Royal Mistress (28 page)

“How I wish Will were here,” Edward mumbled half to himself.

“What could he do, my lord?” Jane had asked. “Would he have cautioned you that revenge is bittersweet? I believe you perceive that now, or you would not feel so wretched. But if you truly believe this Burdett has committed treason against you, then I suppose he deserves to die. God rest his soul.” She was feeling brave and could not stop herself from adding, “But if he is not guilty, then you have the power to pardon him, do you not?”

“Not only him, Jane. There are three of them. True, ’tis certain Stacy and Burdett are guilty, but I am not as sure about Blake,” he lamented. “No matter, I cannot be seen to be weak, and I will not allow George to incite rebellion.”

“No matter?” Jane repeated softly. “ ’Tis a man’s life you are holding in your hands, my dear lord, as well as your immortal soul. Are you certain ’tis too late to change your mind?”

“Too late, sweet Jane,” Edward replied. “Parliament has condemned them. I am afraid your counsel comes too late. I had hoped the queen would counsel me as you have, but she hates George so much, she can only think of his destruction. I have no doubt Will would have stayed me, but he is not here.” He took in a deep
breath, and Jane could sense his unease. “The men are guilty and will hang on the morrow.”

Jane had gasped then. “So soon? Ah, their poor wives,” she could not help herself saying, burrowing into his chest. “They are dependent upon their husbands, and the children on their fathers. Dear God, I cannot imagine losing you so abruptly. ’Twould break my heart, and”—she realized with a jolt—“I would be shunned and alone.”

“Dear Jane, you are too soft-hearted for this world,” Edward chided. “But I promise you, if aught happens to me, Will Hastings will take care of you.”

Jane had shivered from cold or fear, she was not sure, but she reached down and pulled the bedcover up to her chin and had tried to sleep.

This morning, she walked slowly with Ankarette. London was emptying in a steady flow of men, women, and children eager for an excuse to take time from their everyday travails and witness someone else’s misfortune. It was not Jane’s first hanging; her father had taken the family to one or two over the years, but it was the first time Jane had felt a connection to the victims. She had donned her drabbest gown, left her jewels at home, and with her head covered by a simple green hood, she mingled with the crowd, Ankarette elbowing away from her mistress anyone remotely suspicious.

They crossed Smithfield marketplace and bought, from a stack piled on a vendor’s head, two hot pigeon pies to eat on the way. Well-to-do merchants, spindly-legged apprentices, rotund red-cloaked clerics, and high-hatted young gentlemen mingled with prostitutes, fishmongers, gong farmers, and ferrymen as they made their way under the Newgate, along High Holborn to the place called Tyburn, set in a field large enough to hold a multitude. The word was passed that John Stacy and Thomas Burdett had been held in the Tower overnight and were on their way, and the crowd’s excitement grew. “ ’Tis said the third man, Blake, was pardoned this
morning,” called out a fellow in Lincoln green, telling all he was an archer. “The bishop of Norwich spoke for him to the king.”

A buxom woman selling nosegays of violets remarked: “The king is merciful for once. I wonder what came over him? Too much wine, I’ll wager. Or too much of a good thing in bed!”

Roars of laughter accompanied this, and Jane hurried on, pulling her hood down to conceal her face, as many Londoners might recognize Mistress Shore of Coleman Street.

Despite her maudlin mission today, Jane’s heart rejoiced that perhaps Edward had heard her plea for pardon the night before and let one man go.

Jane and Ankarette arrived in front of the gallows in time to see the cart carrying the prisoners rumble up the hill to the scaffold. A band of musicians heralded their arrival with pipes and tabors, and a cheer erupted from the waiting spectators. Those following the cart pushed and shoved their way onto the field, and screams were heard as a few people were trampled beneath their feet. Jane wished she had brought Martin, her steward, as she became aware how small and vulnerable she was in this multitude. But resourceful Ankarette had found an empty tun on their walk, and now she made Jane step up on it for a safer vantage point. Jane was amused by her servant’s fearless defense of her mistress’s safety and resolved to reward her later with a trinket of her choosing from a peddler.

Within a short time, the burly guards had dragged the two bound men from the cart, both white with terror, and prodded them up the steps of the scaffold. Two nooses hung loosely swinging in the wind, and as if to sanction the gruesome event, a crow took up its perch on the gibbet, occasionally adding its crass caw to the crowd’s clamoring. After reading a litany of their crimes, the stouter of the two men took a tentative step forward, and the spectators quieted, respecting his wish to be heard for the last time.

“As God is my witness,” he cried in an indignant voice, “I am innocent of any treachery against his grace the king.”

“They all say that,” shouted someone from the middle of the crowd and waited for a laugh. Instead his neighbors shushed him loudly as Burdett continued.

“I told the truth to the judges in Parliament and I reject their verdict and this unjust punishment. I wish it to be known that I go to my Maker protesting my innocence, and may God have mercy on my soul.” He turned back to John Stacy, who was trembling so vigorously that people at the back of the crowd remarked upon it. Stacy’s nervousness caused him to start grinning and giggling, but taking it as a sign of disrespect, the hangman wasted no time in fastening the heavy rope around the man’s neck. Another guard pushed Burdett back under the second noose, frightening the crow that flapped its wings and, in a final ignominy, loosed its dropping directly onto Stacy’s bared head. The crowd gave way to relieved titters after having expressed misgivings about the legitimacy of the men’s fate.

As the priest began the ritual
“Indulgentiam, absolutionem et remissionem peccatorum nostorum . . .”
hoods were placed over the men’s faces and with a sharp nod from the captain standing off to the side, the floorboards beneath the men’s feet were snapped open, and with a great cheer from the audience, the two men fell toward the earth, their twitching bodies dancing freely in the air.

A woman’s wail rose, heartrending, above the now-hushed throng, and Jane, much moved, swayed unsteadily on her precarious perch.

“Take me home, Ankarette,” she begged, putting her hand out to be supported by her maid. “I should not have come. ’Tis a cruel world we live in, in truth.”

All the way back to Thames Street, her feminine intuition kept telling her that Stacy’s and Burdett’s end might well mark the beginning of Edward’s undoing.

E
dward took Jane to Windsor with him the following week, although he knew Elizabeth was already in residence. He had not forgiven his wife for her sanctimonious behavior, and so he had no compunction about breaking his promise not to flaunt another mistress under her nose. However, he was taking his time getting to Windsor. He might have been irked to know that some of his gentlemen thought he was cowed by his beautiful but arrogant queen and might be purposely delaying the reunion. If they could have asked, however, Edward would have told them he merely wanted to share some of his favorite haunts along the Thames with Mistress Shore.

The royal party floated on the sumptuously furnished barge as far as Shene Palace, a favorite residence of both Margaret of Anjou and then her bitter enemy Duchess Cecily, where Edward and Jane had lingered for two days, hunting in the extensive park, before abandoning the water and riding on to Hampton. There they had feasted in his cozy hunting lodge and continued to the riverside town of Staines, over the old Roman bridge, following the river road, and on to Windsor.

“You are well liked, Jane, so have no fear,” Edward said, allaying Jane’s worries about her presence on this journey. “No one will dare shun you for fear of angering me, so be at ease and enjoy yourself. A word of warning, though,” he added softly, “keep out of Elizabeth’s way. She is likely to scratch out your eyes.” Jane
paled, and Edward laughed. “Windsor is big enough to avoid a meeting, sweetheart. Indeed, ’tis my favorite residence, and”—he pointed to the massive round keep rising above the fields in the distance—“there it is.”

Jane was awed by the size of the castle on a mound overlooking a bend in the river, its imposing crenelated bailey wall incorporating more than a dozen sturdy square towers and enclosing the many buildings in its inner wards. It had been built by William the Conqueror to secure the western approach to London and was the most important of several fortifications built then to encircle and defend the capital.

“I could not have imagined such splendor,” she said. “I believe I shall feel safe from marauders there. ’Tis a giant of a castle for a giant of a man.”

Edward laughed happily. “Always one for an apt phrase, sweeting.” He admired again her perfect nose in profile and her shell pink complexion, its color heightened after the ride in the late May sunshine. “I know the place suits me well, and I pray you will be comfortable. On the morrow I shall show you the work on my new chapel dedicated to St. George.”

Jane nodded bravely. Although she did not look forward to the first night in this strange, forbidding place all alone, surrounded by prejudiced noblewomen, she would not let the king see her unease.

Closely followed by a few of his intimate courtiers and their wives, Edward led the way through the gatehouse and into the inner courtyard, where grooms were waiting to help the party dismount. Taking Jane’s hand, Edward reassured her that he would come on the morrow and show her the rest of the castle.

“But for now, my dear, I must attend the queen. Lady Howard will be near to make sure you are comfortable. Norrys!” he called to his squire. “See Mistress Shore to her lodgings, I beg of you.”

Jane felt very small and not a little afraid standing in the vast courtyard under the massive keep, watching her protector stride
away. She searched the many windows of the royal lodgings, wondering if Queen Elizabeth were observing the scene, and she could not remember when she had felt so vulnerable.

J
une was in full bloom at Windsor and Jane had become accustomed to the castle routine, walking in the grounds, or keeping to her allotted, sunny chamber reading, weaving on her lap loom, or attempting to learn the lute, and waiting for Edward’s summons. She accompanied him to the hunt once and attended several public feasts, seated far from him and the queen. He had shown her the progress on the magnificent chapel he had commissioned, its soaring nave nearing completion, and Jane had marveled at the number of brave masons who appeared suspended from nothing as they chipped away at the pillars to create the filigree decorations.

One day she had walked across the short bridge to the hamlet of Eton and seen the beginnings of the school that Edward’s rival, King Henry VI, had begun before his death. Jane was impressed with the Gothic beginnings of the building and much taken with the idea of a school where the boys would lodge, but Edward had sniffed and told her King Louis’s pension money was better spent on his chapel at Windsor.

Now it was midsummer’s eve, the time of witches and fairies, and she was looking forward to the feasting and merrymaking. Considered a pagan festival, it was one Jane thoroughly enjoyed, although this was to be her first celebrated outside London. The bonfires had been stacked high in the wide lower bailey and in the fields across the river, and Jane could not resist wandering down to the water’s edge to pick flowers to put under her pillow. It was said the ritual would ensure that dreams of love would come true.

She had Ankarette dress her in her lightest gown, for the weather had turned hot and a few of her favorite bodices were stained. In palest mauve, the square-cut gown was modest but exposed enough of her chest to invite a breeze to cool her skin. She wore a simple
coif so there was nothing draped about her neck, and she decided she could endure the heat and enjoy putting her feet in the river.