Day of Wrath (11 page)

‘Then it's time to loosen up. You're out of condition with all that soft country living. Come along, man, don't bother to change. Plenty of time for all that later.'

King Henry strode off in the direction of his newly built tennis court, of which he was inordinately proud. Nicholas knew there was no escape. Reluctantly, he handed his cloak to a waiting servant and followed the King towards the walled tennis court.

Henry's energy was legendary. He played hard and he liked to win. But Nicholas had the advantage of being younger than the King by ten years, and he was fitter. Also the physical results of an over-keen appetite were taking their toll on the King. After half an hour's hard play in which Nicholas held his own, the King stopped suddenly, threw down his racket and beckoned a servant to bring over warm towels.

‘I think we're well-matched, Peverell,' he said, mopping his face. ‘But I can see the journey has taken it out of you. I don't want to risk ruining your health. Here, have a drink,' he said, handing Nicholas one of the tankards which another servant had brought over.

‘Your Grace is very kind,' said Nicholas, grateful that he'd been let off the hook so lightly. He enjoyed playing tennis, but preferably not after a ten-hour ride on a series of horses that had got progressively worse since he'd left his own horse, Harry, at Petworth. He drained his tankard and decided to make the first move whilst the King seemed in good humour. ‘I'm delighted to be back at Court; but what was it you wanted to see me about, your Grace?'

‘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.'

‘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.'