Iris Collier - Day of Wrath

‘I always want to see you, Peverell,’ said the King, putting an arm affectionately round Nicholas’s shoulders. ‘You ought to come to Court more often. The Queen was asking after you only last night. What keeps you away from us down in Sussex?’

‘Your Grace, I have only been away three days. I have an estate to run, cases to hear, a murder enquiry to investigate…’

‘It’s time you relaxed, Peverell. I know what’s wrong with you, it’s time you married again. You’re still young. It’s time to take a bonny wife and rear a clutch of children. A man needs a wife, you know. Take a good look at me. See how happy I am now that my matrimonial difficulties have been sorted out. The Queen and I are like two turtle doves and soon, God willing, we’ll have a son to bless our union. A brother to the Princess Elizabeth. He’ll have my looks, my intelligence and my creative talents! What a royal prince he’ll be. Good God, man, you don’t know what you’re missing without a wife. Calm down a bit, stop all this dashing around. Come and take your pick of our Court beauties tonight at dinner. We’ll have some dancing later on. The Queen can’t dance at the moment – she can’t take any risks with the child she’s carrying – but there are lots who will be only too pleased to frisk around with you. I’ve written some new canzonets, you know; I’d like your opinion on them. I’ve introduced some new harmonies. Bring you up to date a bit. You’re wasting yourself vegetating in rural Sussex.’

‘I look forward to hearing your compositions, your Grace, but I’m sure you didn’t bring me all this way to lecture me about the new trends in music and my matrimonial prospects.’

‘No, of course not, Peverell. I want to consult you about affairs of state. But not now, man. Hell’s teeth, why are you always so eager? You’ve no sense of timing. You’ve only just got here. Relax, take it easy, find yourself a bed for the night; a comfortable one. You’re going to be here for a few days. Then come and join us for dinner. Enjoy yourself. You look like an exhausted fox who’s gone to earth. Keep a grip on yourself. You should get yourself fit, like me.’

He tapped Nicholas playfully on his shoulder with his racket and bounded off. It was always like this, thought Nicholas bitterly. The King’s moods were as changeable as mercury. The same man who put his arm round you today could order you to the Tower tomorrow. Never be fooled by the King’s charm, he thought, as he followed the servant to the room they’d prepared for him. He was most to be feared when most affectionate.

His room was at the top of a turreted tower at the far end of the great palace which Wolsey had built for his own use and had handed over to the King as a peace-offering only a few years ago. The King had accepted the house and turned it into a royal palace, but its founder was now mouldering away in his grave a hundred miles away.

Once in his room, Nicholas threw his cloak down on the narrow bed, and looked out of the window into the courtyard below. He thought of Wolsey and then of Sir Thomas More in the Tower about to be executed; both had been the King’s friends. Would he be the next one to follow in their footsteps? Not if he could help it.

* * *

That night, Nicholas feasted in the great hall, which had only just been completed. A never-ending stream of servants carried in course after course: haunches of venison, huge pies containing succulent young rabbits seethed in onions, whole spring lambs and an endless stream of chickens and ducks, and fish from the royal stews. As soon as his goblet was empty a servant re-filled it and soon Nicholas found his senses reeling, and his eyes seemed to gravitate towards the plump white bosom of the lady sitting opposite him, Lady Frances Bonville, one of the Queen’s ladies-in-waiting and strategically placed there by royal command.

The Queen was seated next to the King at the top of the table and whatever rumours were flying around that the King was tiring of her, that night they looked the perfect loving couple. Queen Anne still retained her dark-eyed beauty, and the elegant head-dress covered in the lustrous pearls that so suited her olive complexion framed her oval face to perfection. That night she was lively and vivacious and Nicholas could see how she had enthralled the King to such an extent that their affair had rocked both Church and State. There were also shadows under her eyes and when the dancing started she got up and kissed the King and said she was retiring for the night. She was still as slim as a willow wand and the child she was carrying hardly showed, but Nicholas could see how anxious she was and he realised how desperately she wanted their child to be a son, and he feared the consequences if once again the King was disappointed.

Lady Frances smiled at him invitingly across the table, and he rose unsteadily to his feet and took her hand and together they danced an elegant gavotte that brought the house down. But Lady Frances was duty-bound to follow Queen Anne and Nicholas was free to drink the King’s health in endless goblets of fine Bordeaux and listen to the music of William Cornish and the songs which the King himself had written.

It wasn’t long before the King retired and Nicholas was able to go to his room. A hunt was arranged for tomorrow. How long, he thought, as he threw himself down on his bed, was he expected to stay at Court? Why had the King summoned him? Not to play tennis and flirt with Lady Frances, that was for sure. As he fell asleep his mind was filled with an image of another woman, someone who beckoned him and then turned away contemptuously.

It wasn’t until Sunday, after Mass in the royal chapel that the King sent a message to Nicholas that he was to come immediately to his private study. When he got there, the King was standing looking out of the window, and when he turned to greet Nicholas, his face was stern. Playtime was over.

‘Peverell, isn’t it time you returned to your duties in Sussex?’

‘Your Grace, I have enjoyed your excellent hospitality but I am aware that I have work waiting for me back home.’

‘You have indeed got work to do. You’re becoming idle, Peverell. Too much soft living. Too much dalliance with Lady Frances Bonville.’

‘Lady Frances is indeed a beautiful woman,’ said Nicholas evenly, wondering when the King would stop all this preliminary fencing and get to the point. ‘However, your Grace knows that my wife Mary still holds chief place in my affections and I am not yet ready to seek other company.’

‘Yes, yes, I know all that. But I didn’t summon you all this way to talk about affairs of the heart. I wonder if you have any idea that the part of Sussex you live in has become a nest of traitors? Conspirators, Peverell, that would have me off the throne. Do I take you by surprise?’ he said as Nicholas stared at him in astonishment.

‘You seem much better informed than I am, your Grace.’

‘Of course I am,’ the King roared. ‘Damn it, man, do you take me for a fool? It’s my business to know what’s going on in my kingdom, and let me tell you that I don’t like what I see, neither do I like what’s going on under your nose in Sussex. Fortunately I have people in strategic places who send me reports. My loyal Southampton assiduously watches the ports in your county and intercepts messages. We have enemies everywhere, Peverell, and whilst you tend that garden of yours and dine with that fat Prior, my enemies plot to remove me from the throne and put one of those damn relatives of my late, beloved mother on it. Yes, yes, Peverell, it’s time you knew you were living next door to Yorkist traitors who were actually corresponding with that accursed priest, Reginald Pole and his brother. Those two are the bane of my life. Reginald Pole is over on the Continent drumming up support for his base ambitions, and your neighbour keeps in touch regularly. But little did he know that all his diabolical letters have been read by my loyal Southampton. It was a flash of real genius when I made him Lord Admiral of the Fleet.’