D. Wilson - The First Horseman

‘Have the Seagraves been longtime attenders on His Majesty?’ I asked.

The young man was happy to boast. ‘My father has been at court as long as I remember — some fifteen years, or so. He is a great favourite with the king… especially at the gaming table. ’Tis only a matter of time before he is raised to the Council.’

‘Even so?’

‘Oh yes. He is very close to the Duke of Norfolk, who relies on him for news when he is away on campaign.’

‘That must have been very valuable to His Grace in the last few weeks,’ I suggested. ‘I gather he has had a difficult task facing the large rebel host with only a much smaller armed force. Tell me, how much truth is there in the rumour that the duke has sympathy with the Pilgrimage of Grace?’

Hugh bristled. ‘That’s a calumny put about by the Cromwell crowd. You had best not give ear to it, Master Treviot. It springs from jealousy.’

‘Jealousy?’

‘Oh yes. The jealousy of a Putney brewer’s son for the first lord of the realm.’ The thin ice of Hugh’s discretion was melting rapidly.

‘Cromwell’s strange and swift rise must be resented by the king’s traditional councillors,’ I mused. ‘How do you think it can be explained?’

Hugh scoffed. ‘That’s easy. He promises to give His Majesty whatever His Majesty wants.’

‘I thought that was what all royal councillors did, but, then, I know little of politics.’

Hugh took obvious pleasure in enlightening me. ‘It isn’t always possible. For example, when His Majesty sent the duke north to meet the rebels, he demanded a military victory. His Grace had hell’s own job explaining that he would have to negotiate in order to get the traitors to disperse. The king was furious for two or three days. We all kept out of the way as much as possible. Eventually His Majesty realised that My Lord Norfolk was right.’

‘I see. A councillor’s job is obviously not an easy one.’

‘Not with this king. The old cardinal discovered that right enough.’

‘Wolsey?’

‘Yes. Remember how powerful he was? Cock of the roost for a dozen years or more. And all by giving the king what he wanted — new ships, more taxes, military victories and so on. Then the king said he wanted rid of his wife. Wolsey couldn’t arrange it, so farewell cardinal.’

‘Still, Cromwell seems to be doing very well at the moment. There must be thousands pouring into the treasury from the confiscated abbeys.’

‘And when that source dries up and still the king wants more, what then? Master Cromwell… Oh sorry, I should say My Lord Cromwell.’ He sneered. ‘He may look all powerful at the moment but eventually he will overreach himself. Then the king will see the wisdom of putting his faith in the great nobles and not in upstarts. Take my advice, Master Treviot, don’t get too close to Cromwell.’

By this time we had turned away from the river and were riding deeper into the thickening woodland. We could hear the cries of hounds and the shouts of beaters away to our left. Rounding a bend in the track, we came to the edge of a large clearing. At a signal from Hugh I reined in Golding and looked across the open ground. It was ringed by royal guards. Opposite us was an enclosure marked out by flags. King Henry was seated within it, with Robert Aske at his right side, Cromwell at his left and a handful of other favoured royal companions.

I was puzzled at the sight. ‘Does the king not hunt today?’ I asked.

‘Not this last year,’ Seagrave replied, in a confidential whisper, enjoying airing his superior knowledge. ‘He had a bad tiltyard accident — fell from his horse and the beast rolled over him. For several hours his physicians feared the worst.’

‘I heard nothing of this,’ I said.

‘It was kept very quiet. He recovered… after a fashion.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘Simply that he is not the man he was. And the court is not the court it was. Few dances and maskings now. The king is troubled in his legs and moves about with difficulty. And he has had to give up his love of hunting. It irks him sore and when the king is irked… well, let us just say he becomes difficult to serve.’

I stared across at the thickset figure opposite, talking jovially with his north-country guest and found it difficult to identify this ebullient figure with the melancholy sufferer described by my companion. Another thought that troubled me was why Hugh Seagrave was sharing with me information that must certainly be confidential. If the king really was a sick man and troubled in mind, he would not want it known and that would mean that if Hugh’s indiscretion was detected he would be in serious trouble.

Suddenly a signal horn rang out away to our left. I saw the king raise a crossbow to his shoulder. Behind him and a little to one side one of his attendants also lifted his weapon. With a crash and a hullabaloo from the pursuing horsemen, a fine full-antlered stag burst through the undergrowth. I heard, rather than saw the crossbow bolts zing towards it. The animal’s headlong flight carried him several more yards before his front legs buckled and he skidded into the ground, antlers tearing up the ferns. Immediately the watchers broke into loud applause and the king received their congratulations (though which bolt had struck the fatal blow, I cannot say).

As I watched I saw Cromwell lean across and say something to the king. Henry nodded. The minister rose and called for his horse. I pointed this out to my companion. ‘We should get back to the palace,’ I said.

He nodded. ‘I know a short way. Follow me.’

We very quickly found ourselves in the thickest part of the woodland and on a narrow track that only allowed us to go in single file. After about fifteen minutes I saw Hugh rein in his horse with an oath and leap from the saddle. He stooped to examine his mount’s near foreleg.

He looked up with a rueful expression. ‘Sorry about this. Wretched creature’s gone lame. You’d better ride on. I’ll only hold you up. It’s not far. This track will take you all the way.’

He drew his horse to the side to let me pass. ‘Be sure to call in on us before you leave the palace,’ he said cheerily as I rode forward.

I jogged on along a path that seemed to become narrower, with several overhanging branches beneath which I had to duck. It was after I had negotiated one of these obstacles and turned a sharp right-angled bend that I found my way barred by a man in a brown cloak, standing ten yards away and pointing a handgun at me.

Startled, I brought Golding to an abrupt, protesting halt.

I was now no more than five paces from my assailant, a short, stocky man with a swarthy face. He was grinning at me along the short barrel of what I instantly knew was a wheellock pistol.

‘Master Thomas Treviot,’ the man said and his accent left me in no doubt whatsoever about his identity. ‘I regret this, sincerely I do. But, unfortunately, you have enemies who wish me to do this. So, I must bid you farewell.’ He took a careful sighting along the barrel but at this range he could not possibly miss. I had no space in which to turn my horse. The location for my assassination had been chosen carefully. If I cried out there would be no one to hear me. Escape was impossible. I was seconds from death. I mumbled the only thing I could think of.

‘Look, however much you’re being paid…’

The man merely grinned, displaying a row of blackened teeth. ‘Do not try the bribe, Master Treviot. I have my professional reputation to consider.’

Ned’s words came back to me, his plea that I should not share Robert’s fate. That was precisely what I was about to do. Why, oh why, had I not listened?

‘You don’t need to do this!’ I called out. ‘You have no grudge against me.’