The Boleyn King (25 page)

There were those who felt they should hold what they’d taken, garrison Le Havre and Harfleur for the long term and leave that thorn in Henri’s side to fester. Others wanted to press forward the advantage they hadn’t had in a century. And while the debate continued, every day was a gift to Renaud LeClerc inside Rouen, allowing him time to plan and prepare for any eventuality. Dominic chafed at the inaction.

No more. He finally had a plan, one that even Northumberland might be persuaded to accept, though Dominic was less concerned with persuading the Earl Marshal than he was with persuading William. As long as the king was in the field, the king would decide.

Dominic ducked inside the tent where Northumberland and Sussex were engaged in their daily reports. William sat at a table, reading and signing letters and apparently not listening at all. Dominic knew that was an illusion. William was quite capable of doing ten things at once and still recalling word for word any conversation held in his hearing.

He motioned Dominic near while the others continued to discuss supply lines. Looking at Dominic’s mud-splashed plain gold tunic, William said, “Tell me again why I bothered to make you a marquis. Any other man would gladly flaunt his new rank and colours.”

William’s teasing had been going on for two weeks, ever since the day they sailed from Calais and William first saw him still dressed in his familiar plain gold. Dominic had not been able to articulate why, offering fumbling responses about not wanting to wear his new colours at sea. The truth was vaguer—he simply hadn’t felt that the time had come for him to don his Exeter colours. He looked at them every day, the tunic and pennon laid neatly in his tent, and felt that they were saying to him,
Not yet
.

Then, late last night, Jonathan Percy had come to him with some question about horses and armour. Dominic really couldn’t remember what it was he’d wanted to know, because the first thing Percy had said was, “I’m sure Lord Robert will mention that I was talking to him about this earlier. That’s the third time I’ve mistaken him for you and got halfway through a question before I realized. You’re both so dark it can be hard to tell you apart without paying attention.”

Percy had kept talking, but Dominic hadn’t heard a word of it, for his mind had caught hold of that—
the third time I’ve mistaken him for you
. And he thought of a story that one of Renaud’s men had told him once, about a campaign in Italy and a daring move by Renaud to surprise the enemy.

And all at once, Dominic had it—the unexpected, the twist that would throw Renaud off-balance and give England the edge in open battle. Renaud might claim no man had ever surprised him twice, but Dominic knew that with this plan, he could more than surprise Renaud.

He could beat him.

He answered William’s taunt with the same reply he’d given every time. “I want to wear my new colours in battle, not waste them in the tedium of attrition.”

“Le Havre and Harfleur were battles.”

“Over so quickly there wasn’t time to change tunics.”

“Sieges are as much a part of war as battles.”

“Don’t tell me you’re content sitting on this muddy plain waiting for a break in either weather or siege.”

Indeed, William looked more each day like a warhorse that had been relegated to a farm. Dominic could almost see the pulse of his desire, the wish for action beating beneath his skin.

“I’m not content. But there seem to be no viable options other than pulling back.”

“There are always options,” Dominic answered. “One has only to recognize them.”

With a quizzical expression, William waited.

“All soldiers share the same dislike for sieges, whichever side of the wall they’re on. And the leaders of Rouen will not want an army camped inside indefinitely. They want open battle as much as we do. Let’s tempt them outside the walls to fight.”

“You cannot give the French the advantage of numbers and expect to win,” Sussex said.

“We can,” Dominic said, “if we have the advantage of choosing the ground. Move now, and we can pick our battlefield and make the French come to us.”

“What are the benefits?” William asked, prudent as a king should be even when prudence is against every instinct.

“The unexpected will always give the advantage of surprise.”

“Northumberland?”

The duke shook his head. “Surprise or not, we cannot escape the fact that in head-to-head battle, our army will be outnumbered.”

“Which is why,” Dominic said promptly, “I have one more surprise in store. What if Renaud looks to our line on the field and sees the colours of all our leaders arrayed against him—Northumberland, Sussex, Exeter … and the king?”

Sussex snorted, and Northumberland narrowed his gaze as he said, “Put the king in the line? That’s madly dangerous.”

“It will bring out the French.”

“Of course it will!” Sussex exploded. “A chance to capture the king? Do you know what that ransom would cost England? And what if he’s hurt or—”

“That’s enough,” William said. “There’s more to this, Dom, isn’t there? Something to do with your previously unworn colours as Exeter.” William leaned forward with a gleam in his eye. “What are you thinking?”

Dominic smiled. And then he told them the outlines of the story Renaud’s lieutenant had shared months ago. Of a battle against the Italians, when Renaud’s men were tired of a long siege and it seemed retreat was the only option. Renaud had created another option, using a decoy dressed as himself to lead his army away while he and a small force of handpicked men slipped into the Italian city in plain clothes. Renaud’s “retreating” army circled back around in the night and attacked from without at the same time Renaud and his force set off explosions from within. The surprise of sabotage, coupled with the surprise of Renaud being where no one had expected him to be, turned the tide, and the French won back the city.

Northumberland eyed him with a glimmer of hope that reminded Dominic of just how clever a commander John Dudley was. “But you are not counseling a retreat and sabotage; you want to advance openly, let them know we’re coming.”

“I want them to know
you
are coming,” Dominic said. “You, Sussex, the king—and, yes, myself. Dressed in the gold I have always worn in tournament or battle. Renaud will count the colours before him and never think to look behind.”

Slowly Northumberland smiled and nodded. “Unconventional.”

Sussex was less impressed. “Some might call it cheating.”

“Not cheating,” William answered. “Winning.” He looked straight at Dominic, eyes glinting in a manner that made the latter unaccountably nervous, and said, “It’s perfect, except for one thing—I will command the covert force that comes in behind.”

The tent was silent, save for the sound of rain hitting the sodden fabric above.
I should have seen this coming
, Dominic thought.
He is aching to prove himself. How the hell do I tell him no?

Because of course William could not do this—and Dominic would have to tell him so. No one else wanted that task. As Sussex and Northumberland exited the tent, Dominic thought he saw sympathy in the duke’s eyes.

Dominic wasted no time in evasion, and he emphasized his seriousness with formality. “Your Majesty, you cannot lead this force. You must take the field here, surrounded by the full weight of your army.”

He could almost have given William’s answer, word for clipped word. “I decide what I can and cannot do. Let Henri sit safely at home—I do not ask my men to take risks I will not.”

“Which is why I allow you to take the field at all—but this I will not allow. Might I remind you of what happened to the last English king who charged an enemy headlong? Surely a Tudor remembers Bosworth Field. Richard made a brave end, but an end nonetheless. Your grandfather, on the other hand, was wise enough to hang back, and he ended the day as king.”

William’s cheeks were flushed with temper, and his voice slipped a little. “Why not tell me the truth, Dom? You don’t want me leading the covert force because you don’t think I can do it. At the least, not as well as you can.”

“You can’t,” Dominic said simply. “I am the last man in the world to underestimate you, Will, but this situation requires experience. We cannot afford to fail. You need me to do this—and I need you to do as I ask. Stay here. Stand with Northumberland and Dudley. Be the symbol that will draw out the French. And trust me to do the rest.”

Enthusiastic acceptance was too much to hope for, but William did manage to nod and even clasp Dominic’s hand in his. “If you fail, I’ll never let you forget it,” he warned.

“Fair enough.”

18 August 1554
Hever Castle

We arrived after nine o’clock last night and found the queen sleeping. I stood quietly nearby while the physician asked questions of her household. He pronounced himself satisfied with what they had done and did not seem inclined to wake her
.

It was her eyesight that betrayed her. Since her vision has darkened, Her Majesty has taken to descending stairs with even more studied grace than normal, one hand always trailing lightly along a balustrade or against a wall to steady her. At last, her precautions failed. A misplaced step, a momentary loss of balance—the briefest unsurety was all it took to send her tumbling to the bottom of the stairs
.

It is her head that is the great concern, for according to her attendants, she struck the stone floor quite sharply. But the local surgeon who saw her first assured us there was no break in the skull. Other than a quite natural headache, she complained of no pain. The royal physician will see her again this morning when she wakes. I sat with her through the night, and she seemed to sleep peacefully enough. I shall hope for encouraging news to send Elizabeth later today
.

23 August 1554
Hever Castle

The queen is not progressing as we had hoped. After our first morning here, when she seemed no more than irritable and uncomfortable, Her Majesty’s condition has declined. She has been restless and feverish, and the least light brings on blinding pain in her head. The physician seems of little use—but perhaps that is only my fear speaking. I am certain he is doing all he can. If not for the sake of the queen, then for his own reputation at least
.

I have been with her nearly every waking hour and for much of the nights. She is worse during the day, for the heat of summer and the necessity of keeping her room dark and shuttered does nothing to ease her fever. We keep her cool as best we may, with wet cloths and even damp bed linens, trying to reduce her temperature
.

At night we can throw open the shutters and allow the cool air to circulate in the room. Within an hour or so of sunset last night, Her Majesty began to breathe more easily and the hectic flush in her cheeks cooled. And then it was that she began to talk
.

I have never heard the queen speak so candidly. She told me stories of her childhood here at Hever, of the games she and her brother would devise, with their sister, Mary, never quite able to keep up. It gave me pause to hear Lord Rochford spoken of with such casual warmth
.

She spoke also of her marriage, occasionally in terms that threatened to make me blush. Her Majesty does not mince words, either in praise or in condemnation. Her marriage could never have been serene, but hearing her talk, I wager she found more pleasure in arguments with Henry than she ever would have found in a placid existence with a less dominant husband
.

I shall give it another day before I write again to Elizabeth
.

24 August 1554
Hever Castle

I have sent a messenger for Elizabeth, requesting that she come as soon as possible. Her Majesty refuses all food, and only laudanum eases her enough that she can sleep—and even drugged, she twitches and moans
.

But it is her mind that worries me. She did not know me this morning. She called me Marie, thinking I was my mother. It was only for a few minutes, but it was unnerving to have the queen speak to me so familiarly, calling me “chérie” and “pet” and asking me what I thought of the latest letter from Henry. I hardly know what I said in return, but eventually her eyes cleared and she came back to the present. I almost wish she hadn’t, for the present meant also a return of pain. The physician dares not increase her laudanum, for fear of putting her into a sleep from which she will not wake. He claims he has done all he can. Perhaps Elizabeth can motivate him to something new
.

26 August 1554
Hever Castle

Elizabeth arrived after dark the day after I sent my message. Since then, she has alternated between sitting with her mother and doing what government business is necessary. I do not believe she has slept at all
.

Though we have kept the castle itself as empty as possible, the outbuildings and surrounding farms are crawling with government functionaries. At least we have been able to keep out the useless members of court, who could serve no purpose but to be in the way
.

The queen is no better, but she is also no worse. There are hours when my heart sinks, afraid of what I will not name, even to myself. But there are also long periods when she is lucid and somewhat eased in body. The physician has bled her and dosed her until he can do no more. It is a matter of time alone, he says. Until she is better, Elizabeth adds. She will believe no less
.