Chapter Seven
A Cruel Decision
I have not been amongst the Commons for a long time - not since my brief time as Speaker during my days as Solicitor General. The importance of the bill that is to be debated, however, is such that both Cromwell and I are watching the discussions through a grille in a doorway from Westminster Hall.
Perhaps it is the fact that they sit in the old seats of the Choir of St Stephen's Chapel, but I had forgotten how combative discussions could be between the various burghers. I find myself wondering if, had they stayed in their previous accommodation in the Abbey's Chapter House, seated in the round rather than opposite one another, they might be more accommodating of each others' opinions.
"How much longer shall they take?" I mutter, mostly to myself.
"As long as they need to." Cromwell smiles, looking surprisingly unconcerned, "No matter what their views of how the future shall be faced, we have covered every query, every objection, as best we can. It is merely a matter of waiting until they have argued themselves out."
He may look like a dispassionate observer, but he is clearly watching his son with interest as the young man rises to his feet to offer his views. Given his parentage, he shall have to choose his words with the greatest of care, for fear of his fellows claiming him to have a vested interest in the outcome; but regardless of his lesser capabilities, he has more than sufficient skill to speak well, and without inflaming those who might think him to be a mouthpiece for his father.
The discussion continues for much of the rest of the day, and both Cromwell and I are obliged to abandon our post on several occasions, either to sit for a while, or to see to matters of a more personal nature. Each and every clause is considered, debated, argued upon and tossed back and forth as the members seek to shake out any matters of contention. Perhaps we should have stayed at Hampton Court, but the importance of this bill is such that we have both made the journey back to Whitehall, and thence to Westminster, to oversee this most vital moment in the final act of the drama that is the life of Henry the Eighth.
It is as the day is drawing to a close that the members finally rise to cast their votes to approve, or strike out, my carefully drafted Bill. Even as the men divide into the Ayes and Noes, Cromwell is jubilant, "See - the gathering to the right is larger. The Ayes shall have it - and we are secure. All we shall need now is the final assent from his Majesty, and his legacy shall be protected in law."
He is not fool enough to leave before the result of the division is declared, and we are both relieved to hear the confirmation that the Ayes do indeed 'have it'. The Bill has cleared the Commons, and there is no doubt that the Lords of the Council shall not dare to gainsay his Majesty's will. As long, of course, as he has not changed his mind again.
Somehow, however, I do not think that shall happen.
Rather than spend the night at the Palace, instead Cromwell and I both make the journey across the City to Grant's Place aboard one of the last wherries before night falls. My communications with Cecil have been exclusively by letter for far too long, and I am keen to know what progress he has made with the new Index.
Goodwife Dawson is looking distinctly more frail than the last time I saw her, and Cromwell seems most intent upon looking after her more than she wishes to look after him. Fortunately, she has engaged a young woman by the name of Grace Parsons to step into her place; and her protege proves to be more than capable of running the house. So much so, in fact, that she is now already in the process of doing so - and the Goodwife is moving in to a well deserved period of rest at the twilight of her days. Naturally, Cromwell has no intention at all of requiring her to leave Grant's Place.
Cecil emerges from the Library with a surprisingly cheerful expression from a man I thought to be far more serious, "Gentlemen, it is good to see you again." I think he has to almost visibly restrain himself from welcoming us, so settled is he.
"William." I shake his proffered hand, "I am looking forward to seeing how the index is progressing."
"And what of the draft Bill?" he asks, though he is clearly addressing the question to both of us.
"Agreed by the Commons and ready to be put to the council as a singular fait accompli." Cromwell answers delightedly, "We are closer than ever to securing the Prince's future without the interference of a self-interested Lord Protector."
"That is good news indeed, my Lord."
"Please call me Thomas, Mr Cecil - you are a Second in training, even if not appointed. We do not stand on formality when we work together to save England and keep ourselves alive."
"Thomas." Cecil nods, politely.
"Excellent. Shall we sup?"
I have not seen Cromwell so light hearted in a goodly number of months, and our supper is most convivial. I think that, such is his dedication to his mission, he is seen by most as an entirely soulless man; but he is not, and never has been. A long career in service to such a mercurial King has given him good reason to keep a tight control of his emotions at Court.
"And what of the supposed Progress to the north?" Cecil asks, as we turn our attentions to an array of rather fine sweetmeats that Miss Parsons has prepared.
"Abandoned and almost certainly forgotten about." I admit, "His Majesty seems to have turned his attention to other matters - primarily to celebrate his Highness's ninth year."
I am not surprised to see Cecil's frown, "Why would he do that? The day of the Prince's birth has not been marked with such attention since his first year."
Cromwell sighs, "I think that I can guess."
As can we all; and our mood seems to darken in an instant. Henry knows that he is dying - and wishes to do what he can to bring his son to the fore before it is too late. Why else would he have finally demanded that we secure the Bill? As darkness falls, so clarity returns to him, and he does what he can while it is still possible. The sweetmeats have suddenly lost their appeal.
My dreams are again disturbed by vivid, unnerving visions, though they seem less powerful than they did at Hampton Court; and I wake rather unrefreshed. Rather than walk to the Tower wharves to hire a wherry, instead Cromwell sends to Austin Friars for a brace of horses for us to ride back to Whitehall. The grooms there can then return them while we travel back to the King aboard Urban and Benedict. While we wait for the horses to arrive, I spend the time in the Library, looking over the preparatory work Cecil has undertaken for the new Index, and I am as pleased as I am disgruntled at his excellent work. But, as I keep reminding myself, what he lacks is experience, and that, he can only gain from an apprenticeship to me. I really should stop being such a fool.
"He is very talented, Eminence." At least this time my praise isn't quite so grudging.
He is - but then, he has the time to become the Second that he should be. You were not granted such a kindness - but you did so, anyway.
Wolsey sounds unusually kindly today - perhaps he knows how sad I am becoming.
It is not the end, you know. Death. That is but a mere doorway, and there is more than you can begin to imagine once you have crossed that threshold. Indeed, I suspect that, once we are united in God, we shall become utterly sick of the sight of each other.
I smile at that, "Indeed so; did not Aesop once say that we would often be sorry if our wishes were granted?"
An eternity with me. I am sure you are breathless with anticipation of the discussions we shall have.
"I can hardly wait. I think."
Our journey back to Hampton Court is a pleasant amble through sunlit countryside that is rich with the golds and bronzes of autumn. We do not push our horses, nor do we push ourselves, stopping for a long, rather leisurely dinner at our favourite of the various wayside inns alongside the road out of London.
While we have a world of uncertainty closing in upon us, the fact that we have the solution almost completed and ready to be set into place is a true relief. Edward shall gain his crown at a far younger age than any of us would have liked, but at least he shall do so surrounded by a group of truly loyal courtiers, and his Mother shall be Regent as he gains the learning and strength to rule in his own right.
"Do you think his Majesty has changed his mind since we left?" I find that I cannot help but be nervous. As the years have passed, the speed at which the King changes his mind has quickened with frightening rapacity.
Cromwell shakes his head, "I think it unlikely, Richie." He reaches for his cup of ale and takes a sip, "Everything about him suggests that he is beginning to accept the truth - and that he also knows far more clearly who to trust than we have ever assumed. It may be that the Queen has spent a good deal of time persuading him who can be trusted, and who cannot - though I have no wish to do him the disservice of thinking him to be weak-willed, for he is not. That is a mistake many have made - while he is indeed susceptible to flattery, sooner or later he recognises it for what it is, and those who flatter find themselves forgotten."
I slump in my seat, "I wish that he were not so ill. He is the only ruler I have known as a man grown; I am almost afraid of the changes that shall come when he is gone - for even we are as children who are to be orphaned."
Cromwell nods, "I, too, feel that fear. He has been at the centre of our universe for so long that I almost cannot imagine how we shall survive when he is gone. His time is near, and there is no escaping that; and yet, if I could extend his life - even by merely wishing it - then I would certainly do so. It is not that I doubt her Majesty's abilities to stand in his stead; for all her lacking in education, she has a remarkable degree of common sense. No - it is the risks we face from those who would seek to remove her, and us; and grasp what power they can while Edward is not yet a man."
"By 'those', I think there is but one man at this time who we must fear."
Again, he nods, and sighs, "Yes."
Despite our forebodings, there is a great deal of activity at the Palace as we enter the Base Court and hand our horses over to the Grooms. Regardless of his absence, Cromwell has nonetheless ensured that a great deal of work has been done to fulfil his King's wish to celebrate Prince Edward's birthday in style. I have little talent for music, or for any form of the arts, and I had never truly appreciated how educated Cromwell is in such forms. Equally, while I never participate in dances for I cannot keep a rhythm in my head, Cromwell avoids doing so not because he cannot - as I assumed - but merely because all expect him not to, and people find it most disturbing if he does.
While most of the Court shall end the day with a great deal of feasting and dancing, Edward is far too young to enjoy such an event, so Cromwell has instead commissioned a dramatic performance recreating a supposed confrontation between his grandfather and Richard Crookback. While we both know that any such meeting would have been cordial and concerned largely with the defeat of Lamashtu, no one else does.
"I have ensured that there shall be much swordplay and fighting - albeit a pretence - and talk of honour and glory." He advises, as we advance through to the Clock Court, "I suspect that his Majesty shall be equally entertained by it. The afternoon, of course, shall be spent watching a pageant of horsemanship and other displays of skill - and the opportunity for him to try his hand at not a few of them. I believe her Majesty wishes to present him with a fine new Gyrfalcon, as the King has permitted him to have one, for only Kings may fly Gyrs."
That could not be a more obvious statement if it were lit with flares and hoisted upon a mast. Henry knows that he shall not see his boy's tenth birthday, so even now he makes the claim for his son.
Thus we must hope that the Court shall heed it.
The court is dancing to the strains of a jaunty galliard, while I sit to one side and watch rather enviously. Cromwell sits alongside me, and I notice, to my surprise, that he is tapping his foot along to the tune. How is it that I have never noticed that before? I can remember times when he discussed music with other courtiers, but I had no idea that he could be so wrapped up in the tune that he is hearing. I suppose we have always been too intent upon the Mission in the past.
Edward is a happy boy, awash with fine gifts from his parents, and those who wish to curry favour with him in later times. His fine Gyrfalcon is now ensconced in the mews, and granted the name Lancelot, while he is the proud owner of a mettlesome new charger, Perceval, magnificent new riding furniture, a superb longbow and crossbow, and a set of pistols, though he is not yet permitted to fire them.
The gifts he has received from the most senior courtiers are also legion and equally fine - silks, jewels and furs to adorn him; though neither Cromwell nor I have participated in this outpouring of largesse. Had we done so, then we would be beset by suspicion; but we have, between us, obtained a fine sword from the maker in Toledo who created Wyatt's magnificent silver-inset blade. It has been decorated and tooled expertly with the mythical beasts that form his Highness's Arms, and we have also added the motto Bis vincit qui se vincit in victoria, from the writings of Publilius Syrus. Given the rather mercurial nature of his father, Cromwell considers it important that Edward appreciate the virtue of self-control. We shall present it to him on behalf of the Queen's Council at our next meeting.
I rouse myself from my thoughts to see that Cromwell is smiling quite benignly, a trait that his enemies find most unsettling - though it is exactly what it is: he is contented and enjoying the evening. Most of those who dance now are quite young, the three Dudley brothers are with one or other of the Queen's ladies, though Ambrose looks rather keen to escape the prattling of Miss Howard. To be fair to her, she is a fine dancer - but she seems unable to move her legs without also moving her lips.
It is then that I notice that Robert is dancing with the Lady Elizabeth, and I am hard put not to stare in astonishment. Surely he is too low born to be partnering the daughter of a King? But no, his Majesty is watching her with an indulgent smile, so he sees no threat from a youth so lacking in land and prospects.
Edward is avoiding the possibility of boredom thanks to the Duke of Suffolk, who listens patiently as the boy recalls the pageant that afternoon. That Suffolk was also present seems not to matter, and he cheerfully recounts his own recollections.
No wonder Cromwell is smiling. I cannot recall a time when our Court seemed more at peace. What a shame that it is merely a veneer that rests over a turbulent maelstrom that requires only one incident to spring it forth.
No. Enough fretting for tonight. Our Prince has reached his ninth year, and is happy to be with his family this night. I suspect that he shall be required to return to his own household before Christmastide, and he is thus grasping every opportunity to enjoy some precious hours with his parents. I would wish that for my own sons, would I not?
As the evening draws to a close, Sir Richard Page arrives to escort the Prince back to his apartments. Despite all, the boy does not protest, for he is clearly tired, and all wish him a good night, before returning to their cups of wine, or making their own way to bed. We, naturally, shall make a final tour of the passageways before we do likewise.
Most have departed from the hall and either gone in search of additional entertainment, found additional entertainment, or retired for the night as Cromwell and I reconvene in far shabbier garb than that which we wore when we were at the celebrations. As always, we are armed only with short blades, for Cromwell has not sensed ichor for many months, and this remains the case.
Our patrolling is disturbed but rarely, as we come across - and avoid - a drunken baron, several stewards and a couple who seem attentive upon each other in a most unnervingly carnal fashion. I am much better at moving silently these days, though I still cannot match Cromwell in terms of stealth - stiff back or no.
It is as we are making our way through the Fish Court that Cromwell pauses and holds up his hand to stop me. Rather than speak, he turns, and points to his eyes, indicating that he has seen something, then holds up two fingers to indicate two somethings. Whether they be men or demons, I know not, but I do know to remain absolutely silent, and thus keep back aways, for fear of knocking something over as I pass it. I am still dreadfully clumsy, and the last thing I want is to scare off these two unknown figures.
Cromwell is crouching at the corner of the passageway as I join him, moving far more slowly than he.
"…new men shall not have ascendancy. I shall not permit it!" The voice is very low, but unmistakeable. Surrey is beyond that corner.
"They have the ear of the King, and the Queen; you'll never shake 'em off." Another voice whispers back. That voice, I cannot recognise.
"Seymour is a thorn in the side of the true nobility." Surrey spits, viciously, "And that black crow Cromwell. I thought him destroyed, but he is in league with darker powers than any I know to have survived an attainder as he did. Between them, they shall be the undoing of all that is right in the realm. Low-born men are not meant to govern those of high estate."
"You can't destroy them. There's no means to do it." The second voice insists, worriedly.
"I do not have to destroy them." Surrey insists, "His Royal Highness returns to Windsor in two days' time, while the Court departs for Placentia before Christmastide. Once the boy is out of the grasp of his uncle, it shall be a simple matter for those suited to be his protectors to oust those who are not. He can be removed to a place of safety from such unwanted influences, and thus all shall be secure. I have no doubt that, once he is back with his own kind, he shall be pleased to dismiss those of low birth from his Council."
I feel myself tense to move, convinced that Cromwell shall step forth and challenge Surrey for his treacherous words, but instead he rests a hand upon my arm, and I see a slight shake of his head. Instead, we remain where we are, and the two agree to meet at another time - to be decided - before each departs.
We are absolutely silent as we return to Cromwell's apartments, but in that time, I realise that he was right to remain concealed, "Forgive me, Thomas; in my rash intent to challenge Surrey, I could have ruined all. You wish for him to be unmasked for what he is, do you not?"
He hands me a cup of hippocras, "There is nothing to forgive, Richie; your movement woke me from a similar sense of determination to step forth. If we act now, then we do nothing but create uproar. That said," he sighs, "it could not be clearer that Surrey intends to act against us. He is blinded to reality by his determination to cleave to the ascendancy of blood. The world is changing - but he is not."
"Do you think he would really do it?" I ponder, "Abduct the Prince?"
"Yes. I do."
Our first order of business at the Queen's Council is the induction of Sir William Paget, who has not yet been present at our meetings. The fact that not only her Majesty, but also the Prince himself are present serves as a pointed statement to him that he is now a member of a select group, and that his presence is owing to his loyal service.
It is Suffolk that makes the initial introductions, as his unimpeachable loyalty to the King is more than sufficient to induce belief in the new arrival at our table, "As I explained to you, Sir William, there is more to the government of England than those who sit at the Council table. For many years, we assumed that our work was sufficient - but there was much going on of which we knew nothing. The work to combat enemies that we did not even see was undertaken by the Lord Chancellor and Lord Privy Seal without our ever noticing it."
Paget, a thin, spare man with piercing blue eyes, thick dark hair and a remarkably aquiline nose, nods, but says nothing.
Suffolk looks across at Cromwell, "Your Grace?"
I think I shall never tire of both hearing the story of Cromwell's journey to this Council table, nor shall I tire of the look of astonishment that generally starts as scepticism, but soon moves on to startled belief once the wondrous raven blades are drawn. Like all who see them, Paget is offered the opportunity to handle one, and he is as surprised as I was by its astonishing lightness.
"Silver and steel, your Grace?" He queries.
"Indeed - a merging of the finest qualities of both. Were it possible to demonstrate the efficacy of these swords, then I would do so - but we have not been required to dispatch creatures of a demonic bent for some considerable time."
"That is, perhaps, good news?" Paget ventures.
"Indeed so." Cromwell agrees, "For it means that they have been pressed into service as foot soldiers in the armies of those who contest for the right to take England for their own. Lamashtu was already present in England when I first returned to these shores - but any infernal creature that eventually succeeds in claiming the chance to subjugate England would need to start from a lesser position."
Paget swallows, nervously.
"Before we continue," Cromwell changes the subject smoothly, "there is one matter that should be attended to immediately." He turns to the Prince, "Your Highness, before you return to your own Household, we of your Council-to-be felt it appropriate that you be granted a gift for your birthday. In deference to the secrecy of our Mission, however, it was felt best that we do so now, rather than upon the day of celebration itself."
"Truly, your Grace?" The youth sits up, looking interested and not a little excited.
How rarely people at court see this man smile - but when he does, it is worth it. Turning to a nearby sideboard, he retrieves a long roll of flannel, before approaching Edward and going down upon one knee, "For you, Highness. A token of our esteem and loyalty to you as our Prince and, in time, our King."
Slowly, almost reverentially, the Prince takes the bundle, and carefully unwraps it to reveal the wondrous curved blade, safely girded in a fine leather sheath the colour of burgundy wine. Setting the wrapping down, he turns to his mother, "Majesty, may I?"
"Of course you may." She smiles, "But be careful - I have no doubt that this weapon is deadly sharp."
The blade, once revealed, is as fine as those that Cromwell bears, though the decoration is - of course - different. Perhaps most boys would start waving it about and thus do something foolish, such as cut themselves; but Edward does not. Instead, he looks over it with the greatest of care, before gently returning it to its sheath, "I am quite overcome, Sirs, by your kind gift, and the loyalty that it signifies. Thank you."
God above, he is less than ten years old - and he speaks like a man grown. Behind him, his mother smiles, pleased; though there is also a hint of sadness there - for the child is being forced to be a man far before his time, and equally, her husband is soon to be taken from her. Despite his infirmity, despite his faults, they have proved to be a great match after the sad collapse of his marriage to Queen Katherine, and the awful disaster that was wrought upon his marriage to Queen Anne.
"It is time for you to retire, Edward." She says, briskly, "There are matters that we must discuss that you do not need to hear at this time."
"Yes Ma'am."
What - not even a hint of an objection? I was not so obedient at the age of nine, I am sure of it.
Rising from her seat, Lady Rochford escorts the youth from the chamber, and thus we can turn to the matter of greater concern: Surrey's intent to abduct him from Windsor.
"I cannot believe he could do such a thing against his lawful King's will." the Queen says, with surprising heat for one so usually placid. Like all mothers, she is a tigress over the protection of her offspring.
"I do not think he does so for specific reasons of personal power." Cromwell advises, quietly, "Perhaps that might emerge once he has acted - but at this moment, his desire is solely to remove those of us he considers to be unsuitable for government. He believes that he can persuade his Royal Highness to dismiss or attaint those of us of low birth, thereby leaving the Council in the hands of noblemen."
"How intriguing that he does not include me in that group." Suffolk observes, blandly. None of us are blind to his less than noble origins, "But then, I do outrank him, do I not?"
"Observations are all very well, Gentlemen," The Queen says, a little crossly, "What are we to do?"
"If he could be persuaded," I step in, "the ideal solution would be to bring him into this Council. But we know that he would rather fling himself into hell itself than deign to work with men such as Lord Cromwell and I. Thus we must look to a less palatable alternative."
"Which is?" Paget asks, though it is clear from his expression that he has already guessed our intentions.
"We must allow him to act - and catch him in doing so." Cromwell says, quietly, "We must set a trap."
Her Majesty's expression of distaste reflects our own. To discuss setting a trap that shall bring a nobleman down, and almost certainly send him to his death is not something that I ever thought we would have to do again after the awfulness of the Boleyn affair. I do not need to look across to Cromwell to know that he is no more happy than I. It seems that even now we cannot escape that dreadful poison of conspiracy and politicking.
"I am not pleased that we must do this, Gentlemen." She says, eventually.
"Your displeasure matches ours, Majesty." Suffolk agrees, tiredly, "Were it not necessary to protect his Highness from a faction that wishes to use him for their own ends, I would have nothing to do with this."
"You would not need to, your Grace," I add, "For we would not be doing it."
"Indeed we would not." Cromwell agrees, "It must be done for the sake of the Mission - as the others were, and hope with all of our hearts that only one man shall fall, and not take many more in his wake. I have enough innocent blood upon my hands; and I cannot stand to add more."
To everyone's surprise, the Queen reaches across, and rests her hand upon one of his, "What we must do, we must do, my Lord. If there is no other choice, then it shall be done for the sake of the Kingdom, and my son."
His eyes sad, he nods, "Yes, Majesty."
Our mood is no better the next morning, as Cromwell joins me in my quarters to break our fast together, "We should set one of the spies upon this, Richie," he advises, quietly, "There is no other way - for he would be alerted should we use any of our own men."
Now that I have charge of the spies, I sit back and think, chewing at a mouthful of bread and butter. As we know so little about the depth of Surrey's plot, the risk of alerting him through our ignorance is very high. Fortunately, I do have one man I can turn to, as we have a man in the Palace Guard, by the name of Tomkinson. He has his ear to the ground in an astonishing number of places, and would have little difficulty in establishing the best method for us to bait Surrey into action.
"We don't know enough yet, Thomas. I shall have some enquiries made first."
"Tomkinson?" Cromwell has already guessed my intention, "If he cannot find it out, then no one can. He is a wise choice. I have stepped into danger blindly before, and I do not intend to do so again."
My means of summoning our spy is simple. Each morning, he undertakes a patrol of a parterre garden below my apartments. If I wish to see him, I place a lit candle in a specific window if it is dark, or I open that window in daylight. Not my preference in the winter, I admit - but he is not long about it.
"You have work for me, Sir?" he asks once I have admitted him and closed the door.
"I need you to investigate the intentions of the Earl of Surrey, Mr Tomkinson." I advise him, "Though, knowing you as I do, I suspect you already know much of what I seek."
"I suspect that I do, Mr Rich." Like many who serve the Order, he does not refer to me as either a Peer or as The Lord Privy Seal. To them, my rank as Second to the Raven far outstrips the worth of any other rank that I hold, "He is already seeking allies who might aid him in a plan to waylay the Prince when he is back to Windsor. Much of his questioning is careful - but not careful enough, for his arrogance makes him bolder than he should be. Even one of Wriothesley's creatures could have found him out but for my care to ensure that they do not."
I am not surprised at his knowledge, nor am I surprised that he knew what I was seeking when I summoned him, though it is rather unexpected that he has taken pains to ensure that the small group of spies that Wriothesley has established over the last few years is kept ignorant.
"I have no wish for them to blunder in and disturb all, Mr Rich. The Secretary's men are an embarrassment to our calling." Tomkinson's voice drips scorn. Needless to say, his comment inspires a mildly spiteful glee in me. I really should know better.
"What opportunity is there for us to cast some bait?" I ask. There is, after all, no point in doing so if he is not primed and ready to bite.
"More than one might suppose." Tomkinson advises, "While I have done all I can to keep Wriothesley's men out of the picture, they are the more sensible route to use, I think."
"Of course." I agree, "Wriothesley, for all his lower rank than ours, is still more of a nobleman than either Cromwell or I. Surrey would be almost primed automatically to trust a man from his stable. In which case, we shall make use of their aura of respectability. Speak to Bull to secure appropriate credentials for one of our London men. Carpenter, for choice. In the meantime, I shall manufacture a document that is carefully worded to suggest that the King intends to vest the future safety of the Kingdom in Mr Cromwell as Lord Protector. Given that Surrey almost believes that to be so already, and we shall inspire him to act against us without hesitation."
Tomkinson nods, "And Carpenter shall 'uncover' this document, and, acting on Wriothesley's behalf, make contact with Surrey's men."
"Exactly."
"I shall see to it, Mr Rich. I take it you shall create this document?"
"Between Mr Cromwell and I, it shall be as convincing as we can make it. Advise me when Bull's work is done."
Cromwell is both pleased, and not pleased, when I present him with our plan, "It is a good plan, Richie. I wish, nonetheless, that it was not one we must implement."
"Nor I, Thomas. Even though all is as close to settled as it can be, as we lack only the King's signature and assent, we still have that small window of opportunity, as no one in the Council has yet seen the final bill. And thus we must do what we must do."
"God, why is it so hard?" Cromwell protests, suddenly, "I should give all I have to not be obliged to do what we must do - but Surrey will not permit me to act in any other way. Edward is the rightful King in waiting, not Surrey - that was decided upon the field at Bosworth - and my only concern is that he should come into his inheritance a strong and capable ruler. We have a Queen to act as Regent - and thus we do not need a Lord Protector; just a solid, loyal Council to serve Queen Mother and King. But Surrey will not permit it."
"He is an old-blood noble, Thomas." I remind him, needlessly, "To his mind, it is his right to stand in the stead of a boy-king, not his common-born mother, nor his common-born uncle. And as for you and I - we are anathema. He would tolerate Suffolk - but only because he could not gainsay a Duke."
"He should stick to bloody poetry."
I snort with amusement, "If that were so, then all should be well."
The document we formulate between us is as incriminating as we can make it. It is in Cromwell's handwriting, and suggests that he has been working for many months to circumvent the very Bill we have spent so long bringing to fruition, as it contains carefully worded phrases that can be interpreted as legally binding clauses that he can persuade the King are instead quite innocuous. Thus, even if we do present the Bill to the Council, Surrey can be induced to believe that Cromwell has taken steps to secure his own power. Surrey is quite convinced that Cromwell is devious enough to do it, so I cannot imagine that he would suspect that he is being gulled.
None notice the arrival of Carpenter, a short, magnificently nondescript individual with no distinguishing features of note at all, as he makes his way into the Mews at the exact same time that the young Prince is preparing to depart back to Windsor prior to Christmastide, while Elizabeth is also preparing for her own departure - in her case, to Hatfield, her favourite residence when not with her parents.
Despite the hubbub, it cannot be clearer that the young Prince wishes to stay with his family - but already that sense of duty that comes with royal blood is firmly set upon him, and he takes his leave with that same cheerful formality that accompanied his arrival. Elizabeth is no less dutiful, but her eyes look out as though searching for someone, and I note, with mild dismay, that her eyes settle almost at once upon that young Robert Dudley. Such a shame - he is so far below her station that, no matter how much she wishes it, she cannot marry him. Just as well she is leaving, then; perhaps the separation shall ease the risk of heartache as she is forced to accept her future is not with him.
The dual entourages leave with a great clattering of hoofs, and those of us who came out to see them off make our way back inside. Rather than return to the offices, I instead make my way back to my apartments. All of the Spies know the location of my residences, and I am not surprised to see Carpenter seated beside the fire, a cup of sack in hand courtesy of John.
He rises as I enter; again his respect for me based upon my rank as a Second, rather than my Court position, "I have the relevant credentials, Mr Rich. I am ready to go to work as soon as you wish it."
"If I am to be truly honest, Mr Carpenter," I admit, "I should wish it that you not have to go to work at all. We should much rather that our quarry be willing to work with us than against us; but he would threaten the Mission, and so we must act against him."
"We are often required to act against our conscience, Mr Rich. Such is the obligation placed upon us by our calling."
Retrieving the false document from a coffer, I sit down opposite Carpenter, indicating he do likewise, "This is the document. We have taken the greatest of care to ensure that it is as authentic in both tone and content as possible. It purports to be a document that the Raven has written that shall circumvent the provisions of the Succession Bill and grant him the position of Lord Protector."
Carpenter nods, and smiles; "Crafty, Mr Rich."
"Absolutely. Surrey is already convinced that we plan to do this - so all it shall do is confirm his belief." I hand the document to him, "Advise me when he bites. I shall leave the means by which you cast your bait in your hands - for you are by far the better hand at such matters as this."
"I shall see to it. Any message shall come to you via Baxter."
"Agreed."
The Council table is tense - not merely because of the stench of the King's legs, and his dreadful temper - but also because today the Succession Bill is to be considered finally by the Council before it receives his Majesty's Assent. All at the table hope to secure a place on the Regency Council, but that shall be a matter for his Highness, and her Majesty, when the time comes. The Queen's Council, of course, shall be at the forefront - but no one at this table knows it. Not even the King.
The document has no issues of contention, and not even Surrey demurs when the King asks for our agreement that the bill shall become an Act. That said, I can see Surrey glaring at us with shocking venom, and I know that Carpenter must have made contact. The great risk, of course, is that he shall denounce us here and now - but our great hope is that he shall instead bide his time. Given the degree of favour that Cromwell holds, it is quite possible that the King shall not believe the younger Howard. Besides, he has laid his plans, and I have no doubt that he has no intention of involving his Majesty in those plans to remove us.
A scratching of a nib, a flourish, and the Bill has become an Act. The succession is now secure, and there shall be no Lord Protector. The Council shall be appointed by the Prince, under advisement from his mother, who shall be Regent, and the Duke of Suffolk, who shall lead the Councillors. Cromwell and I shall operate in an administrative capacity only - which, regardless of others' opinions, is just as we would wish it.
"I expect you all to abide by this law, Gentlemen." Henry wheezes, "It is my legacy, and the best hope of the Realm."
He sits back and listens to the murmured assent of his councillors with a degree of his old pride. All is done.
Baxter is waiting in my apartments with a long letter from Carpenter, that I am quick to share with Cromwell, "It has worked, Thomas. Even now, Surrey is conspiring with Carpenter to take control of the Prince by force. As he is safely back to Windsor, to do so shall be extremely difficult. Carpenter reports that he has been tasked with seeking out Guards at the Castle who would be amenable to Surrey's plan - either willingly, or in exchange for a financial incentive. I take it that any who agree to do so shall also find themselves facing the block?"
Cromwell doesn't answer. Instead, he nods.
"When shall we act against him?"
"Not yet - it's too soon. We must have evidence that the plan is being put into action, not merely that it exists. All must be sure. Besides, it may be that Surrey shall pull back from it, and decide instead that it is better to cooperate with us than go against us. A foolish hope, perhaps, but still one that I cling to."
That does not surprise me. If we could work with Surrey rather than against him, then it would be to the benefit of all. But he will not have it that way, and so we must act first.
After a week, Carpenter reports back that he is now a trusted part of an organised conspiracy, with Surrey at its head. Remarkably, they were unable to find any guard who would be willing to allow them access to the Prince; and, indeed, had to back-track quite considerably on several occasions to avoid guards reporting their activities - though the approaches were extremely surreptitious, and carried out through intermediaries, so even had the guards reported, it would have been impossible to find the perpetrators. Surrey may be impetuous, but he is not that stupid.
The plan is simple enough - since they have been unable to secure entry to the Castle, instead they shall enter the Park, and wait for the Prince to ride out; a favoured pastime that he undertakes each day. Then they shall ambush the party, secure the Prince with all due deference to his illustrious state, and remove him to what they term as 'a place of safety', doubtless comfortable and suitable for a royal personage, but out of the reach of those who intend to stand with him, rather than control him.
On that same day, he adds, Cromwell and I are to be separately assassinated - I laugh at this: someone assassinate Thomas Cromwell? - and the King quietly helped upon his way to forgetfulness with a strong sleeping draught. Queen Jane shall be dispatched to a quiet Manor in the country, while Hertford is condemned as a traitor along with his brother Thomas Seymour, and the pair executed as such.
Despite my amusement at the thought of some poor fool being assigned to kill Cromwell, the depths of the plan are quite astonishing in their audacity. Surrey is putting a great deal of faith in what is, in all honesty, a ridiculous plot. Does he truly believe that so many individual plans can run together in harness? All that is required is for one component to fail, and he is lost. Cromwell may be hated - but he is powerful, and there are few in the Council who would side against him given the favour he has from the King. Should he survive, then it would be a simple matter for him to rally the Council, and troops - and then what? Would Surrey risk all by threatening to harm the Prince?
We exchange a glance, and I know that, yes, he would.
Our opportunity comes three days after Carpenter places the clinching evidence in my hands, and is dispatched back to the House for his own safety. We now know that there shall be one more meeting of the conspirators in a week's time - at a tavern in the village of Datchet - and we must be there, for once they discover that Carpenter is not present, it is highly likely that they shall realise they are discovered - and we shall lose our chance to end the matter.
His eyes narrowed, the King reads the papers with the evidence that has been gathered - some of it in Surrey's own hand, "How long have you known of this plot, my Lord Cromwell?"
There is no pleasure upon his face as he answers, "For some few weeks, Majesty. It was, however, not until today that I was in possession of fit evidence to assure you that the conspiracy is real. Prior to that, it could merely have been the foolish boasting of a proud man."
These days, being as highly placed as I am, I stand with Cromwell at meetings such as this, and I am no more enjoying it than Cromwell. The Howard family is illustrious - and the suggestion that one of the family is intending such a ghastly strike against his lawful King is a real stain upon the Howard name.
"What is your intention?"
"That we also attend the meeting, Majesty. All are expected to be present - including Surrey - and thus the entire viper's nest shall be neutralised. The evidence against him is irrefutable."
"He would take my son from me, and aim to rule through him." Henry mutters, darkly, "One of my own. I should never have thought it so - but was he not a Plantagenet? Perhaps I should have ensured that all of that vile line be removed."
"There is still time, Majesty." Cromwell says, "It may be that we can persuade my Lord Surrey that it is in the interests of all to stand as a loyal Council to the Prince, and grant the Regency to his mother?"
"What I know of Surrey suggests otherwise, my Lord. Thus you have my agreement. Root out these vile conspirators and arrest them all. To the Tower with them, and then to the block. I will not have my realm so threatened. Have Mr Whorwood draw up the appropriate warrants."
"Yes, Majesty." Together, we withdraw.
"And so to Datchet." He sighs as we return to our offices.
Rather than leave the palace on the appointed day, Cromwell departed for a period of leave to Austin Friars two days ago, and I left for Grant's Place yesterday. The guards who are to aid us in effecting the arrest departed to Windsor at the beginning of the week, and, to our knowledge, the conspirators are unaware that they are discovered.
I depart for Datchet the day prior to our planned interruption, and I am not surprised to find that Cromwell is already installed in the quiet country inn that we have selected as our base of operations. Not trusting any of his usual spies, he instead has another of the House's many operatives watching the village, and already he has news that most of those who are working with Surrey are present. Until Surrey himself arrives, however, we must not move against them.
It seems most bizarre that we should be involved in such an enterprise; for though we have acted against conspiracies before, most of our work to apprehend enemies has been aimed solely at infernal opponents. To be facing men with plans that conflict with our own is altogether more unnerving. What if Surrey has caught wind of our action? Will he come to the Village? What shall we do if he does not?
As the time of the meeting draws nearer, Cromwell meets with the detachment of guards in a copse outside the village boundaries, and greets the Captain.
"Is it true, my Lord?" the man asks, for it is only now that he knows against whom we are acting, "Would my Lord of Surrey truly act against his own King?"
"I think he does not see it in such terms, Captain." Cromwell admits, "He is a proud nobleman, and it seems most likely to me that he considers himself to be acting in the best interests of the Kingdom. He is wrong; but it was not until he chose to act upon his views that they became counter to the security of the realm."
He pauses, and goes still, "Surrey is here."
"How do you know?" I ask, for I have seen no sign of it.
"Look at that line of sheets that are drying in that cottage yard." He points at the washing line. Amongst the white sheets is one that is red. Clearly set there as a signal, 'Had that been blue, then I should know that Surrey did not attend. But it is red, so he has arrived."
Rather than march the guards up the narrow main street of the village, thereby warning all and sundry of our approach, instead he divides the group into two, one to approach the inn from the front, the other from behind. Even though Surrey seems not to know he is discovered, Cromwell cannot believe that he would not have at least one man on watch.
As we conceal ourselves in a stand of trees close to the rear yard of the inn, Cromwell is intent upon the door, "If Surrey does not realise that his plans are in jeopardy by now, then he is a fool. Carpenter has not arrived, and that alone should be a sign that he is either fled or taken."
We hear, rather than see, the entry of the guards into the front of the inn, while the others approach the rear to catch any who might attempt to flee from the back door. Sure enough, some do - and are quickly stopped. I am not surprised when one of them turns out to be Surrey.
Held by two guards, struggling furiously, he shouts and swears at them, demanding that they release him. He is, after all, an Earl.
As he approaches, Cromwell brandishes the warrant, which has been signed and sealed in the King's presence, "According to this warrant, my Lord, that is no longer the case."
"Damn you, you vile, craven ground-crawler!" Howard snaps at him, all but spitting in his rage, "Do you think me a fool? You and your common born cohorts aim to rob us of our rightful inheritance!"
"I aim to ensure that his Highness is not robbed of his." Cromwell advises calmly, "It does not serve you well to claim that I seek that to which I am not entitled. I am an Earl, but not by birth - and so I would never presume to rise to such a state as you claim to demand. Know that your title is forfeit, as are your goods and your lands. His Majesty may be disposed at some future time to grant your lost possessions back to your son - but at this time, they belong to the Crown. You are arrested for high treason, in that you have plotted to seize the person of the Prince of Wales, heir to the Crown of England. You shall be transported henceforth to the Tower, and kept separately from your various conspirators - who shall also be held apart from each other."
"The people shall not stand for this!"
"Perhaps not - but the King shall not stand for your conspiring against him. Given the evidence of your treachery, I have no doubt that the people shall not stand for that, either." He nods to the Captain of the Guard, who bundles Surrey away.
"I should have preferred not to have been obliged to do that." Cromwell admits, as we walk together back to the stand of trees where we have tethered our horses.
"Perhaps - but I am grateful that I did not have to find out whether the plan to murder me was true." I add.
Our ride back to Windsor is undertaken in silence. While we have acted for the safety of the Prince, neither of us would have wanted to do so in such manner. No matter what our motives, we have placed a great Lord in the Tower. I had hoped that I should never be obliged to do such a thing again.
