Chapter 6
CHAPTER 6
H ampton Court Palace, 1535
Cara sat on a window seat as she embroidered exquisite jewels on to the border of a rich silk curtain commissioned for the queen’s bedchamber. Anne Boleyn paced back and forth across the parlour like a prowling cat. The restless movement grated on Cara’s nerves, but she was careful to maintain a pleasant expression. Miserable faces were not welcome at the palace.
All was not well at court. King Henry VIII was due back later in the day, and Anne had received word from one of her informants that the king was displeased with her and had been seized by a fit of foul temper. Again. What had begun as a fairy tale romance had quickly morphed into a bad dream. All those in the royal couple’s inner sanctum suffered. Henry and Anne argued frequently, and the queen was distraught much of the time. She’d lost her influence and was under suspicion no matter how much she tried to appease the king.
Lady Cara Cavendish had become Anne’s most favoured lady-in-waiting after being summoned to serve at court, alongside her husband, Lord George Cavendish. George was a long-standing loyal advisor and beloved companion to King Henry. Both Cara and George preferred to be with their children at Willow Manor, the family residence in York. But refusing to serve the king and queen was tantamount to treason. Cara had joined George at the palace two years earlier. Nobles did not get to come and go as they pleased but rather must fit in with the court. Cara was only occasionally given leave of absence to visit dearest little Thomas and May, in York.
Anne quizzed Cara, her black eyes darting from side to side in her pale face. ‘When do you think the king will be here?’
Cara could see the queen was tormenting herself again.
‘I don’t know, Your Grace. By nightfall, I imagine. Is there anything I can do? Should I prepare a tisane? You are fraught; it’s not good for your nerves.’
‘Before the king left, he was like a bull with a sore head.’ The queen sank onto the window seat beside Cara and lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘I’m beginning to fear for my life and for the safety of my household. Do I imagine the plotting and the intrigue? It’s as if I’m in a living hell. I swear I must be in Dante’s Inferno. The king has become impossible to live with since his accident. I can barely look at him without him losing his temper. He is simply irascible.’
Cara had to think quickly. She had sworn to be a loyal confidante to the queen, and she too feared for their positions at court; for their lives. She was also aware that one wrong word overheard by a vengeful pair of ears was as good as signing her own death warrant and that of her family.
‘Is your dear husband accompanying the king on this trip? Please do tell me what you’ve heard. I don’t trust Cromwell: he seeks to stir up only trouble between us. He serves his own interests purely,’ continued Anne.
‘I will enquire for you tomorrow, Your Grace, replied Cara. I haven’t heard anything of import. You know how the servants hesitate to tell us anything which may cast them in a poor light. I’ve received only a short note from George assuring me he is well and asking after my health and that of the children.’
The queen questioned her no further, and Cara was thankful she’d managed to buy herself a little time to think things through. She would try and have a private word with George upon his return so they could decide on the best course of action. He was a master in matters of diplomacy. He would know what to do.
Anne and Henry’s court which had once been renowned around the world as a sensuous delight of feasting and merriment was now as poisonous as a viper’s nest . Cara focused on her handiwork, but she was overcome with a dreadful sense of foreboding. The future had never looked so dark. As she sewed, she silently prayed George would return soon with King Henry at his side, in good spirits, and they would all be restored to their former state of contentment.
London, 1536
Cara, George and Swifty ran as fast as they could once they exited Newgate Street. They darted in and out of narrow alleys in an attempt to put as much distance between them and the prison as possible. After about ten minutes, Cara could barely breathe, and she glanced at George to see whether they might rest a moment. He had slowed down, and his steps faltered.
‘George, are you quite well?’ She turned back and retraced her path. She noticed bright red blood pooling on his hand and spilling through his fingers as he clutched at his neck. The blood dripped onto his shirt. ‘Oh, my God. You are wounded. Why didn’t you say?’
‘It’s nothing; just a surface graze from one of those damned arrows, although these wounds do bleed like the devil. We must get away from here fast; there’s no time for dawdling.’
‘But darling, your neck: it looks bad. Let me see.’
Cara touched George’s shoulder as she waited for him to lower his head for her to examine the wound. It was a bloody mess, but the gash was small.
‘I think you’re right. Let’s hope it’s only a flesh wound. Thank God. Swifty we need water to cleanse Lord Cavendish’s neck, or we’ll be in trouble. I fear it will become infected.’
The lad looked at her with a puzzled expression. ‘Infected?’
Cara clicked her tongue, impatient as she realised she might as well be speaking Chinese.
People drank ale. The water in the Thames was putrid and you’d be liable to get very sick if you drank it.
‘What does your mother do when you or your brother cut yourself?’
‘She wipes the blood away with a cloth and then wraps it around the wound to stop the bleeding,’ said Swifty.
‘So, she wouldn’t try to clean it?’
Swifty moved his head to one side as if seriously considering this proposition. ‘No, she don’t do no cleaning,’ he said.
If Cara wasn’t so worried about George’s condition, she’d have laughed at Swifty’s befuddled expression. She tore a piece of fabric from the lining of her long skirt. Tying it up had been a good move. The material was clean and dry. This would have to do for a bandage. She had no clean water or ale.
‘Let me tie this around your neck to stem the blood flow. It looks like quite a gash, but I think if we can just stop the flow, it will soon congeal and you should be fine. We can tend to it better when we stop for the night.’
George obediently knelt down on the dusty ground, bowed his head, and she secured the cloth around his wound with a tidy knot. Girl guiding came in handy in Tudor England.
‘You look pale. We’d better try and get some ale and bread to restore your blood sugars. We won’t get far if you’re weak.’
‘Blood sugars? You do come out with some strange things lately.’
‘I’ve been reading some new books from the continent,’ she said. ‘They are way ahead of us in medicine, you know.’
‘I see.’
‘Well, I don’t know about blood sugars, but we have miles to go along the Great North Road. We’re almost at Smithfield now, and from there we can join the road. If we get lucky, we’ll be able to ride with someone, or failing that we’ll need a couple of horses.’
‘We must disguise ourselves,’ said Cara. ‘We have a good few hours yet to get a head start but once they summon us for the trial and realise we’re gone, no doubt they’ll begin searching for us. That’s if the guard didn’t realise we were escaped prisoners and already sound the alarm.’
‘I suspect it’s likely he thought we were suspicious characters and took a pot shot at me for the hell of it. We probably look more like common thieves than nobles, after our stint in Newgate,’ said George.
‘I worry we’re very predictable, heading to Willow Manor. I wonder if we might be better to try and get word to your parents and ask someone to bring the children to us rather than going all the way there. As much as I’d love to see home again, we’re not going to be able to stay long, and we may only put them all in danger.’
‘Yes, good point. We’ll put the servants in jeopardy by showing ourselves. The authorities will question them, and who knows what trouble will befall them for trying to protect us,’ said George
‘What shall we do then?’ asked Cara.
‘Let’s figure it out when we’re on the road. I’ve got an idea, but we’ll have to see how quickly we can move and whether anyone’s looking for us.’
‘Ew,’ said Cara.
Rotting corpses were piled in a hideous heap at the edge of the street, and the stench turned her already queasy stomach. Cara slowed down to observe the real-life history lesson. This really was almost too much to take in.
‘We must not linger,’ said George. ‘There has been another onslaught of the sweating sickness. Every second counts, and it’s too late for these poor souls. Let’s not join them, but instead, make haste.’
Swifty lived up to his name and was ahead of them the entire time.
‘We’ve recruited a good lad,’ said George. ‘I’ve got a feeling we’re going to be grateful we’ve brought him along. Here we are. This is the road to York. Let’s stay off the highway and run along the hedgerows out of sight of any travellers so as not to attract unnecessary attention. When you spot someone, signal me, and we’ll spin them a yarn, and endeavour to prevail upon their hospitality.’
They picked up the pace. As the morning sun shone high in the sky, Cara noticed George losing ground again.
‘How are you feeling?’ she called.
‘Let me rest awhile. I’ll be fine in a few moments,’ he said.
He sat down on the grassy bank away from the road. Cara ran back, but before she could reach him, he keeled over on to his side.
‘Swifty, Swifty,’ called Cara. ‘Pray, come. All is not well with my lord.’
‘George, George, wake up. Can you hear me? Please wake up.’
Cara touched his forehead, a sheen of sweat coated his face, and his skin was the colour of clotted crème, not its usual healthy glow.
‘Yes, my lady?’ said Swifty, running towards them.
‘My lord is weak from the neck wound. He’s hot and clammy; I fear he’s lost consciousness. We need to get him something to eat and drink, and we must get him to York as soon as possible, or he’ll die without the hangman. He can’t even walk in this state, never mind run.’
‘The Black Eagle is over the road. I’ll go and see what I can beg there for the master,’ said Swifty over his shoulder as he dashed off.
George stirred and attempted to sit up but fell back down again, groaning, hand on head.
‘You don’t look too good. You need water to drink. You’re dehydrated.’
George stared at Cara. ‘Drink water? Have you lost your senses, my love? Are you delirious like me? Come and rest here awhile. Don’t go drinking water; you’d be better to drink your own piss. We drink wine when we can get it and failing that we partake of ale. I could do with a mug of wine right now; it would revive me somewhat, I’m sure.’
‘Swifty has gone to the inn across the way to try and procure some food and drink.’
They didn’t have to wait long before he appeared, beckoning for them to make haste. Cara helped George to his feet. They moved as fast as they could and followed Swifty down the embankment into a cluster of oak trees. He held the reins of two gleaming horses, one chestnut and one jet black.
‘What the...’ said George. ‘Where did these beauties come from?’
‘I borrowed them from the innkeeper’s stable yard. We’d better get going before he notices,’ said Swifty. He shuffled his feet and didn’t meet George’s eyes. He looked a little shamefaced, but there was a hint of defiance in his eyes once he raised his pointed chin.
‘Stealing is a hanging offence Swifty, but as we were fortunate enough to make your acquaintance in Newgate Prison, I suppose I’d better not judge you too harshly. Well done for your cunning, my lad. You are a loyal and wise servant, indeed.’
‘Thank you, my lord.’ Swifty looked pleased. ‘I know it’s wrong, but we’re not going to reach York without horses, and I was worried you would die from your wound.’
‘That’s true enough lad, no need to fret, although I thank you all the same.’
Swifty produced ale and a couple of hunks of dry bread from his pockets, which he passed to George and Cara.
‘Thank you,’ they echoed in unison.
They tore into the bread and downed the ale. ‘I don’t remember ever being so thirsty,’ said Cara, wiping her mouth. The colour has returned to your cheeks, George. Thank goodness. I was worried for your life there for a while.’
George mounted the jet-black horse and Cara jumped up behind him with Swifty’s assistance. Swifty rode the chestnut, and they set off at a fast trot down the track.
They would be in with a chance of making it to York if no one from the inn spotted them after they realised the horses had been stolen.
‘Stop, thief!’ A loud voice shouted.
George dug his legs into the mare’s sides.
‘Hold on tight,’ he said.
The horse lurched forward. Cara inched closer and moulded her body to George’s back. Her long hair flew behind her in the strong winds like a waving flag. Her heartbeat pummelled against her chest.
Please, God, don’t let them catch us.
‘Come on, Swifty,’ she shouted. ‘Let’s go. If they catch us now, we are all dead.’