The Chalice (25 page)

A young man dressed in velvets, carrying a rolled parchment, nodded to me as he walked past. After a moment I heard the murmured conversation of two more men strolling down the hall. By their collars and dark garb I immediately knew them to be priests. Once the two reached Richard, they fell into pleasant conversation.

What was this place? Neither palace nor cathedral, and, while religion was woven into much of my surroundings, it was certainly no monastery. This seemed like the residence of a prince of the church. A cardinal, perhaps.
But there are no cardinals left alive in England,
I reminded myself. There would never be another papal legate in the land.

Frustrated, I gazed at the painting once more. As impossible as it may seem, Christ’s expression had altered. With a chill, I realized what filled His eyes when He gazed upon me. Pity.

A bishop. The letter
W
. A person close to the Duke of Norfolk.

This was the residence of the bishop of Winchester. Stephen Gardiner no longer served the king as chief ambassador in France. Gardiner, my nemesis and my master, the churchman who I had spied for against my will, had returned.

I was on my feet. I had no plan—only panic. Two words repeated in my head:
Get out. Get out. Get out.

“Mistress Stafford, what are you doing?” Richard’s voice echoed down the long gallery. I could hear his steps as he rushed after me.

I didn’t turn around. I pushed open the door with all my strength, but the young page slammed it shut and jumped in front of me to bar my way, his smile gone.

“Do you serve Bishop Gardiner?” I asked.

He nodded but was puzzled, as if he could not understand why I would ask such an obvious question.

“This is Winchester House,” he said.

The next voice I heard was Norfolk’s, ordering Richard to bring me down the gallery. Richard took my arm roughly, with an accusatory glare.

As Richard forced me to the end of the gallery, I remembered the last time I’d been in the presence of Bishop Gardiner: at Dartford Priory, on my very last day, when he’d flattered and badgered me to continue my spying—unsuccessfully.
“Defy me, and you shall bitterly regret it, as shall all my enemies.”
So this was why the Duke of Norfolk worked so hard to wrest me from Lord Dudley—to return me to the grip of the bishop.

When we reached it, Richard knocked twice on the door and then pushed it open. I tried to rid my face of all feeling. It was always a mistake to show fear to Gardiner.

I expected to encounter two people inside this room: Gardiner and his chief ally, the Duke of Norfolk. And indeed, those two men were present. Norfolk stood by the mullioned window, somber, his hands clasped behind his back. Bishop Gardiner sat in a plush high-backed chair on a platform, his white robes grazing the floor. In Winchester House he wore on his head the bishop’s miter—the base of the imperious cone sparkled with gems. Gardiner had not changed. I felt those same light-hazel eyes on me, scrutinizing me, probing for weakness.

But there was another chair next to his on the raised platform, and on it perched a third person, a small and forlorn figure, someone whom I had not expected for a single second to see.

It was the Lady Mary Tudor.

I
curtsied low to the king’s eldest daughter, a formal slide to the floor that my mother taught me before I learned to read.

The Lady Mary looked ill—no, worse than ill. Her luminous white complexion had turned chalky and loose. Her eyes were rimmed with red.

The princess held out her arms. I stepped up to the platform to embrace her, and it was like enfolding a frail child, not a twenty-two-year-old woman. The jewel-encrusted crucifix around her throat pressed so hard I thought it would pierce my flesh.

“I thank the Virgin that you at least are safe,” she whispered before letting me go. And then, louder, “I will always be grateful to you for what you’ve accomplished tonight, Norfolk.”

The duke made a stiff bow. So this was why he’d extracted me from the wagon, not for belief in my innocence or to turn me over to Gardiner for vengeance but to gain favor with the princess.

The Lady Mary looked at me expectantly and then at the bishop by her side. My stomach clenching, I took two steps over to stand directly before Gardiner. I knelt and then bowed my head.

From under lowered lashes, I saw the hand extend. What I had done thus far was not enough. The bishop was determined
to wring every last form of obeisance from me. To obey readily and never contradict your superior—those were core principles taught at Dartford. I must perform them.

I kissed Gardiner’s ring, a golden one set with amethyst. My lips grazed that smooth white hand, and I forced myself not to shudder.

Very slowly, the bishop withdrew his hand and I rose to my feet.

“
Benedictite,
Sister Joanna,” he said in a mild voice.

“Dominus,”
I answered automatically.

“My most faithful bishop is recalled to England after three long years,” the Lady Mary said with a tremulous smile.

“You honor me with your trust and favor,” Gardiner said.

Fingering her crucifix, she declared, “You are a great counselor of the realm and purger of the faith.”

The words of Orobas from two nights previous echoed in my mind:
The Lady Mary wears a crown, she walks with a cardinal and a bishop
. Would Gardiner help Mary rule?

Aloud, I said, “My lady, I believed you to be at Hunsdon House, far away in the country.”

“Cromwell said it was best I return to London,” she said. “The Lord Privy Seal has me watched more closely than ever.” She squinted into the farthest corner of the room as if searching there for spies.

“Your privacy is assured in this room,” Bishop Gardiner said soothingly. “There is no danger for you in Winchester House. Norfolk and I are the king’s most loyal servants.”

Gardiner, a most loyal subject? When he had forced me to search my priory for a mysterious relic that could have halted the king’s Reformation? With deep frustration, I accepted that I’d never be able to penetrate the depths of the bishop’s deceptions and discover whom he really served: the king, the Lady Mary, the pope, or simply himself.

Lady Mary said, “I do not know why Cromwell wanted me
close to court now—he gave no reason and I know better than to question him.”

“It must be the arrests tonight,” Norfolk said, pacing the room. “If there was any question of upset, of citizens rising in rebellion, Cromwell wanted you within reach, my lady. Not in the country, where he fears you could rally the discontented.”

Bishop Gardiner asked, “Did you see any signs of such discontent, Thomas?”

The duke shook his head. “London is loyal to the king. They would never take up arms against him. Courtenay and Pole have no popular support.”

I burst out angrily, “There was no rebellion planned. Those men are loyal.” I turned to Norfolk. “What evidence could Sir Godfrey Pole possibly give Cromwell? Dudley said his information was freely given. Is that true?”

Norfolk stopped his pacing to snort. “Godfrey was taken to the Tower and questioned over and over, by men who are skilled in such matters, and he broke. Then he tried to take his own life. I’m told he stabbed himself but the knife was too blunt to do the fool serious damage.”

I made the sign of the cross as did the Lady Mary, fresh tears swelling in her eyes.

Bishop Gardiner patted the princess’s arm protectively and said, “We need not press into the sad details of this matter.”

But press on I did. “Forgive me, Lady Mary, but I still don’t believe this.” I pretended not to see the bishop’s icy stare. “I would swear on my life that Henry Courtenay never conspired against the king. I cannot imagine that Baron Montagu or Sir Edward Neville did either.”

Dabbing her eyes, the Lady Mary said, “Well, Norfolk? What are the grounds for arrest?”

“I’ve just heard rumors—no one knows but Cromwell and the king,” Norfolk said, his face darkening. Plainly he hated being kept in ignorance by the Lord Privy Seal. “Of course,
Montagu’s greatest crime is that Cardinal Pole is his younger brother. I heard there wasn’t much to what the other brother supplied in the Tower but grumbling. Montagu once said the king was served by knaves and heretics. Courtenay has been heard lamenting the changes in religion the king made.”

Stunned, I said, “Is that all?”

Gardiner said, “A recent Act of Parliament states that it is high treason to maliciously wish, will, or desire by words or writing, or by craft imagine, invent, practice, or attempt any bodily harm to be done or committed to the king’s most royal person. Almost anything can be bent or stretched to fit such a definition.”

The Lady Mary dazedly twisted a strand of dark red hair that had escaped from her Spanish headdress. “My poor friends,” she said. “Such good people. The Poles were the English family my mother loved above all. Sir Edward Neville is a gentle soul. Gertrude Courtenay has done more for me than any other lady dared, and Henry is so kind, always so kind.”

Bishop Gardiner said, “They have royal blood in their veins, my lady. They are a threat to the House of Tudor. The French ambassador told me today that the king said he long wanted to destroy Montagu and the rest of the Poles, for they were of the House of York.”

It was almost word for word what Baron Montagu said earlier this night. Bishop Gardiner studied me. I bit the inside of my cheek, desperate to quiet my humors.

The bishop said, “As long as Emperor Charles and the king of France stand against England, the king can brook no grumblings in his court. Should there be invasion and war, a disloyal group of nobles could join forces with Emperor Charles.”

A distant look came over the Lady Mary. With her dark red hair, blue eyes, and pale complexion, there was nothing outwardly Spanish about her. My coloring marked me as far more foreign than hers. Yet, at that moment, seized by such aloofness,
she was the granddaughter of Queen Isabella of Castile and King Ferdinand of Aragon. What would happen if the emperor, her cousin, set out to conquer England? I knew that that was what Gertrude dreamed of. Was it possible that she had ever discussed such dreams with the princess?

The Duke of Norfolk cleared his throat. “Lady Mary, I counted these men among my friends, too, but it must be admitted that their removal would make
you
more secure.”

“Do not say that to me,” she said, her voice deepening into command. “I would never wish for a blood sacrifice of good Christian men so that I could sleep safer in my bed at night.”

Suddenly she sagged in her chair. “Oh, you cannot know what it is to be the cause of such suffering,” she moaned. “No one ever could but my mother. Men martyred themselves; they went to the block rather than abandon her cause. How could this be happening to me now?” Tears slid down the princess’s ravaged cheeks.

Gardiner said that the Lady Mary had endured enough for one night. Norfolk left to order her party to prepare for the princess’s departure.

She held out her arms to me again, for an embrace. “I do not know when we will see each other again, Joanna. Please, please, please exercise better caution from this day forward.”

I gently freed myself from the Lady Mary. “Forgive me, I don’t follow,” I said. “Better than what?”

She sighed. “It was not wise to stay for weeks on end with Gertrude Courtenay. I love her dearly, yet she can be ruled by reckless passions. I must admit, I was surprised to learn you had become such close companions. I thought you happy in your lodgings in Dartford.”

I said slowly, “Weren’t you the one who sent Gertrude to Dartford to find me and take me into her home? That’s what she told me.”

The Lady Mary was even more startled. “Why ever would
I do that? I corresponded with Gertrude over the past year, yes, but I wrote of no other friends of mine in those letters. To do so would be most unwise.”

I had no opportunity to say more, for Norfolk reappeared with the princess’s retinue. She turned to me a last time and said fervently, “Joanna, we must have faith in Almighty God the maker and redeemer. Pray to the pure and blessed Virgin for the safety of our beloved friends.”

I promised to do so, and she left.

The men who had been waiting outside burst into the room: two priests of Winchester House. The bishop took papers from the older priest.

“I wonder,” he mused, as his eyes traveled down the sheet of paper, “who it was that told Gertrude Courtenay to find you in Dartford and bring you to the Red Rose.”

Keeping my voice as calm as possible, I said, “It’s possible I made a mistake.”

Bishop Gardiner handed the first sheet of paper back to his priest attendant and beckoned for a second. “Yes, I do know you are very capable of mistakes,” he said.

I must not let myself be baited by Gardiner. It was far preferable that he think me incompetent than learn that I had never told him the full truth of what I had found at Dartford Priory.

As Gardiner’s eyes traveled down the second paper, the room was silent. Norfolk and Richard had left without my noticing. Had the Duke of Norfolk departed from Winchester House entirely, leaving me with the bishop? That possibility made me go cold, despite the roaring fire.

Gardiner leaned back in his huge chair. “You aimed high in trying to match yourself with Montagu,” he said in that mild, musing voice. “Some people thought he had a claim to the throne. Did you fancy yourself worthy to be queen of England?”

“I’m a loyal subject of the king, just the same as you,” I answered.

A smile stretched across his face. “Last year, when I suggested that you marry someone for the sake of appearances to better assist the cause of the true faith, you shouted at me in your usual rude manner. I had no idea you were saving yourself for a prize like Montagu. And such a worldly man, not the husband I’d have envisioned for you. Not that it matters—you’ll never be a baroness now.”

Something was abundantly clear to me.

“You don’t care what happens to Montagu, or the Courtenays, or Neville,” I whispered.