CHAPTER ONE
Richmond Palace
Today the Duke of Northumberland stands trial at Westminster Hall.
Dominic traveled to London yesterday to take part, though I know he is conflicted.
Robert Dudley has told him that someone other than his father is behind all the twists of treachery these last two years, but Robert will say no more to Dominic.
He has asked, rather, to see Elizabeth. Dominic asked me to help persuade her, but I did not try very hard.
Why should she go? Whether there is one traitor or twenty in this, it was Northumberland himself who held Elizabeth and me prisoner. And for that alone he must answer.
Besides, all Elizabeth can think of just now is William. It has been three months since the nightmare of his smallpox and the effects … linger.
Perhaps the resolution of Northumberland’s fate will release us all from this sense that we are snared in the moment before action. The tension of waiting is almost more than I can bear.
In the absence of an Earl Marshal of England (a post which William had not filled since the death of the old Duke of Norfolk more than a year ago), the trial of John Dudley, Duke of Northumberland, was presided over by George Boleyn, Duke of Rochford and Lord Chancellor of England.
Dominic took his place with the other peers who would sit in judgment of Northumberland today, but all his attention was given to Rochford himself.
Three months ago the imprisoned Robert Dudley had made an enigmatic accusation aimed at the Lord Chancellor but had thus far refused to provide any details.
Robert seemed to believe that even if his father were convicted today, William would be merciful as to the sentence and so there would be time to consider the matter.
Dominic was not so certain.
The doors at the back of the hall opened and Northumberland was escorted in.
The hall at Westminster was a rich backdrop to today’s trial.
A stage had been erected in preparation, hung with tapestries and a canopy, beneath which was a bench for Northumberland.
Dominic viewed the tableau with a cynicism that he had learned from Rochford—the trappings might argue respect for the accused, but he knew all too well they were mostly meant to remind those watching how far the man had fallen.
Northumberland conducted himself with gravity, three times reverencing himself to the ground before the judges. Dominic thought wryly it was the most humility he’d ever seen from John Dudley.
The hall was crowded with spectators, including members of London City’s guilds as well as diplomats and foreign merchants who would no doubt be taking careful notes and sending word of the proceedings far and wide across Europe.
England had been the subject of intense Continental scrutiny for quite some time—what with her young and untried king, her inflammatory religious divide, and her highly desirable and unwed royal princess.
England may not be the powerhouse that France or Spain was, but it was very often the critical piece that decided the dangerous balance of power.
And now a peer of the realm was being tried for his life.
Not to mention that a mere five months ago—despite a peace treaty—a French army had engaged English troops in battle on the Scots border and since that time England’s king had been mostly absent from public view.
Everyone in England and Europe knew that William had been ill and some had correctly guessed at the smallpox that had driven him to seclusion.
Now even his own people were beginning to grow restless.
They had waited years for William to grow old enough to take his father’s place as a reigning monarch.
They were not content to leave the government in the hands of men like Rochford and Northumberland, rightly distrusting the motives of such powerful men. The people wanted their king.
This trial was the first step in giving them what they wanted.
Northumberland was hugely unpopular—though Dominic had not been in London when the duke and his sons were paraded through the streets to the Tower, he had heard countless versions of how they had been booed and mocked, pelted with rotten fruit and even stones.
With William not quite ready to return to public view yet, Northumberland’s trial for high treason was a distraction.
It was also, in large part, a sham. The original plan had been to have Parliament pass an Act of Attainder against Northumberland, thus avoiding a public trial and allowing the Crown to quickly confiscate the duke’s lands.
Granting him a trial instead in no way meant that Northumberland stood a chance of acquittal.
There could be no doubt of the verdict; this trial was for the sole purpose of placating the populace.
Rochford opened the trial with a reading of the charges, none of which Dominic could dispute: the calculated secret marriage between Northumberland’s son Guildford and Margaret Clifford, a cousin to the king and thus in line to England’s throne.
That disastrous marriage had been annulled after Margaret had given birth to a boy, but Northumberland’s impudence could not be overlooked in the matter.
And then there was the damning charge of “with intent and malice aforethought confining Her Highness, Princess Elizabeth, against her will”: Dominic had seen firsthand the duke’s intent to keep hold of Elizabeth in his family castle until William was forced to listen to him.
Related to that last was also the charge of raising troops against the king—again indisputable.
For the last two charges alone, Northumberland’s life was forfeit.
But Dominic was less easy about some of the other charges considered behind the scenes.
That Northumberland had conspired to bring down the Howard family two years ago, that he had offered alliance with the Low Countries, even claiming in writing that Elizabeth would be a more amenable ruler than her brother …
Dominic had been the one to find those damning letters in Northumberland’s home.
He just wasn’t sure how much he believed in them.
Papers could be forged. Letters could be planted.
Witnesses could be co-opted to a certain testimony.
And it hadn’t escaped his attention that those particular charges were not being tried in court today.
“We’ll keep it simple,” Rochford had said. “Leave out the messier aspects of Northumberland’s behavior.”
And that was why Dominic kept a wary eye on Rochford.
Because the messy aspects of this business were also the most open to other interpretations.
More than eighteen months ago, the late Duke of Norfolk had died in the Tower after being arrested for attempting to brand the king a bastard and have his half sister, Mary, crowned queen.
Dominic now believed, as most did, that the Duke of Norfolk’s fall had been cleverly manipulated.
“What say you, John Dudley?” Rochford asked after the reading of the charges.
“My Lord Chancellor,” Northumberland responded, rising.
“My lords all,” he addressed the others of the jury, “I say that my faults have ever only been those of a father. I acknowledge my pride and ambition and humbly confess that those sins have led me to a state I do greatly regret. But I have not and could never compass a desire to wish or inflict harm upon His Most Gracious Majesty. My acts were those of a desperate father to a willful son. Guildford’s death is greatly to be lamented, but I do desire nothing more than to be reconciled to our king and his government. ”
Northumberland was led out after his speech, and the jury retired to discuss their verdict.
It took far less time than Dominic was comfortable with and the outcome was never in doubt.
Rochford and the twenty-year-old Duke of Norfolk (grandson of the man who had died in a false state of treasonable disgrace) were the most vehement of Northumberland’s enemies, but every other lord on the jury had cause to resent the duke’s arrogance and ambition.
And as Dominic studied each man there, he was aware of an undercurrent of fear, deeply hidden perhaps, but real.
There was not a single peer present whose family title was older than Henry VII, and most of them had been ennobled by Henry VIII or William himself.
The Tudors had broken the back of the old hereditary nobility, raising instead men whose power resulted from their personal loyalty and royal usefulness.
Just consider Dominic himself—grandson of a king’s daughter, true, but in more practical terms only the son of a younger son with no land or title at all until William had granted them to him.
Or consider Rochford, who might have been only a talented diplomat or secretary if his sister had not been queen.
The problem with being raised up by personal loyalty was that one could as easily be unmade.
And thus it was today—the jury would find Northumberland guilty because William wished it as much as because it was right.
And after all, Dominic would vote guilty without more than a slight qualm, for he had ridden through the midst of Northumberland’s army last autumn.
He knew that it had been but a hair’s breadth of pride and fear from open battle against the king.
They returned to the hall, and Northumberland stood to face the jury as, one after another, each member stood and personally delivered his verdict.
Dominic saw the glint of tears in Northumberland’s eyes as Rochford pronounced the traditional sentence of a traitor—to be hung, drawn, and quartered—and concluded with, “May God have mercy on your soul.”
There was a tinge of triumph to George Boleyn’s voice.