Her Highness, the Traitor - By Susan Higginbotham Page 0,102
joked, trying to fill the duke’s shoes. Bringing up the quartet of important prisoners was Thomas Howard, the old Duke of Norfolk, who would have been executed had not King Henry died on the very day he was set to go to the scaffold. He was about eighty and was said to have survived this long purely out of spite. Norfolk, too, had been allowed great freedom after Mary’s triumph and could often be seen sitting in the garden, smiling as if mentally counting all those he had outlived.
The rest of us—the new arrivals—had no such privileges, only our windows out of which to stare. I had not seen Guildford since he and I had been taken into custody, though I had spotted Lady Jane walking to her new lodgings under guard. Since then, I had watched as a servant of the Duchess of Suffolk bore a teetering stack of books to Partridge’s lodgings. There was no doubt as to how the lady Jane was passing her time.
Around three o’clock on July 25—I had been allowed to keep the dial that hung from my girdle—I heard a rumbling sound mingled with shouts, too far away for me to understand what was being said. Then, as the sound grew louder, I made out the word “Traitor!”
I ran down the winding stairs as fast as I dared and banged on my jailor’s door. He opened it with a sigh. “What is it?”
“The prisoners are coming? Is that what I hear outside?”
“Yes.” The jailor sighed again. “Where they’re going to put them all is anyone’s guess.”
“Will you let me talk to my husband? Just for a short while?”
“Your Grace—”
“For pity’s sake! I do not know what will happen to either of us. It may be the last—” My voice choked. “I beg you, on your honor as a gentleman, just let me tell him that I love him. Everyone else has betrayed him.”
“Very well. But don’t think that means I’m going to let you out every time your heart desires.”
“I won’t ask again,” I promised. “And I will stand right by you.”
“Another thing. The crowd out there’s been baying for the duke’s blood. He might not be in good case when you see him.”
I nodded and let him escort me outside, where the din from the crowd nearby had grown even louder. Finally, the Tower gate was flung open. Through the press of armed men remaining outside the gate rode the traitor: the Earl of Arundel, bringing in his captives.
Close behind him, mounted on his favorite horse, was John, cloakless and with his cap clutched in his hand. I clapped my hand to my mouth as I saw just how many prisoners there were and who they were—my sons Jack, Ambrose, and Hal; my brother-in-law Andrew; Kathryn’s father-in-law, the Earl of Huntingdon; and her husband, Lord Hastings, to name only the ones most important to me. All were covered in filth, but none worse than John, who also bore a large, fresh bruise on his face.
While the prisoners waited silently on their horses and the cries outside grew faint and scattered, Arundel spoke at length to the constable, who gestured at various buildings. At last, John was allowed to dismount under the eye of two armed guards. He did so slowly, as if in pain. The Order of the Garter, which he had worn proudly beneath his knee for ten years, had been stripped from him.
Forgetting my promise to my jailer, I pushed my way toward John. Without a word, he took me in his arms as the guards, openmouthed, retreated. “Forgive me,” he said as we huddled together. “I have cost us everything.”
“There is nothing to forgive,” I whispered. “Nothing.”
Beside us, my youngest son, Hal, whose face was already wet with tears, began to weep afresh. “They’ve even got our mother,” he said. “Our mother.”
John stepped back. “It’s true? You are a prisoner, too?”
“Yes, and Guildford and Jane.”
Jack dismounted, trembling with anger. Never in my life had I seen him such. Shaking his fist, he leaned in Arundel’s direction. “Why don’t you go off and arrest my little sister Katheryn, you sorry turncoat, you Judas? Or are you afraid her kitten might scratch you?”
“Jack,” said Ambrose, as a guard yanked Jack backward. “This isn’t helping anything.”
“I don’t give a damn whether it helps anything or not! He gave his oath to Father, and what did he do? Ran to Mary—”