Honor in the Dust (32 page)

Edmund rolled over in his bed and opened his eyes. Sleep eluded him, as it had for weeks now. He stared at the pillow beside him, thinking of the last time Edith shared his bed; he really didn't miss her. He sighed and got out of bed. He pulled aside the heavy draperies, noting the beautiful morning. His eyes swept over his mother's house, now Claiborn's, and the lush land that extended from it, now heavy with ripening hay.

It was a relief to be past the bitterness and on to acceptance. If only Edith would let it alone! How long had he acted in the same manner, though, held onto the anger he'd felt over Claiborn and Grace? No love replaced it; he merely felt that he no longer cared. And even that was a relief.

Dressed now, he went for a brisk walk, exiting the castle gates with a nod to the guard, out into his own fields. He returned by way of Claiborn's tract of land and ran across his brother sitting on a bench, playing with a litter of puppies.

“Those are nice-looking dogs,” he said, stopping in front of Claiborn.

“They'll be exceptional hunting dogs, Brother.” Claiborn smiled. He lifted one in his direction. “This is the pick of the litter. I know you lost yours last year. Please, I want you to have him.”

“Why, I thank you, Claiborn.” Taking the puppy, Edmund stroked the silky fur and pulled at the long ears. He was surprised
and embarrassed by the offer, more so over the fact that Claiborn had noted his affection for his old lead hunting dog and seemed to be addressing his loss. He had never given Claiborn a gift since his return, even at Michaelmas. “I'll take good care of him.”

“He'll be the best. I remember when you gave me Chieftain. I was only ten, but you knew how to please a boy. I never forgot that gift, Edmund. Best present you could have given me.”

“You did love that dog,” Edmund murmured.

“You gave me lots of gifts when I was a boy and you took me to many places. I've never forgotten any of those times.”

Edmund shifted uneasily, remembering his fondness for Claiborn when he was young, those trips to London. “I've treated you badly,” he blurted out. He was shocked to hear his own words but realized they were true. “I don't know what's happened to me. Why I couldn't get past … you and Grace. Why I couldn't simply get on with life.”

“I wronged you, Edmund.”

“Not any more than I've wronged you.” The confession seemed to open a part of Edmund that had been long closed. He suddenly sat down next to Claiborn on the bench and found himself overwhelmed by regret. “Mother would have been so pleased to see us reconciled. I—I wish I had had this conversation with you before she died.”

“I think she knew that we'd again learn to love each other as brothers.”

Edmund found that his eyes were suddenly blurred with tears. His voice was thick as he said, “Do you think so, Brother?”

“I'm sure of it. And we don't have a big family. We need each other, Edmund.”

“Yes, that's true!” Edmund hesitated, then said, “I'd like
that very much.” And then he felt Claiborn's arm around his shoulders. He could not speak for a time, then he whispered, “I can't undo all the cruel things I've done to you. To Grace. To Stuart.”

“No need to speak of that,” Claiborn said at once. “We'll start again. What if we went hunting, just the two of us. It'll be like when we were children. You can speak to Grace and Stuart when you feel ready.”

“That would be fine!” he said. He put the puppy down and could not find the words to express what he was feeling. He said, “I'll get ready.”

“As will I,” Claiborn said with a smile, rising to shake his brother's hand.

Edmund was sure that he saw joy in Claiborn's eyes that equalled what he himself felt in his heart.

“I've made a decision, Mother.” Ives Hardcastle had entered his mother's chambers. She was sitting at her dressing table putting cream on her hands. She was inordinately proud of them because they were graceful and youthful.

“What's your decision, dear?”

“I'm leaving Stoneybrook.”

“To go where?”

“I'm going to offer my services to Cardinal Wolsey.”

His words caught his mother's attention, and she turned around and studied his face. “Why do you think Wolsey would be interested in you?”

“I've already written him. I explained that I need a place. I need to learn about how things work at court. And I'd serve him well.”

“And he told you to come?”

“Yes. I've just received his answer.”

Edith sat very still for a moment. Then she nodded slowly. “That might be a very good thing. It's good to have powerful friends, Ives.”

“Well, there's no more powerful man in England than Cardinal Wolsey. He practically runs the kingdom.”

“King Henry has put him in his place of late over the Boleyn girl. Forced a rift between him and Rome.”

“But here in England, only the king exceeds his power.”

“He's an ambitious man, and he can be cruel. You understand that?”

Ives smiled. “So can I.”

Edith laughed. “You learned it from me, my dear. Well, what do you need?”

“I need some money to live on. He said nothing about money. He probably thinks I'm wealthy.”

“I have some that I put aside. It would be a good thing if you became a trusted servant of Wolsey. That would open all kinds of doors for you.”

“For us, Mother, for us.”

“When will you leave?”

“Today.”

“What will you tell Edmund?”

“You tell him anything you please. Say that I'm going to learn a trade.” Ives suddenly smiled; there was a wolfish look about his face. He was essentially a greedy young man without morals, and his mother understood this well enough. But she removed a bag from her wardrobe; she took out some gold coins, added a few more for good measure, and handed them to him.

“You'll have to use this wisely. It's getting harder and harder to get money out of Edmund.”

“What a mercy it would be for us if he died.” He saw his mother staring at him and laughed. “Of course you've thought of it. So have I. That would solve all our problems, wouldn't it?”

“He hasn't named you his heir yet, but I'm working on it.”

“Work hard, Mother.” He kissed her lightly on the cheek. “I'll keep in touch with you.”

“Good success, Son.”

Ives considered going to talk to Edmund, but he shrugged. “Mother can do it better than I can.”

He left an hour later in one of the carts that held his belongings. His hopes were high, for he knew that Wolsey could do anything he pleased—as long as it did not go counter to what King Henry wished.

As Ives walked along the richly decorated corridors of Hampton Court Palace, the home of Cardinal Thomas Wolsey, he was impressed by the wealth and the sumptuous trappings of the magnificent structure that Wolsey had built. Hampton was an architectural marvel, built entirely of brick, but in the manner of one of the older castles. It was surrounded by turrets, giving the palace an impression of strength.

Ives eyed the large paintings in gilt frames, the magnificent statuary imported from Italy. He took in the treasures that came from all over Europe. The floor itself was paved with marble that came straight from the finest Italian quarries.

He reached the room of the cardinal and knocked on the door. The cardinal's voice boomed out, “Come in, come in.” He stepped inside, and Wolsey looked up from his desk, covered with documents. He was alone. “Sit down, Hardcastle.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.”

While Wolsey finished writing, the silence was thick in the room. Then he laid the document aside, leaned back, and folded his hands over his large stomach. “So you would like to be in my service.”

“Very much, Eminence.”

“Well, I've learned you're a bright man and shrewd enough
to be included among my assistants.” The cardinal smiled at the shock registered on Ives's face. “Surely you knew I'd investigate you before bringing you here. Ives Hardcastle, son of Lady Edith Winslow, potential heir of Stoneybrook, and yet not quite named as such. Menaced by the potential of Stuart Winslow taking it all in time. Hedging your bets by coming to court.” A smile suddenly came to his lips but not his eyes. “You are clever. I can see that. If you were not, I'd have nothing to do with you. The king is impetuous enough to keep the country intrigued. It takes thoughtful men like us to insure that our sovereign's passions do not lead him into disaster.”

“I believe I see what you mean, Your Grace. He is a difficult man to handle, isn't he—if one can speak of handling a king.”

“That is exactly the word I might have chosen. He may call me an adviser, but I am, in effect, the one who must convince the king to do that which is best—in his own interest, of course.” Once again Wolsey's thin lips turned up in a cold smile. His eyes flicked to the window. “Only in one matter have I failed at this task. It will not happen again.” His eyes returned to Ives, looking him over.

Ives felt himself sweating under the gaze of the cardinal. It was like a bird being watched by a cat about to pounce!

“Let me tell you about power, Hardcastle. That's what you're interested in. I saw that when I first met you at Stoneybrook. I recognized very quickly that you are intelligent enough to rise, though I had to watch for a while to see if you had the kind of mentality for rule. I was the same sort of young fellow as you are. My father was a butcher, you know. I had to rise above all that, and I could not have risen to my position without learning the use of power.”

“You've come a long way, Your Grace.”

Wolsey appeared not to hear him. “Power. What is power? Well, in this country, power is Henry VIII, the sovereign of England. It's in his thick hands; it's in that mind of his that hides
behind those small, guarded eyes. He's not the absolute monarch that other kings of England were in the past. He can no longer say ‘Off with his head!' Oh, no, he must go through forms and legal maneuvers when he wants a man to go to the block or the stake.”

“I understand that, sir.”

“Well, that's what you and I, men like us, are for. You see, Hardcastle, when Henry wants something done, we see that it gets done. So the power lies in the king, that is true, but the king is surrounded by a pretty court of royal household officials, serving in all areas of life. And in some sense, the people who control the power—well, these men are the real power even though they do not wear the crown.”

“Why, that's true enough, isn't it, Your Grace? If a man controls the king, then he is the power.”

“Ah, yes, but what would happen if Henry discovered that someone else had the power?” Wolsey's eyes burned into Ives. “You see, don't you? He's sent many to the headsman already for doing what he wanted done. Henry not only has to represent the power, he must think that it lies solely in his hands. That's why a man such as I, with humble beginnings, has been able to rise. Because I've understood when to comply and when to push. When to step forward and when to retreat. That, my potential new assistant, will be vital for you to learn as well.”

The two men sat there talking, Ives covering his surprise at the casual way in which the cardinal spoke of the king—which he knew Wolsey would not dare to use if the king were present. He asked, “How much power do you wield over the king?”

The cardinal scoffed. “It depends upon the day. Our monarch currently strives for something that I can't give him. If I fail, my remaining days will be few indeed. And those who are allied with me”—he paused to narrow his eyes at Ives—“might also find their neck in a noose.”

He smiled as Ives shifted in his seat. “So what say you, Hardcastle?
Do you have the stomach for such political intrigue? There is potential for great gain here but great loss as well.”

Ives rose and bent his head in deference. “Your Grace, if you will teach me what you will, I will gladly serve you with my very life.”