Chapter Four #3
The treasurer’s answer was prompt. “A commission to study court expenditures and make recommendations for eliminating unnecessary spending. Now that we are at peace with France, there are certainly cuts that can be made. The sooner the better.”
“Fine.” William bit the word off to underscore his reluctance, though he knew it was a sensible plan and he was already turning over possible commission members in his mind.
His father and Cromwell had proposed the Eltham Ordinances years ago and been lauded for their good sense.
This was a chance to show himself as practical and civic-minded as they had been.
After finances, they arrived at the most common, and most rancorous, subject—religious discontent.
Although it had been muted for the last four months by his betrothal to Elisabeth de France, Catholic resentment at Norfolk’s death and Mary’s house arrest ran deep, and they never knew when it might flare into something ugly.
Two weeks earlier, a prosperous family in York had been burned out of their home by a mob claiming they had sheltered a Jesuit priest some months before.
If that were all, it would never have come to William’s attention, but the mob had been less than careful and, in their haste, neglected to ensure that the house was completely empty before they fired it.
A twelve-year-old housemaid had died in the blaze—a girl with no ties to the Catholic Church, save working for a family who possibly sympathized with Rome.
Tensions had been running high in the North ever since—from the justifiably angry Catholics, who accused the mob of not caring whom they hurt, to the local cleric who had preached a sermon that as good as said the dead girl got what she deserved and anyone even speaking to Catholics was damned by association.
“The Lady Mary’s household has remained quiet on the matter?” William asked. The last thing he needed in this overheated climate was any kind of public statement from the half sister who most of Europe still considered England’s rightful ruler.
“It has,” Rochford said. “Your Majesty, do you mean to continue her house arrest indefinitely? Or is the Princess Elizabeth’s visit to her a sign that you will soon restore her some measure of autonomy?”
William looked at the Earl of Surrey, sitting stiffly where once his grandfather had sat and entirely mute until now. “What think you, Surrey?” he asked curtly.
“I think her imprisonment is a mistake, Your Majesty.” He had a strong, clear voice that was more remarkable than his other, somewhat forgettable, features.
William indicated that he should continue.
Surrey’s voice strengthened as he spoke.
“Your Catholic subjects are still that—your subjects. Including the Lady Mary. It is my understanding that you have no certain evidence to doubt her loyalty. When you punish where there is no fault, resentment breeds. And you cannot afford resentment.”
William raised a single eyebrow. Despite his own recent imprisonment, Surrey was not afraid to be direct, even offensive. But he was honest, and William had ever respected honesty. “What would you do?”
“Continue your course of moderation. Don’t confuse matters of state with matters of conscience. There will always be agitators on both sides, Your Majesty, but the bulk of your people understand and admire your tolerance.”
Northumberland grunted and finally broke his silence. “Tolerance is earned. And it isn’t Protestants threatening the throne.”
“It isn’t me, either,” Surrey retorted. “By all means, punish treason wherever it threatens. But don’t confuse the security of the state with personal prejudice.”
“Says the man not long out of the Tower,” Northumberland muttered, almost but not quite under his breath.
“I would think you would agree with Surrey’s call for tolerance, my lord duke,” William said with deceptive mildness. “After all, there’s more than one way to undermine the throne.”
It was the first time William had publicly touched upon the matter of the still-absent Guildford since the day he’d sent Margaret Clifford into Lady Suffolk’s care.
He felt everyone’s attention sharpen—except Dominic, whose attention was always pitched to an extreme.
Oxford and Pembroke looked almost greedy as they leaned into the table, eager to watch the arrogant Northumberland be taken down a notch.
William wondered if there was a single man at that table who truly cared for anything more than his own position. Other than Dominic, of course.
William also leaned forward, and clasped his hands loosely on the table in front of him while focusing on Northumberland’s uneasy face. “I wonder, is your son still in England, or has he been spirited away to the Continent? Not very gallant of Guildford to abandon his girl-bride.”
“He knows Your Majesty would not harm her,” Rochford interposed in his measured way. Like so much his uncle did, the intervention irritated William.
Harm his young cousin? No, he would not do that.
But the chit of a girl was hardly an innocent—Margaret had admitted to being a wife in all ways to Guildford Dudley and had the belly to prove it.
Time to bring pressure to bear before it was said that Northumberland could get away with anything.
Let it be seen, William thought, that he could punish Protestant as well as Catholic.
“My Lord Chancellor,” he said—for this was a task for Rochford, not for Dominic’s more sensitive conscience—“have Margaret Clifford—excuse me, Margaret Dudley—arrested. Bring her to the Tower, that we might question her more closely about her husband’s whereabouts and …
intentions.” He considered Northumberland for the space of four slow breaths, letting the tension build.
“I find it difficult to believe that young Guildford would have been so rash of his own accord. To bed the girl—yes, he would easily do that. But to wed her? A girl in line to my throne? I wonder where your son got the courage to do that?”
He took pleasure in having rattled the normally undaunted Northumberland. “Your Majesty, I assure you—”
“You’re excused, my lord Northumberland. I have no further need of you at court just now. You may return when you bring your son to answer for his crime. You are free to retreat to whichever home you choose—save Syon House, naturally.”
It was a toss-up whether the duke would go quietly. He did, in the end, shoving his chair back with all the fury he could not give voice to, and William did not envy whatever unlucky soul would bear the brunt of Northumberland’s swallowed resentment.
The remainder of the meeting passed quickly, no one anxious to further try William’s uncertain temper.
He rather enjoyed it, while he pondered Surrey, who’d had the good sense not to react to Northumberland’s public rebuke.
The late Duke of Norfolk would not have been so circumspect.
Although he knew the Howards could be erstwhile friends and implacable enemies, William decided that he liked this young earl.
It seemed Dominic liked him as well, for he took several minutes to speak to him as the privy council was dismissed. When Surrey had left the room, William called Dominic back.
“I need hardly ask if you agree with him,” William said.
Dominic shrugged. “I have seen the results of heavy-handed repression. You wouldn’t need a lieutenant on the Welsh border if there hadn’t been so many generations of brutality on both sides.”
“The real trouble with the religious divide is that even when I punish clear-cut wrongdoing, it gets tangled up with religion. There’s always someone ready to turn any situation to their advantage.”
“I suppose that’s why we have a king. To sort the impossible.”
William laughed. “All the more reason to buy what books I wish, without meddling from accountants and clerks.” He looked at Dominic and made his decision on the spot.
“Dom, I want you to head this commission into court spending. Your advice I can live with, for it will not be condescending. Or, at least, no more so than usual. I do have one condition.”
“What is that?”
“That you do not protest the expense of any gifts I choose to give Minuette.”
Dominic’s expression did not so much as flicker. “As long as they’re not bought with treasury funds, I promise to refrain from comment.” Then, swiftly, he changed the subject. “What made you go after Northumberland today, after so carefully holding your tongue?”
“A man who wishes to openly attack should take care his own house is in order first. If Northumberland wants to provoke Catholics, he needs cleaner hands. Don’t you think he’s the one who manipulated Guildford’s marriage?”
Dominic shrugged. “Possibly.”
“That’s a possibility I dislike. Everyone knows his one great regret is that he married off Robert too young, so that he has no chance with my sister.
He would have taken care with Guildford to choose ambitiously.
Not quite Jane Grey—I’m sure Northumberland still hopes I will change my mind and marry her myself—and Jane’s sisters are too young, but Margaret Clifford comes next to them in succession. ”
“All those women,” Dominic said lightly. “Elizabeth, the Grey sisters, the Clifford girls …”
William laughed. “Believe me, no one is more anxious than I am to start getting sons. But until then, yes, all those women line up after me, which means I must take great care with the men who come near them.”
Always anxious after being confined to sitting for too long, he stood and began to circle the table. Dominic rose as well, used to standing still while his friend prowled. “I’ve been thinking, Dom.”
“Always a sure sign of trouble.”
He rolled his eyes at his friend, who for the first time in weeks looked somewhat cheerful.
William hadn’t realized how tense Dominic had been until now, when his expression was once again open and relaxed.
It lightened his heart, and he went on confidently, “I’ve decided to allow Surrey to inherit his grandfather’s title. ”
“Another Duke of Norfolk? Let’s hope this one is less trouble than the previous one.”
“It’s good for the country,” William said. “I won’t let him have all the lands and retainers—I’ll clip his wings considerably—but it will soften the Catholics to see that I am not afraid to listen to their advocate.”
“Fair enough.”
“The thing is,” William went on, “as I’ve said before, it’s a balancing act. With Surrey made Duke of Norfolk, that brings us back to three dukes in the kingdom. But when I propose this to my uncle, I actually mean to propose bringing the council to four dukes.”
“You mean to create a title?”
“No, I thought I’d resurrect one. There hasn’t been a Duke of Exeter in almost a hundred years—what do you think?”
Dominic must have been truly relaxed, because William could see the play of thoughts across his usually impassive face: openly surprised, then shocked, then staggered. He opened his mouth, and shut it without speaking.
“Wouldn’t you like to be my lord Duke of Exeter? Come on, Dom. Say something.”
“You have lost your mind.”
“Say something less insulting.”
“Your Majesty—”
“Don’t call me that.”
“People will say it’s favoritism.”
“And so it is.”
“Damn it, Will!” Dominic ran his hands through his black hair, an unusual sign of aggravation. “Be reasonable!”
“Finished yelling at me?”
They glared at one another.
Then William nodded. “Good. Now give me credit for not being stupid. I know what some will say if I make you a duke. Just as I know what some will say about restoring Norfolk’s title to his grandson.
People always talk, Dom. I don’t care about that.
I care about having a council that represents England and a nobility that is balanced. ”
“Northumberland and Norfolk,” Dominic said thoughtfully. “Protestant and more-or-less Catholic.”
“Yes. With my plan, I will have one duke loyal to the Catholics and one duke loyal to the Protestants. Then there’s my uncle. Protestant as well, but loyal primarily to himself. What I need to round it all out, Dom, is you.”
“Why?”
“So that I have one duke in England who is loyal only to me.”
Dominic must have been far more shattered than he’d suspected, for he broke royal protocol and sat down in the nearest chair while William still stood.
He dropped his head into his hands for a long minute in which William wisely held his tongue.
He knew how to bring his friend round. One only had to appeal to his sense of duty.
Dominic groaned. “I don’t suppose I actually have a choice, do I?”
William grinned. “That’s why I like you—always stating the obvious.”