The King's Secret Matter (11 page)

He defended himself against these charges. He pointed out that none but his unworthy servants had been able to speak against him. Was the court going to take the word of disgruntled servants before that of the Duke of Buckingham?

But Wolsey had prepared the case against him skilfully; and moreover all seventeen of his judges knew that the King was demanding a verdict of guilty; and if any of them refused to give the King what he wanted, it would be remembered against them; and it was likely that ere long they would be standing where Buckingham now stood.

The old Duke of Norfolk might weep, but nevertheless when his fellow judges agreed that the prisoner was guilty he read the terrible sentence.

‘Edward Stafford, third Duke of Buckingham, you are
found guilty of treason.' His voice faltered as he went on: ‘You shall be drawn on a hurdle to the place of execution, there to be hanged, cut down alive, your members to be cut off and cast into the fire, your bowels burned before your eyes, your head smitten off, your body to be quartered and divided at the King's will. May God have mercy on your soul.'

Buckingham seemed less disturbed than Norfolk.

When he was asked if he had anything to say, he replied in a clear, steady voice: ‘My lord, you have said to me as a traitor should be said unto, but I was never a traitor. Still, my lords, I shall not malign you as you have done unto me. May the eternal God forgive you my death, as I do!' He drew himself to his full height and a scornful expression came into his eyes. ‘I shall never sue the King for my life,' he went on. ‘Howbeit, he is a gracious Prince, and more grace may come from him than I desire. I ask you to pray for me.'

They took him thence back to his prison of the Tower, and those who had gathered to watch his progress knew that he was condemned when they saw that the edge of the axe was turned towards him.

Maria de Salinas, Countess of Willoughby, was with the Queen when she heard that the Duke of Norfolk was begging an audience.

Katharine had him brought to her at once, and the old man's grief distressed her because she guessed at once what it meant.

‘I pray you be seated, my lord,' she said. ‘I fear you bring bad news.'

He gazed at her, and he seemed to be in a state of bewildered misery.

‘Your Grace, I have come from the court where I have pronounced the death sentence, for treason, on the Duke of Buckingham.'

‘But this is impossible.'

The old Duke shook his head. ‘Nay, Your Grace. 'Twas so.'

‘But to find him guilty of treason . . .'

‘It was the King's wish.'

‘But his peers?'

The Duke lifted a trembling hand in resignation.

Katharine was indignant. She had known Buckingham to be arrogant, to have offended the Cardinal, to have been over-proud of his royal connections, but these were venial sins; a noble duke was not condemned to the barbaric traitors' death for that.

‘It is known what influence Your Grace has with the King,' went on Norfolk. ‘I have come to plead with you to beg him to spare Buckingham's life. I am certain that this sentence will not be carried out. I am sure that the King means only to warn him. But if Your Grace would but speak to the King . . .'

‘I promise you I shall do so,' said Katharine.

The Duke fell to his knees and taking her hand kissed it.

‘Maria,' said Katharine, ‘send for my lord Surrey that he may look after his father.'

The Duke shook his head. ‘My son is in Ireland, Your Grace. Despatched thither on the orders of the Cardinal.' His lips curved ironically.

‘The Cardinal doubtless thought to spare him the anxiety of his father-in-law's trial,' the Queen suggested.

‘He sent him away because he thought he might have spoken in his father-in-law's favour,' Norfolk replied roughly.

Poor old man! thought Katharine. Buckingham is very dear
to him and if this terrible sentence is carried out there will be mourning, not only among the Staffords, but the Howards also.

She shivered, contemplating the hideous ceremony of pain and humiliation. They could not do that to a noble duke!

She laid her hand lightly on Norfolk's shoulder. ‘Rise, my lord,' she said. ‘I will speak to the King and implore him to show mercy.'

‘Your Grace is good to us,' murmured Norfolk.

When he had gone, Maria looked sorrowfully at her mistress.

‘Your Grace . . .' she began.

Katharine smiled sadly at her dear friend. ‘I know what you want to say, Maria. This is a dangerous matter. You want to advise me not to meddle.'

Maria said quickly: ‘'Tis so.'

‘No harm can come to me if I plead for Buckingham. I am at least the King's wife, Maria.'

Maria did not answer. She was afraid of the new trend of events, afraid of what effect it would have on her mistress.

‘I shall go to the King at once,' said Katharine. ‘I want to put those poor people out of their misery as quickly as possible.'

There was nothing Maria could do; so, as Katharine left her apartment for the King's, she went to the window and stood looking broodingly out over the gardens.

The Cardinal was with the King.

‘What now, Kate?' asked Henry, mildly testy.

‘I would have a word with Your Grace if you will grant me a few minutes.'

‘Say on,' said Henry.

Katharine looked at the Cardinal who bowed and went with reluctance towards the door.

‘Henry,' said Katharine, catching her husband's sleeve, ‘I want you to show mercy to the Duke of Buckingham.'

‘Why so?' he demanded coldly. ‘Because I believe that a warning will suffice to make him your very good friend in the future.'

‘So we are to allow traitors to live?'

‘It was not treason in the accepted form.'

‘And what, I pray you, is the accepted form?'

‘There was no rebellion. He did not take up arms against you.'

‘How can you know what methods he used against me? I believe he was planning to poison me.'

‘Henry, he would never do that. He was rash and foolish . . . but I do not think he would ever commit a crime like that.'

‘And what can you know of the schemes of such a rogue?'

‘I knew him well. He it was who met me when I first came to England.'

‘I tell you this, Madam,' roared the King. ‘Any who acts treason against me shall pay with his life – be he your dearest friend on Earth.'

‘But Henry, he is a noble duke . . . the highest in the land.'

‘So he believed. 'Twas his opinion of himself which brought him to where he is this day.'

‘His relations are the most powerful in the land,' persisted Katharine. ‘His wife, the daughter of Northumberland; the Percys will not forget. His son married to Salisbury's daughter. This will alienate the Poles. His daughter is married to Norfolk's son. The Howards will grieve deeply. Then there
are the Staffords themselves. Four of our noblest families . . .'

Henry moved a step nearer to his wife. ‘I forget none of this,' he said. ‘And were my own brother – and I had one – guilty of treason, he should suffer a like fate.'

Katharine covered her face with her hands. ‘Henry, shall a noble duke be taken out and barbarously killed before the eyes of the people!'

‘The fate of traitors is no concern of mine. He was judged by his peers and found guilty.'

Meanwhile the Cardinal waited anxiously in the antechamber. He knew that the Queen had come to plead for Buckingham. She must not succeed.

Moreover it was necessary that the Queen herself should learn her lesson from the fate of this man. Once she and the Cardinal had been good friends; but now, since the friendship with France, she had looked on him with suspicion. He had heard himself referred to as a butcher's boy in her hearing, and she had offered no reprimand to the speaker.

It was not only noble dukes who must be taught that it was unwise to lose the friendship of the Cardinal.

He picked up a sheaf of papers and looked at them. Then with determination he passed through the ante-room into the King's chamber.

‘Your Grace,' he said, ‘I crave your pardon for the intrusion. An important matter of state requires your attention . . .'

The Queen looked angry, but that was of small importance as the King was not displeased.

He was saying: ‘He shall die. But we will show mercy unto him. It shall be the executioner's axe in place of the sentence which you feel to be an insult to his nobility.'

The Cardinal was not ruffled.

The method mattered little to him, as long as Buckingham died.

On a bright May day the Duke was brought out from his lodging in the Tower to meet his death on the Hill.

There were many to watch this nobleman's last hour on Earth. There were many to sigh for him and weep for him. He had been arrogant and reckless; he had been harsh to some of his tenants, causing them great hardship with his enclosure laws; but it seemed cruel that this man, who was in his early forties, should have to walk out of his prison to face death on such a bright May morning. His good characteristics were remembered; he was a very religious man and had founded colleges. And now he was to die because he had offended the King and the Cardinal.

He met his death bravely, as all expected he would; and while his body was being taken to its burial place in Austin Friars, among those who thought of him were the King, the Queen and the Cardinal . . . the Queen with sorrow, the King with righteous indignation, and the Cardinal with deep pleasure which was however pricked by apprehension.

Buckingham would insult him no more, but the Cardinal was too shrewd a man not to know that he had paid a high price for his vengeance.

A subtle change had crept into the King's demeanour. The lion was no longer couchant. He had risen; he was testing his strength.

And, when he had assessed the full measure of that power, who would be safe? A Queen? A Cardinal?

Chapter II