Anne the Saint Read online

  I stared blankly at Cromwell, but his head was lowered and he did not see my stare.

  “And?” I prompted, frustrated when he did not seem to catch my meaning. “Who is this Cortaz?”

  “Cortaz,” he repeated. “He was the Spaniard who planned an attempt on the Queen’s life during her coronation.”

  The nasty business that had been Anne’s coronation suddenly came back to me. I did not wish to relive any of it.

  “Well, were they successful at freeing the man?” I asked, exasperated that I did not already have the answers.

  “No, Your Majesty,” he answered. “However, the men who made the attempt were not apprehended. And this means that there are conspirators who may threaten the Queen.”

  “Yes, I understand that,” I barked out as the tailor pulled around the collar of the coat, restricting my neck movement.

  “What is Your Majesty’s wish?”

  I halted for a moment, thinking on how best to proceed. If we had been in London I would have called my council together and questioned them, however only Suffolk and Cromwell were present here in Richmond. Had we been on our normal summer progress we would be in the south of England and near enough to some of the more powerful nobles that I could order them to me.

  “I do not think the Queen is in any danger here in Richmond,” I said finally. Cromwell nodded, it would be very difficult for conspirators in London, without their leader, to travel to this isolated spot.

  “However, I would like the Spanish in London rounded up and questioned. Gently,” I admonished, needing no letters of complaint from Emperor Charles.

  “Shall I call the Spanish Ambassador, Eustace Chapuys, to you, Your Majesty?” Cromwell asked.

  “Yes,” I said. “Have him come to us when we move south to Hampton Court.”

  I glanced down at Cromwell, but he did not respond with anything else and I could not think of any better way to proceed. I felt like I was missing something, but could not figure out what. And it was nothing that any of my council members could assist me with either — no one had known of Cortaz’s plans during the coronation except for Cromwell and his men, and if they could not remember another detail, then I should not let it bother me.

  “I will travel to London and begin the interrogations myself,” Cromwell said with a short bow. I nodded and he left me to be further tortured by the tailor.

  “Henry?”

  Anne came around the door swiftly, the herald two steps behind to announce her.

  “Yes, sweetheart?” I asked when he was done. I tried to release the death grip I suddenly held the letter I had been reading, smoothing out the paper without letting it fall where Anne could perhaps read it.

  “It has been two months since the creation of the house at Aughton,” she said immediately. “It is July. What will be the verdict?”

  I took a deep breath to steady my nerves. In truth I had forgotten about the house since we had been at Richmond, I had seen little of Anne outside of the time we had spent with our son. And the recent barrage of letters I had received from Cromwell on his efforts to root out any notion of the conspiracy against Anne had driven these matters further from my mind.

  “I have not yet heard from Archbishop Cranmer what was found at Aughton,” I replied smoothly. “Perhaps you should write to him and tell him that I am prepared to receive his report at his leisure.”

  I watched a small flash of surprise dance across Anne’s face before she caught it. Her face quickly returned to her queenly type manor and she bowed to me.

  “I will write to him immediately, Your Majesty,” she said with a smile.

  She turned promptly to leave and I smoothed out the rest of the letter I held in my hand before shoving it under a pile of old messages on my desk. It was from Madge Shelton, a lady-in-waiting and cousin to Anne. Though my affair with Madge had ended, for the most part, I enjoyed her amusing letters and unique view of the court life. And as she was one of the few courtiers still in London, I was able to acquire valuable information that even Cromwell’s spies could not detect.

  According to Madge, it was now widespread knowledge that Spaniards had been rounded up, although she could not tell me the purpose. This heartened me; it meant that word of the regicide plots had not yet reached the ears of London.

  I called my secretary in, ready to send a report to Cromwell. A reply to Madge could be sent with it as well.

  “Write to Cromwell,” I ordered and waited for a moment as the man made out the appropriate heading, listing all of the man’s titles. I considered rescinding a few titles just so the letters would not take so long.

  Finally the man nodded to me, ready for my words.

  “You must use your men in Archbishop Cranmer’s household to stop a letter from Anne reaching him. It requests a report on the poor house in Aughton. Meet with the Archbishop and make sure no report is sent to us here at Richmond.”

  I paused for a moment, giving the man a chance to finish writing.

  “Word of the arrest of the Spaniards in London is now common knowledge. Make sure a statement is released giving a reason for this soon. Continue interrogating Cortaz and begin looking for others who may have been involved outside of London.”

  At my nod, my secretary quickly salted and rolled the paper, furnishing it with my seal. I had him write out a small personal note to Madge, denying my knowledge of events in London and asking her to keep me informed. This note was salted but not sealed; there was no easy way to link the note to me.

  “Take them to a messenger, and have them delivered at once,” I ordered. With a quick bow, the man quickly left the room to do my bidding.

  I sat down, and leaned back in the chair at my desk, turning it to look out the window behind me. Looking below, I saw Anne in the garden playing with Charles, trying to get him to walk towards her. My secretary passed by them on the walkway, but she gave him no mind, not realizing he was carrying orders to ensure both her safety and the prevention of her dream.

  Chapter Seven

  September, 1534

  We had only been separated from our son for six weeks and already Anne was attempting to plan another visit to Richmond Palace. Our summer progress had just drawn to a close and we had returned to Hampton Court, the nobles returning to court as well. I had always enjoyed our progresses around my kingdom, but did feel safer with my retainers around me.

  I had been at Hampton Court for only two days when Cromwell arrived, the Spanish Ambassador with him. As usual, Cromwell came directly to my room, his riding boots still on his feet.

  “Your Majesty,” he said with a deep bow. I nodded for him to rise and he did so swiftly.

  “How are the proceedings?” I asked, not wishing to waste any time.

  “They are going swiftly,” he responded. “And I had quite a time convincing Eustace Chapuys to not accompany me here to your chamber. He wishes to speak with you at once about the situation with the Spaniards in London.”

  “Ah,” I said. “And nothing came of the interrogations, did they?”

  “Sadly, no, Your Majesty,” Cromwell said, bowing his head slightly. “We could find no trace of the men who attempted to release Cortaz. The only trail we had was that three Spaniards rented a boat and sailed across the Channel only three hours after the attempt. It must have been them and they escaped before a proper search could be made for them.”

  I turned to Cromwell, not bothering to mask the look of anger on my face.

  “And why was I not told of this before?” I thundered. “This is the first time I have heard of these men. Why did we not give chase to them?”

  “Your Majesty,” Cromwell pleaded, a bit of fear in his voice. “We only learned of this passage a week ago when the ship that carried them returned. They had been deposited on the shores of Calais over six weeks ago. It would be impractical to give chase.”

  “And the boatman?” I roared.

  “Detained but useless.”

  I slammed my fist onto the desk, a
small part of me pleased when Cromwell jumped, but most of me still furious.

  “How was this not seen before?” I asked after a sharp breath. “Someone else on the docks must have seen this.”

  “My men did not think to check the docks until two days later,” Cromwell said hastily. “There was no way of telling who was present there by that time. Every drunk—“

  Cromwell’s excuse was interrupted by my pulling his cap — which he had not bothered to remove — off of his head and striking him with it.

  “Knave!” I yelled angrily. “Absolute fool! You did not think to check the docks?”

  “As Your Majesty may recall, I was at Richmond Palace —“

  I struck him on the head again, effectively silencing him.

  “I do not want to hear one more of your excuses,” I breathed out, feeling my anger welling up inside of me. I backed away from Cromwell, still clutching his cap in my hand as I grabbed the back of a chair. I closed my eyes and continued to breath, my anger at his men’s incompetence making me dizzy.

  Eventually I pulled my hand to the side and dropped his cap in front of him. Terrified, he made no move to pick it up.

  “Leave,” I commanded. “And do not return until you have something of substance to tell me.”

  Cromwell had never before scrambled to leave my presence, but he did so at this moment.

  Still fighting waves of anger, I turned to a page.

  “Fetch me some ale,” I demanded. “And have them prepare a suitable dinner as well.” The page boy jumped in the air, then quickly turned to fetch a drink from the outer room. I could hear him mutter to another boy to travel down to the kitchens.

  “What is a suitable dinner?” the younger boy asked.

  “Make sure it includes at least twelve kinds of meat,” the other page boy snapped as he quickly splashed ale into a tin glass.

  “Twelve?” the other boy gasped. My impatience at hearing these two converse was growing; my anger from Cromwell had not yet abated.

  “While at Richmond they served at least that many meats at every dinner. The King now obviously wishes for this to be part of the daily ceremony,” the older one whispered, but not soft enough.

  “But dinner is to be served in only a few hours. It is almost midday!”

  “You must order them to prepare it,” the older boy said as he moved back to my chamber. “You must be strong, Geoff.”

  Finally, my cup of ale landed in front of me and the page boy gave me a worried smile.

  “Who is that boy?” I growled, gesturing towards the outer chambers. “The one not possessing any manners?”

  “I beg Your Majesty’s pardon,” he page boy said with a smart bow. “That is my younger brother Geoff. He has only recently entered Your Majesty’s service and is unaccustomed to how things must be done.”

  I could see the small flash of anger on the boy’s face at being called out on behalf of his brother. I smiled, feeling my anger abating somewhat; I could remember feeling that way as a young child around my sisters.

  “Well, I am sure Geoff will learn,” I said with a smile. “And remind me of your name?”

  “Edward,” the boy said with a bow, a blush rushing up to his cheeks. “Edward Stafford, that is. We are nephews of Sir William Stafford, who works in the Duke of Norfolk’s household.”

  “Oh yes,” I answered, although this was news to me. I did not understand how having an uncle in Norfolk’s household would allow you to serve in mine, but I did not ask the boy. Never before had I asked one of the pages or any of the maids or servants where they had come from or how they came to be in my palace. I had always accepted that they would be there, ready to attend to whatever I needed.

  It was at that time that soft footsteps could be heard running into the outer chamber and by the sudden tightness that appeared in Edward’s shoulders I was sure it was Geoff.

  “Perhaps you should go and teach him how we walk here in the palaces,” I said gently.

  “Yes, Your Majesty, please forgive him,” Edward said swiftly, giving a perfect bow before backing into the outer room. All that could be heard was a yelp of surprise from Geoff and then two sets of retreating footsteps.

  I sat in silence, sipping my ale for a long while, determined to not think about anything for a while. I found myself ravenous and was almost ready to prepare for my dinner when my herald stepped swiftly through the door.

  “The Spanish Ambassador, Eustace Chapuys!”

  Behind him entered a short Spanish man, who approached me with three quick marching steps.

  “Your Majesty,” he said, bowing sharply, his long dark hair falling about his shoulders. He was dressed in typical Spanish clothing, much more severe than what could be seen around my court. I gestured for him to finish his bow and when he did I was surprised, as I always was, by his prominent nose.

  “Might I offer you a drink?” I asked.

  “A glass of wine?” he asked. “Spanish?”

  I smiled grimly at him, aware as ever of his games.

  “The French make a far superior wine, do you not agree?” I asked, gesturing to Edward, who had just reentered the room.

  “It seems I will have to rectify that misconception of Your Majesty’s,” he answered, but took the glass of French wine just the same.

  I smiled despite myself, though this man had championed Catherine’s cause and was the ambassador for my sometimes enemy, I could not help but like him. I took a seat at my table and gestured for him to join me.

  “You could not wait until tomorrow to see me?” I asked after he had made himself comfortable.

  “But Your Majesty had summoned me here,” he countered. “And I would not want to keep Your Majesty waiting.”

  “Of course not,” I answered, taking another sip of my ale. “I wanted to question you about Cortaz.”

  “Cortaz?” Chapuys asked with a shrug. “I am unfamiliar with that name.”

  I very much doubted that, but indulged him just the same.

  “Jose Cortaz?” I prompted.

  “I still have not heard of him. Perhaps he is Italian?”

  I felt the same anger I had felt with Cromwell begin to rise but knew that striking out at this man would not be an option.

  “We have it on good authority that he is Spanish.”-

  “What authority?”

  “His authority.”

  Chaupys raised his eyebrows and took another sip of French wine.

  “May I ask what he has done?”

  “He was overheard planning an attack on the Queen’s life during her coronation.”

  He seemed unfazed by this news, but averted his eyes to play with his glass.

  “Her Majesty’s coronation was over a year ago,” he said, his thick Spanish accent rolling each letter. “Why bring this to my attention now?”

  “Because an attempt was made to release him from his cell.”

  “He is still secured?” Chapuys’ voice raised slightly. “Should he not be exiled and returned to Spain?”

  “I believe that would only exacerbate my problem,” I replied with a sigh. “Cortaz remains in his cell, but we are concerned that there is a larger plot against the Queen.”

  Chapuys eyes cut to the side. I could not decide if he knew anything about this plot or was merely trying to look uninterested in an attempt to throw the suspicion off of his master.

  “And since this plot is considered to be Spanish in origin, every Spaniard in England has been questioned?” I could tell from his clipped tones that he was angry but trying to keep his fury hidden.

  “Not every Spaniard in England,” I corrected. “Merely the ones surrounding London. And the only lead we have received is on three Spanish men who fled the country the same night the attempt was made.”

  “They were not caught?” he asked lightly.

  “No,” I growled, not wanting to think on that.

  Chapuys nodded, but in sympathy or relief I did not know. Silence reigned for a moment until the Sp
aniard finally spoke.

  “Of the men who were rounded up and questioned,” he said softly. “They have all been returned to their homes?”

  “Yes,” I answered. “They were of no use to us.”

  With a nod, Chapuys gestured for his wine glass to be refilled. He knew as well as I did that these men were not returned to their homes in the same condition they had left in.

  “Then I see no reason to report this to the Emperor,” he said, not meeting my eyes. I smiled my thanks to him. There was that delicate matter solved.

  “And if you hear anything of the plot against the Queen?”

  His dark eyes darted up to glance at me but swiftly returned to his wine glass. As always, his face contorted into an ugly frown at the word “queen” being assigned to Anne.

  “Then I will of course alert Your Majesty at once.”

  I doubted that would be true, and resolved to double the number of spies in his household.

  “Then I believe this business to be concluded,” I said, rising from the table, the ambassador smoothly standing just a moment before I did.

  “And if the Ambassador would be so kind,” I quickly added before he could leave. “I would request that you would not repeat this conversation beyond myself or Cromwell. I see no reason to upset Her Majesty, the Queen.”

  It was worth mentioning this just to see his frown again, but he nodded and backed slowly out of the room.

  “Your Majesty!”

  I was jolted from a deep sleep by a troubled voice throwing open the curtains that surrounded my bed. Candlelight flooded the chamber and a quick glance out the window confirmed that the sun had not yet risen.

  “Why have I been awoken?” I asked, acknowledging that it was Sir Francis Weston who had thrown open my curtains and was now pulling clothing out of my wardrobe.

  “It is the Queen, Your Majesty,” he said quickly, looking for the largest set of hose he could find. “She has gathered a small group and they are traveling to Richmond Palace.”

  “What?” I asked, still groggy from being awoken in the middle of the night. Edward the page boy suddenly appeared to help me into my hose.