Iris Collier - Day of Wrath

‘My neighbour, your Grace?’

‘Yes, you’re a fool, Peverell. A blind fool; you and that Sheriff of Marchester. You seem to live in a different world from the rest of us. It doesn’t do to be a dreamer, Peverell. The conspiracy’s common knowledge – it’s even got a name – Day of Wrath – and you know nothing about it. Its leader, Roger Mortimer, lived next door to you, and you saw nothing and heard nothing.’

‘I see little of Sir Roger, your Grace. He lives a quiet life.’

‘Lived, Peverell, lived. He’s under arrest, and also that Yorkist wife of his. They’re on their way to the Tower, and will be interrogated. I’ve flushed out the conspiracy before it’s really begun, and all we need now is for Mortimer to name names. That’s only a matter of time. Not many people remain silent after a spell in the Tower.’

‘Your Grace, I am astounded. Mortimer’s been arrested whilst I’ve been up here and I wasn’t even consulted?’

‘Why should you be? Southampton’s got me the evidence we needed. If I’d asked you you’d only raise objections, tell me what a good fellow he was, how much his wife loves him and I should think about his family.’

‘I would certainly ask your Grace to spare his family. One of his children is a babe in arms.’

‘I’m not a cruel man, Peverell. Of course the children will be spared. They can go back to his wife’s family. But I need his wife. He’s more likely to talk if she’s around.’

He turned away to look out of the window, and Nicholas felt sickened. He’d never had much in common with Sir Roger, but he didn’t deserve what was going to happen to him. No human being should suffer like that. He hoped desperately for the Mortimers’ sake that the impending interrogation would come to a speedy conclusion. But he had his doubts. Sir Roger was a fanatic, and a stubborn one at that.

‘Well, Peverell,’ said the King, turning round to look at Nicholas. ‘Do you still think I’m lacking in compassion? No, don’t answer. I see that look on your face. You always were too soft. It will be your downfall. There’s no place in this country for weakness. It’s my destiny to be a strong ruler. This country needs me. And nothing is going to deter me. The Mortimers of this world must be eliminated. This continual plotting must stop.

‘I’m surprised at you, Nicholas,’ he said, coming over and putting an arm round Nicholas’s shoulders. ‘I didn’t think there was any love between you and Sir Roger. After all, he had your steward killed. A good man, I believe.’

‘Your Grace has heard that?’

‘It’s my business to hear everything. And this business of your steward has interested me greatly. Hayward overheard Mortimer’s infernal plotting with Fitzroy. Fortunately Fitzroy valued his life, and would have nothing to do with it. But Hayward was discovered and had to be got rid of. Your servant, Giles Yelman, was Mortimer’s agent and arranged his murder. Now, Nicholas, my loyal subject, what do you think of that? You’ve been living all this time in the midst of a den of vipers, and you didn’t suspect anything. Well, it’s over now. Yelman was caught by the Sheriff on the Portsmouth road soon after you left to come here, and it didn’t take much to make him confess. But this is all by the by. We’ve caught the ringleader. It’s only a matter of time before Mortimer confesses, so you can go home and sleep in peace. There, what do you think of a King who solves all your problems, Nicholas?’

‘I am amazed at your Grace’s perceptiveness,’ said Nicholas, wishing the King would release him from his embrace. And the efficiency of your intelligence network is truly amazing, he thought.

‘It’s my wish to be your friend, Nicholas. And friends look after one another, don’t they?’ said the King, tightening his grip on Nicholas’s shoulder. ‘And now it’s your turn to look after me. I know you’re loyal. The Peverells always have been. After all, you’ve fought our battles for us down the ages; one of your ancestors was governor of Dover Castle when the first William was on the throne. And you’ve not a drop of treachery in you.’

‘Then what does your Grace want of me?’ said Nicholas, as the King released him and walked back to the window.

‘The conspiracy known as the Day of Wrath has been destroyed. Mortimer will give us more names. One of those treacherous priests at Marchester Cathedral, the Precentor, of all people, Rodney Catchpole, has been arrested with Mortimer; they were as thick as thieves, you know. They plotted to get the Bishop of Rome reinstated in this country. But there will be others; you may be sure of that. And your county seems to be particularly prone to treasonable activities. Too many of my mother’s relatives live there, and I can’t eliminate them all. Now I want you to keep an eye on things down there, Peverell. Watch Fitzroy. So far he’s kept his nose clean. He likes his castle in Arundel. He’s not a fool like Mortimer. But he might be tempted. Watch him, Peverell. And send your reports to me. You and my loyal Southampton will be my ears and eyes. You’re going to help me clean up your county. I don’t want this country plunged back into civil war. My father ended all that on the field of Bosworth, and it will never happen again as long as I live. I hope you share my sentiments, Peverell.’

‘Indeed I do, your Grace; and I hope to God that those times never happen again.’

‘Then live up to your family’s motto and I’ll not forget you. I’m not ungrateful, you know. I look after my friends.’

‘I shall never be disloyal, but I don’t like the idea of spying on my friends.’

‘Oh, but you must, Peverell,’ said the King, coming over and putting his face very close to Nicholas’s so that he could feel his soft, red-gold beard brushing his own. ‘To have friends is a luxury we can’t afford in these times. Don’t trust anyone, Peverell. You’re naive, but you will change. Everyone does who works for me. Otherwise they don’t last long. I want you as one of my spies. And I won’t forget you. I might even consider that Priory of yours. Have a word with Thomas Cromwell before you go. He’ll sort it out for you. I know you’ll be loyal, but I also know how much you value that chantry chapel of yours. With luck you may still be buried in it. Now get back to your manor. Oh yes, it’s my fancy at the moment, now that the weather’s warm and pleasant, to come and visit you in your rural solitude. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Peverell? How do you feel about entertaining me and my Queen? I’ll not stay long. Only a night or two. I might even stay with Fitzroy on my way back to London. No ceremony, now. I’m a simple man. Just light meals, some exercise. Do the Queen good. Oh yes, you’re short of a steward aren’t you? I’ll send one of my own and a few servants to help prepare the meals,’ he said, grinning enthusiastically at Nicholas. ‘See how thoughtful I am. I never want to inconvenience my friends. You see, I think it’s time I went to see my fleet at Portsmouth – sometime in early June. It’s my wish to build the fleet up into a fine fighting force. Got to keep invaders at bay, Peverell. Enemies at home and abroad – that’s my lot. Fix it up with Cromwell; he knows my timetable. Now be off with you, and remember, you are my eyes and ears in Sussex. See that you live up to your family’s motto.’

Nicholas bowed, and left the King. He was appalled at what he’d been told. Mortimer arrested; and Rodney Catchpole. Giles Yelman caught and interrogated, and the King coming to pay him a visit. And now for Thomas Cromwell.

Thomas Cromwell, Secretary of State, Chancellor of the Exchequer and Privy Councillor, was never far away from his royal master. He was sitting behind his desk in the anteroom to the King’s private sanctuary, a plain, stocky figure dressed in a sombre grey robe over his doublet and hose, and, despite the warmth of the spring weather, a log crackled in the fireplace and two chairs were drawn up cosily on either side to catch the heat. Cromwell got up when Nicholas came in and went across to the fire. He stood there warming his back and rubbing his hands together in the nervous gesture of someone who was not quite at ease in his surroundings. However, he hid his lack of social graces with a bluff, slightly ingratiating manner which Nicholas found intensely irritating. But he was not blind to Cromwell’s undoubted talents, which had been finely honed in the service of the great cardinal, and which King Henry had so promptly recognised and rewarded with high office. Nicholas knew it was fatal to underestimate him. Already people called him ‘malleus monachorum’, the hammer of the monks, and the fate of his Priory and his chantry was in this man’s hands. He was the King’s man through and through. Whatever King Henry wanted, Thomas Cromwell made it his business to provide him with it.