Emma looked briefly puzzled at the question. “Why yes. The swine tossed her aside a few years ago and now parades around with his paramour, Bessie Holland, the strutting slut!”
This piece of information opened up a whole morass of options. The Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Howard, husband of the estranged Lady Elizabeth, had been prominent in the efforts to bring down Wolsey over the past few years. One rumour doing the rounds in October was that the Duke had proposed Bishop Tunstall as Lord Chancellor. But the Duke of Suffolk had stalled that and the compromise candidate had been Sir Thomas More. Since then, the knowledgeable set at the Inns agreed that in the spill of power, Norfolk was the real winner and the tipping point had been the support of the Boleyn faction. So in theory that helped Meg Black.However at least one of Norfolk’s minions may have felt a grudge against all of the Company of the Cardinals Angels due to that fracas last year.
Reluctantly Ned broached a delicate question. “Ahh, how does she regard her niece, Lady Anne?” Ned received such a look of bewilderment from both girls, as if he had asked if grass was green.
Emma snorted and shook her head. “There’s no love between them. In fact if Satan’s devils seized the Lady Anne and dragged her down to Hell, Lady Elizabeth would dance for joy, though not as much as if they took her husband.”
Somehow Ned expected it was one of those ‘friendly’ familial relationships, which could only be expected. If her husband favoured the niece then naturally she hated Anne, as he suspected did her mother.
“Her mother is the widow of Buckingham.”
Meg looked disdainfully at Ned, perhaps considering him as contender for village idiot.
If he recalled correctly the Dowager Duchess was originally a Percy, one of the powerful families who controlled the wild lands south of the Scottish border. During the conflict between the rival houses of York and Lancaster their support had been decisive.
Ned retorted with his own bitingly obvious question. “And don’t you remember how she became a widow?”
A sudden contemplative pool of silence spread through the gathering as each person delved into the common recollections of the dark history of the Stafford clan.
Long time supporters of the Tudor, the Staffords had been present right back at the beginning of the dynasty when the King’s father, Henry VII had crossed over from France and faced the Yorkist King Richard at Bosworth Field. In fact it was the boast of the Stafford clan that they made the Tudor victory possible, though why Richard had trusted the Staffords in the first place was a Bedlamite’s guess, since one of them had been married to Henry Tudor’s mother, Margaret Beaufort, at the time. Perhaps, Ned considered, desperation bred strange moods and delusions in kings.
These days it paid not to show too keen an interest in those suspect matters. After all, it was only five years since the last Yorkist claimant, Richard de la Pole, had died at Pavia. The King had been so overjoyed at the news that he ordered a week of celebrations including free wine and fireworks. Some muttered that the apparent pleasure at de la Pole’s demise hinted at an uncomfortable seat on the English throne.
The situation with Edward Stafford was very different. He had been a Knight of the Garter, Warden of the Welsh Marches, Lord High Constable, member of the Privy Council, and very, very close to both kings of the Tudor Dynasty. His father had paid the price for that support, and was executed after leading a failed rebellion against usurper Richard of Gloucester.
Steadfast loyalty to the House of Tudor should have been rewarded, and in a just world it would have been. However due to some rancour betwixt Tudor father and son, the old King, when seriously ill at Calais a few years before his death, gathered a select group of lords to witness the disinheritance of his son, Henry, in favour of Buckingham. Or so it was said. Naught came of it in the end, but still the rumour had currency at the Inns even now.
The favour of princes was fickle. Dr Caerleon had stated just this, last year when he’d spoken about the action of the present king as a younger man, at the time he had come to the throne. First to feel the cruel edge of the axe had been the ‘deadwood’ of his father’s supporters, and after that those with significant family connections were similarly blighted.
Edward Stafford must have fallen amongst the latter, for nine years ago he was suddenly arraigned for treason and executed on a bizarre set of charges. As such affairs went, it was dramatic and at first very public, but after that very, very silent. The fate of traitors helped concentrate one’s thoughts and probably some speculated on the meeting at Richmond Palace.
Ned had an overwhelming feeling that they were stepping close to a very sharp precipice, toes right at the edge, leaning out towards the chasm. The dire predictions of the friars marched across his imagination. If he had an astrologer, they may be able to make sense of this mess. A brief image of Dr Caerleon’s lined face peering at a bronze instrument came into his mind. He really should make time to see the old man-some sage advice on the course of the stars was becoming urgent. That’s if he could trust the old schemer! Ned shook his head to banish the ill omen and rejoined the company in the here and now.
Rob was asking him a question. “Ned, have you heard what’s likely to happen when the King’s petition goes to the Parliament? Who’s backing it?”
That was an excellent question. The intersection of powerful factional interests always made the Commons a volatile place, where greed, grievance and rivalry created their own shifting alliances. Ned sucked his teeth for a moment in thought before he gave an answer. “At the Inns they say that Wiltshire and Norfolk have been pressing their clients and friends to sign the petition. Suffolk isn’t exactly opposing the King’s desire but he loathes the Boleyns, so the numbers could waver, especially if he aligns with Fischer and the others who back Katherine.”
Now that Ned had a chance to think about it, the situation was a great deal more complex than he’d originally considered. “Also, I’ve heard from my uncle that there’s a muttering of complaint, no outright refusal as yet, none risk drawing the King’s displeasure, but he said it was growing. If they had a reason, or a prominent lord as a leader, then there’s a fair chance the petition could stall.”
A result like that didn’t bear thinking about. The fall of Wiltshire and Lady Anne was one dreadful possibility. While the rest were working over its implications, Meg Black again moved along her own line of questioning. “Who does More support?”
Before he answered, Ned took a sip of wine and mulled that one over, trying not to look disturbed. Who did the Lord Chancellor back? He threw out what he knew into the common pool of knowledge.
“Now that’s a tad difficult to pin down. More doesn’t visit the Inns so much these days. It’s said by a few that he thinks himself too grand now to consort with our fraternity. And according to some little whispers that I’ve heard recently, he’s even claimed that the King, on many occasions, has asked his advice on matters of canonical law, even going so far as boasting that once His Majesty placed his arm around More’s shoulders while strolling through his gardens at Chelsea.”
Meg Black snorted dismissively and interrupted. “He would, but I know he also wrote a book for Queen Katherine a few years ago, in support of her marriage. Isn’t that in direct opposition to the King’s desires?”
Ned frowned. It was just like Mistress Black to ruin his next point. However he had to concede that she was correct and it did highlight a conundrum. In all the kingdom, it was said that only two men had a full appreciation of the King’s mind on the matter of his annulment. One was Cardinal Wolsey, now in disgraced exile up in the wilds of the North, and the other was the new Lord Chancellor.