The Tudor Secret

Chapter Twenty-six





I dreamed of angels. To the echo of a soaring chorus, I opened my eyes and found the room submerged in night. A fiery glow flickered from the open window. I sat upright. The singing came from outside. Then I saw the figure in the room with me.

“Barnaby? Is that you?”

“Yes. I hope you don’t mind. I let myself in.” He stood with arms wrapped about his chest, staring out. “Did you make your appointment?” he asked, without looking around to me.

“Yes. I brought your bow back.” I paused. “Where’s Peregrine?”

“Fast asleep. He eats like the famished and drops like a stone. Come, look at this.”

Pulling on my breeches, I padded barefoot to the window.

Indigo sky canopied the castle. An improvised altar had been set up in the bailey, draped in faded crimson sporting threadbare gold crucifixes. Before it stood a white-robed figure, holding aloft a chalice; banked about the altar were beeswax tapers, their wavering flames casting incandescent light upon the uplifted faces of men and women who kneeled in rapt silence. Perfumed smoke gusted from censers. The refrains of a hymn rose upward from a choir of children assembled on crates.

I saw Mary seated on a chair, a garnet rosary twined in her hands. The gems captured the candlelight, scattered it like blood drops across her dress.

“By God, she is secure of her victory,” said Barnaby. “We can only hope this is all she’ll make us suffer of her papist rites.”

Mesmerized by the scene’s eerie strangeness, I said, “I’ve never seen the old ways before. They’re quite beautiful, in truth.”

“For you, perhaps. To those of us who’ve seen heretics burn in France and Spain, it’s not so pretty a sight.” Barnaby turned into the room. There were no shutters or panes on the window, so I could only turn about as well and watch him pace.

“I don’t like it,” he said. “I want to do her honor as my queen, but already she brings out altars and burns incense, just as they warned us she would.” He looked at me. “Word came tonight that the duke assembles an army against her. If he fails, her way to the throne is open.”

“As it should be,” I replied. “It is, after all, her throne.”

“I know that. But what if…?” He glanced at the door, lowered his voice to a whisper. “What if we’re wrong? What if her devotion to Rome proves more compelling than her duty to England? Edward was terrified of this very thing. He sought to alter the succession because he believed she would bring us back into superstition and idolatry, overturn everything that their father and he had tried to achieve.”

I started. “Philip Sidney said something to that effect, the night we were in the king’s rooms. But he said Edward had been forced to sign something. And earlier today, Her Majesty told me the council had said she’d been disinherited because of doubts about her legitimacy.” I paused, looking at him. “What do you know that you haven’t told me?”

He did not hesitate. “The doubts about her legitimacy were the excuse. In truth, Edward didn’t think Mary was a bastard; he believed all his father’s marriages were legal. But he also never thought she should become queen. When he signed that addendum barring her from the throne, he did it willingly. But I thought you knew this already.”

“No.” My mind worked fast to absorb this unexpected development. “I thought the duke had forced Edward to sign it so he could name Jane Grey as heir. Are you saying Edward had plans of his own, before he fell ill?”

“Yes. He wanted Elizabeth to rule. He was going to tell her himself. That’s why Northumberland went to such lengths to refuse her leave to visit. He didn’t want Edward and her to meet and hatch a plot against him.”

It all made sense now. There was far more to this tangle of half-truths and lies.

“And how do you know this?” I asked quietly.

Barnaby frowned. “How else? Master Cecil told me. He approached me shortly after Edward suffered his first collapse. He said the king and I were like brothers, and therefore I would understand his concern.”

Again, I felt that sharp twist in my gut. “Concern about what?”

“That the duke aimed to safeguard his own power, regardless of Edward’s desires.” He went to the lone stool in the room and perched. Clasping his hands, he regarded me thoughtfully.

“Edward had been ill for three years; he was losing weight, suffering fevers.… He knew he might not live long enough to ever marry and sire an heir. By right of succession, Mary stood next in line to the throne. Edward was against any rapprochement with Rome, so he invited Mary to court to sound her out. Her refusal to accept the Reformed Faith convinced him of her unworthiness. According to Cecil, he decided to disinherit Mary in favor of Elizabeth. He told Cecil as much, asked him to help draft the necessary documents so he could present his decision to the council. But he developed a terrible rash and soon thereafter fell gravely ill. The duke took over his care. That was the last anyone of the council ever saw of him.”

“Wait a minute.” I held up a hand, the seemingly disjointed final pieces of the puzzle falling like knives into place. “Edward wanted to present his decision without the duke knowing of it beforehand? Why? Northumberland must have shared his concerns about Mary. Why hide it from him?”

Barnaby shrugged. “Edward could be tight-lipped when the occasion warranted. Once he decided against someone, he rarely changed his mind. I think he took a dislike to the duke when he realized how much control Northumberland had over him. In any event, after his collapse, he was denied access to anyone without the duke’s leave, including Cecil.”

“Which is when Cecil came to you.” Had I not been so outraged, I might have admired the sheer audacity. Our master secretary had been far busier than any of us had imagined.

“That’s right.” Barnaby looked confused. “He told me he feared the duke might hasten the king to his death and turn the ax on anyone who tried to expose him.”

“And you believed him.” As I spoke, I recalled that dapper figure with its modulated voice, which could exude such sincerity.…

“I had no reason to doubt.” Barnaby spread his big hands. “Cecil wanted me to watch over the king and report anything unusual. He didn’t know the duke would dismiss me from service. I kept watch all the same, though, especially after I discovered Northumberland had also dismissed all of Edward’s physicians.”

I found it suddenly difficult to draw breath.

Barnaby went on, his voice edging with suspicion. “You’re acting like you don’t know any of this. But you work for Cecil. When you helped Her Grace, it was by his orders. That’s what Peregrine told me. It’s why I agreed to help you.”

I made myself move from the window. I felt cold, numb. “Half-truths and omissions,” I breathed, “that’s how he functions.” I looked up. “He knew everything, all the time.”

Barnaby stared. “Who?”

“Cecil. He knew everything that was happening to Edward.”

“He knew what the Dudleys were doing?”

“I think so.” Implacable fury rose in me. “Without Edward to protect him, Cecil stood alone. If the duke succeeded in his own plots, he wouldn’t survive. He knew too much, and Northumberland had grown too powerful. Even if a lone assassin could do the deed, there were still the duke’s sons and his wife to contend with. That’s why Cecil had to do more than just bring down Northumberland. He had to destroy the entire Dudley family.”

I drew a shuddering breath. “I just never saw it. I never would have, had we not spoken tonight, though it was staring me in the face from the moment he asked me to spy for him.”

Barnaby stood. “But if Cecil was going to destroy the Dudleys, why didn’t he warn Her Grace away? All he had to do was tell her Edward was dying. Why risk her life?”

“I don’t know.” I retrieved my shirt from the floor. “But I intend to find out.”

“I wish he were here!” He hit his fist into his palm. “I’d make him explain it, the snake.”

I met his gaze, shook my head. “We’ve been cruelly used, my friend. None more so than you, whose devotion to your king became fodder for Cecil’s game.” I took a moment. “I have one more question. Did you tell Cecil about the herbalist?”

He averted his eyes. “Yes. It seemed odd. Why would Northumberland dismiss the royal doctors only to bring in some herb witch? When Sidney saw Lady Dudley in Edward’s room one evening, giving the herbalist orders, I recalled Cecil saying he feared the duke might hasten Edward to his death. What better way than poison? It seemed right to tell him.”

My heart felt as if a giant hand gripped it in a vise. I made myself draw a steadying breath, put on my jerkin and boots, and took up my battered cap.

“Where are you going?” asked Barnaby, as I fastened my bag’s straps and shouldered it.

“To ask the queen for leave. If she grants it, I’ve business in London.” I looked at him. “Promise me you’ll look after Peregrine. I don’t want him to think I’ve abandoned him, but I can’t bring him with me. I can’t risk them finding out what he means to me.”

“By them, you mean Cecil.”

“Among others.”

“Let me come with you. I’ve a score of my own to settle with him.”

I clasped his stolid hand. “I’d like nothing better. But you’ll be helping me more if you keep Peregrine safe and support the queen. She may not share your faith, but it could be that with men like you at her side she can learn to rule with temperance.”

We embraced as friends. Then I drew back and slipped away.

* * *

I had Cinnabar saddled by the time her summons came. Rising from my crouch in the shadows to follow Rochester, I made certain my expression conveyed only dutiful concern. My sudden bid for departure was bound to incite her suspicion.

She waited in the hall, her thinning hair in a net at her nape. Without her headdress, she looked tiny. The rosary hung at her waist, its scarlet stones muted against the array of rings on her fingers. She seemed in all other respects impervious to vanity, and I found her fondness for jewelry inexplicably disturbing.

“Rochester tells me you wish to leave,” she said, before I had righted from my genuflection. “Why? Are our accommodations not to your liking?”

“Your Majesty, I assure you I’ve no wish to return to the road so soon, but I understand the duke plans to march against you. I think it best if I conveyed your reply to the lords sooner rather than later—that is, if Your Majesty still wishes to reply.”

I held my breath as Mary shifted her gaze to Rochester, who gave a slight nod.

“I do,” she said. “I need all the support I can get, even from your treacherous lords.”

The bite in her remark carried a warning. She wasn’t an easy woman to know, nor, it seemed, to please. What she had endured in her youth had marked her for life, warped her personality in some irreconcilable way. Elizabeth, it appeared, knew her well.

“Your Majesty,” I ventured, “with the duke about to take the field against you, the lords will be even better disposed to your cause.”

“I don’t care what their disposition is. They’d be wise to do as I say if they wish to keep their heads.” She went to her table, thrust two folded and sealed parchments at me.

“The sealed one is in cipher. Anyone with experience will know the key. Tell your lords they’re to follow it without deviation. The other is a letter for my cousin Jane Grey. Memorize it. It’s a private message meant for her ears alone, so if you can’t find a trustworthy way to convey it to her, destroy it. I don’t want it falling into the wrong hands.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” It was of course far more than I’d hoped to perform. Getting one letter into the proper hands would prove dangerous enough, much less two.

“I don’t expect a reply from either one,” she informed me. “I should be in London soon enough. But if you uncover any news that might influence my course, favorable or otherwise, I expect to be told. Your loyalty to those who’ve hired you should not supplant your allegiance to your queen. Do you understand?”

“Of course.” I started to bow over her hand. She withdrew it. Glancing up, I found her looking at me as if she no longer recognized me. “Give my regards to Master Cecil,” she said coldly. “Though it’s not in my instructions, tell him from me that he knows what he must do.”

I pocketed the letters and backed from her presence without a word.





LONDON