The Boleyn Reckoning (14 page)

Mary shook her head slightly, now eyeing Minuette as one would a dangerous animal. “Curious, how the personal has become more important in the realm than the political. You may go.”

As Minuette left, she heard Mary mutter a single word behind her. It sounded suspiciously like “Men.”

Mary was not a woman prone to sentiment. How could she be? She had spent her adult life in a churning state of suspicion about
the motives of everyone around her. But she was forced to admit that there was something rather engaging about Minuette Wyatt. Not that the girl was in the least suitable for a king’s wife; charm was all well and good, but to be a queen was a position given by God. Still, if she had to be under the eye of someone from court, she much preferred Minuette to others William could have sent.

She took her time committing to support the state visit from Philip, but that was only for her dignity’s sake. Of course she would be there. England must be reminded that Spain had been her friend for long years before her father’s bewitchment by that woman. It was God’s will that Spain and England be united once more. But perhaps in not quite the way her younger brother intended.

In all the years and insults of her life, there had never been a question that Mary loved William. But even the strongest of earthly loves are but pale imitations of the love of God. Mary had made a vow years before, on the very day she’d heard of William’s birth. She had submitted to her father then, signed the document agreeing that her parents’ marriage had been wrongly conceived, and allowed herself to be stripped of her title as princess. But she had done so with a vow to God and her mother’s memory that she would bide her time and know her moment.

The moment was upon her. The French were furious with William for breaking his betrothal to their princess. Spain was clearly prepared to deal for the hand of an English princess.

How much more might they be eager to match Spain’s king with an English queen?

Lord Rochford, as she might once have predicted and most certainly wished, had brought about his own fall from grace. Mary would go to London and court in this newly unsettled atmosphere. Power would be up for grabs now, and the Duke of Norfolk would be anxious to secure some of it for himself. The boy—for he was hardly more than that—was not himself Catholic,
but his inclinations and all his strong family loyalty would bring him to see her.

And she would begin the delicate dance that God had saved her for. A dance whose steps she could not predict but of whose outcome she was certain: England with a Catholic monarch firmly on the throne.

The near-giddy satisfaction of embarking at long last on a course of action induced Mary to unusual friendliness with Minuette during her short stay at Beaulieu. She invited the girl to sit with her one morning while Mary worked with her secretary, keeping up a steady flow of chatter designed to put the girl at ease. Only upon later consideration did Mary realize William’s young paramour had given away much less information than she’d appeared to.

On the last evening, Mary invited Minuette to dine with her privately, knowing that her brother would take it as a sign of her approval of his betrothed.

“Tell me, Mistress Wyatt, are you much in contact with your stepfather?” she asked. She remembered Stephen Howard’s interest in the girl, and it could be useful to have another insight into the tightly enmeshed Howard family.

“Not so often lately,” Minuette answered. “Perhaps he does not approve of my new … position.” She pronounced the word doubtfully, as though she herself was unsure.

Mary gave her credit for recognizing her unsuitability. She’d wondered how William could have been such a fool as to think with his body rather his head in the sacred matter of marriage. But then, even their esteemed father had been bewitched by a woman.

Mary turned to more pressing matters. “As one so close to the king, you must have some idea of what he intends for Lord Rochford’s future.” Arrest? Permanent exile from court? Neither was answer enough for the upstart George Boleyn’s many years of heresy
and ill-government, but she needed information to decide how to act in the matter.

“His Majesty does not share political matters with me,” Minuette answered.

“He sent you here to negotiate my approval of the Spanish visit,” Mary pointed out.

“Because that visit touches on personal affairs, not merely political ones.”

Oh, the girl was quite good for being young and of a common background. But then she had been raised largely at court in the company of William and Elizabeth—perhaps it was not surprising that she had learned how to speak without saying anything.

But she herself had been doing the same since before this chit of a girl was even born. “Surely the matter of the king’s uncle also touches on personal affairs, not to mention the imprisonment of his own aunt.”

“The only matter on the king’s mind at present is the security of England’s coastline and borders. When the threats of invasion are past, then will the king turn to other matters. Nothing concerns him more than preserving England’s security.”

Mary allowed herself a genuine smile, almost pitying. “If that were true, then the king would not be in such haste to throw away powerful alliances for a woman who brings him nothing but a pretty face.”

She rose from the table, Minuette following suit with an expression devoid of anything but polite attention. “I will not meet with you again, Mistress Wyatt. Tell my brother I shall come to London for Spain’s sake, and because I wish it.”

And because my time has come, she thought. Mother, guide my steps.

By the time William and Dominic rode into Hampton Court, they had gone a long way in restoring equilibrium to their friendship. William had been uneasy seven weeks ago at the thought of so much time alone with Dominic, but Minuette and Elizabeth had both urged him to put aside his resentments. Leave court business behind for a time, they’d counseled him. They had been right.

The first few days had been awkward, with both men avoiding subjects such as Scotland and Renaud. But pressing military affairs had united them in a shared interest, and talk of defenses and tactics and naval prowess provided an easy medium for conversation. Gradually, as Dominic stood at William’s shoulder and both men asked for and shared intelligent opinions, they had eased into a more natural companionship. The continual sparring practice, resumed at court somewhat uneasily, had evolved into the more natural rhythm of years spent working together with swords and on horseback. No one ever pushed William like Dominic, and he gave as good as he got. The exercise allowed an outlet for some of the unspoken resentments the two of them had been holding
onto, and with each day they grew easier together, more like their friendship of old.

And it didn’t hurt that William managed to beat Dominic at least one out of every three matches.

But it was the visit to Tiverton that sealed their renewed bonds. Accustomed as he was to the burdens and privileges of his own authority, William had been impressed by Dominic’s easy command and the respect with which he was treated at Tiverton. He was never overbearing, but he didn’t have to be. Dominic was plainly a man who lived by the advice he had so often given to William over the years: speak openly, praise honestly, criticize dispassionately, and pay attention to the details of the men who serve you. Dominic’s men loved him for it, no matter how little they had known him before he’d been handed the estate.

“A touch of the Plantagenets,” William overheard one old crofter say admiringly, and he admitted the truth of it with only a moment’s concern. Dominic was indeed descended from that golden king, Edward IV—but so was William. And unlike his royal grandfather, Henry VII, who might have taken that comment as a threat, William’s throne was certain and he would never be afraid of diluted bloodlines.

When word came from Norfolk that a Catholic mob had taken possession of Norwich Cathedral and was demanding Rochford’s immediate arrest and trial, William found himself listening to Dominic as he had not for too long. They talked late into the night, managing to discuss issues of religion and politics without William feeling that the memory of Renaud LeClerc was hovering over them. Determined to regain Dominic’s trust, William was scrupulous in either accepting or rejecting his advice openly. Together, they worked out a course of action and together they set out to implement it.

It took them a week to reach Norwich, William’s crimson and
azure royal banner floating alongside Dominic’s Exeter arms, the two men leading a mixed force of a hundred soldiers from William’s personal guards and those loyal to Tiverton. The Catholics inside the cathedral offered sharp but brief resistance and within twelve hours Norwich was firmly in William’s hands and three dozen men were under arrest, including the Bishop of Norwich, who had defiantly made his stand with the rebels.