The Tapestry (14 page)

And built his seat within my captive breast,

Clad in the arms wherein with me he fought,

Oft in my face he doth his banner rest.

But she that taught me love and suffer pain,

My doubtful hope and eke my hot desire

With shamefast look to shadow and refrain,

Her smiling grace converteth straight to ire.

And coward Love, then to the heart apace

Taketh his flight, where he doth lurk and plain,

His purpose lost, and dare not show his face.

For my lord’s guilt thus faultless bide I pain.

Yet from my lord shall not my foot remove:

Sweet is the death that taketh end by love.

We were forced to part again.”

I wondered at the earl’s recklessness—a “coward love” that “taketh his flight”? How like his grandfather he was. The Duke of Buckingham had relished every chance to subtly mock King Henry, and had paid for it with his life.

But this same king did not seem to hear the darker part of a poem that ended with a parting. He thanked Surrey, commanded that the music resume, and took Catherine’s little hand in his, kissing it in his own display before us all of “hot desire.”

Revolted yet trapped in this cage of a royal court, I turned in the design of the dance to extend my hand to the next gentleman, and came face-to-face once more with Sir Walter Hungerford.

“Ah, so I see you are a favorite of Ambassador Chapuys?” he said, eyes gleaming.

“No,” I said.

“A pity,” said Sir Walter. “I was hoping you could obtain me an
invitation to his library. For years I’ve longed to see
that
collection.” He laughed at his own bizarre private joke. Fortunately, the dance sent me on to another partner.

It was not until the dance was over that I could speak again to Surrey. I was so agitated that my words emerged in a tumble: “I have remained at court not to seek favor but because of my fears for Catherine, a defenseless girl. A concern shared by no one in her own family.” Surrey winced, but I could not stop now. “Is this the only remedy for the disease of hating Cromwell, to sacrifice Catherine’s virtue? You have no more honorable way to increase your influence with the king?”

Surrey said, “There is another way to put an end to Cromwell, though it be anything but honorable. I can say not a word to you about it. Only that, someday, when all has changed, I hope to redeem myself in your eyes, Joanna.”

My young cousin spoke with such dignity that I felt almost ashamed. I stepped back as the music began and people chose new partners. Surrey bowed before a young lady who was thrilled to be chosen and they took their places in the next lines. I had had enough and moved away from the place of dancing.

His words sent off a deep warning inside me. My cousin had a secret and I wondered if it would be possible to coax it from him.

A manservant was studying me, his beefy arms wrapped around a tray. The same young man who’d smiled when I turned away wine. He
still
smiled. This, at least, I could do something about.

“You have something to say to me?” I demanded.

I’d meant to banish that hateful smirk, but instead it deepened. “Yes, mistress, I do, and something ye might find of interest,” he whined. I saw that his nose had been broken and assumed that was why he spoke this way.

“My name is Tom,” he continued, “and if I were to tell ye that a man has been asked to watch out for ye, to inform on yer movements, would that be of interest to ye or yer kin?” he asked.

“Who is informing on me?” I demanded.

Tom slid toward me, lowering the tray, and picked up a plate left
behind on the table shoved against the wall. Making a show of examining the plate, he said, “Do ye see yonder a tall man with a long black beard, at the dais, standing behind the bishop? Don’t be obvious in yer surveying, I beg ye. He’s a mean, base creature.”

At the far end of the dais, towering behind the bishop, I did observe a man of that description. He stood tall, a hand on each hip, as he looked to the right and then the left, surveying the crowd. When he reached my part of the banquet hall, his gaze halted as he settled on me, and then, after a few seconds, resumed his sweep.

I swallowed and said, “Tell me who asked that man to watch me.”

Tom chuckled and said, “I don’t know the other man’s name but I know where to find him. He’s in Winchester House, hiding. For a price, Mistress. I will take yer kinsmen to him.”

“Kinsmen?”

Tom answered, his eyes glistening, “Ye be a Howard, aren’t ye? And they are a rich clan. This news be of worth to them.”

Now I understood Tom’s motives. It was too bad for him that he dealt with a lone Stafford, not a Howard. I said, “First tell me about the man who wants me watched. Did you see him?”

“I did.”

“Give me his name.”

“Oh, I do not think he gave that in my hearing.”

My heartbeat quickening, I said, “What did he look like?”

Tom thought for a moment and said, “He’s a tall man, could be thirty years of age, light brown hair. A beard.”

It was he—the man who’d attacked me that first day—and he was in the same building as I.

Pleased by my reaction, Tom said, “He pointed you out and then asked yonder foreman if he would send word when you left Winchester House. Gave him a few pence and said there would be more when word was given. I heard it all. Seems to me he wishes to follow ye, mistress. I’d hate to see a lady such as yerself come to harm this night.”

It took me a moment to gather myself. I desperately wanted to find out who was directing the actions of the man who sought to harm me. From the first day, I had known that this was the only course that would free me from fear—discovering who and why. Then I could mount a defense.

“Tom, have you a knife on you?” I asked.

He proudly patted his doublet pocket. “Always, mistress. And a sharp one, too.”

I pulled the pearl earring from my left ear. “I will give you this, Tom, if you take me to this man concealed. No Howards. No one else. Just you and me. And we go at once.”

17

I
t took both of my pearl earrings to persuade Tom to lead me to the room where my assailant hid. He was grievously disappointed that my name was not Howard. Even if I weren’t part of the sprawling clan, surely I could take this matter to one of the men in the banqueting hall for a bit of business?

When I ruled that out because of the matter’s private nature, he leered, “Ah, mistress, he’s a man of yer past, eh?”

“In a manner of speaking,” I said, through gritted teeth. Just as he wished I were someone different, I wished I didn’t have to join forces with such a repellent ruffian. But I must make use of either Tom or the hard-faced brute who stood behind Bishop Gardiner. They were the ones who knew where my enemy was.

“Bear in mind that this won’t be a happy reunion upstairs,” I said. “You may need to make a show of your knife while I speak to him.”

“You won’t want me to drag him downstairs?” Tom said.

What a fitting end to the bishop’s banquet that would make
, I thought. Particularly since the man who directed the attack could be in this very room. After tonight, I’d never again doubt that the Bishop of Winchester, the Duke of Norfolk, and the imperial ambassador all detested me enough to wish to see me harmed. Within the hour, I could discover which one.

“But he did look a strong fellow,” said Tom. And then: “I have a remedy for this. I shall return in a moment, mistress.”

Tom’s “remedy” was a fellow servant named Roger, an absolutely massive man with bleary blue eyes and whiskers that shot in all di
rections on his shiny red chin. “Roger’ll help me, won’t ye?” said Tom, with a clap on his broad back. Roger grunted and strained to scratch the place on his back where he’d been thumped.

Since we did not want to suggest that I was departing the banquet, I left the main hall in the opposite direction of the door leading out of Winchester House and walked instead through a large study where people not inclined to dance were lounging and drinking wine. After a few moments, Tom beckoned from the narrow door in the corner and I hurried down a long passageway snaking past the kitchens and storerooms and cold pantries. At the end was a set of worn stairs.

While climbing the steps leading higher into Winchester House, I tried to plan what I’d say. With Tom on one side and Roger on the other, I’d demand an explanation for the attack in Whitehall and his lying in wait for me tonight. I had no illusions that it would be a simple matter to learn my enemy’s name. But at least I’d have the upper hand, and a series of options, including sending for Thomas Culpepper and turning the man over to him. I still worried that making this an official matter could lead to questions and expose my most dangerous secrets. But now that I was more intertwined with the court than ever, I couldn’t continue at Whitehall with an enemy in the shadows. It was possible that this man would escape punishment for hurting me that first day—but at least I’d deal a blow to the plotters against me.

The size of Winchester House became even more apparent as Tom led me farther and farther in. Roger carried the candle to light the way as we moved from the servants’ stairs to the main corridor of the second story, and passed a well-appointed library, where a half dozen men—priests and scholars, I guessed—read texts by candlelight.
This
was the purpose of the Bishop of Winchester’s London residence, not the bacchanal downstairs.

“The room be right down there,” whispered Tom, pointing down a passageway with his right hand and gleefully shaking my earrings in his left. Roger’s response was yet another grunt.

“The man is hiding here?” I asked, surprised that he’d choose a
second-story room so near a library. A hiding spot closer to the banquet would have made more sense.

Tom nodded, licking his lips.

A loud confrontation now seemed inadvisable. Did I want a group of scholars listening?

“Have ye lost yer spirit for this?” Tom hissed. “Now will ye want me to fetch some of the Howard men?”

I shook my head.

My throat was tight, my hands clammy, as I followed Tom the rest of the way, Roger lumbering behind us. I’d pressed for this—I’d paid for this—but now I dreaded looking at the face of the man who tossed me across the storeroom in Whitehall. And did these two servants possess the strength and speed to contain him?

There were three closed doors on this passageway. Tom strode to the third one. “Hold up the candle, Roger,” he whispered. The light revealed that the door had a number carved on it: 41. Tom nodded, and looked at me, licking his lips again. I so wished he wouldn’t do that.

I gave the signal with a terse nod.

Tom rapped on the door, twice. “There’s a matter requiring yer attention, sir,” he said, all unctuous.

I tensed at the creak of floorboards on the other side of the door. It opened a few inches—and Master John Cheke peered out into the corridor, blinking in the bright light of the candle Roger had thrust close to the door. At the sight of me, his eyes widened.

“You’ve made a mistake,” I said, furious, rounding on Tom. “This is not the right man.”

“No, he isn’t the right man—but
this
be the right room,” insisted Tom.

“And there’s no mistake,” said a second man from inside the room. My whole body tightened in response to that voice, one I knew so well.

But he couldn’t be here. It wasn’t possible.

The floorboard creaked again. The door opened all the way. Di
rectly behind John Cheke stood Geoffrey Scovill, the constable of Dartford, the man who had saved me, and fought with me, and loved me, suffering so much when I chose another. He looked exactly the same, except he’d started a beard. Tall and broad-shouldered—no wonder Tom hadn’t relished confronting him—Geoffrey was scrutinizing me with light blue eyes.

Cheke said, “Joanna, what are you doing here?” He mopped his face with a cloth, distressed.

“Joanna never stays where you put her,” said Geoffrey matter-of-factly.

I finally found my voice through the shock. “Geoffrey, what is happening? Why would you pay someone to spy on me? How could you do such a thing?”

Geoffrey sighed. “As much as I don’t want to explain, I see I will be required to. But first, let’s put something in order.” He crooked his finger to Tom and Roger, who had been listening gape-mouthed to the whole exchange. In less than a minute, I had my earrings and the menservants had the boot, along with a stern constabulary warning about preying on guests of the bishop.

In John Cheke’s small room, filled with towering stacks of books and papers, there were but stools, and I planted myself on one. Nothing about this made sense, but I had no intention of leaving until it did.

Cheke began: “I sent word to Geoffrey to come here tonight, not knowing about the banquet until too late. He saw you when he entered Winchester House along with the other guests and didn’t want you to see him.”

I felt my cheeks redden. I knew I wasn’t Geoffrey’s favorite person but when had it reached this pass?

Watching me, Geoffrey said, “It’s not a matter of antipathy, Joanna. Master Cheke had sensitive business to discuss with me, and I didn’t wish to involve you, to upset you. I asked that servant of Gardiner’s to come up here and let me know when you left so I wouldn’t run across you on my departure back to Dartford.”

“So you
are
still in Dartford?” I asked. “I’d heard otherwise.”

Geoffrey glanced at John Cheke. Some sort of silent message hovered between them and then Geoffrey said, “I shall be leaving, but it’s not yet clear when.”

Growing frustrated, I said, “What could Master Cheke possibly have to do with your departure, your livelihood? And what sort of business would you have to discuss? I don’t remember the two of you even being acquainted, except the day of . . .”

I couldn’t come out and say the words “my wedding.” My union with Edmund Sommerville never took place, because, as I’d tried to explain to Catherine, moments after we arrived at Holy Trinity Church, news came of the Act of Six Articles, forbidding marriage to those who’d ever taken vows of celibacy in a monastery. The painful memory rose of Cheke urging us to marry anyway and then seek official approval, until Geoffrey, acting as the legal representative of the town, forbade the ceremony.

It was as if Geoffrey read my thoughts, for his face grew mournful, too. The bright, curious light in his eyes dimmed. A new apprehension clawed at me.

It was Cheke who said, “Yes, Joanna, this concerns Edmund.”

I covered my mouth with my hands, looking at these two men, for their countenances were so serious, I
knew
.

I lowered my trembling hands to whisper, “He’s dead, isn’t he? Edmund’s dead?”

“No,” said Geoffrey quickly.

“To be completely honest, we don’t know if he’s dead or alive,” said Cheke. “That’s why I’ve asked Geoffrey to help. Edmund has been gone for almost eight months and no one has heard from him in six months.”

“But Edmund is in Europe—in Germany,” I said, and regretted it instantly.

“How do you know that?” Geoffrey asked, all intent again. “Has he written to you? I thought you’d received no letters. That’s what you told Mistress Gwinn.”

“So you
are
spying on me,” I said, my voice rising.

Cheke intervened, his hands outstretched, “Joanna, please do not be offended. I asked Geoffrey to make such inquiries. I’ve hired him to search for Edmund—that was a part of the task. This is a delicate matter. Very delicate. I know that what happened with your wedding and everything afterward was extraordinarily painful. But, Joanna, he is my friend. For years he was a friend—with all due respect to you, for years before you even met him. I must find Edmund, or at least learn if he is dead or alive. I cannot go on without knowing.”

John Cheke looked so distressed, snatching up the cloth to wipe his face, that I felt wretched for not realizing that Edmund’s well-being mattered to others beyond myself. While both lived at Cambridge, Cheke and Edmund found they shared an interest in ancient Greek texts, and a friendship of humanists had deepened, in spite of their differences in religion.

His arms folded, Geoffrey said, “You will please tell us how you know Edmund is in Germany if you’ve received no letters from him.” I knew that tone well; there was no possibility of his giving up.

What an agonizing dilemma. When I’d refused last year to go forward with my part in assassinating the king, I was imprisoned by Jacquard Rolin for months at Het Gravensteen, a stone fortress in Ghent. Persuasive arguments followed by vicious threats didn’t force me to comply, so one day Jacquard revealed their plot to find Edmund and drag him to the same prison.

It wasn’t Geoffrey’s badgering that weakened me, but John Cheke’s eyes, full of pleading. I said, “In the early autumn, I was told that Edmund had requested permission to leave England, it was granted, and his boat reached a port in some part of the Holy Roman Empire. Then, in November, I learned that Edmund was believed to be in the Black Forest of Germany, but no one knew where. As of early December, that had not changed.”

“It fits, Geoffrey,” exulted Cheke. “Those dates confirm the letter from Paracelsus.”

“Who is that?” I asked.

“A Swiss man whose birth name is Philippus Aureolus Theophrastus Bombastus von Hohenheim—but he is known as Paracelsus,” Cheke said happily. “Edmund saw him in his home in Salzburg, in Austria. After that, we are not sure where he traveled to, though we think a part of Germany.”

But Geoffrey was not sharing in the celebration. He said, “I cannot assess the soundness of Joanna’s facts without knowing the source.”

I stared back at him, resolutely silent.

Geoffrey said slowly, “I know that you traveled to Flanders for several months, Joanna. At one point you told Agatha that it was to look for Edmund, but that you were unsuccessful. A little later, you denied that was the purpose of the trip and were simply vague. I suspect that you traveled to Flanders to find another priory to enter, to resume your life as a Dominican nun. There are many cases of nuns and friars and monks doing so after our king dissolved the monasteries. Is that how you learned of Edmund’s movements—through friars who knew of him?”

Outraged, I said, “My life is not a domain for inquiry, Geoffrey. Why are
you
doing this—helping John Cheke locate Edmund? He cares about him, but you? I don’t follow this. What does it have to do with your leaving Dartford? If he is in Germany or Austria, that’s the end of it. You can’t travel there.”

“I can’t?” Geoffrey said.

I began to laugh, but it died in my throat as I saw both men were serious.

“You plan to wander a vast land of duchies and kingdoms and impenetrable forests, not knowing the language or a single person who lives there?” I asked.

Cheke protested, “It’s not as mad a plan as that, Joanna.”

I took a step toward Geoffrey. “Tell me the true reason you are doing this. We both know you never liked Edmund—not since the beginning, when he was still a friar at Dartford.
You
were the one
who prevented our wedding. Now you’re going to abandon England, in order to search for him?”