The Boleyn Deceit (6 page)

That forged document had led to Norfolk’s arrest and subsequent natural death in the Tower. The most pressing question left unresolved two months later was the extent of Mary Tudor’s knowledge and support of a plot against her brother’s throne. It was no secret that every Catholic in Europe—and England—thought Mary England’s only legitimate ruler. Rochford’s spies had even reported that Spanish ships were prepared to land on the east coast preparatory to either spiriting Mary away to raise an army or else to land troops in support of her royal claims.

Rochford sighed. “Not a single member of the Howard household has admitted to plotting either to help Mary escape or to help her fight against the Crown.”

“We know that Norfolk was searching for the Penitent’s Confession—his own brother told us so. And it was your intelligencers who said Spanish ships were sailing to England.”

“Anyone who provides information in exchange for money is unreliable. Who is to say my intelligencers were not offered more money to lie to me?”

“Are you saying that you do not trust your own intelligencers?” Elizabeth regarded her uncle, walking gravely beside her. He had her mother’s colouring—and William’s, for that matter—dark and sharp-featured and watchful. Though William’s bright blue eyes softened the resemblance.

“I am saying that anyone who trusts blindly is a fool and deserves to be lied to.”

Elizabeth had heard that from him before. She smiled briefly in acknowledgment. “Whom do you suspect of lying to you—and why, Uncle?”

“The Howard family is extremely unpopular amongst the more radical Protestant circles. I can think of any number of men who would not hesitate to work against them.”

“By planting lies about the Spanish navy and spreading the vilest rumours about my brother’s birth? Do you really think that Protestants would tell such falsehoods in the hopes of implicating Norfolk?” Elizabeth had never been able to erase from her memory the broadsheet Dominic had found at the beginning of all this—the drawing of her mother attempting to seduce Satan himself. Her voice hardened. “That is a perilous game to play, no matter how unpopular the Howards may be.”

“That is why I am troubled. If it was all a pretense, if Norfolk was perhaps innocent—”

“Norfolk most certainly wanted his hands on the Penitent’s Confession,” Elizabeth interrupted sharply. “He was actively looking for evidence of Mary’s legitimate claim to the throne, and he would not have hesitated to use it against William. That is not innocence.”

It was Rochford’s turn to agree. “No, it is not innocence. But if there was another hand at work, one that manipulated the situation to bring Norfolk down, it means there is still another traitor to be found.”

She paused, and searched her uncle’s face. “You are truly concerned about this.”

“I am truly concerned about any threat to William’s throne. My sister paid a heavy price for you and your brother to hold the positions you deserve. I will not see that price paid for nothing.”

“Why are you telling me this and not William?”

He shrugged and looked down the corridor, as though the
bricks or window glass might provide an answer. “Because I cannot go to William with half-formed fears. He likes hard answers, not speculation. But you … it was Anne I always went to in order to work out my own mind. And you are remarkably like her. I find talking to you helps put my thoughts in order.”

“I have done precious little.”

“You have listened, niece, and that is enough.”

“Enough for a beginning. But what will you do next?”

“What I always do—hold multiple possibilities in my head at once and not neglect any of them for the simplest answer. Anne’s children need never fear for the throne while I am here. I was born to unearth secrets.”

She looped her hand through his arm, her long white fingers so much like her mother’s. As they exited the gallery and began to encounter those who bowed and curtsied at their passing, he added softly, “You should watch your expressions while in church. Your dislike of Latimer is plain to be seen.”

Born to unearth secrets indeed.

On the first of February, Dominic took a boat from Whitehall Palace to the Tower of London to interrogate the Earl of Surrey.
As the boatman brought them alongside the Tower’s water gate, Dominic wished he’d chosen to ride instead. He detested this entrance, smacking as it did of political prisoners arriving in the dead of night.

“Just an entrance, milord,” Harrington said.

How did Harrington always know what he was thinking? He had inherited the large and quiet man from his time working for Lord Rochford. Dominic never quite knew how to describe what Harrington did—Man-at-arms? Steward? Personal secretary?—but he had quickly grown to depend on him with a trust and reliance he didn’t offer most men. It was a pleasure to work with someone who seemed to respect him personally and not simply for his title and position.

And Harrington was right—the river gate was merely a convenient entrance when arriving by water. The Lieutenant of the Tower greeted them at the top of the steps and, at Dominic’s request, led them first to the torture chambers. Dominic had been in them only once before—last year, while being trained by Lord Rochford. The Lord Chancellor had required Dominic to see things for himself, but that was one sight he wished he could forget: the man strapped by wrists and ankles to the rack, his joints torn from their sockets from being rolled in opposite directions. Dominic didn’t even remember what the man had been accused of.

Today, mercifully, the rack was empty and the only one in the chamber was the man who usually operated it, a heavyset, powerful man named Sutton. He didn’t seem to recall Dominic from last year, but his interest sharpened when he heard his title.

“Exeter, is it? You one of the Holland family?”

“No, I’m a Courtenay.”

“Titles change with the wind these days. The last Duke of
Exeter was a Holland, he was constable of the Tower in 1447.” Sutton said it fondly, as though recalling someone he’d known personally. “He it was who brought this to England.” He laid a hand on the rack and added, “The Duke of Exeter’s daughter, she’s called. Did you know that?”

Dominic had not, and wished he didn’t know it now. “I’m not a duke,” he said brusquely. “Do you remember the Earl of Surrey’s interrogation?”

“ ’Course I remember him. First time I’ve had a titled gentleman down here.”

“What answers did he give?” Dominic had already spoken to the interrogators themselves, but he wanted the word of a man who had no political interest in the proceedings. Only a physical one.

“I don’t pay much mind to what they say,” the man replied. “But him … they weren’t as anxious to get answers as I’d have thought. Usually they press a man to the edge, and well over it, to get him to say what they need. He was a gentleman right enough, held up better than some who collapse the moment they see the rack. He just kept saying no to whatever they asked.”

And that tallied with what the interrogators had reported: the Earl of Surrey had steadfastly and continuously asserted his innocence in whatever plots his grandfather might have had in hand.

Sutton continued, not unkindly, “If it eases your conscience, milord, I was gentle with him. Only turned the rollers three times, not enough to damage anything permanently. He’ll heal right up.”

Dominic could not bring himself to more than nod before gladly, gratefully, escaping. Though it was bitingly cold and wet outdoors, the air was vastly cleaner than whatever guilt and pain and despair had been trapped in that ghastly chamber.

“Right,” he told the lieutenant. “I’ll see the Earl of Surrey now.”

He and Harrington followed the lieutenant to the Bloody Tower and up several flights of ice-cold stairs to where Surrey was being held. The earl had two rooms and three gentlemen to serve him, as befitted his status. But it was still a prison cell, with bare stone walls and deep-set narrow windows that let in precious little light and the plainest of furnishings, and Dominic came close to shuddering at the thought of being locked away. His father had died in such a cell—perhaps this very one—accused and alone, and he wondered for the first time if it was dread as much as illness that had killed him.

Surrey rose to meet him. “Courtenay,” he said, understandably wary. “Sorry, it’s Exeter now, isn’t it? I haven’t been at court enough to remember.”

Thomas Howard was younger than Dominic; at not quite nineteen, he was of an age with William. His light brown hair had a hint of red to it and he was clean shaven, which argued a greater than usual care for his appearance while imprisoned. He had a straight nose and his eyes were wide and slightly slanted, giving him an inquisitive, intelligent expression. He’d been the Earl of Surrey since the age of ten, when his own father was executed for treason. There was enough of familiarity and pity about his circumstances that Dominic felt sorry for him.

Which, he reminded himself, should no more affect his judgment than his distaste for punishing a man before fault had been found. “May we speak privately?” he asked, and Surrey led him into the smaller interior chamber, which contained only a bed and a single chair, while Harrington leaned against the wall of the outer chamber and prepared to learn what he could from Surrey’s men. They had a round table and a deck of cards; men often spoke plainer while their hands were occupied.

Dominic took the chair and waited for Surrey to perch on the edge of the bed before saying, “I’m here on the king’s behalf.”

“I believe the men who racked me said the same.”

“When I say it, you know my commission came face-to-face.”

“Right. The King’s Shadow, you’re called.”

Dominic knew it could be worse. Male companions of kings might be called all sorts of things if the king in question were unpopular. Considering how little time he spent flirting with women—exactly none—it was a good thing for his reputation that William was loved.

Surrey eased slightly, though the underlying tension remained. “What is your commission?”

“To determine the truth of what happened at Framlingham.”

“You’ll know better than I do, seeing as you were there and I was not. I’m not the one who stuck a knife in my uncle Giles’s throat.”

Clearly this wasn’t a man afraid of plain speaking, whatever the circumstances. Dominic met his gaze steadily, though his mind whispered,
It wasn’t a knife, it was a shard of glass. And it wasn’t me …

“He earned his death,” Dominic countered harshly. “What about you?”

“I don’t want to die, no more than any man, but how am I to prove a negative? I knew nothing of this Penitent’s Confession I’ve been tortured over, nothing of any Spanish troops or grand Howard design to put Mary on the throne. If I could open my very head to you, you would see that I am innocent of these charges. Since I cannot, all I can give is my word and my past and future actions as bond. If I am to be allowed future action.”

Dominic stood up and let his silence settle over Surrey while he circled what he could of the tiny room. Before he’d ever come here, he had believed in Surrey’s innocence. But now he was
even more certain. At last, he stood still and stared at Surrey, who rose slowly from the bed and tried not to look either hopeful or desperate. It could be hard to distinguish between the two emotions.

It would not do to make promises, but Dominic did say, “The king is inclined to be merciful. He desires to unite his kingdom, not divide it further.”

“I would hope … to live and to serve is my only aim, Lord Exeter.” Surrey stumbled over the words and Dominic realized again just how young he was. How young they all were, and yet trying to do their best for England.

He and Harrington bid goodbye to the earl and his men (with whom Harrington had indeed been playing cards) and exited into the open, outside the Bloody Tower, where Dominic breathed deeply of the frosty air, glad to be out of the confining walls and eager to return to court. But when he gave thanks to the Lieutenant of the Tower, the man said, “Another prisoner has asked to speak with you. She was most insistent, though who can say how she heard of your presence.”