Gregory House - The Cardinal's Angels

“And why bring it here?”

This was going to be the difficult part. Ned squeezed up his courage, took a deep breath and spoke. “I may only have been at Gray’s Inn for this past year but I know enough of the law and practice to know when matters need to be passed on to others more qualified and experienced.”

A further cautious nod came from Cromwell. Daring all he plunged on. “I believe you should deal with this on behalf of His Sovereign Majesty and Lady Boleyn. I will never prejudge any man and I am not privy to the requirements of royal policy, and considering what we have seen so far, from the actions of others this is too dangerous for any to handle who do not have an intimate knowledge of the multifaceted affairs of state.”

Ned thought that had been pretty good, now for the flourish. He stepped carefully forward and slowly pulled out the battered satchel. The guards shifted. There was a loud metallic sound that sent shivers up his spine, but a short gesture from the Cromwell set them back to rest. The Cardinal’s secretary opened the wallet cautiously, and with a delicate touch that belied his bulk, examined the letters and the treasonous horoscope from the learned astrologer. Ned had removed the candles which were tucked in his doublet, just in case their secret contents were required for any last minute contingencies, like procuring an escape from prison.

He was close enough to see the impact of the review. There was a passing tremor along Cromwell’s jaw as the muscles jumped distractedly. At a guess this was all news to the Lord Chancellor’s principal servant. Once more he made a leisurely perusal of the damning documents comparing each one. Both of them knew it was the Cardinal’s hand. With that unique sense that one must acquire to survive at court, Ned could feel the balance tipping one way then another as Secretary Cromwell weighed up the causes and effects of these letters. It was almost as if a giant scale stood behind him, each word and cipher steadying or dipping depending on its merits and the shift in alliances and factions that its use would imply.

It could have gone on for hours, a lifetime even for Ned, as he saw decisions flicker across the eyes of the Cromwell. If he had any doubt as to the importance and validity of these letters, it withered in the bright furnace of Secretary Cromwell’s assessment.

Finally Cromwell looked up from the rescued letters straight at Ned and in that instant he saw the cold, ruthless calculation that ticked and spanned this man’s very being. In that frozen instant Ned saw their fate and then it was masked and shifted.

The sound of a slamming door drew his relieved attention. A lady had made her entrance. Both guards snapped to attention, as straight as possible without actually being a measuring rod, as she glided over the polished timber floor. It was said that she had trained at the French court, the source and fount of all the imported culture that the English nobility aspired too. From her dress and poise it was plain to see that she left most other ladies of the court back at the village fair in tawdry comparison. Today she was imperious.

It was Mistress Black who started the ripple with a more graceful curtsy than Ned had ever considered her capable. The rest of the company which came down to just Rob and himself at this moment, followed suit more or less in keeping with Mistress Black. Even Cromwell stood and gave as good a bow as any courtier.

It was easy to see why the King was besotted with her, from the wisps of auburn hair that escaped her hood to the delicate white skin at her throat. Ned found his breathing very difficult. It was her eyes that did it. Amber was one description but that was somehow inadequate.

“Secretary Cromwell, I have been told you have delayed some messengers for me?” This was said in a commanding tone, one that only allowed so much but also made plain the not so hidden suggestion of steel.

The Cardinal’s Secretary immediately got up from behind his table and walked over towards their visitor then went down on bended knee to Lady Anne Boleyn, the King’s intended wife and the reason for all Cardinal Wolsey’s current machinations. “Madam, these are my servants and at great risk they have brought these letters concerning treason in regard to the King’s Great Matter and yourself.”

And in that instant the balance of the world shifted and Ned knew they were safe, though how safe in Cromwell’s service would be was another thing entirely. The Cardinal’s Secretary had made his choice and he handed over the dangerous missives, all of them, and presented his servants starting with Ned, the valued nephew of his friend Richard Rich, a gentleman he stated who could do much in the King’s service.

Ned thought that was interesting-looked like he’d just gained his uncle a promotion. He wondered if he’d gain any gratitude for it. His daemon suggested probably not. Rather Uncle Richard was now his watchdog. It was said Cromwell believed in precautions in the same way a repentant sinner believed in salvation. In the end it wasn’t so surprising-Cromwell was not a man who’d allow valuable knowledge to run around unsupervised.

When the introductions came to Mistress Black Ned received his greatest shock. He had naturally assumed that her famous contact was the scullery boy or a junior attendant, fiftieth down the ladder for access or cast-offs. Instead Lady Anne thanked her personally for the latest shipment of ‘herbs and unguents’ from Bruges. Damn him if Mistress Black hadn’t trumped him- again !

At a certain stage they were eased out of any further discussions by bowing minions, who seemed impressed by the respect they were accorded by both Lady Anne and Thomas Cromwell. These were accomplished functionaries who could read a factional shift in a delayed courtesy. So to Ned and the rest of the company’s delight, they were given a small set of rooms that would usually have been reserved for an Earl.

For Ned, all he craved was some quiet and a rest. He was worn out by the rides, fights and most recent of all, the mental duel with the Cardinal’s Secretary. For a brief instant he’d been granted the rarest and most dangerous of gifts, being able to peer into the inner workings of an opponent’s mind, and what he saw there had chilled his soul. Cromwell would continue to rise and this incident had turned from a near fatal disaster to a convenient stepping stone. The Secretary’s support had come at a price and Ned had an inkling that in time they would learn its true cost. For now, whether they liked it or not, they were involved in the deadliest of games, the envy, deceit and intrigue of the Court of His Sovereign Majesty, King Henry VIII.

Ned awoke with start-it had been the dream. If Dr Caerleon had been present no doubt he would have had an explanation for the imagery. Whether Ned wanted the twisted old man’s views was up for debate. The remembrance of the strange images had him shivering. It had been a great cathedral on fire and tumbling into ruins. He crossed himself to banish the nightmare which had been so vivid especially since it was Ned himself who’d hurled the flaming brands, setting alight the vestments and smashing the delicate rood screen with a mason’s hammer. It had been so extreme a sight, even his normally mischievous daemon kept silent and his better angel had hidden somewhere dark and safe.

He lay under the coverlet and struggled to come back to himself. What in the name of all the saints had prompted that terrible portent of a nightmare? Had one of Satan’s demons been sent to plague him or was it a grim warning from an angel on high? His soul felt fragile and wavered hungering for the solace of prayer while his body trembled violently. Then as the light of dawn fell across his face, his eyes flickered open.