The Tudor Throne (17 page)

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Authors: Brandy Purdy

BOOK: The Tudor Throne
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“Poor Edward!” I sighed. I could see him in my mind’s eye, weeping as he hugged his murdered pet, wondering if there was even
one
honest man in England who would gladly and selflessly see him to his majority without being blinded by self-interest and ambition or the honeyed words and bribes of court factions.
“There is more, Princess, much more,” Sir Robert said, and went on to tell me that Tom was also under suspicion of having poisoned his wife. Witnesses claimed that he had added a mysterious white powder to her wine, and the way he had forced the dictation and signing of her will was most suspicious, to say nothing of callous and unkind. I learned that he had also planned to invite the entire Council and their wives to a lavish banquet at his London house that would also turn out to be their last supper. In a dark-humored touch, he had even procured a large tapestry depicting the Last Supper to be hung overlooking the banquet table. The banquet was to be held ostensibly to make peace with his brother, but at the last moment Tom had planned to have his cook fall ill, thus necessitating him to send an urgent message to his brother, begging to borrow his own cook for the night else the dinner be ruined. The plan was to administer poison and lay the blame on his brother’s cook and, by extension, upon the Lord Protector himself, thus neatly disposing of all Tom’s enemies in one fell stroke.
Sir Robert also told me that Tom had three lists, which he would whip out at a moment’s whim and show to anyone, even strangers on the street or people passing him in the palace corridors. The first list consisted of the names of Tom’s friends as well as acquaintances who liked him, the second list included the names of men who disliked Tom and favored his brother instead, and the third were those whose preference was either uncertain or for neither. Tom saw it as his mission to move as many names as possible from the second and third lists onto the first. He also kept a map that denoted in solid black ink the parts of England where he was more popular than his brother, and in black spots those where his brother was preferred, and in stripes those areas where neither held sway, so Tom could clearly see the parts of the nation he needed to work on winning over to his side, his goal being to someday see the whole map painted solid black.
My amazement showed clear upon my face, and Sir Robert hastened to assure me, “I know for a fact these documents exist. Sir Thomas unwisely showed them to several men at court who, in their dedication to assuring the safety of the King and realm, brought it to the Lord Protector’s attention. They were also upon his person when he was taken.”
With every word I was discovering more and more what a fool Tom was. His efforts to obtain more supporters were . . . childlike, to put it bluntly. I could easily imagine him saying to his brother, “More people like me than like you!” and putting out his tongue to punctuate it.
But I had little time to ponder this as Sir Robert was now telling me that, whenever he was in London, Tom frequented a particular tavern, where, after a few cups of their finest brew, he would leap up onto the bar, throw off his codpiece, and flamboyantly flaunt his well-endowed masculinity. Brandishing his cock as he strutted back and forth along the bar like a proud cockerel, he would belt out at the top of his lungs a boisterous ditty of his own composition that seemingly consisted of countless repetitions of the same two lines:
O My cock is bigger than my brother’s!
O diddle diddle diddle all the day!
 
He would vigorously urge the other patrons of the tavern to join in. “Everybody sing!” he would shout, waggling his cock at them and declaring, “He deserves a serenade!”
When he tired of singing, Tom would empty his purse into his hands, fling the coins up into the air, letting them fall where they would, and invite all the women in the tavern to “Come and get it, my pretty whores!” and launch himself from the bar onto the nearest table occupied by women of dubious repute, causing the table to splinter and collapse beneath his weight, not that the proprietor particularly minded; Tom was so free with his gold that they could not help but be fond of him and look forward to his visits, and by the time his reign of table-diving was ended by his arrest, he had furnished the Jolly Mermaid with a whole new set of tables and chairs. In fact, so well-regarded was he by the proprietors that they had even painted him onto the shingle-sign outside, embracing the mermaid from behind, cupping a bare breast and kissing her cheek.
It angered me that I blushed, for I knew that was Sir Robert’s aim in telling me this; he wanted to shock me, to provoke some visible reaction. He wanted me flustered, angry and confused, perhaps even jealous and hurt over Tom’s philandering. But I was past that. I was embarrassed for Tom, as I would have been for any fool who comported himself in such a manner, but I was past caring about what he did and whom he did it with. The Lord Admiral’s ship was sinking, and my only goal now was to save myself and my servants from going down with it.
“The man is obviously quite mad,” I said. “Heaven help him, for no one else will.”
I knew that Tom’s madness would not save him; my father had repealed the law against executing the insane for High Treason for the benefit of the vengeful and treacherous Lady Rochford, who had falsely accused my mother and Uncle George of incest, when she lost her wits in the Tower after her role in abetting that poor silly girl Katherine Howard’s adultery was discovered.
“I daresay he will soon stand before a higher judge than Parliament.” Sir Robert nodded. “But now, let us concern ourselves with you, My Lady Princess,” he continued in a crisp, businesslike tone. “Now that you know what the Lord Admiral stands accused of, you must answer for your role in it.”
“That I can do in one word, Sir Robert—
none!
I had
no
part in it whatsoever, no part at all!” I firmly declared. “Do you honestly think, My Lord, that I would be involved in anything so absurdly foolish? The man obviously had more courage than cunning, but it was not enough to carry the thing off!”
“Everyone plays the fool sometime, Princess.
You
are no exception to the rule.” Icicles hung from every word Sir Robert uttered. “However”—he clapped his hands and came to stand before the fire, rubbing them together and holding them out to warm—“you are young, and be grateful for it, for therein your salvation may lie . . .”
“In my youth, My Lord?” I queried. “Not in my trust and faith in God and the following of His commandments?”
“Youth excuses much, Princess. Those with more experience of life may be, in some instances, more tolerant of the foibles and follies, the mistakes and missteps made by persons of more tender years, including the breaking of God’s commandments as well as Man’s laws. And, My Fine Lady, I have reason to believe that you may have broken some of both. Adultery, for instance; the Lord Admiral was another woman’s husband when he first became your lover.” He walked to a table nearby and brandished a sheaf of papers. “I have many reports from the late Dowager Queen’s household at Chelsea . . .”
“Tittle-tattle? Servants’ gossip?”
I exclaimed. “With that you would condemn me? Surely, Sir Robert, you do not take
that
as gospel truth! Servants
love
to gossip about their betters. I daresay your own kitchen maids and laundresses have their share of tales to tell!” I said boldly, brazenly trying to fight down the red tide of shame that was rising inside me as I remembered all that had passed between Tom and myself beneath my stepmother’s roof.
“Alas, they are too numerous to be entirely discounted as gossip. I even have here”—he rifled through the pages—“a report from a midwife who claims she was brought blindfolded to attend you when you gave birth to the Lord Admiral’s child, which was then most foully disposed of, thrown living into the fireplace and burned to ashes, she claims. Many have heard this tale and believe it to be true.”
“How dare you! How do you dare?”
I leapt to my feet and boldly gathered the loose folds of my full, shapeless white nightgown behind me, drawing the fabric taut against my slender body to outline my flat belly and small, firm breasts. “Do I have the look of a woman who has ever borne a child, My Lord?”
“Looks, like words, can be deceiving, Princess.” Sir Robert shrugged, unmoved by my display.
I snatched the papers from him and flung them high, letting them fly and fall where they would. “And these are words that
lie!
” I shouted. “Bring me pen and paper!” I commanded.
“Now!”
I stamped my foot so hard it bruised the sole. “I
will
write at once to my brother, and the Council, and I shall
demand
that a proclamation be published far and wide throughout the land giving the lie to this false and base slander! I shall
not
have my name sullied by some slack-jawed, loose-tongued, slandermongering midwife telling tales to lift herself out of obscurity and get the town gossips and her neighbors to treat her at the alehouse! It is the attention she thirsts for, and it is this
lie
that provides the brew to slake it! And I
will
have my innocence proclaimed from one end of England to the other so that every man, woman, and child knows of it!”
Sir Robert went to the desk and pulled back the chair, indicating that all writing implements I might need awaited me there.
I crossed the room in three long strides and sat down and took a sheet of parchment and selected a quill and bent diligently to my task, letting my outrage take flight as my pen flew back and forth over the page, the quill biting deep and shaking like the wings of an avenging angel as I wrote. When I had finished I did not bother to seal it but simply thrust it at Sir Robert and asked him to convey it immediately to the Lord Protector.
“I
will
have my innocence proclaimed from one end of England to the other! I shall have it shouted into every nook and cranny of this realm until
every
man, woman, and child knows that Elizabeth Tudor is no man’s doxy!” I declared, and then, with my head held high, I swept grandly from the room and upstairs to my bedchamber without waiting for Sir Robert to give me leave to retire.
When I burst through the door I nearly collided with the curtsying black-clad figure of Sir Robert’s grim, sour-faced wife, still clad in deepest mourning for her beloved former stepmother, Katherine Parr.
Lady Tyrwhitt was also Kate’s stepdaughter by her first marriage, and by her expression clearly believed the rumors swirling about myself and the Lord Admiral.
“My Lady Princess,” she said in a voice as hard as her face, “in the absence of Mrs. Ashley, I am commanded to serve you as your lady-governess.”
“Get out!”
I stamped my foot at her. “If I can’t have Kat I will have no one, and certainly not
you
, My Lady
Gaoler!
”
“It is the Council’s pleasure that I remain,” she said frostily, drawing her back up full straight.
“But not yours!” I challenged.
“No, Madame, it is most certainly not
my
pleasure, but . . . duty calls.” She turned her attention to turning back my bed, giving the pillows such shakes and slaps as she plumped them that I had the distinct impression that she wished them my head instead so that she might box my ears and slap and pummel me. “Bad blood tells!” she hissed harshly, each word coinciding with a slap to the pillows. “Like mother, like daughter! You stole Kate’s husband the same as Anne Boleyn stole Katherine of Aragon’s!”
Furiously, I yanked the pillow from her hands and flung it across the room.
“Get out!”
I said in a voice low and murderous. “Else you regret it, Madame, for I am not only Anne Boleyn’s daughter but Henry VIII’s as well and you would
never
have dared be so free with your opinions in my father’s presence! And if you are to serve me, even though we both dislike it, then you
will
bridle your damned scold’s tongue and treat me with the respect that is due a king’s daughter!”
She took a step back and I saw the shadow of fear flit across her face before she lowered her head and bobbed a brief curtsy. “As you wish, Madame. Good night,” she murmured as she hastily backed out and shut the door behind her.
Once she was gone, I let my façade of bravado and strength crumble, like an aged and decayed marble pillar, and collapsed, facedown and weeping, onto my bed.
I slept through a whole day and night until the following dawn. Then I rose and dressed to do battle with Sir Robert again. Did St. George feel this exhilarating yet daunting mixture of courage and fear, determination and dread, when he went out to slay the dragon? I wondered as I descended the stairs.
 
In the difficult and trying days that followed, Sir Robert continued to try to wile and beguile a confession out of me, repeating often that my youth excused much, as did my weak and fragile female sex. I was, he opined, more sinned against than sinning. The lion’s share of the blame lay rightly upon Mrs. Ashley’s shoulders, he claimed, for as my governess she had charge of me and should have known better than to encourage a scoundrel like the Lord Admiral to court me.

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