At the King's Pleasure (Secrets of the Tudor Court) (27 page)

G
eorge Hastings, disinclined to enjoy the afternoon’s entertainment, nevertheless pasted a smile on his face and applauded when the eight players and a boy took their bows. They had acted in something called
The Four Elements,
which had included music and dance, but George had been too preoccupied with his own thoughts to pay much attention to the story.

He told himself that he should be glad of the respite of a day spent in London, as he found it well nigh intolerable living at court. True, he had his wife in his bed every night, but during the day she laughed and flirted with other men, just as she always had, and Will Compton was always among them, lapping up her smiles. Realizing that he’d clenched both his fists and his teeth, he forced himself to relax, but the tension that rode him, day and night, did not lessen one whit.

He heartily wished the Duke of Buckingham would come to the point. George’s brother-in-law had not extended this invitation to dine for no reason. Buckingham never did anything without having two or three purposes in mind. The fact that he’d included George’s stepfather, Sir Richard Sacheverell, in the invitation only heightened the likelihood that the duke was up to something.

George’s best guess was that it had to do with the Earl of
Northumberland. The earl had recently spent twelve days in the Fleet Prison before being released and fined ten thousand pounds—an impossible amount!—for illegally keeping more retainers in livery than were permitted by law. Two days ago, Northumberland had met with the king in His Grace’s privy chamber. George did not know what had been said there, but the earl had emerged looking relieved and had immediately set off for his properties in the north.

After the entertainment was over, the other gentlemen in the dinner party began to drift away to their own houses, but Buckingham indicated that he wished George and Sir Richard to linger. “Let us go out into the garden,” the duke suggested.

It was more private there than indoors, shielded as it was on the one side by the hill leading up to the church of St. Laurence Pountney. Buckingham, with uncharacteristic familiarity, took each man by an arm and led them deeper into the concealing shrubbery.

“I sent for you two to let you know a part of my mind. My last day at court, my lord cardinal and I chanced to sit together without any others nearby. He broached the idea that I should send for my son, Lord Stafford, to come to court and become acquainted with the king and the queen.”

George lifted an eyebrow at this. “Your Grace has but one son.”

“So I told Cardinal Wolsey. And I reminded him that the boy is not yet wed nor a father. With the contagion lately spreading through the land, I would not risk him for the world.”

Sacheverell started to speak, perhaps to remind the duke that the contagion Buckingham spoke of appeared to have been—God be praised!—confined to Nottinghamshire and a bit of Derbyshire. But Buckingham was already speaking again and neither George nor Sacheverell cared to interrupt.

“Wolsey seized on that, taking my words to mean that once young Henry had a wife and child I would no longer object to his coming to court.” The duke plucked a rose and with a savage flick of one finger, beheaded it.

“Had he suggestions in mind?” George asked.

“Oh, yes. The first was the daughter of the Countess of Salisbury. That was a test, I think. Why should Wolsey wish to see two strains of royal blood combine?” Once again, he did not give either man time to comment. “A moment later, as if struck all of a sudden by the thought, Wolsey proposed that my son wed the Earl of Shrewsbury’s daughter, Mary Talbot.”

“Another trap?” George asked. “Shrewsbury and Northumberland have all but completed plans for a betrothal between Lady Mary and Northumberland’s heir, Lord Henry Percy.”

“And if it was Wolsey who contrived Northumberland’s arrest, he may wish to thwart any alliance between the two greatest magnates in the north.”

George sent a quick glance in Sacheverell’s direction. They had both served under Shrewsbury at the Battle of the Spurs and neither would willingly cause the earl any trouble.

“Wolsey asked me if I knew what Shrewsbury’s plans were for the marriage of his son and heir,” Buckingham continued. “I replied that I did not, but that I was certain the earl would never marry off his son without the advice of the king’s grace. ‘Why, my lord,’ Wolsey said then, ‘this I dare promise you, that if my lord Shrewsbury were here, the king’s grace would speak to him with all his heart on your behalf. And if he does not come soon to court, His Grace will write to him and bid him come thither without delay. It is the king’s wish to see you two knit together. And this shall I say, that if you vary in anything the king shall give the stroke betwixt you himself.’ And with that, my lord the cardinal left me alone to ponder all he’d said.”

So that was why they had been invited to dine, George thought. Buckingham wished to use their connection to Shrewsbury to propose a marriage alliance between the Staffords and the Talbots. George wanted no part of it, most especially if Wolsey was behind it. But it puzzled him that Buckingham did not appear to be more suspicious of the cardinal’s motives.

“Here is what I propose,” the duke said, drawing Sacheverell down onto a bench under a secluded arbor. “There should be cross marriages
between my son and the earl’s daughter and the earl’s son and my daughter. I ask that you, Sir Richard, since you are one of Shrewsbury’s regular correspondents, should write to his lordship on my behalf, to sound out his feelings on the matter. You may tell him that I will ask a thousand marks less as a dowry from him than I would from anyone else. I will tarry in London and not depart for Thornbury until I have his reply. Or better yet, let him come here in person to discuss the matter.”

Wolsey wanted Shrewsbury in London, George thought—perhaps so he could be arrested and charged, as Northumberland had been, with illegal retaining. Or else so he could be forced to agree to the marriage alliance Wolsey wanted. Either way, the journey would not end well for the earl.

Buckingham sent a sly glance George’s way. “It would be useful, Hastings, if Sir Richard could convey your endorsement of the plan to the earl in his letter.”

Sacheverell dutifully promised to write to his lordship as soon as he returned to his lodgings, but George managed to avoid committing himself. A short time later, the two men left the Manor of the Rose to walk to George’s house in Thames Street, located just across from Paul’s Wharf.

The Queen of Scotland had left Baynard’s Castle for Greenwich, where tournaments in her honor would begin in two days’ time. The neighborhood had an empty feel to it that suited George’s sour mood.

“I suppose I must write to the earl,” Sacheverell muttered once they’d made themselves comfortable in one of the smaller chambers where the fire, ready laid, did not take long to catch. Although it was mid-May, the cold of winter still clung to houses near the riverfront.

George gave the embers a last stir and, satisfied it would soon warm them, returned the poker to its rack, put the fire screen in place, and crossed to a cushioned chair near the writing table where Sacheverell sat toying with quill and inkpot. “It must be Shrewsbury’s desire to ally himself with Northumberland that prompted the cardinal’s suggestion. Rumor says that Wolsey is the one who contrived to have the earl
arrested. Perhaps, had Shrewsbury not fallen ill of the contagion, he’d have ended up in the Fleet, as well.”

“But why? The charge of retaining made against Northumberland had no true merit. Everyone has men in livery.” He laughed. “Even I do, for my servants wear your mother’s badge.”

One of George’s retainers arrived at that moment, bearing wine and an assortment of nuts and cheeses. He delayed his reply until he and Sacheverell were alone again, sipping from goblets filled with Rhenish wine. The fire crackled merrily in the background.

“Money,” he said succinctly. “Even if the fine levied against Northumberland is reduced, it will still bring a huge sum into the royal treasury, and Wolsey is the one who has charge of finances. The king is too busy with pageants and tournaments to oversee such petty details.”

Sacheverell looked thoughtful. “I wonder if there is more to it than that? Northumberland has not been particularly effective in controlling disturbances on the border with Scotland. And it is clear that neither the king nor the cardinal trusts him. Why else question him about plans for his son’s marriage?”

“Was he asked about that during his examination before the Star Chamber?”

Sacheverell took another swallow of wine and watched George over the rim. “He was questioned privately, too, by Sir William Compton on behalf of the king.”

“Compton and Wolsey,” George muttered. “Strange bedfellows, and yet they are reputed to be great friends these days. Plotting together, no doubt.”

“No stranger that Wolsey and Buckingham, and they, too, seem to be working in concert.”

George’s sympathy lay with Northumberland, who was, after all, his cousin. That the earl was also one of Buckingham’s brothers-in-law had not seemed to sway the duke. That was hardly surprising. For all his claims to act in the best interests of his entire family, Buckingham looked out for his own interests first.

“What do you hear from Worksop?” he asked Sacheverell.

“Shrewsbury has taken the precaution of sending all his horse keepers away and turning his horses to grass, but no one has fallen ill there for five or six weeks now, and there have been no new deaths.”

“It might be best not to tell the king that. You know what a great fear His Grace has of any sickness. If he believes there remains any possibility of contagion, he will not want Shrewsbury anywhere near the court.”

“But what of the duke’s proposal? I have promised to suggest this double marriage alliance to the earl.”

“Find a way to phrase it that will incline Shrewsbury to a cautious reply,” George advised.

As Sacheverell began to pen a letter to the earl, George left his chair to stand beside the hearth. He felt uncommon chilled.

That both Sir William Compton and the Duke of Buckingham were in such favor with the cardinal disturbed him deeply. There was no love lost between the two of them and he knew just enough about the cardinal’s machinations to be as wary of Wolsey as he was of the duke. There was no question in his mind but that the Earl of Shrewsbury should stay away from court. George heartily wished he could do likewise.

T
he first day of the tournament in Margaret Tudor’s honor, a Monday, dawned hot and dry. The display of pageantry was one of the finest Lady Anne had seen. The king himself led the challengers, along with the Duke of Suffolk, the Earl of Essex, and Sir Nicholas Carew. They and their horses were all in black velvet, decorated with branches of honeysuckle appliquéd in fine flat gold. The embroidery had been done in such a way that the leaves and branches appeared to move and shimmer in the sunlight.

Anne’s eye was drawn first to the king and then to the dozen or more knights on horseback who were waiting in attendance. The knights were all dressed alike in blue velvet fringed with gold and wore identical blue velvet bonnets, but three figures stood out among them—George, George’s old enemy, the Marquess of Dorset, and Sir William Compton. At the king’s pleasure, they were compelled to work together as a team. Anne felt a sense of unease creep over her as she studied the three men. She could almost feel the tension bubbling just beneath the surface.

Fourteen trumpeters in blue sarcenet coats and blue hose and bonnets sounded the call to begin the tournament. Although Anne continued to keep a watchful eye on her husband and the other two men, nothing untoward occurred. When George returned to their lodgings
that night, he had been gifted with the blue velvet bonnet and was in a cheerful frame of mind. The challengers had triumphed over the answerers in every event.

The second day of the tournament began in a fashion similar to the first, only this time the king, Suffolk, Essex, and Carew wore purple velvet embroidered with golden roses and rose leaves. Their mottos had been picked out in pure gold on the borders. The lords and knights were in yellow velvet, gored and guarded with cloth of gold, while the king’s gentlemen wore yellow satin. The trumpeters were attired in yellow damask, with yellow bonnets and hose. The opposing team sported garments of white and gold.

Every eye fixed on the king as he unhorsed Sir William Kingston. But despite the cheering of the crowd and the exuberant spirits of the other ladies seated near her, Anne could not quite shake the uncomfortable feeling that all was not well. Again she sought her husband’s familiar form among the king’s men, and this time she saw that her instincts had been sound. He was turned in his saddle, watching a scuffle that had broken out near the colorful pavilions erected beside the tiltyard. Even at a distance, Anne recognized the livery of the men involved. Some wore George’s colors and others had the badge of the Marquess of Dorset sewn onto their sleeves.

The skirmish did not last long, thanks to quick action by members of the royal household, but the damage had been done. Anne spent the rest of the tournament worrying that George would be held responsible for the exchange of blows. To fight at court in anything but a sporting competition was expressly forbidden. A man could lose a hand for striking another in the king’s house.

Although there was a banquet in the queen’s apartments after the tournament, Anne retired to her own lodgings instead and sat disconsolately before the cold hearth. When Will Compton appeared at her door, her first thought was that he’d come with word of George’s arrest.

“I will stay only a moment,” he promised, “while your husband is engaged in deep conversation with your brother.”

“I have told you before that I will not lie with you.” His persistence was wearying.

“Ah, yes. Because you have a husband and he is right here at court. And yet I live in hope.”