CHAPTER TWELVE
The Seymours at War – and Peace
Wyatt is not happy at my decision, "If you are seen, you shall be arrested, and all of this shall be for nothing, Richard. You may not be one of the great Lords, but you are hardly nondescript - all the guards know you, and shall be looking out for you."
"Then I must not be seen - speak to Dickon, and John - there must be a means by which I can enter that is not watched?"
He sighs, as he realises that I am quite serious, "Remain here - dress as roughly as you can on the morrow and await a note from the usual route. I shall speak to John if I can, and he can then speak to her Majesty. She is aware of the danger we face, and is most keen to help us avert it - so if I do not include her in this, she shall be most vexed, I think."
"Besides," I remind him, "she is our best hope of success, regardless of any plans that we might make."
Wyatt turns to leave, and I grab his arm, "Do not abandon me here, Tom. If I do not hear from you, then I shall come anyway." I cannot help but fear that he shall leave me waiting, in hopes of keeping me safe.
He turns back to me, resting his hands upon my shoulders, "I promise you, Richard, that I shall do as you ask. Please be patient - I shall set to work first thing tomorrow, for it is too late to return to the Palace tonight. You may need to come on foot, so I shall attempt to set things in motion as early as I can. The first act must be to bring you safely into the Palace again; we can take further steps once you are there. If I cannot arrange for you to be housed tomorrow, I shall send word to ask you to be ready for the next day."
He departs into the growing night, leaving us silent and fearful in the chamber where our supper remains largely untouched. All depends now upon my returning to the Palace, where I am a wanted man and could be arrested on sight. It that happens, then we are truly helpless, for even Wyatt could not talk his way out of that.
Gregory is silent, his eyes fixed upon the cup that is still in his hands, the drink within unsupped. He had been so jubilant barely an hour ago, for he had found the words that could save his father - or so we thought. Now, all hangs in the balance, and I cannot give any assurance of success, for - again - it seems to hinge upon me.
Despite my simmering tension, I am deeply tired, and I retire to my bedchamber. As I have some garments, including one that could be considered akin to that which I have long since called my 'hunting' outfit - battered, black and rough - I can comply with Wyatt's first instruction. His promise that he shall not leave me here to protect me is one that I know that I can count upon - but God alone knows who he must bring into our plot in order to transfer me safely back into Whitehall. If he were to choose poorly - then we are all dead.
Wyatt? Choose poorly? Dear God, I am being stupid - he has never misread any man in his life.
While I wish that I could sleep, I am still rather afraid to, for I dread the risks I must take in the morning. I am well known within the Palace walls, albeit as someone to be disliked, and I lack the deep knowledge of the hidden ways known only to the servants. I have some awareness of them, but not sufficient to use them as Cromwell does.
I sink down on the bed, wishing I could speak to him, to hear his assurances that he trusts me. I do not trust myself - for never before has a plan hinged so utterly upon my succeeding in my endeavour. How many times have I failed now? If I fail again, then all goes to hell.
I shut my eyes, and feel only anger at myself. If all hinges upon my not failing, then I must not fail. It is as simple as that. I. Must. Not. Fail.
When I wake the next morning, I can hear rain battering against the mullions on the dormer, and against the tiles upon the roof. My momentary disappointment at the lack of dry weather in which to make my journey is dispersed by the realisation that bad weather is now my greatest ally. Who will notice another wet servant in the pouring rain - what guard will want to be lingering beside gateways when warm shelter is nearby? No - I could not have hoped for better.
I am in a fever of anticipation for much of the morning, until Goodwife Dawson enters the chamber in which I am waiting, a note in her hand which bears the sigil of the Raven.
R
Come today. D shall await you at the small door by the Deal Yard, and from there take you to the Ushers' Dormitory - neither are watched, for none of the great Lords would even know of the door and the passages that lead from it, though we have hunted there.
Remain there until I come. JR is aware, and LR shall assist us. Bring damask with you if you have it.
T
I have to think for a moment before I remember that 'D' indicates Dickon; but now I know where I am to go. As I have traversed Cheapside frequently enough, albeit on horseback, I shall at least not lose my way between Grant's Place and the Palace. Strapping my sword to my back, I wrap myself in the heaviest of the cloaks in the house, and a wide brimmed leather hat rather than a bonnet, which would simply get soaked, for the rain is still very heavy.
The walk to the palace is cold and horrible, for there is no shelter from the pelting rain, and the paving is slick with unmentionable substances amidst the mud that spatters my boots. It also takes far longer than it would on horseback, for even though Adrian tends to plod rather, he still moves faster than I do. I am not noticed, however, for though there are not many people out in such vile weather, those who are tend to be wrapped up as thoroughly as I, so I draw no stares.
By the time I reach the approaches to the palace, I am drenched, shivering and I have a blister on my left heel. Having approached from the East, however, I do not have to skirt around the enormous complex of buildings, for the Deal Yard is one of the first locations that I approach. Most men of my standing would be on horseback, and would enter the Mews - which do have guards stationed. I am not so important that they are set there for the sole purpose of capturing me, however, for guards are always present. Instead, I make my way down towards the river, and am brought to a halt by a sharp hiss as I pass a doorway.
The man within is bundled up as I am, but he pulls the folds away, and I recognise the birthmarked face of Dickon, who is both pleased, and perturbed, to see me.
"Are you well, Sir?" he asks, nervously.
"Wet to the skin, cold as death, but otherwise unharmed, Dickon." I tell him, "How are we to proceed?"
He instructs me that I should follow him, keep my head down and stand to his left, so that I am closer to the walls. Most do not notice servants or tradesmen; but I must not look too furtive - if I do, I shall stand out like a rook in a dovecote.
Thank God for the rain. There is not a soul in the Deal Yard as we enter, and make our way across to a door that leads to a maze of corridors known only to the servants. I have probably traversed these routes myself when hunting, but they are as resolutely unfamiliar to me now as they would have been two years ago, and I am entirely reliant upon Dickon to guide me.
I am, however, astounded at how populated the Palace is with servants - I had no idea that there were so many. Busy as I am with legal matters, I have no involvement with the running of what is - in terms of population - something of a small town, and the sheer numbers of people could not be a better disguise if I asked for it. None question my presence, for there is not a soul anywhere who could truly say that they know every face in the servants halls. There are no guards nearby, and those who would know my face are conspicuous by their absence. I should be lying, however, if I said that I was not afraid of discovery.
The blister bursts, and I curse - unable to stop myself from limping at the sudden increase in pain. Fortunately, we are but a few steps from our destination, and Dickon ushers me into a wide hall in the attics, where the ushers for the higher born ladies of the Court rest their heads at night. John sleeps in a place such as this. I had no idea.
There is but one other person in the room, and that is Jonathan. Being one of the Queen's pages, he seems to have some seniority amongst the young men who reside in the attics and he takes me through to his own quarters, which are separate from those who serve lesser beings.
"I have found a steward's uniform in the Queen's livery, My Lord." He advises, "I was, alas, obliged to guess in terms of size, so I cannot vouch for the fit. If you could change into it, I shall advise Lady Rochford of your arrival." He then turns and leaves. Fortunately, Dickon is able to help me untangle myself from the sopping cloak, and I am more than grateful for the dry clothes, even though I am now dressed as a servant, and in a livery that is slightly too big. Better that than too small, I suppose.
By the time he returns, with Lady Rochford at his side, I have changed, and done what I can to dress the blister - for I cannot afford to draw attention to myself by limping. I suppose I must look most ridiculous, for the first thing that Lady Rochford does upon seeing me is burst out laughing.
I wait for Lady Rochford to stop laughing, for I am not sure whether it is that the suit is too large for me, or that I wear it at all, that is responsible for her mirth. I have not seen myself in a mirror, so I have no idea how well disguised I appear in the Queen's livery. I can only hope that the clothes themselves serve to make me invisible - for who notices a servant?
"Forgive me, Sir Richard," she says, eventually, "I am unused to seeing you in such garb. Mr Wyatt could not come, for he is in Council and could not be seen to be absent from it. Follow me, I shall take you to the Queen's Chambers. You shall pose as a Gentleman Usher - though as this is your first day, you are present to observe, not to serve."
"And you'll call me Sir Richard in public?" I ask her, raising an eyebrow.
"Do you have any other names?" she counters, facetiously.
"I have plenty - though most cannot be repeated in polite company." I admit, "I think it best if you just drop the 'Sir'. I cannot be the only Richard in the servant's quarters."
Then she sees my sword, "You cannot carry that openly." Immediately, she turns and leaves. I wait, confused, until she returns with a large bundle of folded bedlinen and conceals the blade within it. Apparently content, she turns to me, "Come on then." And we depart.
I keep my head down, even though we are still in the corridors that are used solely by servants - and hunting Silver Swords, for I am horribly afraid that I shall be recognised, even in my borrowed livery. As before, however, few of the servants care, for they have their own concerns; and, when we do leave the safety of the back corridors to enter the halls used by those of higher rank, none pay me any mind. It seems that my clothing does make me invisible. To them, I am just a nobody following a Lady in Waiting - and it is a most sobering thought.
The Queen has, again, dismissed her ladies when we arrive in her apartments, and Jonathan is already present, a tray bearing a flagon and a goblet upon it in his hands. As he sets the tray down upon a table, a man's hand reaches for it, and I am suddenly terrified, for I am not the only member of the Council in the room. Hertford is present, too.
Her expression gives nothing away to me as the Queen enters the room. It is only then that Hertford turns to see who has come in. His eyes pass over me only briefly, and he notes Lady Rochford - but then he pauses, and his eyes flick straight back to me again, "You…" he hisses, and he is on his feet at once, "What the hell are you doing in the Queen's Apartments?" He draws in breath to shout…
"If you so much as speak a word, Edward," her Majesty says, suddenly, "then God help me, I shall have you thrown bodily from the window!"
"This is a known traitor, Sister!" Hertford counters, "Why is he in your chambers? He is to be arrested on sight - and we have been seeking him for near on a fortnight!"
"He is here, Brother, because I asked him here, as I asked you." She snaps, "Of all the creatures upon the King's Council, you are the only one that he trusts whom I also trust. I beg you, in God's name, do not prove me wrong."
"You forget who I am…" He begins, but she is far more assertive now than she was when we faced another argument over who had authority over whom.
"And you forget who I am. I am Queen, and you are my subject. Only one man may command me, and that is his Majesty. You are as much my subject as you are his."
Hertford glares at her, but changes tack, "Why Rich? He is a known associate of the traitor Cromwell - and his freedom is forfeit - perhaps even his life! What have you done, bringing him into your presence?"
"What I have done," Jane says, angrily, "is to offer my aid to two men who are all that stands between this kingdom and disaster! England is on a precipice, Edward - and beyond lies a degree of hell that no man could ever wish to envisage - and it is you who has put her there! If we are to draw this realm back from a horror and slavery that could bring all of mankind into darkness, then you must not stand against us - you must help us!"
He stares at her, open mouthed, and for a moment I let myself believe that he is horrified at her warning - but his words prove otherwise, "Lord above, Jane - what nonsense to you speak? Have you truly allowed that base traitor to fill your head with dramatic foolishness, or perhaps you have read too many romances! The only threat to this Kingdom is the duplicity of Cromwell and the Holy Roman Emperor - for it is their plotting that has brought us to the brink of war!"
"I speak no nonsense - you are oblivious to all that happens within this court that is truly dangerous - for only we see it! The threat to this Kingdom is not the Emperor, nor is it even the King of France! The danger we face is here: she is among us and has the favour of the King, and the only man who can destroy her now lies in the Tower awaiting the headsman!"
"She?" Hertford scoffs, "Can you truly claim that England is threatened by a woman?"
"God have mercy upon us all!" the Queen cries, suddenly, "Every minute that you waste in this is a minute more that endangers your King - and all of England!" She turns to me, "Tell him, Sir Richard. Tell him all."
For a moment, my mouth goes dry - for I had not expected to be drawn so precipitately into their argument. How many more people must know the secret of the Raven? It is meant to be just Cromwell and I…
But I have no option - either I speak, or we lose all; so I must, if I can, persuade a man who despises me that I am telling the truth.
"Her Majesty speaks the truth, your Grace." I begin, somewhat nervously, then clear my throat and try again, "The 'she' of whom she speaks is a Demoness of such power that she unbalances all of creation. Her name is Lamashtu - and we have been seeking the means to destroy her for two years or more. Almost none know of the undercurrents that swirl about them - for those who do are few in number, and those who can fight the darkness within those undercurrents smaller still.
"Each Royal Court has a single agent installed within it - they are of a Secret Order of warriors blessed with the facility to sense Demons - and are known as Silver Swords. Others are itinerant, but those who are the most talented serve Princes. The one assigned to guard the Court of Henry is named 'Raven', and I am sworn to his service."
"And Cromwell is this 'Raven', I take it?" Hertford asks, his voice dripping with scepticism.
I nod, and I feel my hopes shrivelling, for it could not be clearer that the Earl does not believe me; but still I must try to convince him, so I continue, "He possesses two blades, a merging of steel and silver, which can destroy demonic creatures - for they cannot survive the touch of silver. I also have one, which Cromwell gave me when we fought to keep the Queen safe as she carried the Prince Edward." I turn to Lady Rochford, who carefully opens the folds of the bedlinen to allow me to reach for my sword. Surely this - with its unusual form and shape - should serve as some evidence of my honesty?
"Your Majesty - may I?" I ask.
She nods, "Draw your sword, Sir Richard - show my thick headed brother the gift that the Raven granted you."
Without hesitating, I pull the weapon free, and even Hertford cannot help but admire the beauty of the blade, "This is an antique, my Lord," I say, "I have used it to kill demons with my own hands. For they are real, and they threaten us more than you could imagine. It is Lamashtu that both keeps them at bay, and sends them to us - for she answers to none, and all that is infernal on these shores fear her. Given the opportunity, she would turn this island into her own fortress to launch darkness upon all of mankind. That opportunity is chaos - and that comes from War. All that matters to us is to avert that, and keep the realm safe."
Hertford snorts, as though amused, "You are deluded, and you have gulled the Queen with your fantasies."
I glare at him, but still he goes on, "It is the orderly government of this realm that is of most importance, and that is achieved by those born to do so - Cromwell is a commoner who sought only to empower himself. He gained far too much power for one so low-born, and that is contrary to the order of things. Besides - he has stolen from the King, and that is, above all, unforgivable."
That is more than I can stand - after all that I have endured since Cromwell's arrest, my flight, my helpless imprisonment at Grant's Place, being unable to do anything to assist my Silver Sword…to hear that…
"Thomas Cromwell is no thief!" I shout, furious, "God above: of all the things that we have been obliged to do in the King's name - his loyalty is unimpeachable, and he would never - never - steal from the King who granted him such favour and trust! NEVER! He has risked his life time and time again for a Kingdom that sees nothing of his sacrifice, nor cares - and he has never once demanded a reward, or sought thanks! He would, if he had to, lay down his life to save that of the King, and his Majesty knows nothing of it - nothing!"
I pause for breath, and realise that I have shocked Hertford into silence. He stares at me, and for the first time, I think I might have persuaded him that I am not lying. Mad, perhaps - but not lying.
"You did not faint when my son was born, Edward." The Queen says, much more quietly, "You were rendered unconscious by the very demon that even now holds sway as the King's mistress. She had come with one express purpose - to kill the Prince. Now she is in a position, should she so wish, to destroy the child I carry within me, along with me, Prince Edward, the King - and whoever she wishes. And - as I have said already, the one man who can prevent all of this is now helpless within the walls of the Tower - and his life is forfeit."
His expression uncertain, Hertford turns and sits down on a nearby divan, where he remains silent for some time, as though turning a thought over in his head, "I cannot help but feel that I am being used." He admits, eventually, "Perhaps I have acted wrongly - though I thought my actions to be right. We are of the Gentry, Jane, which grants us privileges above those of the commons - Cromwell has no noble blood of any description."
"He has talent, Edward." Jane reminds him, quietly, "Talent in such measure should outweigh blood or rank if it is of benefit to the King's service, surely?"
"It is not the way of things - it is the natural order that those of high birth govern those of low birth - not the other way about." It is as though he is trying to find some justification for his actions and thoughts.
"I thought like that, once." I add, "But as I was of higher birth than Cromwell, I believed I could think so. I am not much more than a commoner myself - so that merely made me a hypocrite."
"Perhaps I too willingly followed Gardiner's lead." He adds, "For his arguments were most persuasive - Cromwell's presence was an affront to the government of England, and, by extension, an affront to God. Those of high birth are granted the responsibility of governing those of low blood - and he served to overturn that. Or, at least, that was how I saw it."
"Gardiner is interested in only one thing." I cannot keep the bitterness from my voice, "He wanted to steal Thomas Cromwell's political power and favour with the King. That is all that matters to him - other than the accumulation of wealth, and the destruction of all whom he considers to be heretics."
Hertford utters something that sounds like a snort - but without mirth, "That, I cannot deny."
"How long before he considers you to be a heretic, Edward?" the Queen asks, then, "He has the power he seeks almost within his grasp - and, once he has it, do you think he shall still desire your allegiance?"
"He would drown England in blood." Hertford admits, "He would wade in it if it brought him the chance of a Cardinal's hat - for he is as fanatical for the Catholic faith as some are for the reformation. If he could drag each of those speakers to the fire, he would do so - with his own hands if need be."
"And, in doing so, he has brought England to the edge of disaster." I finish, quietly. Please God - let him see…
Finally Hertford sets down the goblet that he has been toying with, "I allowed myself to be wilfully blind. In my quest to prove myself a Noble, I allied myself with a blinkered fanatic and it appears that I have done a greater harm than I could possibly have imagined when first I agreed to talk to Gardiner. And as for you, Rich, I have never seen sincerity so great from you - for you know as well as I that your reputation for duplicity and untrustworthiness is extensive and far-reaching. And, of course, you have done the unthinkable - instead of fleeing, you have come back into the lion's den - an act singularly out of character for one such as the man I thought you to be"
"Brother," Queen Jane says, earnestly, "time is short. If you have helped to pull England to the edge of damnation, then now is the chance for you to help us pull her back from it. Prove yourself to be as honourable as our father was - God rest his soul - and stand with us. We cannot do this alone, for I lack your freedom to act, as does Sir Richard. I am a woman, he is a hunted man. Only you can move freely about the court now, for Thomas Wyatt is equally lacking status - and that is what we need the most."
Hertford remains silent a little longer, "I have been blind - but now I see." He says, eventually, then rises to his feet, "Sir Richard - I must ask that you forgive me, for I have allowed my desire for honours to guide me into perilous waters, and in doing so, I have endangered an entire Kingdom."
I bow to him, "I do so, willingly, and I ask you to forgive me for our foolish trick last year when we drugged your wine. We needed to speak to the Queen on a matter of her safety - and we could find no other way."
I hear an amused chuckle from the Queen, but Hertford merely sighs at her mirth, "Then we are even. I shall do all I can to assist you in your endeavours. Whatever aid I can offer you, I shall."