“Right,” he told the lieutenant. “I’ll see the Earl of Surrey now.”
He and Harrington followed the lieutenant to the Bloody Tower and up several flights of ice-cold stairs to where Surrey was being held. The earl had two rooms and three gentlemen to serve him, as befitted his status. But it was still a prison cell, with bare stone walls and deep-set narrow windows that let in precious little light and the plainest of furnishings, and Dominic came close to shuddering at the thought of being locked away. His father had died in such a cell—perhaps this very one—accused and alone, and he wondered for the first time if it was dread as much as illness that had killed him.
Surrey rose to meet him. “Courtenay,” he said, understandably wary. “Sorry, it’s Exeter now, isn’t it? I haven’t been at court enough to remember.”
Thomas Howard was younger than Dominic; at not quite nineteen, he was of an age with William. His light brown hair had a hint of red to it and he was clean shaven, which argued a greater than usual care for his appearance while imprisoned. He had a straight nose and his eyes were wide and slightly slanted, giving him an inquisitive, intelligent expression. He’d been the Earl of Surrey since the age of ten, when his own father was executed for treason. There was enough of familiarity and pity about his circumstances that Dominic felt sorry for him.
Which, he reminded himself, should no more affect his judgment than his distaste for punishing a man before fault had been found. “May we speak privately?” he asked, and Surrey led him into the smaller interior chamber, which contained only a bed and a single chair, while Harrington leaned against the wall of the outer chamber and prepared to learn what he could from Surrey’s men. They had a round table and a deck of cards; men often spoke plainer while their hands were occupied.
Dominic took the chair and waited for Surrey to perch on the edge of the bed before saying, “I’m here on the king’s behalf.”
“I believe the men who racked me said the same.”
“When I say it, you know my commission came face-to-face.”
“Right. The King’s Shadow, you’re called.”
Dominic knew it could be worse. Male companions of kings might be called all sorts of things if the king in question were unpopular. Considering how little time he spent flirting with women—exactly none—it was a good thing for his reputation that William was loved.
Surrey eased slightly, though the underlying tension remained. “What is your commission?”
“To determine the truth of what happened at Framlingham.”
“You’ll know better than I do, seeing as you were there and I was not. I’m not the one who stuck a knife in my uncle Giles’s throat.”
Clearly this wasn’t a man afraid of plain speaking, whatever the circumstances. Dominic met his gaze steadily, though his mind whispered,It wasn’t a knife, it was a shard of glass. And it wasn’t me…
“He earned his death,” Dominic countered harshly. “What about you?”
“I don’t want to die, no more than any man, but how am I to prove a negative? I knew nothing of this Penitent’s Confession I’ve been tortured over, nothing of any Spanish troops or grand Howard design to put Mary on the throne. If I could open my very head to you, you would see that I am innocent of these charges. Since I cannot, all I can give is my word and my past and future actions as bond. If I am to be allowed future action.”
Dominic stood up and let his silence settle over Surrey while he circled what he could of the tiny room. Before he’d ever come here, he had believed in Surrey’s innocence. But now he was even more certain. At last, he stood still and stared at Surrey, who rose slowly from the bed and tried not to look either hopeful or desperate. It could be hard to distinguish between the two emotions.
It would not do to make promises, but Dominic did say, “The king is inclined to be merciful. He desires to unite his kingdom, not divide it further.”
“I would hope…to live and to serve is my only aim, Lord Exeter.” Surrey stumbled over the words and Dominic realized again just how young he was. How young they all were, and yet trying to do their best for England.
He and Harrington bid goodbye to the earl and his men (with whom Harrington had indeed been playing cards) and exited into the open, outside the Bloody Tower, where Dominic breathed deeply of the frosty air, glad to be out of the confining walls and eager to return to court. But when he gave thanks to the Lieutenant of the Tower, the man said, “Another prisoner has asked to speak with you. She was most insistent, though who can say how she heard of your presence.”
She—it could only be Eleanor Howard. He traded glances with Harrington, who shrugged slightly as if to sayUp to you.Dominic had no desire to speak with William’s former mistress, but she was the only female of the Howard family to be confined to the Tower. Guilt decided him. Or perhaps it was merely prudence. Eleanor made an unpredictable enemy.
She was being held in Beauchamp Tower, closer to the Lieutenant’s Lodging. Her outer chamber was smaller than Surrey’s, but it was warmer and richer, with tapestries on the walls that she would have had to pay extra for. She had two maids with her, both older and plainer women than herself who had the knack of blending into the furniture. From the moment Dominic entered, Eleanor ignored her maids completely and focused all her attention on him.
She was undoubtedly an attractive woman—with her flaxen blond hair and surprisingly dark eyes—and she had the trick of looking at every man she met with more than a hint of promised pleasure. There were no concessions to prison in her clothing; she wore an extravagant gown of moss green velvet edged with ermine. Though she had claimed to be pregnant at the time of her arrest, there was no sign of it now beneath her tightly cinched stomacher.
Dominic had not seen her since November, and she said almost the same thing she had that last night at Framlingham. “I must see the king.”
He opened his mouth to reply and she snapped, “And don’t say he doesn’t consort with traitors. I am not a traitor. You know that.”
He did—reluctantly—know that. She was grasping and ambitious and amoral and had never evinced the slightest grief over her husband’s violent death…but she was loyal to William. He was probably the only thing she had ever been loyal to.
He promised what he could. “I will speak to him.” Surely if William were going to release Surrey and allow him to become Duke of Norfolk, he would set Eleanor free as well, if only for the sake of the child she had borne him. Not to return to court, of course…which was best for all concerned.
Eleanor narrowed her eyes, as though she knew what he was thinking, but said only, “You do that.”
If Eleanor discovered even a hint of William’s passion for Minuette, she would make a relentless enemy.
William was shooting with an arquebus when Dominic returned from the Tower. He heard Rochford’s queries and, content to let his uncle have the first say, lifted the twenty-pound matchlock gun onto the forked stick and sighted carefully. He squeezed the lever, igniting the flash, and the ball shot out to strike the targeted breastplate. William liked shooting at plate armour; he was close enough to this breastplate to tear through it completely. As the onlookers applauded, he handed the arquebus to his arms master and looked over to Rochford and Dominic, in close conversation.
