Jane the Confidant Page 9

  “And she has the Lady Mary with her,” Charles added, as if my naïve daughter would be strong protection. I smiled as my captain motioned for us to begin moving again. I knew Mary’s presence had been a relief to Jane.

  After a few more halts we finally reached the west gate. Wearily I pulled my leg over the saddle and leaned against the two strong stable lads who had appeared to help me down. I had spent so much time indoors this past year that there had been no time for me to exercise; even this small time in the saddle had worn me down. I began to slowly make my way to the door, Charles slightly behind me, when Cromwell appeared, the bottom of his traveling cloak still wet from his journey down the Thames.

  “Your Majesty,” he said, dropping to one knee. I sighed as he did so; his immediate bowing could only mean bad news.

  “Speak,” I ordered as I looked longingly toward the doorway where a warm fireplace and a hot glass of ale was sure to be waiting.

  “Your Majesty, the rebels have sunk your barge.”

  “What?” I roared, my attention suddenly on Cromwell.

  “Your barge traveled with the rest of the household goods, carrying only a few page boys and the rowers. Because it was so much lighter than the other barges that were stacked with your goods, it moved swiftly ahead of the rest of us. A grouping of rebels appeared alongside in a smaller boat and began to hurl large rocks. They were angry that you were not present on the barge. Five of your oarsmen were knocked unconscious, and, before a team of guards could be sent to arrest them, a band of them boarded and began to beat holes into the floor of the barge. Once the leak was sprung they quickly charged back to their boat, slitting the belly of one of your page boys who tried to climb onto their boat with them.

  “I regret to inform you that five oarsmen drowned, as well as the young page. Two of your other pages and one oarsman managed to swim to shore and were rescued.”

  I sucked in a deep breath at this terrible news.

  “What of the rebels?” Charles demanded beside me.

  “They escaped,” Cromwell whispered. “But we know that they were led by James Butler.”

  I closed my eyes, dizzy for a moment as Charles began to curse. I opened my eyes and looked down at Cromwell, who had braced himself for a blow.

  “Call upon the Duke of Norfolk, and any members of the nobility who can be found, as well as the captain of my guard. Tell them to prepare for a council of war.”

  ******

  I stood out along one of the outer walls facing southeast. I could not see it but a siege was being held, a siege for our last stronghold in France. I closed my eyes against the harsh winter winds but could not wish myself at the battlefield, nor would I have any word of the battle for at least a week. Boats traditionally traveled from Calais to the coast in only a few hours; the sailors made the trip multiple times a day. But a strong wind had blown up and no ships could leave port. The troops I had there would have to suffice.

  I motioned at a shivering page and within moments a large, fur cape was draped around my shoulders. I quickly pulled it in tighter, anxious for the warmth it brought. Distantly I could hear my herald announce a messenger, but I could not bring myself to move inside. All he would have was more bad news, more skirmishes throughout the north or reports of famine in the south. This harsh winter was not helping my cause and Cromwell had predicted that hunger would swell the rebels’ numbers.

  “Your Majesty?” I heard the timid voice behind me and gestured for him to join me. I squinted once more into the haze of the dying light of the afternoon but could see nothing. Calais was miles away.

  “Speak,” I ordered as I turned my back to the wind. I looked at the young boy, down on one knee before me. He wore green and white, my colors. This was no spy or message from Cromwell then.

  “Your Majesty, I have come to give you word that Her Majesty the Queen has given birth,” the boy breathed out. I watched his breath disappear into the sky as I thought of what to say. This child had caused me nothing but trouble; due to it I had been too soft with Jane, had let the rebels gain power. Even with Anne, news of a child had always lifted my spirits. Now I could feel my heart in my feet.

  “A boy?” I asked, the all-important question.

  “A princess for Your Majesty,” came the quick reply.

  I scoffed. “Another girl? My nursery is full of princesses. I had no need of another.”

  The boy looked down, his mouth slightly agape at my harsh words. I saw then that he was holding a letter, which trembled in his small, uncovered hands.

  “Her Majesty the Queen has written,” he said meekly, holding the letter before him.

  “Can you read?” I asked.

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  “Then read it for me,” I said. The boy blushed slightly but nodded, opening the letter. I turned away as he began to read.

  “Your Majesty, it pleases me to inform you of the arrival of a princess to grace Your Majesty’s kingdom. She was born healthy and Her Majesty the Queen is doing fine. There have been no signs of illness. The Queen begs that the child may be called Margery for her late mother. We await word from Your Majesty and Master Cromwell as to when we may rejoin the court. Your obedient daughter, Lady Mary.”

  I glanced down at the boy who is fingering the letter idly, running his thumb along my daughter’s signature. I know from reports that many of my subjects still see Mary as a true child of mine, legitimate, and in line for the throne after my son Edward. Cromwell had often referred to her as a figurehead for dissatisfied Catholics in my country. I reached out and plucked the letter from the boy’s hands. It would do me no good to have Mary worshiped.

  “You may see my steward for a bite of bread,” I tell him. “And a farthing.”

  “A farthing, Your Majesty?” he asked excitedly. I nodded and he bowed before hurrying away. A more experienced messenger would have known that news of a son would earn them a shilling. But no need to spoil the boy’s excitement.

  With one last look towards Calais, I turned to go inside. I waved over one of the few boys in my service who possessed an even hand and told him to prepare a letter. I tossed the message from my daughter next to him as he set up the parchment. After a moment I began to dictate.

  “Write to her my good tidings and pleasure at her health. Tell her that she must travel here to St. James Palace within the fortnight. We will hold the baby’s christening here before I travel north.”

  I waited a moment as the quill scratches across the parchment.

  “Should I mention where you are traveling to, Your Majesty?” he asked innocently.

  “No!” I snap. “We can have no more letters filled with details. Finish it off and sign my name to it.”

  “Shall I say anything about the naming of the princess?” he asked, glancing at my open letter on the table next to him.

  “I care not a farthing for the naming of another girl,” I said with exasperation. “Tell her that Margery shall be fine.” The quill takes to paper once more and I throw myself into a chair and watch as a page boy scurries to stoke up the fire.

  I heard the paper folding and the sound of wet wax being applied.

  “Take it to be delivered to Her Majesty at once!” I called to him and then heard more than saw him bow and exit the room. With a sigh, I accepted a mug of ale and wrapped my body around its warmth. I took a long drink and cursed its inability to chase away the chill within me.

  ******

  The wound in my thigh pinched me as I rode. Doctor Butts had insisted on cleansing the wound earlier in the week. I could still feel the piece of gold that had once again been wedged in to keep the wound open. Now the long ride chaffed against it, though I was fortunate there had been no bleeding.

  Two page boys rode alongside me, our pace slowed due to Phillip’s refusal to canter while I rode him. It was true that in the past month, since arriving at St. James Palace, I had eaten great amounts. Jane had not returned to court as I had planned after giving birth; an attack by th
e rebels only thirty miles away from London made me fear for her safety. Instead, Edward had been brought to her and now my queen, our two children, and my daughter Mary endured a forced sanctuary within the small rooms of the Tower.

  As Phillip once again mistepped, I considered asking for another horse, but knew that it would be difficult to find a stronger horse than the one I currently rode. It would be no matter, I was sure the weight would soon leave me as we rode north.

  I had received a report the week before from Norfolk, his army small but mighty. They had struck a number of blows against the rebels, but their lack of formal training made them dangerous. Instead of facing battle in the traditional manner – two armies stretched across a field, facing each other like men – they had instead hidden in the trees or behind streams, dressed to match their surroundings. With little effort they could then surprise my men, who rode confidently through the countryside as men ought to do.

  Jane had written me after she had been churched and commented on this. It seemed that the rebels movements were common knowledge; even Jane, in confinement, had heard. She had likened them to Robin Hood, living in the forest and striking the king’s men without warning. It was an apt comparison but an alarming thought. I had not alluded to it when my traveling party had spent the night in the Tower with her and Mary before marching north.

  I took a deep breath and exhaled through my nose as we passed yet another farm. Even with the cool air of early spring there was still such a stench about the barns that did not exist in my court. I turned to look at Charles Brandon who had delicately covered his mouth with his scarf. I highly doubted his much worn clothing smelt much better than the pigs, but at least it was a familiar smell.

  Behind us walked an army of 30,000 men, the largest yet. Most came from Suffolk’s lands and seemed concerned to be leaving their farms at the beginning of the season. Cromwell had finally agreed to double their pay and now they marched towards war, confident that the money would be sent to their wives, or perhaps their soon-to-be widows. No man in my confidence was foolish enough to tell them that there was not the money for payment of 30,000 men, and certainly not double pay. My hope was that with this battle we could capture the money that King Francis had sent and use that to reward my men, lest we have a rebellion of a different kind upon our hands.

  Charles would be the man actually leading the charge upon the rebels who were currently camped just south of York. I joined the army and hoped to orchestrate the troops; though I now had my heir, I could not justify the risk of riding into battle. Cromwell traveled along behind the men to conduct the affairs of business from alongside me. With the amount of information the rebels held on us, it had become dangerous to send letters. Even the men of the army, some of whom could not write and who certainly did not understand where we were traveling to, were forbidden from writing home, lest they leak some amount of information that could be used against us.

  No word of any of our plans for the north had been written. It was in fact only Charles and myself who had discussed the matter before leaving London. In my inner chambers, with no page boys and Queen Jane asleep with our daughter in my bed two rooms away, we had planned and determined that all of our men should be used in what would hopefully be our final battle with these men. It was no secret that we had called upon the largest army since the Battle of Bosworth, some forty years earlier. We however took a notation out of the rebels’ book and planned an additional surprise.

  There had been a single candle lit as Charles and I had leaned over a map of England attempting to find the necessary place for battle.

  “Your Majesty, we can take the high point here,” Charles pointed out. “We know the encampment of rebels to be here, before the river. This location is mostly the tents the women and children of the rebellion are living in. I am sure if we make a move against it the rebels will have to come out of hiding and fight us on an even field.

  “But the rebels’ numbers are still strong. I could not guarantee a decisive victory, especially with the strength they have recently shown in their attacks.”

  “We must think of a way to outwit them,” I insisted. “They too often take our men by surprise. We must do the same to them.”

  Charles gave a deep sigh and leaned back.

  “I cannot think of a way to do it. Our men could never hide in the trees or surprise the rebels. They know our forces, they know where we move. Norfolk has been outmaneuvered at every turn.”

  “Then it might be best to relieve Norfolk,” I said with a small smile, a plan forming.

  “Relieve him?” Charles asked aghast. “We have too few commanders as it is.”

  “Peace, Charles,” I said, lifting my hand. “I will write to Norfolk and command for him, and only him, to meet us in Leeds as we travel north. While he is with us we will explain to him our battle plan; that you will take the high ground and lead the charge of men during daylight onto the encampment of rebels. However, instead of him attacking the right flank, he shall take his men here, along the north side of the river and attack from these trees here. His men can set fire to the tents, forcing the women and children to flee. With the commotion they will be able to attack the rebels from the rear.”

  “The woods are small,” Charles pointed out.

  “This is where the trickery will come in,” I said, pleased with my own cleverness. “After we have met with Norfolk I will write to him, reprimanding him for his failures and telling him to disband his men. All but 2,000 will leave him; he will know to keep his most trusted men about him. The rebels will see the disbandment of his men and will only focus on ours. This will give him the ability to attack.”

  Charles grinned as I did; the shadows from the candlelight making his face look wicked as he understood my plan. I smiled at him as we both stood to go to bed, conceding the lateness of the hour.

  “And there will be no influence from the spy here at court,” I promised. “As this will be between you, me, and Norfolk.”

  “Not Cromwell?” Charles asked, surprised.

  “No,” I said with a snap. “Not Cromwell.”

  Chapter Nine

  April 1539

  It did not go as planned.

  But then again, battle rarely does. When I had won lands in France in my glory days, in my younger days, I was not one of the lucky few who could see the outcome of a battle. But back then I had never watched a battle from on high; I had instead charged down the hill first, leading my men against the hated enemy.

  Not like today, April 7th, a day that shall be long remembered by me and the histories of England. Today I sat atop a lone hill, staring down onto a small village of tents and hastily built wooden homes. Our time with Norfolk had gone well; he had immediately seen the brilliance of my plan. Within the day of our meeting I had a frantic meeting with Cromwell, who seemed so genuinely shocked and appalled at losing Norfolk that I knew no word of our true plan had gotten out. Cromwell had the largest spy ring throughout the Continent; if he did not know it, then neither would the rebels.

  But that also proved to me that Cromwell was not our spy, nor was anyone in his employ. Truthfully, I had never truly thought that he could be, knowing of his Lutheran tendencies; there was no way an uprising would benefit his vision of the future. And he served me completely, sometimes even at his own expense, a rare thing in a servant. But the lords who served me had always been so suspicious of Cromwell, the son of a blacksmith. They could not imagine any low too low for him, the son of a working man. In truth they had felt this way about Cardinal Wolsey, who had served me during my marriage to Catherine and had been born to a butcher.

  I had found, however, that though these men were not born as peers to the realm, they often served me better. Ruthless and willing to complete any task that I set to them, these men who had come from nothing knew how to fight for what was needed. And both had been smart enough to know that serving me was always in their best interest.

  But it seemed our secret was safe. I sat on t
he hill, looking below me at the meager army that had come to fight. For once they were lined as men in battle should be, shoulder to shoulder, their swords and axes drawn. I could see walking the line behind them was Sir Francis Bigod, a large scar running down the length of his face. Though I could not hear him, I could imagine the words of courage he was shouting to his men; it was the same words of courage Charles had given to our men before battle.

  “It is time to face the day!” Charles had thundered riding before the lines instead of behind as Bigod did. He looked truly terrible, his sword drawn and his face contorted in fury. “Let it be said that when we fought for our king, we fought with dignity! Take up your arms for your king and for your country!”

  Then men had cheered but I am sure they would have cheered no matter what Charles had declared. The hard march from the south, followed by two cold nights in tents outside of Leeds, had enlivened the men and they were now in such a frenzy to begin the battle, the anticipation of blood driving them forward.

  I breathed in a deep breath of the cool morning air. Light was just beginning to crest over the trees to my right, and the last wisps of mist were evaporating. Unusual for this time of year, I could not see a cloud in the sky and took this to be a good omen for the battle ahead.

  Before me were rows upon rows of my troops, lined upon the hills, stamping their feet and blowing out giant clouds of breath. Charles was down towards the right flank, on horseback as I was. With a raise of his sword the three cannons we had brought from Leeds thundered out. I watched as two balls shot across the river, but the third tore into the makeshift stables. Several horses began to cry out in fear from the noise and one escaped and began to gallop towards the forest, where I knew Norfolk and his men to be waiting. I held my breath but the men were not discovered.

  Many of the rebels who had lined up against us had fallen to their knees at such a blast from the cannon. They numbered only half of what we had; their numbers seemingly had greatly dwindled upon hearing of the great force I brought against them.