News continues to find us here. Or find me, I should say. No one at court has yet realized that Dominic is with me, though there has been much gossip from some of my correspondents about the nature of his quarrel with William. One or two have been accurate enough to pass on the news that Dominic has been banished to his estates at Tiverton for now, but there are other rumours: that Dominic joined the French in Scotland, that he struck the king in the face, or even that Dominic has been confined to the Tower with Northumberland and his sons.
When I read out such things to Dominic, I do not see surprise or even distaste in his expression. Mostly, he just looks weary. And not because he has spent nearly two months riding back and forth across England. No, this weariness goes to his heart.
I do not know how to set it right.
Between them, William and the Duke of Norfolk scorched the border counties, burning everything in their reach from crops to abbeys. Renaud LeClerc pulled back his French troops almost as if they had never been there, and the Scots were decimated. William relished the rout, for as long as he was fighting he knew that he had been right. It was only when the fighting was done and autumn turned toward an early winter in the North that he was forced to remember the look on Dominic’s face when he’d realized how he’d been used.
William’s justification ofI was rightveered in the long hours of night toTell me I was right. He wasn’t sure whom he was pleading with. Dominic—or himself? He had been sure when he’d ordered LeClerc’s assassination and the subsequent battles, but in the aftermath doubts crept in. Surely it had been too good an opportunity to miss—but what about the spring when battle season rolled back around? Was England ready to face the French in war once again? The restlessness of his mind kept him sleepless, and by the time he finally returned to London at the end of November he was achy and irritable. But kings don’t have time for illness, so he faced his privy council the morning after his return.
In all his considerations he had come up with two positive items, points he was swift to hammer home when he met with Rochford and the council.
First, economics. “With Northumberland’s attainder, his lands and wealth belong to the Crown,” he pointed out. “He wasn’t the richest duke,” that would be Rochford, “but nearly so. His wealth is a substantial addition to the royal coffers. Enough to strengthen the navy and prepare our forces if need be for retaliation by the French in the spring.”
“So you will wait for retaliation?” William Cecil asked.
And thus William’s second point. He inclined his head. “There is a reason my troops withdrew from Scotland. We were not the aggressors; we merely responded in kind. I will not be manipulated by Henri into breaking our treaty. If he wants out of it, then he can bloody well say so.”
“What are the odds he will?” The Earl of Arundel looked grim.
William turned to his uncle in unspoken query. Rochford shrugged and said, “Who can tell with the French? No doubt their own councils are meeting as we are to decide what they will risk in the spring. But the king is wise—we have the funds; let us use them to build up our forces and be as prepared as possible for a campaign next year. Until then, it waits only what Henri will do in response.”
Cecil nodded thoughtfully. “As for the question of Northumberland?”
William looked briefly at his uncle, then said bluntly, “There will be no trial for John Dudley. I am calling a session of Parliament to pass an Act of Attainder against him.”
Thus avoiding a trial by the duke’s peers, and the messy complications that might ensue. Not only could Parliament convict Northumberland, they could also set the legal seal upon William’s confiscation of his lands. And giving his people a say in the fall of this unpopular noble would help satisfy some of the pent-up Catholic protests.
No one protested, or looked more than vaguely uncomfortable. Northumberland had been too strong a personality, too successful and driven and openly ambitious, to be greatly mourned. But he had been a senior peer of the realm and his coming execution was a warning that, as William could raise a man, so could he end him.
“And his sons?” Lord Burghley wanted to know.
All four of Northumberland’s living sons were in the Tower, held separately from their father and from one another: John, Ambrose, Henry, and Robert. “Let them rot for now,” William answered sharply. “I will deal with them in my own time.” He might even send one or two of them to hell after their father. Robert, probably—he was the one who had distracted Minuette while his father’s lackey attempted murder. Robert claimed to not have known about the poison—and Minuette claimed to believe him—but William was not persuaded.
“Your Majesty.” It was Cecil once again; Lord Burghley must be feeling blunt this morning, William thought wryly. “Might I raise the delicate matter of marriage? If the French do retaliate in the spring and we go to war, have you given thought to who will replace Elisabeth de France as your intended bride?”
“I have given it a great deal of thought.” William avoided his uncle’s eyes. “As well as I have given thought to the matrimonial future of my dear sister, the Princess Elizabeth. I have sent a private embassy to the Emperor, asking for the favour of his son, Prince Philip’s, company in our court next summer. I believe the request will be looked on favourably.”
It was what the newly restored Spanish ambassador to his court had intimated just yesterday. Frankly, the timing was perfect. Elizabeth was so disillusioned and bitter after her experiences at Dudley Castle that she had never been more receptive to the idea of Prince Philip.She will make a wonderful Queen of Spain,he thought.And won’t that bother my sister Mary no end: a Protestant queen in the heart of Catholic Europe.
His answer hadn’t entirely satisfied Burghley. “May we dare to hope, Your Majesty, that if Elisabeth de France is not in your future, that you will give serious consideration to an English bride?”
He meant Jane Grey, and every man there knew it. William’s second cousin, granddaughter of Henry VIII’s beloved younger sister, impeccably bred and outstandingly educated. And Protestant in every bone and breath of her body and desire of her heart.
William wondered how many of his council marked his careful choice of words in answer. “I assure you that an English bride is never far from my consideration.”
Let them read that as they wished. Let Rochford glare all he wanted. William was tired of deception. He could almost bless Henri for sending Renaud LeClerc and his troops across the border, for they had made the first play to unravel the treaty, and now the next was in reach.
He was glad, though, to dismiss the privy council for today. Unusually for him, he had a headache and he clearly hadn’t shaken off the effects of weeks of riding and campaigning. All he wanted to do was sleep.
By nightfall William was burning with fever.
Dominic stayed at Wynfield for three weeks. News filtered through to Minuette’s home readily enough, mostly from Elizabeth but also letters from diplomats and clerics and others who found her a useful contact or else simply liked her. Through them all, Dominic followed the course of the brief Scottish campaign. He was relieved both by Renaud’s diplomatic pulling back of the French troops and by William’s restraint in not pressing the matter to the full. The response was bloody enough to send a message, but calculated enough to make it possible for the treaty to be preserved. William was leaving it to the French to decide what the next move would be. Which made Dominic proud, somewhere beneath his overwhelming disillusion.
After that first night, he and Minuette did not discuss William. He knew it was only a temporary reprieve, that the world would force itself upon them once more and they would have to decide together how to meet it, but for three weeks he could almost pretend that his life would always go on like this: a quiet country manor, a placid household, and an adored wife.
The pretense came to a cruel end with word that Parliament would be meeting in mid-December specifically to pass an Act of Attainder against Northumberland. Minuette read aloud Elizabeth’s letter, announcing it in language so formal and stilted the princess might have been writing of someone she’d never met. Minuette sighed heavily as she laid the letter aside.
“Will you go straight to court from here?” she asked Dominic. “Or make at least a short visit to Tiverton?”
