The Rose Without a Thorn (28 page)

So we passed an hour in talk and we parted on the best of terms, promising ourselves another meeting very soon.

I thought about her a good deal after she had left. What struck me most forcibly was that she by no means regretted the loss of her crown. In fact, she appeared to be remarkably relieved to have discarded it.

It had been a most pleasant morning, partly because I was so glad to hear that the rumor about the baby was unfounded.

It had made me think though that it was time I was pregnant, and then I began to wonder whether this rumor about Anne of
Cleves had started because it seemed that the King might have married another barren wife.

I had a visit from my grandmother. I could see that she was distraught.

She said: “Manox is back.”

I felt a shiver of alarm. I did not want to think of Manox. I was trying to pretend he had never existed.

“Back?” I said. “Where?”

“At Lambeth.”

“You have taken him into your household?”

“It seemed that I had no choice.”

“But … why?”

“Let me explain. He arrived and asked to see me. I was disturbed and acting on my first impulse refused. He went away, and I thought that was the end of him. I did not tell you then, because I thought it would disturb you. He came back next day and asked that a message might be delivered to me saying that, in view of the position he had once held in my household, he felt sure that I would grant him the honor of receiving him.”

“And you did?”

She lifted her shoulders. “What he craves is a place at Court—with the musicians.”

“Oh, no!”

She was frowning. “He heard that Joan Bulmer is back, and he said he was sure you would be as kind to him. You would remember how pleased you had been with his work when he was teaching you the virginals.”

I stared at her blankly, and she went on quickly: “So I said I would arrange it. It seemed all I could do. You will not have to see him if you prefer not to. He can simply join the musicians. I can arrange that. He means no harm, I am sure. He is just a little … insistent. He always was.”

“No,” I murmured. “I need not see him.”

“It is nothing to concern yourself with.”

“No,” I said. “That is so.”

We were alike in some ways, the Duchess and I. We both shut our eyes to unpleasant possibilities.

She said: “If your uncle had been on friendly terms, I might have asked him. He would doubtless have ways of removing …”

“It is of no account,” I said quickly. “Manox is only a humble musician.”

“There is a certain insolence about the man which displeases me,” went on the Duchess. “But then he always had that. The respect is so lightly applied that one can see through it. He has a great opinion of himself, our strutting little musician. He should be taught a little humility, and the Duke would have been the one to teach him. But I am not on the best of terms with my stepson; and I gather Your Majesty has offended him too.”

“He really is overbearing and arrogant. I’m afraid I was not in the mood to pander to his wishes.”

“Indeed not, and you Her Majesty! Who does he think he is? I will tell you. He is the premier peer of England. To tell the truth, I’d say he thinks he is as important as the King himself… or should be.”

“You should see them together! Then you would know who the master is.”

“Still, he has power, that one. It is well to be with him rather than against him.”

“He must make amends to me.”

“Well, little granddaughter, it is you who are the Queen. Tell me about last night’s banquet. What did you wear? They say the King is so enamored of you that he cannot take his eyes from you.”

And so we talked, and I fancied that she, as well as I, was all the time trying to believe that Manox’s return to London was of no importance.

When I was alone with the King a few days later, he took me on to his knee and said: “We are shortly to set out on our travels.”

I was excited. I enjoyed traveling through the towns and villages while people came out to cheer us, and Henry was so proud when they commented on my beauty. I could not help being enchanted by it all.

He stroked my hair and went on: “We will not have these risings every now and then on some small issue which some people think is their concern.” His face darkened. “This man Neville … he has paid the price of his folly and treachery, but you see, sweetheart, we have to make them see that we will have no more of it. That is why we shall go. We have to bring home to them what are the rewards of their conduct.”

My heart sank. This was not going to be one of those journeys during which everyone was merry. It would be a somber reminder of what happened to traitors.

“We shall drive through those counties which were involved in the trouble,” he was saying. “We shall make them understand that on no account shall they defy us.” His face was scarlet now, his mouth that straight line which I dreaded to see.

“It is one of the more unpleasant duties of the King,” he went on. “He must keep his realm safe.”

His mood changed and he was soft and sentimental again.

“It pleases me that I have my sweet little Queen to comfort me,” he said. “I plan, during this tour, to meet the King of the Scots. He can be a tiresome fellow, and I must make him see that he will come to no good if he would play his devilish games with me.”

His mood had changed again, but almost immediately he was once more the loving husband.

“Your brow is troubled,” he went on. “Why, sweetheart, these are not matters for you. Alas, my lot is not always a merry one. A crown is not an easy thing to carry. That is why you, little one, are such a joy to me.”

I saw less of Henry during the short time before our journey began. He was busy with his ministers and plans for the journey. It
was not a happy time for me. He began a fierce attack on those he suspected of working against him. The John Neville affair had affected him more deeply than I had at first imagined.

All the cases of those imprisoned in the Tower were examined, and, if the King’s suspicions were strong, ended in execution. Even those who had not been found guilty of treason, if the suspicion was strong enough, were dispatched.

I was very uneasy. I could not stop thinking of those people lying in that gloomy place, waiting to be summoned to the block or the hangman’s noose. I had once or twice attempted to beg for their release, but Henry had made it very clear that he had not come to me to be reminded of his enemies.

I was horrified to hear of the case of Thomas Fiennes, Lord Dacre, who was at that time a prisoner in the Tower, although there was no reason why he should be there.

Jane Rochford told me there was quite an outcry over the matter, and that, if there had not been so much trouble over John Neville’s rising, when many had been under suspicion, something might have been done about the case.

I always liked to understand these things, and particularly this matter of a man who was facing death for something he had not done.

“Then why is he in the Tower?” I demanded.

“I have heard,” said Jane, “that one night he left his castle of Hurstmonceux with a party of friends. He is a youngish man … some twenty years old … and such can be high-spirited. He was only eighteen when he came into the title. You know what young men are. Well, he and his friends found themselves on a gentleman’s estate nearby and decided to indulge in a little poaching for fun. The party then split up and one of the groups was confronted by a gamekeeper. There was a fight, during which the gamekeeper was killed.”

“How terrible! That was murder.”

“When it was discovered who the young men were, it seemed doubly shocking. They were not even hungry men, desperate for
food. It was all amusement for them. Lord Dacre was especially singled out, although he was not with the group who had killed the gamekeeper. There was a great outcry over the matter, as you can imagine, and Lord Dacre was sent to the Tower. They were there when the King decided that he did not want to leave his enemies in London while he was traveling North. The Dacre family were not in favor with the King, who suspected them of disloyalty, and when Lord Dacre’s name was put before him, the King ordered that he should be one of those who were executed.”

“But all he had done was go out with this wild party! And he was not even with the group who killed the gamekeeper!”

“The King was in no mood for trials. The Dacres had offended him. And so … His Majesty decided to be rid of this one. Dacre was not the only one, I swear. There were others.”

I was very distressed. I said: “I do not wish to hear of them.”

Jane nodded. She knew me well. It had ever been my way to put aside that which disturbed me.

It was just before we left on our journey that the Duchess came to me.

“I have to tell you,” she said, “that Francis Derham is back in England.”

I must have shown how shocked I was.

She went on: “He has been to see me. What a handsome young man he is! He is more handsome than ever. A real man. He was such a delightful boy.”

“He is back in your household?” I asked fearfully.

“No. He has had adventures. What he was doing in Ireland, I can only guess. He was determined to make a fortune and come back and marry you.”

I was trembling and desperately trying to forget that part of my life, and now it seemed that it was coming back to haunt me. Henry Manox was now one of my musicians. I had seen him from afar, and I had felt a twinge of disquiet, although his manner had appeared to be most respectful.

Derham was a different matter. I remembered his passionate insistence that he would come back and marry me. He had said we were husband and wife. He called me wife; I called him husband: and we were as such.

I experienced a moment of horror. They were all coming back: Manox, Joan Bulmer, Katherine Tylney and now … Derham.

My grandmother could guess at my fear.

She said: “Derham is a gentleman. He would never harm you. He would protect you if the need arose. You must have no fear of Derham.”

I clutched at that belief. It was true. He had genuinely loved me. I knew in my heart that he would never harm me. I had nothing to fear from him. A great relief swept over me at the thought.

“Why did he come to see you?” I asked.

“Because he knew me for a friend. He is a good young man, he has done well in Ireland. Oh, what a reckless fellow! There is something of the pirate in him. Indeed, I fancy he might well have been engaged in something just outside the law.”

“Piracy?” I said.

“I know nothing.” She laughed. She had always had a weakness for handsome young men, especially those who flattered her.

“He talked of you,” she went on.

“What said he?”

“That you were beautiful and that he knew of none to compare with you. He said you had had some regard for him. The King is not a young man. He thought that, if the King died, it would be his turn, and it could be just as you and he had once planned.”

I had grown up a little and I realized, if she did not, the importance of what she was saying. I looked at her in horror.

“You have not said that in the hearing of anyone, I hope.”

“Do you think I should be so foolish as that? I am telling you … and you only.”

“It could cost him his head,” I cried, thinking fleetingly of Lord Dacre, who had lost his for a murder he had not committed.

“You can be assured I shall say nothing of the sort to any. One must never mention that a king could go the way the rest of us do.”

She laughed. She was reckless, I thought. God preserve her. I had been reckless, too, but how was I to have known that I should one day be Queen of England?

Secret Lovers

IT WAS JULY
when we set out. It was not a very happy journey. The King was in an ill mood, because the knowledge that some of his subjects could revolt against him depressed him. He wanted jubilation and expressions of affection wherever he went. In his youth he had been handsome, strong, in sports excelling all others: now it was obvious to everyone that he was no longer so. He often needed a stick to support him, or an arm to lean on. His leg was often painful, and I believed it was most unsightly beneath the bandages. He had lost his once healthy color and his skin was tinged purple, his face bloated. It was small wonder that he needed a young wife to delude him into thinking he himself was young too. That was my task, and I believed I performed it well. I might have been unlearned, far from agile with the pen, in complete ignorance of the classics, but I did understand the physical needs of men, and I was able to partake in these exercises with an acceptable skill. He told me that, while God had seen fit to plague him with some miserable and ungrateful subjects, he had at least blessed him with a good and loving wife.

There was heavy rain in Lincolnshire, which resulted in heavy flooding. Travel was impossible for two or more weeks. This delayed our journey and all through the month of July we made very little progress.

It was late August when we arrived in Pontefract. Henry was eager to meet the King of Scotland, which was the main reason for the journey. I had been rather depressed by the reception we had received on the way. There had been lavish entertainments for us, and rich gifts for the King, but I guessed this was due rather to fear than affection.