The Tudor Secret (7 page)

I awoke disorientated, thinking I was back in Dudley Castle having once again fallen to sleep in the stables with a stolen book. I drowsily searched by my side for the book, before I recalled with a start the events of the past day and night.

I had to smile. Not the most auspicious way to start a career at court, I thought, as I righted myself on my elbows and reached for my boots.

I paused.

Crouched at the edge of the hay, wrist-deep in my doublet, was a young groom.

I smiled. “If you’re looking for this”—I held up the pouch—“I never go to sleep without it.”

The youth jumped to his feet, his mop of disheveled black curls and wide indignant eyes making him look like a startled seraph. I recognized him. He was the same lad I’d entrusted Cinnabar to yesterday, the one with the eager palm. Upon closer inspection I also noted that under his uniform of flax and hide, he was spare as a blade, implying firsthand experience with hunger. A lowly stable hand, perhaps an orphan, as well. London must teem with them, and where else could a parentless, penniless lad seek employment than in the machinery of court?

I pulled on my boots. “Are you going to explain why you were about to steal from me, or shall I summon your Master of Horses?”

“I wasn’t going to steal! I only wanted…” The boy’s protest faded. I could see on his face that he’d not stopped to concoct a believable excuse in the remote chance he was caught.

I repressed a smile. “You were saying?”

He thrust out his chin. “You owe me money. You paid me to feed your horse, didn’t you? Well, if you want it fed and brushed again this morning, you need to pay again. By the looks of it, you’re not noble. And only nobles have the right to board their animals for free here.”

“Indeed?” I opened up my pouch, taking great delight in the fact that I now had the ability to actually toss out a coin, never mind it might be the last trove I ever saw.

The boy caught it. His curious green-flecked eyes narrowed. “Is this a real gold angel?”

“I think so.” I retrieved my rumpled doublet. “I certainly hope so, after all the trouble I went through last night to earn it.”

As I slid my arms into the sleeves, I watched the boy bite the coin. With a satisfied nod that would do a moneylender justice, he pocketed it. I had the suspicion I’d just paid for an entire month of boarding and feed. It didn’t matter. I knew how it felt to labor without financial reward. Besides, I had an idea. I’d been a boy like this not too long ago, canny as a street cur and as careful to keep from being trampled. Boys like us, we saw and heard more than we realized.

“There’s no need for anyone to know about this,” I said. “Oh, I’m Brendan. Brendan Prescott. And you are…?”

“The name’s Peregrine.” He perched on a nearby barrel, removing two crabapples from his jerkin. He pitched one at me. “Like the hunting bird.”

“Interesting name. Do you have another to go with it?” I grimaced as I bit into the apple. I was famished, seeing as I hadn’t eaten since yesterday morning, but the apple was terribly sour.

“No,” he retorted, defensively. “Why would I need a surname?”

“No reason. At least, it’s simple to remember. How old are you, Peregrine?”

“Twelve. You?”

“I’m twenty,” I said, and I almost added, or so, I think.

“Oh.” He tossed the apple core into Cinnabar’s stall. My roan snorted and began to munch. “You look younger,” he added, echoing my thoughts. “I thought you were closer to Edward’s age. He’s fifteen.”

“Edward.” I paused. “Do you mean, Edward as in His Majesty the king?”

Peregrine frowned. “You’re strange. You’re not from here, are you?”

This time, I had to grin. Oh, he was an orphan all right. Only someone who’d spent the majority of their life fending for themselves had that quick a reflex. Deflect the question with another. I hadn’t thought to encounter such an unvarnished soul in Whitehall.

And, of course, the fact that he had not answered me meant I was right. He knew the king.

“No, I’m not,” I said. “I’m from Worcestershire.”

“Never been there. Never been anywhere outside Temple Bar.”

I nodded, brushing sprigs of straw from my hose. “Do you know His Majesty well?”

He shrugged. “As well as you can know any prince. He used to come here a lot. He loves his animals and hates being stuck indoors all day. His lordship the duke always had him—” He stopped, scowling. “That’s not fair.”

“I only asked you a question.” I smiled. “Besides, who am I going to tell? I’m not anyone important, remember? I’m just curious as to how a stable boy got to meet the king.”

“I’m not just a stable boy. I can do other things.” He pursed his lips, regarding me as if he wasn’t sure if I was worth the effort. But underneath the stance I could see he was also eager to share; like me, he had grown up lonely.

“You were saying the king doesn’t like to be indoors?” I prompted.

“Yes, Edward—I mean, the king—he always has to study or write or meet people he doesn’t care about, so sometimes he steals away to visit me. Or rather, his dogs and horses. I care for them. He loves his animals.”

“I see.” I thought of Elizabeth, of the fear on her face as she heard the duke’s pronouncements in the hall, and I had to restrain the urge to hurl questions at this boy. He had seen the king, perhaps recently. Conversed with him. What else might he know?

“And does he often come here, to the stables?” I said, thinking that if he were exaggerating his association with the king, it would show.

He didn’t look abashed at all. He shrugged again, with the nonchalance of one who knows not to pay much mind to the comings and goings of his betters. “He used to come more but he hasn’t been back in a while. The duke probably made him stop. Edward once told me his lordship reprimanded him for befriending menials. Or maybe he’s got too sick. He coughed up some blood the last time he was here. I had to fetch him some water. But at least he has that old nurse of his to take care of him.”

“Nurse?” For no apparent reason, the hair on my nape prickled.

“Yes. She came here once with a signed order from his lordship, to fetch one of Edward’s spaniels. An old woman with a bad limp. She smelled sweet, though, like some kind of herb.”

Though I stood on firm ground, for a second the stable swayed around me, as if it were a galleon in a storm. “Herb?” I heard myself say. “Which one?”

“How would I know?” He rolled his eyes. “I’m not a spit boy who turns the roast. Maybe she’s an herbalist or some such thing. I suppose when you’re the king and you get sick, you get one of those along with the doctors and leeches.”

I had to consciously remind myself to breathe, to not give in to the irrational urge to grab the lad by his collar. Everything that had transpired since I’d arrived had addled my wits. Plenty of women dabbled in herb lore, and besides, he’d said she was old, with a limp. I was jumping at shadows. Much good I’d be to anyone in this sorry state.

“Did this woman say who she was?” I managed to ask. Considering the circumstances, I could only hope my expression didn’t betray my chagrin at my own foolishness.

“No. She took the dog and left.”

I realized I should stop but I couldn’t help myself. “And you didn’t question her?”

Peregrine stared at me. “Now why would I do that? She knew the dog was Edward’s. Why else would she have come? In case you haven’t noticed, I mostly do as I’m told. Ask too many questions and you’re asking for trouble. I don’t want no trouble.”

“Of course.” I forced out a smile. I should cultivate this scamp. It certainly couldn’t hurt.

Peregrine leapt off the barrel. “Well, I have to get back to work. The Master of Nags is due back at any moment and he’ll have my hide if I don’t get the beasts fed and saddled. Everyone’s leaving for Greenwich today. I even have to crate Her Grace’s hound for transport. She’s like Edward, loves her animals. A pretty lady and nice, too, not like some people around here. She actually pays me.”

I gaped at him. “Her Grace the Princess Elizabeth? She … she was here?”

Peregrine laughed. “In the stables? You really did drink too much last night, didn’t you? No, Brendan Prescott from Worcestershire, her friend Secretary Cecil paid me last night to see to Urian. Hope you find your way back to wherever it is you belong.”

I scrambled in the straw for my cap. “Wait.” Searching my pouch for the largest coin I could find, I threw it to Peregrine. “I’m afraid I did overindulge last night. I was lucky to make it here. I don’t think I could find my way back by myself, and I should be in my master’s chamber already. Can you show me the way?”

He grinned, fingers clamped on the coin. “Only to the gardens; I have my work to do.”

*   *   *

The sun struggled to break through a pall of cloud. Wind nipped at my face, sharp as teeth, shredding flowerbeds and showering the air with petals. As Peregrine led me to a tree-lined pathway, he asked, “Is that the duke’s badge on your sleeve?”

“It is. I serve his son Lord Robert.”

“Oh.” He pointed down the path toward the bulk of the palace in the distance, rooftops and turrets and gateways digging into the sky. “Through there and to your left. Once you reach the first courtyard, you’ll have to ask someone for directions. I’ve never been inside.”

I bowed. “Thank you, Master Peregrine. I hope we meet again.”

His smile lit up his face. In that instant he appeared very much his age, reminding me again, with a pang, of myself—precocious and striving for attention in a hostile world. “If Lord Robert ever has need of another page,” he said, “or just someone to help out with the odd chore, I’m your man. I can do more than feed horses, you know.”

“I’ll keep it in mind,” I said, and I started down the path, wind-tossed leaves at my feet.

I glanced over my shoulder. Peregrine had disappeared. I frowned, and then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw two figures emerge from the trees on either side of me, daggers in hand. I spun about to bolt back the way I’d come.

The men pounced. Shouting, flailing with my arms, I succeeded in landing a kick in a groin before a massive fist crunched my jaw and sent me to the ground. As everything about me overturned, I heard a cold voice say, “That’s enough. I don’t want him bloodied.”

The men eased back, one of them clutching his groin and letting loose an obscenity. Despite the pain in my head and jaw, I mustered a chuckle. “Too late,” I said, to the unseen man who’d called off the attack. “I think he broke a tooth.”

“You’ll recover.” My cap was tossed at me. “Get up. Slowly.”

He stepped into view, a cloak hanging from emaciated shoulders: Walsingham, looking even more austere in the dawn than he had under moonlight. He couldn’t have been much older than me, judging by the timbre of his voice and unlined sallow skin, yet he seemed ancient, like someone who had never known a moment of spontaneity. At least I knew now what his training was. Evidently, Walsingham was an expert henchman.

“You might have asked to speak with me,” I said.

He ignored me. “I suggest you not attempt to flee or otherwise resist. My men can yet break a tooth, or other things.” He motioned. The ruffians flanked me. There was no way to extract my dagger from my boot.

One of the men grasped my arm, hard. As I spun about to fend off his attack, the other thrust a sackcloth over my head and bound my hands with rope. Blinded and restrained, I was forced off the path, in a direction I assumed led away from the palace.

They marched me at an unflagging pace through the hunting park and into winding streets, where the clatter of wheels vied with heels on stone, vendors shouting, and the hawking cries of beggars. I smelled the Thames, rank with rot; and then I was shoved through a door, protesting, for which I earned another ear-ringing clout.

Pushed down a passageway and through another door, I staggered into a sudden silent space, filled with the scent of oranges. I’d eaten an orange once, years ago. I had never forgotten it. Oranges were imported from Spain. Those who could afford them had luxurious tastes and the wherewithal to indulge them.

The rope about my wrists was undone. The door shut behind me. I tore off the hood. A familiar figure rose from a desk set before a casement window that offered a sweeping view of a riverside garden, willow trees bending over wrought-iron benches and boxwood hedges.

I stared. “You,” I breathed.

The Tudor Secret

“I’m afraid so,” said Master Secretary Cecil. “I apologize if you were mishandled. Walsingham thought it best if we gave you no other choice than to accept my invitation.”

I knew without asking that Walsingham stood outside the door, preventing any attempt I might make to escape. I clamped back a retort, watching Cecil move to an oak sideboard, upon which sat a platter of victuals, the basket of oranges, and a flagon. I was fairly certain this alleged invitation of his had something to do with last night, which made my curiosity a little stronger than my trepidation—but only a little.

“Have you broken your fast?” asked Cecil.

I wiped at the blood on the side of my mouth. “I lost my appetite.”

Cecil smiled. “You’ll recover it soon enough—a young man like you, with no gristle on his bones. When I was your age, I ate at all hours. I gather by your tone, however, that you are displeased with me. I did apologize.”

“For what? Dragging me here by force?” I asked, before I could stop myself. I clenched my jaw, hearing the anger in my voice. This was not a man to reveal myself to. He must want something from me, if he’d gone to the trouble of tracking me to the stables and having me abducted. And if last night was an indication, he held the princess’s trust. That he also served the duke only complicated an already complex situation.

In the final say, a man can only have one master. Which one did Cecil serve?

He busied himself at the sideboard. “I’m not Her Grace’s enemy, if that’s what you’re thinking. Indeed, I regret to say I may be her only friend, or at least the only one with any influence. Please, sit.” He motioned to an upholstered chair before the desk, as if he were receiving a guest. I sat. Handing me a plate and goblet, which I deliberately left untouched, he returned to his desk, an assured presence in his black breeches and doublet. “I believe Her Grace is in danger,” he began, without preamble. “But then, I think you already know that.”

I hid my mounting apprehension. I wouldn’t be cajoled, graciously or otherwise, into admitting my thoughts about the princess’s situation.

Cecil reclined in his high-backed chair. “I find your reticence curious. You were listening in the garden last night, were you not?” He raised his hand. “There’s no need to deny it. Eavesdropping is a time-honored rite of passage at court. We’ve all done it at one time or another. Only, sometimes what we overhear can be misinterpreted. Particularly when we fail to get the details.”

A bead of sweat trickled between my shoulder blades. What an incompetent I was. What on earth had possessed me to creep so close? Of course Cecil had known I was there. I’d probably made enough noise to alert the entire palace guard. Had I overheard more than was good for me?

Cecil was looking at me. I had to say something. “I … I was sent there by my master.” I sounded hoarse, my voice barely making it past the knot in my throat. I could die today. This man took the business of protecting Elizabeth seriously. He could have me killed, and no one would ever know. Squires who failed their masters must disappear often enough.

“Oh, I do not doubt it. Lord Robert always has an agenda, and he doesn’t care who he uses to accomplish it.” Cecil sighed. “A squire new at court, with everything you owe the Dudleys: What else could you do? And I must admit, you exceeded yourself. Gaining Her Grace’s confidence without rousing her suspicion is no easy feat. I hope Lord Robert paid you well. You certainly earned it.”

It occurred to me that Cecil might wish to know about the message I carried. If so, then feigning ignorance could convince him I posed no threat. I’d best play the part for all it was worth, at least until he revealed his hand; for a hand he most certainly had to play.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” I said.

“No. Why would you?” He had a stack of ledgers to his left, an inkwell rimmed in jewels to his right. “I, on the other hand, am in a position to know a great many things. And what I don’t know, my intelligencers find out for me. You’d be astonished at what can be bought for the price of a meal these days.” He met my stare. “Does my candor surprise you?”

Play the fool. Play it for all it is worth.

“I’m wondering what any of this has to do with me.”

He chuckled. “I should think a clever boy like you will figure it out. It’s not every day you gain Elizabeth Tudor’s notice. Indeed, I look for those with your unique talents.”

I absorbed this in silence. Just when I thought matters couldn’t get any worse, here I was about to get another offer of employment. No use acting the bewildered rube now.

“What exactly are you saying?”

“Put simply? I wish to hire you. It’s a lucrative offer, I can assure you. I require someone fresh, outwardly ingenuous, and somewhat forgettable, at least to the undiscerning eye, yet capable of engendering trust even in those as skeptical as the princess. You did offer to help her last night? She told me so herself. If you agree to work for me, then you will be helping her, in more ways than you can imagine.”

The tightening in my stomach forewarned me not to show my sudden, burning interest. However I proceeded, I’d best do it very carefully. This could be a trick. It probably was a trick. How could it be anything else? As talented as I might be, I was certainly no spy.

“Why me? I don’t have any training as an … intelligencer.”

“No. But what you don’t know, you can learn. It’s your instinct that cannot be taught. I should know. I possess it myself. Believe me, it’s more valuable than you realize.”

“And on a more practical note, I serve Robert Dudley,” I said. “Who trusted me enough to give me a private message for the princess, yes?”

“Indeed. I need to know what he wants from her. Her life may depend on it.”

“Her life?”

“Yes. I have reason to think the duke plots against her, and that Lord Robert, your master, is a part of his scheme. It wouldn’t be the first time they’ve pretended to be at odds while secretly working in conjunction to bring down an opponent.”

It was a trick. I wasn’t here for my hidden talents: I was here because I served Lord Robert. Elizabeth had not revealed my message. That was why Cecil had me dragged here with a sack over my head. He wanted my message, and the moment I confessed it I would be silenced.

Forever.

“I regret to hear that,” I managed to say, resisting the urge to start shouting, thinking it would be better to die fighting than accept whatever demise Cecil prepared for me. “But as my lord secretary must know, a servant who betrays his master risks having his ears and tongue cut off.” I forced out a weak laugh. “And I’m fond of mine.”

“You’ve already betrayed him. You just don’t know it.”

It was a statement, brisk and impersonal. Though nothing overt changed in his manner, he abruptly exuded a calm menace. “Regardless of how you choose to act, your days as a Dudley servant are numbered. Or do you think they’ll keep you after they obtain what they want? Lord Robert used you as his errand boy, and his father and mother despise loose ends.”

He bears the mark of the rose.

I saw again the duchess of Suffolk, her metallic eyes staring through me, into me.

“Are you saying they’ll kill me?” I asked.

“I am, though of course I have no concrete proof of it.”

“And you can offer me assurance that if I leave their service for yours, I’ll be safe?”

“Not exactly.” He folded his hands at his bearded chin. “Are you interested?”

I met his regard. “You certainly have my attention.”

He inclined his head. “Let me start by saying that the duke and his family are in a precarious situation. They were not prepared for Her Grace to appear at court. None of us were, in truth. Yet there she was, determined to see her brother, and so she must be dealt with. She took precautions by letting news of her presence leak out to the people, which will provide her some measure of protection, at least in the short term. But she makes a grave mistake in assuming the duke will do her no harm. She’s so incensed by what she sees as his refusal to let her speak with her brother the king, now she insists on proceeding to Greenwich and ascertaining His Majesty’s recovery for herself.”

Cecil gave a regretful smile. It looked unsettling on his face, as if he didn’t quite ever feel surprised by anything Elizabeth Tudor did. “She’s not easily dissuaded once she sets her mind to something, and Northumberland has been thorough. Edward’s absence last night roused her deepest suspicions and her anger, as he no doubt hoped it would. She is a devoted sister. Too devoted, some might say. She will never stop until she finds out the truth. And that is what I fear: You see, though we may seek it, the truth is rarely what we hope for.”

I found myself perched on the edge of my chair. “You think the duke has…?” I couldn’t say the rest aloud. I saw in my mind the inscrutable look in Northumberland’s eyes and heard his strange murmur, which suddenly adopted a more sinister overtone.

We won’t forget those who betray us.

“I wish I knew,” said Cecil. “When Edward suffered a relapse, the duke ordered him sequestered, with all access to his person denied. Who can say what has happened? At the very least, I do suspect he is far more ill than any of us know. Why else would Northumberland have taken such pains to announce his recovery, even as he sent Lord Robert to oversee the munitions in the Tower and the manning of every gate in and out of London? Even if Her Grace could be persuaded to return to Hatfield, she’d find her way barred. Not that she will. She believes the duke is holding her brother against his will. If that is true, there is, I fear, very little we can do for the king. My main concern is that she not be lured into the same trap.”

It was the first time since Mistress Alice’s death that someone had spoken to me as an equal, and the trust it implied went a long way to easing my doubts. I had to remind myself that duplicity at court was endemic. Not even Cecil could be immune.

“Have you told her of your concerns?” I asked, and as I spoke I recalled her stinging admonishments last night. Clearly, Elizabeth wasn’t one to take his caution to heart.

He sighed. “Repeatedly, to no avail. She must see Edward, she says, if it’s the last thing she does. That’s why I need you. I must have irrefutable proof the Dudleys work against her.”

My hands tightened in my lap. All of a sudden I didn’t want to hear anymore. I didn’t want to be forced across a threshold that only last night, in her presence, I’d willingly have crossed. The danger he described was beyond anything I felt I could contend with. To risk myself like this would be to ensure my own death.

Yet even as I prepared my defense and refusal, a part of me could no longer be denied. I felt a transformation taking place, quite against my better nature. I was no longer an anonymous squire, determined to better my lot. I wanted more, to be a part of something bigger than my own self. It was inexplicable, disconcerting, even terrifying, but there was no escaping it.

“Her Grace means everything to me,” Cecil added, and I heard in his voice that he, too, had felt her power. “But more importantly, she means everything to England. She is our last hope. Edward became a king too young and has been under the thrall of his so-called protectors ever since. Now, he might be dying. Should Her Grace fall into the duke’s hands, it will destroy what those of us who love England have strived for—a united nation, invincible against the depredations of France and Spain. The duke knows this; he knows how important she is. And if he is to survive, he must have her under his control. But what can he offer her that will guarantee her participation in whatever he plans?”

He paused, his pale blue eyes focused on me.

I had to stop my hand from moving to my doublet. The ring. Robert had given me his ring. He said he would have what he’d been promised.

“It’s … it is not possible,” I said in a whisper. “Lord Robert already has a wife.”

Cecil smiled. “My dear boy, one need only look to Henry the Eighth to see how easily wives can be disposed of. Robert’s marriage to Amy Robsart was a mistake he must have come to regret almost as much as his father did. She’s a country squire’s daughter, and the duke would have higher rewards for his sons. If he could persuade the council to approve Guilford’s union with Jane Grey, why not Robert’s to the princess? It would be the ultimate coup, the feather in the collective Dudley cap, not to mention the means to secure his rule. For, make no mistake, the duke rules England. He has ever since he saw the Lord Protector beheaded and gained control of Edward’s person.”

The ring in my pocket felt twice its weight. The very thought was insane, and yet it fit with everything I’d expect of the Dudleys. What had Robert said? Give her this. She will understand. Had she understood? Was that why she refused to take it? Because she knew what it represented? Or did she, in a secret place in her heart not even she dared admit, fear it? I had seen the look on her face; she had said she was no stranger to longing. She had a depth of passion no one had yet plumbed. Maybe she wanted Robert Dudley as much as he wanted her.

I made myself breathe. This was happening too quickly. I had to concentrate on what I knew and what I had heard. “But Her Grace and the king—they have an elder half sister, the Lady Mary. She is heir to the throne. If Her Grace were to wed Lord Robert, she still couldn’t be queen unless…”

My voice faded into silence. I heard a fly buzzing over the platter of neglected fruit on the sideboard. I could barely contemplate where my own words had led.

“Now, do you see?” said Cecil softly. “You can learn, and quickly. Yes, the Lady Mary is next in line to the throne. But she is also an avowed Catholic, who has resisted every attempt to persuade her to convert, and England will never stomach Rome in our business again. Her Grace, on the other hand, was born and raised in the Reformed Faith. She is also seventeen years younger than Mary and can most certainly produce a male heir. The people would rather see her on the throne than her papist sister. And that, my boy, is what the duke can offer her: England itself. It’s a temptation very few can resist.”

I reached for my goblet, took a long draught. Religion. The eternal bone of contention. People died for it. I’d seen their heads displayed on the gates of London at the duke’s command.