At the King's Pleasure (Secrets of the Tudor Court) (41 page)

Will had refused Anne’s request and sent her away to spare her that fate. A man had to protect the woman he loved, even after she no longer loved him. He would not let Wolsey prosecute and humiliate her. He would go on protecting her as long as he had breath in his body. If that meant giving in to Wolsey’s demands and helping him bring about the downfall of the Duke of Buckingham, so be it.

His decision did not make it any easier for Will to live with himself.

On the day before he reached London, the duke stopped for the
night at Windsor Castle. The next morning, after Mass, he made an offering at the shrine of Our Lady of Grace. It was there that he caught sight of Will’s servant and recognized him.

“Why are you loitering about?” the duke demanded.

Will, who had been watching from the other side of the shrine, kept out of sight, but he was close enough to overhear his man’s answer. He stood up to the duke, bristling with defiance. “My office lies here by the king’s commandment.”

He did not need to say more. Buckingham was not a stupid man. By his thunderstruck expression, Will knew he’d realized that the summons he’d received was no ordinary invitation to return to court.

Will questioned the duke’s servants afterward. Buckingham went from the shrine to breakfast but was unable to eat. He’d pushed aside the platter filled with meat, ignored a fine, fresh loaf of manchet bread, and called for his barge to continue the journey downriver to London. He suspected trouble, but he knew there was no way to avoid it.

That day’s traveling ended at the cardinal’s palace in Westminster. Will and his companions no longer troubled to hide their pursuit. The Thames was full of river traffic, but not so crowded that sergeants at arms in the king’s livery could go unnoticed.

Will was close behind the duke when he entered York Place and demanded to see Cardinal Wolsey.

“My master is ill,” one of Wolsey’s men informed them. “He will see no one today.”

Whether it was true or not, Will could not say, but Buckingham’s face drained of color. He recovered himself with an effort. “A pity,” he said, “but you cannot deny me hospitality. I will drink of my lord’s wine before I go.”

While the duke refreshed himself from Wolsey’s cellar, another of the cardinal’s servants appeared at Will’s elbow. “My master would speak with you, Sir William.”

So much for Wolsey’s illness!

From behind his desk, the cardinal stared hard at Will through narrow eyes sunk in rolls of flesh. He had been sick, after all, Will thought.
Instead of his scarlet robes and red hat, he wore a fur-lined night robe. His head, bald save for a few wisps of gray hair, was uncovered. One foot, afflicted by gout, was propped up on a stool.

“You need not follow the duke farther,” Wolsey said. “When he lands at the Hay Wharf to disembark for the Manor of the Rose, his barge will be boarded by a contingent of armed men from the Tower. Buckingham will be arrested and taken off, then led down Thames Street to the Tower as a prisoner. He is to be indicted for high treason.”

Will said nothing. He felt no exultation at the downfall of a sometime enemy, only pity.

Something of his thoughts must have shown in his expression. Instead of dismissing him, the cardinal leaned forward across the desk. The smell of strong liniment stung Will’s nostrils. “When you return to your duties with the king, you will say nothing to soften His Grace’s resolve in dealing with the duke. Remember that if the highest-ranking nobleman in the land can be brought low, how much easier it would be to destroy a mere knight.”

“You need not threaten me, my lord. I have no intention of opposing your wishes.”

Wolsey’s smile did not reach his eyes. “I am pleased to hear it, for it would be the work of a moment to implicate others in the duke’s treason. One of his sisters, perhaps?” His fat fingers toyed with the lid of a metal casket decorated in enamel in diamonds of red, green, and blue, as if to imply that he kept evidence within, to be taken out and used on a whim.

“I have no intention of opposing you, m’lord cardinal,” Will repeated.

By the time Will returned to Greenwich, word of Buckingham’s arrest had preceded him. He was not surprised to find Lady Anne and her husband waiting for him in his little house in the park.

“You betrayed me!” she accused him.

“I did not.”

“I confided in you. You repeated what I said to the cardinal.”

“I did not,” he said again, and caught her hands to keep her from
clawing his face. “Wolsey already knew what little you told me, and more. He suborned your cousin, Charles Knyvett, and Buckingham’s chancellor, Robert Gilbert, and by now he has the duke’s chaplain and the monk from Hinton in custody.”

“Damn you, Will. There must have been something you could have done to prevent this!”

He just looked at her, then shifted his gaze to George. “Take her away from court,” he advised. “No good can come of staying here.”

“I will not abandon my brother!”

“God’s bones!” he swore. “Buckingham has betrayed and berated you for most of your life! You owe him nothing!”

“What does the past matter now? Edward never sought my death. And he always
thought
he was doing what was best for the family.”

Will wanted to throttle her at the same time he wanted to comfort her. He did not have the right to do either. Nor would he ever tell her how narrow her own escape had been or how precarious her position would continue to be so long as the cardinal lived. “Go to Leicester with your husband, Anne. You can do nothing to help the duke.”

“I can ask the king to free him.”

“Don’t be a fool!” Will’s restraint snapped and he lashed out at her. “The last thing you should do is call attention to yourself!”

But she was beyond reason. “I will speak with King Henry. If you ever cared for me, you will arrange a private audience. Is that too much to ask?”

George spoke quietly. “She is determined upon this course. You can smooth the way.”

“If any harm should come to you,” Will said in a choked voice, “I would never forgive myself.” Bad enough that he would never be heart whole again.

George took his statement for assent. An arm around Anne’s shoulders, he led his wife away. “Send word when the arrangements have been made,” he said over his shoulder. “We will be waiting to hear from you.”

T
he king looked impatient.

He was nearly thirty years old, Lady Anne thought, but he had not matured. Oh, his body had filled out since the early days of his reign, when he’d still been more boy than man, but his nature was the same—impulsive, as quick to laughter as to fury, and always overly sensitive about matters that touched upon his honor. He was, in fact, very like his distant cousin Edward.

She had not been granted her private audience. They were in the great hall at Greenwich, remarkable for its size and for having roof timbers that had been painted bright yellow. Dozens of people surrounded them, bearing witness as she prepared to humble herself and beg for Edward’s life.

Anne knew she would have to be careful what she said. Both George and Will had warned her that one wrong word could send her to the Tower and a prison cell of her own. But Anne had a plan. She thought it was a good one.

She was dressed in her finest clothing, richly embroidered and bejeweled. She had rings on every finger, at least one of which would be slipped off and given to His Grace as a symbol of her submission to his will. She had taken care with her cosmetics, adding a delicate blush
of pink to her cheeks and applying liberal amounts of her sweetest-smelling perfume. The time was long past when the king had any interest in bedding her—Bess Boleyn’s daughter Mary was still his mistress—but King Henry still appreciated a woman with a pleasing appearance.

She curtseyed low, taking deep, calming breaths to still her trembling.

“Lady Anne,” King Henry said.

“Your Majesty.” Will had told her that the king liked that title better than the traditional “Your Grace” or “Your Highness.”

“Come closer.”

He sat in an ornate chair under a canopy. A footstool had been placed next to it and he gestured for Anne to seat herself there. From that awkward and markedly subservient position, she looked up at him, searching for some sign of compassion.

Small close-set blue-gray eyes stared back at her, studying her as if she were some exotic breed of bug. He had grown a beard again. He’d had one before, started in a sort of competition with King Francis before the Field of Cloth of Gold, but he’d shaved it off at the queen’s insistence. Less than a year later, Queen Catherine did not have nearly as much influence over her husband as she’d once had.

The king leaned close enough for Anne to catch a whiff of his favorite scent, a blend of musk, rosewater, ambergris, and civet. “If you have something to propose,” he said in a low voice, “speak now.”

This was the greatest degree of privacy Anne could hope for. No one was nearby, not the king’s councilors, not his guards, and not his personal servants. She reminded herself that His Grace was under no obligation to listen to her at all. He had granted her a few minutes of his time. Now it was up to her to make the best of them.

Mindful of the need to protect herself and George and their children, she began with a disclaimer. “I know not what sins my brother has committed against Your Grace, but it is my belief that he saw the error of his ways many months ago. Your Grace knows he asked permission to make a pilgrimage to the Holy Land. I beg you, my liege, to let him go.”

She held her breath, expecting an explosion of anger. The king’s eyes flashed but then, instead of a spate of harsh words, he let loose a booming laugh. “Exile over execution, eh?”

Anne went cold as the Thames in winter, and light-headed, too. If she had not been seated, she’d have swayed, perhaps even collapsed. Only strength of will kept her upright, her gaze fixed on King Henry’s face. “Will you not consider it, Your Grace? It would not be the first time you have allowed an errant subject to visit Jerusalem.”

The reminder sobered him. Pilgrimages were rare for Englishmen to undertake in this day and age, but Sir Richard Guildford, father of Sir Henry and Sir Edward, had set off on one such venture early in the reign, after he’d spent some time in prison on an unspecified charge. Rumor at the time had claimed he’d embezzled money from the Crown. Anne did not know the details and did not want to. The only thing that mattered was that the case provided a precedent. If King Henry had let Sir Richard escape punishment by the courts, then there was a possibility that he would do the same for the Duke of Buckingham.

Anne did not have to remind the king that Guildford had fallen ill and died in Jerusalem. There were many perils in such a journey, everything from pirates to plague. But there was also redemption. And a chance to avoid the public dishonor of a charge of treason. For a moment, Anne thought that the king might agree. Then he shook his head.

“Some sins are too great to be forgiven, Lady Anne.”

She bowed her head. She wanted to argue, but irritating King Henry now would only make matters worse.

“What do you know of your brother’s schemes?” he asked in the same voice he might use to soothe one of his horses.

“Nothing, Your Grace.” Anne kept her head bent and prayed he did not mean to interrogate her.

“I am told that you received a visit some months back from the duke’s mistress.”

“If Your Grace means Margaret Geddings, she is an old friend, one of my sister-in-law’s ladies-in-waiting.” She did look up then, straight
into royal eyes narrowed with suspicion. “She and the duchess had a falling-out, now mended. It had nothing to do with whatever Edward has done to offend Your Grace. It was a purely domestic matter.” If she could not help Edward, Anne thought, the least she could do was try to protect Madge.

The king seemed to have a great interest in Edward’s servants. He asked several more questions about the duke’s household, but none that Anne was able to answer.

“I have not had a great deal to do with my brother since early in the reign,” she reminded him, “when we had a falling-out of our own.”

The reminder made the king look away. Anne wondered if he could possibly be embarrassed but decided that was doubtful. Then she worried that by mentioning the incident she’d hardened his resolve to punish the duke, adding that long-ago exchange of heated words to the list of offenses Edward had committed since Henry took the throne.

“Your Grace—”

An abrupt gesture of one beringed hand silenced her. “Your brother’s fate is in the hands of the law, Lady Anne.” His implacable tone convinced her that argument was futile.

Accepting failure, she rose from her stool, curtseyed again, and started to back out of the royal presence.

“Your husband’s services will not be required to make up a jury of the duke’s peers,” the king said abruptly, “and you both have permission to absent yourselves from court for a time.”

Her step faltered, although she knew that the king’s words were kindly meant. It would have been sheer torture to remain while Edward was condemned to death and worse for George if he had to pass sentence on his brother-in-law. Difficult as it was to appear grateful to a man who seemed determined to kill her brother, Anne murmured appropriate words of thanks and retreated.

Just beyond the great hall, two noblewomen were waiting. Bess Boleyn embraced her. She could see by Anne’s face that the interview had not yielded the hoped-for results.

The other was Anne’s sister, Elizabeth. Anne was shocked by her
appearance. She had a gaunt and haggard look, as if she had not slept since she’d heard the news about Edward’s arrest. Perhaps she hadn’t. They’d always been close. Anne turned to her, shaking her head.

“I tried, Elizabeth, but His Grace would not listen. The king is determined to put Edward on trial.”

“But why? Edward is no threat to him.”

“Perhaps His Grace
thinks
he is.” It was possible. If the king had heard the monk’s prophecy and believed it, then he acted to protect the Tudor dynasty.