The Fifth Queen (51 page)

Viridus nodded his head once up and down; Lascelles clapped his hands twice for joy at this contrivance. Cromwell added further injunctions: that Viridus should have in the corner of the gallery a man that should come hastening to him, the Lord Privy Seal, where he walked in the gallery; another who, at his own signal, should hastily bring the witnesses prepared against Kat Howard; another who should bring the engrossment of a command to behead T. Culpepper that night in the King’s Tower House, and yet another who should bring up guards and captains. All these, in their separate companies, should be set in the great room abovestairs next the King’s chapel, so that they might swiftly and without hindrance or accident come down the little stair to the Lady Katharine’s room. Again Viridus once bowed his head, moving his lips the while repeating these commands in words as they were uttered.

Cromwell paused again to think, then he added: ‘I will set this gentleman, Lascelles, to bring T. Culpepper to you. And because I will make very certain that this man shall not touch the person of the King, I will have this gentleman to stay with you in the room where you be, to follow
with you T. Culpepper into the Lady Katharine’s room. He shall run with you betwixt T. Culpepper and the King; but if T. Culpepper be minded to fall upon the Lady Katharine, ye shall not either of you stay him. It were best if he might stab her dead. Doubtless he shall.’

‘Before God!’ Lascelles cried out, ‘would I were a king to have so masterful and devising a minister as Privy Seal!’

‘Get you gone,’ Privy Seal said to Viridus. ‘I ha’ no need to tell you that if ye do faithfully and to a good issue carry out this play, you shall be greatly rewarded so that few shall hold their heads higher than you in the land. Ye know how I befriend my friends. But know too this: that if this scheme miscarry, either of your fault or another’s, either through inattention or ill chance, either through treason or dullness of the brain of man, down to the least pin of it, ye shall not this night sleep in your bed, nor ever more shall you be seen in daylight above the earth.’ He pointed suddenly from the window to the low sun. ‘Have a care that ye so act as ye shall see that disc again!’

Viridus spoke no word, but having waited a minute to hear if Privy Seal had more to enjoin, noiselessly and with his hands folded before him as they had been when he came, moved away over the shining floor. He went to tell the old, shivering Chancellor of the Augmentations that he must absent himself upon their common master’s errands. ‘I misdoubt some heads will fall to-night,’ he added as he went; ‘our lord’s nose for treasons is sharpened again.’ And that creature of Privy Seal’s shook beneath the furs that he wore, though it was already April; for the Chancellor had his private reasons to dread Privy Seal’s outbursts of suspicion.

In the gallery, Privy Seal still spoke earnestly with Lascelles.

‘I give this part of honour and privilege to thee,’ he said; ‘for though I was well prepared in all things, I trow I may trust thee better than another person.’

Lascelles was to watch for Culpepper, to hasten to Viridus, to attend upon the pair of them as the pilot-fish attendeth upon the ghostly and silent shark, not to leave them till the work was accomplished, or, upon the least sign of treason in Viridus or another, to come hastening as never man hastened, to Privy Seal.

‘For,’ Cromwell ended, ‘ye have felt like me how, if this realm is to be saved, saved it shall be by this thing alone.’

Lascelles, who had had no opening to speak, opened now his lips. Great ferreter as he was, he had discovered former servants of the Duchess of Norfolk, that were ready, for consideration of threats, to swear that they had seen the Lady Katharine when a child in her grandmother’s house to be over familiar with one Francis Dearham. He himself had these witnesses earmarked and attainable, and he was upon the point of offering them to Privy Seal. But he recollected that Privy Seal had witnesses enow of his own. To-morrow was also a day; and the King, if he would not now listen to tales against Kat Howard, might be brought to give ear to those and others added in a year’s time, or when he began to tire of his woman as all men tire of women. Therefore he once more closed his lips. And Cromwell spoke as if his thoughts of a truth jumped together with Lascelles’.

‘Sir,’ he said, ‘I would willingly bribe you from the service of his Grace of Canterbury to come into mine. But it may be that I shall not long outlive these days. Therefore I enjoin upon you these things: Serve well your master; guide him, for he needeth guidance, subtly as to-day ye would have guided him. I will not take you from him for this cause, that there is little need in one house of two that think alike. One sufficeth. For two houses with like minds are stronger than one that is bicephalous. Therefore serve you well Cranmer as in my day I served well the great Cardinal; so at his death, even as I at Wolsey’s, ye may rise very high.’

He went swiftly into his little cabinet, and returning, had in his hand a little book.

‘Read well in this,’ he said, ‘where much I have read. You shall see in it mine own annotations. This is
“Il Principe”
of Macchiavelli; there is none other book like it in the world. Study of it well: read it upon your walks. I am a simple man, yet hath it made me.’

Shadows were falling into the gallery, for the descending sun had come behind the dark, tall elms beyond the river.

‘Upon my faith,’ Cromwell said, ‘and as I hope to enter into Paradise by the aid of Christ the King that commended faithful servants, I tell you I had great joy when you told me this woman’s cousin had come into these parts. But greater joy than any were mine could I discern in this land a disciple that could carry on my work. As yet I have seen none; yet ponder well upon this book. God may work in thee, as in me, great changes by its study … Get you gone.’

He continued long to pace the gallery, his hands behind his back, his cap pulled over his narrow eyes; it grew dusk so that his figure could scarce be seen where it was at the further end. He looked from the casement up into the moon, small and tenuous in the pale western skies. He had been going over in his mind the details of how he had commanded Culpepper to be brought before the King. And at the last when he considered again that Culpepper might well strike his cousin dead at his feet, and that then she would have no tongue to stand against calumnies withal, he uttered the words:

‘I think I hold them.’

And, pondering upon the wonderful destiny that had brought him up from a trooper in Italy to these high places, he saluted the moon with his crooked forefinger—for the moon was the president at his birth.

‘Why,’ he uttered aloud, ‘I have survived four queens’ days.’

For Katharine of Aragon he had seen die; and Anne Boleyn had died on the scaffold; and Jane Seymour was dead in childbed;
and now, with the news from Cleves, Anne’s reign was over and done with.

‘Four queens,’ he repeated.

And, turning swiftly to the door, he commanded that Throckmorton be sent him at once when he came to the archway.

I
N THE GREAT PLACE
of Smithfield, towards noon, Thomas Culpepper sat his horse on the outskirts of the crowd. By his side Hogben, the gatewarden, had much ado to hold his pikestaff across his horse’s crupper in the thick of the people.

The pavement of heads filled the place—bare some of them, some of them covered, according as their owners had cast their caps on high for joy at the Bishop of Worcester’s words against the Papist that was to be burned, or as they pressed their thumbs harder down in disfavour and waited to shew their joy at the hanging of the three Protestants that should follow. In the centre towered on high a great gallows from which depended a chain; and at the end of the chain, half-hidden by the people, but shewing his shoulders and his head, a man in a friar’s cowl. And, towering as high as the gallows, painted green as to its coat and limbs, but gilt in the helmet and brandishing a great spear, was the image called David Darvel Gatheren that the Papist Welsh adored. This image had been brought there that, in its burning, it might consume the friar Forest. It gazed, red-cheeked and wooden, across the sunlight space at the pulpit of the Bishop of Worcester in his white cassock and black hat, waving his white arms and exhorting the man in the gallows to repent at the last moment. Some words of Latimer might now and again be heard; the chained friar stood upon the rungs of a ladder set against the
gallows post; he hung down his head and shook it, but no word could be heard to come from his lips.

‘Damnable heretic and foul traitor!’ Latimer’s urgings came across the sea of heads. ‘Here sitteth his Majesty’s council—’ At these words went up a little buzz of question, but sufficient from all that great crowd to send as it were a wind that blew away the Bishop’s words. For the style ‘his Majesty’ was so new to the land that people were questioning what new council this might be, or what lord’s whose style they did not know. Latimer waved his arm behind him, half turning, to indicate the King’s men. These ministers, bravely bonneted so that the jewels sparkled, habited in brown so that the red cloth covering their tiers of seats shewed between their arms and shoulders, sat, like a gay bank of flowers above the lake of heads, surrounded by many other lords and ladies in shining colours. They sat there ready to sign the pardon that was prepared if the friar would be moved by fear or by the Bishop’s argument to hang his head and recant.

The friar, truly, hung his head, clung to the rungs of the ladder, trembled so that all men might see, and once caught furiously at the iron chain and shook it; but no word came from his lips. Culpepper was bursting with pride and satisfaction because he was a made man and would have all the world to know it. He swung his green bonnet round his red head and called for huzzays when the friar shewed fear. Hogben called for huzzays for Squahre Tom of Lincoln, and many men cheered. But the silence dropped again, and the Bishop’s words, raised now very high, dominated the sunlight and eddied around the tall faces of the house fronts behind.

‘Here have sat the nobles of the realm and the King’s Majesty’s most honourable council only to have granted pardon to you, wretched creature, if but some spark of repentance would have happened in ye.’ Hanging his cowled poll beneath the beam that reached gigantic and black across the crowd,
the friar shook his head slowly. ‘Declared to you your errors I have,’ cried Latimer. ‘Openly and manifestly by the scriptures of God, with many and godly exhortations have I moved you to repentance. Yet will you neither hear nor speak—’

‘Bones of St Nairn!’ Culpepper cried; ‘here is too much speaking and no work. Huzzay! e caitiffs. Burn. Burn. Burn. For the honour of England.’ And, starting from his figure at the verge of the crowd, cries went up of ‘Huzzay!’ of ‘Burn!’ and ‘St George for London!’ and unquiet rumours and struggles and waving in the crowd of heads, so that the Bishop’s voice was not heard any more that day.

But through the crowd a silence fell as the image slowly and totteringly moved forward, ankle deep only in the crowd. Ropes from the figure’s neck ran out and tightened—some among the crowd began to sing the song against Welsh Papists that ran—

and the burden of it rose so loud that the image swayed over and fell unheard. At that too a silence fell, and presently there came the sound of axes chopping. The friar, swaying on his ladder, looked down and then made a great sign of the cross. The Bishop in his pulpit, raising his white arms in horror and imprecation, seemed to be giving the signal for new uproars.

Whilst he shouted with delight, Culpepper felt a man catch at his leg. He kicked his foot loose, but his hand on the bridle was clutched. There was a fair man at his horse’s shoulder that bore Privy Seal’s lion badge upon his chest. His face was upturned, and in the clamour he spoke indistinguishable words. Culpepper struck towards the mouth with his fist; the man
shrank back, but stood, nevertheless, close still in the crowd. When the silence fell again, Culpepper could hear amongst the swift chopping of the axes the words—

‘I rede ye ride swiftly to Hampton. I am the Lord Cromwell’s man.’

Culpepper brought his excited mind from the thought of the burning and the joy of the day, with its crowd and its odour of men, and sunshine and tumult.

‘Ye say? Swine,’ he shouted. ‘Come aside!’ He caught at the man’s collar and kicked his horse and pulled at its jaws till it drew them out of the thin crowd to a street’s opening.

‘Sir,’ the man said—he had a goodly cloth suit of dark green that spoke to his being of weight in some household—‘ye are like to lose your farms at Bromley an ye hasten not to Master Viridus, who holdeth the deedings to you.’

Culpepper uttered an inarticulate roar and smote his patient horse on the side of the head for two minutes of fierce blows, digging with his heels into the girthings.

‘Sir,’ the man said again, ‘some lord will have these lands an ye come not to Hampton ere six of the clock. I know not the way of it that be a servant. But Master Viridus sent me with this message.’

Already a thin swirl of blue smoke was ascending past the friar’s figure to the bright sky; it caressed the beam of the gallows and Culpepper’s bloodshot eye pursued it upwards.

‘Before God!’ he muttered, ‘I was set to see this burning. Ye have seen many; I never a one.’ A new spasm of rage caught him: he dragged at his horse’s head, and shouting, ‘Gallop! gallop!’ set off into the dark streets, his crony behind his back.

In the Poultry he knocked over a man in a red coat that had a gold chain about his neck; on the Chepe he jumped his horse across a pigman’s booth—it brought down Hogben, horse and pike; three drunken men were fighting in Paternoster Street—Culpepper charged above their bodies; but very shortly he came through Temple Bar and was in the marshes
and fields. Well out between the hedgerows he was aware that one galloped behind him. He drew a violent rein where the Cow Brook crossed the deep muddied road and looked back.