AN: This is a very abridged and slightly altered version of what happened during October 1536. To include and expatiate everything that I thought interesting would have taken far too many chapters, so I condensed it to the most important scenes. Hope you still enjoy this chapter!
The Pilgrimage: Falling from Grace
Everything was dark, heavy rains were crackling down upon them churned by the winds, and above them the moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas. A group of rebels was making their way through the torrent of darkness guided only by the light of their torches. They carried with them weapons and horses, but most of all they were dragging two prisoners with them.
Anne felt the hemp rope cutting into her wrists. Never in her life had she dreamt of ending like this- cold, dark, bound, miserable. She had ventured to help these people and this was what she got for it.
"Onward, onward!" A man behind her hissed.
She stumbled on, tearing the hem of her dress at the underwood. What a shame, she thought; I had only borrowed the dress from Lady Latimer because mine was beyond repair. How am I to explain this mess to her? She sighed. Who am I kidding- we'll never make it out of this alive.
Her eyes wandered towards the coughing man next to her. The rebels had literally dragged Lord Latimer out of his house and had forced him to swear the oath threatening to abuse his wife and children if he did not yield. Anne's intervention had saved the family, but only at the cost of her own imprisonment. They had not forced her to swear the oath yet, but she surmised that they were only waiting to hand her over to their leaders.
Lord Latimer stumbled and fell. She turned to catch him, but her bound hands did her no service. Luckily, two of the rebels were kind enough to help the Lord back to his feet. He looked at his queen in sadness.
"Thank you, Your Grace," he whispered.
Anne shook her head. "But I could not help you."
"That is not important. It honours me that you should even try," he replied.
"He there, no talking!" A man armed with a frail yelled at them.
Latimer flinched and coughed even harder. Anne frowned. Once again she was out in the darkness with a companion who was closer to death than to life. She thought of poor John Palmer, the brave man who had risked his life to save hers and whom she had had to leave behind at Snape Castle. He would find a way out, of that she was sure. Anne smiled. At least one of us makes it out if this, then.
"We're there, we're there," the rebels began to shout.
She stretched and strained to catch a glimpse of what they were talking about only to see it after they passed a bend: Lights in the distance. The pale light of the moon dipped a giant castle into ghostly light. She narrowed her eyes.
"That's Pontefract," Lord Latimer exhaled.
Anne was stupefied for a moment, but then she understood. Yes, it made perfectly sense for the rebels to make this place their headquarters.
"The key to the North," she whispered.
The rebels dragged them onward towards the castle and up the hill. They negotiated with the watchmen on the towers yet Anne could not understand their words and even if she had, she was too tired to care. She would know soon enough what their intentions were. Everything else was in the hands of God.
"Well, well, who have we here?"
They were allowed into the outer baily. Five men were heading towards them from a brightly lit house smiling almost as brightly. Anne eyeballed them curiously. Two of them were most likely related, brothers perhaps, and roughly in their fifties. One was a redhead who looked very tired and worn-out. The fourth was rather short but had fascinating eyes and the fifth man was Lord Darcy himself. Anne was shocked to see a fellow nobleman conspiring against the King.
"Sir Bigod," one of the brothers greeted the leader of Anne's capturers. "I am glad to see you here at Pontefract."
"Good to see you too, gentlemen. It has been a long hard walk," the leader replied.
"Well, do come inside and join our supper. You may tell us all there," Lord Darcy suggested.
Bigod laughed. "I shall do that very soon, but before I have a gift for you. A very special gift. Bring them here, Thomas!"
Anne felt strong hands pushing her and Lord Latimer through the rows of rebels into the centre of attention.
"May I present: the Baron Latimer and Her Majesty, the Queen," Bigod presented them in a triumphant voice.
"My God," Darcy exclaimed.
Anne stared into blank faces on the other side for a moment. Then, Ellerker, Darcy, Robert Constable and Aske all dropped to their knees, with Robert pulling down his hesitant brother.
"Your Majesty," Aske, the short man, said breathlessly.
Bigod smiled. "Well, what do you say, gentlemen? If that's not a good hostage I don't know what is."
The five leaders looked at each other pondering the pros and cons. Then, John Constable nodded.
"I'd say they're good bargaining power. Get them into the dungeons."
"For God's sake, John, are you out of your mind?" Aske cut him short. He looked at his fellow captain scolding him with his eyes before venturing towards Anne and taking her hand. "Her Majesty will be our guest at Pontefract for her own safety. Is it not so, Lord Darcy?"
Darcy stepped to his side and nodded. "Of course it is. Those are dangerous times out there. Please, Your Majesty, I insist that you spend a few nights here at Pontefract Castle- in the very best rooms, of course."
Anne hesitated to say anything. Was it all just a clever trick, a charade to give her a false sense of security? She searched the two men's eyes but found not maliciousness in them. They were honest and humble as they should be. For a moment, Anne remembered why she had wanted to help these people in the first place. If some of them still possessed a sense of decency, perhaps she could influence things by gaining their trust. Staying at Pontefract was her best choice.
"Does this offer also include my Lord Latimer?" She demanded to know.
Aske and Darcy both looked at the sick man for a moment before agreeing in unison.
"Certainly, Your Majesty. He will be given very good rooms, inferior only to yours," Darcy assured her and offered her his hand.
She nodded graciously and accepted the hand. "In that case, my Lord, I am inclined to accept your offer."
Darcy smiled. "Welcome to Pontefract Castle then, Your Majesty."
Charles Brandon was tearing his hair. This entire campaign had started out badly and had become worse from then on. He was sitting in the early winter mud somewhere south of Pontefract fretting over maps, missing muskets, and dealing with inexperienced soldiers. The King's army was nothing but a bad joke. God help them if there should be the threat of a foreign war soon!
"We meet a desperate moment, My Lord," he said to his co-captain, the Earl of Shrewsbury. "Not only are the rebel forces overwhelmingly strong against us, but those men I do have, I cannot altogether trust. Many think the rebels' quarrels to be good and godly."
He turned around and sighed. I am way too old for this shit, he thought. I mean, I'm fifty now, despite my good looks. This weather does nothing for my bones.
"Still, the King has urged us to attack as soon as possible," Shrewsbury remarked.
"His Majesty would not do so if he saw our plight with his own eyes," Brandon returned. "I've almost no horsemen and those I do have are rather the flower of the North. It is not possible, Your Lordship, to give battle knowing defeat to be a certainty."
Shrewsbury frowned. "Do you have some other plan?"
"I intend to parley with them."
"Parley?"
Brandon groaned. "My Lord, it is our first duty to stop them escaping and marching south. If they are talking, they are not marching."
Shrewsbury seemed unimpressed. "Then you must tell the King." He picked up his helmet and left.
Brandon watched him go cursing the coward in his thoughts. He buried his face behind his palms thinking that things could not be getting worse than they already were. He was mistaken.
Sir Francis Bigod was a well learned man. He had spent many years at Oxford, albeit leaving without a degree. Still he sometimes found pleasure in translating classical Latin works into the English tongue. But he was also of a very conservative nature and devoutly Catholic. The idea of royal supremacy abhorred him and he had written many pamphlets against it. One day he had realised that words would no longer suffice, so he had bethought himself of his second great passion, swordsmanship, for he was a knight as well.
The rebellion had come in very handy for him as a chance to finally fight for what he thought right and just. He had planned to capture a Yorkshire Lord to make good cheer with the leaders of the Pilgrimage, but when he had stumbled upon the Queen herself, it had seemed like a sign of God. He had been sure they would take him in with open arms and though they had not refused him, his reception at Pontefract had left him with mixed feelings. They had not incarcerated the heretic Queen as he had expected but offered to house her better than him. On what grounds?
But Bigod was no man to fret about bygones. Instead, he had sought a chance to prove his strength in this campaign and had soon found another aim: Skipton Castle. Six large drum towers were now rising in front of him. Other rebels had been besieging the castle since the 21st but without success. Bodgers, he thought. I'll show them how to do this.
"Is everything prepared for their arrival?"
His adjutant nodded. "Yes, Sir Francis. If things go according to plan our men should deliver them here by midnight."
Bigod smiled and poured himself another cup of ale. "I shall wait for them."
He knew he would not have to wait for long since his plans would not fail. They were fool-proof. If he could not break the walls of Skipton Castle, then he just had to get the Earl of Cumberland to open the gates himself. Simple as that. And just as John Constable had put it, a good bargaining power was all he needed in order to achieve that. Steps and squeaks approaching his tent confirmed what he had known all along: He had succeeded where others had failed.
"We've got the guests you were asking for, Sir," a hunk of a man said.
"Yeah, guests," another man laughed.
Bigod smiled and took a look at his catch. Before his eyes, his men were holding three shivering, frightened women. One of them was barely a woman at all but a girl of thirteen or fourteen. She had obviously been crying and now clung to the waist of the oldest woman who was perhaps twenty.
"Lady Elizabeth, Lady Maud," Bigod greeted the daughters of Henry Clifford, Earl of Cumberland, with a satisfied smile. Then his eyes turned to the third young lady. Her hair was the colour of chestnuts and her eyes sparkled not with fear but anger. She was his prize. "And Lady Eleanor. I am pleased to see you."
"It is quite a unilateral pleasure, then," the young woman responded coldly.
Bigod laughed heartily. She was daring! But what else could he have expected of someone like her; daughter of the Duke of Suffolk and Princess Margaret who had dared to defy even the King by marrying secretly?
"What shall we do with them now?" The hulk of a man asked.
"Send a letter to the Earl, of course. We'll have his damn castle by tomorrow or the day after at the latest," Bigod said matter-of-factly. He looked at the frightened girls again, his eyes turning dark. "Yet, if the Earl seeks to be stubborn and unyielding, I give you permission to violate and enforce them with knaves unto my Lord's great discomfort."
The room was full to the brim with people. Anne could identify some of the lords and knights that had gathered yet none of the commoners. She saw stern and worried faces everywhere wondering just how many of them had been forced to come here just like her and Lord Latimer. He was sitting by her side looking even frailer than before. She feared for his sanity and health should this madness continue much longer.
"Silence, silence," Robert Constable turned to his audience. "The King has sent the Earl of Shrewsbury and the Duke of Suffolk against us. It seems that they had originally planned to hold a line along the River Trent to block our advance southwards."
"How strong are they?" The worried Lord Darcy asked.
"Well, we think Shrewsbury's men are 6000," John Constable replied. "Suffolk's a lot less. They also lack horse and cannon. And as long as we have his daughter Eleanor, he would not dare to attack us."
Anne's heart began to sink. 10,000 royal soldiers at best? From what she'd seen already she knew that this would not be enough. And if they had really abducted Charles's daughter… Damn. She would sit in this trap forever!
"And how many are we?" The charismatic Aske interjected.
"By my reckoning, somewhere over 30,000."
Turmoil began to spread amongst the attendees. Thrice the amount of the royal forces! Thrice! It was a number to behold. Aske and the Constable brothers had severe difficulties trying to calm their men down again.
"Listen, my fellows, since our sheer number will force them to negotiate, it is now utterly important that we discuss and define the binding articles of our demands," Robert Aske said in a firm voice.
"Aye," Sir Ralph Ellerker agreed and pulled out a parchment.
But John Constable cut him short before he could say more. A grin on his lips he leant forward and said: "But first, gentlemen, I want to introduce you to our most noble guest: The Queen."
Anne rose to her feet by reflex as she had suddenly become the centre of attention. Many of them looked at her with earnest bafflement, making it seem as if the tense situation had caused them not to notice her before. She held her head up high.
"The Lady and her friend Lord Latimer were brought to us just a few days ago," John Constable went on.
"This is treason!" One of the unwilling Lords shouted.
John seemed angry and willing to kill him on the spot, but his brother Robert held him back. "No, my Lord, it is not treason," he said in a soothing voice. "The Lady is here on her own account and would say so even if asked by the King's men. Is it not so, Your Majesty?"
His words were an unspoken threat. Anne felt a cold shiver running down her spine as she pondered whether to be proud or to be safe. But before her temper could get the better off her, Anne remembered that there where others who suffered, too. She was the Queen; it was her duty to stand up for them.
"I am willing to do so, Sir Constable, if you agreed to free my niece, the Lady Eleanor Brandon."
John laughed. "We're not keeping her, Madam."
"But we know who does," Aske said in a lower voice. "It is a reasonable offer."
John pushed him to the side. Quietly but angrily he said: "Don't do that. Can't you see that this is what she's trying to do? She's sowing discord between us."
In the meantime, his brother Robert had turned to the crowd again and said loudly: "I am afraid we cannot condescend to your wish since we do not hold said Lady hostage. However we are very glad to hear that you are here on your own account."
Anne was puzzled and irate at the same time. How dare he put those words in her mouth? She wanted to protest sharply but quickly realised that those armed men standing close to her were in fact standing there for other than just decorative purposes. Their grim faces forced her to sit down again. She sighed.
"You meant well," Lord Latimer whispered to her between two of his frequent coughs.
She bit her lip. "But I failed. I am not worthy of my crown."
Her ears shut out the barely masked bragging about the numbers of the rebels and how soon their demands would be met. She didn't want to hear how they discussed their petty requests. Some of them may have well been justified, but their means were not. Looking into the faces of the present noblemen, Anne quickly discovered that she wasn't the only one to have that opinion. They all seemed to comply for the sake of their lives, but seven years of being queen had provided her with the ability to look behind such facades- and behind them, she saw terror.
Of course, the commoners looked far more enthusiastic. Anne couldn't decide whether to agree with them or hate them for their methods. Most of them probably stuck to the oath and didn't harm anyone, but why did they condone what others had done? She shook her head in disbelief. And then she saw something.
It was a nose that seemed oddly familiar. Why would a peasant's nose seem familiar to her? Anne looked at the man twice. She blinked. That nose… and those eyes… Her heart stopped when her memory presented her with the face and the name. She had remembered that nose because she had seen it on so many occasions at court. That was Francis Bryan's dogsbody, the cunning Sir Cornish! Her mouth almost popped open. What on earth was he doing here? Had he become a rebel? But why? He more than most had reasons to be grateful to the King!
He noticed her gaze. Anne froze fearing what he would say or do, but he did none of those things. Instead he winked.
Italy.
Far away from all the English troubles yet concerned by them, two men of the clergy were sitting outside enjoying the last beautiful days before winter.
"It seems we were wrong to suppose that the King would realise his mistakes and the dangers to his soul," Cardinal von Waldburg noted. "Instead he continues to encourage Cromwell to vandalise and defile the houses of God and steal their treasures- all for his own use and pleasure. And yet, even in the darkness, there is light." He smiled at the other man. "I mean this great uprising of the faithful. This Pilgrimage of Grace."
Father Pole nodded. "I have heard of it too. The Pilgrims who march beneath the banner of Christ."
"The Holy Father asks you to write a pamphlet in English denouncing the King and his advisers as heretics," Waldburg explained.
"Of course. I'll start working on it straight away," Pole said and rose, but Waldburg's words pushed him back.
"Oh, no, no, wait, wait. His Holiness needs more from you than just your signature. With my encouragement, he has decided to appoint you an official legate. You will travel to France and the Low Countries and meet representatives of the King and the Emperor."
Pole raised an eyebrow. "Eminence?"
"You will persuade them to provide monies, arms, and mercenaries to support this most holy crusade in England."
"If that is what His Holiness asks me to do then of course I will do it, like an obedient son to a father," Pole replied with a trembling voice.
Then, all of a sudden and without warning, Waldburg was given a red hat by a servant and announced: "His Holiness has agreed to make you a cardinal and here is your biretta."
She had waited three days for this chance.
Three days of weaving her webs of charm and cunning deceit in which she was ensnaring more and more people at Pontefract. Anne knew that open rebellion would only cost her head, so she had done what court life had taught her to do and had begun scheming. Within a day, she had figured out how her poor niece Eleanor could have been dragged into this mess: She had just been engaged to the Earl of Cumberland's son and heir. Anne sighed. The poor girl was just a pawn in a game of life and death.
It had taken her another day to figure out the whereabouts of Eleanor and her two sisters-in-law-to-be. She still couldn't believe that the servants had actually told her after all, but obviously commoners were truly inclined to do what they were ordered to if one only used the right amount of persuasion and dominance. Anne should have been glad about this success, but could not rejoice. Nell Brandon and the other girls were kept prisoner outside of Pontefract, somewhere in the woods. She had no chance of getting there and no chance of sending a message out of Pontefract. Except perhaps…
On the third day, she had made her mind up and waited for all day for her chance. After supper, God finally rewarded her perseverance.
"You, boy," she hissed at one of the commoners swarming through the halls of Pontefract. "Get me some wine."
The man did as he was ordered to without grumbling. When he arrived with the cup and the jug, Anne pulled him closer.
"I know who you are," she whispered.
"I know that you know, Your Majesty," Tony Cornish replied with a grin.
"Has the King sent you?"
He shook his head and began to pour her some wine. "No, it was your cousin, Lord Bryan. I must say I did not expect to find you here, of all places. But do not worry; I'm already working on a plan to get you out of here."
"I am flattered," Anne said smiling. "But I must politely decline. I have a different order for you."
Cornish put down the jug and frowned. "What order, Your Majesty?"
Suspiciously, Anne looked around to see if anyone was watching them with mistrust. "These people are dangerous, Master Cornish. Save your skin while you still can and bring my Lord Bryan the news of what you've seen here. If they catch you while you're working on an elaborate plan for my escape, you will be of no use to the kingdom," she said in a low voice. "So please hurry back to London. But take a detour."
"Where?"
"Three noble ladies have been captured by the rebels. They're held captive in the Yorkshire woods five miles west of Pontefract. I should wish you to free them and take them to London with you," she urged him.
Cornish didn't hesitate, not even for a second. He topped up the Queen's glass and nodded. "How many guards are there?"
"One or two dozen, I'm afraid," Anne whispered uneasily.
A broad smile came to his face as he bowed before her and took her hand to indicate a kiss. "That is no problem to me, Madam. Consider them free already," he said and blinked.
Cromwell hesitated to read out the letter of the Duke of Suffolk to the King, yet his sovereign demanded it. He cleared his throat.
"His Grace informs Your Majesty that he has no choice in the matter but to treat with them," Cromwell said in such a voice that could perhaps lead the King to be angry at Suffolk instead. "In so doing, he hopes to bring the nobles and the gentry to treachery and for their own sakes and in their own interests they will disown the commons if promised a pardon, as, in fact, happened in Lincolnshire."
Grinding his teeth, Cromwell now realised that, having read the entire sentence, the Duke's plan didn't sound as dumb as he had expected. There had to be another way to put the blame on someone else… or else he was ruined!
The King grumbled. "They are not all to be pardoned. Not the leaders. Never the leaders! But what terms does my Lord Suffolk intend to offer the commons to make them go home?"
"His Grace does not go into details," Cromwell summarised hopefully until he stumbled across a sentence that he could not neglect, "but to allay Your Majesty's fears, he writes, in his own hand: I beseech Your Majesty to take in good part whatever promises I shall make to these rebels for surely I shall never keep any of them."
King Henry smiled just as Cromwell had expected him to. This was just the sort of thing he loved. The point went to Brandon- again.
He felt the noose tightening around his neck.
On the 27th of October, the royal forces and the pilgrim army met at Doncaster Bridge. Never since the end of the Wars of the Roses had English soil seen so many soldiers stand upon it. The sea of men was seemingly endless. The leader of the royal forces, Charles Brandon, was riding on his horse towards the bridge. His shining armour reflected the dull sun of early winter. Anger was painted in his face, but no one except Robert Aske cared to think why. It only occurred to him that perhaps, by taking his daughter hostage, they had made the Duke an enemy on a personal level as well.
"Alas, you unhappy men," Brandon shouted over to them, "What fancy, what folly has led and seduced you to make this most shameful rebellion against a most noble and righteous king and sovereign?"
His voice soared high and wide even reaching the tent in which Queen Anne was held prisoner. A sad smile graced her lips as she thought of Charles. He could have been her saviour if only he had known she was here. But she had gotten into this misery on her own, so it was only just that God expected her to find her way out alone.
Brandon met with the leaders on Doncaster Bridge. His face was stern and dark.
"Are you not ashamed?" He asked. "How can you do this? Not only giving offence to your natural sovereign lord but giving us occasion to fight with you that have loved you more than other part of the realm and have always taken you for our best friends?"
"Your Grace, we mean no offense to His Majesty or to you," Aske hurried to say before his companions could spoil the mood. "But we have a petition which we desire humbly to submit to him for the restoration of many things which have gone amiss in this realm."
"We demand the restoration of our abbeys and our ancient rights," John Constable interjected. "And that a new parliament be summoned to address the people's sincere grievances."
Brandon took a deep breath before speaking in order to suppress the urge to kill them here on sight. It wouldn't free his daughter anyway. He had to stick to the plan.
"I can decide nothing here," he said firmly. "But I propose a truce during which time, two of your captains can take your petition and present it to His Majesty. The truce be maintained until they return."
Aske nodded and withdrew to discuss with his fellow captains despite the fact that he already knew who would favour the truce and who wouldn't.
"My Lord Darcy, can we talk a moment?" Brandon interrupted their discussion.
Darcy left the circle and followed the request. "Your Grace?"
"My Lord Darcy, you more than anyone here have cause to be grateful to the King for his bounty, for the trust he reposes in you and would like to repose in you still," Brandon said as calmly as possible. "And yet here I find you consorting with rebels and traitors."
The old man sighed. "For my part, I have been and always will be true to the King, our sovereign lord, as I was to his father before him."
"If you are as true and loyal as you say, then you can prove it to us by giving over your captain Mister Aske into our hands."
Darcy shook his head. How could he do that? Aske was the main reason he had joined this venture! "Sir, that I cannot and will not do," he said firmly. "For a man who promises to be true to someone, then betrays him, may truly be called a traitor."
Brandon's eyes narrowed. You will regret this, he thought, but before he could say more, his sergeant called him away.
"Your Grace, Your Grace," he said breathlessly. "Our scouts have stumbled across an abandoned noble couple. The young woman claims to be your daughter Frances and says that she was almost killed by robbers."
Brandon's heart dropped to his knees. "Frances? Where? Tell me! Ready my horse!"
"But you can't go now, Your Grace," the Earl of Shrewsbury objected.
Brandon's eyes burned. "I leave it to you to negotiate the truce with them. I have my daughter to save!"
The sight of his leaving banner confused the pilgrim army. It was just this confusion that a certain group of people dressed as commons had waited for. Princess Mary felt the rush of adrenaline to her body as she followed Thomas Wyatt through the rows of waiting pilgrims. How much she would have longed to speak to them now, those good people who were fighting for her faith also! But it wasn't her purpose, not now. Wyatt had gathered information that the Queen would also be at Doncaster for the meeting- perhaps the only chance to meet her outside the massive walls of Pontefract.
"Halt," an armed peasant stopped them right in front of a tent.
"What, halt," Wyatt snapped at the man. "Can't you see we're busy? Aske has sent us to pick up the Lady- they need her as bait."
Mary was puzzled by this sudden display of theatrical talent on Wyatt's side, but she knew better than to speak up and ruin their disguise. Much to her surprise, the guard let them through without further hesitation. How he could have been so stupid, she wondered, but her thoughts were soon overwhelmed by the soothing sound of her stepmother's voice.
"Thomas," the Queen whispered in awe. "And Mary. Oh my God, what are you doing here? Thomas, I told you not to endanger her!"
Wyatt smiled. "Your Majesty, I could not stop her, so I thought it best to be by her side to protect her."
Anne's eyes darkened. She was a strange sight to those who knew her- her dress was plain, her hair was barely tended to, and she had become very thin. Seeing her like this frightened Mary. Had this whole venture been a mistake?
"You should not have brought her here," Anne said darkly. "She is in very great danger."
"These are Catholics, Your Majesty, they would not dream of harming her," Wyatt insisted.
"Some of them, perhaps. But some of them know no shame. Haven't you heard that they have taken Brandon's daughter hostage?"
Mary's face turned pale. "Who, Frances?"
"No," Anne shook her head. "Eleanor, the younger one. I have plans to set her free, but I fear I could not do it again if you two were captured. I urge you to go as long as you can!"
There was a moment of silence. This was not what Wyatt and Mary had expected. Sure, they had known that perhaps the Queen wasn't with the rebels by her own free will, but even if she was a prisoner, they had expected her to be glad about her rescue. Instead she was sending them away.
"No, Anne, you must come with us!" Mary blurted out.
"I can't. They'd search for us and find us."
Mary began to tremble. "But they would not hurt me!"
"You say so now, but you haven't seen what I have seen," Anne returned harshly.
Wyatt put his arm around the Princess knowing that this disappointment would hurt her deeply. He looked at Anne in a mixture of bewilderment and anger.
"How can you be like this when we have risked all to free you?"
"Risked all?" Anne rose from her chair angrily. "You don't know what it means to lose all, Thomas! Don't you see where I am? Did you ever wonder how I got there? These past weeks have been filled with blood and deceit and death!" Tears began to build up in her eyes. "Why can't you see that I want so save you? I cannot bear to lose either of you as well."
Mary too had begun crying, but upon hearing her stepmother's words she nodded. Anne surely knew better. If this was her wish, she would comply with it and leave. But Wyatt seemed determined to resist.
"We're not going anywhere without you, Majesty. We came here to… what do you mean, lose us as well?" He paused.
Anne took a deep breath. And then she told them everything.
King Henry was sitting on a throne surrounded by the highest ranking nobles of the kingdom; even the ranks were bursting with spectators. They had all gathered to see two of the rebels coming to court in the flesh. It was a moment of tremendous importance for the King, for not only did the peace of his kingdom and his reputation depend on it, but also the life of his wife. He bit his lip anxiously. She was still alive, wasn't she? He wanted to ask them straight away, but in doing so he would lose his face in front of the entire court. Those people had no clue that he couldn't even protect his own Queen. He wouldn't humiliate himself by letting them know.
"Your Majesty, Sir Ralph Ellerker and Sir John Constable," the herald announced.
All eyes were on them as they entered the hall. A passage formed in the crowd allowing them to venture towards the throne. No matter how much they had promised themselves to remain strong in the face of the King, his sheer, magnificent presence forced them to their knees.
So this was the King of England.
And that bloody bastard Cromwell, too, Constable thought.
The King bent forward and looked straight at them. "Gentlemen, I ask you this: what king has kept his subjects so long in wealth and peace; so ministered justice equally to high and low; and protected you from all outward enemies?" He rose from his throne. "I've read your submission. Your first pretence is to maintain the faith. Well, I'll tell you now, gentlemen, that nothing is more contrary to God's commandments than rebellion. Rising like madmen against your prince, leaving lands untilled and corn unsown is not the behaviour of the proper commonwealth you claim to be!"
John Constable cleared his throat. "Your Majesty, I feel compelled to-"
"Hush," Cromwell hissed at him with utter disdain. "You are before the King's Majesty!"
The King, too, was getting angrier. "You make false claims about your intentions towards the Church. We have done nothing but what the clergy in York and Canterbury agreed was in accordance with God's holy words. God's holy word, gentlemen!" He yelled. "So how can the simple people say the contrary? What presumption and madness is it of them to claim knowledge of God's law when they are ignorant and less knowledgeable and should rather know their duty?"
Constable's eyes began twitching as he looked at Cromwell again. These are all your words, you emissary of Satan!
"You have seen before in Lincolnshire and elsewhere how temperate and forgiving is our inclination," the King went on and sat down again. "Though rebellion is against God's will, I declare my intentions through the pity and compassion of our princely heart to pardon all of you who have transgressed on condition that you now lay down your arms and release your hostages. His Grace, the Duke of Suffolk, will come north again to Yorkshire to moderate with you and make peace and see you disbanded." The King's gaze was piercing. "Good day, gentlemen."
The Princess and her loyal tutor had taken shelter in the city of York under the pretence of being a father and daughter from Somerset frightened by the events of the rebellion. Despite the rebel banners flying over the city, they had received a warm welcome and found themselves a decent inn to stay at. Grace to Anne's warning they had managed to save their lives.
Still, Wyatt couldn't bring himself to rejoice about his survival. His heart was hurting over the loss of his old friend Mark. Was it his fault? Could he have foreseen it? If he had never introduced Mark to the Queen then none of this would have happened! But there was no good in fretting the what-ifs now. Mark was dead and Wyatt could not be doing anything except moan. His heart heavy with sorrow he did the only reasonable thing a man like him could do: he fetched himself paper and quill.
Tears stained the parchment as he began to write.
Thus should I cloak the cause of all my grief;
So pensive mind with tongue to hold his peace
My reason sayeth there can be no relief:
Wherefore give ear, I humbly you require,
The affect to know that thus doth make me moan.
The cause is great of all my doleful cheer
For those that were, and now be dead and gone.
Ah! Mark, what moan should I for thee make more
Since that thy death thou hast deserved best,
Save only that mine eye is forced sore
With piteous plaint to moan thee with the rest?
A time thou haddest above thy poor degree,
The fall whereof thy friends may well bemoan:
A rotten twig upon so high a tree
Hath slipped thy hold, and thou art dead and gone.
And thus farewell my friend in hearty wise!
The word of your demise will soon be in the street;
The trickling tears doth fall so from my eyes
I scarce may write, my paper is so wet.
But what can hope when death hath played his part,
Though nature's course will thus lament and moan?
Leave sobs therefore, and every Christian heart
Pray for the souls of those be dead and gone.
The King was walking through the hallways of Hampton Court half-angry, half-sad. It was almost Christmas, his favourite time of the year. He had expected to be surrounded by merriness and laughter by now, but instead he found only misery, threat and humiliation. How could these people even dare to think that he would pardon them after all they had done to him? What commoners had ever been so bold to abduct an anointed queen?
There was only one thing that could soothe his mind now and Henry was determined to get it. He made his way towards the chambers that had once belonged to Cromwell. Cromwell. That bastard. It's all his fault, anyway. I would not give him these rooms again, Henry thought. He knocked on the door and entered without delay.
"Your Majesty," Edward Seymour greeted him surprised. "How can I be of service at this late hour?"
"I came to see your sister," the King said sternly. "Where is she?"
"Majesty, my sister is in her bedroom, but I am afraid that she is at prayer and already in her nightgown… Majesty?" Edward watched puzzled as the King passed him by and ventured towards Jane's bedroom. "Majesty?"
Henry opened the door to find his beloved on her knees in prayer wearing nothing but a white linen gown. The light of the candles made her seem even more angelic now. He smiled. She was just what he needed right now.
"Jane," he whispered.
Astonished, Jane rose to her feet and curtseyed to him. "Your Majesty… Henry, I…"
"Shsh," he replied and ventured forward. He took her hands into his. "You may leave us now, my Lord. You're not needed; not this time."
Edward didn't dare to object so he quietly left the room. Jane followed him with her eyes, but the kisses Henry placed on her hands soon distracted her. He drew closer and closer kissing along her arm and up to her neck. She did not know what to think; had not her brother told her once to deny the King every carnal pleasure? But then again, why did God make it feel so good?
"My sweet Jane," Henry whispered into her ear. His warm breath almost made her lose her mind. "I need you, Jane."
"Yes, Henry."
Slowly and gently he began pushing her gown over her shoulders. Once Jane realised what he was up to she flinched.
"No," she whispered.
But he looked into her eyes very deeply and said: "Don't turn me away now, Jane. I need you."
Jane hesitated. She had to stay pure. She had to stay chaste. She had to resist. Her entire body trembled as Henry smiled at her and fully pushed the gown over her shoulders.
There was something in his eyes that she just could not resist anymore.
By November, Anne had made many friends at Pontefract. She had subtly spread word of her good deeds at Maidenhead, her inclination to use the suppressed houses for the common good, and her suspicion that fervent heretics like Cromwell were behind all the sufferings of the North. To save her life and secure her position, the end justified the means. She also believed to have won over the affections of both Lord Darcy and the rebels' main captain, Robert Aske. With Robert Constable, too, not all hope was lost, but she would never forgive Francis Bigod his maltreatment of the Latimers and the Earl of Cumberland's family. In her dreams she pictured him at Tyburn already.
"Your Majesty, there is a meeting in the dining hall. His Lordship asks you to join as well," a groom announced to her.
Anne turned her face away from the fire. "A meeting?"
"Yes, Madam. Apparently Sir Ellerker and Sir Constable are returned from London."
Her dizziness was blown away in a second. She rose to her feet, adjusted her dress and hurried down the stairs towards the dining hall to find Lord Darcy staring into the fire in apathy. For a moment she wondered if it had been a trick, but then the two gentlemen entered the dining hall from the other side.
"Ralph, John!" Robert Aske exclaimed relieved. He shook their hands. "We have waited and prayed for your safe return. Thank God, thank God."
"Sit down, drink," Robert Constable urged them.
Sir Ralph shook his head. He seemed to be in very high spirits. "The King in his mercy has offered us a general pardon," he reported. "He's also sending the Duke of Suffolk to negotiate and treat with us without preconditions and on the basis of our demands."
A cheer ran through the bystanders. Curiously, Anne drew closer. This does not sound like my husband. I wonder what he's up to. Has Cornish reached him yet? Does he know I'm here? He would kill them all if he knew and… or perhaps, he doesn't care for me anymore. He has his pale wench, after all.
"Is it true?" Aske inquired.
"Aye. I trust the King's good faith and mercy. And here's proof of it." Ellerker handed Aske a sealed parchment. "We're to meet again here."
Anne noticed the hesitation of Aske. She knew him well enough already to know that he was by far the brightest and most cunning of all the captains. If this offer of pardon was deceit, he would see through it.
"You've not said anything, John," Aske turned to Constable. "Is it because you do not agree with Sir Ralph?"
Constable seemed hopping mad. "No, I cannot agree with him. How should I agree when I think that devil Cromwell has such a hold over the King that I account these promises to be utterly worthless?"
Lord Darcy frowned. "Then you don't think we should meet with them?"
"No, I don't. I think we should expose their lies, call a general muster, take over the entire North and only then condescend to a meeting!"
Glances flew through the room. Anne could almost feel the tension building up between them.
"Why are you so sure that their word is not to be trusted?" Aske wanted to know.
"Because of this," Constable said and produced a letter. "It's a copy of a letter from Cromwell to the Yorkshire gentry. I'll read some of it to you. There is hope that they may disperse peacefully, but if these rebels continue with their illegal assemblies and their defiance, then their rebellion will be crushed so forcibly that their example shall be fearful to all subjects so long as the world does endure." He held up the letter making them all look at it. "So long as the world does endure, gentlemen."
Aske shook his head. "But the truth is: They cannot crush us and that's why the Duke is forced to negotiate."
"So this sure sign of their deviousness does not impress you, then?" Constable retuned angrily. He threw the letter on the table.
"I say we do not stop our vigilance, but prepare for our meeting, clarify our positions, and strengthen our arguments and have our church leaders endorse them," Aske proposed. "Why should we fear, John, when we are about God's work?"
"I know we are, but…" Constable sighed. Then, suddenly, he turned around and looked at the Queen. "Why not ask her? She must know the King better than any of us. Tell us, Your Majesty: Is the King, no, is his dog Cromwell to be trusted?"
Once more, all eyes were on her. A cold shiver ran down her spine as she realised how many power John Constable had just given her unwillingly. There was a growing cleavage between the rebels, she sensed it firmly, and hers was the power to mend or enlarge it. If she mended it, perhaps they would remain as peaceful as Robert Aske intended them to, but if she chose to encourage sceptics like Constable, the abyss would grow and destroy them from within. Suddenly, Anne found that her words were likely to change the entire outcome of this rebellion.
She had to choose them carefully.
AN: Part three of the Pilgrimage is over. What will Anne do? Can things be sorted out or will England drown in blood? Only the future can tell! I hope you also noticed the introduction of another supporting character: Nell Brandon. She's 17 by now and engaged to the Earl of Cumberland's son… and on the run with a roguish knight.
Please stick around for the next chapter coming up very soon and please review!
Short note: The first lines are a reference to my favourite poem, "The Highwayman", by Alfred Noyes, whilst the poem by Wyatt is of course a slightly altered version of the one he wrote about the men who were beheaded on charges of adultery with Queen Anne.