Chapter Two #2
“It is not titles I am thinking of, but opinions. I think the realm needs binding, and this council should represent more than one viewpoint to serve effectively.” Dominic, unlike Northumberland, always looked perfectly suited to the finesse of the court.
Tall (though William, at six feet two inches, Dominic had finally topped him by an inch), and though soberly dressed, Dominic had a way of carrying himself that reminded everyone that he had Plantagenet blood several generations back.
Mostly, though, Dominic belonged because he never bothered to think about whether he did or not. It was instinctive.
“Such as the views of those who meant to march a foreign army upon London and kill our king?” Northumberland countered, brusque and angry.
He had not his son Robert’s careful guile; he was too sure of his power to play games.
“There is no place for traitors in England, let alone welcoming them into the heart of the court.”
“Traitors, no,” Dominic retorted. “But men of good heart and honest thought, who want the same end but perhaps through different means. No one man holds a lock on all virtue.”
William laughed. “Really, Dom, how old are you? You sound like a university philosopher. Not,” he added, “that you aren’t right. It is a poor king indeed who cannot be trusted to hear more than one voice in council.”
“Does that mean you are ready to name new men?” Rochford pressed.
“It does. Wriothesley, Arundel, Paget, and Cheney. We need men as skilled as they are opinionated. And they will be free to speak their minds.” William looked around. “That’s all.”
He was half out of his chair when Rochford said, “Lord Exeter spoke truly, Your Majesty.”
Subsiding with a suppressed groan, William said, “He always does. On which particular point do you agree with his truthfulness?”
“We must decide what to do with the Earl of Surrey.”
The late Duke of Norfolk’s grandson, currently held in the Tower of London for suspicion of treasonable activity, Surrey was heir to his grandfather’s title and vast lands that would place him on a footing with Rochford and Northumberland—if he didn’t lose his head.
Even if William chose to leave him alive, he could seize the lands for the Crown and, say, banish Surrey to the Continent. Or simply keep him imprisoned.
Not that they had evidence Surrey had done anything treasonable.
Not that it necessarily mattered.
Northumberland had already made up his mind; no surprise considering how the Dudleys and Howards hated one another. “Norfolk cheated us of a useful execution—make Surrey take his place. That will teach the Catholics not to play at rebellion.”
“Surrey has been raised Protestant,” Dominic pointed out. William didn’t have to ask his friend’s opinion; distaste was written all over his face. The others would agree with the louder voices. That left, as always, Rochford.
“What say you, Uncle?” William asked. “Kill a man for his name?”
Rochford hesitated, and in that unusual moment of uncertainty William saw a momentary likeness to Dominic.
Again, a resemblance not wholly surprising considering that Dominic’s mother was a second cousin to George Boleyn.
They both had long, thoughtful faces and dark good looks that made women pliable.
“There is wisdom in the use of a public execution. But there is also wisdom in mercy. You have established a position of strength, Your Majesty: victory in France, betrothal to the French king’s daughter, the Lady Mary under house arrest …
I think, perhaps, it is time to ponder mercy. ”
“Besides the fact that there is no evidence of Surrey’s involvement?” Dominic broke in, barely a step away from open sarcasm.
“That is true,” Rochford answered slowly. “In fact, I am disturbed by his consistent denials. Surrey has not wavered, or been caught in a single falsehood. It may well be that he is innocent of any crime.”
“Except representing a family that would listen to a foreign pope over our own king,” asserted Northumberland. “A pope who insists that the throne belongs to Mary Tudor and our king is naught but a bastard.”
The room went very still. Cranmer and Burghley shared a look that united the old cleric and the younger councilor in shared disapproval of such folly.
William felt his stomach roil; though he knew it was said of him elsewhere, he should not have to listen to such words in his own council chamber.
“That’s enough,” he said sharply. “I will judge a man by word and action, not by gossip. And certainly I will not rule out of fear. My uncle has doubts. That is sufficient for me to be cautious.”
Already a plan was forming, not yet more than a thought and a sense that it would be unexpected and thus fun. As well as useful. He kept the possibility in the back of his mind and dealt with the immediate issue.
“Lord Exeter.” He always addressed Dominic in formal terms when he was about to make a political point.
“Visit Surrey in the Tower. Not just yet, though—leave it for a month or so. We will let him sit awhile and ponder the error of his family’s ways.
I will keep the interrogators away from him until then.
When you go, speak to his guards, speak to his servants, and speak to the inquisitors. ”
He dared Rochford to protest, but his uncle seemed, if anything, approving. Hard to tell behind that masklike face. Sometimes William wished Rochford was as openly violent in his feelings as Northumberland.
“What is my brief?” Dominic asked. “Guilt or innocence?”
“Fact,” William said. “Did Surrey have any knowledge of his grandfather’s plot with the Spanish? If you are satisfied that he did not, then it will be time to speak of recompense.”
Dominic was visibly glad, and William basked in that moment of approval. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
“That is all.” William waved them away, all except Dominic.
When the door was closed on just the two of them, William stretched out his legs and sighed. “Tell me true, Dom, do you think Surrey knew of his grandfather’s plans?”
“No.”
“That’s an awfully quick answer when you haven’t even spoken to the man yet.”
“I’ve read the interview transcripts. He’s been racked—did you know that?”
Gentlemen were mostly spared torture, but Rochford had insisted. It did make Surrey’s denials more plausible. William ignored the underlying disapproval in Dominic’s question. “We all know how stubborn the Howards can be, particularly when their lives are at stake.”
“Surrey wasn’t at Framlingham during the Lady Mary’s residence.
He had come nowhere near East Anglia for eight months.
You appointed him to the northern marches and, except for the time he spent in Paris at your command, there he stayed—where, by the way, he has been remarkably effective on the border.
He has ever served well and faithfully, with not a hint of his father’s radical Catholicism.
I daresay I’ve never heard the man express a religious opinion before now. ”
“He’ll have to if I let him live. The Catholics will force it of him. He’ll have to come down on one side or the other.”
“Will he?”
“What does that mean?”
Dominic shrugged, but the tension in his eyes belied his attempt at being casual. “As long as we force men to hold a religious opinion to the exclusion of all else in their life, England will remain unbalanced, liable to be tipped at any providential moment from one side to the other.”
“You think I would return this country to Rome?”
“Never. Which is why you will always be a target for those who would.”
“Then little has changed. Don’t worry about me, Dom. I’m young, I’m handsome, I’ve beaten the French, and I’m engaged to a Catholic princess. I’d say we’re fairly balanced just now.”
Dominic shifted restlessly in his chair, but he would not stand until William gave him permission. “If you’re thinking about balance, does that mean you would invest Surrey with the Norfolk title and lands?”
“An almost-Catholic duke against two Protestant ones? I think I shall have to.” With a grin, William added, “And perhaps another title as ballast against my uncle and Northumberland. We shall see.”
Dominic seemed uninterested in William’s hints. “Then I’ll speak to Surrey.”
Christmas at court was an exercise in furious revelry and exhausting entertainment.
Dominic had never cared much for the masques, those exuberant displays of costume and dramatic theme and over-the-top allegory, though he had been forced to participate in several in earlier years.
But this Christmas he had flatly refused when pressed by several comely court ladies to join the play.
Minuette did not press him, though he knew she was part of it.
In fact, from the accounts of the Master of Revels, it appeared she was planning the masque single-handedly.
Orders had been given for multiple lengths of black fabric, both velvet and muslin; for red velvet headdresses; and for a machine that would produce thunder and lightning.
It all seemed silly to Dominic. These days everything seemed silly that wasn’t directly connected to the present security of the state or the secret betrothal of Minuette and William.
But before the Christmas debauchery came Christmas worship.
This part Dominic did enjoy, if only because everyone, even William, sat still and he could slip his gaze sideways almost as often as he liked and glimpse Minuette next to Elizabeth.
The view of her was one he knew well and never tired of: caught in profile, the line of her brow and throat, the spill of her hair onto her shoulders beneath her sheer black hood …
Dominic had done little enough praying in church these last weeks, unless God counted it worship to devour Minuette with his eyes.
She didn’t seem to mind. Although she glanced his way rarely, there was a wealth of pleasure in those flashes.