The Miracle at St. Bruno's (22 page)

I knew then that she was a widow and I had lost the dearest and best of fathers forever.

For the next few days I went about in a kind of daze. When people spoke to me I did not hear. Rupert tried to comfort me; so did Simon Caseman.

“I’ll take care of you for evermore,” Rupert told me, and I did not realize until later that he was asking me to marry him.

Simon Caseman was more definite. I did not forget that he had arranged the meeting with my father. He had seen his execution and that of Amos Carmen, and he told of it.

“You would have been proud of your father, Damask,” he said. “He walked out to his death calmly and without fear. He laid his head upon the block with a resignation which was the admiration of all who beheld it. But I will not speak of it. It is better not.”

I was silent; my grief welling up within me. I had shed no tears. My mother said it would be better if I did.

Simon said: “His last thoughts were of you. I had a word with him. You were his great concern…you and your mother. He longed to see you in the care of a strong man. That was one of his greatest desires. Damask, I am here to take care of you. You need a strong arm to lean on; you need the love which only a husband can give you. Let us delay no longer. It would be his wish and remember, you are alone in a dangerous world. When a man is arraigned for treason who knows what is in store for his family? You need me to care for you, Damask, as I need you because I love you.”

I looked at him and the old repellence came back. I fancied I saw the fox’s mask and I drew away from him. Doubtless my expression betrayed my feelings.

“I would not marry for expediency,” I said, “though, Simon, I am grateful to you for what you have done for me at this cruel time, but I could not marry you, for I do not love you and I would not marry where I did not love.”

He turned and left me.

I forgot him; I could think of nothing but my loss.

Two days after my father’s murder a strange thing happened. They had not told me, because they did not wish to grieve me, that Father’s head had been placed on one of the poles which were stuck on London Bridge. He was well known in the city and this was meant to be a warning to all men who planned to disobey the orders of the King. It would be called the head of a traitor. There were other grizzly spectacles there and to have known that his was among them would have been too much to be borne. I remembered how five years before our neighbor, Sir Thomas More, had been beheaded and his head stuck on the bridge. His head had disappeared and rumor had it that his daughter Margaret Roper had gone by night and taken her father’s head that it might no longer be exposed and be given decent burial.

Had I known that Father’s head was there I should have planned to do what Margaret had done. I would have asked Simon Caseman to help me.

One of the servants brought the news to us that Father’s head was no longer there. It had disappeared. He had seen for himself. One of the watermen had told him that there was consternation because at dawn the pole on which it had been placed was lying on the bridge and the head was gone.

They were all talking of Sir Thomas More, a man who would never be forgotten, for his goodness lived on in the minds of men and there were many who thought he was a saint. He had had a beloved daughter who it was said had taken his head; my father also had a beloved daughter.

I wished that I had done what Margaret did. I wished that I had gone stealthily by night and taken down that beloved head that I might give it decent burial.

But the mystery remained.

My father’s head had disappeared.

The days were empty. I could not believe that only four had passed since that terrible time when my mother had made me drink poppy juice and I had slept while he went to his death.

I should have been there. But I knew he would have wished me to be unconscious during that dark hour. He would have approved my mother’s action. I could think of nothing but my loss. I recalled so much of our life together. Everywhere in the house were memories of him.

It was the same in the garden. I wandered down to the river and sat on the wall watching the river craft and I thought as I had so many times of the day when the King and the Cardinal had passed.

I stayed there until it was dusk and my mother came out and said: “You will be ill if you go on like this.”

I went back to the house with her, but I could not stay indoors and I wandered once more out into the garden and watched the first stars appear.

And then I heard my name called softly and turning, I saw that Rupert had joined me.

“Oh, Rupert,” I said, “I feel none of us can ever be happy again.”

“Pain cannot last forever,” he said gently. “It will become less acute and there will be times in the future when you will forget.”

“Never,” I said fiercely.

“You are so young and he meant so much to you. But others could mean as much. Your husband…your children….”

I shook my head impatiently and he went on: “I have something to tell you.”

I thought that he was going to suggest marriage again and I wanted to leave him and go into the house, but his next words startled me.

“I have his head, Damask.”

“What?”

“I knew that you would not wish it to remain there. So when it was dark I took Tom Skillen with me. I knew I could trust him. He waited in the boat and I took down the pole….I have his head…for you.”

I turned toward him and his arms were around me. He held me against him.

“Oh, Rupert,” I said at length, “if you had been caught….”

“I was not caught, Damask.”

“You might have been. You risked great danger.”

“Damask,” he said, “I want you to know that I would risk everything I have for your sake.”

I was silent and then I said: “Where is it?”

“It is in a box…hidden. I knew you would wish to give it decent burial.”

I nodded. I said: “He once said that he would like to be buried in the Abbey burial ground.”

“We will bury him there, Damask.”

“Can we?”

“Why should we not? The place is deserted.”

“Rupert! Only you and I must know. Only you and I will be the mourners at his funeral.”

“It would be better so.”

“Rupert, it is a comfort to me to know that he no longer is there…for people to look at him…perchance to mock, to shame him.”

“Goodness is not shamed no matter how it is mocked.”

I seized his hand and pressed it.

“When shall we bury him, Rupert?”

“Tonight,” he said. “When the household is asleep. We will go to the Abbey burial grounds and there we will lay him to rest.”

We went through the ivy-covered door. How eerie it looked by the faint light from the crescent moon. Rupert had brought a lantern and a spade.

“Don’t be afraid,” said Rupert, “there’s no one here.”

“Only the ghosts of those monks who have died miserably because they have been dispossessed.”

“They would never harm us.”

We made our way to the burial ground and I stood by holding the lantern while Rupert dug a grave.

I myself held the box which held that precious relic. Then together we prayed and called for a blessing on that great good man.

I shall never forget the sound of clods of earth falling on the box; and at that sound the tears started to my eyes.

I think from that moment I began to feel that I could face life again.

Each day I went to the monks’ burial ground. I planted a rosemary on the grave. I used to kneel beside it and talk to my father as I had when he was alive. I asked for courage so that I could go on living my life without him.

A
WEEK AFTER THAT
night when we had buried my father’s head Kate came and declared her intention to take me back to Remus Castle.

I said I would stay where I was for I wanted to visit the spot where my father’s head was buried.

But Kate was determined.

“You are coming back with me,” she declared. “Young Carey misses you. Betsy says she has not had one peaceful night since you left.”

At length I was persuaded and I left with Kate for Remus.

Kate swore that little Carey was happy now that I had returned, but I said he was far too young for that; but I did find comfort in the child. Kate took great pains to please me. She coaxed me into showing some interest in the gowns she had had made for her. She insisted that I admire the jewelry Remus gave her.

She was going to Court soon. Though she complained the Court had become dull.

“The King,” she said, “finds great pleasure in his new wife and makes excuses to be alone with her. This takes a great burden off his courtiers but means there is less entertainment; and he’s in a good mood too, except when the ulcer on his leg is painful, but the Queen knows how to comfort him. She is young and very pretty but I have heard she has had some experience in offering comfort before her marriage.”

But I could not bear to talk of the King. I regarded him as my father’s murderer and I was filled with a hatred toward him which had it been known would have doubtless meant a sojourn in the Tower for me and my head on a pike over London Bridge.

There was a certain amount of talk too about the new laws against heretics. A heretic was one who did not accept the King as Supreme Head of the Church, be he Papist or anti-Papist.

“It’s a very simple rule,” said Kate. “The King is right whatever he does. Whatever he says is the truth and all those who contradict are traitors. It’s all one has to remember.”

And I was sure that there had never been a time so fraught with danger as these in which we lived.

In Remus Castle we seemed away from the world. I did love the baby and I began to believe that he had special feeling for me. It was true that if he were bawling lustily, which he often did, and I picked him up he would stop and something like a smile would touch his features. Kate was proud of the child in an offhand sort of way. She left him to the nurses but because I was interested in him and wanted him often with me, she saw more of him than she would otherwise have done.

His christening in the castle chapel was a grand affair and as many people from Court were present, I made the acquaintance of Dukes and Earls who before had been merely names to me. Their conversation was chiefly about the King and the new Queen. It was amazing how people could not prevent themselves discussing subjects which they knew could be dangerous. They reminded me of moths flying to a candle.

The Queen, it seemed, had a definite charm which enthralled the King. She was not pretty by any means, she lacked the elegance of Queen Anne Boleyn, but the King had not been so delighted with any of his wives as he was with Katharine Howard—apart from Anne Boleyn before their marriage perhaps. The new Queen had a way with her, I gathered. She was good-natured, easygoing, sensuous—just what an old man needed to revive his youth and that, it seemed, was what Katharine Howard was doing for King Henry. As for the last Queen, Anne of Cleves, she was thoroughly enjoying her life at Richmond Palace and delighted to call herself the King’s sister as she congratulated herself on her lucky escape.

There was, it was true, an insurrection on Yorkshire, when men rose to protest against the new Supreme Head of the Church, but that was quickly suppressed and the requisite amount of blood shed to ensure that the people understood what happened to those who opposed the King.

But now that the King had found a wife who pleased him so much that he did not want to change her, life seemed to have become more peaceful.

Six weeks had passed since my father’s death and then one day Lord Remus came out to the pond garden while Kate and I sat there with the baby in his basket and said: “I have grave news for you, Damask.”

My heart pounded in fear; but even then I wondered what else could happen that could seem of any real importance to me.

Lord Remus was frowning. He did not seem to know how to begin.

“Damask,” he said, “you must know that when a man is judged a traitor and is executed there are occasions when his worldly possessions are confiscated by the King who may take them for himself or divert them to someone he considers is deserving of them.”

“You are telling me,” I said, “that the King has not only robbed my father of his head but has taken his estates as well.”

“That is what I understand, Damask.”

“So…I am homeless.”

“It is not quite as desperate as that. A certain amount of leniency has been shown in your father’s case.” He added with a cynicism which he did not seem to realize, “It is not as though his estates were so very large…by the King’s standards, that is.”

“Please tell me what has happened.”

Lord Remus hesitated. He coughed. “It’s a little delicate,” he said, “but I have been asked to break this to you and so must I. You should not think that your father’s house will no longer be your home. Simon Caseman has made that clear. There is always to be a home for you there.”

“Simon Caseman!” I cried. “What is this to him?”

“The King’s officers have decided to bestow your father’s house on him.”

“But why?”

“He has lived with your family. He has been your father’s right-hand man in business.”

“But…if it is decided to take my father’s estate from those to whom it belongs…my mother and myself…why not to Rupert who is related to us?”

Lord Remus looked uneasy. “My dear Damask, to leave it to a relative would not be to confiscate it from the family. The King wishes to reward Simon Caseman and this is his way of doing it.”

“Why should the King wish to reward Simon Caseman? He has worked with my father. I should have thought he might have been suspect since he lived in that house of iniquity.”

“There has been an investigation of the case. Simon Caseman has said that he is eager to marry….”

“No,” I cried. “That can’t be.”

Lord Remus went on as though I had not spoken. “He is eager to marry your mother and this will solve a difficulty. Neither you nor your mother will be homeless although, in accordance with his right, the King has deprived your father and his heirs of their possessions.”