The Temptation of Elizabeth Tudor (35 page)

Thomas entered Parliament that day as usual, where he found Rutland in his accustomed place. For Seymour, the morning’s Parliamentary affairs, which concerned fines in Chester and measures to be taken for soldiers who had returned from war, must have seemed interminable. Later in the day, he heard that the Council was meeting secretly in the garden at Westminster Palace, but was unable to learn what was being discussed.
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Haunting the palace, and finding the way into the garden barred to him, he spotted Lord Russell and barrelled over, asking what the matter was. Russell, however, would tell him nothing, leaving Seymour only to return home frustrated. None of the other Council members would even acknowledge his presence, even though some of them he accounted his friends.

That evening, an alarmed Thomas sent a message to his brother-in-law, Northampton, requesting his presence.
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Northampton found him in a state of high agitation, rehearsing the day’s events out loud. Seymour had had some time to think and now believed that he knew what the Council had discussed, telling Northampton that ‘he thought they went about to see if they could get out anything of Sharington against him’. He then complained that Sharington ‘was the straighter handled for his sake, but for that he cared not, for he was able to answer to all things that should be laid to his charge’. He added, boastfully, ‘that My Lord his brother was in fear of his own estate, and had him in a great jealousy, the which, if I did well mark, I might well perceive, for he went better furnished with men about him than he was wont’. Thomas had noticed that Somerset had begun to go everywhere with a substantial bodyguard, while the Earl of Warwick had moved to stay in the Protector’s house, reputedly ‘for fear of his brother the Admiral’.
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After sending Northampton away, Seymour took a desperate decision, sensing that time was running out.

Imperial Ambassador Van der Delft had begun to make his journey back to England in January 1549, after visiting relatives in Flanders.
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He was keen to return, but found himself forced to wait for some days at Calais for a break in the stormy weather.
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While still there, on 27 January, he fell into conversation with two English messengers, both trying to make their own way across the Channel. They told him quite a tale, which he duly set down in a report to his master, Emperor Charles V.

On the night of 16 January 1549, the quiet of Westminster Palace had been broken by frantic barking outside the king’s chamber. On being awoken, Sir Michael Stanhope, who slept in the king’s chamber, groped for a light before rushing to the door. There, he found the king’s dog stone dead and immediately cried out ‘Help! Murder!’ as everyone in the vicinity came running. Whoever had killed the dog had fled in the commotion. Yet there were those at court who had seen Thomas Seymour lurking around that night, while the guards testified that he had scattered their watch by giving them various errands to run on his behalf. Further details also later emerged. With a key given to him by one of the king’s chamberlains, Seymour had been able to open the door to the room adjoining the king’s bedchamber, ‘which he entered in the dead of night’, accompanied by unnamed accomplices.
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There he disturbed the little dog, which usually slept in the king’s bedroom and was his ‘most faithful guardian’. The animal had been accidentally left outside the door that night, and on hearing Seymour had rushed at him, barking out, only for the Admiral to run him through with his dagger. At once, a guard had entered and challenged the intruder, who said, visibly trembling, ‘that he wished to know whether the prince was safely guarded’ before fleeing.

The Council tried at once to hush up the event, but word leaked out. The story, quickly all over Calais, was that Seymour had ‘tried to take the king away secretly from the guardianship of the Protector’.
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Independently, the Emperor in Brussels received word that Thomas had entered the king’s chamber by night (‘at an undue hour’), accompanied by a party of armed men.
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Even the powerful Paget confirmed the story, later telling Van der Delft that the final straw for the Protector had come when his brother had been discovered in the palace late at night, with a large company of men, while the dog that kept watch at the king’s door was found dead.
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This was the rash move of a man who knew his plotting was soon to be uncovered. His contemporaries were adamant that Seymour intended to take the king into his custody before murdering both the boy and Princess Mary and then claiming the throne as Elizabeth’s husband.
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There was no evidence that Thomas meant to murder his nephew. Almost certainly, though, he tried to take the boy that night. Later, he would be accused of trying ‘to instil into His Grace’s head’ the idea that he should ‘take upon himself the government and managing of his own affairs’.
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In his evening visits to court the week before, did he meet with the king and plan an ‘abduction’ with him? It would seem plausible that the bedchamber key had been given to him at Edward’s command, since none of his attendants (including Fowler, the most likely suspect) was ever accused of this.
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Only a few weeks later, Seymour, while at his lowest ebb, wrote the lines of verse: ‘forgetting God to love a king / Hath been my rod, or else nothing’.
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By 7 February, Thomas’s protests of innocence, in so far as he made any defence, were all based on the claim that he had had the king’s confidence and approval in everything he had planned.
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How could it be treason to do as the king asked? Thomas probably hoped to collect Elizabeth at Hatfield on the way out of London, before taking both the king and the princess to Holt Castle or Bewdley to weather the resulting storm.
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Unfortunately for Seymour, by leaving his dog in the chamber outside his bedroom the boy-king had botched his own escape attempt.

At Westminster Palace on the night of 16 January, Protector Somerset got very little sleep. Very late that night he sent for the Earl of Rutland, before questioning him closely in the near darkness on what he knew about Thomas’s doings.
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The earl told everything.
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Thomas also spent a sleepless, nervous night. Early on 17 January, the Marquess of Northampton came to him again at Seymour Place. He found Thomas bullish, even though he told Seymour that he would be called that day before the Council to answer accusations made against him by the Earl of Rutland.
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Thomas now seemed more agitated than before, ranting about the doings at court. Could he speak to Rutland before the other lords arrived? He wanted to know exactly what had been said. He was not prepared to come quietly, he assured his brother-in-law. He would speak to Lord Russell and Sir William Paget ‘unto whom he would declare his mind’, and he asked the marquess to fetch them. He must remember to say, he said, that ‘he would answer at his own liberty, and not to be shut up first, where he should not come to his answer’. With that, Northampton left.

Although still highly unsettled, Thomas set out for Parliament, taking his seat in the same chamber as his brother. It was to be his final day in Parliament, and a short one. Still shivering in the January cold, the peers hurriedly considered fines to be levied in Chester and the matter of the Bishop of Peterborough’s proxy, before the Duke of Somerset adjourned proceedings to allow everyone to go for dinner.

Thomas Seymour left the chamber to ride with the Marquess of Dorset towards the Earl of Huntingdon’s house, where they had been invited to dine.
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Seymour seemed, to his companion, to be troubled, confiding as they rode that Rutland had accused him to the Council. It must have been a tense meal. Afterwards Dorset, Huntingdon, Sir Nicholas Poyntz and Dorset’s brother Lord Thomas Grey travelled together to Seymour Place. They immediately went to the gallery. As they paced together, Thomas went through everything that he had said to Rutland, trying to work out the nature of the complaint against him. He declared himself a ‘true man’, entirely innocent of any wrongdoing. Yet when a servant entered carrying a summons to go to the Council, he suddenly appeared ‘much afraid’. He was not going, he said, unless Paget came to him as a hostage. He must have an assurance ‘that he would return as free as he went forth’.
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Once the messenger had gone, Seymour called for John Harington, securing his promise that he would take custody of Paget when he arrived. Even the devoted Harington, however, considered this to be a foolhardy idea, although he agreed to act as hostage-taker if so commanded.
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Dorset and his brother must have been aghast as they watched events unfold. It was left to Lord Grey, who was Dorset’s closest confidante, to put a stop to this mad scheme. Turning to Seymour, he said: ‘Knowing yourself a true man, why should you doubt to go to your brother, knowing him to be a man of much mercy?’ He added: ‘Wherefore, if you will follow my advice, you shall go to him.’ Besides, he pointed out practically, ‘if he list to have you, it is not this house that can keep you, though you have ten times as many men as you have’.

Grey had a point. Just how did Seymour think he could hold out in his palatial – but unfortified – townhouse? He had not actually managed to secure the army that he had so often boasted about and had instead been hoping to rely on his yeomen friends from the counties rising in his support. There was nothing for it but to flee or submit. In the early evening of 17 January he agreed to go to the Council by boat, accompanied by Dorset’s brother. On finding himself released from the awkward situation, Dorset himself hurriedly returned to his own home, where he took to his chamber.

Seymour, together with Grey, climbed into his barge after making their way through the already dark gardens at Seymour Place. As they glided quickly down the Thames, Grey attempted to reassure him. ‘Sir, arm you with patience, for now I think it shall be assayed.’
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Thomas declared: ‘I think no. I am sure I can have no hurt, if they do me right; they cannot kill me, except they do me wrong: And if they do, I shall die but once; and if they take my life from me, I have a master that will once revenge it.’ Even in extremity, he was boastful. He had no cause to be.

During the hours of 17 January, Westminster Palace had been abuzz with talk of the Admiral.
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Sitting down together at last, the Protector and the entire Council had met ‘to consult and determine upon a certain order for the stay and repressing of the said Admiral’s attempts’. Somerset recalled to them all how his brother had tried to lay his hands on the king and to manipulate the Parliament. They rehearsed everything that they knew about Seymour’s previous dealings. They also spoke of his attempts to marry Elizabeth and, with ‘one whole mind, consent and agreement’ ordered that he be sent to the Tower. The fallen Lord Admiral was already as good as condemned when he arrived at Westminster. After entering the palace, he was immediately despatched to the Tower, arriving at 8 o’clock that night.
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Thomas entered the ancient fortress in cold darkness. Even for the law-abiding, the building, which loomed up on the Thames, was awe-inspiring. For prisoners, it was terrifying. Already frightened, tense and tired, Seymour kept his composure only with difficulty. There were two main ways into the Tower, either by water through the notorious Traitor’s Gate, or on horseback – tied to the horse to prevent escape – crossing the bridge over the moat. The land route, though avoiding Traitor’s Gate, was almost more disconcerting, since visitors had to pass through the Lion Gate, named for its proximity to the royal menagerie.
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For centuries those in the Tower had been unnerved by the roaring lions and growling bears in the royal collection, while the pungent smell of this private zoo assaulted them. Few escaped from the Tower of London, and the prisoners’ lodgings were spartan. In the chill of winter, there was little comfort and not much sleep to be had there.

After Thomas’s arrest, the Protector and the Council busied themselves in collecting evidence against him, including ordering a search of his residences.
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On 18 January, members of the Council came to Seymour Place and commanded Seymour’s secretary to surrender his signets of office.
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At the same time, they also began to interrogate members of his household. William Wightman, who so disapproved of his master’s dealings, was interviewed either on that day or the next. He told what he knew of Seymour’s activities regarding Catherine’s jewels. John Harington quickly became a particular focus of the enquiry. He freely admitted to his own part in Seymour’s doings, letting slip so much that Sir William Petre, making a note of his answers, recorded drily that ‘he labours to have been in the Tower with the Lord Admiral’.
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Harington got his wish later that day.
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