Her Highness, the Traitor (15 page)

Near me were Robert’s wife, Amy, and Ambrose’s wife, Nan. Seated next to me, or rather on my right with the width of a good-sized human being between us, was Jack’s wife, Anne, Countess of Warwick. Feeling for the poor girl, whose parents, the Duke and Duchess of Somerset, were both in the Tower, Jack had made much of her over the past couple of months, giving her fine clothes and many pretty presents, and I had tried to fill the role of a mother to her. But our efforts were to no avail, and indeed, how could they be, under the circumstances? I wished the girl was not so slender; before her wedding, her father had asked that the consummation of her marriage be delayed until she was sixteen because of her physique, and we had honored his wish. If she had borne Jack a child, or was expecting one, she might have been, if not happy with us, at least less unhappy.

The countess stared blankly at the knights, neither appreciating nor troubling to admire Jack’s skill as he ran against his opponent. (Jack took after his father, who had been a fine jouster in his younger years.) I touched her shoulder and attempted to draw her closer to me. “I see Jack is wearing your favor.”

“He took it from me. I did not give it to him.”

“Oh.”

“My head aches. I would like to return to my chamber.”

“Of course, my dear.”

“I am not your dear.”

“It is only a manner of speaking, Anne. I meant no harm. Shall I send our physician to you?”

Anne rose and shook out her skirts. “No, I need no physic for my headaches. I often get them, and the only thing that helps them is to lie down in darkness and quiet, as Mama could tell you if she were not in the Tower.” She looked over her shoulder as her page began to help her away. “Besides, I would not trust any physic which came from a Dudley.”

I sat there open mouthed. No one else had heard the insult, spoken in a low tone; Amy and Nan were discussing Amy’s new gloves, while Guildford and Hal, both slightly too young and inexperienced to joust publicly, were consoling themselves by criticizing Jack’s every move. Mary’s mind was back somewhere in the court of King Arthur, where it would reside until her own husband took his turn in the lists, and Katheryn, her father’s darling, was leaning on his shoulder contentedly as he explained to her the various strategies Jack was taking. For a moment, I thought of following the girl and giving her a well-needed shaking: how dare she speak of me and my family so disrespectfully—and slanderously—even in her present difficulties? It was not something that should be borne.

Yet I did bear it, knowing what distress hearing of the remark would cause John, who with Katheryn at his side looked at peace, as he had not been for weeks. Instead of confronting my daughter-in-law, I sat still on my bench and prayed to myself that whatever Fate had in store for Somerset, it would be determined soon, so Somerset’s shadow would no longer hang over our every family gathering.

Four days later, I got my wish: King Edward signed Somerset’s death warrant.

***

For anyone who had been a member of King Henry’s court, it had been almost impossible to avoid attending executions. Indeed, some courtiers had become virtual connoisseurs of death, critically eying each performance upon the scaffold as if the condemned were a new player come to court. Had the doomed person dressed perfectly, as had Anne Boleyn? Had he managed a witty quip, as had Sir Thomas More? How large a crowd had he attracted? Did he falter in his last speech, or deliver it clearly and well? Had the executioner been given a generous sum of money by the deceased?

I was not one of those who delighted in such ordeals. True, I had attended the executions of Katherine Howard and her accomplice in adultery, Jane Boleyn, but that was out of pity for a queen I had once served and had found it impossible to dislike, exasperating as her royal whims and as foolish as her actions had been. My one concern had been to keep from fainting or vomiting. I had managed to avoid both, though only because I averted my eyes at the proper time. Never again, I had vowed, would I attend another execution.

Yet on the morning of January 22, the day set for Somerset’s execution, I rode to Tower Hill to watch the duke die.

I was not supposed to be there. John, who had moved to Westminster with the king the day before, had not forbidden it, but he had not anticipated I would make such a trip, either. Why I felt impelled to witness this I did not know; I had never been close to Somerset, even at the height of my husband’s friendship with him, and I certainly had no warm feelings toward him after he had plotted to destroy my husband. But his wife and I had once been friends of a sort, and his fourteen-year-old daughter was my son’s bride.

Somerset’s execution had been scheduled for eight in the morning, slightly earlier than was the custom, and the council had ordered the London constable to tell the populace to stay in their homes until ten in the morning. Despite this, as I rode from Ely Place to Tower Hill, the streets were full of people, all of them headed in the same direction as I.

Knowing it would be unwise to make my identity known, I was accompanied by only one manservant, and I had worn a plain gown. Were it not that some of the officials recognized me and gave way to allow me to ride near to the scaffold, I might have been unable to see anything but a figure in the distance. Instead, I was close enough to see the duke’s face as he was led out to Tower Hill. It was slightly before eight; Somerset was punctual to the last.

His hair and beard had been trimmed carefully, and he was elegantly and richly clothed; I’d not seen him dressed so finely since his daughter Anne married my son. Having climbed the scaffold, he knelt and prayed, raising his hands upward as naturally as if he were in his own chapel. As he made his devotions, the people stood still and silent, their faces solemn or streaked with tears. No one was jostling for a better view; instead, men stood with their arms around their wives, mothers with their hands on their children’s shoulders, supporting each other through this ordeal. Even the cutpurse I spotted nearby abandoned his prey to concentrate on the duke.

Somerset rose and walked to the east side of the scaffold. For a moment, he and the crowd gazed at each other adoringly. Then Somerset sighed sharply and began his speech, the same sort of speech that had been heard on Tower Hill too many times. “Dearly beloved friends, I am brought hither to suffer death, albeit that I never offended against the king, neither by word nor deed, and have been always as faithful and true unto this realm, as any man hath been.”

“Hear, hear!”

“But I am condemned by a law whereunto I am subject, as are we all, and therefore to show obedience I am content to die, wherewith I am well content, being a thing most heartily welcome unto me, for which I do thank God, taking it for a singular benefit, and as great a benefit as ever might come to me any otherwise. For as I am a man, I have deserved at God’s hand many deaths, and it has pleased his goodness, whereas he might have taken me suddenly that I should neither have known him nor myself, thus now to visit me and call me with this present death, when I have had time to remember and acknowledge him, and to know also myself, for which thing I do thank him most heartily.”

Somerset had begun to urge the people to stay steadfast to the king’s religious reforms and was warming to his theme, when there was a sudden noise, like a clap of thunder or an explosion of gunpowder. People who had been listening to the duke in utter silence screamed in terror. Some fled to nearby houses; others flung themselves into ditches. It was all my man could do to keep my own horse from bolting. Then Anthony Browne—the man who had helped me to my favored place near the scaffold—galloped up to keep order among the crowd.

“A pardon!” a bystander shouted. “The king has issued a pardon!”

“God save the king! He has issued a pardon!” The crowd, on the verge of riot a moment before, screamed with joy as men threw their caps in the air.

“There is no such thing,” said a quiet voice from the scaffold. Somerset raised his hand, and the crowd froze. “There is no pardon,” he repeated. “I pray you all to be quiet and to be contented with my death, which I am most willing to suffer. Let us now join in prayer unto the Lord, for the preservation of the King’s Majesty, unto whom hitherto I have always shown myself a most faithful and true subject. I have always been diligent about His Majesty in his affairs both at home and abroad, and no less diligent in seeking the common commodity of the whole realm.”

“It is true,” muttered the crowd.

“I wish His Majesty continual health, with all felicity and all prosperous success.”

“Amen,” murmured the people.

“I do wish unto all his counselors the grace and favor of God, whereby they may rule in all things uprightly with justice. Unto whom I exhort you all in the Lord, to show yourselves obedient, as is your duty under the pain of condemnation, and also most profitable for the preservation and safeguard of the King’s Majesty,” Somerset continued. He gave a faint smile. “Forasmuch as I have had oftentimes affrayed with divers men, and have found it hard to please every man, therefore if there have been any offended or injured by me, I most humbly require and ask him forgiveness. Especially almighty God, whom through all my life I have most grievously offended. And whoever has offended me, I do with my whole heart forgive them.”

“He speaks of Northumberland,” a man called. “The wicked Duke of Northumberland, who has put him wrongfully to death!”

Somerset raised his hand again. “I once again require you, dearly beloved in the Lord, that you will keep yourselves quiet and still, lest through your tumult, you might trouble me. For albeit the spirit be willing and ready, the flesh is frail and wavering, and through your quietness I shall be much quieter.”

The crowd obeyed instantly, and Somerset said, “I desire you to help me with my prayers,” then knelt and prayed. Rising afterward to shake hands with everyone on the scaffold, including the sheriff and the Lieutenant of the Tower, he presented the executioner with a bag of coins and stripped to his doublet and shirt.

With the rest, I watched in awe as Somerset slowly untied his shirt strings and allowed the executioner to turn down his collar, then covered his face with his handkerchief. He laid himself flat on the ground, only to have to rise again and remove his doublet, which was obstructing his neck, at the command of the executioner. “Lord Jesus save me,” he said, lying down once again. “Lord Jesus save me. Lord Je—”

Even before the executioner raised Somerset’s head, the crowd surged toward the scaffold, terrifying my horse. As I struggled to bring her under control, and to fight down the nausea that was engulfing me, I realized what they were doing: dipping their handkerchiefs in the duke’s lifeblood, which was seeping through the boards of the scaffold. The bloodstained handkerchiefs would become relics, like the bones and fingernails of the saints the faithful used to treasure.

“My lady? Shall I take you home now?”

I shook my head. My cheeks, I realized, were damp with tears. “No. Take me to the Tower. I wish to see the duke’s widow.”

***

In those days, John’s power was such that I could go almost anywhere in England I chose, except perhaps to the king’s private apartments. No one challenged me, therefore, as I passed through the Tower gates, having finally managed to make my way through the crowd that was still trying to catch the very last droplets of Somerset’s blood as Somerset’s body and head were bundled into a cart and taken to the Tower chapel for burial. But the guards outside of the Duchess of Somerset’s lodgings did shake their heads warningly as they ushered me inside. “My lady, she may be trouble.”

“I will take my chances.”

Surrounded by her ladies, Anne Seymour was slumped on a chair, her luxurious brown hair wild around her face. She was not even dressed properly, but was in her nightclothes. “Get out,” she hissed.

“I came to see if you needed anything,” I said, realizing as I spoke how stupid a remark that was. What could I do for her? Resurrect her husband? “I mean, to see if you needed any physic, or some spiritual comfort.”

Anne shook her head vaguely and gathered her robe around her more closely. She seemed to have forgotten she’d ordered me out. “I saw them bring him back just now,” she announced.

I looked to her ladies for confirmation. “Aye, Your Grace, she did. She wouldn’t let us keep her from the window.”

“There was so much blood,” Anne said, staring at the wall. “He must have left most of it on the scaffold, but there was plenty in the cart.” She gave a macabre laugh. “Who knew that a man could hold that much blood? Not me. Now I do. They didn’t even bother to wrap his body in a sheet. Just the head.”

“How in the world could you let her see that?” I whispered.

“We would have had to hold her by force to stop her. She was wild.”

“They let me visit him last night,” Anne continued. “We read to each other for a while and we held each other tight and kissed, just like it was when he first started courting me. He married me for love, you know. Other men didn’t want me. They said I was too outspoken and that my father couldn’t give me a large enough portion to make up for that, and then when I turned twenty, they said I was too old.” Tears were spilling down her cheeks. “But he never thought any of those things. He thought I was perfect. In all the years we were married, he never raised his hand against me, or even raised his voice to me. He loved me.”

“I know he did,” I said gently. Anne’s shoulders were shaking, and I put an arm around her.

“I loved him, too. I knew he would advance, but that’s not why I married him! I could have been happy to stay plain Lady Seymour. I would be happy to be that now, if that would bring him back to me.” She touched the pillow beside her. On it laid a little book. “He must have given me something to make me sleepy, because I fell asleep in his arms when I was in his chamber, and when I awoke, I had been carried back here. He told his guards that he couldn’t bear to say good-bye to me and asked them to tell me not to be angry with him for not waking me.” Anne shook her head. “As if I was ever angry at him in his life. With plenty of other people! But never with my dear Edward. And he did leave something for the children and me to remember him by. The constable sent it to me this morning.”