The Crown A Novel

26


Where’s my daughter?” asked Lord Chester loudly. He squinted as he examined the nuns sitting on their stone benches carved from the walls.

My eyes found Sister Christina, across the room. The late-afternoon light stretched across her lap; her face was in shadow. Unreadable.

“Ah, there she is,” Lord Chester said. “Have you no greeting for me, child?”

Sister Christina did not move or speak.

Lady Chester leaned forward in her chair. “Sister Christina, I greet you on this day of remembrance,” she called out, nervous.

“I greet you, Lady Chester,” Sister Christina responded formally. A few seconds later, she added: “And you, sir.”

Prioress Joan broke in: “We all greet you, Lord and Lady Chester. We are honored to have you as our guests at Dartford Priory.”

“Ah, that’s what I like to have said.” Lord Chester nodded at all the nuns, novices, and friars assembled before him. “That’s what I like. Yes. Very good. The beginning of a new era.”

He held up his goblet of wine, as if toasting the prioress, and then took a long, thirsty sip, as if he’d drunk nothing before it this day.

“Prioress, we are behind the appointed time, and for that I apologize,” Lady Chester said. “We first paid a visit to the grave of our son.”

Lord Chester slammed down his goblet and glared at his wife. She looked away. One of the sisters coughed, then another. The air hummed with nervous tension.

Prioress Joan spoke up again.

“Lord and Lady Chester, you have not met our new friar, who comes to us from the Dominican friary of Cambridge. I give you Brother Richard, our new president.” She gestured toward the friar who sat at the end of the table. “In the absence of Brother Philip, I’ve asked him to say a few words before our feast commences.”

Brother Richard got to his feet, and I sat up straighter on my stool.

“We are here,” he began, “to think about the faithfully departed, those who have gone on before us, to enjoy eternal life.”

Lord Chester folded his arms across his chest. His stare was skeptical, and might have given another friar pause.

But Brother Richard showed no sign of intimidation.

“Is it not the Blessed Virgin who makes stronger each day our faith in such eternal life?” he asked, turning directly toward the sisters of Dartford, his hands outstretched. “We are all linked to one another in the faith. Every deed, good or bad, influences us all. And each time one of us prays for a departed soul, it helps not only that soul but also all the others who must purify on their journey to Heaven in order to find eternal rest and peace. And so today I beseech you to pray not just for the loved ones in your life but for all who travel on before you. And do not mourn. Be happy for them, for they are now in the kingdom of Heaven. And be thus strengthened and sustained in your faith in God and the Virgin.”

I thought of my mother. Yes, I prayed she had found peace in God’s kingdom, the peace that had eluded her in life. Next to me, Brother Edmund took a deep breath, and I wondered which departed souls he contemplated.

“And so we bless this meal, which will be laid before you,” Brother Richard concluded, and sat down.

Prioress Joan smiled with pride and, I thought, a touch of surprise.

“That’s very eloquent, Brother,” said Lord Chester, his arms still folded. “Very nicely said. I haven’t heard such a graceful sermon since Bishop Gardiner addressed the court at Saint Paul’s last year, before he was packed off to France.”

Brother Richard, startled, looked at Brother Edmund and then at me. I wondered at Lord Chester’s picking that bishop to form his comparison. Did he know Bishop Gardiner sent us here? We were all three wondering the same thing, I was sure of it—and then realized with a start that in my thoughts I was more bound to these two friars than to the nuns who filled the room.

Lord Chester clapped his hands. “And now it’s time for music.”

I lost track of how many times we played the songs we knew. In no time we worked through the four prepared for the occasion and had to begin again. And again. No one took issue with it. Every time he looked over, Lord Chester would smile approvingly at our playing. His eyes always lingered on my vihuela, an unfamiliar instrument to Englishmen.

The conversation at the head table was dominated by Lord Chester. It had nothing to do with All Souls’ Day. The talk revolved around his newest appointment at court: keeper of the king’s hounds. He spoke of land spaniels and water spaniels, harriers and greyhounds. Because of my music playing, I followed few of the specifics. Lady Chester nodded as he spoke, as a wife should. I saw little of Sister Christina in her, neither in physical form nor attitude. My fellow novice more closely resembled her father, it must be said.

About halfway through the feast, conversation died down. Lord Chester devoted himself entirely to his food. Course after course had appeared, borne into the room on huge silver trays. He enjoyed the roast beef, the rabbit, and the capon. But it was the pork that he devoured with the most gusto. It seemed impossible he could be so hungry. Yet he picked up each and every sliver of pork and tucked it into his mouth, leaving nothing on the plate. His fingers shone with pork grease; it dripped from his mouth and spattered the fine tablecloth. And then there was the wine. I lost count of how many times his goblet was refilled.

No one else at the head table showed nearly as much appetite for food or drink. Lady Chester picked at her meal. The prioress and the friar discreetly avoided the meat courses, eating only bread, cheese, and fruit. The rest of us had nothing, of course. We’d all had bread and broth earlier in the day, and that would be all. It was no hardship. We were accustomed to going for many hours, even a day, without food. We welcomed it.

The room had lost all natural light when Lord Chester finally reached his fill. Servants lit candlesticks, including a huge candelabra at the head table. The priory’s Mass for All Souls’ Day was supposed to commence before nightfall but would plainly have to be delayed. The rules of hospitality meant we could not rush our guests from the table.

With another of his belches, Lord Chester made a show of pushing back his plate. We laid down our instruments, grateful. It was almost over.

Lord Chester turned to the prioress. “This has been a fine feast.” His words were slurred.

“I am glad you enjoyed it, sir,” she said.

He sighed and tilted back in his chair. “It will be such a tragedy,” he said, “when the rest of the abbeys and priories are dissolved.”

One of the sisters gasped, I couldn’t tell who. Brother Edmund bowed his head, and on the other side of him, Sister Winifred reached for his arm.

But no one was as stricken as Prioress Joan. She blinked and swallowed, as if she could not believe what had been said.

“It won’t be like before,” said Lord Chester. “When the commissioners come, they’re not rooting around for evidence of any laxness in the orders, any sins committed, or any monies hidden away.” His words were less slurred now as he warmed to his topic. “They’re coming to tell the heads of all the houses in person what the king wants them to do: Resign. Go quietly. Dissolve of your own free will. If you do, every person in the house will be pensioned, every monk and friar and nun. The king’s not going to go so rough this time. He doesn’t want his courtiers stripping the monasteries with such base and obvious greed. Doesn’t look good. They’ll be given the monasteries as royal gifts, but it must be done quietly. And he doesn’t want any more martyrs. No more monks and friars starving themselves to death or getting themselves hanged at Tyburn because they won’t take the Oath of Supremacy. Too provocative.”

Brother Richard’s face had turned red. He held on to the edge of the head table with both hands. I could hear the rapid clicking of the prioress’s pomander ball.

But Lord Chester paid no heed to the offense—the pain—his words caused anyone. “Nobody wants another rebellion, eh?” He chortled. “There are enough heads on Tower Bridge.”

While we all watched, he rose to his feet.

“You’ll all get a pension; no one will starve,” he called out to the room, swaying a little.

Lady Chester tugged on his black taffeta arm. “My lord, enough.”

He shook her off and moved the other way, past Brother Richard, who recoiled, his face twisted with loathing. Lord Chester didn’t notice, didn’t care. He lumbered toward the long table that bore the prized possessions of Dartford.

“Ah, look at all of this,” he bellowed. “Just look at it. Worth a fortune. Believe me, there are lords of the court lined up outside Cromwell’s chamber, right now, clamoring for Dartford Priory.”

He thumped his chest with one hand. “Not me. I’m rich enough. I don’t have to sack the religious houses. But for some of the others, a thing like that”—he pointed at the jewel-studded reliquary—“is just too tempting.”

He swayed back and forth, and I thought for a moment Lord Chester would fall. But then he steadied himself.

“I will know tonight what’s inside it,” he announced.

I saw a nun rise off the bench. It was his daughter, Sister Christina. Her eyes blazed in the candlelight. “Father, you cannot touch our reliquary,” she said.

“Can’t I?” He turned on her. “You can’t tell me what to do, daughter. No one can. Not you, not the old bitch who used to be prioress here, not the one up there now.” He pointed at Prioress Joan. “I want to see what’s inside it, and I shall.”

The prioress jumped to her feet. “It is empty, Lord Chester. It came to us that way—everyone knows that. It was the will of the king who founded us, Edward the Third.”

“ ‘Everyone knows that,’ ” he mimicked the prioress. “That’s what you say. But what if I don’t believe you? The king does not believe you. He does not trust the monasteries. People say it’s all to get money for the treasury, or because he’s still in a rage that the abbeys opposed his divorce. That’s why he’s dissolving the houses. But I know better. He’s said it to me, more than once.” Lord Chester’s voice rose an octave as he now mimicked the king: “ ‘They have their secrets in the monasteries, their devious purposes. Their first loyalty is not to me.’ ”

Lord Chester narrowed his eyes at the prioress. “And I know you have secrets. No one knows better than I do about the secrets on Dartford Priory. “ He laughed. “Tonight I will learn another of them.”

Before anyone could say or do anything more, Lord Chester charged for the reliquary. He grabbed it with his grease-drenched fingers and turned it around, looking for the delicate little door.

I felt light-headed. What if, I thought frantically, it wasn’t empty—what if inside the reliquary was part of the Athelstan crown? Who will be hurt, if not killed, because of what he’s doing?

“Ah, I’ve got it.” He wrenched open the door in the base of the reliquary and stuck his hand inside.

All over the room, the nuns wailed at the desecration. Sister Christina started for her father, as if to stop him herself, but Sister Agatha and Sister Rachel restrained her, one on each side. Brother Richard, on his feet, called out something to Prioress Joan, but I couldn’t make out what he said above the sound of weeping. Lady Chester, crouched in her chair, had her face buried in her hands.

“There’s nothing,” Lord Chester said angrily. “Empty.”

Prioress Joan made her way around the table, toward the man she had invited to a requiem feast. “Lord Chester, I ask you to put our sacred reliquary back on the table.”

Lord Chester put it down. “I was simply curious. Don’t worry. I don’t want your gold, your treasure. I’ve never wanted that.”

He swung back toward the head table and started laughing again. “I always prefer human treasure.”

He turned, away from the prioress and Brother Richard, both approaching him.

Lord Chester, to my terror, staggered toward me.

“You, there,” he shouted. “Novice! What’s your name?”

I jumped up from my stool.

He came closer. “What’s your name?” he repeated.

Brother Edmund rose to step in front of me.

“Get out of my way, Friar,” roared Lord Chester. “Don’t you know who I am? I am a member of the king’s household, and I will be told the name of this novice.”

I backed away from him, against the wall, the back of my head hitting the window panel.

“Joanna Stafford,” I spat at him.

“Stafford?” he reared back like a spooked horse. “Oh, that’s not a good name. No, no, no. That’s a very bad name. The king hates the Staffords; he hates all of the old nobility. Like the family of my blessed wife.” He gave a mock bow to Lady Chester, still hiding her face.

He cocked his head at me. “It’s not only that. You’re dark, aren’t you? I don’t like them dark. I prefer them fair . . . like this one.”

He lunged for Sister Winifred and had her in seconds. He tore off her novice cap and her ash-blond hair tumbled down over her shoulders. She screeched in fear, struggling in his arms.

It happened so fast, I barely saw it. One minute Lord Chester was attacking Sister Winifred, the next he was on the floor on his belly.

Brother Edmund stood over him, his fist raised high.