The Tudor Secret

Chapter Twenty-seven





Mist wreathing off the Thames formed a wavering veil. The day already promised to be hot, the midmorning sun casting a luminescent chimera upon the thrust and sprawl of London.

It had been a short ride, a mere day and a half. I’d not taken much rest. I avoided the main thoroughfares and skirted all townships. A few discreet inquiries of passersby had revealed that every town was jammed to the rooftops with the queen’s supporters, gates shut and manned in anticipation of the duke. As with any situation that might result in anarchy, the streets were also teeming with riffraff. A lone man on a horse was an easy target, so I sought refuge in the woods, awakening before dawn to resume my ride.

I now sat atop a hill, a vantage spot from which to view the place where it had all started. Was it only eleven days ago that I had beheld this same city with the awestruck eyes of a boy eager to cull his fortune? Now, it made me feel hollow inside. All of my life, I had longed to know who I was and where I came from. Now a part of me longed to turn about and lose myself in an ordinary life, to forget a world where sons born to royal women were forsaken and men sacrificed kings to sate their ambitions. I knew now that whatever answers I had come to London to find would not reveal anything I wanted to hear.

Fortune often smiles on those least favored.

I gave a humorless chuckle. It seemed fortune had a sense of humor, for I, the least favored, had more than my share of responsibilities; and one of them drew near me even as I sat in the stillness, contemplating becoming a fugitive from my own truth.

I waited until I heard the telltale rustle, then said without looking about, “No use hiding anymore. I’ve known you were behind me since Bury Saint Edmunds.”

A muffled clop of hoof preceded Peregrine’s wary approach. He wore his hooded cloak. I took in the strips of homespun fettering his horse’s hooves, and reins, bridle, and stirrups, even his dagger in its scabbard—in short, anything that might make a sound. The lad had more tricks up his sleeve than a relic peddler.

“You can’t have known,” he said, eyeing me. “I made sure to stay at least fifteen paces behind you at all times, and Deacon has a light step.”

“Yes, but you forget that horses, especially those who’ve ridden together, make all sorts of signals when they sense the other near. Cinnabar practically bolted away last night toward that glen where you were hiding. You should have joined me. I had rabbit for supper.”

“Aye, and with that fire you made you’re lucky every poacher in the county didn’t drop by to sample it,” retorted Peregrine. He paused. “You’re not mad at me?”

I sighed. “Only frustrated. I asked Barnaby to watch over you.”

“Don’t blame him. He did his best. He told me that under no circumstances was I to follow you. He said you had private business to attend to and we must honor your decision.”

“I’m glad you paid such close attention.” I raised my hand to my brow, scanning the road. “I’m surprised he isn’t behind you. You two must think I’m incapable of tying my own points, what with the way you fuss and fret.”

“I wasn’t going to let you leave me behind again.” Peregrine squared his narrow shoulders. “You need all the help you can get. I told you before we left Greenwich: You’re no good on your own. You only get into trouble.”

“Is that what Barnaby thinks, as well?”

Peregrine nodded. “He was going to be the one to come after you. I convinced him to let me come, instead. No one would miss me, while Barnaby would have had to ask leave of Rochester, who isn’t about to let a brawny lad like him get away from the queen’s service, not with the duke hot on her trail.”

“True. But you should have heeded him anyway. You’ve no idea what you risk.”

“I don’t care.” Peregrine’s eyes were earnest in his grimy face. “I’m your body servant, remember? I go where you go, no matter what. I must earn my keep.”

I couldn’t keep the smile from my face. “By God, you’re stubborn as a pit bear and smell almost as bad. How did I end up with such a tenacious mite?”

Peregrine scowled, about to retort, when a startled flock of pigeons caught my eye. I turned back to the city. When I saw a cloud of dust snaking toward us, I hissed, “To cover!” and we spurred our mounts into the nearby fringe of bushes and beech.

We slid from our saddles and held the horses close, hands on bridles, barely breathing. A militant thunder came closer and closer. It reminded me of the night we’d sat at the roadside and watched Robert Dudley and his men gallop past. Only this time the noise was like that of some great lumbering creature, composed of hundreds of metallic hooves striking the road. Its approach vibrated the air around us, sent the dust rising in gusts.

The standard bearers appeared first, carrying banners emblazoned with the Dudley bear and staff. The cavalry followed on leather-caparisoned horses, swords and bows strapped to saddles. Then marched the foot soldiers, line after line in chain mail, interspersed with oxen and mule-drawn carts; I detected the bulk of cannon under tarps and assumed those carts also contained a supply of equally lethal weaponry.

Then I saw the mounted lords. Each wore quilted battle gear and rode behind the duke, who, defiant at their head, was distinguished by his audacious crimson cloak. He wore no cap, his dark hair framing his granite face, which, even from my distance, appeared to have aged years in a matter of days.

At his sides were three of his sons—Henry, Jack, and Ambrose, outfitted in martial splendor. For the first time in all the years I’d known them, the brothers I had feared and hated, envied for their camaraderie, were not laughing. Like Robert before them, they understood they confronted the ultimate challenge, one that would end in triumph or tragedy for their family.

In tense formation they rode past, this army assembled to defeat Mary Tudor. I waited in silence long after they’d disappeared down the road, grappling with unexpected remorse. The Dudleys had never cared a fig for anyone but themselves. They’d gladly see both princesses, and all who tried to help them, to their deaths. There could be no room for pity in my heart, even if the duke and his sons were innocent of the one crime I most burned to avenge. And with Northumberland gone from the city, I had an opportunity I could not ignore.

I mounted Cinnabar and spurred him back onto the road, where the dust wafted in the air like tattered veils.

“Where are we going?” Peregrine asked as we cantered toward London.

“To see an old friend,” I said. “By the way, do you know how we can get inside the Tower?”

* * *

“The Tower!” Peregrine exclaimed, as soon as we cleared the checkpoint at Aldgate, which had required distribution of most of the gold angels from the purse Walsingham had given me. “Are you insane? We can’t get inside there. It’s a royal fortress, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“I’d heard, yes. But I really must get inside. I’ve a letter to deliver.”

Peregrine blew air out of the side of his mouth. “The strongest fortress in England, and you have a letter to deliver? Why don’t we just knock on the gates? It’ll have the same result. Or haven’t you heard the saying ‘Once in, only your head comes out’? I’m beginning to think you’re as much of a unicorn as Kate says.”

I paused. “A what?”

“A unicorn. A fabled beast. A lunacy.”

I threw back my head and laughed with genuine belly-heaving mirth. I suddenly felt much better. “I’ve never heard that before. I like it.”

“I wager you’ll like it less if you end up trussed in a dungeon with your horn cut off. We can’t get inside the Tower without proper identification and leave, so forget about even trying. Any other wretched place you’d like us to try for instead?”

“No. But you’ve given me an idea.” My smile lingered as we rode into Cheapside. The streets were eerily quiet, shuttered windows converting taverns into bastions. Except for one lone beggar too physically wasted to crawl away from the doorway where she huddled, there were no people to be seen. All of London cowered behind closed doors, as if to await a calamity.

“We should stable the horses and take to the river,” said Peregrine. “We’re too obvious. There’s no one around but us. We’ll be arrested if a patrol happens to see us.”

“You’ll have to excuse my aversion to water at the moment,” I replied as we rode single file above the riverbank, where we might better avoid the conduits and refuse heaps, if not the ubiquitous sewage.

When I spied Whitehall’s turrets in the distance, I reined to a halt. “Which way to Cecil’s house?”

Peregrine looked leery. “Do you think he’ll still be there?”

“He’s there.” My voice hardened. “Now listen to me: I want you to do exactly as I say from now on. Do I make myself clear? If you make a nuisance of yourself, I’ll truss you up. This is not a game, Peregrine. One mistake and we could both end up dead.”

“I understand.” He gave a servile whirl of his hand. “This way, my lord and master.”

He led us back into the labyrinth of crooked streets. The feeling of impending disaster was palpable, stalking the dark pockets where the houses staggered into each other like drunkards. I was glad when we emerged onto a wider street that ran through the palace, though even here it was astounding how deserted everything was, like a kingdom in some romantic fable, frozen in time by a spell.

When we neared our destination, I left Peregrine with the horses and strict orders, and proceeded alone. A high wall enclosed the house’s exterior. I tried the postern gate first and found it unlocked. Moving toward the front entrance, I unsheathed my dagger. It would serve me little in a pitched confrontation, but the bow Barnaby had left strapped to Cinnabar’s saddle was too cumbersome for indoor fighting.

I glanced up at the windows. The house appeared as uninhabited as the rest of the city. A small gate opened to the side. I vaulted it, landing on soft turf. I stood in the garden, which sloped toward a private landing quay screened by willows. As I suspected, a barge was moored there, the boatman hunched at the fore, swigging from an ale skin.

I turned to creep around the house. I found a coffer propping the back door open, as if someone had been coming and going in haste. Beyond was the mullioned window of Cecil’s study. Flat against the wall, I inched forth and craned my head upward to peer within.

When I spied the figure inside, taking ledgers from the desk and stuffing them into a valise, I returned to the door and slipped into the house.

Gloom submerged the interior. I eased toward the far, open doorway with caution, looking to either side. The wood floor creaked under my feet. I froze, anticipating thugs to come lunging at me with knives and fists. Then, when nothing happened, I inched forth again until I was close enough to look inside the study.

Cecil stood with his back to the door, wearing his black breeches and doublet. A traveling cloak was tossed over his chair; he had the valise on the desk, about to close it when he went still. Without looking around, he said, “Now, this is a surprise.”

I stepped over the threshold.

He turned, glanced at the dagger in my fist. “Have you come to kill me, Squire Prescott?”

“I should,” I said. Now that I was face-to-face with the man who had played and outmaneuvered everyone with the skill of an expert puppeteer, my heart beat impossibly loud in my ears. I looked about the room. “Are you alone? Or do I have to deal with your assassin first?”

He gave me a thin smile. “If you’re referring to Walsingham, I assure you the situation has become far too precarious for a man of his staunch persuasions. I imagine he’s on his way to Dover by now, to book passage to the continent. I’d have gone with him myself, had I not my family’s welfare to consider.”

“What, is Queen Mary getting too close for comfort?”

His smile did not waver. “Entirely. In fact, I was about to take my barge to the bridge and hire a mount to Hertfordshire. It’s not far from Her Grace’s manor at Hatfield.” He paused. “Would you care to join me? She’ll be happy to receive you, I’m told, after everything you’ve done for her.”

My anger, held too long under check, blazed. “Don’t you play with me, not after everything you have done.”

He regarded me without a single hint that I had perturbed him. “It seems you’ve a bone to pick. Come, let us sit and discuss it like gentlemen.” He leaned to his valise, as if to shift it aside.

I didn’t hesitate. Leaping forth, I pressed my dagger to his ribs, hard enough to be felt through his doublet. “I’d be careful if I were you. I don’t need another reason to make you regret ever having met me.”

He went still. “I would never regret that. May I at least sit? I have a touch of gout; my leg pains me today.”

Despite everything, I had to admire his restraint. I even found myself hoping I wouldn’t be forced to act. Truth be told, I wasn’t certain I could carry out my threat, particularly now that my initial blinding rage had started to ebb into something more manageable. I wasn’t like him. I didn’t relish the elaborate subterfuges, the coils within coils. And I needed his cooperation, if I was to discover the final reason for why he and I found ourselves like this.

“I’m not sure what I’ve done to offend you,” he began, his hands draped on the armrests as if he addressed an inopportune guest. “I am no more a traitor than any other councilor obliged to support the duke against the queen.”

I met his cool appraising eyes, which had been my first indoctrination into his perfidious world. “My business with you is private. I’ll leave Her Majesty to ordain whatever punishment she deems best.”

“Ah. I must say, you stay remarkably true to character. You believe Mary has been wronged and that I had a hand in it.”

“Would you deny that you provided the duke with the information they needed to pursue her? Or was it coincidence that Lord Robert happened to be on the same road as me, at almost the same time?”

Cecil leaned back, crossing his trim legs in their dun-colored hose. “I won’t deny that I nudged him in the right direction. However, I also did not lift protest when I heard Lord Arundel had Durot—or rather, our brave Fitzpatrick—infiltrate Lord Robert’s company, though I knew he could confound the chase. You see, I’m not entirely Mary’s enemy.”

I likened his voice to a siren song—soothing, melodic, and all too convincing. A few days ago, I would have been lulled.

“You’re lying. Mary is the last person you want on the throne. You’ve worked against her almost as avidly as you’ve worked against the duke. You wanted her taken on the road or, better yet, killed as she fled. It’s what you planned. Fortunately for her, she proved less gullible than you thought.”

“I’ve never hidden where my ultimate allegiance rests.” He eyed my hand as it tightened on my dagger. “You should know that regardless of what you may think, Her Grace will have more need of me than ever before. She and Mary are not close, not as sisters should be.”

He reached again for his valise. I snapped, “Stay away from that.”

He paused. “I shall need my spectacles and cipher wheel. I assume the letter you bring is written in her usual code? You must have impressed her. She never entrusts her private missives to strangers.”

He knew I brought a letter. I had the unsettling sensation that I was dueling with someone who exceeded any ability I had to thwart him. I struggled to make sense of what I felt, of what I saw and heard; to pry it apart and examine it for unspoken meaning. When I finally did, I nearly laughed aloud at my own naïveté: that I ever could have believed I’d found out everything there was to know about this subtle, lethal man!

“It was you. I overheard Lady Dudley telling Robert someone at court was feeding Mary information; Walsingham implied the same. You warned Mary away. You let Robert go after her, but you protected yourself first by sending her advance notice. She told me at Framlingham that you would know what must be done. I thought it was a threat, but it’s not, is it? She will spare you because she thinks you helped save her from the duke.”

Amusement laced Cecil’s voice. “I can hardly take all the credit. I understand her cousin the duchess of Suffolk also sent her a communiqué, detailing all types of sordid goings-on at court. It seems Madame Suffolk had her own ax to grind against the Dudleys.”

I was not surprised to hear of the duchess’s involvement. She had vowed vengeance. What better way to achieve it than to feign compliance with the Dudleys while secretly inciting her royal cousin to action?

But there was of course the other matter involving her, the primary reason for my being here. I watched Cecil closely as he added, “As I’ve said, I’m not entirely her enemy. Oh, and she always uses the same cipher. I’ve advised her numerous times to devise a new one, but she never listens. One of the few qualities she does share with her sister.”

He reached again to his valise and drew out a pair of silver-framed glasses. He held out his hand. “The missive, please?”

I gave it to him. Cold certainty began to seep through my veins. He was indeed a master of opportunism, an expert in games of deceit. Whatever I thought he had done or was about to do only revealed another layer underneath.

He read Mary’s letter in silence, glancing now and then at the key wheel in his other hand. When he was done, he removed his glasses, set the paper and wheel aside.

“Well?” I said. I felt a subtle shift in the air.

“She too stays true to character.” He raised weary eyes. “She orders that before the council even thinks of asking for her clemency, they must see that she’s proclaimed queen to the exclusion of all other claimants. She also warns that those who failed to offer her support should remove themselves at once. Those who stay must show proof of their constancy by taking the duke and his sons into custody, as well as Jane Grey. She promises the usual array of punishments if she is disobeyed. Not that she will be; everyone knows the die is cast.”

“You’ll be safe enough,” I said, but I had no satisfaction in the barb. There was an awful tingle in my belly, a growing awareness I had made an error in my assessment of him.

“Do you truly believe that?” He gave a rueful shake of his head. “I may have helped her stay one step ahead of the duke, but don’t think for an instant that she’s forgotten that I served the man. There’ll be no place for me at her court.” He sighed. “No matter. Country life suits me well enough, and it is time I got away from all this.”

“She’s banishing you?” I experienced keen disappointment. Cecil was not someone a wise monarch should disdain. If nothing else, his facility for spying made him an asset or a liability, depending on the circumstances.

“Not in so many words, but she knows I have no other choice. She’ll never trust any of those who served the duke or her brother. I should be grateful that unlike these others, I needn’t soil my hands by putting my former master in prison.”

And those hands, I noticed, had changed. The ink stains under the nails were faded, as if he had already started to slough away the skin of his prior role.

Cecil went on: “Had it gone differently, we’d have seen her to the same prison quick enough. To be banished is fortunate indeed, considering not a few heads will roll before this matter is concluded.”

His play for empathy was a mistake. I smiled. I had been wrong. She had not disdained him. She had seen through him. The time had come to cast my own die.

“But not your head. You made sure of that. No one knows the extent of your involvement.”

This time, I was pleased to see the skin about his mouth tighten.

“Unless you’ve been filling Mary’s ears with nonsense, yes,” he replied.

“I would never stoop so low. Difficult as it may be for you to imagine, Her Majesty is an innocent when it comes to men like you.”

“You shouldn’t let her air of virginal righteousness blind you. She’s an enemy to our faith, and her accession is a tragedy to those who’ve labored to bring greater glory to England.”

“To England?” I asked. “Or to Cecil? Or are they one and the same to you?”

“I assure you, I’ve sought only to serve Her Grace.”

Without warning, my anger resurged, virulent as fever. Lies and more lies—with him, they never stopped. No doubt, he would lie his way to his very grave.

No more. I would make him speak the truth, damn him to hell.

“Is that why you let her come to court?” I advanced on his chair. “Though you knew she risked her life? Is that why you failed to warn her away, because you sought to serve her?”

There was no mistaking the change in the air. He might have actually recoiled in his seat, had he the reflexes of a normal man, unused to guarding his reactions at every moment.

“You forget that I did advise her to leave,” he said, in a measured tone. “I warned her several times of the danger, but she did not listen.” Still, he didn’t move, did not rise in alarm, though I stood so close I could have stabbed him before he had time to cry out.

“You didn’t warn her,” I said. “You manipulated her. You manipulated her just as you manipulated me. You’ve been playing a game with all of us from the beginning.”

He smiled. Actually smiled. “And what, pray, did this game of mine entail?”

I had to step back, lest I went too far and didn’t stop until he lay in a bloodied sprawl at my feet. It had all become crystalline clear, the truth surfacing as if a cloth had been wiped across the tarnished glass of my mind.

Everything was more horribly real than I had imagined.

“To see Elizabeth made queen instead of her sister—that was your game. The duke’s time had run out. After years of watching him exercise control over Edward, you decided never would the likes of Northumberland and his clan rule again. When the time came, they would fall, all of them, no matter the cost. And they would take Mary with them.” I met his stare. “But something happened. Something you didn’t anticipate.”

“Is that so?” He folded his hands at his chin. “Do go on. I find this all … fascinating.”

“Jane Grey happened. You had no idea what the duke planned, did you, that night Elizabeth arrived at court? All you knew for certain was that the king was dying and Northumberland wanted the princess for himself. By the time the duke announced Jane Grey’s marriage to his son and you realized just how far he was willing to go to keep his grip on the throne, it was too late. So you put Elizabeth to the test, because if all went as planned, she herself would help you dispose of your rival.”

His expression revealed nothing.

My voice rose despite myself. I flung my next words at him as if they could humiliate, bruise, maim. “Northumberland posed no threat; you knew she would never have him. But Robert Dudley was another story. Only he had a claim on her more powerful than your own. Only he might have curtailed your influence over her. And it was that, more than anything else, which you could not bear.”

“Careful, my friend,” he said softly. “You may go too far.”

I’d finally struck a nerve. I should indeed be careful, for the only thing more dangerous than his friendship was his enmity. In that moment, however, I no longer cared.

“Not as far as you. You knew the moment the king died, the duke would put an end to you because of what you knew. His Majesty had told you he wanted Elizabeth as his heir. Putting Jane Grey on the throne might prove a deadly error, but it was possible the duke would still succeed, that Mary might escape, or the lure of power would prove too great and Elizabeth would succumb to Robert. If any of these occurred, you could disavow yourself completely.”

I paused. His pale eyes were now fixed on me.

“You were willing to abandon her, to turn coat and feign support of whoever won—including Mary, though in your heart you loathe and fear her more than the duke himself.”

At this, Cecil raked his fingers across the chair arms. “You insult me. You dare insinuate that I would betray my own princess?”

“I do. But no one will ever know, will they? No matter what, your hide is safe.”

He came to his feet. Though he was not a tall man, he seemed to fill the room with his presence. “You should be an actor. The profession would benefit from your flair for the dramatic. I should warn you, however, that before you even think of entertaining Her Grace with this preposterous tale, you should consider she’ll require more than unsubstantiated charges.”

My every muscle tensed. I was right, and the revelation stunned me. I had not thought to be so taken aback, so shocked, by what I had discovered. In some part of me, I had held on to the desperate hope that none of it was true.

“She is no fool,” I told him. “It’s clear to me, as it will be to her, that you let her and her sister walk into a quagmire of lies, completely unprepared for what might befall them.”

An odd light flickered in his eyes. The violence I had glimpsed had vanished, replaced by disturbing levity. Uncoiling his hands, Cecil started to clap. The sound was rhythmic, reverberating against the oak-paneled study. “Bravo. You have exceeded my highest expectations. You are everything I had hoped you would be.”

I stared. “What … what do you mean by that?”

His regard was all encompassing, merciless. “In a moment. First, let me say you’ve a rare gift for deciphering intrigue. For you are correct: I did want Mary dead and Elizabeth on the throne. She is our last hope, the only one of Henry the Eighth’s children worthy to inherit his crown. I may have failed in my goal, but it is an untimely delay of the inevitable. She was born to rule, you see. And when her day comes, nothing—nothing—will be able to compete with her destiny.”

“Not even her happiness?” I said. A hard lump filled my throat. “Not even love?”

“Especially not love.” His voice was matter-of-fact, as if he spoke of a color she must never wear. “That, above all, would be disastrous. She may have been born the wrong sex, but in everything else she is the prince that her father longed for. Only she has his strength, his courage, his drive to conquer any obstacle thrown in her path. She must not give in to the weakness in her blood—a weakness she inherited from her mother, who was ever one to indulge herself. I’ll not see her sacrifice her future for Dudley, whose ambition is his overriding vice.”

“She loves him!” I yelled. “She’s loved him since they were children! You knew that, and you deliberately set out to destroy it. Who are you to dictate her fate? Who are you to say where she may or may not give her heart?”

“Her friend,” was his reply, “the only one with the stomach to save her from herself. Robert Dudley was her downfall. Now she need never be tempted. Even if he can survive Mary’s wrath, which is most unlikely, he’s lost Elizabeth forever. She’ll never trust him completely again. It is a reward which, in my estimation, more than compensates her suffering.”

“You’re a monster.” My breath came in stifled bursts. “Did you ever stop to think that in your grandiose plan to put a crown on her head you might break her spirit? Or that Jane Grey, who never wanted any part of this, could lose her life because of it?”

Cecil’s gaze riveted me to my spot. “Elizabeth is more resilient than you think. As for Jane Grey, it wasn’t my idea to make her queen. I merely sought to benefit from it.”

I wanted to leave him there, with his papers and his machinations. Nothing he could tell me now would bring me anything other than revulsion, despair.

And yet I stayed, transfixed.

His smile was like slivered steel. “Have you nothing to say? We’ve reached the crux of the matter, the reason why you are here. So go on. Ask me. Ask what else I’ve been hiding from you. Ask me about the herbalist and the reason Frances of Suffolk had to surrender her claim to the throne to her daughter.”

He let out a small sigh. “Ask me, Brendan Prescott, who you are.”