodded in agreement. Both neared the age of twenty years and understood the truth. Old enough to fight, both young men bowed to their father’s wishes.

  Cranmer too had thought of this possibility. ‘I should put Margarete on this ship at once,’ the Archbishop said. ‘I shall stay, as the loyal Archbishop of Canterbury. The Archbishop of York may have sided with the rebels, but I shall never fail to stand by my king.’

  ‘Ellen, Thomas and baby Edward shall also sail,’ Ralph said.

  ‘I cannot leave Austin Friars!’ Ellen cried. ‘We should be at home.’

  ‘You shall leave at o
nce, Ellen,’ Cromwell replied. ‘You, Ralph’s children, and your own older children shall all travel, and Mercy shall too. She is Gregory’s grandmother and must accompany you, for everyone’s safety.’

  ‘Mercy would be a good companion for Gregory and Jane as they head for Calais,’ Nicòla said. ‘All the servants and maids and tutors shall go forthwith to make their journey easier. I promise you all, as part of the Cromwell family, you shall be safe in Calais.’

  Cromwell turned to Nicòla and steadied himself. He felt pleased Nicòla had changed her mind and allowed Jane to travel to France, but it was not enough. ‘Nicòla, I command that you also travel to Calais with Gregory and Jane.’

  ‘What?’ Nicòla almost laughed. ‘I shall not run from a war,’ she scoffed. ‘I fought in the sacking of Rome. I can fight, I can help prepare for all that we need in this most difficult time for England. I shall not flee when the fight for the Reformation comes to such a battle!’

  ‘You shall, for I command you do so.’

  At once Nicòla stalked from the room, past the glorious portrait of her father, Francesco Frescobaldi, which had hung for many years in that parlour. Cromwell followed her out to the back garden where she stood stiff, knowing Cromwell would follow. The sky threatened them but Nicòla’s anger was far more fearsome.

  ‘I shall not leave you,’ Nicòla said the moment he appeared behind her. ‘I shall fight with you. What shall you do? Lock me in the Tower once more? So be it!’

  ‘Jane and Gregory are our children, they need support.’

  ‘Please do not make me into a mother. After years as a courtier and your secretary, I am no fool, Tom, so please do not treat me as one.’

  ‘I love you, Nicò, and I want you safe. The place to be safe is Calais!’

  ‘And what, leave you to be beheaded in London? For you to be hunted down by a treasonous courtier and killed by the rebels when they reach this far south? For Henry to get angry and order you dead in a rage like he did to poor Anne? No, I shall not leave your side for such things to occur.’

  The pit of Cromwell’s stomach hurt more than it had in years. ‘I hear your words, Nicò.’

  ‘You do?’

  ‘You will come to the dock tonight though, to see the ship off?’

  ‘Of course, I am sending my daughter to sea for the first time, so I shall be there, for it can frighten a child. I want Jane to know I am not abandoning her, only protecting her. Love and support will surround her and Gregory, so I can only hope that is enough.’

  Cromwell smiled, and Nicòla returned it, but he knew the moment his world would end would come swiftly.

  The pain throughout Cromwell’s body spread while he waited upon the dock. The ship had to dock out with the evening tide, and the sun had almost set over London by the time all the chests were loaded onboard for the families to leave the city. This was what all his effort had come to, to send his family into exile in Calais in case a group of lowborn men, just like himself once, attacked the city and made Cromwell’s family their victims. No one knew how many men would descend upon London, or once York was in rebel hands, the whole north could turn towards the capital city. They spread Suffolk’s army, Norfolk’s men, Richard’s battlement north of London, across the lower half of England and ready to fight, but not as one large group. They could lose days moving in any direction in bad weather, and rumours of pestilence only hindered the risks of moving an army to defeat fellow Englishmen.

  The air felt sharp as needles with its cold breeze as one by one, those of the extended Cromwell family boarded the ship for Calais. The captain, a regular used by both Cromwell and Stephen Vaughan, looked impatient to set off as they loaded their last-minute passengers. Cromwell thanked God for being able to fit so many people on board a ship in such a hurry. The commoners and the nobles alike would hate Cromwell more when they heard he had sent away his own family, as he now expected them to volunteer husbands, fathers and sons to fight to save his own head.

  Women and children alike took their goodbyes with grace, tears for the unknown yet to come. Gregory embraced his father as he so often did, with the confidence of a man almost ready to make his own way in the world. Jane took her brother’s hand as she took the careful walk up onto the ship high above the dock. Cromwell noticed two men come back down the steady gangway to the dock. This was the moment he dreaded the most. Nicòla stood at Cromwell’s side as she waved to her daughter up on board. He placed one hand on Nicòla’s shoulder and she turned to him with a look of innocence.

  ‘Nicò, you know I love you.’

  Nicòla’s beautiful green eyes narrowed as she gave him a confused smile. ‘I know, as I love you.’

  ‘I am sorry and shall pray to God for betraying you.’

  ‘What betrayal do you speak of?’ she asked and looked to Gregory and Jane on the ship once more. ‘I feel sad to see the children go, but it is for the best. We can settle the rebellion without fear for our family.’

  ‘That is what I want, so dearly.’

  ‘It is as Machiavelli wrote; è necessario ad un Principe, volendosi mantenere, imparare a potere essere non buono, ed usarlo e non usarlo secondo la necessità.’

  ‘It is necessary for a prince wishing to hold his own to know how to do wrong, and to make use of it or not according to necessity,’ Cromwell repeated.

  ‘Indeed, Tomassito, and on this occasion, we are not doing the wrong thing in sending the children away.’

  The two men, men Cromwell did not know, came to him and stood with their large hands at their sides. One held a bale of rope between his fingers as requested. ‘Lord Cromwell,’ one man, the younger of the two, addressed him. ‘We are ready for the prisoner.’

  ‘Which prisoner?’ Nicòla asked.

  Cromwell took his hand from Nicòla’s shoulder and stepped back from her. He gestured to her and the men nodded. ‘Please escort Mr. Frescobaldi onto the ship. He is to be released once the ship is at sea, and trusted with the greatest care,’ Cromwell instructed the men.

  ‘No, I am not going to Calais,’ Nicòla answered Cromwell, but both men took her by the shoulders.

  ‘Be sure to tie Mr. Frescobaldi’s hands behind his back, for he is a fearless man and a strong swimmer,’ Cromwell raised his voice as Nicòla tried to fight off the much larger men. ‘Frescobaldi has the strongest wit in the land and has powerful friends. He could talk the captain into turning the ship back to London if given the chance to speak with him. It is for the best that someone monitors Mr. Frescobaldi with all respect during the journey.’

  ‘No!’ Nicòla cried as one man held her tight, the other binding her thin wrists behind her back. She kicked the man who held her shoulders, and he stumbled away from her. ‘I shall not leave!’ she cried.

  Ralph, Richard and Cranmer all stood close by, watching the scene unfold, the men all losing their families to Calais with their consent. Ralph covered his mouth in shock at Nicòla’s desperate cries.

  ‘You cannot send me away!’ she screamed as the men tried to move her to the gangway. ‘I am a free man and cannot be commanded!’

  ‘I am your master and as the King’s Chief Minister, I can order you on this ship and away from England,’ Cromwell pleaded with her. ‘Please, they packed all your personal belongings on board with the children’s clothing. Please, Nicò…’

  ‘Beg not to me!’ she screamed as they dragged her up the gangway, her feet barely touching the wood. Her soft cap came from her hair, which flew about her anguished face. ‘If you send me away, you shall never see me again! Nicòla Frescobaldi shall never return to England! You cannot make me leave you to die alone! You promised me, Tom, you promised I would be the last thing you saw before you died!’

  Cromwell balled his hands into fists as he resisted the tears coming to his eyes. Nicòla was not begging; she was angry. ‘This is not the end!’ he cried over the sound of her shrieking as they pulled Nicòla aboard the deck.

  The dock hands untied the ship from its moorings and Nicòla c
ontinued to fight the men appointed to care for her. Two more deckhands came along to subdue her, but she tried to kick them, spitting in their faces. The four men gripped her, her limbs all pulled to stop her fighting.

  ‘I will never come back to you if you make me leave! You are not “The Prince” after all!’ he heard her scream. Jane and Gregory were both crying; Margarete Cranmer and Ellen Sadler stood nearby with the children, all weeping for Nicòla’s state.

  ‘In times of great struggle, the Lord shall soothe,’ Cranmer said to Cromwell, and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, his hand covered in a purple glove against the cold.

  Cromwell bent down and picked up Nicòla’s cap, which had fallen to the dock in the gentle breeze. Rose-gold hairs stuck to the satin lining. He looked back up as the ship slipped from the mooring, Nicòla still crying. They put Nicòla to her feet and tears streamed down her dark cheeks, no more screams but anguished crying instead. For she did not want to leave England in this time of crisis. She just shook her head, her hair sticking to her wet face as the ship began its descent into the Thames and off towards the narrow sea to France. Even if Cromwell lived to see the rebellion defeated, Nicòla might not forgive him for this betrayal.