The Boleyn King (29 page)

In a gentler voice, Elizabeth said, “Then why not stay and set it right at once? It will not be easier for waiting.”

Finding her sympathy harder to face than her judgment, he turned away and said roughly, “I can’t see her yet. Not yet, Elizabeth. I need time to …”
To forget the smell of her hair and the taste of her skin and the feel of her body against mine. To forget that I wanted her so desperately I’d have overthrown all honour to have her at that moment, with my mother lying dead not ten feet away
.

He shook his head to clear it and said in a stronger voice, “I need to concentrate on France. With our victory, we have the best chance we’ve ever had of breaking Mary Stuart’s French betrothal. She is the only woman I can think about just now.”

Elizabeth touched his shoulder. “You cannot afford to fall in love with her, William.” She did not mean Mary Stuart.

Almost he asked about Robert, and the expense of loving where one should not. But there had been enough discord for one morning.

As he took her arm to escort her back, he thought bleakly,
I’m not certain that falling in love is entirely in my control
.

8 September 1554
Tower of London

Over a period of two days, Queen Anne’s hearse was brought from Hever to the Thames, and today we continued by river to the Tower. As Elizabeth and I arrived by boat ourselves, she murmured to me that the last time her mother had rested at the Tower was the night before her coronation. “She was pregnant with me at the time,” Elizabeth added, her eyes far away
.

I can still see every detail of the journey—the black-draped church fronts, the press of people lining the river, the flat-bottomed boat atop which the queen’s hearse rested, draped in her colours and her falcon badge
.

Once the procession had arrived, her ten days of lying in state began with a solemn mass in St. Peter ad Vincula. The orations were fulsome but not genuine. I would swear not one person in a thousand truly mourns Anne Boleyn
.

I saw William only from a distance. I am not certain he even knew I was there
.

11 September 1554
Tower of London

Elizabeth and I will remove tomorrow to Greenwich until the funeral. I am glad—though the Lieutenant’s Lodging is comfortable, I do not like the Tower. There is violence here, sucked in by the stones. The ghosts of Richard VI and Lady Salisbury and even the first King William, the conqueror who planted his White Tower as a fortress five hundred years ago. I cannot get warm while I am here
.

William left for Windsor yesterday
.

I have written to Dominic. I wish he were here. It would be better for all of us if he were
.

But would it be better? Minuette wondered as she closed her diary. Or would it merely increase her feeling of unreality, the sense that she had become detached from her own life? And how could she possibly face Dominic with the memory of what had passed—not just between the two of them, but between her and William?

Tell me—do they take you in turn, or is it both at once?

As Giles’s voice sounded in her head, Minuette uttered a most unladylike word, then jumped guiltily when Lord Rochford said, “Am I interrupting?”

“Not at all. Shall I fetch the princess for you?”

Hooking a chair with one hand, he sat facing her. “I was looking for you, actually.”

That could not possibly be good.

Instantly dread skittered across her mind. He knew about Hever, and had come to scold her—or worse. What were the limits of his power, anyway? Could he send her out of Elizabeth’s household? Banish her from court? Surely not if William protested. But what if William had sent his uncle to do it for him?

“Mistress Wyatt, I believe you are somewhat familiar with the Duke of Norfolk’s household.”

Caught off guard, she stammered, “F-Familiar? I don’t … why?”

Rochford had a way of speaking to her as though she were an idiot child. “Your mother was married to the duke’s brother; you spent time there when you were younger.”

“Only three times, and only for a few weeks. My mother died when I was eight.”

“That alone makes you very useful to the king at present. I’m sure you recall that the Lady Mary has been allowed to stay at Framlingham while we gather evidence. As you are one of the few with at least some information on the matter, I would like you to join the Howards for the next little while.”

“I thought you had informants with the Lady Mary.”

“And no doubt she sees them as such. You, however, have a legitimate reason to visit your family, of a sort. Besides, she likes you. And she knows you are a great friend to her siblings. She will not be able to resist thinking of you as her ally.”

She likes me?
Minuette was oddly flattered, but also distressed. “If Elizabeth does not wish to release me? It is such a difficult time.…”

“Mistress Wyatt, do I need to impress upon you the importance of the Penitent’s Confession? Elizabeth knows the path of duty. If you wish to help her, you can do no greater service than to find this document before it falls into the wrong hands. I would rather not entrust this to you,” he added dubiously, “but I dare not let word of the Penitent’s Confession spread further than the four of you who already know. William will return to France as soon after the funeral as possible, where Lord Exeter remains, and Elizabeth would never be overlooked at Framlingham the way you will be. There is no one else.”

“And if I do not wish it?”

And there was the Boleyn temper—different from the Tudors’, and in some ways more frightening. “Your position here rests on the fragile base of personal regard. I can tell you, from experience, that regard can twist ever so easily to dislike and distrust. And where would you be without my nephew and niece to aid you?”

If she had to give in, at least she would do so gracefully. “I will go, as soon as Elizabeth tells me that I might.”

But I’m not doing this for you
, she thought defiantly as Rochford left.
I’m doing it for England—and William’s security
.

And to prove that I also know the path of duty
.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

DOMINIC FINGERED THE letters in his hand—one each from William, Elizabeth, and Minuette. After three weeks of nothing but official communiqués from England, he had been feeling more isolated than ever before. Because he could not be with his friends in their hour of mourning, he had thrown himself into his command as the only means of offering help. With Sussex as his second, the English army had been partially disbanded and those remaining in Rouen kept under tight control. The last thing Dominic wanted was a resentful populace.

With a word to Harrington, Dominic took himself to the quietest corner of the castle, high atop the crenellated defense wall. The view swept the horizon from east to west, the rooftops of the medieval city crowding beneath him, spilling outside the city walls in ever-lessening clumps until they gave way to the harvest-gold fields.

William’s letter was short and to the point, dealing mostly with diplomatic matters. It was a letter that could have been written to almost any of his advisors, and it left Dominic depressed. Only the final lines contained anything personal, but they were so oblique as to be almost meaningless:
I am most anxious to speak with you. I need the opinion of a man who is honest when he should not be
.

Unable to puzzle out William’s meaning, he turned to Elizabeth’s letter. She wrote as she spoke—with elegant economy and the occasional turn of phrase that was so vivid as to make Dominic think he could almost hear her.

She wrote only of public people and events—the funeral, her uncle’s rigid control in the face of his sister’s death, the crowds (“vultures who cover their triumph in ostentatious displays of sorrow,” she called them) who had descended to see the end of the controversial queen.
Though there have been many prayers offered for the repose of my mother’s soul, I am quite sure that many in England wish that she may know nothing but torment in the next world
. There was not a word in her letter of her own feelings.

With some misgiving, he opened the letter addressed to him in Minuette’s distinctive hand.

Dominic, I have so wished for your company these past weeks. Grief is supposed to be lessened when shared, but sharing mourning with the masses is not at all comforting. One must not give way in public, so I have gone about with raised chin and dry eyes and I have felt every second a hypocrite. The woman who has been memorialized and eulogized in the last month bears little resemblance to the queen I knew. Indeed, the two have nothing in common, save their name. Why do we make of our dead a figure of either worship or contempt? It cheapens the complexities of human beings and makes of us all either saints or sinners. And yet one rarely meets either one or the other, but a mixture of the two.Oh, dear, I’ve become both maudlin and philosophical. You cannot wish to read that. I shall say only that I hope matters in France are resolved speedily. Yours, Minuette

She wished for his company. But only as she would wish for any friend in a time of crisis—or dare he hope something more personal? She was masking her own grief. He could easily read into her words the struggle to keep herself composed for both William and Elizabeth. Minuette would always do what she must to ease the burden of those she cared for.

Most telling was the rushed quality to her words. She was not naturally deceptive—her speech always gave her away. How many times had he seen her, eyes wide and guileless, the only clue to her discomfort the rapid flow of her words? Dominic read each word of the letter again, but confirming suspected evasion was not as simple with the sea between them.

And what of that ending? The word
yours
had a crowded, out-of-place look to it and Dominic allowed his imagination to conjure an image—Minuette signing her name to the letter, and then sitting quite still in silent debate, her tongue protruding slightly as she wrestled with that final word.
Yours
.

The sound of footsteps pulled Dominic out of that pleasant picture. He just had time to fold up Minuette’s letter before Renaud appeared, looking at him quizzically.

“Were we not to ride today?” he asked.

Dominic had quite forgotten. “We can go now.”

“Letters from home?” Renaud asked, falling into step beside him.

Dominic merely grunted acknowledgment, though he knew Renaud was quick enough to read a great deal into that unsatisfactory answer.

Renaud had healed quickly and had been allowed the run of the castle. A gentleman who had given his word not to attempt escape would never break his parole, and it was customary to allow them a measure of freedom even while held hostage. Indeed, Renaud was allowed to ride outside the city walls as long as Dominic and several guards were with him.

Their ride this morning took them, for the first time, west—though Dominic was distracted enough not to realize where they were headed. Renaud set the course, subtly urging Dominic on until the two horses were engaged in a flat-out run that swept personal matters from his mind.

They reined up—Dominic a close second—at the eastern edge of the battlefield, where Northumberland, Dudley, and William had led the way. The ground was still churned up, with dried mud formed into long grooves and tracks, but already grass was working its way valiantly upward. By spring this would once again be a pleasant spot, and the only evidence of the Battle of Rouen would be that fixed in treaty.

His eyes on the horizon, as if seeing the ghost movements of his own troops, Renaud said, “Dressing another man in your colours—one more Welsh trick?”

Dominic answered the unspoken question. “Your men are not always discreet, not when they’ve been drinking.”

Renaud grunted. “A lesson they will learn from now.”

“They gave me hints. I did the rest on my own.”

With a wry smile, Renaud said, “I do not grudge your victory, neither to you nor to your king. It was well earned.” With a spark in his eye that belied his matter-of-fact tone, he added, “Next time, the victory will not be yours.”

With a laugh, Dominic turned his horse away from the field and started back to Rouen at a comfortable walk. They rode in companionable silence for a few minutes.

Renaud spoke first. “And the matter of ransom? It proceeds quickly?”

“You are anxious to leave my hospitality?” Dominic teased.

“If it were myself alone, I could keep you company for some time. But Nicole …”

“She knows she need not worry for your safety. She can trust me for that, I hope.”

“It is not trust. Or fear. And it is not even Nicole who frets. Myself, rather.” Not looking at Dominic, Renaud said, “I, too, have had a letter from my home. Nicole is with child once more.”

“Congratulations.”

A smile of pride, tenderness, and intimacy warmed Renaud’s face. “I should like to be there and not here.” And then his smiled turned outward. “Even you can understand that, cold-hearted English though you are.”

“Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to send you home to your wife.”