The Virgin's Spy (Tudor Legacy #2)(102)
“No. Will had the courage to confront me in his vengeance.”
“This is not vengeance, this is ruling. Your son betrayed his title and his oath by taking up arms against my own soldiers! Do you expect me to pat him on the head and send him running along home merely because you ask me to?”
“I have not asked that.”
“Then what is it you do ask?”
“One question, that’s all I have,” Minuette said softly. “Elizabeth, how did William die?”
For an awful, piercing moment Elizabeth was back at Hatfield the autumn of 1558, in a delicate, dangerous conversation where what was unspoken weighed far more than what was.
“What does your wide view tell you, Your Highness?”
“That the king will ride to battle…and that misfortune awaits kings who fight from a position of despair rather than hope.”
“A battlefield is a messy place. It would be best to be prepared for all ends.”
She blinked and met Minuette’s eyes—not accusing, not threatening. Simply asking. Elizabeth asked in turn, “Why?”
“There is not one of us on this earth who has not made choices others might not understand. Stephen’s enemy was Oliver Dane, not you. Now that the man is dead, my son is no threat to your government or your person. You know that, Elizabeth.” Only the last words revealed the mother behind the diplomat, and Elizabeth was reminded of her own terrible days when Anabel had been held prisoner.
But she did not govern from sentiment. “He opposed me openly in Ireland, which just now is in great danger of being overrun by the forces of my former husband. You must know there are factions in England perfectly willing to exploit the opposition of one of my own earls against me. As long as he is locked away, he is safe from that.”
“So you’re protecting my son?”
“From himself, mostly. But I cannot leave his crimes unpunished.”
Minuette’s expression flickered. Was that fear? “But not at the cost of his life.”
It was so nearly a question that it hurt Elizabeth. Did her friend really think her as cruel as Will had been? Or her father?
The hurt of it made her brusque in delivering her decision. “I shall keep him in the Tower through the winter. It will not hurt him to ponder his actions in some measure of discomfort.”
“And then?”
“He may have his life, but neither his title nor his wealth. The estate of Somerset is forfeited to the crown.”
Relief swept Minuette openly, for the Courtenays did not greatly care for money. Easy for them to disdain it—they did not have to equip a government and protect a kingdom.
But Elizabeth had not quite finished. “I understand Christopher intends to go to France to train with and serve Renaud LeClerc in the spring. Stephen may go with his brother. In point of fact, I will require Stephen to go with him.”
“You are banishing him?”
“If I must make it official, I will. I would prefer for him to go voluntarily.”
They faced each other, two women who had been children and girls and young women together. They had never—truly—been opposed to each other. Elizabeth would regret it if they became so now. But she would not relent.
Kings don’t have friends, her little brother had thrown at them once, furious and despairing. And if kings could not afford friendship, then even less could a queen who must in all things be twice as good as the men who had preceded her if she were to keep hold of her power.
Minuette executed a perfect curtsey, straight-backed as Kat Ashley had taught the two of them so long ago. “Thank you, Your Majesty, for my son’s life. I will not forget this.”
Elizabeth watched Minuette leave, wondering if that last line had been spoken with gratitude or sarcasm.
Pippa Courtenay walked through the corridors of Greenwich Palace on her way to visit Dr. John Dee. Unusually, most of those she passed along the way did not try to engage her. Pippa was accustomed to fending off constant attention from those who wanted to exploit her influence with the Princess of Wales. But ever since Stephen’s arrest, a bubble seemed to have formed around the Courtenay family. Either people respected their desire for privacy or, more likely, did not want to risk being associated with a family in decline.
Of the Courtenay children, John Dee had always been most associated with Lucette, as a tutor and mentor. But Pippa had spent some time with him over the years, benefitting from his wide experience of the world as well as his intimate knowledge of astrology and mysticism. In his presence, she had always maintained a detached air, as though the subjects were of only scholarly interest to her.
As though that would deceive a man like John Dee.
In the last three years Dr. Dee had asked her the same question five times: “Are you prepared to ask me for a star chart yet, Lady Philippa?”
She had declined each time. Until now. Two weeks ago she had finally recognized that the time had come when she needed to consult with someone whose gifts were similar to her own. Someone who could counsel her dispassionately. Someone accustomed to the remote wisdom of the stars and the stark beauty of fate. She had at last asked for her star chart, and tonight he would present it to her. It seemed fitting that today was also her twenty-first birthday.
Whenever John Dee came to court, he kept his chambers as far removed from the center of things as comfort—and the queen—would allow. At Greenwich this meant an upper floor of one of the narrow towers that appeared plain in the corridors but opened into a warm and inviting space that reminded Pippa of Wynfield Mote. Not in design so much as feel, that here was a place one could be at ease.